Dark Lady_s Chosen cotn-4

by Gail Z. Martin

  Kiara bit her lip, forcing back tears and nodded. Dammit! I should blame this on being pregnant, but I'm supposed to be a warrior and I'm acting like a farm girl. If I were in the salle back in Isencroft, Derry would tell me I needed some steel in my spine. Tris expects better from me. I expect better. But the reality remained. Nothing was unfolding as expected.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carroway sat closer than usual to the fire in his room at the Dragon's Rage Inn. Outside, the winter wind banged the shutters against the inn's walls, and the draft that came from the windows made even the upstairs cold. He'd been grateful for tonight's meal of cheese soup, sherry and a hunk of warm bread. There were many worse places to be imprisoned. Bandele had brought him a stack of books, knowing that the worst part of his solitude lay in passing the time. A book dealer in the city was one of the minstrels' favorite patrons, and Carroway guessed Bandele had told him about the situation. Carroway sighed and flexed his hands. The books, which told of the earliest times in the Winter Kingdoms, were good fodder for the songs he was writing. If he were to be exiled, those new ballads might tempt a patron into overlooking his tarnished reputation. And if he were executed, well, Carroway thought, leaning back to stretch, at least the songs would be a legacy. Carroway turned a page. The smell of ink and parchment filled the air. He'd been reading tales of long ago, when the lands that would someday become the Winter Kingdoms were ruled by warlords and tribes, long before the first of the Lady's followers brought their new beliefs to a wild and brutal place. A carefully drawn illustration of a ceremonial dagger impaling two hearts caught his eye. Carroway looked more closely. The dagger had a damashqi blade that showed the many folds and swirls of the steel used in its forging. He frowned as he read further, trying to make out the cramped handwriting of the historian who had written the book.

  Before the time of King Hadenrul and the ways of the sacred Lady, the Birth Moon and the Hunger Moon were the times of vicious raids between warring tribes, he read. Raids were carried out early in the Birth Moon, not just for scarce food, but to seize the wife of the rival chieftain. The kidnapped woman, if she was not already pregnant, would be given as a bride to the most feared warrior, who had one month to impregnate her. On the second day of the Hunger Moon, the prisoner would be sacrificed by the chieftain, who lit a bonfire and then plunged a ceremonial damashqi dagger through her abdomen, allowing the blood to anoint the snow. The ceremonial shedding of two lives was thought to bring renewal to the land, but some believe that the true purpose of the ceremony was to gain magical control of the great rivers of energy through blood magic. Others say it was an offering to Shanthadura. When the ways of the Sacred Lady came to the lands in the days of Hadenrul the Great, the practice of human sacrifice ended, substituting the ritual slaughter of a pregnant ewe. Over the years, the bonfires became torches and then candles, believed to be why this eve is now called Candles Night. Carroway pushed the book aside, deep in thought. Absently, he sipped at the sherry as he watched the fire dance on the hearth, whipped by the winds that found their way down the chimney. Candles Night was only two days hence, and while it was a minor holiday with almost no sacred overtones in Margolan, he'd always looked forward to the evening of midwinter cheer with its banks of lit candles and a traditional feast of roast lamb and red wine. After what he'd just read, Carroway doubted he could ever enjoy the holiday in quite the same manner again.

  Absently, he reached for the pendant at his throat, a gift from Macaria. It was woven from strands of green and indigo thread and her own dark hair. Copper beads marked with runes were tied into the design. She had assured him that the hedge witch promised the amulet would protect him from harm. He discounted the talisman's protection, but he treasured the gift. It was a comfort to know that she shared his feelings, but bittersweet. His future held only death or banishment.

  A quiet rap at the door roused him from his thoughts. Paiva, Bandele, Tadghe and Halik slipped into the room, shaking off the snow that clung to their cloaks and shoes. "I was beginning to think the storm kept you from coming," Carroway said, accepting hugs from Paiva and Bandele and backslaps from Tadghe and Halik. From beneath their cloaks, Tadghe and Halik withdrew bottles of wine and held them aloft.

