The Challenge: Circle of Conspiracy Trilogy (Artesans Series Book 4)

by Cas Peace

  “Don’t you let this fester and contaminate what you have together,” warned Rienne. “Nothing is worth that. Just remember how strong you are and what you both went through to get where you are now. You can’t let anything jeopardize that. Promise me, Robin.”

  He looked at her, wondering why her insistence was stoking his apprehension rather than soothing it. He remembered the look in Taran’s eyes when he met the King’s party after the Andaryan attack, and the Adept’s strange reaction when Robin thanked him for taking care of his life mate. He also recalled the absence of softness in Sullyan’s eyes the morning after her return, and how her coldness had affected him even before he had heard these nasty rumors.

  He wasn’t sure where these feelings of insecurity were coming from, but he decided to find out more while she was away. Get to the bottom of the tale. Perhaps then he could lay it to rest and forget it, as Rienne was so firmly advising.

  He smiled at her to stop her worrying, but there was no warmth behind it. He was far from easy in his mind.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Manor party emerged from the substrate tunnel onto the vast plain below the Citadel. A company of Velletian Guard came toward them from the south gate, Commander Barrin at its head. The Andaryan greeted Sullyan cordially, although there was a hint of stiffness in his manner. She introduced Ozella before falling in on the Commander’s left, allowing him to escort her party to the Citadel.

  Barrin’s men left them at the gates, but the Commander rode with them up the Processional Way and into the palace courtyard. There they dismounted and gave their horses to the grooms. They saw General Ephan approaching them, the double-starred crown of his rank insignia gleaming on his breast. Sullyan greeted him gravely and accorded him the Andaryan military salute. Taran and Bull followed her example, with Ozella lagging behind.

  Ephan regarded her gravely. “You are welcome here, Colonel. The Hierarch has asked me to inform you that you are invited to dine with him this evening in his private suite. He wishes to speak informally about the recent hostility between our realms. I trust this meets with your approval?”

  “I am happy to accede to the Hierarch’s wishes, General,” Sullyan replied. “We will attend him at his convenience.”

  As they traversed corridors very familiar to Sullyan, she noticed Ozella staring about as he followed behind, trying to take in every detail of his surroundings.

  *****

  Since emerging from the trans-Veil tunnel, Ozella had been feeling very strange. He was experiencing an odd dichotomy of self, in that he almost felt he was two separate people. The Ozella part of him walked in a daze, no conscious thought guiding his steps; while the other part, the part that was using his eyes and ears, was fully alert, missing nothing. Half his mind was analyzing everything he heard and saw, but the other half was numb and unresponsive. On a deeply personal level, his psyche screamed in protest at this violation. On a practical level, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He didn’t understand it. He trailed the others, who ignored him, seeing nothing odd in his gauche staring.

  *****

  They were shown to their rooms. Sullyan was allocated her usual suite while the three men shared an apartment farther down the corridor. They retired to rest, Sullyan making full use of the heated bathing pool her quarters boasted, thinking fondly of the many times she and Robin had used its warm luxury to indulge their love. She eventually emerged from the water and dressed in a simple dark green gown to await the Hierarch’s summons.

  It arrived via his page, Norkis. He still resembled the younger Tad, and gave Sullyan the cheeky grin she remembered so well. He called on the men, and they all followed him down the hall toward the Hierarch’s private chambers.

  They were not alone when they reached their destination. Pharikian had arranged a dinner party of sorts. Norkis bowed the Albians into the room and announced them. Sullyan was greeted with many smiles as first Pharikian, and then his daughter, Princess Idrimar, came to embrace her. They were followed by Lord General Anjer, his tiny wife Torien, the Master Healer Deshan, and finally Baron Gaslek, Pharikian’s secretary. The Albians greeted their hosts warmly, all but Ozella, who seemed completely overawed.

  The formalities over, they were shown to seats and offered drinks. Sullyan stuck to her resolve and accepted only cordial, despite Deshan’s assurance that one small glass of wine would do her no harm.

  While waiting for the food, Sullyan turned to Princess Idrimar. “I do not see your husband here, Highness. I had hoped to speak with him.”

