Cam felt old anger rise, but said nothing. Rhistiart looked down, silent as the brothers talked.
“I learned fast to stay out of Alvior’s way. Spent as much time as I could out in the fields. Although I’ve got to say, all that has come in handy since Alvior ran away. At least I knew how the manor really operated. I even slept in the barn when I could, just to be out of his reach. But I was around enough to notice that something strange was going on after Father died.
“Alvior started getting visitors from across the sea. And he started bringing strangers to Brunnfen who weren’t from around these parts. The men who came in boats looked highborn. Some of the other strangers, those who came on horseback, were ruffians. They never seemed to do anything but talk, so it wasn’t as if he was entertaining them with wenching and dice.”
Renn grinned ruefully. “One night, I decided to find out what was going on. They caught me eavesdropping. I guess Alvior could have made me ‘disappear’ but maybe he was afraid of getting caught after Father’s death. So he threw me in the dungeon and locked me down there.” He shrugged. “Once in a while he also remembered to feed me.”
“And when Rhistiart helped me escape from the Divisionists, I told Donelan what I’d overheard: that Alvior was backing the traitors,” Cam finished. “So Donelan’s men came to Brunnfen, and they let you go.”
Renn nodded. “If you think I’m skinny now, you should have seen me when they let me out of the dungeon. Pale as a vayash moru and skin and bones. I was scared to death that the king’s men would assume I was on Alvior’s side, but they heard me out and left me be.”
“Any idea where Alvior went?”
Renn shook his head. “I asked the servants if they’d seen anything. One of the men said that Alvior headed down to the beach beneath the cliffs and that a boat with big sails left the inlet that day. There’s nothing but islands off the coast until the other side of the sea, and I doubt he sailed toward Margolan or Eastmark, so I assumed he went across the sea.”
Cam yawned and stretched. “Tonight, I want nothing so much as a soft bed. But tomorrow, will you show me Alvior’s rooms?”
Renn nodded. “I thought you’d ask. Yes, I can show you. And I’ll take you down to the caves by the beach. We can’t make it down and back tonight before dark, but I think Alvior’s ‘friends’ had plans to return and I think Alvior was making ready for them.”
“Now that’s a cheery thought,” Cam said, finishing off the last of his mulled wine. Beside him, Rhistiart looked as if he would fall asleep at any moment. “Let’s get some sleep. Then I’d like to have a look around in the morning.”
The next morning was clear and bright. Brunnfen was far enough north that although the sun was shining, even on a late summer day, there was a chill in the air. After a cold breakfast, Cam, Renn, and Rhistiart began the climb down the steep cliffs to the shallow beach along the sea. The spray from the waves was cold, and at low tide, the water was still a distance from the base of the cliffs. They reached the bottom without mishap, although Cam’s bad leg was already starting to ache.
“Did you and Carina explore down here?” Renn asked as they picked their way through the rocks.
“Many times. Like you, we were happy to stay out of Alvior’s way, and father minded Carina less when we were out of sight,” Cam replied.
Renn jerked his head toward the cave openings that dotted the cliffside. “Come take a look over here.”
Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the caves. Sconces were set into the rock, with torches awaiting a fire. Renn took down one of the torches, struck a spark to light it, and motioned for Cam and Rhistiart to follow him. The caves were cold and damp, and the passageway fit Renn and Rhistiart better than Cam, who had to turn sideways to make it through the narrow spots. The passage opened up into a large room. Renn’s torch barely illuminated the space, but Cam could see that it was filled with boxes and supplies.
“I’ve been down here a number of times when I could steal away from the work,” Renn said, making a slow tour of the room with his torch so that the others could see. “The boxes are full of armor and weapons. There are rooms like this in several of the other caves. That’s just what I’ve found; I haven’t gone a lot deeper because I haven’t had that much time to explore.”
The magnitude of Alvior’s betrayal stunned Cam. “He was going to provision an army,” Cam said quietly. “Against Donelan. Against his own king. The Divisionists were just a diversion. Alvior was playing them for fools while he assembled the real invasion, with help from… somewhere.”
Cam turned to Renn. “Are Alvior’s rooms as he left them?”