  "Spirits for the imprisoned!" Tadghe pronounced. Paiva and Bandele put down their well- wrapped instruments and withdrew pouches of dried figs, and a small crockery bowl with honeycomb, cheese and flatbread from their bags.

  "We had to bring extra, to bribe the guards," Paiva said impishly. "But we feed them well and leave two bottles of river rum for them around back in the snow by the steps, so they're quite willing for us to visit."

  "Bless you!" Carroway exclaimed, motioning for them to sit. Halik opened a bottle of the wine and filled cups for all of them as Paiva and Bandele caught Carroway up on the trivialities of the court. "What of Kiara-and Macaria?"

  "They left by sleigh this morning, very early," Bandele replied. "Crevan seemed to be doing

  his best to make their departure quiet. He may be the only one going back and forth with supplies, so getting word is going to be difficult." She sighed. "The only tidbit that I did hear from Macaria was that Kiara's terribly worried about the king. Seems she hasn't received a letter from him since he left for war."

  Carroway glanced at her sharply. "That's not like Tris. He wrote to her several times a week when she went back to Isencroft after the coronation. Almost drove the couriers crazy. That's not like him at all."

  "Perhaps he's too busy with the war," Halik replied. "I heard some of the men talking after the wagons came back from running supplies to the army. They said the war's not going well. The men are hungry. A lot of soldiers have died. And there's fever in the camp." Carroway swore. "Tris needs to win this. Margolan's in a lot of trouble if he doesn't." "I don't have any news from the queen," Tadghe said, clearing his throat. "But Halik and I have been able to slip down to see Mikhail."

  "How is he? I'd imagine Shekerishet's dungeons are miserable, even for a vayash moru." Tadghe nodded. "He's not one to complain, but he didn't mind that we brought him a flask of fresh goat's blood and some dry clothing. The guards thought we'd lost our minds to ask to be let in to see a vayash moru in a dark cell, and if it were anyone besides Mikhail, I might have agreed. But he's had time to think in there by himself, and he had a message for you." "For me?"

  Tadghe nodded. "Mikhail said that he's been thinking about the murders, the ones everyone seems to think he committed. He said that he got a good look at one of the bodies when the guards marched him past it. And he's sure that whatever the marks were on its neck, they weren't made by a vayash moru."

  Carroway frowned. "Come to think of it, I didn't get a close look myself. But I remember there were two punctures, and a lot of blood."

  "That's right. But Mikhail says that even if a vayash moru doesn't drain a victim, they can kill without leaving that much of a mess."

  "Maybe whoever did this intended to make a statement with all the blood."

  "Or maybe," Halik put in, "we were intended to look at the blood and not at the punctures."

  "What happened to the bodies?"

  Halik shook his head. "That's where it gets even more interesting. No one seems to know. I spoke to old Hadric-he's been the court's undertaker for years. Normally, he takes the body if someone dies at Shekerishet and the family doesn't want them to be shipped home for burial. He buries the servants who die, too. But Crevan told him that the bodies were being studied as evidence. Hadric never buried them." "So where are they?"

  Halik met his eyes. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? You know Bonday? He's the one who fetches the firewood for the kitchens. He told me that the day after Mikhail was accused, Crevan told him to set up for a bonfire in the middle of the night. Said it had to be ready by morning so that they could have the fire right at sunrise. Only in the middle of setting up the bonfire, Bonday says he was called away for half a candlemark. When he came back, he thought the wood was stacked up further than he
remembered it. Says he also remembers seeing a bit of cloth fluttering in the wind, but he was behind on his work, so he didn't bother with it." Halik leaned forward. "Here's the kicker. When Bonday lit the fire, he says that there was an awful smell for the first couple of candlemarks." "So you think someone got rid of the bodies in the bonfire? But why? And who?" Tadghe crossed his arms and leaned back. "Why? To keep anyone from looking too closely at them, that's why. Despite the gossip about Mikhail, the vayash moru still have friends at court. Someone wasn't taking the chance that the bite marks might be questioned." "I remember the bonfire that next night," Carroway said, thinking. "And at the time, I was surprised. I usually know all about plans like that, but I hadn't heard anything about a bonfire." He paused. "Halik, are you suggesting that Crevan deliberately asked for the bonfire in order to destroy the bodies?"

