“Am I interrupting?” Leo asked.
“Not at all,” Cirilla said. She glanced at his bloodstained clothes. “Didn’t she offer you…?”
“She’s bringing them,” he explained. “I wanted to talk to you first. I need to return to my estate.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Cirilla asked. Dismissing her servants with a wave, she arranged herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Leo and resumed walking. “It would be safer to remain here, at least until things quiet down.”
“I need to let them know what happened.”
“I already sent a messenger.”
Leo froze, mid-step, as a thought occurred to him. “Were they armed?”
“…no?” Cirilla answered, turning the word into a question. “Why? Should they be? It’s not far.”
“No, it’s fine,” Leo said. “I just warned them there might be trouble. I don’t want any of your servants harmed by a misunderstanding.”
Cirilla peered at him for a moment, then smiled grimly. “You never do anything halfway, do you?” she asked. Her words were teasing but her tone was not. “I can send you with an escort if it’s truly important.”
“It… might be,” he admitted. “I spoke with Wyden yesterday and he said—”
“Wyden?” she interrupted. “Why did you go to see him?”
“I needed some way to ensure Terras would attend the rally,” Leo explained. “He said he’d arrange it. But he also warned me not to start a riot. So, I should probably expect a summons any time now.”
Cirilla cursed under her breath and avoided looking at him. For a moment, she appeared ready to speak, then simply shook her head.
“What is it?” Leo asked.
“It’s… nothing,” she said. “At least you weren’t the one who started it.”
“I may as well have,” Leo noted sourly. “The Low Crown isn’t pleased with how we—how I ousted Olden. Given what happened, I doubt Wyden will be interested in the nuance.”
“ We had nothing to do with it,” Cirilla insisted. “If anything, Terras is the one to blame. He accommodated the Low Crown. A spoiled child always cries when you take away their toys.”
Despite himself, Leo chuckled. “ Any child cries when you do that,” he pointed out. “But it’s not like I can prove anything. Or that Wyden would listen even if I could.”
“Terras attacked you in the street,” Cirilla said with sudden heat. Rounding on Leo, she seized him by the arms and stared intensely into his eyes. “He tried to murder both of us. And now, three of our servants are dead because of it. We’re in this together. If Wyden wants to punish you for that, he’ll have to deal with me as well.”
Leo eyed her silently. Cirilla’s anger caught him off guard, but its presence was welcome. It was nice to not be the target of it, for once.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” he said, forcing a smile.
“Every damn word.”
A hint of movement down the hall caught their attention and they turned. Releasing Leo, Cirilla waved the approaching servant over.
The woman handed Leo a plain, linen shirt and a dated but refined doublet, then curtseyed and hurried on her way.
“All right,” Cirilla said. “Hurry up and change. I’ll have a couple of my men escort you home. Once this whole mess calms down, I’ll visit. And, if Wyden summons you before I do, make sure you inform me. I won’t have my future husband paraded around like some common criminal.”
This time, Leo did not need to force his smile. He took Cirilla’s hand, relieved when she did not pull away despite the blood, and lifted to kiss the back of it.
“As my lady wishes,” he said.
***
The walk back to his estate was quiet and uneventful, though the streets were rather crowded. Leo was surprised to see so many people out and about, given the chaos that had occurred barely an hour earlier. But, upon considering the matter, he supposed it was to be expected. Word traveled fast in Ansiri, but not instantly. And even if it had, there was still work to be done.
Brigit greeted him at the door, then paled at the sight of him. Her gaze traveled from the dried blood still on his hands, to the men escorting him, and then to clean, unfamiliar clothes he wore.
“Master,” she said, ushering him inside. Then, once the door was closed, she spun. “What happened? Where are Mihal and Nyssa?”
“Mihal is dead,” he announced flatly. “One of Terras’ men killed him.”
Brigit paled further and glanced over her shoulder. Sann crouched on the upper story landing, but at Leo’s words and Brigit’s glance, she stood and leapt gracefully down. Folding her wings, she trotted over.
