daughter of lies

by Kenley Davidson

  The question that nagged her constantly was this: could she ever go back, or was Brenna Haverly, with all of her accomplishments and self-confidence, gone for good?

  “I’m not sure what I’m hoping,” she admitted to Faline. “I wouldn’t say I’m running away, exactly, but I don’t know that I hold out much hope for reconciling with my…” She glanced up wryly. “With Louise. Clearly I can’t even decide what I ought to call her, so why should I expect our relationship to be simple?”

  “Relationships never are, my lady,” Faline said blandly. “Are you going for yourself, or because she asked you?”

  Brenna shot her a withering glance. “Trust you to pose the question I have been studiously avoiding. Because the answer is… I don’t know.

  She took the slippers from her maid and held them in her lap. “I suppose it’s more for me. Not simply because I’m looking for an escape, but because… Well, because of why I’m escaping. I don’t feel like I know who I am when I’m here. Am I Brenna? Am I Breanne? Do the court’s expectations define me or am I still the same? Does it matter who my parents were?”

  “You think that woman”—Faline did not hesitate to sound disdainful—“is going to help you find those answers?”

  “Yes? No? I don’t know, Faline.” Brenna clutched her slippers tightly and tried to smooth the furrow in her brow. “I feel like perhaps I need to see her, to make my peace with what happened before I can decide who I am, or even understand the essential parts of being me. I feel like Brenna, but the world insists that I’m Breanne. Can they be the same person, or is the countess simply another role I’m playing?”

  “Then I will be pleased to accompany you, my lady, no matter how I feel about our destination.”

  As she spoke, Faline continued to move unobtrusively about the room, shifting the lamps closer to where Brenna sat and fetching a basket with the day’s correspondence. At first, there had been a tray, but it had proven unequal to the task of containing all of the notes and posies and tributes that her “admirers” had seen fit to bestow.

  After sliding on her slippers, Brenna sorted through the various messages, grumbling under her breath. “At least this embarrassing parade will be forced to direct itself elsewhere after we’re gone.”

  “Don’t be too sure, my lady,” Faline warned her, a glint of humor in her eyes. “And wouldn’t you say that persistence is a desirable quality in a man who hopes to win your heart?”

  “If any of these”—Brenna glared at the basket—“have anything at all to do with my heart, I will be very much surprised. Now”—she looked up at Faline—“we should discuss packing.”

  Her maid nodded. Faline was much too well-trained to protest her mistress’s plans, though Brenna suspected from her stiff posture and cool expression that she would have said a great deal more, if asked. Faline was fiercely protective, and never more so than when her mistress’s status was called into question. The Seagrave family was a source of great irritation to her, though she would never be so improper as to say so unless such an impertinence was clearly invited.

  “This should be quite a relaxing trip,” Brenna remarked, hoping to allay her maid’s misgivings. “It’s a long journey, and it isn’t as though there will be any other guests. We should be free to do as we please much of the time.”

  “Perhaps.” Faline’s eyes remained on her growing list of items that her mistress might require for her journey. “But not exactly comfortable. It’s quite a remote area. If we forget anything, it won’t be easy to come by, and if you find conversation a chore, there won’t be a host of others lining up to share the burden.”

  “True,” Brenna admitted, “but she invited me, after all. She must have some intention to put forth effort in order to establish a connection.”

  “One never knows,” Faline muttered, a distinctly pessimistic tone to her words.

  Brenna continued sorting idly through the correspondence in the basket, setting aside invitations to be responded to and discarding anything that seemed to be from a man likely to declare himself her devoted servant. At the bottom, however, she came across something far more interesting.

  “Faline, why didn’t you say there was a letter from Kyril?” she scolded, tearing at the seal with almost pathetic haste.

  “Because then you wouldn’t have even glanced at the rest and I would have been forced to nag at you for days to respond to your invitations.”

  Brenna grumbled under her breath about insubordination, but it wasn’t serious and Faline knew it. The maid was smiling to herself as Brenna almost ripped the paper in her eagerness to read whatever her brother had seen fit to convey in his rambling, ridiculous style.

  Dearest sister mine,

  Would you believe it’s even hotter here now than it was last time? Lani told me it would be, and the idea seemed so unlikely that I made the horrible mistake of smiling and saying “yes, dear,” so she is now laughing at my misery and saying it serves me right. I suppose it does, at that.

  Despite my constant complaining, we have been getting on splendidly and have had several very important meetings. Or at least, my beautiful wife has. Mostly I stand behind her chair and smile and generally look as stupid as I can. Don’t even say it, sister. I know you’re thinking something unflattering, and I’ll have you know I can manage to look quite intelligent when I try.

  Must say, I’ve been pleased to have the chance to acquaint myself further with Janard, though I’m not sure he’d say likewise. Very glad in either case that he’s a friend. He’s been a marvelous regent, and Zakir is turning into quite a commanding ruler, at least for a fourteen-year-old boy. At fourteen, I was living on pie and painting Father’s carriage horses blue, which perhaps explains why Janard has turned down all of my requests to bring my brother-in-law back to Andar for a visit.

