Dark Court: The Summons

by Camille Oster

  A missive arrived and she accepted it with resignation. What horror did Raufasger have in mind today? The answer surprised her, the antithesis of the day before: a tea party. Laying the invitation down, she sighed as a sense of dread built. Raufasger seemed to wrap his cruel intentions in pretty wrappers, so it was harder to trust him when he planned seemingly benign things.

  But she supposed it would give her time to watch and observe. Both Lorcan and the Trewegen woman. One of them was guilty and she didn't know which. She also had to think if there was any other avenue of getting information. Perhaps the pages knew more about what went on in the citadel than anyone gave them credit for. They might even know who’d killed Torunn, but it was hard to find them, and the ones she called refused to step outside of their role and purpose. There had to be some way of getting through to them.

  *

  The tea party had been set in one of the gardens Ashra hadn't seen before. It was lovely, with weeping willows that caught the wind. So did the white table clothes draped over the round tables. Everything was soft and feminine, a stark contrast to the day before. Was this Raufasger's attempt at being inclusive? Or did he seek an antidote to the savagery of the lion hunt?

  Ashra had chosen a lighter dress, softer in color and style. So had most others, and gone were the bold colors and rich satins. On the surface, the scene looked lovely—if you didn't know what this court was like. Couples floated around the grassy knoll, milling and chatting. Some had taken to wearing hats and gloves, dressing for the occasion.

  Across the tables, she saw Lorcan, who had even softened to choose a gray suit. He was speaking to someone, looking relaxed and unperturbed. Was that the look of a person who had killed someone?

  There hadn't been a mark on Torunn, so he hadn't died of violence. Poison had been her guess, or perhaps magic. There had been no inquest of any kind. Such things were not a part of Raufasger's court, it seemed. This was a place of 'hear no evil, see no evil', unless Raufasger wanted to see it—justified or not. But if politics was the name of the game here, she would find some way to get justice, but Lorcan was strong and it would be hard to damage him.

  There had to be a point, she conceded, where protecting Tabain was more important than justice. Torunn would never forgive her if she harmed the family for the sake of justice, and Ashra loved him even more for that. Saying that, beyond her own security, she would do what she could to hold the culprit to account. With proof, if she demanded justice, it would prove hard for Raufasger to ignore.

  Ashra sat down at a table with some of the more benign ladies. These women were survivors rather than players and they tended to keep a low profile. On a day like this, Ashra actually felt like having a chat and a mellow time, forgoing the brutal politics elsewhere. It also gave her an opportunity to watch and consider what to do. She didn't have a plan and she was not going to rush into anything—that was dangerous around here. Considered and meticulous was her enemy and so she would be in return.

  Cakes were placed on the table in stacked trays. Everything looked delicious—small sponge cakes, tarts and slices. But when Ashra considered one, her stomach revolted, churning with nausea. She couldn't for a moment imagine putting one of them in her mouth, no matter how delectable they looked. The episode was so strong she wondered if she needed to go seek some privacy. Her stomach rolled and she had to close her eyes. Even the smell of the tea seemed off-putting.

  Nausea wasn't something she normally suffered from, unless she herself was being poisoned, but then she hadn't eaten all day. Her breakfast had been untouched, left and forgotten, and now that she thought back, she hadn't eaten at all. Perhaps it was hunger that was making her feel a bit shaky, but if she was hungry, why couldn't she eat?

  There was another possibility, one she didn't want to entertain—could perhaps be a worse outcome than someone trying to poison her. She'd had nausea like this once before, the reaction to food she normally loved—any food, really. Except apples. Apples she could tolerate, any form of it.

  This couldn't be true, she thought as she sat there, dread and disbelief creeping up her spine, making goose bumps stand painfully along her arms. She couldn't be pregnant. It would be too cruel, particularly considering the person involved. Her stupid carelessness seemed even more shocking now. How could she have been so stupid?

  "Are you alright, my dear?" one of the women asked and Ashra tried to focus through her immobilizing shock.

  "Of course," she said with a wavering smile. "I think I have just forgotten something in my room. I should perhaps go fetch it."

  "Yes, of course. These scones are buttery heaven, aren't they? Have you tried one?"

  Ashra looked at the dense lump, seeing the fatty, thick cream and felt her stomach heave. "I'll just be a moment," she said, getting up and quickly walking toward one of the garden entrances. Out of sight, she started running, feeling like she needed to know immediately what was going on, that the thing she suspected wasn't true. It had to be something else, a stomach virus or something that would go away with a few days of rest.

  She was walking without any particular direction, just needing to be on the move to somewhere. Finally her mind engaged and she changed direction and made her way to the cluttered and probably even dangerous chambers of Mr. Liesdal.

  The man looked annoyed with her appearance, seemingly absorbed in some experiment. He ignored her for a while, perhaps hoping she would give up and go away, but her distress outweighed his at the moment.

  "Mr. Liesdal," she demanded, feeling too raw to be mindful.

  With a grumble, he put aside some contraption he held and acknowledged her. "Lady Greve. Out wandering again?"

