Dark Court: The Summons

by Camille Oster

  Lorcan wandered and spoke to some of the gathered gentlemen. He was walking her way and Ashra felt a nervousness she wished she didn't. "Lady Greve," he said, his voice deep and bored. There was no particular kindness or familiarity in it. "I trust you are enjoying the evening."

  "Of course," she responded.

  "Good. Just to let you know. I saw Lord Wierstoke talking to Lord Curstjoy earlier. Now that is interesting, don't you think? Is his land not near yours?" His voice was light. "If I were you, I would be wondering how firm your alliance is."

  He departed and Ashra had to wonder if he was messing with her, or if the warning was genuine. It wasn't as if he seemed worried about the news, but then he wouldn't be. His aim of getting her land had not changed just because she'd been intimate with him. If she fell, rather than try to catch her, he would be there to clean up her assets.

  It was good to know that some things hadn't changed. He could have lied, she supposed, made it seem as if they had an alliance and hidden his true intentions. Perhaps this way had an integrity all its own. At least she knew where she stood. Nothing had changed, and that might be for the best. It would perhaps serve her to have a chat with Wierstoke later, to look him in the eye and hear his intentions. Would she be able to tell if he was lying? She hoped so. But then, undermining their alliance would be a natural strategy for an enemy. And that was exactly what Lorcan might be doing. Her walking away from her alliance would put her lands in play again.

  Raufasger sat on his throne, watching the proceedings, looking sullen. "Now," he said and everyone in the hall quietened, listening to what he had to say. "I think we are overdue for a hunt."

  A murmur washed through the hall. Ashra frowned, wondering what horrid thing she would be subjected to now. The people around her didn’t look distressed, so it couldn’t be that bad, but then one couldn't take any of Raufasger's suggestions at face value. Everything seemed to have a hidden agenda or a caveat.

  Raufasger rose and walked across his platform, as if he was pensive. "But not just a hunt. I want to hunt something spectacular. No standard creature, no. I want something with deadly teeth and claws. I want a Nemean lion."

  A gasp spread through the court. Nemean lions were creatures of myth, with an uncommon fierceness and golden fur. In her mind's eye, she saw them all running for their lives, defenseless against this beast. Raufasger would probably find that amusing.

  At no time had a real Nemean lion ever been recorded. What trickery was Raufasger playing? His madness was unbounded, it seemed.

  "Bring me the mage," he ordered, standing with his legs apart. Eager madness shone through his beady eyes.

  Silence reigned over the entire court as they waited minute by minute. This request was completely outrageous, a request to hunt a mythical animal that didn't exist, one known to be impervious to weapons. Was this some kind of ruse, a proposition to fight an unfightable animal? He would see himself as capable of that.

  It had to be another way for Raufasger to show and prove his power, a victory only he could render. Such feats proved to all of the nobility how strong he was and by that, he was the rightful ruler of them all.

  Ashra's eyes traveled to Lorcan, who didn't look back at her. He didn't seem surprised, maybe even a bit curious.

  The doors parted in silence and Mr. Liesdal appeared, looking haggard, frail and confused. His gait was unsteady and feeble as he walked through the middle of the parted hall toward Raufasger's throne. Painfully, he bowed.

  "I want a Nemean lion," Raufasger demanded, his voice booming across the hall.

  "My lord," Liesdal said with a painful bow. "The creature you speak of is not real." His gaze dashed left and right, betraying his fear and uncertainty.

  Raufasger's head twisted sideways. "You cannot raise a measly beast for me? I wonder what use you are, Mr. Liesdal. It is said you are a powerful mage, but you cannot perform the simplest things. Must I find someone who can? If that is the case, I wonder why I keep you around, Mr. Liesdal."

  "My liege," Liesdal said ingratiatingly. His body positively trembled with fear.

  Discomfort flared in Ashra's belly. This was how bad things started and all she wanted was for the old man not to end up as a mangled heap on the floor.

