by J. V. Jones
“A minor one.” As he spoke, Ravis released his hold on Tessa’s arm. Coming to an abrupt halt, he stared into the crowd of people waiting at the end of the wharf.
Looking up, Tessa followed his gaze through thick bands of smoke, shifting shadows, and bright bursts of torch light, to a hooded figure dressed in black. As Tessa watched, the figure drew hands to the hood and pushed it back. Tessa caught her breath. It was a woman with violet eyes and gleaming dark hair. A murmur passed through the crowd as everyone turned to look at her. She was strikingly beautiful. The torch light, which succeeded in making everyone else look red faced and haggard, made the woman’s skin glow with soft, golden tones.
Quickly, Tessa glanced at Ravis. His tooth was down upon his scar. Without returning his hand to Tessa’s arm, he moved forward. Tessa had no choice but to follow after him. As Ravis walked, the crowd parted before him, opening up a path to the woman standing on the flight of steps leading up from the wharf to the dock. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, Tessa inhaled the sharp, sweet odor of violets.
As Ravis drew close, the woman’s eyes darkened and her lips curved minutely. Suddenly feeling grubby and plain, Tessa brushed back her hair and smoothed her dress. The woman with violet eyes let her own hair blow in the wind. Glossy curls framed a heart-shaped face and flawless skin. When a sharp breeze cut from the east, her cloak parted to reveal a dress of scarlet lace beneath.
Without looking once at Tessa, the woman remained motionless until Ravis came to a halt before her. “We need to talk,” she said, her voice low and husky. Not waiting for a reply, she turned, climbed the steps, and began to walk along the dock. Ravis moved to catch up with her.
Tessa stood on the bottom step, watching them. They shared the same dark hair and quick, fluid movements. For a moment she felt as if she were looking at two people made from the same substance. Then Ravis turned. His expression was strained as he searched out Tessa’s face in the crowd. When their gazes met, he relaxed imperceptibly, beckoning her forward with a brief tilt of his chin. The violet-eyed woman saw, but in no way acknowledged, the exchange.
She led them along the dock and up into the city. The streets were wet and slick with grease. Horses, litters, covered carts, and laden donkeys choked the roads. When a barrow boy wheeling a cart full of apples strayed too close, Ravis took hold of the woman’s elbow and drew her away. Tessa tried not to notice how long his hand stayed upon her arm afterward. Crossing a busy thoroughfare, the woman guided them through a series of short turns and then up the steps of a sandstone building, into the light and warmth of an inn.
They entered a room dominated by a fireplace large enough to stable a horse. Spits ran from one side of the fire to the other, thick with roasting chickens, onions, and joints of meat. The sound of fat hissing above the flames competed with the sounds of laughter and singing. The air was heavy with smoke, smells, and liquor fumes. Men and women sat in close groups, their cheeks flushed from drinking, their hands busy with gaming chips, ale tankards, coins, and drawstring purses.
The moment the small party appeared in the doorway, a short man standing by a row of beer casks made his way forward. Rubbing his hands against his apron, to brush off either dirt or sweat, he bowed deeply as he approached the violet-eyed woman. “Lady Arazzo, you have returned. Please, come this way. Such a night to be out! You must be cold and parched. I’ve had Mulch baste a brace of good pheasants, and I’ve personally taken the liberty of setting a jug of berriac to warm by the fire.”
Ignoring the man completely, the violet-eyed woman turned to Ravis. “We must speak in private.” Although she didn’t so much as glance at Tessa while she spoke, Tessa felt the words like a cool draft upon her cheek.
The short man with the apron moved toward a doorway that led through to a small, dimly lit room. From where she stood, Tessa could just catch the gleam of rich furnishings beyond: dark woods, crimson silk, and silver-capped lanterns.
Ravis turned to Tessa. “You will sit here,” he said, guiding her toward a table in the center of the main room. “And will not move until I say so. I’ll have the innkeeper bring you food and drink.”
Tessa blinked. She thought of many things to say, but in the end she simply nodded. Ravis’ face was dark and unreadable, his voice hard.
