Channis twisted in her chair to face the Relict. “Jinty Tor Sauzet has no reason to tell all and sundry I’m about to leave Guliel and return to Den Veneta’s protection. Den Muret on the other hand are plainly delighted to hear it.” Her tone was acid. “I gather it has stiffened their resolve to pursue their case before the Imperial Court no end. Seladir Den Muret was telling Orilan Den Hefeken all about it, and Orilan told me. Seladir swears it must be true. After all, she had it from your own lips, and everyone knows you’re as honest a woman as ever broke bread.”
Dirindal clasped beringed hands together. “Orilan’s a sweet child, but she’s inclined to speak without thinking—”
“Don’t,” said Channis bitingly. “There’s nothing you can say against Orilan, no threat you can use to silence her, no reason for her to lie. Our Houses have few dealings with Den Hefeken. How unlike Den Muret, whose roof would soon fall in without Tor Bezaemar bounty. Unlike Den Thasnet, whose wealth battens on your own like honeysuckle on a tree. Do you ask me to believe either House would attack D’Olbriot in the courts without Tor Bezaemar’s approval?”
Dirindal’s round face crumpled in distress. “My dear, you must be mistaken. Let me talk to Haerel. He may have said something unwise, perhaps Den Muret mistook his meaning.”
“Do you seriously expect me to believe your nephew, Sieur Tor Bezaemar though he is, does anything without you knowing of it?” Channis flung the curled feathers down on the smooth linen. “He barely wipes his arse without your permission.”
“My dear, I quite understand you’re cross,” said Dirindal faintly. “But I don’t think I deserve these unwarranted accusations.” She fumbled in the silver net purse laced at her waist and dabbed her eyes with a lace trimmed kerchief.
The Emperor glared at Temar. “I’ve no interest in hearing women scratching at each other’s corn,” he whispered.
Casuel looked up. “It’s all right, they can’t hear us.”
“Mind your magic, Cas,” snapped Temar, seeing the image waver and fade. “This is no mere flurry in a hen coop, I swear.”
Lady Channis was making a careful selection of tiny iridescent emerald feathers. “I took breakfast today with Avila Tor Arrial. She was telling me how you were encouraging young D’Alsennin to secure his mother’s portion from Tor Alder. She said how astonished he’d been to learn he even had such rights. But for Tor Alder to be ready to bring a case before the Emperor, they must have been convinced he knew, certain he’d be making a claim. If I go asking just who told them that, am I going to find your perfume hanging in the air?” Channis compared two feathers with a thoughtful eye. “Then Avila told me about this business with the Kellarin artefacts. How she and Temar had looked to you for help before anyone else, explaining why they needed to trace such heirlooms. But you haven’t helped, have you? First, you accept an invitation to dine with Den Turquand on the first day of Festival, such an honour for so minor a House. Then Camarl gets a note from that very Sieur telling him the heirlooms he wants will be sold to the highest bidder, and yesterday at the Den Murivance residence I learn Maitresse Tor Sylarre has been ransacking her daughter’s jewel cases. She’s accusing D’Olbriot of plans to use the courts to steal their wealth with some nonsensical tale of Kellarin’s claims, I hear. You took lunch with her on the second day of Festival, I believe. Is that when she got this notion in her head?”
“Dast’s teeth!” Involuntary anger escaped Temar.
“What’s been going on?” The Emperor narrowed suspicious eyes at Temar.
“That is what we hope to learn.” He leaned closer to the image framed by the curlicues of the silver tray.
“You’re full of accusations.” Dirindal was glaring at Channis, eyes dry and angry. “Will Master Burquest be making such arguments before the court?”
Lady Channis laughed without humour. “He could hardly build a case on such flimsy foundations. I suppose I should congratulate you on arranging everything so well.”
Dirindal opened her mouth but didn’t speak, a puzzled frown deepening her wrinkles.
“It’s just that I don’t understand the depth of your anger,” Lady Channis continued smoothly. “All our Houses are rivals, granted, but on the other side of the coin we’re allies as well. We have to be, or lately come merchantry get ideas above their station; you told me as much when I was a girl.”
“They’re doing that anyway, with the fool boy Tadriol encouraging their pretensions,” spat Dirindal.
