by JANRAE FRANK
"You're afraid of the throat, aren't you?"
"Yes." Belyla did not understand Philomea's helping her.
"You don't need to bite precisely. Your fangs are sharper than well-honed blades. Simply press them gently against the skin and they will slide in."
Philomea produced a handkerchief and wiped Belyla's mouth when she finished. "There, that was easy."
Belyla gave her a look of gratitude. "Why are you doing this?"
Philomea sighed. "Because, when I first saw Yahni, I fell in love with him."
"Then help us escape."
"No. No, that's too dangerous. The Guild would come after all of us then. Besides, I like the power we are offered by Galee. I love myself more than I love anyone." Philomea led her sister out, locked the cell, and hung the keys up. "The three of us are more like father is, while you and Bryndel are more like mother was."
* * * *
Leeza watched the way Channadar lay upon the pillows, careful not to turn wrong. His silver eyes had that odd glaze to them that told her the pain was returning. He wore just his pants and his bandages. It was a very warm day, and he said his shirt made him itch and pulled at the bandages. "It hurts you?"
Channadar frowned at her. "It is nothing I cannot deal with."
"That is not what I asked," she said as gently as she could, sensing she was somehow walking on his pride.
Channadar shrugged, and the look in his eyes betrayed him, telling her the movement had made his shoulder hurt worse. "You must not worry. Just love me."
"How can I love you and not worry?" Leeza demanded with a flash of anger, tears coming in her eyes. "Don't close me out, Channadar."
"I do not want you to worry. I would not be protecting you, if I allowed you to worry."
"I don't need to be protected! I did fine on my own before I met you. I was a yeomon!" She turned away from him.
"Leeza..." He tried to smile in amusement, and it faded from his face as he clutched at his arm. "I am sorry. You do not understand..."
"And what if we made a child? What would you do then?"
"I would hide you both under Tiderider's arms."
"That's what I feared. I'm a whore. Bought and paid for." Leeza fled the room.
Channadar stared after her, feeling confused.
* * * *
Wrathscar knocked on Galee's door. When there was no answer, he drew a key from his pocket and put it into the lock. A cunning smile spread across his face. Galee had never changed the lock after the days of their sexual liaison, when it was the talk of the court. She probably never expected him to disobey her, and return without her permission. Wrathscar had tired of the way she ruled everything, the way she kept him restrained. He squirmed beneath the foot she kept placing on his neck to keep him in line. Having taken dominion, she ignored him as beneath her notice, frequently palming him off on Meilurk for these hunts instead of hunting with him herself.
He opened the door and closed it behind him, replacing the key in his pocket. Crossing the outer chamber, he ran his fingers along the lacquered furniture in his line of travel. This would teach her to ignore him over a stupid book. Wrathscar went into her study, pulled the journal off the shelf, slipped it into his shirt and then left immediately, being careful to lock the apartment again. Then he went to his rooms down the corridor.
* * * *
Osterbridge sat on the edge of a chair in Terrys' outer parlor, ignoring the wine glass in his hands, his gaze skimming the top to touch the floor and trace the patterns on the carpet. Jajinga's willingness to break the news to Terrys, instead of leaving it to him, had taken one of the stones from his stomach that had begun to lodge there. He would have done it if Jajinga had insisted, but he had not.
Jajinga sat beside Terrys on the couch in her parlor, sipping wine. "Yahni's gone," Jajinga said. "I kept thinking he would come back, but Queiggy's promoted a new mon to Yahni's position. He's doubled the guards at the doors, main and postern." Normally the Guild promoted from within a group, people who had worked closely with a lost mon so that they already knew the job and what had already been done. That should have been either Jajinga or Osterbridge. This time they had not.
"Well, we've known they intended to runaway together." Terrys flicked her skirts to the sides better while she searched their eyes.
"Then why did they put it off for over a month?" Jajinga questioned.
"They were still keeping the marriage secret," Osterbridge interjected. "I agree with Jajinga. Something is wrong. Yahni implied that he'd been given an assignment."
