Picoté spat in disgust and walked away. Marcus watched his every move until he left the performance hall and walked out into the night.
CHAPTER 38
Celebration
It was nearly an hour before the performance hall cleared completely. After the last person left, Adrian closed and locked the front door, slumping against it dramatically.
“I’m glad that’s over!” he admitted. “You could have cut the tension in that room with a knife tonight. I was afraid there would be a riot before the evening was over.” He sketched a playful bow at Devin. “Until your final presentation, that is. My compliments, Devin! You outdid yourself!”
Devin was running on nerves. He wasn’t certain how much longer he could have continued to calmly shake hands and smile. The evening had been nerve-wracking and he heartily agreed with Adrian. He was glad it was over!
Armand, still wildly exuberant, rumpled Devin’s hair and caught him with a hand around his neck, dragging him backwards toward the kitchen.
“Come, let us celebrate!” The bard turned to Adrian. “Have I ever had such a protégé, Adrian? The Chancellor’s youngest son was born with a silver tongue and I, Armand Vielle, have polished it to perfection!”
Adrian rolled his eyes at Devin. “I wondered how long it would be before he took credit for your performance!”
Devin laughed. “He deserves it. He orchestrated the entire thing.”
Armand turned to beam at him. “Ah but, save some of the praise for yourself, Monsieur Roché! I did not script that final speech, that came entirely from you.”
“But you told me what to say!” Devin protested.
“I simply made suggestions,” Armand maintained. “I should have known better than to try to coach the son of a consummate politician!”
Devin shook his head. “Believe me; my father has never instructed me in rhetoric.”
“Then it must be natural talent,” Armand replied. He threw one hand dramatically in the air. “God, that is frightening! You may have us all wrapped around your finger by the end of the month.”
“He already does,” Gaspard said with a laugh.
Chastel had dismissed all but a few of his men. The last four had retreated outside to stand guard at both doors. Devin had been surprised to find Dr. Mareschal hovering in the hallway when they emerged from the performance hall. Apparently, Chastel had posted him in the kitchen in case there were casualties tonight. Thank God, a physician was never needed.
Chastel and Mareschal still lingered uneasily in the hallway. Chastel’s gaze was carefully directed away from Armand. He raised his hand in farewell.
“We’ll be going,” he said. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that everything went smoothly tonight, Monsieur Roché. You did well!”
For just a moment, Armand hesitated. “Please,” he said finally, drawing his brother into the kitchen. “Come and join us. After all, it was you who set this all in motion, Jean, with your comment about Robert’s desire to move to Coreé and train for the Chancellor’s Personal Guard. You also provided the guards and Monsieur Roché’s wardrobe. You deserve a place at this celebration!”
Jeanette had sliced bread and cheese on large platters. Delicate little pastries were artistically arranged on trays, and several bottles of wine were standing on the table. The room was warm and bright with candles. Devin felt as though he were coming home.
Armand popped a cork and poured wine for everyone. Grinning from ear to ear, he held his mug aloft.
“I propose a toast,” he declared, “to Monsieur Roché and the power of the spoken word!”
Devin watched in amazement as Jean Chastel tapped his mug against Armand’s and received a smile in return.
Jeanette touched Devin’s elbow. Her dark hair curled around her flushed cheeks. “I sat on the stairs in the hallway during your performance, Monsieur Roché. You were wonderful tonight!”
He was irrationally pleased at her comment and felt his own cheeks redden.
“Thank you,” he murmured with a slight bow. “That is high praise from you, considering your father is the finest bard in Ombria.”
She lowered her lashes. “And yet every bard brings his own touch to his storytelling. I don’t believe I have ever heard my father sing ‘Lisette’s Lament’ with such tenderness or emotion.”
Devin inclined his head. “Thank you. And thank you for all of this.” He gestured at the table laden with food and wine.
