Shadows Past

by Lorna Freeman

  “What’s going to happen?” Jeff asked softly, watching them.

  “I don’t know,” I said, deciding to leave out my choosing the punishment. “His Majesty was pretty ticked at what happened.”

  Jeff ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t know you weren’t with us, Rabbit. I truly didn’t. And to leave you alone like that.”

  “I should’ve been all right in the middle of the search group,” I said. And would’ve, if I hadn’t decided to make a break for it. Maybe. “Talent was worked.”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said. “Think it was Slevoic?”

  About to ask who else, I hesitated. “It’s possible,” I finally said. “And an ambush would be something he’d enjoy. But the enchantment in the king’s chambers doesn’t feel like something he would do, let alone could.”

  “That’s true,” Ryson said. “If it’d been the Vicious, they would’ve been dead, not asleep.”

  “And he wouldn’t have bothered abducting anyone,” I said. “At least, I don’t think so. But then, everything has been off-kilter—”

  “Off-kilter?” Arlis asked, suddenly speaking, his voice low but hard. “This has been the guesting from hell. Then, this entire assignment has been hellish.”

  Jeff’s scowl returned. “Be careful what you manipulate people for,” he began.

  “Jeff,” I said quietly.

  “Oh, shut the hell up,” Arlis softly snapped at Jeff, his mouth twisting in his goatee. “Like it was just happenstance that you became such good friends with the king’s cousin and heir—”

  “Arlis,” I said.

  “I had no idea who Rabbit’s family was,” Jeff said.

  “Yeah, right,” Arlis said.

  “He didn’t,” I said.

  “None of us did,” Ryson said. “Except Suiden and Commander Ebner. And maybe Slevoic.” He gave another wry smile. “And me too, finally, but then the secret was out the next day anyway.”

  “Rabbit kept it to himself,” Jeff said to Arlis. “But the sodding moment you found out, you were his new best mate.”

  “And you’re jealous,” Arlis said. “Your smalls are all in a twist because you aren’t the center of his attention—”

  “Arlis, stop,” I said.

  “He drops his britches and waves his arse in your face and all you say is ‘Arlis, stop’?” Jeff asked.

  “Not his face, sweetness,” Arlis said, his own face alive with malice.

  “Rabbit,” Ryson said. “You need to fix this. Now.”

  “He won’t,” Jeff said, bitter. “He likes being toadied, even if they’re the same folks who sucked up to Slevoic—”

  It was Ryson’s turn to scowl. “I’m not sucking up to Rabbit.”

  “Oh, but anyone trying to be friends with Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan has to be a toady. Why else would anyone bother with him?” Arlis asked.

  Jeff moved so that the toes of his boots bumped Arlis’. “You hitch your wagon to the fattest gravy train and you don’t give a good damn whose. First it was the Vicious, now it’s Rabbit. I’m surprised that you’re not smarming all over Her Highness, trying to get in good with the amir—”

  “Jeff,” I said.

  “And they let you,” Jeff said. “Not only Rabbit, but the king and the lord commander too. They freaking let you, for effing sakes, while Suiden turns a blind eye—”

  “You died, Jeff,” I said.

  Jeff stopped midrant. “What?”

  “In Freston,” I said. “I saw you, lying dead on the ground before the altar.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jeff said, suddenly cautious. “There was a lot of that going around.”

  “So there was,” I agreed. “Who do you think killed you?”

  Jeff stared at me, then turned his head to Arlis. However, Ryson frowned.

  “I heard one of the Marcher Lords turned into a bear,” he said. “And both Jeff and Arlis were trying to keep him away from the doyen.”

  “Lord Ranulf didn’t kill Jeff,” I said. “He wasn’t mauled. He was killed by a sword thrust. Nice and neat.”

  “Oh,” Ryson said. He too looked at Arlis. “I see.”

  “Are you blaming me for his death?” Arlis asked, his face now hard, his eyes wary.

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” I said, “except those responsible for summoning the demon. Still, even though demon-ridden, you did kill Jeff.”

  “As I remember, he also tried to kill me—”

  “Actually he was after giant spiders,” I said. “But yes, he tried to kill you too. Thing is, you succeeded; he did not.”

