“What’d ye do to so claim the prince’s favor, eh Tanis?” Killian inquired. His tone implied Tanis must have done something wonderfully illicit.
“Oh, speaking of! My sister says—” Tad began, but then his expression fell.
Tanis saw the suddent change in his manner and suspected he knew what lay behind it. The whole of the nobility was talking about Katerina val Mallonwey, who apparently was refusing even to leave her apartments after hearing of Creighton’s death.
Killian placed a hand on Tad’s arm. “She’ll yet recover. Kat has ten suitors standin’ in line for her hand.”
Tad smiled and nodded. “No doubt you’re right.”
Tanis wondered if Tad wasn’t mourning more the loss of his special status as brother to the girl being courted by the prince’s blood-brother.
Recovering his humor, Tad offered, “I was going to say, Tanis, I think I’ve an explanation for your Lady Alyneri’s rapid exodus from Calgaryn a few days past.”
Tanis’s ears perked up. “What is it?”
“Kat says the Duchess of Aracine had something more than a crush on the prince when they were young.”
“But she was betrothed to his brother,” Killian pointed out.
“Thus the rub,” Tad concluded, adding dramatically, “The painful thorns of fate, separating star-crossed lovers.”
“I don’t think they’re star-crossed lovers,” Tanis noted, thinking of the scowls and glares Her Grace had been casting Prince Ean every time they were in a room together.
“The way I hear it,” Killian said, “Her Grace has long refused to marry the prince an’ he spent his time at Fersthaven wooing her.”
“Is it so, Tanis?” Tad asked hopefully. “Is Her Grace the mysterious heiress?”
Tanis had been instructed to perpetuate the gossip to protect Prince Ean, but a Truthreader couldn’t lie. “If she was, I don’t think the negotiations went well. Her Grace isn’t speaking to him at present.”
“See,” Tad elbowed Killian in the ribs. “I told you she wasn’t the heiress in the story, no matter what they’re saying in the kitchens. No, my theory is better.” Tad grinned, his imagination in full gallop. “The heroine pines for her lost love, promising her troth to him as the long years pass, only to find upon his long-awaited return that his heart now belongs to another.”
“I think ye missed your calling, Tad,” Killian said with a grin. “Ye should’ve taken up the lute and become a bard. ’Tis more to your nature than orderin’ soldiers hither and yon.”
Tad puffed out his chest indignantly. “I’ll make a fine general.”
“Ye’d make a better minstrel. Plus, ye’ve got the looks for it. Like that Espial whose been hangin’ about, what one as arrived with the Vestal.”
Tanis came suddenly alert. “What?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you, Tanis?” Tad said, scratching his head. “I must’ve forgotten. You were right. That was the Fourth Vestal we saw, after all.”
Tanis’s excitement grew. “Is he still here?”
“As far as I know. He comes and goes like the wind and seems to be spending most of his time in conference with Their Majesties or down in the cellars or something. Don’t ask me what could interest him there.”
A mysterious hole, a dead man and a set of iron doors leading to….what?
“So anyway,” said Killian, resuming his thread of conversation, “the man who’s with him—”
“Franco…Rohre,” Tad supplied, snapping his fingers as the name came to him.
“Franco Rohre?” Tanis gaped at Tad.
Killian looked surprised. “You know him, Tanis?”
Delanthine Tanner, Rothen Landray, Gannon Bair, Franco Rohre… Tanis was suddenly grateful that Master o’Reith had made him memorize so many strange names. “Franco Rohre is one of the Fifty Companions,” Tanis said in a hushed tone. “He’s one of the few who survived the fall of the Citadel.”
“He was on Tiern’aval?” Killian looked amazed.
“And to think I thought the man just some wayward Nodefinder,” Tad confessed, looking stricken. He prided himself on his information; no doubt this news came as quite a blow to his ego. “I’ve only ever seen him following the Queen’s Companion like a puppy, or entertaining her with a lute and a song. I never imagined he was someone important.”
“He’s a famous Espial,” Tanis informed him with no small measure of satisfaction at finding something that his friend didn’t know. “He’s worked the Pattern of Life.”
Even as he said it, Tanis thought about how wondrous the declaration. Just the legendary pattern itself was intriguing enough—moreover a man who’d actually worked it. Not that Raine d’Lacourte and the other Vestals hadn’t all done the same, but the Vestals seemed utterly unapproachable, while Franco Rohre was merely a man. Tanis added in a conspiratorial whisper, “He’s over three hundred years old!”
Just then, the trumpets sounded and Tanis spun toward the dais, worried the king had arrived and he’d be late, but he realized this only the first fanfare. Two more would sound before the king and queen arrived. Still, he’d best depart. “I’d better get going,” he told his friends.
Tad clapped him on the arm with a grin. “I’ll expect a full report, young man.”
“Aye, Tanis, all the juicy details from the king’s table,” Killian added, rubbing his hands together and leering lustily.
Smiling, Tanis rushed off through the crowd and—
Ran right into Fynnlar val Lorian.