  Idrimar, her former melancholy manner much improved since her marriage to Ty Marik, turned her naturally pale face to Sullyan and smiled. “Then I am sorry, Lady, for the Duke is not here. He is kept busy overseeing the construction of our new palace and I have not seen him for nearly a week now. He is working hard to get it finished.”

  Catching the undercurrent of excitement in Idrimar’s voice, and also the expression of pride on her father’s face, Sullyan studied the older woman. The Hierarch smiled as realization came to her, his elderly face seeming almost youthful.

  Sullyan suppressed a startlingly intense pang of rue. It seemed as if everyone around her was suddenly breeding. “Oh, Highness,” she exclaimed, “my sincerest congratulations.”

  Idrimar blushed. “Ty says it is twins!” She clasped her hands protectively over her belly.

  Sullyan remembered that Idrimar was a twin herself, although her sister had died at birth. “He must be so proud of you,” she murmured. Idrimar nodded and sighed contentedly.

  Sullyan knew that the Hierarch was watching her. She had not broadcast the fact of her barrenness, but both Pharikian and his physician would be aware of this most grievous consequence of Rykan’s abuse. The Hierarch was probably concerned as to how she would react.

  As a distraction, she turned to him. “I do not see his Highness Prince Aeyron either, Majesty. Is he away from home again?”

  “Only for a short while,” replied Pharikian, his manner betraying a slight unease. “He is currently entertaining the sons of two of my senior nobles, the Lords Tikhal and Corbyn. They have come to participate in our discussions tomorrow. Our sons have gone on a hunting expedition, but they will return in a couple of days.”

  Seeing her raised brows, the Hierarch explained. “Lord Tikhal, as Lord of the North, controls the vast mountainous region of Morvaigne. Lord Corbyn holds Quarlock, a large tributary province on Morvaigne’s eastern borders. Tikhal is senior landholder since Rykan’s demise, and Corbyn is his highest ranking noble.”

  He paused and sighed. “I am sorry to have to tell you this, Brynne, but both Tikhal and Corbyn have experienced raiding by Albians over the past few weeks. Quarlock in particular has suffered quite badly. Lord Corbyn has a volatile nature and has been more than vocal in his displeasure. I invited both lords here to air their grievances before I learned of your visit, so I asked them both to wait, as this will afford us all an opportunity to discuss what may be done.

  “It was Corbyn’s suggestion that his son and Tikal’s might enjoy a hunting trip. I confess I saw an advantage in agreeing to the plan. Tikhal is fiercely loyal to my House, and his son Rand shares his father’s views. However, I am less sure of Corbyn and Kethro. Corbyn has always been troublesome, but we thought that if Aeyron could befriend his son and gain his trust, then the civil unrest that traditionally follows the passing of a Hierarch might be avoided. If Aeyron can persuade both Heirs to formally pledge their support, then many of the lesser lords will follow their lead. It might prevent the ugly and inevitable scramble for power when my son accedes to the Crown.”

  Despite her concern over the news of more raiding by Albians, Sullyan smiled. “Is that not a very radical change of policy, Majesty? The constant struggle for power seems to be at the very root of Andaryan society.”

  “That has certainly been true in the past,” he conceded, returning her smile. “But your King Elias is not the only forward-thinker, Brynne, and if we are
serious about cementing ties between our realms then it is in my interests to smooth the path if I can. Elias is likely to outlast me as a ruler by a good few years, and I would rest easier for knowing that he and Aeyron will share as profitable a relationship. Provided we can clear up this matter of raiding, of course.”

  Sullyan nodded. “I hope the Heir has taken a suitable guard with him on this hunting trip, Majesty.”

  Pharikian smiled. “We are not being formal this evening, child. You may use my name. And yes, he has taken a company of Velletian Guard with him, although they have only gone into the Haligan Forest.”

  ***

  Ozella, still struggling with a mind that wasn’t wholly his own, suddenly felt as if he had been released from a restraining hand. His body gave an involuntary jerk, and he nearly spilled his wine as he caught himself on the arm of his chair. All eyes turned to him and he felt his face redden with shame.

  “What is it, lad?” asked Bull.