“And you,” he said, spinning around to face the innkeeper, “will extend the same courtesy to this lady as you have to the Lady Arazzo. See she gets the same plump pheasants and fire-warmed berriac. And be sure the word gets around that she is to be left well alone. Any man coming close enough to cast a shadow on her chair will have me to contend with.” Ravis made a point of pushing back his cloak to reveal his knife. Those watching him from various alcoves and corners dotted around the inn all found reason to look away.
With one final glance at Tessa, Ravis let himself be ushered into the private room.
Tessa watched him go. The violet-eyed woman waited by the doorway until Ravis had passed into the room, then put a pale, unjeweled hand upon the door, meaning to close it behind him. Ravis said something to her, and a second later her hand dropped from the wood, door unclosed. As the two receded into the darkness of the room, Tessa strained to see more, but the light level dropped further as the woman moved to snuff out oil lamps, and soon all Tessa could see were shadows.
“Here, my lady. Pheasant and berriac.” The innkeeper startled Tessa by depositing a tray upon her table. “Mulch has boned the bird, and I’ve taken the liberty of pulling the stuffing out myself. I know how you ladies hate catching grease on your sleeves.” The innkeeper spoke pleasantly enough, but his gaze was fixed firmly upon the darkness in the private room.
Tessa nodded. She suddenly felt sick. Trying to convince herself it was the smell of pheasant, the long day, and the smoke from the tallow that was making her queasy, she let the innkeeper go. A moment later she let out a small sigh and called him back. The smells weren’t bothering her at all. Something else was.
The innkeeper was quick to return, wiping his hands against his apron as if somehow, in the minute he had been away, he had managed to get them dirty. He leaned close. “Yes, my lady?”
“Who is the lady in the private room?” Tessa said, hating herself for asking yet wanting to know all the same.
“Violante of Arazzo,” the innkeeper replied, obviously pleased to be asked. “The most famous beauty in Mizerico. The Lectur’s bastard daughter.”
Feeling the muscles in her throat contract, Tessa waved the innkeeper away. Mizerico. That was where Ravis was headed the day she’d met him.
“What did you come here for, Violante?” Ravis glanced through the doorway into the main room as he spoke. He could just see the edge of Tessa’s table. Although the innkeeper had left a tray laden with food minutes earlier, Tessa had not touched it.
Violante of Arazzo walked across the room, coming to stand directly in front of the partially closed door. Silk rustled as she moved. “I’ve come to warn you,” she said, her pale fingers working on the ties of her cloak. With one quick shrug of her shoulders, the cloak fell to the floor, revealing her lace-clad body beneath. “Your brother means to kill you.”
“Tell me some new news, Violante.” Ravis looked away from her, turning his attention to the jug of berriac by the fire. Even after all this time he still found Violante of Arazzo’s beauty unsettling.
“Malray knows you have left Rhaize. He also knows you have come here, to Kilgrim.”
“And how does he know that?”
“Does it matter?” Violante’s curved lips were so perfect that every female portrait commissioned in Istania for the past five years boasted a copy of them. “Make my lips fuller, more curved,” the fine ladies of the court would plead with their portrait artists, “just like Violante of Arazzo’s.” Some ladies even went so far as to have their maids slap their lips before dances and banquets, just to give them that flushed, swollen look of Violante’s.
It was the peasant in her, the fine ladies of the court were fond of poi
nting out, that gave Violante her charm. Her fine-cut bones and her violet eyes would be nothing without those peasant lips.
Ravis tugged a hand through his hair. “Just tell me the truth, Violante.”
Violante’s expression changed imperceptibly. Ravis thought he saw her bottom lip tremble, but then she stepped into the shadows against the far wall and he was no longer sure. “Malray was in my house the day the two Istanian scouts delivered your message. I tried to hide it, but he guessed it was from you.” Violante took a quick breath. “He tore it from me, read it, found the part where you mentioned your travel plans, then raced out of the house. He didn’t even stop to collect his cloak.”
All the time Violante was speaking, Ravis watched Tessa’s table through the doorway. One man had strayed close, only to be intercepted by the innkeeper carrying half a dozen foaming tankards. After a brief exchange of words and ale, the stranger moved away. Relaxing a bit, Ravis turned his attention back to Violante.