Channis’s hand shook with surprise and she dropped a feather to the floor. She bent to recover it. “I know Guliel will be claiming the lion’s share of Kellarin’s bounty this year and probably next, but bear in mind all the costs the House has borne in recovering the colony. He’ll soon see he needs to share the rewards to be had there.”
Temar gritted his teeth so loudly the Emperor looked at him.
“He’ll allow us the crumbs that fall from his table, you mean?” said Dirindal sourly.
“That’s hardly just,” Channis objected. “Kellarin—”
“You think this is about Kellarin?” Dirindal interrupted in sudden, ugly fury. “You think we have any interest in sorcery-addled paupers grubbing a living in muddy caves? I never thought to say it, Channis, but you’re a fool!” She struggled to her feet and Temar’s heart began to beat faster as the old woman crossed the room. She barely topped the sitting Channis by a head, and was easily a generation older, but rage lent speed to her feet and vigour to her gestures.
“Oh, it’s about Kellarin, in so far as the wealth Guliel garners will extend his influence still further. He’ll drop the sweetest plums into eager hands like some doting grandsire and the insignificant little Names will think D’Olbriot’s so wonderful.” Dirindal’s scorn was withering. “Guliel will swan around, proud as a cob in springtime. All these dolts will be hanging on his coat tails whenever he goes before Tadriol—he’ll give the lad a little advice here, some words of warning there. The boy won’t dare ignore him; after all he speaks for so many. Guliel leads our so-called Emperor by the ring in his nose, just as he did his father, his uncles and grandsire.”
The Emperor gripped the back of Casuel’s chair, the movement catching Temar’s eye. An overlarge bull’s head ring was Tadriol’s only piece of jewellery, a battered golden antique secured by a fine black cord that looped up to tie round his wrist. Unlike the Steward’s badge, this bull had no ring.
Lady Channis was protesting volubly. “The House of D’Olbriot has only ever worked for the good of Tormalin. Guliel never uses his influence for selfish gain—”
“You expect me to believe that?” cried Dirindal. “Oh, it’s the quiet pigs that eat most fodder, my girl.”
“So this is about money,” said Channis with contempt.
“That’s all Guliel’s concerned with,” sneered Dirindal. “Sending his nephews to dine with the merchantry, flattering their ambitions, telling Tadriol to listen to their whining. Saedrin save us, jumped-up draper’s daughters are marrying into ancient Names with Tadriol’s very blessing because their coffers of gold outweigh base blood! And all the while Houses with history back to Correl the Stout fall into rack and ruin because common parasites have leeched away their trade and prerogatives. Does Guliel do anything to restore the privilege of rank? Does D’Olbriot use any influence to stop the rot? No, he stands at Tadriol’s shoulder and drips poisonous counsel in his ears and all the while his greedy little allies crowd round, drowning out wiser voices with their begging.”
“Would Haerel be offering better advice?” snapped Channis. “Or Kreve? We all saw you encouraging him to invite Tadriol down to his fiefdom for last year’s hunting season. I take it you’re looking to sit your grandson on the steps of the throne in Guliel’s place?”
“We should be sitting on that throne,” Dirindal hissed. “I should be managing the marriage of an Emperor of my own blood, not worrying what slattern D’Olbriot’s going to talk Tadriol into bedding. I should be an Emperor’s Relict, with all
the influence of a lifetime’s rule. Don’t think I don’t know it was Guliel’s uncle turned the Houses against my husband’s claim, just as it’s been Guliel and his brothers backing every Tadriol since. How else could those dolts hold the throne? How many more of them have to die before our House regains its rightful place? Well, it’ll be different next time, when D’Olbriot’s brought low and Tor Bezaemar can show the Names the true meaning of power.”
Temar saw Channis go as white as the linen covering the table, even in the tiny image. Dirindal was leaning over her, rage twisting her hands in cruel claws. Channis gave a frantic push that sent the old woman stumbling backwards.
“Lay a hand on me and I’ll scream!” Her frightened voice rang through the enchantment.
“Cas, tell Velindre to interrupt them.” Temar felt cold with apprehension.
“I can’t, not without losing the spell,” said the mage tightly.
