The Key of Amatahns

by Elisabeth Wheatley

  Chapter Two

  The power settled back into inaction and the green glow left her sight. Suddenly weak, Janir staggered into Armandius. He caught her and she leaned helplessly into his arms, shaking and confused.

  It had all happened in a mere moment.

  Rani and the other dog barked and trotted to Duke Ronan’s motionless body. The sniffed it and wagged their tails in bewilderment.

  Popping up like a frightened pigeon, Rowella fled from the room screaming. It was unclear exactly what she was saying, but it sounded as if it had something to do with magic.

  The woman’s voice receded down the hall while Janir leaned feebly against Armandius and Velaskas stood with a bearing of mild surprise. The elf remained by the fireplace, staring with an unidentifiable expression.

  “That gave me quite a turn,” Velaskas said with unfitting composure. “It would seem your powers are more manifested than we thought.”

  “Stop Rowella!” Armandius snapped to the elf.

  “What am I to do?” Velaskas folded his arms across his chest. “Chase her down and drive a knife into her heart?”

  “Just stop her!” Armandius shouted.

  Shaking his head, Velaskas darted from the room with the speed of a woodland deer and disappeared into the darkness of the hall without a sound. Once he committed to a task, he tended not to waste any more time.

  Janir would have slid to the ground had not Armandius pulled her up. “What was that?” she whispered. “What did I just do?”

  He rubbed her back and said nothing.

  The sight of Ronan’s sightless gaze was more harrowing than she could have expected. She had killed a man with her bare hands and she hadn’t even decided to do it.

  Were these her powers awakening? Was it possible to control it? Of course it could be controlled, she realized. The Lord Argetallam didn’t go about killing everyone who drew a knife. But then, nearly everyone with a weapon in the Staspin Waste, was an Argetallam. Could that affect it? Janir buried her face against Armandius’ chest.

  “What have I done?” she shuddered. “I’m sorry.” She was becoming like one of the monsters the people of Brevia loathed and feared.

  Firesides were rife with countless stories of murder, abduction, enslavement, and torture—all wrought by the race of the man who sired her. Any milkmaid or hall boy could regale the dastardly wrongs committed over the ages. She’d thought she was different—had she been wrong? Was her course set? Did she not have a choice?

  Her tears soaked Armandius’ chest, but he pulled her tighter against him. “You saved my life. What is there to forgive? I should have been more wary.”

  He didn’t rebuke her for being weak. Janir knew that he had killed people in wars and it was nothing new to him. But still, he was sympathetic the horror she experienced at ending another’s life, no matter how much that life may have deserved it.

  There came a clatter of hooves from below the window, in the courtyard. With impressive speed, Lady Rowella galloped away atop her palfrey without consideration for any of her normal extensive traveling arrangements.

  “Too late,” Janir gasped. Rowella was gone.

  Without a word, Armandius helped Janir to the couch farthest from Ronan’s corpse. He moved in between his foster daughter and the body, blocking her view.

  “Janir, are you alright? He didn’t cut you or anything?”

  Managing a weak shake of her head, Janir slumped against the couch. She felt deflated, emptied.

  Velaskas came jogging back a few moments later. “The noblewoman has gone,” he dourly reported. “I have sent men to bring her back, but for one with such an affinity for lace, she handles horses surprisingly well—”

  “Not here,” Armandius interrupted. He rang the bell and instructed a hall boy to summon his chief steward, Broffy. Leaving Janir on the couch, he commanded the man to take Duke Ronan’s body somewhere until he could think of what to do. The faithful old steward had served Armandius’ family since the days of his father, and he could be trusted to keep quiet.

  The steward took one look “My lord, with all due respect, I believe that now is the time to discuss the rather pressing issue of the—”

  “Not now, Broffy.” Armandius cut him off, but not angrily. “Tell me in my office.”

  Janir watched weakly as Armandius and Broffy hefted Duke Ronan’s mortal remains out of the room and into another part of the castle. Velaskas opened the doors.

  It was a relief when the duke’s body was moved to where she could no longer see it. Not only was she horrified by what she had done, the sight of the corpse brought back the memory of the power that had possessed and held her in its grasp.

  At a loss, Rani went to Janir and licked the girl’s hand. Janir clumsily petted his ears out of habit, too tired to keep crying.