“I hoped there might be cause for celebration.” She hesitated a moment, as though searching for words. “I hoped that, tonight, people might find that those who live in Lac Dupré and those who live in Coreé have more in common than they might have thought.”
Devin shook his head. “And yet there are such horrible inequities, Jeanette. Why should people in the provinces have to go without proper medical care or education while those in Coreé have so much?”
Marcus caught Devin’s eye and shook his head in warning. Devin looked away, concentrating instead on Jeanette’s lovely face.
“Surely, everyone in Coreé isn’t wealthy,” Jeanette said. “Isn’t it more that the imbalance lies between rich and poor there, as it does here?”
Devin visualized the streets of Coreé. To assert that there was no poverty or hunger in that great city would be foolish. The poor were everywhere; begging alms at the dormitories at the Académie, and lining the steps after Council meetings. But the inequality he had found in Ombria was something else entirely.
“It is complicated, Jeanette,” he explained. “Yes, there is poverty in Coreé. There is terrible poverty in the midst of great affluence. And in Coreé, it is very definitely a disparity between rich and poor, or perhaps, more accurately, between the fortunate and the unfortunate. But here in the provinces the inequality is legislated. The influential in Coreé pass laws which enable them to retain and increase their own wealth and yet limit what provincial people are able to attain.”
“How?” Jeanette asked.
Devin gestured with his hands. “When education and transportation are strictly controlled, initiative and enterprise are stunted. Basically, only exceptional people succeed.”
“Isn’t that true even in Coreé?” asked a voice behind him.
Devin turned to see Chastel standing with a mug of wine in his hand.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But opportunities to succeed are also more prevalent in Coreé.”
“For whom?” Chastel asked.
“For…” Devin faltered.
“I think you will find that, as a rule, only exceptional people succeed in Coreé too, Monsieur Roché,” Chastel said quietly. “It is called survival of the fittest. And it is as true for the wolves of Ombria as it is for the people of Llisé. Even education won’t change that.”
“Perhaps not,” Devin replied. “But education levels the playing field, allowing more people a chance at success. An educational system in the provinces would ultimately strengthen Llisé.”
Chastel took a sip of his wine and nodded. “I agree.”
Devin nearly dropped his mug. “You do?”
Chastel raised his eyebrows. “Well, I realize it is an unpopular sentiment but I found the argument compelling years ago.”
“Then why haven’t you supported it?” Devin asked, earning a frown from Marcus.
“I’m not a Council member, Monsieur Roché,” Chastel replied.
“And yet you are friends with several of them,” Devin pointed out.
Chastel retained his composure, the corners of his lips curling a little in amusement. “And I intend to stay friends with them, Monsieur Roché. I do what I can here in my little corner of the empire, and keep my mouth shut whenever controversial issues arise.”
“Have you considered becoming a Council member?” Devin asked.
“I would have to be appointed, as you well know,” Chastel replied, refilling his own mug and then topping off Devin’s.
“And yet there are vacant seats each term,” Devin
continued, taking a drink. “I could indicate to Father that you are interested…”
“Please,” Chastel said, laying a placating hand on Devin’s arm. “Don’t bother, Monsieur Roché. I am quite happy as things stand. I wouldn’t want to spend more than half the year in Coreé.” He threw a mischievous glance at Armand. “I would miss running with my wolves.”
“You could be a real force for change,” Devin urged.
“Or a source of contention,” Chastel replied. “Leave it, monsieur. I am content as things are.”
Gaspard joined them, his face unusually pale under the swath of bandages around his head.
“Have a care what you are saying, Dev. What you’re preaching is blasphemy to the old-line Council members. If Chastel were appointed to a Council seat with his views, you’d be sending him into a lion’s den. My father would literally have me beaten for spouting the opinions you’ve just voiced. And he’d see that you received even worse treatment, if you had intentionally convinced me to your way of thinking. When and if things change, it won’t be a swift or an easy process. If you push too hard, you will never live to see the results of your efforts.”
