EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  Jenn noted the pause and realized he expected her to say something. She opened her mouth and some words came out. “Yes, thank you, Sire.”

  The King leaned a little closer to her. “I suppose your father was quite surprised to find you were still alive after all these years. You must have had quite a few stories to tell him.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “And do you like our beautiful city?”

  Jenn swallowed and tried to stop her throat from going dry. “Yes, Sire.”

  Selar straightened up, but the grim smile never left his face. “Yes, I hope you do enjoy your stay with us, my lady, and perhaps while you’re here, we may even be able to find you a husband. I’m sure your father would not object.”

  He turned to the man on his left. “Remind me to look into it, will you, Nash?”

  “Certainly, Sire.”

  Jenn shot a glance at him, but he only smiled gently and she turned her attention back to the King. Selar moved as if he would turn away, but paused. Slowly the smile drifted from his face. “It would be injudicious of me not to enquire about your erstwhile rescuer, Dunlorn. It was he, was it not, who so conveniently found you and returned you to Elita?”

  Not content with merely beating madly, Jenn’s heart now leapt to her mouth. “Yes, Sire.”

  “A hero to your father, no doubt—but of course, I was forgetting; your father thinks Dunlorn is a traitor, doesn’t he?”

  Jenn couldn’t reply. It was impossible to guess how far this questioning would go, and there were so many things she didn’t dare say. If only Selar would forget all about Robert, stop asking her about him, just move on. She wanted to reach out and push him on his way.

  As though in response to her silent plea, Selar gave a low chuckle. “A word of advice, child. See no more of Robert Douglas, Earl of Dunlorn and now Duke of Haddon. I’m sure your father will appreciate the wisdom of it, even if you don’t. Lawrence.” Selar nodded to them both, then, with Nash at his side, walked away. Jenn watched him pass by the Queen with only the slightest inclination of his head, then he left the garden.

  Beside her, Lawrence let out a noisy sigh. “And I pray to the gods that will be the last of it. You did well. Jacob will be proud.”

  “Proud?” Jenn’s eyes stayed on the Queen’s little group, who were glancing in her direction. “Of what? Of the fact that I didn’t disgrace him?”

  Lawrence laughed quietly. “Come, I think we should go and report to your sister. With any luck, Bella will relax a little after this. I’m just glad she wasn’t with us. She doesn’t like Selar at all. She’s always blamed him for Jacob’s accident. Come.”

  With his hand on her elbow, Lawrence firmly led Jenn back to their rooms.

  Rosalind left the garden with Kandar and her ladies trailing behind. She couldn’t get any closer to Selar. Even if she’d asked about McCauly, Selar wouldn’t tell her anything. Her questions would only irritate him and there was every chance he would then refuse to let her visit McCauly in the future. So how else to serve the Bishop? How could she tell if Selar intended him harm?

  Kandar? Would he be able to do something? He was Selar’s cousin, after all. Selar wouldn’t suspect him of having any other motives for asking about McCauly—and Selar was more likely to tell his own cousin the truth of his intentions. Yes, that was it. The best way. The only way. And then she could get a message to Godfrey.

  But how was she to ask such a thing of George? Directly, with her ladies listening and watching everyone she spoke to? Or indirectly—and have him completely misunderstand her questions?

  Then he would ask Selar who would immediately know who was really asking the question . .. and .. . and . . .

  What was the point? None of them were in a position to get McCauly free. Even Godfrey had refrained from making such a promise. For Rosalind to try anything so obvious would show her hand and achieve nothing. All she could really do was wait and listen. Patience.

  Patience and hope.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a world better than nothing at all.

  “But Sire, I beg you to reconsider. You’ve already signed the warrant; all that’s left is to assign a date for execution. It would be unwise to wait any longer.”

  Nash watched Vaughn work himself up into a sweat with yet another appeal to the King. Vaughn was so explosive these days, Nash wondered how Selar put up with him. As always, the King merely nodded with an ironic smile which was, to Nash’s eyes, extremely insulting. Vaughn was oblivious to it, though, and continued on regardless.