  Halik shrugged. "Doesn't seem like ol' tightbritches, does it? Maybe someone talked him into it. But after we came back from seeing Mikhail, I paid a couple of skrivven to the butcher's boy to keep an eye on Crevan without being seen. And I've found out some strange things." "Like?"

  "Like he's keeping a messenger pigeon up on the roof, near Kait's old mews. The falcons put up a squabble when he goes up there, but he throws them some meat to calm them down. The boy saw him take a message off the bird's leg and then replace it and send the bird out."

  Carroway shook his head. "For all we know, it might be a message to Tris. It's nearly a week's ride to the Southern Plains. Maybe Crevan had to send an urgent message."

  "Aye, the boy said the bird flew south. But if it were a message to the king, why would Crevan go alone in the middle of the night?" "Maybe it couldn't wait until morning."

  "Maybe. But if Crevan's communicating with the king, why is everything at the palace such a mess? Macaria told you about the Council of Nobles. That's just the beginning. I've heard that Crevan keeps putting off paying the merchants, saying that the king hasn't returned the documents he's sent. Yet every week, a messenger comes from the front lines with a thick packet for Crevan, and Crevan sends a new one in its place."

  "Crevan was never supposed to be full seneschal," Carroway said, taking another drink of his sherry. "Zachar could have run the palace in his sleep. Crevan was just the assistant." "Interesting that Zachar died right after the king left, isn't it?" Tadghe said quietly. "I've been wondering about that. Here's a guy who might have been up in years, but he was tough enough to shinny down a garderobe and escape from Jared, and he just dies in his sleep?" "It happens."

  Tadghe leaned forward. "Yeah, but do you know that Crevan wouldn't allow the Sisterhood to prepare Zachar's body for burial? It was his right, as advisor to the king, to be buried with full honors. Crevan refused to let them have the body-said he wanted to do it himself, as a sign of respect." "I'm not sure I understand-"

  "What if Zachar didn't die from a brain bleed? You've told us how that poisoned dagger worked on Jonmarc Vahanian when the assassin struck last Winterstide. A nick with a bad blade, and Zachar's heart stops. And who would know, except a mage, who might just pick up on the poison?"

  Despite the warmth of the fire, Carroway felt a chill. "I really don't like what you're suggesting."

  "There's more. Paiva and I went to see Bian," Bandele added. "She's not doing well. The cold down in the dungeon has her crippled up with gout. And unlike Mikhail, she's frightened by the darkness. She had an awful cough when we saw her. I'm worried that she might not live long enough for the king to hear her case." She paused. "But Bian wanted to see us badly enough that she managed to get the servant who brings her food to slip me a note. She said she was afraid for the queen's safety."

  Carroway winced, remembering the kindness of the old cook. "What did she tell you?" "Do you remember when Malae died? We know there was poison in the kesthrie cakes- the Isencroft pastries. They blamed Bian for that. But Bian told me that it was Crevan who requested the cakes. She says she was too afraid to mention it before, but she thinks she's dying and she wanted someone to know. She also said that Crevan called her out of the kitchen right before the cakes were ready to take up-and that the cakes were alone in the kitchen for several minutes while she answered questions on something trivial. At the time, she thought Crevan was just in a dither because he was new to his role. But Bian's had time to think it over, and she's sure there was time for someone to slip into the kitchen and taint the cakes while Crevan kept her busy in the other room."

  Carroway shook his head. "This sounds like the kind of story you hear from some down- and-out drunk soldier. The kind of guy who thinks everything's a conspiracy. No one's actually seen Crevan do anything except send off a pigeon. So answer me this-why? Why would he betray the king? Why would he try to kill Kiara?"

  Paiva cocked her head to look at him. "Do you remember when we were trying to identify all of the spies? And we could never figure out who was Isencroft's man?" "There was one more thing Mikhail told us," Tadghe said. "The night he was arrested, he'd been doing the books up in the exchequer's office. He says he found Isencroft gold that doesn't match what's in the ledger. It was in a bag off in a corner, as if someone wanted it safe but not noticed. Mikhail wonders whether whoever framed him wanted to make sure no one else was watching the books. And the only one who had access to the exchequer's books, besides Mikhail and Zachar, was Crevan."

