-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 131 (fragment)
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Rosemont Park
Since her conversation with May, Lelet had been as good as her word. Despite her hairbrush vanishing off her nightstand, and the pictures mysteriously toppling themselves over, she'd done nothing in return. More peculiarly, there would appear every so often an orchid on her bed. She hadn't thought of the pretty glass house in ages, and had forgotten all about the plants, but it looked to her like Rane—or someone in his employ—was keeping them alive.
When the second dainty blossom appeared, she became curious enough to go through the garden to the greenhouse, which was tucked against the sunny wall of the stable. To her astonishment, it looked as neat and well maintained as the day she'd abandoned it. It was a pocket of a building, only one wall and three shelves of orchids, but as she went from one to the next, she could see someone was misting them, trimming dead leaves, and even staking blooming stalks so they wouldn't droop or rot. The leaves were as shiny and leathery as the day she'd had them brought in, the pots were in good order—either glossy or painted or made of some exotic stone or wood, and of course the flowers—long sprays everywhere of purple and white and orange. It didn't look real! How had this mystery person gotten them to all bloom at once? She didn't even know that was possible, but of course she hadn't made a thorough study of orchid propagation. All she knew was the one word she'd memorized: phalaenopsis, also known as the Moth Orchid, the prettiest ones, and those most invulnerable to death by neglect. After all, her good intentions were just that: intentions. And sure enough, she'd forgotten to mist for several days in a row, and then forgotten she'd forgotten, and after that? She dreaded seeing a room full of dead plants, so she put the whole project aside. Clearly, someone else had taken it on, even the red clay on the floor was swept and clean, and she could see more evidence that someone had been here—large footprints, back and forth. One of the gardeners, she decided. She hoped they enjoyed it. They certainly earned it.
As for herself, she had been enjoying two things lately—going riding, and being a martyr. The latter was a new experience for her, but she threw herself into it. Her friends spent much time and a lot of wine trying to get her to confess what she had planned for Rane. All she'd do was sigh and say, "That's behind me now. I've... moved on." They'd howl with laughter and insist whatever plan she was cooking up had to be world class.
In fact, she had no plan, and was enjoying the results of doing the right thing almost as much as the thrill of doing the wrong thing. It must be driving Rane crazy, he was still accusing her of taking and breaking, when she knew for a fact that couldn't be the case—unless the house had a ghost!
So if Rane wanted to carry on stealing her toiletries and leaving her flowers, well, that was strange, but that was her brother in a nutshell.
She’d had plenty of time to think about how strange he was and how far he'd be willing to go to force her hand, having spent the last several hours in a ditch.
The afternoon had started promisingly enough, she'd even given one of the grooms little helpers an extra coin to help her get the horse ready to ride. What a sweet child! She'd been wearing her favorite red coat, trimmed in black satin, with her second favorite boots (the best ones were at the cobbler) and turning heads as she rode was often enough to seal a good mood.
Then, a tiny jump, not even a jump, really more of a lunge over a trickle of water, and the saddle had come completely apart. That little boy seemed like an old hat, but he clearly didn't know what he was doing. And here she was, her horse, Petrel, long since wandered off, and she at least not in the water and in a shady spot. She thought her wrist might be broken—she was afraid to look at it, much less move it around—and there was something unpleasant going on inside her boot at the ankle, but she wasn't about to hop up and try to limp home. She knew eventually someone would spot Pete with his gear in tangles and someone would come and find her.
She made herself as comfortable as possible and looked at the sky. She hoped they'd find her before it got dark. With much hissing and gritting of teeth, she managed to get her coat off, so someone coming by could see it, but she was afraid it would be too dark to see even the bright scarlet wool pretty soon. Also, her boot was getting extremely tight and she didn't want to think about what her father would say if they had to cut it off. At one point she thought she heard a horse but no one came along. For the first time she began to worry.
