by Sharon Shinn
“Romar Brendyn was regent to Queen Amalie before she took her crown,” he said. “He’s Twelfth House, of course, but no marlord himself. I cannot think the disparity between his rank and Amalie’s was any greater than mine and Karryn’s—and I would happily take him for my model.”
Zellin shrugged and seemed to lose interest in anything except his food. Serephette came unceremoniously to her feet.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve developed a severe headache,” she said. “Please enjoy the rest of your dinner.”
And without another word, she strode out the door. Demaray stared after her in dismay. “Jasper—should I leave as well?” she said. “How awkward!”
“Don’t go on my account,” Zellin said, around his food. “I couldn’t care one way or the other if Serephette is in the room.”
“Oh, finish the meal, at least,” Jasper replied. “The dessert is especially good. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Wen was not surprised when Demaray settled back into her chair. Her impression was that the lively little noblewoman was more entertained than embarrassed by the situation, for she seemed like the kind of person who delighted in a scandal, as long as it didn’t reflect on her. She also, Wen thought, was the sort of woman who craved male attention and bloomed into true prettiness when she was the center of it. There wasn’t much attention to hope for from Zellin Banlish, but Jasper directed all his conversation at her for the rest of the meal. Wen had to think that Demaray Coverroe didn’t truly mind that Serephette had stalked from the table in such a fury.
Still, she could make no excuse to linger once the meal was properly over. “Do let Serephette know how much I enjoyed the evening,” she said, as Jasper saw her to the door. “And tell her how sorry I am for her—headache.”
“We’ll expect Karryn back sometime in the morning,” Jasper said. “And we’ll expect to see you again soon.”
The instant the door was shut behind her, he winked at Wen, hovering with Moss in the shadows near the stairwell. “And now for the only truly interesting part of the entire evening,” he said. “Cruxanno.”
Chapter 14
ONE OF THE FOOTMEN HAD ESCORTED THE SERLORD TO the library, and Banlish was already sitting in what Wen thought of as her chair, doling out the cruxanno pieces. He didn’t even seem to notice that Wen and Moss followed Jasper into the library and took up stations on either side of the door.
“This is a fine set,” he said as Jasper took his usual seat. “Was it Rayson’s?”
“My own,” Jasper said. “I brought it with me when I arrived. I like familiar things around me, and beautiful things, and things with value. I haven’t had much opportunity to play, however, so you are doing me a great kindness tonight.”
Zellin gave a noncommittal grunt. “Do you play for stakes?” he asked.
“Always,” Jasper replied.
Wen couldn’t help glaring at the back of his head. He hadn’t played for stakes with her, or she’d be a few coins richer by now.
Then Jasper added, “Though the stakes aren’t always money.”
Banlish grunted again. “What else can you bet?”
“It’s not what you bet,” Jasper said, “it’s what you hazard.”
Banlish looked up from the board to give Jasper one hard, irritable look. “You’re as odd as Serephette Fortunalt when you talk like that.”
“Serephette was formed by a torturous life,” Jasper replied. “All of us are shaped to some extent by forces outside our control. And to some extent by our passions—the ones we govern and the ones we allow to run unchecked.”
Zellin looked even more irritated. “Do you always talk this much nonsense?” he demanded.
Jasper gave a light laugh. “Pretty much.”
The serlord made his first move, a fairly standard one, from what Wen could determine. “Well, I don’t mind the talking, because it won’t distract me from the play, but choose a subject that’s a little more coherent.”
“I defer to you. Name a topic.”
Zellin laughed shortly. “Demaray Coverroe.”
“A most agreeable lady.”
“Pretty enough,” Zellin agreed, “but flighty. How long has her husband been dead now? She needs a man to settle her down.”
“Do you think so? I’ve always thought she handled her affairs with a great deal of aplomb,” Jasper replied. He was studying the board, taking time to consider his own move.
Zellin snorted. “Beggared herself to build that house, or very nearly. Though it’s a magnificent place, I’ll give her that. I borrowed her architect when I wanted to make improvements to Banlish Manor.”
Jasper Paladar did not answer until he had shifted a few of his swords and soldiers into position. “Did you make those improvements before or after you had been elected to the serlordship?” he asked.
“After,” Zellen said with a snort. “I did not consider my title secure till I had gone to the royal city and presented myself to the queen.” He shrugged. “Though it wasn’t Amalie who actually passed judgment on any of the new serlords. It was Cammon.”
