“That would be welcome,” he said, tilting his head in an unmistakable gesture of respect, “Lady Arrow.” The title was close enough between Erith and the common tongue that everyone understood. None of the shifkin, sensitive to body posture in a way the Erith would never be, would miss the Steward’s flinch at the use of a title for her.
“The Taellaneth Steward, Lord Messian, bids you welcome to the Taellaneth on behalf of their glorious majesties and the Taellan. He regrets that not all the Taellan are present to receive you, however arrangements have been made for your comfort, and that of your companions, in the Receiving Hall, if you would be so kind as to follow the Steward.” Arrow paused, glancing at the statue that had apparently held Zachary’s interest. “The Steward is also well-versed in the origin of all the art work in the Taellaneth, if you would like to know more.”
“The Taellan are on their way?” Zachary asked in return, a certain hardness in his face promising something unpleasant if he did not get an answer he liked. The thoughtful ‘kin who had admired the statue was gone, replaced entirely by the undisputed ruler of his people. He needed no crown or decoration to proclaim his authority.
“As we speak, Prime,” Arrow confirmed, not needing to ask further.
“Lead on.”
“Prime.” She bowed, relayed the command in Erith to the Steward, and fell into step a discreet few paces from him, conscious of Kallish’s cadre spreading out around them, weapons prudently stowed away.
Pages scampered ahead of the Steward, who led them at a carefully measured pace along the main corridor, clearly both to give due respect to the momentous occasion of the shifkin ruler visiting the Taellaneth, even unannounced, and also to give his staff time to properly arrange the room. Arrow would place a considerable amount of money on a bet that behind the Receiving Hall’s doors the Taellaneth staff were sweeping away imaginary dust and cobwebs, for all the rooms in the building were kept spotless, and ensuring that fresh flowers and foliage were arranged in suitable vases, whilst the kitchens would have been scrambled from their early afternoon rest to prepare an offering fit for a king. The Erith might believe that the shifkin were little more than beasts, but the Erith would never allow themselves to be found wanting in their exquisite taste and hospitality.
From the amused glint in Zachary’s eyes it was clear he knew exactly how much disarray his arrival had caused the Erith and was relishing every moment. A fine strategy, Arrow thought, catching the Taellan entirely off guard with his unannounced, unplanned visit.
“Ah.” Zachary paused, seemingly involuntarily, at a particularly fine sculpture, placed in a purpose-made niche along the wall. It was one of Arrow’s favourite pieces amongst the impressive collection at the Taellaneth, second only to the group outside the main building. The same pale stone as had been used outside glowed with its own light, depicting an Erith woman reaching up to the skies, fingers spread wide, the fabric of her summer dress almost seeming to ripple in an unseen wind. Despite the flowing dress, there was a certain strength and determination to the woman Arrow had always admired. No one had ever put oath spells on this Erith.
“Would you like a history of the piece, Prime?” Arrow asked, knowing Sir Messian would be delighted to speak for a very long time about the art and other treasures on display in the Taellaneth, and under his care.
“A little information would be welcome,” he agreed, and Sir Messian, eyes alight with genuine pleasure, bowed, and launched into a mercifully brief recitation of the piece.
“The title is Summer Sun and it is one of the finest pieces created by her majesty’s favoured older sister, the late Crown Princess Liannelle,” Arrow began, giving Zachary details of the stone used, the date of the piece and the fact that the Crown Princess had imbued some of her own magic into the piece to give it its own light.
“A truly gifted artisan,” he said with appreciation, taking his time to inspect the piece from all sides. “Please convey, in whatever terms are appropriate, my deep appreciation.”
“Prime.” Arrow bowed, and made the appropriate translation to Sir Messian, who bowed, normally stern face alight with a delighted smile.
“Do you know who the subject was?” Zachary asked, as they prepared to move on.
“The subject is unknown. Her Highness stated, more than once, that the sculpture is not based on one particular lady or another, but an idea that came to her mind. She did have several ladies of Court pose for her sketches and work, and it is said took the best of each.”