The royal cousin looked almost presentable in a muted grey doublet with slashed sleeves lined in silver and with his shoulder-length wavy hair actually brushed. He stood talking to two noble ladies, one blonde, one brunette, neither of them memorable.
As Tanis tried to slip by, he heard one of the ladies say, “But surely my lord agrees that such butchers must be punished. Did not the barbarians murder our Prince Sebastian, thy own cousin?”
Before Fynn could answer, the other woman interjected with, “’Tis a shock His Majesty has not already sought like retribution for Prince Sebastian’s death. I know there are some who speak against our involvement in M’Nador, but indeed, if ever a king had a justified reason for war, you must admit His Majesty has it.”
Fynn arched a dubious brow and sipped his wine. “No one ever goes to war for the right reasons, my lady,” he murmured, whereupon he spied Tanis trying to slip by and said, “Well, hello there, Tanis, Truthreader-in-training. Come to fetch me for my uncle, have you?”
Tanis gave him a bewildered look.
Fynn clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Enjoying the banquet, I see.”
Tanis was worried about getting to the dais. His eyes kept straying there. “I suppose, my lord. And you?”
Fynn smiled wanly. “Immensely. These noble ladies and I were just discussing the merits of war, of which I discovered few.” He drained his goblet with two long gulps, belched, and announced then, “Dear heavens, I seem to have finished my wine. Do excuse me, ladies.” He darted off into the crowd dragging Tanis along with him.
Both women glared at their retreating backs.
As they made their way toward the dais, Tanis confessed to Fynn, “My lord, I didn’t actually come in His Majesty’s name.”
“Oh, I know, Tanis,” Fynn reassured him. “I was eager to escape.” He glanced over his shoulder, but the women were lost in the ever-shifting crowd. Fynn shuddered. “They were just like little parrots—do you know what a parrot is, Tanis? It’s a tropical bird they have in Jamaii that repeats everything you say without understanding a word of it. They were little parrots, those women, perpetuating the same drivel fed them by their lord husbands. At least they were loyal supporters of the crown. I suppose one must grant them that.”
Tanis was puzzled. “Should we not be fighting the Akkad, my lord? I’ve heard of some speaking in dissent, but I thought His Majesty was firm in his decision to support M’Nador.”
Fynn eyed the boy as if discerning his lo
yalties. Finally he grunted. “War is sometimes appropriate—so long as you’re actually fighting the people you ought to be fighting, which is rare.”
Reflecting on that bit of cryptic wisdom, Tanis wondered if there might be more to the royal cousin than first met the eye. “Lord Fynnlar,” he asked then, “do you really sail with the pirates of Jamaii?”
Fynn snagged a full goblet off the tray of a passing steward and winked at a lovely lady in a pink dress. “Something like that,” he murmured as he kept walking and drank his wine at the same time, all without spilling a drop.
Tanis was quite impressed. “Is it true that they sail their ships into caves to hide them?”
“I could tell you lad,” Fynn answered with a conspiratorial wink, “but then I’d have to kill you.”
Halting at the base of the dais, Tanis gazed in astonishment as Fynn continued up. “Really?”
Fynn grinned. “No, Tanis—ye gads, no!” He grabbed Tanis by the shoulder and pulled him on up the steps. “I’m only teasing you.”
“You’ve got to be careful about that, cousin,” a familiar voice observed, and Tanis turned to find His Highness approaching. Ean ruffled the lad’s hair affectionately as Tanis topped the stairs, and then he added, “Our Tanis is perhaps the last true innocent, Fynn. ’Twould be a tragedy to jade him.”
While Fynn said something into his wine, Tanis gazed admiringly at his prince. Attired all in black, Ean was resplendent with silver filigree decorating each velvet sleeve and his kingdom sword with its sapphire pommelstone gleaming at his hip. Tanis had never felt so common in any man’s presence. He thought he should be kneeling, and might have had Ean not asked first, “Is the coat to your liking, Tanis? You could pass for a noble yourself now.”
Tanis was startled. “You—you sent it, Your Highness? I thought—”
Ean chuckled and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “The coat was mine, Tanis, long ago. I thought it might fit you and had it sent over.”
Tanis fell mute with gratitude; that the prince had worn the coat himself made Ean’s gift even more meaningful.
“I must speak with you, Ean,” Fynn meanwhile said.
Ean selected a crystal goblet of wine from an offering steward, and took a sip, murmuring, “Go ahead.”
“I’ve heard talk, Ean.” Fynn glanced around to make certain no ears were close. “My sources say His Majesty intends to send you south with Duke val Whitney when the General returns to Tal’shira by the Sea. There are rumors of a parley with the Akkad.”
“My father and I still have much to discuss, Fynn,” Ean replied, and his gaze seemed shadowed by whatever memory suddenly infused his thoughts.
“You mustn’t go, whatever you do,” Fynn admonished. “We all know what happened at the last parley with Abdul-Basir.”
Taking another sip of wine, Ean murmured his agreement as he turned and surveyed the room.