  Seeing Sullyan’s frown of annoyance, he swallowed hastily. “Sorry,” he managed, his face burning, “I drank too fast….”

  “Sip it slowly, lad,” chuckled Bull. “This red wine’s potent stuff!”

  The incident was laughed off and Ozella was forgotten. The talk flowed on around him and he belatedly remembered Parren’s instructions. He went cold when he realized he couldn’t remember a word of what had been said, and fervently hoped he hadn’t missed anything important. Parren would be waiting for the details when he returned, and if he didn’t satisfy the young sadist, his sisters would suffer. Trying not to show his fear, Ozella concentrated harder, determined not to miss anything else.

  *****

  After the dishes were cleared away, they were about to retire to the Hierarch’s solar when Lady Torien, who had been absent for a while, returned carrying a crooning bundle which she deposited in Sullyan’s lap. She was smiling shyly.

  “I thought you might like to meet your namesake, Lady.”

  Sullyan sat staring in confusion at the baby in her lap, unsure what to do. The baby gazed up at her with ice-blue eyes, and one tiny fist reached toward her face. A strange emotion came over Sullyan as she touched that fragile hand. The small and perfect fingers uncurled and clasped hers. She smiled down at the baby, who suddenly gave a bubbling chortle. Shaking her head in wonder, Sullyan gently gathered up the infant and gazed into her slit-pupiled eyes.

  “Hello, Brianne,” she murmured. The baby hiccupped, reached out her other hand, and fastened it around the chain at Sullyan’s throat. “Oh no, little one, that is not a toy,” she said, disentangling the prying fingers. “No doubt your father will give you finer jewels when you are old enough to wear them.”

  She cradled the baby upright on her lap and her huge eyes misted over as the little fingers fastened on her long, tawny hair. She looked up at Torien and Anjer, seeing their proud and indulgent expressions. “She is a very beautiful little girl,” she breathed. “You are very lucky.”

  It was impossible to disguise the pain beneath her words. Sullyan held the baby up to her mother and Torien gathered little Brianne into her arms, smiling as she released Sullyan’s hair from the clutching fist. Deprived of her plaything, the baby began to cry.

  “I’m sure you’ll be having one of your own soon,” said Torien. Hushing her daughter, she missed the expression of loss on Sullyan’s face.

  Pharikian stepped in and mercifully saved her. “It’s time we retired to the solar,” he announced, silently acknowledging Sullyan’s grateful look. “Norkis is preparing fellan there. You must excuse us, Torien. We have much to discuss and it is already growing late.”

  He stood, and they all rose with him. Sullyan ran a gentle finger over the baby’s downy cheek as Torien carried her past.

  *****

  Reen was growing anxious, and frustration was setting in. It was imperative that he return to Port Loxton immediately. Events were moving faster than he had expected, but this opportunity was far too good to miss. Although he was certain he could cope with organizing the Andaryan end from the Manor, the castle was where he would be needed most. He suffered a rush of frantic thought as he searched for a workable plan.

  Despite his urgency, he couldn’t suppress a glow of satisfaction. Sending Ozella with Sullyan was a masterly stroke. The Beraxian’s brief stay at Port Loxton had given Reen’s “associate” time to learn Ozella’s psyche, and this was now paying off in a way Reen could never have foreseen. In order to capitalize on it he needed an excuse; something urgent enough to warrant his immediate return to the castle without involving the King. A message from the Queen was out of the question. Anything serious enough for her to demand Reen’s return was bound to attract Elias’s attention. He frowned. He needed something more personal.

  Then he had it. His niece, of course. He could order her to back up any story he might concoct, especially in the light of that very expensive necklace he had bought her. And if she decided to be difficult, he could always threaten her inheritance once more. Perfect!

  He hurried to his rooms and brought out parchment and his copy of the Queen’s seal which, together with the one bearing the King’s crest, never left him. He paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts, and then began to write. He was no forger, although he had tried very hard to master the art, but he could disguise his own hand well enough.

  He scanned what he had written and smiled. Good enough. He dripped wax onto the folded parchment and pressed the Queen’s seal to it. Once it had set and cooled, he ripped it open. Then he bundled his clothes together, disarranged the bed covers, poured a large measure of brandy of which he gulped half, and quit the room.