"Miss Lelet? Are you alright?" A tall figure stood in the last bit of sun, and she had to shield her eyes.
"Oh, Per—am I happy to see you! Had a tumble. I think I've done something to my ankle, and my wrists gone all funny too. Did you find Pete?"
"No," said Per, kneeling next to her and gently examining her wrist, "but we will. Not to worry. Horses know." He tried to rotate her foot and she yelped. "This boot, I'm afraid it’s a goner. We'll cut it off back at home. You stay put and I'll bring the cart around, we'll have you home in a flash."
***
Moth watched from the treeline a few feet away.
I wanted to rescue her, he realized. Too late.
For her part, Lelet seemed more upset about her boots than anything else. Did she know what Rane had done? He imagined he'd find out soon enough. He watched the groom (not the one who he'd seen on her trellis, he decided) lift her off the damp grass and help her into the little cart and then drape her red coat around her shoulders.
Dinner should be interesting.
Chapter 45
The door opened and the Duke strode in. Gwenyth spun to face him with a sharp gasp; she thought he was out riding Mammoth.
"Why are you wearing that?" he asked. He does not sound angry, she thought. Do not provoke him.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I'll take it off and hang it away at once."
"Do no such thing, Gwenyth. You were born to wear silk."
Her heart pounded in her breast and she felt warm all over. He had never called her by her name before.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 142
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
The Guardhouse
Three months.
Scilla had the days and weeks checked off in one of her notebooks. She kept one for important events: when she got a letter from home she put a circle around the date. When she was particularly clever in class, she marked it with a check. When she spoke to the demon, that was an X, when she got him to do something he didn't want to do, a double X. When she heard from the Voice, she planned a star, but three months had gone by, and there were no stars to be found.
Three long months, and finally, the Voice came back to her. When Scilla opened her notebook (a special one, just for this purpose) and saw:
...await word, as ever.
She had fallen back on her little bed and sobbed in relief. Not only had she dearly missed the conversation of an equal, but she was growing desperate to send the increasingly surly demon back where he came from. She didn't know why or how, but here was her Voice, returned to her. They had a lot to catch up on. She decided there was no reason to tell the Voice what she'd been doing with her pet for the last few months. And if Moth tried to accuse her, well, who were her friends on Eriis going to believe?
Where have you been? she wrote. I've been so worried!
We have been prevented from contacting you somehow, but you have never been far from our thoughts. Thank Light and Wind you are well—and you captured the beast? You were successful in your trip to the Veil?
I do have the creature; I've held him all along. He is safe—we both came through the Veil unharmed—and no one but me knows he is here.
You are c
lever and strong beyond our imagining. I sincerely hope you have not spent too much time with him, he is a well-known corrupting influence. We couldn't bear it if anything had happened to you.
I've spoken to him, and you’re right, he's nothing like you at all. It’s hard to believe you are from the same place. (This wasn't really true, but Scilla felt flattery was called for. What if the Voice changed its mind and left the beast here for her to deal with? She'd be stuck with his nasty remarks and condescending attitude forever!) He's definitely some sort of criminal. But what must I do with him now? And what happens next?
Why, you send him home where he'll be dealt with. You've done enough, as far as this creature is concerned. And you—well, you will step through The Door to my city. Eriis awaits—if you still want to come.
It is all I want. I can have him back to you in a matter of a few days. I am ready to come to you right now.
And I would love to receive you, but there are preparations that must be made. For this to be done properly, what you must do is have someone take your place. This will be different than a short trip to the Veil, and you know how difficult that was. There must be someone there for you, someone you trust to make sure your passage is smooth, and someone to close The Door behind you. Someone who can help you ensure the creature does not somehow escape, when he is so close to being where he belongs. I believe you might know someone like that.
Scilla ran through the list of her fellow novices and immediately discounted them. They'd run to Brother Blue like their robes were on fire. Someone fairly smart, she thought. Someone who'll wind up holding the bag, taking the blame, explaining where I've gone. Someone who deserves a good scare. Someone who has a big party coming up soon....
