He said, “The Dragonlords seem to be favoring Duke Beren’s claim. While it would make things very easy indeed for us if they gave the throne to Peridaen, even if they don’t there may be another way to win this battle. But for that I need time to study certain ancient manuscripts. And from what I have already gleaned from those same manuscripts, my lady Sherrine, while I cannot make you a love philter, I can promise you a certain amount of revenge for this insult.”
She dropped her gaze to the bejeweled hands lying in her lap, studying the fingers twisting the rings that adorned them. Long lashes veiled her eyes, leaving the mage to wonder what went on behind them.
Then once again her gaze met his. As Sherrine twisted a lock of auburn hair, she asked, “Will you tell me what you plan?”
He shook his head. “You will know only what you need to for your part in this. And you will not like some of it, but it is necessary.”
She considered that. Her lips parted in a tiny, cruel smile. “Will it be painful for him?”
“Yes. Very.”
The beautiful hazel eyes lit with the thought of vengeance. “It is no more than he deserves. I am yours to command, my lord mage.”
“Good. First we set the stage … .”
Thirty-eight
Staring morosely at the ship’s charts before her, Maurynna listened to the bustle of the Vanadin household. Aunt Elenna called out orders to ’prentices, Maylin chivvied Kella along to hurry and eat, servants passed to and fro on their various duties. One peered into the front room where Maurynna sat. After one glance at the face that looked back at her, the girl mumbled an apology and disappeared after a last disapproving look at the oil lamp still burning.
Maurynna took the hint. No sense in wasting oil now that it was light. She blew out the lamp and forced herself back to her task. It was something that truly needed to be done, she told herself.
In truth she’d come downstairs long before dawn so that she could be miserable in private. Her eyes were hot and dry and no doubt red and swollen to boot; she’d spent the better part of the past few candlemarks crying, heartsore, and furious with herself for it.
Just forget about him, cold reason told her over and over.
But try as she might, no matter what she forced her mind to, the image of Linden came back to her, haunted her waking and sleeping.
Cold reason tried again. He’s not worth all this even if he did walk straight out of a legend. Forget him.
“I can’t forget him,” she whispered, admitting defeat. At least, she thought, it will be a long, long time indeed. “Damn you, Linden Rathan.”
The clamor of hooves on the courtyard outside cut through her fog of misery. Her heart jumped in panic; the last time she’d heard that sound, she’d nearly been blinded.
And this time, Maurynna knew, Linden would not come to her rescue.
She made her shaking legs carry her to the door to the hall. There they rebelled and would take her no farther; she leaned against the doorframe, listening as more horses crowded into the yard.
Little Aunt Elenna swept past her to the front door, apprentices carried along after her like leaves in a wind. Her head held high, Elenna flung open the door and planted herself squarely in the entrance, arms crossed over her chest, barring the way as surely as an army.
“My Lady Sherrine,” she called, and Maurynna clenched her fists in mingled fear and anger. How dare that noble bitch come back here to threaten and harass her and her family again? Surely Linden had forbidden her this—or had he bothered?
Elenna went on, her voice colder than Maurynna had ever heard it. “What means this visit?”
“Is Captain Erdon within? I would speak with her,” a low, husky, and all too well-remembered voice answered.
Maurynna laid her hand on her belt dagger. The beautiful Lady Sherrine would not have it all her way this time, she vowed. Maylin pushed through the crowd of apprentices to her side.
“Rynna, it’s not what you think; there are packhorses among her guards, and blue ribbons hanging from her horse’s bridle,” Maylin said, grabbing the wrist of Maurynna’s knife hand with surprising strength.
That took a moment to penetrate. Astonishment swept away all other emotions before it. “What? What do you mean?” Her hand fell from the dagger.
Maylin’s odd-colored gaze met her own, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Wergild is what I mean. I’ll wager you anything the Lady Sherrine is paying you wergild.”
“Me? Pay me—? Here in Cassori?”