  He knew that Blaine and Elias had not retired. His room was next to the King’s and he hadn’t heard Elias come in. With any luck, Vassa would be with them. The more witnesses to his distress the better. Breaking the habit of a lifetime, he ran for the stairs leading to the upper floor.

  Reen had never run more than two steps in his entire adult life. He wasn’t built for running. When he reached the top of the stairs he was white and sweating, and his heart was racing unpleasantly. He actually felt ill, which was perfect. Stumbling and gasping, he made for Blaine’s door and the figure of Hyram stationed outside.

  “Quickly, man,” he rasped, “I must speak with the King!”

  Hyram was an eminently trustworthy valet and followed Blaine’s orders to the letter. He was, however, unaware of the current suspicion surrounding the Baron and only saw one of the King’s nobles in distress. He instantly knocked on the door and entered. Reen could hear him speaking in urgent tones.

  He reappeared and ushered the barely recovered Baron inside. Blaine, Vassa, and Elias all turned to look at him. Blaine and Elias had frowns of suspicion, Vassa’s face expressed concern.

  “Good grief, man,” said Vassa in his deep voice, “you look awful! What on earth’s happened?”

  Thank you, Vassa! thought Reen with an inward smile, outwardly schooling his expression to one of shock. He ignored the Colonel and turned instead to Elias, clutching his parchment in trembling fingers so the monarch could see the Queen’s seal.

  “It’s my niece, your Majesty,” he blurted. “The Queen has sent for me most urgently. Poor Jinella is grievously ill. I am advised to go to her at once.”

  Elias regarded Reen’s pasty face. The Baron had frequently appeared before him in anger, but never so obviously in distress. “But you can’t go now,” he said, reasonably, “it’s the middle of the night. And besides, it’s not safe. There may still be raiders about.”

  Damn, thought Reen, trust you to think of that. Aloud, he said, “General Blaine, do you have a carriage I might use, and maybe two swordsmen to act as coachman and guard? That is all I would need. I simply must leave now. I may be too late otherwise.”

  “Is it that serious, my Lord?” asked Blaine. Elias’s frown deepened.

  “It seems so, General,” replied Reen in a small voice, twisting the parchment between agitated fingers. />
  Blaine went to the door and Reen heard him giving Hyram instructions. He returned after a few moments. “There will be a carriage ready directly, my Lord. If you’re sure you must go at once…?”

  “Oh, I must, General Blaine. I could not rest otherwise. I would never forgive myself if… But I am most sorry for the inconvenience. And I do thank you. I will have your carriage returned immediately I arrive at the castle.”

  Blaine waved his thanks away. “Do you need assistance to pack, my Lord? Hyram can help you.”

  “Only to take my things down to the carriage, General. That would be most helpful.”

  Within twenty minutes Reen was on his way, leaning back at his ease in Blaine’s comfortable closed carriage. There was a stone bottle of fellan at his side, thoughtfully provided by a sleepy Goran, liberally laced with brandy against the chill of the night. His heart pounded excitedly and a self-satisfied smirk sat on his lips. He took a pull of the beverage and listened to the coachman urging the team into the night.

  *****

  Those gathered in the Hierarch’s private solar were also indulging in the comfort of strong fellan. Sullyan, having overcome the rush of emotion roused by Torien’s baby daughter, was carefully considering her next words. Bull and Taran stayed close but silent, and Ozella had taken the farthest seat away from her. After that odd episode earlier he hadn’t spoken again. He seemed distracted and weary and was certainly showing none of the eagerness he had displayed that morning.

  Sullyan realized the Hierarch was waiting for her to speak and dismissed the Beraxian from her mind.

  “Timar, King Elias wishes me to convey his deepest sympathies over the destruction of the two villages,” she began, “and as a gesture of goodwill he has authorized me to offer you a measure of compensation for the relief of the displaced inhabitants. He was shocked to the core, we all were, to hear of Albians raiding your realm. He was most insistent that I assure you he had no foreknowledge whatsoever of these atrocities, and we are even now taking steps to discover who was responsible.”