Kath noticed that one card had fallen into her lap. She wondered if this was meant to be the gods’ answer to her question. With a tentative hand, she turned it face up on the table. Her heartbeat thundered. She did not need the fortune teller to recognize the card. A winged grotesque grinned up her. It was The Devil, the card of the Dark Lord.
23
Liandra
Image was everything. Her ladies-in-waiting fluttered about, applying face powder, rouge, perfume, and jewels, working to perfect the reflection of their sovereign queen. Liandra scrutinized every detail, quick to point out any aspect that did not meet the royal standards. Few understood that the time spent before the mirror was not so much about appearances as it was about image. In a world dominated by kings and knights, the queen wielded her image like a sword, gaining advantage from every nuance of beauty and power. Finally satisfied, the queen dismissed her ladies and summoned her treasurer.
A tepid little teapot of a man, Lord Wesley was excellent with numbers and exacting in his accounts but he had little or no imagination when it came to finding new ways to grow the royal purse. Liandra would have liked to replace him with someone more skilled at multiplying golds instead of merely adding them but the men who were shrewd at commerce also tended to have sticky fingers. At least she could trust him with the royal treasury. He simply did not have the imagination to be a successful thief.
Her chief counselor, the Master Archivist, accompanied her treasurer. Lord Highgate was a tall, thin scarecrow of a man with an exceedingly keen intellect. Of all of her lords, Liandra most enjoyed the mental challenge of her spymaster, often including him in private meetings just to have access to his thoughts. The queen nodded to her spymaster and then gestured for Lord Wesley to begin.
“Your majesty, I am sorry to burden you with dreadful news, but I have just received an urgent report from the overseer of the Redstone mine. Instead of the prized blood-red rubies, the mine is now yielding only very dark stones. The gem-cutters inform me that they will be worthless on the market, seriously damaging our export revenues.” Opening a small leather pouch, he offered the queen a handful of uncut rubies. The stones ranged in color from a dark crimson to nearly black.
The queen considered them. “Apart from the unfortunate color, can these rubies still be cut into gemstones?”
Lord Wesley nervously twisted the empty pouch. “As far as I know, the only change is the color, but it’s the rich red hue that makes a ruby valuable.”
“Is the Redstone the only mine afflicted with this problem?”
“Yes, but the Redstone is by far the kingdom’s most valuable producer.”
“How do you suggest we respond to this problem?”
Her treasurer paled. “We should close the mine and save the royal treasury the cost of paying the miners…and the royal budget must be adjusted to account for the loss in revenue.”
Turning to the Master Archivist, the queen asked, “Lord Highgate, what say you?”
“I see no other course of action but to close the mine and encourage the miners to find more fertile rock.”
The queen contemplated the uncut stones. The ruby mines provided a constant flood of wealth, the bedrock of the royal treasury. Liandra could not allow her best mine to fail. She held a stone aloft. The uncut gem caught and held the light, throwing off a spark of dark color from its crimson heart. “Lord Wesley, the Redstone mine will not be closed. Instead, the royal treasury will pay a bonus to the miners for discovering the rarest of all rubies, the Royal Ruby, a gem fit for a queen. Urge the miners to increase production. In the meantime, a royal commission will be given to the gem-cutters and jewelers of Pellanor, tasking them to create a necklace worthy of their sovereign. We will have the necklace completed in time for the Harvest Ball. We expect it to be nothing less than exquisite. The craftsmen are ordered to exceed themselves. Are we understood?”
“B-but your majesty, the dark stones are worthless! T-the master gem cutter has assured me that they will not sell on the open market!”
“The value of the ruby lies in its rarity and in its beauty. If the Redstone mine is the only mine to produce the Royal Ruby, then these dark stones are rare. As to beauty, Lanverness defines fashion for the kingdoms of Erdhe and the queen defines the fashion for Lanverness. If the queen finds the Royal Ruby to be exquisitely beautiful, who will disagree?”
The light of understanding bloomed in her treasurer’s eyes, “Madam, it is truly an honor to serve you.”