  “If Blair is allowed to live, then there is no doubt he will be a figure others will seek to support. If he ...”

  “Did I say I was going to let Blair live?” Selar stood and walked the length of the empty council table. “I merely said I was not ready to fix a date. I want to make him sweat a little. His wife and son are still in custody. As long as we have them, Blair and whatever supporters he has left will keep their places. I expect I will make a decision some time next week. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, I thought I told you I wanted both Blair and Haddon alive. Why do I have only one prisoner?”

  Vaughn shrugged indifferently. “An unfortunate accident, Sire. Haddon would not surrender and fought with the intention of not being taken. I have questioned the soldier who killed him and the man appears to have had little choice.”

  “Nevertheless,” Selar nodded, “I want that man punished. Not severely, mind, just a reminder that I prefer my orders obeyed—even if he did do me a favour by removing Haddon.”

  “Yes, Sire. And about Dunlorn?”

  “What of him?”

  “Surely it’s time to send a deputation to him, to find out what his involvement with his uncle was? He must have known about the treachery beforehand. If he is implicated, he too must be punished.”

  “Must?” Selar spat the word out. “When I want to know anything about Dunlorn, I’ll ask! Not before.”

  “But Sire, you cannot go on protecting him like this. With McCauly and Blair incarcerated, Dunlorn would have no trouble gaining support from the people to march against you, if only to secure their release.”

  Selar’s voice dropped low. “I told you once before, Proctor. Dunlorn will never stand against me, you understand? Never. I have made the decision to leave him be, much as I did with Jacob Ross, ten years ago. Let them both stew. They cannot and will not harm me and they are better left to quietly rot, out of sight and mind of the sympathetic people. Dunlorn’s inaction will quickly drain away any support he might have had on his return, and as to his involvement with Blair? We have no proof that he knew anything about it. I’m satisfied with that and I expect you to be, too. Do I make myself clear?”

  Vaughn puffed himself up, setting his jaw at a solid angle. “Yes, Sire.”

  As Vaughn bowed and left, Selar glanced down the table at Nash. “He gets himself in such a tangle, the fool. I’d respect him more if he could learn to control that ridiculous temper of his.”

  Nash risked a smile. “You would not be alone there, Sire.”

  Selar drew a chair out from the table. Sinking on to it, he sighed, “I wouldn’t bother putting up with him if I didn’t still need the support of the Guilde. Is there any chance that Osbert is in a position to replace him?”

  “Not as yet, no.”

  “A pity,” Selar grunted.

  Nash laced his fingers together, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why do you still protect Dunlorn? Oh, I appreciate that you don’t want to make a direct move on him, especially so soon after his uncle’s death. You don’t want a martyr on your hands. But I guess there is more to it.”

  Selar nodded slowly and cast his gaze down to his hands. “There is, Sam, much more.”

  Nash waited a while, knowing that Selar would eventually say more if he were given the time.

  “Vaughn and the others continue to assume that I still feel I owe Dunlorn my life,” Selar continued after a moment. �
�Perhaps in some way I do, but my actions aren’t motivated by emotion. I can’t tell you why I removed him from the council—but suffice to say that the moment Dunlorn left Marsay things changed quite dramatically. You must understand how formidable an opponent he was. While he stood beside me, I enjoyed watching him in action, the way he demolished any opposing argument. But it was never going to last for ever. I think both of us knew it. He was certainly useful at the time.”

  “And still is.”

  Selar smiled a little. “While Vaughn rages against my intractability over Dunlorn, he’s not berating me about anything else. And who knows when I’ll need a conveniently placed scapegoat?”