“And Nyssa?” Brigit asked.
Leo shrugged, swallowing hard. His throat was beginning to constrict again. He could almost picture Nyssa, her face full of rage and exhaustion, fighting her way through a crowd of Terras’ men in a futile attempt to reach the smirking man.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “A lot… a lot happened. Some of Davin’s… peers decided to attack the rally. Terras found us after, around the same time Cirilla did. There was a fight. We each lost some. Terras ran at the end and Nyssa went after him.”
“You let her go?” Brigit demanded, aghast. “Alone?”
“Mihal saved her life,” Leo said softly. “And they killed him right in front of her. Do you actually think I could have stopped her?”
“But… well—you said Nyssa went after the count? Do you think she killed him?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Then, is it over? But what if she didn’t? What if Terras survived? Do you think we should—”
“I don’t know!” Leo roared. The fear and frustration and weariness of the day’s events struck him all at once and he nearly sprinted up the stairs. He wanted to be alone. To think. To work through things until the answers presented themselves. In the end, it was only the fact that Sann stood between him and the stairs that kept him from doing precisely that. “I don’t know, Brigit. I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then, almost gingerly, Brigit stepped forward and took his hand. She examined it for a moment, along with the blood that covered it, and gently squeezed it between both of hers.
“You need to rest, Master,” she declared, gently but insistently. “I’ll draw you a bath.”
Too overwhelmed to speak, Leo simply nodded. He did not even think to protest when Brigit handed him over to Sann and led them up the stairs. The drakonid wrapped an arm around him, half-embracing and half-guiding him, then added a wing as well. With her support, he managed the walk to his room and the attached bath. Soon, he was so accustomed to her presence that he swayed and nearly fell when she departed.
Brigit undressed him and helped him slide down into the warm, peaceful waters. Then, after lingering at his side for a moment, she murmured something Leo didn’t hear and left him to his thoughts.
Leo sighed, closing his eyes and reclining against the copper rim of the tub. So much had happened today and so little of it had gone according to plan. And yet, it was entirely possible that he’d succeeded. Nyssa might have killed Terras. She might, at that very moment, have been on her way to return home. Leo might have successfully slain one of the most powerful men in Ansiri at the cost of only a single slave and a few hundred sovereigns.
Or, it might all have been for nothing.
Sighing, Leo opened his eyes and glanced down. The water had successfully rinsed most of the blood from his hands, tinting unpleasantly pink in the process. He stared at it for a moment and sighed again.
Then, he sat up, slowly cupped a handful of the bathwater, and splashed it over his face.
Brigit’s intentions had been good, but she was wrong. He didn’t need to rest.
There was still work to be done.
***
Wyden’s summons came just in the waning minutes of dusk, just before nightfall. Leo was ready for it, of course. As was Karran, who he’d selected to accompany him.
He’d hoped that Nyssa would return home before the count’s messenger arrived, but she had not. And so, after a brief conversation with Brigit, the seven of them departed—Leo, Karran, Wyden’s messenger, and the four men he’d sent to escort them.
To Leo’s surprise, they did not make their way to the count’s estate, but rather to his wing of the Ministry of Justice. That fact alone made him uneasy, but the feeling only increased when he discovered the many rooms and offices of the building utterly deserted. No scribes or clerks were present, despite Leo’s knowledge that many of them often worked long into the night.
Nor did the few stern-faced guards they passed make any attempts to disarm him. The men glanced at the freshly polished rapier at Leo’s waist, but to a man, they stood aside and let him pass. And for once, they did not even object to Karran’s continued presence.
Wyden sat alone at the head desk in the hearing chamber. No aides sat near him. There were not even any guards, save the ones who’d accompanied Leo into the large, many-seated room.
“Leave us,” Wyden ordered, once the men had marched Leo most of the way forward. “I want to speak to with the baron privately.”