“Hold your magic, wizard,” ordered the Emperor, face grim. “Channis can take her chances.”
But as Temar watched, nervousness making him nauseous, Dirindal walked slowly back to the far side of the room. She smoothed the skirts of her modest gown and ran a plump hand over her undisturbed coiffeur. When she turned her face was settled once more in amiable lines of serene old age. “Dear me, Channis, I quite forgot myself. Oh, don’t think I wouldn’t slap you as you so richly deserve, but too many people know we’re in here together. And as you so cleverly observed, I make a habit of not doing things that cannot be innocently explained away. You’ve done very well to discover so much but the people I’ve used will twist in the wind before they betray me, so you’ve nothing to show for it. All you’ve done is warn me to take better care in future, haven’t you?”
“I’ll tell Guliel.” Channis sounded like a petulant child, and from her expression she knew it.
Dirindal’s laugh was kindly. “And he will have no more proof than you, my dear and we have plenty of Names to call on, if he wishes to set his House against ours. I doubt he has the stomach for that when all he ever does is hide behind Tadriol’s boy and whisper suggestions. If he had any true nobility he’d have taken the throne for himself by now.” She spoke over Lady Channis’s indignant protests. “Good day to you, my dear. I suppose I’ll see you at the Emperor’s dance this afternoon. You might want to purchase some white feathers while you’re here. It won’t be long before you’ll be looking for another House to shelter you, if you can find some minor Esquire prepared to take on soiled goods.”
She turned her back on Channis and walked out, leaving the door ajar.
“I can’t follow her, the Relict, I mean,” Casuel said hastily. “Or rather, I can, if I scry for her, but I’ll need ink and water—”
The Emperor smacked a furious hand into the silver tray, sending it skidding across the table and crashing to the floor.
Temar took a pace backwards as Casuel covered his head with frightened hands. Ryshad’s hand moved instinctively to his swordless hip as he took a step to bring him to Temar’s shoulder.
“Explain yourself, D’Alsennin,” demanded the Emperor. “Tell me why I should believe any of that?”
“You saw it with your own eyes, you heard for yourself,” Temar retorted.
“What did I see?” The Emperor moved to put the table between himself and Casuel. “Truth? Illusion? Some sorcerer’s charade woven by Planir?”
“The Archmage would never stoop to such deceit!” Casuel looked up indignantly from beneath his hands.
“You expect me to believe Dirindal Tor Bezaemar, with all her years, would admit all that to her acknowledged enemy’s paramour?” The Emperor scowled. “What has D’Olbriot told Planir of the history of my House? What does your Archmage know of my father and my uncle’s death?”
“No more than anyone else.” Casuel looked puzzled.
Urgent knocking on the door startled everyone in the room.
“Not now!” Tadriol yelled angrily.
Temar looked at the Emperor. “She asked how many more of your Name had to die. Does that have some darker meaning for you?”
Ryshad was barring the inner door with his body. “There’ve always been rumours, highness, among the sworn, but never leading back to Tor Bezaemar.”
The Emperor looked sharply at him before glowering at Temar again. “And Dirindal conveniently half admits it!”
The knocking came again. “Is everything all right?” a hesitant voice called.
“You, chosen man, get rid of them,” the Emperor ordered abruptly. Ryshad slipped out of the room. “Wizard, do you spy like this for D’Olbriot, for the Archmage or both? How often?”
“I’m no spy,” Casuel protested weakly.
“I cannot believe Dirindal would forget herself away like that.” Tadriol looked grim.
“There are ways of loosening tongues.” Temar chose his words carefully, wishing Ryshad hadn’t just disappeared. “I know you have spoken with Planir, so you must be aware there is more than one kind of magic”
“These so-called dark arts of the Elietimm?” The Emperor scowled suspiciously.
“Artifice is a tool, like any other. A knife can cut bread to feed a child or to stab a man to the heart.” Temar didn’t dare let his indignation show. “It was a cornerstone of justice in the Old Empire because no one could speak falsehood under the seal of their oath.”
“And how was that marvel achieved?” demanded the Emperor with obvious scepticism.
