The White Mists of Power

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  “–would not listen to our advice–”

  “Our?”

  “I will not implicate others!” Ewehl snapped. “Let them implicate themselves.”

  “Go on,” Lord Kensington said.

  “He wanted to see Anda. We thought, since the lady Constance was again pregnant, that he would simply disappear in town. We thought that he wouldn’t survive. We waited weeks before announcing his death. But several months later, I was walking in the palace when I saw him on the staircase, heading toward the king’s chambers. I tried to stop him, when I was attacked by another boy. In self-defense I–”

  “Who lies now?” the bard asked. “You tried to kill me and Milo protected me.”

  “–I stabbed the other and ran for the guards. By the time I returned, the boys were gone. A trail of blood led to one of the closets and there we found the body of the friend, but the prince had again vanished. We searched for him, found nothing, and assumed he was dead.”

  “Lord Demythos took me in, hid me, and cared for me,” the bard said. “He made sure that no one would hurt me.”

  “And then someone assassinated Lord Demythos,” said Alma. “My mother spoke of it. She was afraid that someone was after all the gentry.”

  “You have admitted to treason, Ewehl,” Lord Boton said.

  Ewehl glanced at Lord Boton, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then Lord Boton stepped forward and examined the bard as if he were a serf on auction. “You look nothing like the king or the Lady Constance. And Adric was a fat, lazy lad. I don’t discount the Enos’s testimony, but I won’t accept you as my liege until you answer a few questions.”

  “Ask them, milord.” The bard stood, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You have been here for months. Why didn’t you tell the king who you were?”

  “Lord Ewehl just admitted that he and his friend tried twice to murder me. I decided that this time I would not return to the palace before I could defend myself–and I decided that before I identified myself, I would gain the king’s trust. As you learned earlier, I had. I was going to speak with him this week, but he put off the appointment.”

  So that was what he had meant by petition, not for his lands but for his title. Alma glanced at him. If he had spoken to the king before the festival, the celebration would not have been held and she would not have become consort. She would have lost the kingdom before she had a chance to save herself.

  “Why didn’t you confide in any of the gentry?” Lord Boton asked.

  “I did,” the bard said. His voice was bitter. “Lord Demythos protected me for years. I was with him on that hunt. His death was no accident.”

  “The questions are not necessary,” said the Enos. “This man’s claim is valid. The Old Ones have studied his movements. He wears the white mists and he bears the tattoo. When he drops his shields, his mind carries the memories of a prince’s life. I challenge any magician to tap and then dispute my words.”

  “I will not be ruled by a liar and a thief!” Lord Dakin cried.

  “Why not?” the bard asked, looking at him. “I was, just recently.”

  “Or a murderer,” added the Lady Kerry. “He killed my daughter, Diana. Who’s to say he didn’t murder the king?”

  “The pretender shed the king’s blood,” the Enos said. Alma frowned and glanced at Kensington. No one else seemed to have heard.

  “I did not murder Diana or the king, milady,” the bard said. He raised his voice. “Think once, all of you! It would be easier for me to have the king’s acceptance and approval than it would to take over after his death. Now my rule will be questioned every step. If my father had lived, I would have had his blessing. No. It suited a handful of others to do away with the king before he sired another child.”

  He surveyed the hall. “Will the council members, the gentry, and my cousin Kensington accept me? Or will I have to fight for my rightful claim?”

  Kensington spat on the ground at the bard’s feet. “I shall die before I accept you as ruler of this land.”

  The bard met Kensington’s gaze. “Reconsider, milord. I don’t want to be your enemy.”

  Kensington shook his head. “You will never rule me.”

  The Enos crouched between them, clutching her head and lowering herself to the ground.”

  “Then leave, milord,” the bard said. “But let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to assassinate me, do it yourself. Don’t hire an assassin to throw your daggers for you.”

  Kensington reached for the bard, but Afeno grabbed his hand. The boy threw the lord back against one of the guards.

  “As for the rest of you,” the bard said, still looking at Kensington, “those who agree with Lord Kensington may leave with him. But should there be a battle and should I win, I will remember every one of you.”

  The Enos huddled on the floor, her arms wrapped around her head. Alma reached down to touch her, to see if she were all right, but the Enos shook off Alma’s hands.

  “We’re not through yet, bard,” Kensington said.

  “I realize that, cousin.”

  Kensington turned and pushed his way through the crowd. Lord Dakin, Lady Kerry, Lord Lafa, and a few gentry that Alma didn’t recognize followed. The others glanced at the door, then glanced at the bard.

  “If you choose to remain,” the bard said, “I want you to swear your obedience to me as your liege lord. I need public evidence of your trust.”

  The door’s slam echoed in the large room. No one moved. Alma took a deep breath. She had no liking for Kensington and he had none for her. The bard was her best choice. She knelt in front of him.