  When did she ever wander? She dismissed it. "Are you able to advise me in confidence?"

  "That depends on the advice," he said, looking uncomfortable.

  Ashra didn't know how to proceed. She couldn’t have this man talking about this. If anything, this needed careful management—if true. Was it worth the risk to know now? It could be months before she had confirmation and she didn't think she could live with that uncertainty.

  "I really do require confidence." She simply had to take the risk and hope he was honorable about this. "Is there some way you can tell if I'm with child."

  He drew breath and exhaled. "Have you found yourself in some trouble? Such things can be dangerous around here. Or is this something you planned?"

  "Of course not," she said, offended, but perhaps not surprised. Maybe some people used such things as strategies. "In fact, it would probably be very bad."

  Liesdal shifted to a cupboard and rifled through bottles, them clinking together as he sought what he was after. He found it, it seemed, and Ashra almost wished he hadn't. For a moment, a chance of 'no' seemed better than the risk of a certain 'yes'. But that was immature and cowardly. She wasn’t someone who hid her head in the sand and pretended nothing was wrong. If she knew, she could plan—not that this wasn't one hell of a screw up.

  Uncorking the small green vile, he held it to her nose and it smelled like decay and vomit. Her nausea flared violently and she barely contained herself from retching right there.

  "I think the answer is definitely yes, my dear," he said, a bit more sympathy in his eyes. "I hope the implications won't be too harsh. I take it this is not joyous news."

  It was terrible news and Ashra knew that her shock hadn't actually set in yet. It was still coming, along with the gripping need to go running along endless corridors screaming.

  Drawing air through her nose, she steeled herself. This was terrible. She now carried what Lorcan needed the most, an heir. Luckily he had no claim over her and this child. Officially, this child wasn't his. They weren't married and he couldn’t force her. A marriage needed her consent. Besides, he was already married—which was probably a good thing, under the circumstances.

  The best thing would be if he never knew. If only she could go spend time at the estate. Perhaps she could once her condition was too blatant to hid
e. Until then, this was something no one needed to know about. "You understand why I need your confidence," she said.

  "I do," Mr. Liesdal said and Ashra felt relief settle the worst of the panic ripping through her.

  Chapter 26:

  * * *

  It felt like the world had crashed in on Ashra, panic intermittently flaring in her mind. Most of the time, she wanted to throw her things in a trunk and simply flee. Actually, the things weren't important. There was nothing here she valued, but she couldn't because she would lose the things she did value. Fleeing would be the weak thing to do. No, she had to be strong and face this.

  This certainly was a setback, being pregnant to the man who had killed her husband. How could one possibly see that in a good light? She supposed it would be vengeance, having what he wanted most and refusing to give it to him—because she would be refusing. This child would never be a Lorcan.

  The most political part of her knew she could use the child to get his protection, but his protection and cooperation wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted justice. She wanted him rubbed into the dirt until he disappeared into nothing. That was perhaps a bit strong, but she wanted some consequences for these actions. She owed Torunn that.

  The accusation had been laid, but she couldn't be presumptuous. Who knew what that woman's motives were, the one who had accused Lorcan. It could be anything and Ashra was not going to be some pawn in someone else's game. The most clever operators made other people do their dirty work.

  Which brought into question how her husband died and what had happened around that time. Was there a way of placing Lorcan in a position where he was culpable? Motive, opportunity and means. Those were the things she had to prove. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do when she proved it, but that was something she could consider when she had. Perhaps it would then be time to seek justice, in whatever form Raufasger metered out—which tended to be both brutal and fatal.

  A frisson of discomfort washed through her. Could she watch Lorcan being tortured on the floor, flailing in agony, watch him being murdered while knowing she was the cause, the instigator? She didn't know if she could be so ruthless and callous, even if he had murdered the man she'd loved. It would stay with her for the rest of her days.

  Dismissing the uncomfortable thought, she turned her attention to the practical. She needed to learn what was going on at the court at the time Torunn had been murdered. What activities were going on, what political maneuvers were in play. A bit of subtlety in her questioning might be advisable, so she didn't immediately give away that she was questioning her husband's death. But she needed some place to start. What she did know was that Lorcan had borrowed some books from Torunn.

  Grabbing a parchment, she wrote this down, as she intended to do with everything she learned during her inquisition. Information was power and she was going to gather her arsenal. If there was one thing she could do, it was to analyze the situation, get a grip on the picture. Then she could tease out the things she needed—motive, means and opportunity.

  Unfortunately, none were clear. Lorcan being a complete political animal was simply not enough. There had to be some reason. Perhaps he was making a move on Torunn's lands, or more disconcerting, perhaps Torunn was making a move on Lorcan lands. It could be that Lorcan was being defensive, although she couldn't see Torunn being so aggressive. Then again, he was a member of this court and he had survived here—until he didn't.

  After taking lunch in her apartments, Ashra searched through Torunn's desk, trying to find evidence of any political overtures, but there was nothing. Either Torunn was uninvolved with any, or he was too shrewd to write things down. It could be the latter. The written word was powerful and he wouldn't have been silly enough to think his study would be safe. The walls had ears and eyes, or so everyone kept reminding her.