  Selar stood abruptly and stretched. “No. Things are better as they are. I would rather Robert stay out of my way than face the prospect of opposing him again. Besides, Vaughn is way too sensitive on the subject. He claims he has good reason but refuses to say what. I think Robert has lost any desire to do battle again. He has no more will to lead than your average sheep. Regardless of what Vaughn says or thinks, Robert swore an oath to me. I know for a fact that he would rather die than break that oath. He once warned me that if I ever struck at his family he would destroy me. Well, by killing his dear uncle, I’ve done just that, but I’ve heard not a peep from Dunlorn. As I say, Robert is a spent force. By the way,” Selar came around the table and ushered Nash through the open doorway, “what do you make of Jacob’s little brat?”

  Nash raised an eyebrow. “She’s pretty enough, though she doesn’t seem to have anything useful to say for herself. I suppose your intimidating presence might have had something to do with it.”

  Selar laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “As it should. I’ll leave the rest up to you—after all, it was your idea to bring her here in the first place. You find out if she’s as thick as she seems, or if she’s genuinely intent on taking the veil. One way or the other, we have to get her a husband, someone I can trust. We need to do it before Jacob can. Talk to her, get her confidence—but whatever you do, make sure that sister of hers is not around. I swear that woman has a tongue sharper than my sword!”

  Nash smiled and laughed along with Selar. Certainly he would talk to her. By all means; what else could he do but obey the command of the King?

  The night was silent and still. Even the city was quiet now, wrapped up in a peaceful slumber that was undoubtedly far from innocent. With only the church bell to strike the hour, Nash settled into his favourite seat by the window and closed his eyes.

  Five times over the last few weeks he had tried this, yet every attempt to find the rogue sorcerer had failed. But rather than still his fears, this absence of discovery merely deepened his concern. Could it be possible that there was someone he’d missed? Had his carefully planned efforts to neutralize the Enemy failed, that now, with the Ally so close, the Enemy had surfaced?

  It was inconceivable—and yet, not entirely impossible. There was a small chance that he’d not found all of the children born at that time.

  But no. That touch had come from someone very powerful indeed. Why, even Nash had not been so strong at eighteen years of age.

  Then, it wasn’t the Enemy. It was someone else. But who?

  Nash took in a deep breath and held it hard in his chest. He brought his hands together and touched the blood-red garnet ring he always wore on his left hand. He focused, still and silent. His breathing stopped, his thoughts faded. Dark and strong, he sent his senses out into the city.

  There was Valena, asleep in her little house not far from the Guilde Hall. Her aura was so bright, so familiar, he could see her as clear as day. There were others too, Vaughn, Osbert, his brothers in the Guilde Hall. Then further out, down the sharp slope of the mount, towards the river.

  Thousands of tiny, sleeping auras, powerless, impotent and fruitless. These were different to sorcerers; they were pale, lifeless, almost invisible except to the practised eye. He moved on again, down to the river. Down to the cold water. Around the wall and back up towards the castle. More and more of them, all unaware of his sensitive touch. The King, councillors, courtiers. All there. All except—

  His eyes snapped open. No! It wasn’t possible! Not after all his work. She couldn’t have done it alone!

  But she had. It was obvious now—painfully obvious. That touch he’d felt the first night she was here. It was her—the Ally. Somehow, despite all his efforts, she had developed her powers independently of him and now he had no control over her at all!

  Nash leapt out of his seat and stormed across the room, but he wasn’t going anywhere; he was filled with the sudden energy of a man who senses danger. Real, living, blood-swirling danger. Abruptly he stopped his pacing and glanced down at the ring on his hand. Unbidden, laughter welled up inside him and he shook his head in bizarre delight.

  So, it would be a much greater challenge. But then, he always knew she would not be easy to turn. But she was the Ally and there was nothing she could do about that. The best part was: now he knew the Enemy was out of it!

  With that comforting thought, Nash threw off his clothes and fell into bed. He went to sleep with a smile on his face.

  Jenn wandered along the corridor quite alone. Bella had finally allowed her out on her own, but Jenn was not interested in seeking any other company. Peace was all she wanted right now. There were still another two weeks before they could safely leave Marsay. Two long, dreary and tense weeks. Two more weeks where Jenn would have to watch every word, every gesture. Two weeks during which any small thing could go hopelessly wrong. The King had spoken to her now and seemed content to leave her alone, but what did that mean? Had he finished with her? Was she just supposed to sit around waiting for him to find a convenient husband as he’d said?