“One more thing, Lord Wesley. When the Royal Rubies are brought to market, their price will be set at twice that of a conventional ruby. For many people, price is the sole measure of value. The Royal Rubies will not disappoint. We predict they will be quite the rage at in the coming season.” With a wave the queen dismissed her treasurer and turned to the Master Archivist. “Tell us, Lord Highgate, is the royal party from Navarre here?”
“Yes, your majesty. They await your presence.”
“Good. Navarre is a small kingdom of only middling wealth, but their army of archers is not to be taken lightly. We wish to deepen the alliance between the Osprey and the Rose. We expect you to assist us with this objective.”
“As your majesty commands.”
Rising, Liandra gestured for her shadowmaster to escort her through the gilded corridors to the audience chamber. At the door to the chamber, a royal herald announced the queen’s presence. “All rise for her royal majesty, the sovereign queen of Lanverness. May all the Lords of Light save her majesty, Queen Liandra.”
Courtiers in bright silks bowed low as the queen crossed the checkerboard floor. Mounting the dais, she took a seat on an elegant throne sculpted of golden roses. Her gaze swept the crowd, seeking the royal party from Navarre. One in particular caught her interest, a tall, handsome rogue in black leather with the broad chest of an archer and a black patch covering one eye, a lone wolf among the bright plumage of her court. Intrigued, she made a subtle hand sign to the Master Archivist.
Her spymaster led the Navarren party to the dais. “Your majesty, may I present Lord Duncan Treloch, the ambassador from Navarre.”
So the rogue had a title, all the more interesting. Putting one booted foot on the first step of the dais, the leather-clad ambassador offered her a scroll sealed with wax. “Your majesty, please accept this note of introduction from King Ivor.”
Liandra gave him her warmest smile. “We welcome you to the Rose Court. We hope you will make yourselves at home during your stay with us.”
Offering a courtly bow that belied his rough dress, the ambassador said, “You are most generous. With your permission, I would like to present three of the Royal Js of Navarre.” The three young people came forward and bowed. “Princess Jordan, who is on her way to the Southern Mountains to study with the Kiralynn monks, Prince Justin, who is on his way to Wyeth to become a bard, and Princess Jemma who will foster here at Pellanor with your majesty in the Rose Court.”
“We are pleased to welcome three of the King Ivor’s heirs to our court. We count King Ivor and Navarre as strong allies and we are especially pleased that Princess Jemma chose to foster with us. We hope that the four of you will join us for a private dinner tonight where we will have a better chance to get acquainted.”
“We would be honored, your majesty.”
The queen signaled to the court historian. Lord Penrod, a portly man with snow-white hair stepped forward. Snapping a scroll open with a flourish, he cleared his throat, and began to recount the lengthy history between Lanverness and Navarre. Deliberately wordy, the reading of the scroll was designed to give the queen time to observe her royal visitors. Her gaze lingered on Lord Duncan. The man had a feral quality about him, a sexual magnetism that even Liandra was not immune to. From a woman’s perspective, Duncan Treloch was certainly an eye full, but there must be more to the man for King Ivor to select him as his ambassador. The queen smiled, enjoying the masculine puzzle wrapped in black leathers.
Drawing her gaze away from t
he ambassador, the queen studied Princess Jemma. A petite beauty with milk-white skin, her long black hair brushed to a high luster. Her gown was provincial, but the low-cut neckline and dark blue color accented her best features. Clearly the princess possessed a sense of image. If there was a mind behind that pretty face then she might just be what Liandra was looking for in a daughter-in-law.
Next, she turned her gaze to Princess Jordan. Tall and lanky with short sandy hair, Princess Jordan seemed ill at ease in her court gown, the opposite of her petite sister. Liandra wondered why a princess of Navarre would choose to foster with the mysterious Kiralynn monks, another riddle to unravel.
The last member of the royal party was Prince Justin, the aspiring bard. Of middling height, the prince had drab brown hair and sharp features rescued by bright blue eyes. Noticing the queen’s stare, the prince flashed a delightful smile and sketched a courtly bow. Liandra took an instant liking to him, sensing a keen wit and a lively character behind his homely appearance. She suspected the young bard would break more than a few hearts.