  “On the word of the Enos,” she said, “I accept you as my liege lord.”

  The bard offered her his hand and she stood up. He smiled slightly, and then she stepped aside. One by one, the remaining gentry came forward and knelt before the bard. Alma watched for a moment, then crouched beside the Enos. The old woman seemed to have withdrawn into herself. The Enos was whispering and it took a moment before Alma understood what the woman was saying.

  “The blood,” the Enos was saying. “I am so sorry, Old Ones, to have started the blood.”

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 23

  The dressing room was small and smelled of Diana’s perfume. Kensington removed his cape. It was getting stuffy, and his back was crammed against the dressing table. He wondered what was keeping Diana. She should have returned by now.

  He shifted his weight on the small stool and peered through the slit the Lady Kerry had carved in all the dressing-room doors. Diana’s room was small, two windows on either side, the curtains blowing in with the night breezes. A lamp guttered on the wall above his door. Papers rustled on her bedside table and a book fluttered open. Her bed was high and ruffled, the quilt handmade. A dressing gown hung on a peg and shoes were scattered on the floor. Hardly the meeting place for a woman and her lover.

  He rolled the papers in his hands. He would catch her with her lover, prove to her that the man was a liar and a class-jumper. Then the lord would show her the papers and take them to Lady Kerry. Diana didn’t dare say no to him again. She would be his consort one way or another.

  He let the papers rest in his lap. They revealed nothing; that was the beauty of them. The youth had hidden most of his past. The spies were unable to verify his story. Members of the estate remembered him, but said that few on the grounds knew of his presence. Too bad Demythos was dead. It would have been nice to reveal his secrets too.

  The outer door squeaked as it opened. Kensington froze. He knew that the ladylee would not come into her dressing room–not if the bard was with her–but he was frightened anyway. He leaned against the slit carved above the door.

  Diana was alone. She closed the shutters with one hand and pulled the pins from her red hair with the other. Then she unbuttoned her gown and let it fall to the floor. She was slender and much more finely formed than he had thought. He felt a tightening in his groin. He would have her
. And she would enjoy it.

  She put on the dressing gown and tied it around her waist. A knock sounded on the door, and she paused.

  “Yes?”

  “Milady, the bard insists on seeing you. He says he will not go away until you speak with him.”

  Diana smoothed her hair. “Let him in,” she said.

  Diana’s lover pushed the door open. His lute hit the door frame, sending a ghostly chord through the room. His face was pale and his eyes seemed too wide and dark. He slammed the door and Diana jumped. “You could have been honest with me,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just had an audience with your precious mother and her spying magician–”

  “Vonda?”

  “Vonda. They couldn’t find anyone who saw me on Lord Demythos’ estate, so they are calling me a liar and class-climber. I’m dangerous and to be thrown off this land after they revoke my bard’s license.”

  “Dasvid, I’m sorry, I–”

  “Don’t pretend, milady. I thought we were friends. I thought you trusted me. I had even thought one day you would help me.”

  “Help you?”

  “But no. You and your mother send out an Enos-trained spy to check out my background and judge me before you hear why so many on Demythos’ estate never saw me. And then you threaten to take away my bard’s license, the only thing that stands between me and starvation. The only thing, Diana.”

  Diana reached out for him. She was trembling. “I didn’t know, Dasvid. Honest I didn’t. Please believe me.”

  He watched her hand, then took it, and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. “I’m sorry, Diana. I’m just so frightened.”

  “You have no reason to be frightened, Dasvid.” She spoke to him as though she were speaking to a child. “I’ll help you.”

  Her long fingers stroked the bard’s neck. Kensington touched himself, felt his arousal build. She would touch him like that soon.

  The bard took her hands and pushed her away. “I’m sorry, milady. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Kensington frowned, then realized the bard was referring to the hug. So the bard and the ladylee were not lovers. A shiver ran thought the lord. That changed everything.

  “No, Dasvid, it’s all right.” Diana sat on the edge of the bed. She patted a spot beside her. He hesitated for a moment, and then sat, keeping a distance between them. “Explain this to me.”

  “I can’t, milady.”

  “You barge in here, accuse me of plotting your ruin with my mother, say Vonda–who is a very able mind-tapper–believes that you are dangerous, and you say you were going to ask for my help.” Diana touched his arm. “You owe me an explanation.”

  The bard sighed. He covered her hand with his own. “I owe you one. I can’t give it to you.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of safety, yours and mine.”

  “Did Lord Demythos help you in this manner?”

  The bard nodded.

  “And did he die because of it?”

  The bard started. Diana smiled. “I’ll pry it out of you one way or another, Dasvid. You may as well tell me.”

  The bard glanced around the room. Kensington held his breath. It seemed as if the bard could see him through the slit in the door. “Are we alone?”