“Thank you for indulging my curiosity,” the Prime said impartially to Sir Messian and Arrow. Both bowed, and the Steward led them on again, the relaxed slant to the Steward’s shoulders telling Arrow that he was quite satisfied with the delay.
˜
The shifkin, silent and watchful, maintained their calm faces for the whole of the short journey. Not one betrayed any unease at being within Erith lands, in the heart of Erith government. Their shoulders were straight, the faintest shimmer of power in their eyes showing that they were alert but not disturbed.
Arrow was quite sure that the Steward would be comparing the ‘kin’s calm demeanour with that of the servants who bustled about. The Receiving Hall’s doors were flung wide by a pair of pages, high colour in their cheeks betraying their excitement, though they were careful to keep their expressions properly sober as the Steward went past, restraining themselves further at a sharp sideways glance from the cadre’s second.
There was not one speck of dust in the lightly scented air of the Receiving Hall. The hexagonal room was lit from above by stained glass set in a domed ceiling. On the outside, the dome was azure blue. Inside, light poured through a design that depicted symbols of the triumvirate that governed and protected the Erith; the Academy, the Taellan and the White Guard. Shafts of brilliant colour shone on an elaborate floor created from materials drawn from every parcel of land that the Erith occupied, from hard diamonds from the Leneasthen Mountains to soft, pale wood from the Sovernis region, far into the Erith heartlands. Three of the six sides of the room were doorways, the high, wide doors occupying almost the entire wall. The other three sides were deliberately blank, the wooden panels polished to a high gleam, with elaborate displays of Erith flowers and foliage set on low tables in front of each.
In the middle of the room Arrow was not surprised to see that a half dozen of the Taellan had been gathered; it would not have surprised her to find every Taellan here for this unprecedented event, no matter the cost in power and favours owed to get here. They were watched by a cadre of White Guard stationed against the walls, far away from the ‘kin and trying, and failing, to look harmless, hands carefully away from weapons, shoulders deliberately relaxed.
“Prime.” Seggerat vo Regersfel stepped forward and made a low bow. “I welcome you to the Taellaneth on behalf of her most gracious majesty, Freyella, and her consort, Noverain.” Not by one flicker of an eyelash did Seggerat acknowledge her presence, even when she made a quiet translation.
“Elder.” Zachary answered the senior Taellan’s greeting with a courteous nod, reminding everyone in the room that he was, in fact, absolute ruler of his people whilst Seggerat was answerable to the crown.
“Be welcome in our hall,” the Erith continued the ritual words of greeting.
Behind their Prime the shifkin had formed a loose group, close enough to aid their leader but giving him enough space that he faced the Taellan alone. The Erith warriors moved, Kallish’s cadre remaining in the room, the other cadre that had followed them through the building filing back out into the corridor, the doors closing silently behind the warriors. The wards in the room shivered, perhaps reacting to the tension.
“It is not welcome that I seek, but answers.” The Prime’s voice was so mild that it took Arrow’s mind a moment to catch up with the actual meaning. She nearly faltered in her translation, but Seggerat was too taken aback by the Prime’s words to notice, the normally inscrutable Erith lord’s lips moving for a moment without so
und.
“You believe we can provide such, Prime?” the elder asked, voice not quite as smooth or mild as the ‘kin’s.
“I would not be here otherwise.”
“In what way have the Erith offended you, Prime?” the elder asked, directness earning him sharp sideways glances from his fellow Taellan.
“My mate is dead at the hands of a rogue magician with considerable learning in Erith magic. The Lady Seivella is implicated in this, and the Preceptor is now mysteriously absent.” Zachary could have been discussing menu options for the calm in his voice. Arrow tried to match his calm in her translation, and not to falter under the amber-lit stares she was now receiving from the Taellan. Apart from Seggerat, only Juinis and Kester spoke any common tongue, and might know that she was repeating the Prime’s words. The rest of the Taellan clearly thought she was making it up.
“The death of Marianne Stillwater was a most regrettable matter, and you have all the sympathies of the Erith nation. Her majesty was deeply distressed by the news.” Seggerat had been playing Court politics far longer than the Prime.