  Raufasger stilled and that was worse, Ashra thought, shifting between her feet, knowing yet again that she could absolutely not interfere. That would draw a harsh punishment from Raufasger because she would openly be questioning his judgement and edicts, something he saw as unforgivable. "Are you telling me it cannot be done?"

  "The magics to create a creature from fantasy would be difficult. I assume you do not want a mere rendering?"

  The liege raised an eyebrow and everyone laughed as if cued to. Liesdal looked around nervously.

  Please have something, Ashra urged. Lie if you must.

  "Such has never been done," he hacked out, his shoulders drawn up to his ears.

  "I didn't ask if it could be done," Raufasger said coldly. "I told you I wanted one, and I want it ferocious. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, my lord," Liesdal replied.

  "Yes, I can, or yes I understand. Careful how you answer," Raufasger said with levity, now and again everyone laughed. "We find incompetence so tiresome."

  Ashra held her breath, hoping Raufasger didn't decide he was wasting his time. Lie, she urged.

  "I will find a way," Liesdal said, bowing deeply.

  Raising his head higher, Raufasger watched him for a moment before finally dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Liesdal didn't need further encouragement and slinked out of the hall.

  Closing her eyes, Ashra tried to hide the relief she felt. For a moment, she'd been worried that the old man would be tortured and killed before them, but he'd survived. The humiliation Raufasger had leveled at him was embarrassing and painful, but it was a small price compared to the one Raufasger could have exacted.

  * * *

  Chapter 22:

  * * *

  The relative uneventfulness of the next few days only let Ashra reflect on the time prior. The loss of her son's presence and the shock of the things she'd seen were catching up with her and she felt increasingly raw. Raufasger seemed to be settling down, returning to a more amenable mood, but the recent past felt like scars on her conscience. The fear and determination of the time of danger was relenting and the effects of it were now unfolding on her.

  All she wanted was to stay in bed and sleep, but she couldn't. With Raufasger in a better disposition, they might be safer from his temper, but she was still placing herself in peril by ignoring her duties.

  Lorcan's warnings that her alliance was perhaps less than secure prayed on her mind. The one thing she needed here, other than Raufasger's tolerance, was that alliance. She had to think of something to do to reaffirm or strengthen it. Unfortunately nothing was coming to her. It felt like her mind was clogged, her heart too loud in its sorrow from having to send Tabain away, and the horrible things she'd seen.

  Wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to achieve her anything. She had to be stronger than this. Tabain depended on her. Pulling herself together, she rose from her bed and dressed for the evening. This was just a reaction, she told herself, a response to the stress. It would pass and she would find an even keel again.

  As fine as she looked, she couldn't quite remove the glassiness of unshed tears from her eyes. Her heart felt raw, but she collected herself as she stared into the mirror. She would get through the night and she would recover from these morose feelings.

  A deep breath and she set out for the night. The diamond and ruby necklace was still cold around her neck, heavy like a manacle. Despite its beauty, she was just as much a prisoner here as any poor wretch Raufasger kept locked in his prisons. But they all pretended they weren't, and that was the game of this court. Their antics entertained the liege and playing the game was mandatory.

  With a shaky smile, she walked to the evening's entertainment. There was to be a play. A stage had been se
t up at the end of the hall, red velvet curtains hanging to hide the stage and the scenery. Gilded chairs surrounded the stage and Raufasger's throne had been set up behind that—so he could see them all as well, to judge their reactions.

  "Lord Wierstoke," she said and slowly curtsied. "You look well rested. I hope you are looking forward to this tantalizing hunt."

  "I am," he said. "A Nemean lion. No doubt the liege will slay it, but it will be a frightful sight. I suspect some of the ladies will swoon."