Terrys swallowed, looking distressed. "I really don't want to believe that something has happened to them."
"They couldn't run away," Jajinga said, pressing his palms on the table and leaving prints in the cool shine. "Yahni's sick. Belyla's pregnant. A pregnant woman and a sick man? How far could they get?"
"Not far at all," Terrys admitted. "I know you've come for a favor."
Osterbridge nodded. "We want you to help us find Yahni and Belyla. Call it a gut instinct, Terrys. But I think Queiggy and Yukiah know. Or suspect. I don't believe they would give an assignment to a sick mon."
"It's possible the assignment made him sick," Jajinga said and wished he hadn't.
Terrys turned pale. "Are you suggesting someone poisoned Yahni?"
"No. Only that they're not talking to us. We've asked them, Terrys."
Terrys shifted uneasily. "I'm the only friend Belyla has. Have you spoken to Yahni's other friends?"
Jajinga nodded. "The ones we trusted not to carry it back to Queiggy. We must find them."
"I'll help."
* * * *
Galee went to the shelf in her study to take down her journal and make some more notes. She blinked, checked the next shelf, and then the next. Anger roared up inside her and she shrieked, throwing books in all directions. It was gone.
"Wrathscar!"
She swept out of the apartments in a rage, heading for Wrathscar's suites. Then she saw someone standing in the door talking and drew back to listen. Terrys. Galee remembered that Yahni had three close friends, Terrys, Jajinga, and Ceejorn Osterbridge. Could they have been working together? Was that why Terrys was standing at Wrathscar's door?
* * * *
Terrys knocked on the door to the Wrathscar apartments on the West Wing. She smoothed her skirts in slow movements to calm herself as she waited for a response and sucked in a long steadying breath. What if only Yahni was missing, while Belyla was simply being held by her father? The implications of that possibility slid through her with distress. The door opened, and she found herself staring at Philomea. The blonde mon was dressed for riding in a powder blue split skirt, and stood tapping her leg with a leather crop.
Philomea's eyes hardened when she saw Terrys. "What do you want, Terrys?"
"To speak with Belyla. I'm planning a party."
"I'll tell her you were here."
"Then you know where she is?"
"She's my sister."
"Are you going to invite me in?"
"No. I don't have time to bother with you. Lord Westli is waiting for me and he becomes impatient." Philomea closed the door in her face.
Terrys was surprised with the sting of that rejection, since she and Philomea always quarreled. Previously, Philomea would observe some formal etiquette, yet not this time. Terrys wondered if that meant Lord Wrathscar was home: he did not like visitors. She pondered the information she had managed to gain from Philomea. Apparently they did know where Belyla was and that meant she had to be at the mansion. But then, where was Yahni? Could it be that Wrathscar had discovered Yahni's connection to his daughter? And if so, was Yahni still alive? No. She did not want to go there. Yahni had to be safe. He had to be. She had to talk to Jajinga and Osterbridge.
* * * *
Osterbridge knew that his plans were dishonorable, but after listening to Terrys, he felt he had no other choice. He went down into the records chamber and found a secluded alcove the next level benea
th the one where Queiggy had been attacked months ago. He waited in the yawning stillness until he was certain that everyone who worked there had departed and only then did he light a candle to see with. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence as he climbed the stairs to the room where they kept the files on active and currently deployed Guildsmyn. There he drew out a crystal keyed to the door and opened it by running the crystal along the edge. Osterbridge had stolen the key earlier that day and would have to replace it before morning.
He felt a small thrust of guilt, as if he were betraying the Guild itself, yet his love for Yahni – a rare thing that happens when two young myn bond strongly in childhood and grow up together was as intense as that formed on the field of battle itself – made him put it aside. Osterbridge closed the door behind him, found more candles on the wooden tables and cabinets, which he lit until the room was fully illumined in their gathered light.