The men saluted crisply, then turned to go. The last had scarcely shut the door behind him when Wyden looked up from his papers and stared straight at Leo.
“I’m disappointed, Baron,” Wyden said. “I thought we had an arrangement. I would turn a blind eye to your ambitions and you would repay me with discretion.”
“Your Grace—” Leo began.
“I have not given you leave to speak, Baron VanOrden!” the count snapped. Folding his hands on the desk before him, he sighed and continued in the same cold, even tone as before. “Just yesterday, you assured me—you promised me—that you would avoid a repeat of last week’s instability. And then what happens?”
Leo bit his tongue, fists clenched at his sides. Wyden, on the other hand, rifled through the papers before him and lifted a page.
“Eleven dead,” the count read. “More than a hundred injured. Corpses lying in the streets, barely a hundred paces from this very building. And now, I’m told, the cousin of Count Terras has sent dozens of armed guards to scour the city for some sign of the man. So, perhaps you’d like to explain yourself?”
Leo forced himself to breathe slowly, his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ached. He strongly suspected that much of Wyden’s roughness was for show. But, despite that, it took a constant effort to keep from hating the man in that moment.
“Your Grace,” he said, fighting to keep the growl from his voice. “As you know, I have been feuding with Count Terras. I had plans to confront him at today’s event, perhaps even to settle the issue like noblemen.”
Wyden scoffed audibly and Leo had to swallow several venomous curses before continuing.
“Unfortunately, I never got the chance. As you know, a riot of sorts interrupted the proceedings. I have no affiliation with the men who did. To the contrary, their instigation was retaliation for the withdrawal of Jaime Olden’s candidacy. And, in the aftermath, Count Terras ordered his men to kill me and Cirilla Orczy.”
“Oh, I see,” Wyden drawled. “The man you planned to kill tried to kill you first. So that makes it his fault?”
“No,” Leo replied icily. “The fact that Terras’ underworld contacts started the riot makes it his fault.”
Wyden sighed, sitting back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. For several long seconds, he neither moved nor spoke. Then he sighed again.
“I like you, Leo,” Wyden said at last. “Despite what you might think, I do appreciate your ambition. That’s why I’m trying to protect you.”
This time, it was Leo’s turn to scoff. “Oh, is that what you’re doing?”
“Yes, it is!” Wyden snapped. He leaned forward suddenly, snatching up a document from the desk and holding it so Leo could see the broken seals. “You’ve been summoned before the Duke! As have I! It seems His Excellency is trying to decide whether your actions constitute a capital crime!”
Crumpling the document, Wyden heaved it furiously in Leo’s direction.
Leo tried to step forward to retrieve it, but his body had frozen cold. He could only stare at the wadded up page in mute horror. Inwardly, he screamed at his body to move, but his chilled limbs would not obey.
Then, silently, Karran did it for him. She retrieved the page calmly, smoothed it, and handed it to him. Leo glanced, but could not read the words written on it.
“I imagine Terras received one too,” Wyden said. “If the bastard’s still alive to show.”
“What…” Leo said weakly. “What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to wear your nicest suit,” Wyden answered dryly. “You’re going to tell the Duke exactly what you told me—minus the bits about feuding with the count. And then, you’re going to pick a god and pray that Terras doesn’t arrive to share his side of the story.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leo tried and failed to keep his hands from trembling as he waited outside the Duke’s hall at the center of the Ministry of Justice. Cirilla sat beside him, her fingers interlocked with his, but Leo barely noticed her presence. Instead, his attention was focused on the well-dressed and whispering crowd that stood all around him.
Nobles from all over Ansiri filled the antehall. There were easily more than a hundred; barons and baronets mostly, but Leo counted at least four of the city’s eight counts among them. He’d never met most of them, and therefore doubted they cared what happened to him. They’d come for the novelty of witnessing the Duke’s first semi-public appearance in years.
“ Leo !” Cirilla whispered insistently. “Relax! Everything is going to be fine.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” he mumbled back.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. The sight of her confidence would only have contrasted with the fear he felt. Or worse, if he looked and found nervousness on her face, he had no doubt his courage would fail him entirely.