Jasper looked up, surprise on his face. The expression was perfectly presented, but Wen had the feeling that he was pretending—that this was something he had known all along. She grew even more interested in the conversation. “The royal consort?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”
Zellin made a rude noise. “You know what they say about him. He’s a mystic.”
“A reader. Yes.”
“Well, every serlord or serlady chosen by their fellows had to make their way to Ghosenhall to be approved by royalty. Everyone thought it was a formality, of course. But in we went, one by one, and made our bows. Amalie just sat there, looking like a child—I swear she could pass for fifteen. Cammon asked a few questions, but Amalie didn’t say a word.”
“What did he ask?”
Zellin gestured impatiently with the hand hovering over the cruxanno board. “Did you fight in the war, did you support Rayson Fortunalt, are your estates in good order, are you loyal to the queen? What a waste of time. I kept wishing they would just approve me and let me leave. There was so much to do back in Fortunalt. Gods and goddesses, the whole region was in disarray! Households bankrupted, hundreds of lives lost, brigands loose on the roadways. I was impatient to be home and beginning the real work of restoration, not answering the aimless questions of upstart royalty. But there were Riders in the room, ready to pounce at the smallest insult, and so I showed nothing but respect.”
This extraordinary speech left Wen first angry, and then fighting hard to hold back mirth. Clearly Zellin Banlish had never been witness to Cammon’s astonishing ability to read the souls of the people before him. And clearly he had no understanding of what secrets in his own heart had made Cammon determine that he was worthy of the serlordship. Cammon would not have been dismayed at all to learn that Zellin Banlish was eager to get home and begin rebuilding—he would have been pleased to know that Banlish felt such great dedication and devotion to his land. Zellin Banlish was bullheaded and unpleasant, but he possessed traits that would serve a serlord well, and those were the only traits Cammon had cared about.
“What did you say when he asked if you had supported Rayson in the war?” Jasper asked curiously.
“The truth! That I thought the man mad. I wouldn’t give him a copper except what he managed to tax from all of his vassals, and I rode my estates every day, forbidding the young men to sign up as soldiers. Half of them did it, anyway, of course, but I think I kept a few out of his army.”
“Cammon was probably very glad to hear that.”
Zellin shrugged. He had finally decided where to station the bulk of his army, and he was busy arranging shields. “He was such a strange and wide-eyed thing. I’m not sure he really understood a word I said.”
“If the stories they tell of him are true, he understood everything you said and did not say,” Jasper replied. “It’s said he reads minds.”
“And credulous foo
ls believe it,” was Zellin’s sneering answer.
“You don’t fear mystics?” Jasper asked.
“Don’t fear them, don’t hate them, don’t think about them one way or the other,” Zellin said. “A man who can read minds—ridiculous! They say that Senneth Brassenthwaite can start a fire with her bare hands, and Kirra Danalustrous can take any shape she chooses, but I’ve never seen anyone do such things. I think all this outcry over mystics is nothing more than people indulging themselves with a little hysteria.”
Wen slanted a look over at Moss, whose face bore the faintest smile.
“Well, it’s true we haven’t had many mystics to marvel over here in Fortunalt, since Rayson drove them all off,” Jasper replied. He was lining up his own shields, though Wen couldn’t tell much of his strategy from this angle. “Still, I believe their powers are sometimes great—and that Cammon’s are remarkable.” His arrangements done, he sat back in his chair. “Which leads me to wonder what he read in the Tilt and Gisseltess candidates that made him refuse to ratify their appointments.”
Zellin shrugged. “Not my land. Not my business.”
Jasper steepled his hands. “I wonder if it is your business—if perhaps he meant to send a message to the new serlords that the crown was going to stay involved in the lives of the nobility. Perhaps those rejected lords were sacrificed to the crown’s desire to show it was retaining its power.”
Zellin was concentrating on the board. “I read the charter. All of us did—the new serlords, I mean. The titles are irrevocable. Even if Amalie doesn’t like what we do, she can’t take away our lands now.”
“No, you misunderstand,” Jasper said, very gently. “The rules for governance are based on the charter for the marlords.”
“Yes, of course,” Zellin said impatiently. “The queen can’t take away their status, either.”
“She can’t abolish the title,” Jasper corrected. “But she can remove the man.”
Now Zellin looked up from the board. “What are you talking about?”
Jasper was still leaning back at ease in his chair, his fingertips still placed precisely together in the way that meant he was prepared to deliver a lecture. “If Malcolm Danalustrous were suddenly to go on a rampage and start murdering tenants and torturing children, you can believe that Amalie would send her Riders to Danan Hall immediately to take him into custody. She would strip the title of marlord from him—she is within her legal rights to do so. But she cannot vacate the title itself, and she cannot dictate the next heir. Malcolm can be seized, but not the House. His daughter would instantly take the title. And if his daughter was unfit, the next heir would be found, and so on down the line until there was one the crown deemed suitable.”