  For several minutes she was alone. Why had the duke tried to kill Armandius? Why had he waited until now? Wouldn’t dinner have done just as well? The duke was seated beside Armandius at that time. Then she realized this was the first instance she could recall when Velaskas and all the servants loyal to Armandius had been too far away to intervene.

  And Armandius’s back had been turned.

  There was still the why of what had happened and Janir’s startling show of power—she hadn’t even known how to break a man’s neck, she had just—

  Janir focused on deep breaths, trying to clear her head. One thing she could control, the one thing she could master, was her breathing. Slowly, her head leveled out and the weariness began to pass. She was still weak, but at least she didn’t feel as if she would topple over.

  Once the body was moved, Broffy and Velaskas returned and filed into Armandius’ private office off the study, where his letters and correspondences with the other six ruling lords of Brevia and writings of exceptional importance were kept.

  Armandius was distressed. His face held a weary, exhausted look and his brow was troubled. “Stay here, my child.”

  “Yes, Father.” Janir felt better, but she leaned back against the couch. If Armandius wanted to speak to the other men in his study, if he didn’t even dare venture out of this chamber or summon Dame Selila to tend her, it only confirmed how very serious this was. A hard weight of dread settled in Janir’s belly.

  Armandius laid a hand on her head for a moment before striding off to his office. No sooner had the door closed than the heated sounds of argument could be heard.

  Velaskas and Broffy were trying to persuade Armandius, judging by their tones. Armandius wasn’t changing his mind. The word “pigheaded” was shouted by Velaskas. Armandius snapped something in reply. The confrontation grew louder, Janir began to discern more and more words with each passing sentence. Broffy cried “Argetallam” furiously and Armandius shouted back a phrase with “Janir” in it.

  Abruptly, Broffy interjected and their voices dropped. They were still arguing, but now they were making an effort at discretion.

  She had been taught that eavesdropping was unacceptable. Armandius had scolded her for that several times, but not for years. She hated disobeying him, hated that rare look of quiet disappointment. But they were talking about her and what she had done. She couldn’t see what else it could be.

  Without thinking, Janir found herself holding her breath. If she was very quiet and strained to hear, she could just make out their impassioned words.

  “She is an Argetallam, you imbecillus!” Velaskas could be heard knocking over something, using the Elvish word for “idiot.”

  “She is the closest thing I have to kin. In all but blood she is my daughter—” Armandius was cut off by Broffy.

  “Aryana’s child should have been yours, my lord. We are all fond of her, I agree with that. But it does not change where she came from.”

  “A child has no choice in their origins, only their actions, and Janir’s actions show she rejects the Argetallam way.”

  “Why didn’t you kill her?” demanded Velaskas. “If your place were rever
sed with the Lord Argetallam, it is what he would do!”

  “I am not him!” Armandius’ voice boomed through the door. “Do not ever compare me with him, either of you! And Janir did what she did to save me, how can I condemn her for that? How can you condemn her for that?”

  “We have no way of knowing how strong she is or even what she might be capable of,” Velaskas persisted. “She is of the ruling line—they have abilities beyond our knowledge.”

  “My daughter!”

  Velaskas must have known better than to argue.

  Clenching her fingers into the couch cushion, Janir tried to push away the needle of fear worrying at her heart. Neither Broffy nor Velaskas said it, but they wanted banishment. They wanted to punish her for something she couldn’t control, something she didn’t understand. Argetallams might have earned their hate, but she had always tried to be Brevian, to be good—

  “Be calm, my lord,” Broffy placated. “Still, you must admit, over the years you have surely questioned yourself? Have you ever doubted that sparing her was the correct decision?”

  Janir felt fear prickling her spine. Would Armandius turn on her? No. Never.

  There was a moment of hesitation. “Once, early on, I even decided to kill her,” Armandius admitted.

  Confusion, doubt, and consternation filled Janir’s heart. It couldn’t be, not Armandius. Overflowing with a jumble of emotions, Janir forced herself to listen. Armandius, the man she trusted like no one else in the world, had come close to killing her?

  “I told myself that Aryana must have been broken by the Lord Argetallam and that sparing his child may not have been what she would truly want.”

  “Why did you not?” Velaskas’ tone was cautious for once, trying not to ignite another storm in the room.

  “I knew Aryana. I know she would never ask a child be punished for what she could not control.” His words were heavy with double meaning. “I also know she was not broken by what she said to me before her death.”

  Armandius had spoken to her mother before she died? Janir had never heard that. She supposed it must have happened, since he had known her name, but she’d never heard him say it or given it much thought.