In the narrow, dimly lit room with its red-painted walls and its crimson silk upholstery that Ravis suspected was normally used for cushioning prostitutes and their wealthy clients, Violante looked liked a creature from another world. While the red furnishings surrounding her had the cheap look of cherry and vermilion dyes, the fabric of Violante’s dress looked as if it had been dyed by grinding rubies, distilling fine red wine, and reducing blood.
It wasn’t worth asking her what Malray had been doing in her house. Ravis knew Violante well enough to guess. Left alone in Mizerico for nearly a year while he finished his commission for Izgard of Garizon, she had no doubt taken other men to her bed. It was hardly surprising that one of those men should be his own brother. Malray would have made it his business to seek her out. Any woman who interested Ravis always interested his brother as well.
“How long ago did this happen?” Ravis asked.
Violante sent dark curls tumbling as she shook her head. “Six or seven days back. Malray sent his assassins out that same evening. The next morning I set sail on a local bark.”
That explained why Violante was here, ahead of everyone. No one could build a hull as fast and smooth as an Istanian shipbuilder. Their bows sloped so wickedly from the stem that their ships were able to slice clean through oncoming waves.
Pouring two cups of berriac, Ravis said, “When do you think Malray’s men will arrive?”
“The captain of the bark said we passed a Drokho cutter two nights back, so perhaps late tonight or early tomorrow morning.”
Ravis glanced into the main room.
“Why does Malray still hate you so?” Violante asked, directing his attention back toward herself. “He got the money, the land, the title. What did you take from him?”
For the first time since meeting her on the wharf, Ravis smiled at Violante. It was a cold smile and she knew it, for she looked quickly away. Seeing the faint blush on her cheeks and the way her slender fingers plucked at the fabric of her dress, Ravis wondered why she had come. Violante of Arazzo was beautiful enough to choose any man she wished. Even the highest-born noblemen crumbled beneath her cool violet gaze, presenting her with extravagant gifts of land, gold, and family jewels. Glancing at her unadorned neck and wrist, Ravis shook his head softly. Although Violante had received a fortune’s worth of jewelry, she never wore any. She didn’t need it.
Ravis crossed the room and handed her a cup of berriac. “What makes you think I took something from Malray?” He had meant his tone to be light, but somehow it wasn’t.
“Because I saw the look on Malray’s face when the scouts arrived with your letter. I saw the hate.”
Closing his eyes, Ravis bit down on his scar. Seven years had passed since his last contact with his brother, yet he could still feel Malray’s malice pressing against him like a splint bound to a bone.
“What did you take from him, Ravis?” Violante said, her voice low. “Was it a woman?”
Ravis turned away. In the main room he saw Tessa shifting in her chair. She had rolled back her sleeves and was about to start on her food. A quick scan of the room assured him that no one was paying her any special attention. He wanted to go to her anyway.
When he spun around, he caught Violante watching him. In that unguarded moment she looked young and unsure of herself. Ravis ran his hand across his face. Violante had traveled all the way from Mizerico to warn him about Malray, even though she knew she was no longer wanted. The note Ravis sent her had been a farewell. At some point during the past six weeks he’d come to realize he’d been mistaking his eagerness to be gone from Bay’Zell for a desire to see her.
Suddenly feeling tired, Ravis said, “What difference does it make? The past is gone. Dead.” Glancing up at Violante’s face, seeing the question repeated again in her eyes, he sighed and gave in. “Malray was betrothed to a girl once—fourteen years ago, when he first took legal possession of the estate. When I heard of the betrothal I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It ate away at me. Malray had the land, the wealth. Why should he have a wife too? As soon as I learned who the girl was I sought her out, made her fall in love with me instead of him.” Ravis shook his head, laughed coldly. “It was easy. I told her about the rift between Malray and me, cast myself as the villain . . . women always love black sheep.
“A month later we ran off to the east and got married. Malray was publicly humiliated. He’d had a grand wedding planned, invited heads of state, dukes, duchesses. He’d even arranged to have the ceremony performed at the Liege’s palace in Rhiga. Then to have to tell everyone that the wedding was canceled because his betrothed had run off with his own brother . . .”