Renn nodded. “The king’s men only seemed interested in Alvior himself. Far as I could tell, they didn’t take any of his things.” He paused. “Just so you know—Alvior moved into Father’s rooms right after Father died.”
Cam’s eyes widened. “Father’s rooms? Did you look in the secret room behind the wardrobe?”
Renn frowned. “What secret room?”
“There was a secret chamber that opened from a door in the back of the wardrobe in Father’s room. Carina and I found it when we were little. I don’t think Father ever used it. It was full of dusty old trunks and papers, and Carina and I pretended we were adventurers, discovering lost treasure.” He smiled sadly at the memory. “We never talked about it because Father probably would have thrashed us. So I don’t know if Alvior ever found it. But if he was brewing up a revolution… it would have been just the thing.”
They made their way out of the cave with a renewed sense of urgency and climbed back up the cliffs before the tide came in. Cam led the way back into Brunnfen, up the stairs to the largest room in the manor house. Cam hesitated for a moment with his hand on the door knob. Although he knew his father was dead, a long-ingrained caution urged him to run. Cam drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The room was shadowy, even in daylight. Renn and Rhistiart lit candles, but they made a small improvement in the gloom. Brunnfen’s windows were narrow slits, excellent for defense but poor for offering either light or view.
Cam looked around the room. The furnishings were the same as when his father had lived: a massive, four-poster bed hung with heavy bed curtains, an equally large desk and paintings of ships at sea. Wrought-iron candle stands and a large iron candelabrum would have made it possible to light the room well enough for reading or writing. The desk looked as if it had been rifled through, with papers strewn about.
“I did go through the desk after the king’s men left,” Renn said. “The papers were ordinary. Just accounts and such.”
Cam nodded, chewing his lip as he thought. He headed for a door in the back that led to the valet’s room and the large standing chest where Asmarr stored his finest court outfits. Letting memory guide him, Cam dropped to all fours, crawling to the back of the cabinet and feeling for a catch along the floor. A quiet snick answered his touch and Cam smiled. “Got it.”
A panel swung open. The opening was large enough for a man’s shoulders, but Cam had to shimmy to get his bulk through. “I guess I was a bit smaller the last time I did this,” he grunted. Renn passed a lit candle to him, and then he and Rhistiart crawled through without a problem. Cam lifted the candle high and caught his breath.
A work desk had been assembled in the room and on it lay mortars and pestles, a scrying ball, and a number of bulging velvet pouches. The room smelled of herbs and candle wax. Along the walls were shelves filled with vials and jars, some of which held organs, severed fingers, and small animals suspended in a clear liquid. Yellowed bones were stacked along the wall; more lay on the desk.
“Alvior wasn’t just planning an invasion,” Cam said quietly. “He was working with a mage. A blood mage by the look of it.” Another thought chilled him. “And if those bones mean what I think they do, maybe even a dark summoner.” He looked toward the others as horror registered on their faces. “We may have ruined their plans to use Brunnfen, but they’re out there, s
omewhere. And they’ll come back.”
Chapter Five
Aidane fastened the ornate gold necklace and smoothed it on her chest. The necklace glittered against the red and orange silk of her form-fitting dress, nestling against her full breasts in a neckline designed to show off her assets. The client tonight was paying gold and promised a home secure from the intrusion of the Crone priests. Aidane’s fingers trembled as she added gold cuffs to her wrists and a small, silver dagger hidden in the folds of her dress. Nargi priests were well known for their hatred of magic, and every client Aidane accepted was one more chance that the priests might catch up with her.
The client was paying gold for an evening with a ghost whore. Aidane did not want to be late.
She snatched her cloak from the peg and wrapped it around herself, concealing her dress. An ample hood hid her face. Her small apartment was comfortable by Nargi standards, with luxuries many could not afford. She did not have to share the room, and in truth, a roommate wasn’t an option. Too great a chance for discovery, should the roommate report on the activities of her serroquette friend. Aidane’s magic enabled her to eat well on a regular basis, to purchase the clothing and jewelry expected for a prosperous whore, and to pay a tight-lipped healer to fix her up when clients turned surly. She’d even been able to put a bit of gold away in a secret stash for hard times. It was as good as she could hope for, since long life wasn’t likely to be an option.