Devin began to protest but Gaspard held up a hand. “Listen, you may tell stories like a Master Bard but I think you need to learn a little subtlety, Dev, before you begin airing your political opinions publicly.”
“Subtlety isn’t one of Devin’s virtues, Gaspard,” Marcus replied wryly. “Thank you for reminding him that it’s worth cultivating.”
“But change has to start somewhere!” Devin protested. “Someone has to be willing to be the first to speak up!”
“Don’t ask me to volunteer!” Chastel responded, holding up a hand. “I prefer to keep my head off the chopping block.”
“And yet, you truly understand the issues here in the provinces. You have seen the problems first-hand that the present system causes,” Devin insisted. “You are the perfect…”
“Enough!” Armand shouted. “Monsieur Roché, this is a celebration not a political forum! We have just extracted you from a great deal of trouble, don’t be foolish enough to blunder right into it again.” He pushed him gently toward the table. “Sit! Eat! Drink lots of wine! Tomorrow, I intend to be merciless. I will teach you at least five new stories, if it takes all day and all night. So enjoy yourself while you can!”
Devin yielded, with a small sound of protest. He dropped onto a bench, his back to the fire. To his delight, Jeanette sat down beside him. Her eyes sparkled as she reached for a wine bottle. After filling her own mug, she replaced the bottle on the table and extended her mug to Devin. He laughed and drank half of it in a single swallow. Handing it back to her, he smiled as she finished the rest herself.
“Monsieur Roché,” Armand called out, tapping him on the shoulder with his cane. “Perhaps, you’d better go up and get me that cloak your father bought you. It’s time I started embroidering one of Ombria’s wolves on it.”
Devin turned to look at him in amazement. “But I haven’t finished learning the Chronicle yet!”
Armand shrugged. “You will. I’m certain of that now. Besides, I am an old man, and my needle work has never been very good. It will take me a while to finish it.”
Jeanette stood up and linked affectionate arms around her father’s waist.
“I will embroider it, Papa, just as I always do. Why would you suggest such a thing! Monsieur Roché doesn’t want his cloak to look like it was embroidered by a child!”
Armand splayed his hand across the center of his chest.
“Ah, but I made a vow that I would embroider it myself if he performed well at his final presentation. I didn’t believe him that he could learn the Chronicle in a month. Now, I find I must eat my words. And…,” he said, gesturing grandly, “…embroider his cloak.”
Devin laughed. “Then, I release you from your vow, Armand. Please, allow Jeanette to do it for me.” He took a sip of wine. “Besides, I still have more than a week as your student. Surely tonight wasn’t my final presentation?”
Armand waggled his hand and shrugged. “Perhaps it might be better to end on a high note, Monsieur Roché. The people of Lac Dupré tend to be a volatile lot. Tonight, they loved you; next week, maybe, not so much. Why don’t we quit while we are ahead?”
Devin ducked his head playfully. “Then, I bow to your expertise, Armand.”
Armand grinned and motioned with his mug. “See, Adrian, I have Monsieur Roché dancing to my tune at last. I told you he would come around!”
Adrian shook his head. “I believe it is only a momentary aberration. The acclaim and the wine have gone to his head. By daybreak, he will likely be questioning your judgment again. I wouldn’t count on his cooperation tomorrow.”
“I will enjoy his acquiescence while I can then,” Armand replied amiably.
Devin laughed and leaned back against the table. It was good to see Armand so jovial and happy. For the moment, the bard was even at ease with his brother. Tonight, maybe Devin had made a tiny step toward promoting understanding between the people of Ombria and the government of Coreé. Tomorrow was another day.
CHAPTER 39
Admonitions
“What were you thinking?” Marcus demanded when they reached their room.
The merrymaking had gone on for hours, and Chastel and Mareschal had just staggered out into the dark for the ride back to the château. Devin had offered to stay and help Jeanette tidy up the kitchen but Armand had waved him off to bed.
Devin stumbled over the threshold and sank down wearily on the bed.