The Royal Js were an interesting lot. Based on appearances, one would never guess the three were siblings, yet they all seemed to possess a unique and independent depth of character. Clearly King Ivor had done well with his children. A pity her own two sons did not have the same underlying mettle, but perhaps the deficiencies could be corrected with the proper wives. King Ivor may have done Lanverness a great favor by sending his daughters to Pellanor.
Lord Penrod finished reading the scroll of welcome. In the silence that followed, all eyes turned toward the queen. Rising from the throne, she gave her guests a gracious smile. “Now that the official welcome is over, with the exception of Lord Highgate, my counselors are dismissed with thanks for their time.” Smiling at the tall man in black leather, the queen said, “Lord Ambassador, would you escort us to dinner?”
Executing a courtly bow, the ambassador offered his arm. Descending from the dais, the queen let her hand rest upon it, noting the corded muscles beneath the black sleeve. With subtle pressure, she directed him out of the chamber and through the hallways, deliberately taking the long way. “We are pleased with your presence, Lord Duncan, but pray tell us why King Ivor saw the need to send us an ambassador?”
“Your majesty, I am an advisor and friend to King Ivor but I do not hold the title of ‘lord’, so please call me by my given name, Duncan.”
So rare to find a man who declined a lord’s title; the conversation was barely started and already the queen’s interest was piqued. “You are King Ivor’s appointed ambassador. As a sign of respect, you will be given the title of ‘lord’ while you are in our court.” She gave him a smile. “It would please us if you would humor us in this matter.”
With a bow of his head, Lord Duncan conceded the point. “As you wish, your majesty. As to your question, I am in Lanverness for two reasons. The first is to escort the Royal Js on their Wayfaring. I will eventually go with Princess Jordan to the Southern Mountains to seek out the Kiralynn monks. But before I leave, the king has charged me to broach his concern with Coronth. I do not know if word has yet reached Lanverness, but at a feast following a royal archery tournament a rogue archer from Coronth attacked the royal party, gravely wounding the king.”
Her shadowmen had done well. Liandra framed her face to reflect surprise. “We are shocked. We trust King Ivor will recover?”
The ambassador gave her a keen stare. “The king is expected to make a full recovery.”
“We are relieved to hear it, but what prompted this attack?”
“Religious zeal.”
His words struck at the heart of her fears but she kept her face composed.
“We learned much from the attacker. This new Flame God is jealous. Those who do not worship him are considered infidels. We fear this religion of the Flame can be used to justify any crime against any so-called infidel. King Ivor asked me to seek your counsel.”
“There is nothing so dangerous as a religious zealot. Let us hope that Coronth is not breeding them.” She nodded gravely at the ambassador. “We thank you for your insights. King Ivor did well to send you. Let us meet tomorrow afternoon to discuss Coronth, but now it is time for dinner and conversation that is more pleasing to the appetite.”
Servants bowed as they entered a small, intimate dining chamber. A round table, set with silver place settings for six, glittered like a jewel in the candle light. As they took their seats a bevy of servants approached, pouring fine wines and presenting platters of poached salmon, spiced lamb, and roasted duckling. The Rose Court was renowned for the delicacies of its kitchen, another carefully cultivated aspect of image.
Between courses, the queen probed the two princesses with conversation. Turning to Princess Jordan, she asked, “Pray tell us why you selected the Kiralynn monks for your Wayfaring?”
“It was not my choice but my father’s order. My choice was to go to Castlegard to train with the knights of the Octagon but my father and his council rejected my proposal claiming the knights would never train a woman.” The princess shrugged, a masculine gesture that was at odds with her silk gown. “So instead of going to Castlegard, I am sent to the monks to learn the art of war.”
The queen raised her eyebrows. “Common wisdom says the fair sex was not meant to wield a sword. Would the army of Navarre accept the leadership of a woman?”
A twinkle of amusement lit the blue eyes of the princess. “Many would say that a woman is not fit to rule a kingdom alone, and they would be wrong, especially if they said it in Lanverness. Besides, a woman once led the army of Navarre in repulsing an attack of the Mordant’s hordes, the renowned General Diana. So I will train with the monks in the event that history repeats itself.”