  What was the point in caring about it all? She was powerless to stop him, powerless to do anything other than what she was told. More surely than if she’d been imprisoned, she was trapped. Completely and utterly. Trapped in a life at odds with everything she’d ever expected.

  The corridor was lined with windows on one side which let pools of bright sunlight dapple the wooden floor. Along the other side were doors; at the end, the passage turned sharply left. As she rounded the corner, however, the sound of voices ahead made her pause. With a hand against the stone wall, she stretched her head forward to see who was speaking. Two ladies of wealth and rank, judging by their dress, were wandering backwards and forwards before a bay window, while a third, older woman sat on the cushioned seat. Jenn would have continued past them, but something in their tone of voice made her pause. She took a step back to make sure they wouldn’t see her and waited.

  “. .. and it was such a shambles, Frances, I can’t tell you. You should have been there.”

  “I wish I had.”

  “There was the King, dressed to outshine any lord in the garden, and he makes a specific effort to go and speak to her. And what does she say?”

  “What did she say?” an older voice murmured.

  “Nothing! Or almost nothing—just yes, Sire, and no, Sire. But can you believe it? Singled out by the King for private conversation and she can hardly utter a word!”

  “I doubt you’d have the same problem, Hettie.”

  “No, I would not. But then, I don’t have a background as .. . colourful as hers.”

  “Nicely put.”

  “But really, what can she be thinking of, presenting herself at court like this? Does she think to find a husband this late in life? She must be eighteen or nineteen. And who would have her?”

  “Well, she is heiress to Elita.”

  “Yes, but she has no eye for fashion, wears unsuitable colours and has no manners to speak of. Honestly, I don’t know what people think of sometimes. Surely that grim sister of hers should have taken her in hand.”

  “Maybe she can’t bear to. I’m not sure I would welcome a sister back into the family like that—especially after all the things she must have got up to.”

  “Yes! I can just imagine.”
<
br />   “I’m sure you can.”

  “It’s barbaric, thinking she can just come back into noble society as though she’d had a normal upbringing. I’ve heard she spent most of her childhood serving tables in a tavern!”

  “I’ve heard that’s not all she served . . .”

  Jenn didn’t wait to hear any more. She turned and ran blindly back down the corridor. She had to get out of here, out of this whole feeble, rotten place. Without looking, she tore down the stairs and through the doors at the bottom. Suddenly she was in sunshine—the central courtyard of the castle. She stopped for a moment, her heart pounding, then set off again towards the castle gates. Beyond stood the Basilica, tall and peaceful in the afternoon. Breathless, she reached the huge bronze door and pushed it open.

  It was darker in here, even with the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows above. She rushed forward, then paused and continued at a more sombre pace. The building was almost empty of people and its cool shadows and high domed roof enfolded her like a comforting embrace. Her breathing quietened and she reached the altar steps in a daze of conflicting emotions. Above her, suspended high on the wall, hung the trium, symbol of the eternally interwoven gods. Mineah, Serinleth and the evil Broleoch.

  Without thinking, Jenn sank to her knees, her eyes remaining on the trium. She tried to form a prayer to Mineah, but no words would come. It seemed even her thoughts had lost their freedom.

  “She knows the prayer is offered, even if you don’t know what to say.”

  Jenn started at the quiet voice behind her and turned slowly to find a young priest waiting with his hands folded beneath his surplice. He continued, “That’s the way it works, you see. The inspiration of faith comes not from the mind but the heart. Mineah knows that. She knows that it is at times when people most need her that they can hardly find the strength to ask for salvation. The words are not important.”

  His voice was soft and calm, his manner gentle. He watched her with the eyes of a priest, not a lord or a King. He demanded nothing of her, not even a response.