  "The excitement will likely be extreme. Are you a hunter, my lord?" she asked. All the while, she was trying to think of ways to strengthen their alliance. One thing she understood was that she could not show weakness during this hunt. If she 'swooned', Wierstoke would think her weak. A show of strength would be even better regarded, but she certainly couldn't slay a lion. She had to consider what role her apparent relationship with Lorcan played in this alliance. The fact that they spoke had certainly not gone unnoticed, even if the shocking fact that they'd been intimate had. These things had meaning, but Lorcan had been clear what his objectives were. In fact, he wanted to break up this alliance to weaken her. And that was perhaps her saving grace, because her weakened would weaken Wierstoke.

  "Sport does not really suit my sensibilities," he admitted.

  "Yet, we must appreciate a heroic effort. I take it our liege is an excellent huntsman."

  "He has slayed the most dangerous beasts."

  "As must we all, in our way," she said, not entirely sure what she was promising, but she was subtly letting him know that if there were to be a fight, she would do her bit—that she would not fold in the heat of confrontation. It was perhaps both a pledge and a warning. At some point, Wierstoke would make a move on someone and she would have to lend her support—as long as it wasn't her he was moving against.

  Looking over, she saw Lorcan speaking to a group. As usual, he wore dark clothes and neatly tied back hair. Maybe it would even come to pass that they take on his faction. It would certainly be a risk, a big fish to take down, but she had to be prepared for it.

  "Are you setting your sights high, my lady?" Wierstoke asked, obviously having noted her attention.

  "In good time," she said as a way of diffusing the moment, and also communicating that a significant move wasn’t something she feared. The unattainable end result was to clean up, wasn't it? She turned her attention back to Wierstoke. "These things must be carefully considered, do they not?"

  Wierstoke was impressed and obviously had no idea it was all bravado. She had no idea what she was doing and being so mercenary was absolutely not in her nature—but that was an image she had to project, even if inside, all she wanted to do was curl up and cry. Perhaps her strength in this alliance was her apparent willingness and goal to take out Lorcan.

  With a nod, she bid goodbye, pleased with her effort. If Wierstoke had been unsure about her, he was no longer unsure about her level of ambition. A small smile graced her lips as she walked away. She was getting better at this game. Strength was mostly in the telling, it seemed. Some day she would be tested and she had to prepare to be the victor at that time—whatever it took.

  The play was about to start and they were asked to take their seats. Raufasger appeared when they were seating themselves and all bowed or curtsied as he appeared.

  Lorcan sat on the other end of the group of chairs. His blue eyes meeting hers as she looked over. There was no softness, but an almost imperceptible bow was her greeting. She still had absolutely no idea what his true intentions were. In a way, they had an intimacy, but his stated objectives were still to take from her, and he made no move to hide it. An alliance with him would be strong, but there was no indication such an alliance was even possible.

  There was also a danger in changing the balance of power within the court. Too much on one side and Raufasger would grow concerned. Their factions kept them weak and that pleased him. He both admired and feared power, it seemed.

  The audience was shushed and the velvet curtains drew back. Troubadours with heavily painted faces and gaudy costumes appeared.

  "My lords and ladies," a man with dark hair and a white face said, bowing almost to the ground. He had a wig like a page, apparently the narrator of this play. The plot of the play was disjointed, but there were apparently some evil merchants from another land, and a maiden in peril of being stolen. Then the character of the liege appeared, wearing a fur-lined cape and sharpened features drawn onto the actor’s face.

  Ashra, along with the people around her, held their breath, unsure how Raufasger would react. There was a strong chance he could see himself being mocked by this presentation, which meant the evening would end with broken bodies being carted away.

  The actor's voice boomed across the room, demanding the merchants leave. As the men protested, the theatrical king brandished a golden sword and smithed them. They dropped to the floor in screaming agony and the maiden ran into his arms in gratitude as the glorious king triumphed. The peasants cheered and the maiden crouched at his legs with a look of sheer adoration.

  Silence reigned over the crowd, waiting for Raufasger's verdict. So, apparently, did the actors, who must know their very lives depended on his reaction.