“What are talking about, Marcus?” he asked.
Marcus closed the door quietly behind him. “You were discussing education in the provinces with Jean Chastel in the kitchen. He’s René Forneaux’s friend for God’s sake! Tonight, Gaspard showed more sense than you did, although I never thought I’d say that!”
“Chastel’s in favor of educating the masses, too,” Devin replied. “He told me so, himself.”
Marcus shook his head. “Did it ever occur to you that he might have lied?”
Devin ran a hand over his face. “Why on earth would he lie to me?”
“So that you would declare yourself,” Marcus replied. “Did your father never tell you that you don’t lay all your cards on the table in front of a professional gambler, Devin?” He turned away, unbuckling his belt and laying his pistol on the chest beside the bed. “One moment you conduct yourself like an experienced diplomat and the next you act like a schoolboy!”
“I don’t think I am such a bad judge of character,” Devin protested. “And I truly believe that Chastel is an ally.”
“I sincerely hope you are right,” Marcus said, shedding the jacket from his uniform and arranging it neatly over the back of the chair. “But I would warn you not to trust anyone.”
Devin raised his eyebrows. “Not even you, Marcus?”
“Oh, sleep it off!” Marcus retorted. “Maybe, you’ll be more sensible in the morning.”
Devin chuckled and lay back on the bed. He closed his eyes, his feet still planted on the floor.
“And take off that jacket and shirt!” Marcus demanded. “If Chastel had the good grace to have it tailored for you, the least you could do is hang it up!”
Devin pushed himself into a sitting position.
“Since when are you in charge?” he grumbled.
Marcus grunted. “I have always been in charge. You have simply been too preoccupied to notice.”
Too tired to argue, Devin unbuttoned the jacket and folded it, laying it over the trunk at the foot of the bed. The shirt followed it, before he dropped his trousers and crept between the covers.
Marcus was still sitting on the edge of his cot. “One other word of warning,” he said gruffly. “It seems you have forgotten Armand’s admonition about Jeanette.”
Devin settled into bed wearily, drawing the blanket up around his shoulders.
“I believe that was directed mostly at Gaspard.”
> “At the time, maybe, but you know he meant it to apply to you as well, Devin. Armand’s done a great deal for you. Don’t let this become an issue that drives the two of you apart. In a few days, we’ll be moving on. Considering your position and the short time we still have to spend here, it’s hardly fair of you to encourage Jeanette, anyway.”
Devin called to mind a cloud of dark curly hair and eyes that seemed to touch and warm his soul. In all fairness, he hadn’t been the one to encourage Jeanette tonight. It had been the other way around, and he would have had to be made of stone not to respond to her. He closed his eyes.
Marcus’s cot creaked.
“And don’t think for a moment that Armand didn’t notice what was going on right under his nose tonight,” he said in the dark. “That man’s never too weary or too drunk to keep an eye on his only daughter, and you’d better not forget it!”
Devin sighed and snuggled more deeply into his blankets.
“Good night, Marcus,” he said sleepily.
Devin wakened mid-morning. Sunlight streamed in through the window, flooding the somber little room with a golden glow. Marcus had already gone, leaving his cot precisely made. Devin dressed quickly and went downstairs. Following the delicate sound of a harp, he found both Armand and Adrian in the Performance Hall.
“You slept late,” Armand commented, without interrupting the fragile melody he was picking out on the instrument.
“I’m sorry,” Devin replied, folding up gracefully to sit at his feet.
Armand stilled the strings and handed the harp to Devin.
“Can you duplicate that, Monsieur Roché?”
Devin blinked. The tune had barely registered as he entered the room. Thank God, he had always had a good memory for melody.
“I think so,” he replied. He picked out the notes carefully the first time. When there were no corrections from Armand, he played it more confidently a second time.
Armand grinned holding out a hand to Adrian. When Adrian placed a coin on Armand’s palm, the bard began to laugh.
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