At home in Thalnia, yes; there she would fetch a wergild from near all but the royal family itself. Not as much as, say, her Uncle Kesselandt or some of her other uncles and aunts, but a fair amount to be sure. She was an Erdon and that family was one to be reckoned with.
But here in Cassori?
She wanted nothing from Lady Sherrine save to be left alone. Or perhaps that lady thought that her money-grubbing merchant’s soul would forget Linden at the sight of some tawdry goods. Damn her to every hell known, then.
Yet … I almost wish it were so; it would be easier than wanting him so much.
Or had Linden ordered this? The thought infuriated Maurynna and broke her paralysis with the force of a boom swinging wild in a gale. She strode to the door. Aunt Elenna turned at her coming and, after one quick glance, yielded the battlefield.
“Get Bard Otter—quickly!” she heard her aunt say to one of the servants.
Maurynna stepped into the hot, unrelenting sunlight and stood on the front step, as straight and proud as the Sea Mist’s mainmast, hands clenched at her side. She met Lady Sherrine’s eyes without flinching.
As if Maurynna’s coming were a signal, Lady Sherrine placed her hand in that of the guardsman standing at her palfrey’s head and dismounted. It was, Maurynna thought in the back of her mind, the same horse Lady Sherrine had ridden the other night; if Raven were here, he would know for certain—he recognized horses the way she recognized ships. She had an instant’s regret that her oldest friend wasn’t here to guard her back.
Now the Cassorin noblewoman stepped daintily across the cobbled yard. Maurynna went to meet her.
They stopped a few paces from each other. Afoot, Lady Sherrine had to tilt her head back to meet Maurynna’s gaze. Maurynna said nothing; merely stared down at the beautiful woman as coldly as she could.
They were joined by Otter. He also held to the silence, but from the corner of her eye Maurynna saw that his bard’s torc was no longer hidden by the neck of his tunic as it usually was, but proudly displayed for all to see. Well and good, then; he would stand witness for her in this. She looked back to Lady Sherrine, still waiting. Let her enemy make the first move.
She nearly cried out at that move. For Lady Sherrine swept her a courtesy, one that would have lent grace to the Dawn Emperor’s court in Assantik, where the intricate dance of the courtiers was a thing of legend. Maurynna heard gasps of surprise from those around them.
She almost missed the noblewoman’s words; there was an odd roaring in her ears and her head spun.
“Bard Otter Heronson, will you be witness for what I do this day? Thank you.”
Now a man dressed in Colrane livery came forward. He held a roll of parchment tied with the blue ribbon of peace in one hand.
Her steward, Maurynna guessed, with a listing of the wergild. As witness, Otter held out his hand; the man laid the roll in his palm and retreated once again.
“Captain,” Lady Sherrine continued, “I humbly beg your pardon for my actions the other day. My rash temper could have blinded you; I rejoice that Linden Rathan could get help for you. Again—I apologize.”
The low voice was husky with … shame? Regret? Maurynna was not certain. But the single tear that slid down the pale cheek told her that Lady Sherrine was indeed in the grip of some strong emotion. Did she truly love Linden? If so, Maurynna almost felt sorry for her.
Almost. But Lady Sherrine was still not forgiven.
“Please, accept these humble thin
gs as my wergild to you. I was wrong and this is the only way I may make amends to you.”
One slender hand gestured gracefully at the waiting packhorses. Maurynna wondered if this woman were capable of making any movement that wasn’t graceful. She wished the elegant Lady Sherrine would go away; the woman made her feel like a packhorse herself.
As if she read Maurynna’s mind, the noblewoman said, “I realize my presence is … disagreeable to you, so with your acceptance, Captain, I will withdraw.”
Maurynna looked to Otter, who slid the ribbon from the parchment and studied it. The bard was well-schooled in the art of hiding his feelings, but Maurynna saw the sudden widening of his eyes. Nor could he hide a quick, wondering glance at the packhorses. His gaze flickered to meet hers and he nodded slightly.