  “Yes.”

  The bard didn’t stop looking. Diana let go of his arm. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

  Kensington glanced around the dressing room. He was too large to hide under the table, and he couldn’t get into the wardrobe without someone hearing. If she found him, he would have to try the original plan. With the Lady Kerry already mistrusting the bard, the plan might work.

  “No, that’s all right,” the bard said.

  Kensington let his breath out slowly.

  “Milady, this story is hard to tell. I doubt that you will believe me.”

  “Let me decide what to believe,” Diana said.

  The bard stood up and turned his back to the lord. He swung his lute around, examined the instrument’s side, and then laid it across the bed. He unlaced his shirt. Diana watched him, a flush building in her cheeks. The bard pulled the shirt off and threw it on top of the lute. His back was marked with deep welts, left by improperly healed whippings.

  “Do you recognize the crest?” the bard asked.

  Diana reached up and touched the bard’s chest. “It’s the king’s familial crest,” she said. “What does it mean?”

  “It means that I’m the king’s son.”

  Kensington pressed against the slit. He could see nothing but the bard’s back.

  “The crest could be forged.”

  “It’s not. If an Enos was here, I’d prove it to you. It’s not forged, Diana.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “I spent my first decade in the palace.”

  “Then your name is not Dasvid.”

  “It’s Adric. Or it was. Lord Demythos called me by my second name for so many years, I answer to it much quicker. Byron, milady.”

  “Byron,” Diana whispered.

  Kensington whispered the name too. Abington Byron Adric of Kilot. He remembered when the boy was born. The crest tattooed on his chest had a dove on it, and the Enos had used a small dab of permanent red dye to decorate the tail feathers. Several years before, the child had disappeared, and after months of half-hearted searching, he had been given up for lost. The palace had made up some story and decided the boy was dead. The palace couldn’t ignore him any longer. Prince Adric had been the eldest.

  The bard picked up his shirt and turned to put it on. Kensington saw the tail feathers, the red spreading across the design as the Enos had predicted it would. Diana gasped.

  “The scars. What–?”

  The bard shrugged on his shirt. “I was whipped several years ago, milady, and then improperly treated. That’s one reason why I’m reluctant to be on my own again.”

  “Then you were planning to tell me this.”

  He laced the shirt. “When the time was right. I still need some type of protector until I figure out how to reach my father. I tried once and was nearly killed.”

  “Why would someone want to kill you?”

  “I don’t know. They attacked me when I was a boy, when they could have manipulated me. Sometimes I even think my father was behind it.”

  Diana touched his arm and pulled him back to the bed. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

  “It would be stupid to lie about something like this.” He picked up his lute and slung it over his back. Then he kissed her cheek and stood up. “I’m going to go now, Diana. It’s better not to stay too long.”

  “Dasvid–”

  The bard smiled. She smiled too.

  “I’ll help in any way I can. Stay here. We’ll get you back to the palace.”

  He shook his head. “No. Your mother doesn’t trust me. And I don’t trust her. If word got back to the palace, we might all die.”

  “Wait.” Diana pulled a small silver ring from her hand. “My Enos gave this to me. She said it brought good luck.”

  “No, Diana, I can’t.”

  She pressed the ring into his hand. “I can’t help you because I’m not Lady Kerry yet. But as soon as I am, I’ll contact you. I’ll stay in touch–”

  “No.” The bard slipped the ring onto his finger. “No, don’t contact me until you’re lady. This is dangerous, Diana, and someone will kill to keep me away from the throne. You’re the only friend I have right now. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ll be all right.”

  Diana grabbed a sheet of parchment from her bedside table. “There is something I can do. Just wait.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and inkpot. She dipped the pen and began to write. “Will you use the same name?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it
–”

  “All right. You’re Byron again.” She handed him the parchment. “It’ll get you in anywhere. No one will need to know if your license has been revoked or not.”

  The bard took the parchment. “It may be years, you know,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “Now go before my mother makes good her threats.”

  The bard ran his finger along her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered and let himself out. Diana leaned against the bed frame. A tear glistened in the lamplight. She wiped a hand over her cheek.

  Kensington clutched the papers. They were worthless now. He had to think. He had only a few servants with him at Kerry. By the time he sent someone to find the bard, it might be too late. He would have to risk losing the man. If it weren’t for the ladylee, he would go himself.

  Diana walked to the dressing room. She glanced about, saw the dress, and picked it up. He pushed open the door, grabbed her, and covered her mouth. Her cheeks were damp. “Don’t scream, milady,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  She nodded and he let her go. She moved away from him. “What are you doing here? How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to possess a few secrets. Very interesting lover you have there, Diana.” Kensington smiled at her. This might be easier than he thought.

  “He’s not my lover.”

  “No? And who’s going to believe that? He was in your chamber for a long time.”