Aidane locked the door behind her and made her way down the narrow stairs to the street. The rooming house smelled of burning meat and overcooked cabbage. The others who shared the building generally ignored Aidane, and she ignored them as well. Better that way. Aidane had clients enough to keep her fed, and more company from the ghosts who begged to be allowed to use her body than she needed. Solitude was the one luxury she couldn’t purchase.
It wouldn’t do to hire a carriage to take her all the way to the client’s home; the driver might remember that he’d dropped off someone from this part of town near the home of a highborn magistrate. That could lead to questions, and in Nargi, questions never had good answers. Instead, Aidane would hire a carriage to take her as far as the marketplace, and from there, another carriage to the client’s home.
“Where are you going?”
Aidane startled at the harsh voice. She looked up to see a man in the red robes of a Crone priest blocking her way. Her heart thudded in her throat. He doesn’t know. He can’t see your clothing. It’s just the usual night patrol.
“Heading for the temple,” she murmured, keeping her face averted. She hoped her voice was suitably respectful.
“Late for you to be out alone,” the priest chided.
“I felt the need to pray,” Aidane said quietly. “Please, I want to make my offering.”
“Next time, go by daylight. Proper women aren’t in the streets alone after dark.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
The priest turned away to shout at another passerby, and Aidane hurried away. After a long while, her heart stopped pounding and she said a prayer to the Dark Lady in gratitude for her safety. The priests despised serroquettes, male or female, and of the few other ghost whores Aidane had known, all but one had disappeared. That made Aidane’s skills even more highly sought after, and enabled her to raise her fees. It also increased the odds that luck would turn against her.
Even at this time, the marketplace was busy. Torches lit the walkways and stalls that sprawled along the Kathkari Market, a tangle of pushcarts and tables covered with whatever goods might be had this week. The ascendance of the Crone priests under King Thaduc had made commerce a dangerous business, since edicts enlarged the list of forbidden items each week. Illicit goods, such as smoked fish from Principality, Tordassian brandy, or luxurious sweets from Dhasson, could still be had, of course, if the buyer had enough money and the right connections. Aidane shouldered her way through the crowd, ignoring the calls of the food vendors, although their bowls of noodles or skewers of chicken and beef smelled delicious.
She chanced a look around to make sure she was not being followed. It was difficult to know for certain in the bustle of the marketplace, but no one looked familiar. At the far end of the market, Aidane hailed another carriage, one with an enclosed passenger compartment, and breathed a sigh of relief as she settled into the cushioned seat.
By moonlight or by daylight, the city of Colsharti looked gray and lifeless. Nargi had always been conservative in its ways, some would say hidebound. But since Thaduc had forged his alliance with the Crone priests, the life had gone out of both the city and its people, who walked with their heads down, and usually with their cloaks up, as if skulking in broad daylight. Conversations had become guarded, and people now chose their words carefully, even among friends. Many public gatherings had been banned, so music and theater had become contraband, performed in cellars and in the caves beneath the city, constantly changing locations. Aidane fingered her necklace. Maybe soon she would have enough gold saved to buy her passage out of Nargi. Maybe soon…
M’lady, is it all arranged?
The voice sounded in Aidane’s mind. The speaker was a ghost, a handsome man with dark hair and midnight-black eyes, the dead lover of Aidane’s client.
It’s arranged, Aidane answered silently.
You’re certain she’ll accept you? There was a hint of nervousness as Nattan, the ghost, replied.
She understood the offer.
Nattan hesitated. Jendrie’s taste didn’t run to women. How…
Aidane sighed. It’s just as we discussed. You said yourself that there are no male serroquettes to be found in Colsharti these days. When I’m alone with her, I’ll give over my body to your control. You can do what you like together; Jendrie paid for two candlemarks’ time.
Nattan seemed embarrassed. But you will know; you will see.
Are you afraid you’ll shock me? I’ve been a ghost whore since my moon days began. I’ve made couplings for ghosts of every taste and interest. You’d have to want something damn acrobatic to surprise me.