“With the oaths and invocations you still use in your courts,” Temar shot back. “In my day they were backed with enchantment. And where Artifice can bind a false tongue, it can loosen another to speak the truth, all unwitting. Demoiselle Tor Arrial is a highly skilled Adept and she was in the next room laying an invocation on the Relict prompting her to speak.”
“Prompting her to speak her mind or merely making a puppet out of her?” countered the Emperor.
Temar struggled for an answer, hearing Ryshad arguing with someone in the outer room, seeing Casuel looking uncertainly from face to face. He closed his eyes to concentrate better.
“Aedral mar nidralae, Avila,” he said suddenly. “Demoiselle, please get here as fast as possible. Bring Velindre and Allin.”
“I thought you were here to ask about an insignia!” The Steward’s irate voice made Temar open his eyes. The man was standing in the doorway, Ryshad behind him ringed by menacing guards with swords.
Temar waved a frustrated arm. “Give me just a little longer and I can prove our good faith!” The evidence of his own eyes had convinced Ryshad, hadn’t it?
“You don’t raise your hand or your voice to the Emperor, boy!” The Steward snapped his fingers and the men-at-arms moved closer.
“Enough, Master Jainne.” Tadriol looked at Temar with a slight smile. “Send D’Olbriot’s man in here and wait outside. I believe some ladies will be joining us shortly.” He glanced at a small brass timepiece on the mantelshelf. The pointing arrow was very nearly halfway down the engraved scale. “They’d better hurry or we’ll all be late for the dance. So, D’Alsennin, you wanted to discuss an insignia? You think a badge will make you more secure? Have you chosen livery colours as well? I have to say, you’d be the youngest person I ever called Messire and D’Alsennin will still be a mighty small House. Do you really want to be Sieur in your own Name?”
The words weren’t unkindly meant but still stung Temar like a slap across the face.
“I do not know if I want to be a Sieur on your terms; I do not know what the title means in this age,” he retorted. “But I know what it meant in my day, and that was a duty of care to all who depended on you. By Saedrin’s very keys, I will do my duty to the people of Kel Ar’Ayen. They crossed the ocean trusting in the Names of Den Rannion, Den Fellaemion and D’Alsennin. I am the last of those nobles and Poldrion drown me but I will defend their interests. I speak for people held under enchantment for nigh on thirty generations and many still lie insensible in the darkness. I want them back, and if I nee
d some trumpery badge to make you people take me seriously then I will wear one, but it means precious little to me.”
“What he means is—” began Casuel in strangled tones.
“I can speak for myself, Master Mage!” Temar spat.
“Then speak,” the Emperor commanded.
“The only reason I came to you is my people will suffer still more in a quarrel not of our making. Kel Ar’Ayen is simply one more piece on the game board between Tor Bezaemar and D’Olbriot, and I cannot let that go unchallenged. Tor Bezaemar has been orchestrating all the cases brought before you in the courts. By way of retaliation, the Sieur and his brothers are planning every assault possible on Tor Bezaemar property and allied Names. D’Olbriot’s man there heard them.” Temar gestured at Ryshad who was standing motionless by the door, head raised, eyes level.
“You wear a chosen man’s armring,” the Emperor observed, a distinct chill in his voice. “Shouldn’t you be keeping your Sieur’s confidences?”
“I believe an open quarrel with Tor Bezaemar will harm the House.” Ryshad continued to stare straight ahead. “My loyalties are to all who bear the Name, not merely to the person of the Sieur.”
“Guliel’s not stupid, he must see this will only discredit his arguments in court,” said the Emperor, frustrated. “Why’s D’Olbriot taking justice into his own hands?”
“In my day we went to the Emperor for justice.” Temar stepped round the table to stand toe to toe with Tadriol. “You must stop this quarrel before it gets out of hand. Before all your advocates have said their pieces, innocent men will have lost their livelihoods, and if Kel Ar’Ayen is cut adrift my people may well lose their lives.”
“When I see open antagonism between two powerful Houses I will act to limit the damage,” the Emperor protested.
“Can you not stop it before it starts?” demanded Temar. “Do you wait until the roof catches before you tear down a burning house?”
“Then bring evidence untainted by magic before the courts,” repeated the Emperor with some heat. “Where all can witness it and justice can be seen to be done.”
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