  "Which might explain why Crevan turned down our requests to visit Mikhail," Halik added. "The only way we got in was through those vayash moru family connections. I happened to know that both the guards last night have vayash moru kin. They went off to 'investigate suspicious noises' right before we came and left."

  Carroway ran a hand back through his hair. "I'll grant you that a pile of Isencroft gold is pretty suspicious. But why would King Donelan's spy be trying to kill Kiara?" "Maybe Crevan's playing a double game," Tadghe said. "I've been talking with the traders who come down through Isencroft from the Northern Sea. They said that they won't make another trip on that route until Donelan gets the divisionists under control. To hear them tell it, Isencroft's on the brink of civil war over the idea of a joint kingdom when Donelan dies."

  "That doesn't make any sense! Crevan was born in Isencroft, but Zachar told me he grew up in Margolan."

  "Suppose Crevan was loyal to Isencroft-enough so that Donelan made him his spy," Halik said. "Someone that loyal to Isencroft might not want to see the crown divided. I've heard what passes for logic among people who wrap themselves tightly in their flag," he added, dropping his voice. "If Kiara and the baby die and Jared's bastard were to take the throne, Isencroft would surely declare war. And at least for Donelan's lifetime, the crown would be secure-and independent."

  Carroway stared at Halik in horror. "We need proof," he said, his voice not altogether steady. "Kiara's on shaky ground as it is. We can't go to her with accusations like this. Eadoin's too sick to help. The lords on the Council who supported Kiara might listen to Eadoin, but who'll believe a bunch of bards? They'll say you've fabricated the whole thing to save me. And right now, we have no proof at all." "How do we get that proof?" Bandele asked.

  "Keep watching Crevan. But you've got to be careful. If you're right, you could be in danger if he suspects anything. And if you're wrong, he could still throw you out of the palace if you get on his bad side." Carroway shook his head. "I wish Harrtuck were here. I'd feel better knowing someone I trust is looking after Kiara."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Where is he?" Ruggs's voice was deafening, shouting next to Cam's ear. For emphasis, Ruggs grabbed a fistful of Cam's curly dark hair and thrust Cam's head into a large tub of icy water. Cam writhed, both from the struggle to breathe and from the pain of being forced to kneel on his broken leg. Ruggs kept him below the surface until pinpricks of light began to crowd out Cam's vision and his lungs ached for air. Ruggs yanked him back, and Cam gasped, his heart thudding. "Where's the other man?" "I don't know."

  Ruggs plunged Cam beneath the surface once again, holding him down so long
that Cam threw up. When Ruggs pulled him up, Cam's ears were ringing and his head felt as if it would explode as darkness crowded his vision. "Next time I let you die. Where is he?" Cam spat puke and water at Ruggs. "I passed out. When I came around, he was gone. Took my cloak pin and my last two coins. A whore-spawned thief." Ruggs looked at him, and Cam knew the other man was debating whether or not to finish him. Go ahead. It would be a kindness.

  "Ruggs, we've got a problem." It was Leather John's voice behind them. Cam was still pinned over the tub, with Ruggs's hand painfully gripping his hair. "The king's men got Dolancey. They mean to hang him at dawn as retribution for this one. Seems the king did get your message."

  "Dolancey was stupid. He gets what he deserves." Ruggs jerked back on Cam's hair, eliciting a groan. "How best to send Donelan my next message, I wonder? He's got your finger. Shall I send him the hand to go with it? Leave the pieces of the puzzle for him to find and reassemble?" Ruggs laughed at his own joke. "I just might-but I think Donelan's fool enough to come after you. I'm betting that he just might take this personally. Isencroft's hot- tempered king, never content to let someone else do his fighting for him. No, you're still worth something as bait." Ruggs stood, tearing his hand loose from Cam's hair. "I think we'll move you from where your 'thief' mysteriously disappeared," Ruggs said. "And