“Condolences will not bring back my mate.” Shifkin politics worked slightly differently than Erith politics.
“These are serious allegations, Prime,” Juinis said, stepping forward to Seggerat’s side. There was a slice of colour on the younger lord’s cheekbones, his eyes flecked with amber.
“I await your reply.” The Prime appeared quite comfortable, dressed in his dark, formal suit, dress shoes shining, standing in the middle of the Taellaneth, amid a powerful display of Erith artistry and resource, facing a half dozen of the most influential Erith alive. The Erith on the other hand were stiff, appearing uncomfortable in their Court finery, more than one hand showing white knuckles, ambushed in their place of power.
“Prime.” One of the quietest Taellan, a lady a few years Juinis’ senior, stepped forward and made a small curtsey. “Please be assured that the possible involvement of the Lady Seivella, and the absence of the Preceptor, are news to us, and of great concern. Do tell us more.”
“My lady.” Zachary gave her no more courtesy than Seggerat and lifted a brow in Arrow’s direction.
“The Lady Bea vel Nostren, Prime. Her House holds an expanse of land along the coast and several islands,” Arrow supplied.
“Lady Bea,” the Prime inclined his head again, unbending a little, “my mate was gifted a strand of pearls from your House’s territory. It was something much prized.”
A smile of genuine pleasure crossed the lady’s face and she made another small curtsey.
“The gifts of our territory are plentiful, and it is good to hear they found an appreciative home, Prime.” The lady’s face settled into a more solemn expression. “You suspect the Lady Seivella?”
“She attacked us in Lix,” the Prime said coolly, eyes flicking over the group, watching their reactions. Whatever he saw appeared to satisfy him as he turned slightly to Arrow. “They didn’t know.”
“No, Prime.” Kallish may not have had time to make her report. Possibly. Possibly the Erith did not want to believe one of their favoured mages would turn against them. Probably.
“Who would know more?”
“The Preceptor most likely. But I do not know where he has gone.”
“Find out,” he ordered, a snap entering his voice for the first time.
“Prime.” Heat rose in her face as she looked across at the Taellan. There was a faint smile on Gret vo Regresan’s face. Doubtless he thought the Prime was losing patience with his chosen servant.
“What?” Seggerat’s voice was a slice of frost.
“The Prime wishes to locate the Preceptor,” Arrow translated, keeping her chin up, “and wishes to know where he might be found.”
“I do not answer to you.” The elder’s voice had not warmed.
“The Prime wishes to know, my lord.”
“We do not know.” Seggerat twitched his robes back into place as he spoke, a nervous tic which Arrow was familiar with. The elder was seriously disturbed, and genuinely did not know where the Preceptor was.
“He left without a word.” Eimille vel Falsen’s face pinched in displeasure. She would take his absence as a personal slight, Arrow knew. Vailla was a favoured member of her House.
“Not even to the Lady Vailla?” Arrow pressed.
“Do not presume to speak her name,” Eimille hissed, eyes flaring pure amber.
“The Preceptor left no word, my lady?” Arrow asked steadily.
“No.”
The word was flat, the lady actually turning her shoulder on Arrow and, by default, the Prime as well, a display of bad manners that none of the Taellan would normally tolerate.
Arrow made a rough translation for Zachary, suspecting he had probably followed most of it without her aid.
“Who is Vailla?” he asked.
“The lady is Eimille vel Falsen’s niece, and vestran to Lord Evellan,” she answered.
“A recent engagement?” he enquired.
“Yes.”
“I wish to speak with her,” he said. Arrow swallowed and wished she could take a step back.
“My lord,” she addressed Seggerat, “the Prime wishes to speak with Lord Evellan’s vestran.”
“Out of the question!” Eimille snapped, whirling to glare at Arrow before the elder could answer. “I will not have members of my House subjected-”
“I also wish to find out what this young lady knows,” Seggerat cut through before Eimille could finish, contradicting his fellow Taellan without looking at her, and flicked a glance past the Prime’s shoulder. “Kallish, fetch the lady here.”