“He took it badly?”
Ravis made a hard sound in his throat. “So badly that when I finally returned to Drokho some seven years later he had one of his men welcome me home with a knife.”
Violante’s gaze dropped from his eyes to the scar on his lip.
Ravis nodded. “Half a second later and it would have been my throat.”
Fingers grazing across her own perfect lips, Violante said, “How is it that no one ever talks about this?”
“Both Malray and the girl’s brother had an interest in seeing the story buried with time. No one gained from what happened. No one.”
“What about the girl?” Violante drained the berriac from her cup. “What became of her?”
Ravis’ teeth found his scar. It felt like cold wire in his mouth. “She died two years after we were married. She wasn’t made for the sort of life I lived in the east. I took work as a mercenary, living in mercenary camps, following the winter campaigns east and the summer ones south, moving from one stinking dugout to the next. Within a matter of months she caught hura aya, swamp sickness. It took her over a year to die. She was blind for the last month. ‘Ravis,’ she would say, ‘I’m frightened. Hold me. Tell me what you see—’ ”
“Stop it!” cried Violante, her voice sharp. “Stop it.” Their gazes met. Violante’s eyes were bright. A high flush blazed across her cheeks. After a moment she looked away.
“My lady. Sir.” The innkeeper stepped into the room, carrying a silver tray loaded with food and a second jug of berriac. “I’ll just put this near the fire so it won’t go cold.”
Neither Ravis nor Violante acknowledged what he said. They stood looking at each other while he laid out salt dishes, silk napkins, and little silver bowls for spitting gristle.
“Who was the girl?” Violante asked the moment the innkeeper was gone. “Malray isn’t the sort of man to marry for love. She must have been someone highborn. An heiress, perhaps?” Although she tried, Violante couldn’t quite keep a trace of bitterness from edging into her voice. A bastard herself, she was feted by society while never quite being allowed into it. The noblemen who wooed her seldom had marriage on their minds.
Ravis made a negligent gesture with his hand. “Just a girl from Veizach.”
“Just a girl from Veizach? Yet the Liege offered to marry her in his palace?” Violante shook her head. “I
think not, Ravis of Burano.”
Turning to face the fire, Ravis took a deep breath. The past was long gone. Why should it still hurt? After a long moment he let his wife’s name out. “Lara of Alberach.”
Violante let out a short gasp. “Izgard’s sister?”
Ravis nodded to the fire.
“Yet you’ve spent the last three years working for him. How can he—”
“Because he needed my services. And that’s just the sort of man he is.”
As Ravis said the word is, voices rose in the main room. Something wooden, like a chair or a table, crashed to the floor. Ravis spun around. The door was shut—the innkeeper must have closed it on the way out. Cursing himself for not checking sooner, he raced across the room. As one hand came down upon the latch, the other reached for his knife.
The door swung open. Tessa was sitting exactly where he had told her, only now two men were standing over her. One man had his hand on her shoulder. Straight away, Ravis took in their dark hair, blood red cloaks, and the square-shaped clasps at their throats. Malray’s men. Two more were busy pressing the innkeeper against the wall, and another pair was guarding the door.
All six men stopped in their tracks when Ravis appeared in the doorway.
Behind him, Ravis heard Violante take a step forward. “Stay where you are, Violante,” he hissed. Then, sending his gaze in an arc to include all six of Malray’s men before coming to rest upon Tessa, he said, “Gentlemen. This is a little disappointing. I had hoped you’d come all this way to see me, not some two-copper trollop from the docks.” With that he launched himself into the main room, heading for the back of the inn, away from Tessa and the door.
“Run!” he cried at the top of his voice, launching his body toward the area where the two men held the innkeeper. “Run!” The words were for Tessa, only for Tessa, but it suited Ravis that every patron in the inn—every old man supping barley beer, every drunken sailor with a hand down a girl’s blouse, and every old maid getting quietly potted—chose the exact same moment to heed his advice and make toward the door. People began screaming and pushing, and when Ravis looked over his shoulder he could no longer see Tessa or her table for the crowd of people rushing to escape. Telling himself that was good, he turned his full attention to the two red-cloaked men by the wall.