  Two of Ilani’s sisters have married, both to young emirs who seem less than completely stuck in the last century. They were among the first to make provisions for their freed slaves and have signed the provisional proclamation banning the harassment or persecution of mages. My dear wife scowled hideously at the poor fellows when she met them, but as Kanti and Tellara both seem happy enough, she did not quite resort to violence (though I suspect she threatened her new brothers-in-law with something dire when I wasn’t looking, as they’ve been avoiding us ever since).

  It would seem Varinda has been packed off to another part of the Empire, to practice her healing skills on the farmers and miners in a far eastern province. One hopes they sent at least a division or two of royal troops to keep her in line, as I would not care to be anywhere inside the borders of Caelan should she happen to escape. Which seems inevitable. Ilani says I’m being pessimistic, but as I am never pessimistic, that couldn’t possibly be the case.

  There is no word here of our favorite prince. He seems to have disappeared as thoroughly as you promised Janard he would, which seems a trifle suspicious, but then, he always does, so I will have to be content.

  I hope you are well, sister mine, and that the court is treating you with courtesy, though I wouldn’t wager any of my ambassador’s stipend on it. If I had to guess, I would suppose that every unmarried member of the nobility from the ages of thirteen to ninety-three has tried at least once to propose marriage. And that you’ve refused them all and retreated to the family estate to brood in peace while harassing Wilkins unmercifully and re-calculating the books every day and a half.

  My wife tells me I’m being insufferable, but I informed her I’m being my charming self and attempting to jolly you out of the sulks that you have no doubt fallen into during our absence.

  Just promise you won’t grow too grim. I’m sure, if you beg, Lady Norelle would be happy to engage your mind in one of her dastardly plans rather than have the newest member of Andar’s peerage expire of boredom. Also, do keep an eye on Father and Eland. I don’t wish to end this letter on a sour note, but they aren’t what I’d call gracious losers, and may resort to making trouble. Though I rather
suspect you would welcome it, if only for the excuse to punch both of them in the eye. Don’t deny it, Brenna love, you know you would enjoy that immensely. As would I, which is why I beg you to refrain from doing so until I can be there to see it.

  Oh, and could you expedite those reports I asked for? I would like to end our business here slightly ahead of schedule if at all possible, given the length of the return voyage and the fact that I want to spare Ilani any unnecessary strain or discomfort. She says she will be fine, but I’d rather not end up stuck here for another year, much as I enjoy my adventures with the local cuisine. Which is to say, not at all. I have finally discovered a total of three dishes that don’t aggravate my stomach, and though my wife claims I am insulting the palace kitchens by insisting on them at every meal, I have at least not been spending the better part of every day visiting the necessary. Poor Ilani has been taking my place, so we will probably wait at least until that part of the business has ended before we attempt the homeward journey. Would never do to have both of us ill at once.

  So we will expect to see you in two or three months, provided our business is concluded. Be well and be safe. You’re no longer alone in the world, so be sure to take your poor dear brother’s feelings into account before you risk your life on any more missions. I would so miss your stringent commentary on my life and wardrobe.

  My wife says I’m being outrageous again, so now that I have accomplished my main goal in writing to you, I will end this letter with my fondest brotherly regards.

  - Kyril

  Oh, and Ilani has just now read the letter and whacked me over the head with a cushion for forgetting to mention that you’re going to be an aunt. Cheers!

  Brenna’s mouth opened soundlessly and she lifted her head to stare at Faline, who was looking back with only mild curiosity.

  “This…” Brenna started. She lifted the letter, then let it drop back into her lap. “This says…”

  “Oh, are you going to be an aunt then?” Faline remarked, turning her attention back to the list in her hand.

  “Faline! How could you possibly have known what it says?”

  Her maid’s expression may have been faintly superior. “I have sisters, my lady, and when they marry, it stands to reason that babies come along sooner or later. And I can’t imagine you making that face for anything ordinary, like invasions or taxes or shipwrecks.”

  Brenna was surprised into a laugh by Faline’s astute observation. It was true. Babies seemed far more terrifying at that precise moment. Especially one of Kyril’s.

  Could she imagine her brother being a father? Imagine him rearranging his life around a tiny person with his blue eyes and Ilani’s face?

  Yes, in fact, she could, and the thought made her both happy and deeply lonely. It was a good thing she was planning a trip. It would occupy her thoughts while she waited for this news to sink in. And it would ensure that she was gone from Evenleigh when Eland learned of it and came knocking at her door again.

  Even if her visit to her mother proved to be a disappointment personally, Brenna could reassure herself with the reminder that the timing could not possibly have been better.

  Chapter 3

  Dear Sir,

  I accept your terms and am prepared to provide your usual requirements and fees. The name of your target is Breanne Seagrave, and I wish her eliminated at the most appropriate moment. It has come to my attention that she will be making an extended visit to a country estate near Camber in the coming days. Within no more than a week of arrival, she will be fleeing the protection of that estate, which should make your task a matter of utmost simplicity. There are any number of accidents that can befall an innocent young girl in the woods.

  Given your reputation, I foresee no need for further contact until your task is complete.