  Armandius tried to speak flatly, without inflection, but there was still so much emotion in his words. “That and…” He broke off, hesitating. “That and every time Janir looked at me…I could see how much she trusted me. In time I saw that she had come to love me.”

  Velaskas was probably trying to think of something to counter this, since there was silence.

  “It’s an intoxicating feeling,” Armandius murmured.

  “What is?” Broffy also practiced caution in his tone and word choice.

  “A child’s love,” Armandius said. “As you know, I have no kin left.”

  Janir began to relax.

  “Then along came Janir. She was alone, she needed me. And now I realize I needed her.”

  Neither Broffy nor Velaskas offered a retort to challenge his words.

  “She is everything to me. I would die for her in a heartbeat if it came to that.”

  The elf and steward seemed to be searching for something to say in reply. It was a long space of silence before either could answer.

  “I understand, my lord,” Broffy carefully started. “But surely, there are other things that must…”

  “Nothing is more important,” Armandius said. “Not to me.”

  “I understand that, my lord,” conciliated Broffy. “But what about Green Haven? What about the people here you swore to protect? Are they safe?”

  “Janir couldn’t bring herself to kill a deer before this and you ask if they are safe?”

  “Not just from her, my lord.” Broffy was calm, like one reasoning with an angry bull.

  “I doubt Rowella will get far,” Velaskas conceded. “But when the soldiers catch her and bring her back to the castle, she will tell everyone what she saw. Rumors will spread through this castle and the countryside. How long do you think it will take your steward in Virida, when he hears this story, to realize that there is an Argetallam in your midst?”

  No reply from Armandius.

  “Short of killing everyone who hears, there is no way to stop him learning of it. He will alert Lord Meliard and Lord Kecim and they will come here with swords drawn and blades sharpened. Then what will you do?” Velaskas let those words hang for an agonizing moment. “Will you fight them for the girl?”

  “I swore to protect her.”

  “You took another oath,” Velaskas reminded him, “an oath to protect the people of Green Haven. If you continue to harbor this creature, you are endangering them. Would you ask them to shed their blood for her?”

  “How could you?” Armandius asked simply, an edge of betrayal in his voice. “You knew Aryana. She was your friend.”

  Velaskas did not answer right away. “Aryana was my friend, yes, and it is my wish that I not lose any more.”

  Janir was afraid, but she didn’t want people to die for her.

  “My lord, the elf speaks true. Something must be done. There must not be a breathing Argetallam here when they arrive or else there will be bloodshed. And if they do not kill you outright, you will certainly be arrested for treason!”

  Armandius said nothing. Janir’s inward trembling spread to shake her very bones.

  “As Broffy said,” Velaskas agreed, “something must be done. For the sake of Green Haven, for the sake of your people…something must be done.”

  In the ensuing pause, Armandius must have considered every word of their argument. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Something must be done.”

  The next moment, Armandius opened the door and came into view. It took one look at her face for him to know that his study was not quite as solid as he had thought.

  It was not fear she felt, not quite. She still didn’t believe he would hurt her, but…

  She was confused, her head ached with all these questions, her world was sliding away like melting snow. Behind Armandius, she could see Broffy and Velaskas. Broffy had been the one to watch over her when Armandius was away from the castle, she’d thought he was fond of her. Now, just like the elf, he wanted to cast her out, but was he wrong?

  Her Argetallam powers had awakened. She’d killed a man. For all she knew, she would do it again. Were they right to fear her? Maybe even despise her?

  It was too much. Too much. She whirled around and ran as fast as she could out of the study.

  “Janir! Wait!” Armandius shouted. But she ignored him.

  Fleeing down the poorly lit corridors, Janir raced through the home she knew so well. Hardly needing light to show her the way, she whipped through the castle by forgotten and unused passages. She’d spent the past seven years exploring this maze, she knew how to disappear into it.

  By the time Janir found her way to a side door, she was sobbing again. She slammed her weight into it several times before it gave and swung on creaky hinges. It opened into a bramble thicket that caught and tore at her dress.

  After beating the door shut and wiping her tears away, she charged through the scratching thorns. With a backward glance at the castle, she confirmed there was no one stirring on the battlements. No one had seen her leave.

  Slowing to catch her breath, Janir slogged her way through the knee high grasses, head awhirl with a thousand fears and nightmares. The Caersynn crest flopped against her breastbone in rhythm with her fleeing steps.