So; it was to end here and now, this war between her and Lady Sherrine. Maurynna drew a deep breath and schooled her voice to a serenity she didn’t feel. “I accept your wergild, Lady Sherrine, and say that from this day forth there shall be no further quarrel with you by me or my kin.” The ritual words tasted foul on her tongue.
And worse was yet to come. She forced herself to hold out her hand, palm up. After a moment’s hesitation, Lady Sherrine placed her own on top. Maurynna looked down at the dainty hand, so white and soft against her own tanned and calloused one. The contrast was sharp as a blow.
Otter looped the blue ribbon loosely around their joined hands. With her free hand Maurynna took the parchment tally from him, signaling her formal acceptance of the wergild.
The final words were bitter as aloes. “Let this offering wash away whatever ill will lies between us.”
She pulled her hand away as quickly as she decently could. Lady Sherrine did the same. The ribbon fluttered to the ground.
“Thank you, Captain,” Lady Sherrine said. She raised her hand in an imperious gesture. The guard led her palfrey up and she mounted once more.
The guards by the packhorses began unloading their charges. Maurynna watched, appalled; somehow it had not seemed like so much when distributed between the animals, but when piled together in the little courtyard, it quickly became a daunting amount.
For the sake of the gods, what was the woman thinking of? Was it truly a guilty conscience? Or did she think she could buy her way back into Linden’s affections? Maurynna glanced at Lady Sherrine.
For a moment Maurynna thought she saw a small, secret smile play over Lady Sherrine’s mouth. But no; it must have been a trick of the light, for the noblewoman, her beautiful hazel eyes downcast, said humbly, “Again I thank you, Captain Erdon. Farewell.”
The palfrey wheeled away and clattered over the cobbles and out into the street. The guards, with packhorses trailing behind, followed their lady. A moment later they were gone, leaving only the scent of horses and leather hanging in the hot air; then, like a ghost, came a seductive whisper of woods lily, gone as soon as it danced across the senses.
Hardly knowing what she did, Maurynna walked to the pile. She stared at it in a daze. Otter joined her.
He gazed at the parchment in his hand. “You must admit that she’s made amends handsomely. Have a look.” He held the sheet out to her.
“I don’t want this,” she said dully.
A hand passed in front of her and snatched the parchment from Otter’s hand. “Oh, Rynna—don’t be an ass. She owes you far more than this, the bitch,” Maylin said, appearing from nowhere.
“Maylin!” Aunt Elenna scolded.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but it’s no more than the truth and you kn—gods have mercy! Mother, look at this!”
Maylin and Aunt Elenna put their heads together over the listing of the wergild, exclaiming and calling each other’s attention to various things, their excitement growing with every item. Maurynna left them to it.
I don’t want this, she thought, feeling empty inside. Any of it. If only—
She turned away and walked blindly back into the house.
“Very well, then, if you won’t be sensible and keep any of it for yourself, then trade the wretched things! They’re yours and not the Family’s; you could turn a tidy profit from all of this!” Maylin fumed.
They stood now in the front room where the opened bundles of Lady Sherrine’s wergild lay scattered across table, desk, chairs, and floor. Maylin was gesturing at the various piles with one hand as she spoke; the other held a carved box.
She continued, “Some of these things are exquisite, like this box.” Her fingers caressed it.
Maurynna shrugged and said, “Then keep it and whatever’s inside. It’s yours.”
Maylin’s jaw dropped. Then she said, “I can’t, Rynna! Look at it! I’m certain it’s jade and …” She cradled it against her. “Do you really mean it?” she said softly. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I mean it. It’s all yours.”
Maylin looked down at her new treasure. “Just look at the carving on it; so intricate, a bird of some sort, rising from a fire.”
“What?” Aunt Elenna said sharply. “Let me see that.”
Maylin handed the box to her mother. While the older woman studied it, running gentle fingers over the carvings, the two cousins exchanged puzzled looks. Maurynna had no more idea than Maylin what the box was, though something teased at the back of her mind.
A bird rising from a fire …
Ignoring all questions, Aunt Elenna opened the box; her eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. She carefully removed something from the box and gingerly nibbled the tiny thing. Then she shook her head in wonder. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “But that’s all this could be. Maurynna, this is a princely gift.” She fell to studying the box once more, shaking her head in wonderment.