  - Grim Hill

  Brenna knew she’d made a mistake the moment she laid eyes on the towering wrought-iron gates of her destination. The house itself lay well back from the road, and through the bars she could catch a glimpse of the elegant line of its roof, of perfectly manicured gardens and of an elaborate marble fountain at the end of the carriage road. None of those would be particularly surprising or disturbing, had it not been for the gates, which swung open far too late for Brenna to miss the Hennsley crest at their center.

  It was strange enough that Louise had managed to carve such beauty out of a rarely travelled corner of the kingdom. Not that the former countess hadn’t the talent or the inclination, but where had she gotten the money? When the former earl had been stripped of his title, he had also been stripped of income, leaving his wife with little more than the inheritance she’d brought with her into marriage. No pittance, but neither was it more than a generous competence by the standards of the nobility.

  And yet far stranger was her blatant use of the crest that no longer belonged to her.

  Brenna was not particularly fond of her new title, but it was hers. She’d been cheated of it for far too long, and while she would not begrudge Louise her name, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy about that crest. It was the symbol of authority. The sign of Brenna’s birthright. An inescapable part of the responsibilities that came with her newly inherited title. What did it mean that Louise not only still used it, but flaunted it?

  Brenna shared a glance with Faline, who didn’t look nearly as surprised.

  “Did you expect your mother to fall into poverty with a smile?” she inquired, her antipathy finally getting the better of her tongue. “Or to give up her privilege so tamely?”

  “Her name is Louise,” Brenna murmured. “And I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it.”

  “You were hoping she had suffered a bit more for her betrayal perhaps.”

  Was that it? Perhaps it was, but if Brenna truly believed herself betrayed by the woman who gave birth to her, then why had she come? Why did she feel the need to form any sort of connection with a member of the family who had rejected her? She could barely stand to converse with Eland, and all she had against him was his own supercilious manner. Louise had been a far more willing party to the crimes of the past, so logic suggested Brenna should resent her far more deeply.

  But logic and reason had little to do with the heart. Brenna could admit that part of her wanted to believe Louise had been forced into it. That if it weren’t for the brutal, driven Earl of Hennsley, Brenna would have been raised as the pampered daughter of a noble house, rather than a nameless orphan.

  “I suppose you could be right,” Brenna admitted with a slight shrug. “No one ever accused me of being nice.”

  “At least, not more than once,” Faline amended. “Are we going in?”

  “We’ve come all this way. I suppose we’d better.”

  Neither of them spoke as the carriage made its way from the gates to the elegant double doors at the front of the house. The carriage path swept grandly around the cheerfully splashing fountain and forced visitors to disembark a full twelve steps below the entry, a deliberate design which permitted the owner to look down on guests from an immediate position of power.

  More than ready to have the first awkward moments over with, Brenna tried to contain her impatience as they waited for the driver to open the carriage door for them—another “privilege” of her position. Another restriction that chafed.

  The moment the door opened, Brenna nearly leapt out of her seat. Five days of travel hadn’t helped her nerves or her temper, and neither she nor Faline enjoyed being confined in small spaces. No matter what reception awaited them, she would bear it with a smile for the sake of being out of the carriage.

  No sooner had her feet hit the crushed gravel of the path than the grand doors of the house swung open to reveal a perfectly polished, uniformed butler, trailed by what seemed to be an army of equally polished footmen. They formed a precise line down one side of the steps, at which point Brenna expected to be greeted by their mistress, as courtesy required.

  It was, however, the startlingly young and unusuall
y attractive butler who stepped forward to bow, though the motion seemed perfunctory, and only just deep enough to avoid insult.

  “Miss Seagrave, allow me to welcome you to Crestwood. Her ladyship is engaged with a guest at present, so she has instructed me to see to your comfort and then direct you to the drawing room after you’ve had opportunity to rest from your journey.”

  Brenna was still trying to digest the various stinging slaps delivered in those two politely phrased sentences when Faline stepped up beside her, dark curls springing free of their bun and brown eyes snapping.

  “And who are you that you feel you have the right to insult a countess with your cheek?” she demanded baldly. “That’s Lady Seagrave to you, no matter how you press your fancy uniforms or how fine you pretend to be. I won’t be standing for any nonsense from the likes of you, not above stairs nor below.”

  The butler turned suddenly sharper blue eyes on Faline, and Brenna would have sworn he was fighting back a smirk.

  “You are correct, of course, mistress,” he said politely. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Seagrave. I am Danward, the butler here at Crestwood, and I must beg you to understand that I am only acting according to milady’s wishes.”

  Faline sniffed. “Your lady has commanded you to greet her guests with insults?”

  “As I said, I am performing the duties of my position, mistress,” Danward replied stoically.

  “And that’ll be ‘miss’ to you, thank you,” Faline retorted.

  “Thank you, Danward.” Brenna interrupted before the spat could develop further. “We would be delighted to have a chance to freshen up before appearing in company all rumpled from travel.”

  She foresaw a great deal of difficulty for her maid, being forced to deal with a household that had apparently not been instructed in the courtesy due a visiting countess and her staff. Not that Brenna minded for herself, but Faline was clearly ready to take it personally.