Instead, he looked up. Not to find a god, as Wyden had suggested, but rather at the enormous statue that loomed overhead. Elias Ansiri, Lord-Admiral of the Isles, was as close to a god as Leo would find in the Ministry of Justice. The man had lived and died centuries earlier, but his name was still spoken in the same reverent tones as the Duke himself.
Not that it mattered now. The statue could not help him, nor would it have. Despite his outstretched hand, Elias Ansiri’s marble face was cold and hard.
“Wyden is here,” Cirilla said.
Allowing himself the distraction, Leo turned to look as Wyden made his way through the crowd. The man was wheeled along in his rolling chair, his face a calm, outwardly pleasant mask. Despite the nature of the count’s presence here, most of the nobles in the crowd bowed to him, murmuring greetings as the man passed. Then, almost as if by accident, Wyden glanced in Leo’s direction. The man’s eyes did not meet his, but he did nod in what could have been a greeting.
Then, quickly as he had appeared, the count vanished among the bodies.
“I think it’s almost time,” Cirilla noted. She squeezed his hand. “Do you need any help?”
Leo thought for a moment, searching for a quip that might make him seem less afraid. He didn’t find one.
“No,” he murmured, rising. “I’m okay.”
Cirilla smiled at him, then leaned in and pecked him gently on the cheek.
“I’ll see you after,” she promised, then evaporated into the crowd.
Leo nodded but said nothing. His fiancée’s prediction was quickly proven correct, however. With a muffled squeal, the immense double doors to the Duke’s hall swung open and the nobles began flooding inside. They were too polite to shove, of course, but there was more than a little jockeying for position along the way. No one wanted to be trapped at the rear of the chamber without a view, it seemed.
Leo waited as long as he dared, until the crowd of witnesses shrank to a quarter its original size. Then, taking a deep bre
ath, he marched forward to meet his fate.
The one saving grace in the whole affair was that Leo had not yet seen any sign of Count Terras. If the man didn’t show, he just might live out the day. If he did… well, it was already too late to flee.
A half dozen men armed with swords stood just inside the Duke’s hall, waiting. They eyed Leo as he entered, then turned and gestured impatiently to the last few stragglers making their way inside. Once the antehall was empty, the men shut the doors. Then, much to Leo’s unease, they slid the large locking mechanism back into place and took positions in front of it.
The hall buzzed with murmurs as the assembled nobles took their seats. Leo glanced around for some sign of Cirilla, but couldn’t find her. Wyden, however, he had no difficulty spotting. The count had taken advantage of his chair and maneuvered his way to the front of the center gallery and was arguing with one of the clerks who’d approached him.
Sighing in obvious exasperation, the man left Wyden to his devices. He’d gone barely a step, however, when he spotted Leo and promptly hurried over.
“My lord,” the man said politely. “Please take a seat.”
Leo glanced past the man in confusion. The open space at the center of the hall, normally reserved for barristers and those summoned, lacked both tables and chairs.
“My lord?” the man prompted, somewhat less politely.
“I was summoned,” Leo said, earning glances from the nearest nobles.
“In good time, my lord,” the man said. He gestured toward an empty seat near the rear of the gallery.
Rolling his eyes, Leo briefly considered refusing. If the Duke planned to hang him, the last thing he wanted to do was spend his final hours being ordered about by bureaucracy and tradition. But, in the end, he supposed causing a scene would not help him in any tangible way. Squeezing through the rows of chattering, perfumed nobles, Leo found his seat.
No sooner had he done so than the hall fell silent. Craning his neck to peer over the head of the man in front of him, Leo spotted a short, balding man in ceremonial robes ascend the steps at the head of the chamber. For a split-second, he watched in disbelief. Surely, the Duke could not be such a pathetic creature!
Baron of Hearts (Master of Monsters Book 2) Page 22