  “Jeff didn’t stay dead,” Ryson pointed out. “He came back.”

  “But we didn’t know he would,” I said. “No one thought any of the dead were coming back.” I shifted again, once more trying to find a comfortable position as I fully faced Arlis. “I saw Jeff lying on the ground dead—and I saw your face. You knew you killed him—”

  “And therefore I should be prostrate with guilt?” Arlis asked.

  “No,” I said. “Though if you had come clean about your involvement with Slevoic and his gang, it might have prevented much of it.”

  “So you are blaming me,” Arlis said.

  “No,” I said again. “Just stating facts.”

  “ ‘Facts’?” Arlis echoed. “The biggest fact is that we were attacked by a demon—and I had nothing to do with its summoning. Or why it was summoned in the first place.”

  “It’s not Rabbit’s fault either,” Jeff began.

  “Blame Slevoic if you’re going to blame anybody,” Ryson said at the same time.

  I held up my hand and they both fell silent. “True,” I said to Arlis. “And it’s something that I have to deal with—that I’ve been a lightning rod for all kinds of strange madness that affects those around me for ill or for bizarre, or both. But that’s my burden. Not yours. Not yours at all.” I considered Arlis. “You know, I thought about letting you go back to Javes, even thought about asking Suiden about transferring you to the Mountain Patrol.”

  “That would be best,” Ryson said. “Like Groskin said, the captain’s good with lads who’ve made a sodding mess of their lives.”

  “Best, hell,” Arlis said. “It’s payback, isn’t it? Putting me with the dregs, arse-wipes, and mouth breathers.”

  Both Ryson’s and Jeff’s faces went hot, but I spoke before they could.

  “I said I thought about it. But you’re staying put. Right where you are, in the King’s Own, as my personal guard, where your fellow guards and your commanding officers know exactly what happened. And why.”

  Jeff’s face changed once more, his mouth and eyes rounding. “Oh. Oh, my.”

  Arlis ignored Jeff. “What the hell do you want me to do?” he asked. “Apologize?”

  I smiled—and watched Arlis take a step back. “Have you?”

  Before he could answer, there was a loud crash and Jeff, Ryson, Arlis, and I all jumped, turning to see the gazes of everybody on us. Well, almost everybody. Jusson was aiming his gold stare at the open doorway where Lord Idwal had apparently tangled with one of the castle servants carrying a tray.

  “Damn it!” Groskin said. “So close!”

  Bertram and several royal servants rushed to help, but Idwal didn’t wait for them. Hurriedly stepping over the spilled goblets on the floor, he all but ran into the room, his eyes wild as he planted himself in front of Jusson.

  “Whatever the hell you brought into my House has taken my wife!”

  Twenty-one

  Ignoring Idwal’s accusation, Jusson quickly rose from his chair. “Where was the last place you saw Lady Margriet?”

  Idwal ran a shaky hand over his face. “Downstairs, in the hall.”

  Jusson didn’t hesitate but headed for the door, the servants scrambling out of his way as his long stride easily carried him over a jumble of goblets on the floor, his nobles and guards and troopers and officers trailing him. Apparently, my “where” was wherever the king was as my own guards joined the exodus, hust
ling me with them, sweeping up Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson as they went.

  “What would she have done after dinner?” the king asked as he ran down the winding stairs.

  “Normally? I think the kitchens, then putting up the linen, dishes, and silverware,” Idwal said, right behind the king. “But I looked in both places. She wasn’t there.”

  “Perhaps Her Ladyship thought of another duty she needed to do,” Thadro said, following behind the king.

  “No, no,” Idwal said as we rounded the last corner and spilled out onto the gallery. “With everything that has been happening, I didn’t want her fumbling around in the more deserted parts of the castle. Margriet agreed and said that she’d leave everything else to our steward and come right up.”

  “Well, we will start in her familiar haunts anyway,” Jusson said, “and spread the search from there.” He motioned Idwal in front. “Lead the way.”