The queen frowned. “War is a wanton waste of men and money, something to be avoided at all costs.”
“Tell that to the Mordant. The southern kingdoms cannot afford to be complacent.”
The girl had a quick wit and a bold character, but it was unnatural for any woman to take up the sword, especially a princess. Liandra appreciated the girl’s forthright spirit but could not condone her misguided choice. “We wish you luck in your training.” Turning to Princess Jemma, she said, “We are pleased you chose to foster in our court. Pray tell us what you hope to learn?”
“In the kingdoms of Erdhe, there are many woman married to kings but there is only one queen who rules. I am here, your majesty, to learn how a woman can rule a powerful kingdom. And I wish to learn your secret of prosperity. I would see Navarre grow in wealth and stature among the kingdoms of Erdhe.”
Liandra kept her face neutral, but inwardly she was delighted. “So you do not share your sister’s desire to wield a sword?”
“Men rule with swords, women rule in other, more subtle ways.” Bowing her head, the princess said, “I have come to apprentice with the master.”
It seemed Liandra had found the perfect candidate for her future daughter-in-law.
24
Blaine
The Isle of Souls was a day and a half behind them and good riddance to it. Blaine wasn’t sure what happened on their only night in the city, but whatever it was, it had scared the Imp. She’d been closed-mouthed ever since, always keeping Sir Tyrone by her side. He glanced back at the two of them, riding close, their heads bent in conversation. Resentment flared through him. He’d given up a lot for this girl, the least she could do was talk to him.
Reining his charger in, he dropped back to join them. Their conversation came to a sudden halt. Frustrated, he could not help blurting out, “Can’t you tell me what happened on the Isle? Surely the future can’t be that bad?”
Kath frowned at him. “I thought you didn’t believe in fortune tellers.”
“After watching the mystics climb the knife-ladder I’m not sure what I believe.”
The Imp gave him a searching look. Blaine could tell she was judging him, trying to see if he was making fun of her. He’d been around the Imp long enough to k
now that the one thing the girl couldn’t stand was to not be taken seriously. “Come on, Imp, you trusted me to train you with the sword. Trust me now and tell me what happened.”
She looked skeptical, but relented. “It’s hard to explain.” Steering her horse closer to him, she kept her voice low. “The fortune teller said things she couldn’t possibly have known. She knew my mother died giving birth to me. She knew my father forbade me to train with weapons. How could she have known these things if she wasn’t tied to the spirit world?”
“Did she really say those things or are you reading more into her words than was actually there?”
Sir Tyrone said, “Sir Blaine has a point. Messages from the gods tend to be cryptic. Getting a single word wrong can distort the entire message.”
A look of frustration claimed the Imp’s face. “But it doesn’t make sense. Why don’t the gods use the common tongue like everyone else? Why don’t they just say what they mean, instead of speaking in riddles?” In a stubborn mutter she added, “I bet the Dark Lord isn’t cryptic when he deals with his minions.”
The black knight roared with laughter, startling his horse. “Only you would think that way!” He settled his horse and gave her a wry smile. “I’m only a simple knight, so I can’t begin to explain the gods, but I think if you asked a priest or a philosopher they’d say that the Lords of Light believe in the free will of mankind. By giving cryptic messages, the gods allow man to choose his own interpretation and thereby choose his own destiny. In contrast, the Dark Lord is only interested in servants and slaves, so he has no problem issuing direct commands.” He shrugged. “As mere mortals, we’ll just have to do the best we can with the cryptic messages and thank the gods for any help they see fit to give us.”
Confused by all the talk of gods, Blaine said, “What are you two taking about? It was just a tarot reading.”
Kath and the black knight exchanged glances, then the girl said, “The fortune teller said the Dark Lord’s minions are watching me. And,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “I think it has something to do with the goblin-man.” She gave him a troubled look. “Something strange happened at the end of the reading. The fortune teller’s voice changed and some god or spirit spoke through her. It was scary.”
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 15