The first cabinets he opened were the actives. Osterbridge went through file after file after file, backwards and forwards in case they had been filed out of order, looking for Yahni's records. He did not find them. Then he went to the cabinet of deployed myn and units since Yahni had implied to them that he had been given an assignment. There too Osterbridge found nothing. Tension had started to build in him by the time he went to the last set. There he found a slip of paper saying the file had been sealed and removed. He did not like that and, with a tightening of his stomach, he went to a narrow drawer in a desk. He dug through it, hoping for anything and found the most recent status list on Guildsmyn inside Havensword and Ishladrim Castle. He went down the lists until he found Yahni's name and saw scribbled beside it "missing, believed dead."
He couldn't breathe and his heart felt shoved into his throat by his clenching chest muscles. "No! No, no, no." Then he mastered himself, wondering softly, "Why haven't they told anyone? Why seal the records?" What are they basing this on? What do they know that we don't?
Queiggy, alone, had the key to the sealed records room. Osterbridge knew he would never get it. His thoughts turned instead to Belyla. That was the only direction left to them.
* * * *
Belyla got Yahni up and dressed, her father had insisted upon having him present at a formal dinner. He was weaker than usual the day after she had drunk from him, and Belyla suspected that Philomea had visited him also. Yahni never told her, although she asked him each time she found him like this. She suspected that her father intended to display Yahni to his guests like a trophy. Belyla had avoided going down and visiting with them before dinner.
Yahni sat on the bed, his head leaning against the headboard, eyes closed. Belyla had wedged pillows around Yahni to support him while she dressed herself.
"What is taking so long?" Philomea demanded from the door. "Father wants Yahni at the table before the others enter. So they cannot help but see him."
Belyla's breath caught in her chest and then she released it and sucked in another. "Grab some pillows and I'll get him down there. He'll need them."
Yahni raised his head. "Philomea ... this is wrong."
Philomea's lips parted and she licked them, allowing her eyes to widen a bit as she came toward them. "Whatever gives my father more power is right." She inclined her head, smiling. "Right and justice are a matter of one's point of view. Nothing more."
"Get the pillows," Belyla said, refusing to be drawn into this. She lifted Yahni, dragged one arm across her neck, and walked him down the long corridor to the formal dining hall. She could simply have carried him, but that worsened his despair whenever she did so. Belyla wondered briefly if he was encouraging Philomea behind her back, possibly out of his desire to die by someone else's hands than her own.
"You will be certain that he does not speak to the guests," Philomea called out before gathering the pillows. "He is to be seen, not heard."
A large wing chair had been placed beside Belyla's seat at the table on her request and she settled Yahni there. Philomea arrived. Together they made Yahni comfortable with pillows to each side, and pushed his chair up to the table. He could barely hold his head up; it canted to the side of the chair. Belyla sat beside him.
Philomea stroked his head, drawing a glare from Belyla. "Philomea, tell father, I have him here."
Her sister's answering smile was perfunctory, and she left.
Belyla fought back tears as she watched her father and his guests enter. Wrathscar sat at the head of the table and Galee took the place of honor at his right hand. He alternated his daughters among the male guests along the left and Galee's folk among the ladies on the right. Yahni sat between Galee and Belyla in case anything should go awry with what Belyla more and more suspected was going to be a demonstration of Wrathscar's hold over everyone.
Lord Naren, a wispy northern lord with a seat upon the council, sat beside Elomina. Next came Lord Westli, commander of the guard, seated beside Philomea. Lord Lemyk, another from the council, was partnered with Darguarite for the meal. Milady and Lord Ambrose came also, seating themselves near the end with Zarliche Blood. Finally there was a scattering of lower nobles, captains, and commanders among the sa'necari and Lemyari surrounding Zarliche.
Westli studied Yahni extensively, clearly trying to remember his face, which was ghastly to look at. Then he cried out in astonishment, "Yahni Kjarten!"
"Yes, indeed," Wrathscar said, his lip curving back in contempt and hate. "He was sleeping with my daughter, possibly spying upon us. I punished both of them."
Bryndel winced, refusing to meet his father's eyes or those of any present.