  Idwal quickly went to the same doorway Berenice had taken me the night before, and I once more plunged into a maze of corridors and passages. This time, though, Idwal very shortly turned down the hallway that Kveta had said led to the kitchens. Thinking of the she-wolf, I glanced around, more than halfway expecting to see her limping along on three legs. But she had remained upstairs, as had Wyln. Still, it was a mob that entered the huge, cavernous kitchen that was full of scullery maids, potboys, and other servants busy with the cleanup of the largely uneaten evening meal. They all stopped what they were doing to drop curtseys and give bows as we swept in. Idwal didn’t acknowledge the obeisances, but latched on to what looked like an assistant cook.

  “Did Lady Margriet return?” he asked.

  “No, my lord,” the man said, straightening from his bow. “Not since you were last here.”

  Idwal stared about distractedly and Jusson moved in front of him, catching his attention. “Linens, Mearden?”

  Idwal aimed his distracted look at Jusson for a moment, then spinning on his heel, rushed out of the kitchen, with us once more trailing behind, moving damn near at a trot as we followed him down another series of hallways, passing what apparently was Lady Margriet’s still room, the fragrance of herbs seeping out from the closed door. Jusson went a few steps past it, then stopped in his tracks, as did Suiden, both returning to the door, their heads cocked as if they were listening as the rest of us stumbled to a halt about them. Idwal, some distance ahead, slowed, looked over his shoulder, then made an abrupt turn and hurried back to where we gathered.

  “What?” Idwal asked. “What is it?”

  Jusson gestured at the door. “Do you have a key to this room?”

  “The stillroom?” Idwal asked. “No, my wife has it.” He eyed the door’s ornate keyhole. “You think she may be in there? I can get someone to break it down—”

  Suiden reached over and tried the door. It opened easily, swinging wide on oiled hinges to reveal a spacious, well-proportioned room with large windows that in the daylight would let in plenty of sun, but now were dark with the night. All around were herbs in dried bunches, bottles of tinctures, infusions, and other simples on shelves, racks, and cabinets that lined the walls, and in the middle of the room was a large desk with Lady Margriet’s stillroom book on top of it. The book was open and I could see recipes and notes written out in a neat hand on its pages in the light cast by a single lit candle next to it. Lord Idwal stopped at the desk and stared at the candle, but Jusson and Suiden hurried to a heavy oak door on the adjacent wall, Suiden once more reaching for the doorknob. Though this time there was a key sticking out of the keyhole, it wasn’t locked and the knob turned easily. However, the door didn’t budge. At the same time, I could hear the faint sound of pounding. As could Idwal. The Lord of Mearden bounded over and he, Suiden, and Jusson together put their shoulders against the door. On the third shove, the door popped open and revealed a darkened smaller room containing more glass-door cabinets, small high windows, and Lady Margriet.

  Pushing past Jusson and Suiden, Idwal swept Lady Margriet up in a tight embrace. The next moment, though, he pulled away and held her at arm’s length.

  “Are you all right?” Idwal demanded.

  In the light cast by the single candle behind us, I could see Lady Margriet give a smile that wobbled around the edges. “Yes, of course.” She tried to move away from her husband, but Idwal wouldn’t let go, so she shifted her stance so that she faced Jusson. “I beg pardon for the trouble I caused, Your Majesty,” she said, giving an equally wobbly curtsey.

  “No trouble at all, Lady Margriet,” Jusson said. “What happened?”

  “It was the silliest thing ever,” Lady Margriet said, her voice also wobbling a bit. “I thought I heard something so I came in to investigate and somehow managed to close the door behind me. It then became stuck and I couldn’t get it opened again.”

  As Lady Margriet spoke, Suiden turned to the door. Despite the pounding it took, it was still on its hinges, and the captain gently moved it back and forth a few times. The door swung easily, the hinges well oiled and no sticking points on either the door frame or the threshold. Suiden turned the key a couple of times, the locking mechanism faintly clicking as a dead bolt slid smoothly out and back in again. He then examined the doorknob. It also turned easily with no hitch, with neither the latch nor the frame showing any signs of splintering or other damage from its forced opening. Shuffling a bit between Ryson and Arlis, I shifted to look at the bottles that were behind what seemed to be locked glass cabinet doors. Jeff, a little closer, leaned in to peer through the glass.