Zellin stared. “That’s not true.”
“I assure you, it is.”
“Then why didn’t Baryn strip Rayson and Halchon of their marlord-ships before they took Fortunalt and Gisseltess into battle against him?”
“I never had the honor of a conversation with Baryn, but I have to assume that by the time he realized they were planning such an assault, they already had too much power for him to be able to enforce such mandates.”
“So you’re telling me I’m not secure in my new title,” Zellin said with a great deal of dissatisfaction. “Then what did the Thirteenth House lords fight for? Why all these summits and all these petitions to the crown if we are not going to be able to command our own destinies after all?”
“But you are,” Jasper said. “As long as you mind your land and behave with honor, you are in no danger of losing your Manor.”
“I don’t like it,” Zellin said, still displeased. “I’ll feel like I’m being watched and judged every moment.”
“All of us are watched and judged every moment,” Jasper said lightly. “Titled or not, we have to earn—and continue to earn—our place in the world on a daily basis.”
Zellin made an indeterminate sound to indicate his impatience with such fancy reasoning. “Stupid talk,” he said. “Make your play.”
Jasper sat forward, quickly moved a line of shields, and leaned back again. “I’m sorry you find my conversation tiresome,” he said pleasantly. “I confess Karryn finds me bewildering as well.”
Zellin was scowling; Wen guessed Jasper’s game strategy had surprised him. “And I still don’t understand why you’ve been installed at Fortune,” he said, harking back to his observation over dinner. “Obviously Serephette isn’t fit to be a guardian for a serramarra, but you—” He shook his head.
Jasper said, very softly, “I was chosen by the royal consort.”
That made Zellin look up again. “What?”
“Much like the serlords, a handful of Thirteenth House nobles from Fortunalt were summoned to Ghosenhall shortly after the war. Amalie had decided that the heirs of Fortunalt and Gisseltess needed someone to tend them until they turned twenty-one since their fathers had died in the conflict. In Gisseltess, of course, the young serramar had their mother to guide them—”
“And Nate Brassenthwaite,” Zellin spit out. “Once the marlady was misguided enough to marry him.”
“But, as you say, Serephette does not inspire people with the utmost confidence in her ability to manage an estate. The queen was looking for a guardian who could oversee the region until Karryn attains her majority.” He paused for effect, though Zellin’s attention was back on the board. “Cammon is the one who interviewed me. Like you, I was amazed at his youth and his boyish manner. But unlike you, I was impressed at his thoughtfulness and insights. I thought him an extraordinary young man, to tell you the truth. I would not like him to make a judgment against me—I imagine it would be implacable.”
Zellin was ranging his soldiers along a previously undefended border. “Well, he judged in favor of you, I suppose, and here you are,” he said without interest.
“Yes,” said Jasper. “Here I am.”
Zellin studied his position for a moment, nodded, and said, “It’s your turn.”
Again, Jasper made a swift, unconsidered move, and Zellin gave him a look of bafflement.
“Have you ever attempted this game before?” the serlord demanded. “Your strategy is lunatic.”
“I am trying a new style of play tonight,” Jasper replied. “But I confess, I’m distracted by a raging thirst. Willa, could you see if Bryce is near enough to send for refreshments?”
Bryce, of course, was too young to be up this late or trusted with carrying trays full of delicate glassware, but Wen went to the door and found Bryce lurking outside. He was dressed in a small jacket that must have been cut down from a footman’s discarded uniform, and a pearl-sewn sash made a bright slash across his chest. Nonetheless, he was yawning as he slumped against the wall, waiting to be called.
Wen repressed a smile and said, “My lord has asked you to bring refreshments.”
That filled him with energy, and he dashed off. He returned moments later bearing a tray of wine and after-dinner sweets. Jasper had pulled up a second table near the cruxanno board and watched in some amusement as Bryce slowly lowered his burden, spilling nothing.
“Excellent, Bryce,” Jasper said. “You will make a fine footman someday.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Bryce said.
“You can see he’s an unusual boy,” Jasper said, now addressing Zellin, who had not, in fact, shown any signs of noticing Bryce at all. “A mystic, though you profess not to believe in them.”
That did make the serlord glance up, give Bryce one sweeping and unimpressed inspection, and return his attention to the game board. “He tells you that, I suppose.”