You’re right. I know just the person. It will take a little more time, though. We will be ready in ten days.
***
Scilla couldn't help but notice that the demon had begun behaving differently.
He was contacting her from indoors. That was new, although she couldn't tell where and he was a master of evasion. He would appear in the candle flame with a glass in his hand, looking quite relaxed. And, she was afraid, he was starting to get a little too close to Lelet. A silly whore and a criminal—she shouldn't be surprised. He might be making a home for himself in this world, however temporarily, but all she could see was a creature who didn't belong here, poking and rubbing against the edges of what was real. She was glad their association was almost over.
"Did you do as I told you?" she asked.
He shrugged and looked off into the distance. "I didn't have to. A horrible tragedy occurred without my help. Imagine that. The girl is incapacitated and will remain indoors—I believe the human doctor said for another week. And the boy—your brother—they've sent him to your father, wherever he is."
Scilla wasn't sure if the demon had a hand in the accident or not. He could be painfully literal minded. If he hadn't physically pushed Lelet off the horse, he could easily say he hadn't caused the fall. And she'd long believed Rane would benefit from a trip to the country. He was better off.
"I am glad," the creature continued, "that she is not dead."
Scilla was not surprised to hear it. Better cut this off at the root, she thought.
"Why do you care? You aren't growing fond of her, are you? That would be a mistake, because she's a terrible, terrible person. As I've told you, she is the enemy. She deserves everything and worse. You think she'd be your friend? Or something more? You? She'd take one look at you and run screaming. She only likes rich, pretty boys. She's stupid, vain and—that hair! Pink was stupid, and now it’s white! It’s even worse. Like a dead animal! Like she lives in a cave like a...a lizard!"
The demon had heard this line of reasoning before and cut Scilla off. "If this underground reptile is your enemy why not let me kill her and have done with it? Why the petty attacks?" They both knew he'd never kill anyone, but he liked to needle Scilla.
"You are asking a lot of questions, demon. It's still none of your business. I have one more job for you."
He rolled his eyes. "Another mirror? Or would you like me to pour her perfume on the floor this time?"
"Demon, do not speak," Scilla snapped. She was satisfied to see he could not, although he clearly wanted to. "You have enjoyed your time here. You'll have lots of stories to tell the others, the ones that are all better than you." Seeing the rage building in his eyes, she quickly added, "And of course no matter what happens, you may not ever harm me." She decided baiting him may have been unwise, particularly since she was already in control. Why does he make me want to be awful? It must be because he is awful himself.
"Here it is," she told him. "It’s simple. Get a horse and cart. Go to my house, use the back gate. Lure her to you and bring her to me. And then you go home."
He raised his brow and waited.
"Oh, you may speak," she added.
"Thank you, kind and benevolent child," he sneered.
"No need to be sarcastic."
"As you say."
She still didn't like the way he was looking at her. "Remember what I said about not harming me."
He sighed rather dramatically. "Our rules are not suggestions. I cannot physically harm you. You don't have to keep repeating it. Where am I supposed to get a horse? And what will prevent your evil, corrupt, not harmless at all sister enemy from running off?"
"Steal the cart and horse. Lelet has never been outside the city—she goes to parties and friend's houses. And whoring at the docks, probably. Get her off the main road and she won't dare run off. It should take you about three days. I will be waiting for you here. Don't be late and don't be seen. And definitely don't let anyone see your True Face."
"And if they do? Should I direct them to you for further inquiries?"
She'd had about enough. She hadn't caught a demon—which no one else was smart enough to do—to have it be rude to her. "Show my sister if you have to scare her. Anyone else, I guess you'll have to just kill them."
Now he looked concerned. "You would try to force me to murder a human person? Is that what you want your mark on this world to be?"