  Speaking of, was she safe here? Torunn hadn't been. Poison had been introduced somehow and he'd ended up consuming it, or being stuck by it, or however it had been administered. The same fate could await her. Lorcan certainly knew where her apartments were. There had to be some way of making it safe. Could locks be trusted to keep people out? If things got difficult, how would she deal with it?

  *

  Ashra agreed to every invitation sent her and went to each tea, lunch, soirée with the intention of finding answers. It turned out there had been some trouble with a courtier named Hennis, which had ended quite ugly, with the man being placed in one of the corpse cages out on the road. Something to do with inappropriately stealing property from Raufasger himself.

  Even Ashra would acknowledge the man had been an idiot if he thought he could get away with stealing from the citadel or the liege’s lands. There had also been a ball on. Not a masquerade, but a ball to celebrate the anniversary of Raufasger's conquest of the realm. A gigantic ice sculpture had been commissioned and had melted all over the floor. There had also been some trouble in the south, some peasant uprising that Ashra had never known about.

  More interesting, and also surprising, was that the House of Lorcan and the House of Greve had been in an informal alliance, a kind of truce, it had been described. Lorcan had certainly never mentioned this and it had obviously meant little as one had ended up murdering the other. But it did add gravity to the situation. Lorcan's alliances obviously weren’t set in stone.

  There was no record of this alliance anywhere, but Lord Wierstoke had confirmed a certain friendliness between the men. He'd also firmly warned her against considering anything of the type now. She assured him she was not. In fact, she was more motivated than ever to make a move on the House of Lorcan, wrench something away from him, even if it resulted in no gain for herself. Vengeance was her motive. Wierstoke appreciated her position, but advised caution.

  Whether she believed she would make a move on Lorcan's estates, she wasn't sure of yet. She didn't have enough information to make a determination.

  But she did learn of a purchase Lorcan had made around that time, although the details were sketchy. That purchase had to have a paper trail and that trail had to exist somewhere. She summoned one of Raufasger's clerks to her apartments, who looked uncomfortable when he turned up, wearing nondescript brown robes and a less than flattering haircut.

  The archive, he had mentioned. All information related to purchases were in the archives. The youth slinked away as soon as he could and she got the feeling he didn't want to be associated or in the view of one of the courtiers. Perhaps she couldn't blame him as they were political and ruthless—pariahs in other words.

  So there was an archive and she had convince the clerk to tell her where it was. Apparently, there was a man responsible for it, to which requests could be lodged. Ashra could imagine that process would take months. It would also highlight to Raufasger, or maybe someone else unpleasant, that she was searching for information. Would the information be worth the attention?

  After consideration, she couldn't think of a way around it. She needed the information in the archives—but she could do without the scrutiny. In fact, she needed to act with complete discretion. Raufasger, with his whims and preferences, couldn't be trusted. Could she risk breaking into the archives? She wasn't going to steal anything, like that Hennis man, but she wasn't sure Raufasger would see a distinction.

  It was an awful risk. Would Torunn tell her not to? Would he rather let his murder go? Ashra wasn't entirely sure she could live with that, particularly as she was carrying that particular murderer's seed in her belly.

  No, she had to do it. Pleading ignorance if she was caught might not save her, but it was a defense. How could she look her son in the eyes and tell him she did nothing when confronted with the man who had murdered his father.

  After dinner that night, well past midnight, she would try to see if she could get into the archives. She made the determination before she thought too hard about it and worked her concern up too high to go through with it. It was just something she was going to do without considering every reason why it wa
s a bad idea. There were gaps in the information she had that only a trip to the archives could answer.

  *

  Ashra had considered wearing dark and free-moving clothes, but decided it would look too suspicious if she were caught. Instead, she kept her evening gown and stood around the corner, watching the guard to the archives door. He looked tired and bored. Surely at some point, he had to walk, or do something—go to the toilet, eat, anything.

  If only she had some potion she could use to incapacitate the man, but Mr. Liesdal would never risk giving her something like that. Using such means at court would be akin to a death sentence for both of them.

  If she had a dart with some tranquilizing medium right now, she could be in there already. It sounded nefarious, but it would be effective. Unfortunately, she had nothing of the type. She could potentially set fire to something. That would distract the guard, and potentially burn the whole citadel. She gloried in the vision of the whole macabre structure burning to the ground. Raufasger would make her death so painful she would beg for it if she did something like that.

  Fire wasn't necessary, she decided.

  Stepping around the corner, she appeared into view. "Young man," she said, although he was probably older than her. "I smell smoke."

  The man didn't know what to do. He seemed hesitant.

  "Should there be smoke in this part of the castle? I hope there isn't a fire anywhere. Is this structure designed to thwart a fire? I hope we don't all burn in our sleep." She knew damn well fire concerns were not a top priority for someone like Raufasger. If this place burned, it would burn like tinder in many places.

  "I will go check," he finally said, conceding that seeking a fire was probably more important that guarding stacks of paper. He ran past her, leaving the door clear.