And I’ll feel the coupling through your body?
Yes.
Nattan fidgeted. It will be strange, coupling with Jendrie as a woman.
Aidane’s nerves got the better of her, making her patience thin. It’s up to you. If you’d rather, you can talk over tea—
No. It just takes some getting used to. Perhaps there’ll be opportunities for pleasure that are new in this arrangement. That’s a good thing.
Serroquettes were just one more item of contraband in Nargi. Aidane fingered her necklace nervously, as if it were a good-luck charm. Every new appointment ran the risk of discovery by the priests, and with it the threat of torture, imprisonment, and death. Wealthy clients could usually buy their freedom. Poor clients, who had barely scrounged up the ghost whore’s fee for a desperate reunion with a dead spouse or lover, often suffered the same fate as the serroquette should the priests learn of the liaison. And still, business was brisk.
If this goes well, when I can use you again?
Aidane hated the word “use” even as she had to admit it was accurate. I accept one client each night. My nights are all taken for at least a month. Be cautious. You may be a ghost but Jendrie and I aren’t dead yet and we’d like to keep it that way. Meet too often and someone will see, or Jendrie’s husband will find out.
Understood.
To Aidane’s relief, Nattan said nothing more for the rest of the ride. She could still feel his presence dimly in the back of her mind. Silence gave her time to prepare. No matter how long she had been servicing clients, it took preparation to allow the ghost to fully inhabit her body. Usually, Aidane could lock herself away in a corner of her mind, resolutely ignoring what her body was doing until it was time to collect the fee. That worked most of the time, except when pain was part of the foreplay. Or when the lovers got into a quarrel that involved injury. Then, Aidane slammed back into consciousness, sometimes fighting with the ghost to share the body
and protest rough treatment. And more than once, a determined ghost had tried to make the possession permanent. Fortunately, Aidane’s magic had been strong enough, so far, to keep that from happening.
“Stop here,” Aidane called out to the carriage driver as they reached the road that led to Jendrie’s home.
“I can take you to the doorstep, m’lady,” the driver said courteously.
“No, thank you. I can walk.” She paused, reaching into a velvet purse for coin enough to pay the man. “Be back at this crossroads in two and a half candlemarks. Mind you don’t stop and wait, just go up and down the road. I’ll need a ride back to the city.”
The carriage driver came around to open her door. Aidane made sure her cowl was covering her face so that he could not identify her. “Yes, m’lady,” the driver said, helping her down. Aidane waited until the carriage had disappeared from sight before she began walking. Discretion was essential for a ghost whore, to protect both whore and client. Lanes to several manor homes led off of this stretch of road, so even if the carriage driver mentioned bringing a fare this way, he would have no idea where his passenger had gone.
Aidane paused at the gate to the large manor house. It wasn’t the custom in Nargi to make an ostentatious show of wealth on the outside of a home. Better not to give the priests any reason to claim higher tribute or to covet one’s property. Nargi’s priests were infamous for bringing charges against even the rich and well-connected whose power or wealth might pose a threat to the iron control of the priesthood.
“Hurry,” a voice called from the other side of the gate, which opened far enough for Aidane to slip through. “The mistress is waiting for you.”
Aidane said nothing as she followed the servant up the long gravel carriageway. She kept her hood up. It was possible that the servant had no idea of the nature of Aidane’s visit. That would be best. The less said, the better.
In Aidane’s mind, she could feel Nattan’s anticipation. He’d reconciled himself to the new arrangement, and the more he thought about it, the more urgent his lust became. Aidane tried not to guess at the nature of her clients’ relationships with their dead lovers. For some, it was obvious that death had severed a deep, genuine love. Many of the others just missed a reliable lay, or found the novelty of sex by proxy to be titillating. Aidane and the other ghost whores promoted the fiction that they suffered memory loss after the ghost left them. While she fervently wished it were true, it wasn’t, although the fiction pacified nervous clients and squeamish spirits. And it gave clients who later had second thoughts about the rendezvous less of a reason to hire one of Nargi’s numerous and inexpensive assassins to eliminate a potential embarrassment.
The Sworn Page 7