Gods help me, Maurynna thought, too stunned to speak. What could it be?
At last Aunt Elenna sighed. “I still don’t believe it,” she said. “This alone would have been wergild enough—more than enough, Rynna. At least from a baroness’s daughter to the likes of our kind.” Only a trace of bitterness came through the words.
Once more the cousins’ eyes met, this time in frustrated anticipation. I’m going to scream, Maylin mouthed, hands yanking at her curls.
“So what is it, for pity’s sakes?” Otter asked from where he helped Kella poke among some bolts of silk.
“What? Didn’t I—? Brown peppercorns from Jehanglan. Near a half pound’s worth, I’d say.”
“What!” Otter exclaimed. “Good gods!”
Maurynna felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Jehanglan—the Kingdom of the Phoenix far to the south! A land half a fable and wholly mysterious.
The box alone, being Jehangli jade and work, would have been enough. But add to it that kingdom’s famed brown peppercorns, fragrant, flavorful, numbing to the tongue instead of hot as pepper from Assantik was, and so rare as to be worth their weight in gold, and one had a princely gift indeed.
She was glad she’d given it away.
All at once she had to sit down. This was all too much, too unexpected.
And she wanted none of it. She did not trust the fair Lady Sherrine.
“Well, then, boyo—that’s the whole of it,” Otter said as they walked among the topiary animals in the garden behind the townhouse, safe from eavesdroppers. “Did you order Sherrine to do it?”
Linden shook his head in mute astonishment as he had all during Otter’s tale. “No. In Cassori it’s likely no wergild would have been assessed against Sherrine even if Maurynna had been blinded. Not to a merchant. I couldn’t insist. Not without making people wonder. And Maurynna accepted it?”
“She did. Even to the ‘washing away’ of all ill will that stood between them and binding her kin to end the quarrel as well.” Here Otter paused a moment and tugged at his beard. “Good gods—that means it’s binding on you, too, doesn’t it?”
Still boggled by the size of Sherrine’s wergild to his soultwin, it took Linden a moment to realize the full import of Otter�
�s words. “Oh, for—Yes. Yes, it does.”
Otter went on, “Maurynna’s wondering why Sherrine did it. She doesn’t trust her, of course.” He grinned.
Linden smiled rather distractedly in return. A good question, that; why did Sherrine do it? He said, thinking aloud, “My guess is that she did it to show me that she truly was sorry—but it changes nothing.”
He remembered something from their last, painful conversation. “She did offer to pay a wergild as if Maurynna were royal,” he said.
Otter laughed quietly. “Did she? To a mere merchant? Interesting; she must have been desperate to convince you of her sincerity, hoping you’d take her back. Very desperate, indeed. The Colranes are not noted for openhanded generosity.
“Ah, well, one has to allow that she certainly did pay a royal wergild,” Otter continued. “And of her own free will. One fit for a king or a queen or …”
He paused, then finished in an ironic drawl, “A Dragonlord.”
Thirty-nine
The five days since she’d seen Linden felt more like forever. Maurynna ran fingers over the fading line on her cheek. “I hate him,” she whispered.
Danaet looked up from her tally sheets. “What? Did you say something, Maurynna?”
Maurynna swung her legs and jumped down from the stacked crates she’d been straddling. “No. Are you almost done?” She walked all around the sacks Danaet was working on and back again.
“No, I’m not. I’ve no intention of rushing the valuing of this wergild of yours. And will you please sit still? You’ve been hopping up and down all day. It’s making me nervous when it isn’t making me tired.”
Maurynna muttered something under her breath and gently kicked a crate by her foot. The markings on the box declared it from her least favorite Thalnian cousin’s ship. She kicked it again, wishing Breslin were here to fight with. She was in the mood for a good, rousing, knockdown, drag-out argument—and since she couldn’t fight with Linden, Breslin was just the man for it.
The Last Dragonlord Page 26