  “Arsenic?” he murmured.

  Suiden glanced at Jeff before also looking at the cabinets. “What is this room, Sra Margriet?”

  “I keep poisons and strong medicines here that need to be more closely safeguarded. So I was very concerned when I thought I heard someone.”

  “Understandable,” Jusson said, his gaze on the undamaged door.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Margriet said. She indicated the door key still in the lock. “The door shutting jammed the lock belike. And in my frantic haste, I couldn’t get it unjammed.”

  “And nothing is missing?” Jusson asked, his gaze now on the cabinets.

  At the king’s question, Lady Margriet pulled away from her husband and, retrieving the candle sitting on her desk in the other room, returned. Holding the candle in one trembling hand, she made a quick circuit around the cabinets, unlocking the glass doors and drawers with a smaller version of the door key, doing a swift inventory of their contents. At the end, she smiled again, this time somewhat more successfully. “No, Your Majesty. Nothing was tampered with.”

  “Good,” Jusson said. He turned towards the door. “This at least is a satisfying ending to a very dissatisfying day—”

  “This is your fault,” Idwal said, glaring at me.

  I’d been standing a little apart from Jusson, leaning on my staff, trying to distract myself from my body’s aches and pains by trying to read in the flickering light the labels on the bottles on the cabinet shelves. However, at Idwal’s words, I snapped around.

  “Me? What the hell did I do?”

  “Idwal, no,” Lady Margriet began. “I’m fine—”

  “Dissatisfying, hell. Everything that has gone wrong these past two days started the moment you showed up on my doorstep,” Idwal said to me, his voice low. He shifted his glare to Jusson. “What did you bring into my House, Your Majesty?”

  All around me, folks held their breath as they waited for Jusson to explode. However, the king merely lifted a winged brow. “We brought exactly what you asked for, Mearden,” he said.

  “Husband, stop—”

  Idwal stepped in front of his wife. “I did not ask for this—this—” Words failing him, he waved a hand at me. “Even his own guard doesn’t want anything to do with him.”

  I frowned at that. Except for a couple of vague complaints Arlis had made earlier before Idwal had come into the king’s lower chamber, no one had said anything about not wanting to be my personal guard
. Idwal saw my frown. “Why else would they abandon him in the middle of the forest?”

  “I did not abandon Rabbit,” Jeff began.

  “Lieutenant Rabbit can take care of himself,” Ryson said at the same time. However, Arlis remained quiet and I turned my frown on him. He stared back, his eyes hooded, his face unreadable in the flickering light.

  “Our cousin is remarkably adept at dodging whatever is flung at him,” Jusson agreed. He propped himself against a credenza set under one of the room’s windows.

  “Tell us, Mearden. What did you expect to find? Our heir some malcontent, full of resentment and burning ambition, eager to shake off the shackles of royal oppression and rise up to seize the throne?”

  At Jusson’s words, my mind flashed back to what Berenice had said the previous night on the broad walk, about me not being what they had expected. Apparently Jusson had interpreted quite differently their dismay at not finding me the wild, dissolute, and possibly easily malleable son of my father.

  “No, of course not,” Lady Margriet said. She stepped in front of her husband, standing face-to-face. “His Majesty is right, Idwal. This has ended well. Let it be.”

  Idwal gently moved his wife aside. “Go to bed, Margriet. I shall be there shortly.”

  “No,” Lady Margriet said, and for the first time I saw a marked resemblance to her daughter in the firm, almost stubborn thrust of her chin and the way her dark eyes flashed. “Listen to me—”

  Taking Lady Margriet’s arm, Idwal pulled her to the door. Looking out, he saw some of the kitchen staff and other servants lingering in the corridor. He beckoned to one of the servants and, taking the candle from her, handed his wife to him. “See her to our rooms.” He then kissed Margriet. “Go to bed,” he said again, and then shut the door. Walking back, he stopped at the threshold and, with a sigh, pulled the key out of the keyhole and slipped it in his pocket.

  “We may be a bachelor, Mearden,” Jusson remarked, “but even we know that kisses aren’t going to sweeten your marriage bed any time soon.”