“My lord.” The warrior’s voice betrayed nothing, and Arrow did not dare turn to gauge her reaction. A moment later the room’s wards shivered, letting her know that Kallish, and probably her third, had left.
“The lady is being sought, Prime,” Arrow confirmed.
“Good. Let us discuss the Lady Seivella whilst we wait.”
The elder’s eyes sparked when Arrow passed that along. His lips tightened, another sign of brewing temper. For perhaps the first time in her life Arrow was not afraid of him. Powerful as he was, he had sent her into exile with only the things she carried. Twice. And she had survived. Twice. At least so far. Freed from the oath spells, she no longer had to obey him. Be wary of him, naturally. He was elder of the Taellan, a position many ambitious Erith aspired to, and had held the post for many years without any open challenge. That was skill and cunning, with a healthy measure of sharp intelligence. She even found room for a sort of admiration as he tried to deflect the Prime by offering refreshments.
To the Taellan’s evident relief, the Prime accepted, and there was an odd pause for small talk whilst the Steward and his staff served Erith tea, additional servants arriving with ornate trays covered with bite-sized offerings of spectacular Erith cuisine. Arrow tried not to look at the trays too hard, mouth watering in helpless reaction. There had been no time for any food on the way here, and her body was still using up energy in healing.
The food at least gave everyone a safe topic to discuss, with unnecessary attention, until the wards shivered again and Kallish returned, Vailla vel Falsen escorted in within Kallish’s third.
One look at Vailla’s face and Arrow’s stomach lurched. The lady had never been able to conceal her secrets; she knew something.
“Young lady.” Seggerat handed his cup to a nearby servant and stepped forward, past Eimille, when the lady would have gone to her niece. Eimille sent a glare at the elder’s back that had defeated lesser men. The elder ignored her.
“My lord.” Vailla made a quick curtsey, eyes widening and skin paling as she looked around the room.
“Where is Lord Evellan?”
“I do not know, my lord,” Vailla replied, chin lifting slightly, colour high. Seggerat had evidently come to the same conclusion as Arrow, for his eyebrow lifted, expression darkening.
“Where is he?”
“I do not know,
my lord.”
“May I?” The Prime’s question was mild but drew the whole room’s attention. Vailla licked her lips, and Arrow’s stomach twisted again. At the elder’s reluctant assent, the barest wave of a hand, the ‘kin stepped forward, closer to Vailla.
“Prime.” Vailla made a small, ungraceful curtsey.
“The Preceptor is missing.” The Prime’s voice was still quiet but held a core of power that had every Erith in the room twitching. Arrow held her position. She had faced the Prime in the heart of his territory before now. He was simply making a point, perfectly in control of himself. The gathered shifkin were still relaxed, silent observers.
“I did not know that,” Vailla answered. Arrow moved to the Prime’s shoulder and made a rapid translation.
“You know something, my lady,” Zachary prompted, more power slipping out, curling around the lady. The Prime’s power unleashed was a force of nature, and Vailla seemed to shrink where she stood, faint amber flaring in her eyes as she tried to hold her ground. Vailla was not powerful enough to stand against Zachary, Arrow knew.
“Stop this!” Eimille broke in. “She should not face such barbarity.”
“Vailla.” Arrow used the ensuing argument amongst the Taellan as cover to step out of Zachary’s shadow and make a low-voiced appeal. “The Preceptor may be in danger. You need to tell us what you know.”
“Arrow,” a tear fell along Vailla’s cheek, “he did not tell me anything.”
“What do you know?”
“Something happened, or he saw something at that dreadful place.” Vailla’s hands were clenched together, knuckles white. “I do not know what, but he was … I have never seen him like that. He was in a rage, but then … almost crying. It was awful.” Her voice was barely audible. “He was looking at some scrolls in his study when I saw him last. He looked exhausted. And the shadows,” Vailla glanced at Arrow to make sure she understood, “the shadows were thicker than I had ever seen. And there was a smell in the room. A horrible, burning smell. He told me he had something personal to take care of. That was the last I saw him.”
Revealed: The Taellaneth - Book 2 Page 17