  "Bravo," he said and the court broke out in cheer, most rising to applaud. Ashra stood as well, not perhaps clapping as enthusiastically as some. It was a deplorable play with poor acting and scarce plot beyond the king conquering. Perhaps the only message a group of players could safely present in the citadel. Ashra wondered if they presented something very different away from here, or were they too scared even in the most distant towns of this kingdom?

  "Did you enjoy the play?" she heard Lorcan's now familiar voice and turned to him.

  "The only difference between the troubadours and us is that we are better actors."

  Lorcan smiled. "You are determined to get yourself into trouble one of these days, Lady Greve. The liege would be mortally offended by your cynicism."

  Yes, she was handing him more ammunition, but there was something risqué within their association. He already had enough ammunition to act against her if he wished to, but she suspected it wasn’t the type of ammunition he would use. They had no alliance, and she was not safe from him, but truthful opinions wasn't the warfare he played. When he made his move, it would be something much more profound. He didn't play tattletale as many in this court viewed warfare. It was what made the difference between a true threat and a dabbler.

  He stepped a little closer, but didn't bend down. "If you are to survive in this court, you really can't wear your emotions on you sleeve."

  "I wasn't aware I was."

  "Your melancholy is almost tangible." She hadn't even been melancholy, she wanted to retort. She'd done a good job defending her position in her alliance, and now he came along saying she wore her heart on her sleeve. "Eyes that sparkling show either sadness or madness. You are anything but mad."

  He seemed to have a knack for cutting through her masks. "I thought I was doing a very good job hiding it."

  "Your emotions make you weak."

  "It is a passing phase," she said, against her better judgement, feeling both exhilarated and intimidated to have him so near.

  Chapter 23:

  * * *

  Tonight they were in some kind of performance space. There were dancers, dressing in white tulle and they shone in the dark space that was draped with red velvet along the walls. The dancers were young girls, clearly of the lower orders, but they were skilled and very pretty with flowers in their hair. Most weren't paying the dancers too much attention, instead milling around each other, conducting the typical court gossip. What schemes were being hatched that night, Ashra wondered as she stood by a column and watched.

  The court had returned to normal, it seemed, but Ashra didn't trust the apparent peace one bit. Everyone here was effectively trying to influence Raufasger's next action, have it be to their benefit by smiting an enemy, enhancing their position, or ju
st finding some entertainment in what was quite a monotonous court life. Day in and day out, they did the same thing. It was just the target, the winners and the losers that shifted.

  Through the dark evening, she spotted Lorcan, who walked leisurely through the crowd, looking his typical, with his long blond hair swept back into a queue. He spotted her too, but drew his attention away from her to the person who was engaging him.

  Ashra wasn't in the mood to talk. In fact, she felt sullen and drained. It wasn't like she ever wanted to be there, but she particularly didn't want to be there that night.

  "Little bird's been whispering in my ear," Lorcan said beside her, taking her by surprise.

  "Oh yes?"

  "Apparently, you have been telling people you are going to take me out," he said, standing straight and looking down his nose at her, his hands clasped behind his back. A relaxed stance, but there was that steel behind his serene countenance. Not an ounce of concern or upset showing—but then he didn't ever show anything but slight boredom.

  So, he'd heard that. This was awkward and more than a little alarming. "And who has been telling such tales?" she asked, knowing she could very well be on thin ice here, depending on how he took this. She couldn't afford to make an enemy of Roisen Lorcan. Obviously, they weren't friends, but she didn't want him emotionally invested in gunning for her either.

  "I'm not sure if it matters."

  "It matters if it was told by someone I have every reason to trust," she said, trying her best not to look flustered. This could end really badly.

  He was silent, a silence through which she could tell he was livid.

  "It's not what you think."

  "Is that so?" he said guardedly. "It sounded a lot like what I think."

  Quickly, his hand whipped up to her neck and he pushed her back into the red velvet curtain, which enveloped her and effectively hid them from view. There was apparently a space behind the curtain, not large, but enough to hide them. Wonderful. He could murder her in front of everyone and they wouldn't know.