"No, demon, I'm not forcing you to do anything. Keep the face you're wearing now and no one has to get hurt. If not, it’s not my fault."
He raked his hands through his long hair. "Fine. Whatever happens, I won't be going around killing humans. I told you before, even you can't make me do that. I'll bring you your sister and this ridiculous enterprise will be over. But tell me this. If she's so popular—in grim contrast to you may I add—won't she be missed? A search party would be inconvenient."
Scilla nodded, deciding to overlook the insult. "Someone should overhear someone else saying they heard her talking about visiting friends on the coast. Start with the downstairs maid, she loves to gossip. Now, the Quarter Moons party is in a week. She never misses it. That's when you should take her."
He frowned. "She will no doubt want to know where I am taking her and for what purpose."
Scilla shrugged. "Tell her whatever you want. Just don't mention me."
"Why?"
"Because I said don't mention me! Don't mention me, or the Guardhouse. Other than that, I don't care. Oh, and don't look for me in the candle. When she sees me I want it to be a surprise."
"Is she to be harmed? Three days travel with a human person—I assume the rest of them like to talk as much as you do. If she thinks she is in danger she may try to run away despite what you say."
Scilla laughed. "If you think I talk a lot, you may long for the days of breaking glass and stealing shoes. I think you should just tell her you will deliver her safely to someone for a reason you haven't been told. Simple. And it has the benefit of being true." Scilla thought about the Voice. It had seemed simple. Lelet would take her place, take the blame, and she—Scilla—would finally be in Eriis where she belonged. And once she handed this low criminal back to the Voice, her real life with her new friends would begin.
"Ten more days
, demon. Can you entertain yourself for that length of time?"
"I think you would have made a very fine demon. All this plotting is wasted on a young human. What will you do with your time when I am gone?"
Scilla leaned towards the flame and said, "I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get home if I were you. They have big plans for you, back on Eriis." She knew she shouldn't tip her hand, but it felt glorious to get in the final word.
"They?" the demon repeated, frowning suspiciously. It set down its drink. "Who exactly is ‘they’?"
"Ten days. And then it’s over." She blew the candle out.
Chapter 46
"Why must you be so cruel?" Gwenyth asked, dry eyed for once. She held the torn book of children's tales to her breast. "This is all I had and now it's ruined."
The Duke gently took the pages out of her hand. "I thought this was a gift from Edward. I would never have... I'll make this right, Gwenyth, please don't cry."
She looked away. "I'm done crying."
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 157
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
va’Everly family residence
In the late afternoon, May liked to take her tea and knitting into the front room, and open the heavy silk curtains. They were silk, the couch cushions were silk, the rugs beneath her feet, the balls and skeins of yarn were all silk, all sent back from the farm and from Father. Right now she was working on a blue and copper scarf Rane would need when it turned cold in the countryside. She worried more about him than her other siblings—Scilla seemed happy enough, although May couldn't imagine why—it was like being in a prison, but at least Scil felt useful, that was something, surely. And Pol, well, he thought his impending move to the farms was a big secret. She knew he was afraid she'd fall to pieces without him at home, but in fact it was a feeling of relief she could barely put into words. She ran the house, of course, but only because it was a job no one else wanted. Pol would follow Rane to work with their father, and they'd both be off her hands, Scilla was firmly in place at the Guardhouse—and that left Lelet. Well, Lelly was always looking around for an adventure or something to do, maybe next it would be her turn to run a household, and she'd find out wine bottles don't magically disappear when you've finished them, and they don't appear out of thin air, either. She'd seemed to have finally tired of sneaking Billah in and out of her window, which was good news. No, Billah simply wouldn't do, and Lelet was smart enough at least to figure that out, her next project would be finding Lelly someone suitable. Once Lel got back from whatever jaunt she was off to on the coast, they'd talk about her future. And once she no longer had to organize a household, she thought she might let some of the help go, as well, and close up some of this big house.
The Sand Prince Page 25