Servants filled all the glasses with wine, red and white according to preference. Servants brought the food out on steaming platters and the guests filled their plates. Belyla's sisters put small portions upon theirs and sat moving the food around – when they were not ignoring it completely – to cover the fact they were not eating.
"People have begun to wonder where Yahni is," Westli informed Wrathscar. "He's a dangerous one to keep alive. What if someone found him here? You need to kill him, and dump his body in the sewers."
"He will not live much longer, Westli. Look at him," Wrathscar responded.
"What is this?" Lord Naren asked, pushing at some very white meat on his plate that he had just taken a bite of. It was extremely sweet.
"My favorite," Zarliche said with relish. "Long pig."
Lord Naren looked ready to vomit and Wrathscar's daughters shoved their plates away in distaste, using the information in their pretense of humanity to reject their food.
"Is he ill or poisoned?" Lord Naren asked when he recovered.
"Neither." Wrathscar replied.
The cross talk continued as Wrathscar deflected their questions concerning Yahni, saying only, "He is my example to you of what will happen should you decide to go back on our agreements. I will demonstrate when we draw nearer the end of the meal."
Belyla struggled throughout to get food into Yahni, mostly soft stuff that he could simply swallow because he was too tired to chew. She desperately wanted to take him and flee, but felt certain she would never get far. The terror of their capture in the swanspire still lingered.
Finally her father said, "Belyla, show them what is wrong with Yahni."
Belyla winced and opened Yahni's shirt so they could see the scars. A grasp ran around the table among the humans. She turned his head so they could see Philomea's marks on his neck.
"Now, Belyla, demonstrate how he got them."
Belyla began to cry, letting her fangs descend to full extension. She took Yahni's wrist and fed.
Wrathscar leaned back in his chair, his expression triumphant. "My daughter was turned as a punishment. She was carrying Yahni's child. She disobeyed me when I told her not to associate with Guildsmyn. Anyone who thinks to double cross me should learn from Belyla. My fanged associates will not hesitate to kill you in a very ugly fashion. Or perhaps you could become revenants. Those bent to my will. I have a thousand ways to strike at those who break faith with me,
and I will see that you experience the most agonizing death imaginable first. Do I make myself clear?"
Zarliche chuckled softly at the humans' discomfort. "You're in over your heads, gentlemyn," he said. "Sink or swim. The only way to swim is to do what the mon says."
"On the other hand," Wrathscar continued. "I can also reward you in ways others can only dream. Furthermore, it is time my daughters wed, and there are some present who are very deserving of them."
Westli glanced at Philomea who smiled at him.
* * * *
As the day waned, Osterbridge waited for Jajinga on the end of the practice field in the corner when they had once worked out with Yahni. The emptiness gnawed at him. Too many years of fine memories and good companionship lay in this place. Now they were banished by the shadow of that single slip of paper telling him that Yahni was, most likely, dead. When he was about to give up, Jajinga arrived, and sat down beside him.
"What is so important we had to meet here?"
Osterbridge shook his head, his eyes grim. "Guild thinks Yahni's dead. His file has been sealed, but I found a notation on the actives list. It said 'missing, believed dead.' They've given up on him. Guild doesn't give up without good reason."
Jajinga dragged Osterbridge into a brief embrace of comfort. When it ended, Jajinga's grim face held a stubborn edge. "We need more. We can't just let it go."
"You mustn't tell Terrys."
"I won't, Ceejorn. But what can you do to find out more?"
"I don't know. There is no way that I would ever be able to get the key to the sealed records room. Queiggy still refuses to talk to me about it. So does Yukiah."
"There must be something we can do. If we knew whether he was alive or not, where or what he was doing. Then we could either rescue or avenge him."
Osterbridge sighed. "I will keep trying. But he's been gone over a month now."
"Terrys. Terrys is stronger than you think. We should tell her."
* * * *
Yahni lay in Belyla's bed; his eyes tracing the quilting on the lining of the canopy, listening to Wrathscar and Galee have their third screaming match in as many days over "the book."