Alyneri was just then arriving on the arm of the black-haired General of the East, Loran val Whitney, who was almost a to-scale enlargement of his son Killian, but far more terrifying in demeanor. Tanis eyed him uncertainly.
“Ah, if it isn’t Their Graces, the Lady Alyneri and Duke val Whitney,” Fynn welcomed with a leering grin. “What a pleasure it is indeed to be among such esteemed company.”
“Fynnlar,” Alyneri and Loran said together, and their tones were equally wanting for warmth.
“My cousin and I were just discussing your war, in fact, General,” Fynn went on. “Or rather, I should say, his participation in it.”
“I know of no plans to allow His Highness to go to war, Fynnlar,” Loran assured him while nodding a gracious hello to Ean.
“Really?” Fynn challenged. “Because I heard Ean was meant to represent the king at the upcoming parley with al’Abdul-Basir.”
Loran did a poor job of hiding his astonishment. Clearly this information was meant to be held in the utmost secrecy. He seemed uncertain whether to deny Fynnlar out of hand or demand to know how he’d learned a secret that was only known to a select few.
Fynn advanced relentlessly into Loran’s startled silence. “Tell me, my Lord Duke, do you expect to lose the last of our princes at this next parley with the Emir?”
“Lord Fynnlar!” Alyneri protested in outrage as the general’s face darkened.
“Because, you see,” Fynn continued, “I am running out of cousins, and if you let the Khurds murder my last one—”
“You go too far, Fynnlar,” Loran growled.
“—then I’m afraid I might be next,” Fynn continued, adding, “though I cannot imagine anyone wanting to kill me. I can understand the whole Sebastian thing, of course—sorry, Ean but you have to admit he really was an insufferable snot. Never would lend me any money—”
“Enough, Fynn,” Ean warned.
Fynn turned to him looking injured. “I was only saying…”
The general’s expression was fierce, but he confessed to the charge with admirable calm. “Should His Highness accompany me to the parley—and I am by no means advocating any plans to this affect—he would nonetheless be kept quite safe. Prince Radov has ample forces at Tal’shira, and every possible precaution would be taken to ensure His Highness’s continued wellbeing.”
“Mmm,” Fynn murmured into his wine, and for a moment, everyone thought the uncomfortable conversation was blessedly at an end, until— “Ah, but you see, General,” the royal cousin announced with his head tilted sideways and a ponderous look upon his face, “I have often found that if you know something can go wrong and take due precautions to prevent it, then something else will go wrong.”
Before the general lost his temper, Alyneri interjected coolly, “I was speaking earlier today with the Princess Ysolde, who brought up a most interesting notion, Lord Fynnlar.”
Fynn tore his eyes from the general’s to turn her an inquiring gaze. “Is that so, Your Grace?”
“She proposed the convention that our nobility should uphold a certain standard, and were that standard to dip below an acceptable level…” She gave him a pointed look. “Mayhap said noble should be deemed unfit for his title.” Alyneri cast Fynn a lovely smile. “Don’t you find that a unique idea? The princess said the Avatar nobility have truly embraced the concept.”
Fynn glared at her over the rim of his goblet and muttered, “Quite so, Your Grace,” into his wine.
Several others ascended the dais then, with the queen’s father, Admiral Cameron l’Owain, in the lead. Cameron and his group joined Loran, Ean and the others, and there followed a round of quick greetings.
Tanis’s gaze was drawn to the man who stood just behind Admiral l’Owain. He might have changed his clothes from chestnut to fawn grey, but his countenance was unmistakable, as were his colorless eyes.
“Ean,” Admiral l’Owain addressed his grandson, “have you met the Vestal?”
Ean shook his head and extended his hand to clasp wrists with Raine. “No indeed. I have been most anxious to meet and speak with Your Excellency.”
Raine held his gaze. “As am I, Your Highness.”
Loran said to Alyneri then, “Your Grace, have you met the Vestal Raine d’Lacourte?” Loran held a hand to the man Tanis was staring wondrously at. Raine nodded a polite hello, murmuring, “A pleasure, Your Grace.”
“I do believe we’ve met, Your Excellency,” she said pleasantly. “I was quite young. You may not recall.”
The Vestal responded with a smile, one that held a rather elusive quality. “That is indeed correct, Your Grace,” he murmured. “I applaud your memory.”
Alyneri allowed a steward to refill her empty goblet. Then she explained to the rest of the group, “His Excellency came for the swearing-in ceremony of the Truthreader Kjieran van Stone. I was in attendance with my mother and father, and afterwards you and my father spent some hours together. I couldn’t have been more than four.”
“I remember the day well. Prince Jair is greatly missed in Kandori.”
“Whatever happened to th
at van Stone character?” Loran meanwhile asked. “When I left for the front, he was all but attached to His Majesty’s hip.”
“I have been wondering much the same, Duke,” Raine admitted, and his tone implied he was quite displeased about it.
“You’ve been at the front for over two years, Your Grace,” Fynn pointed out to Loran. “Much has changed in the fair Kingdom of Dannym since you left.”
“I am told that Kjieran van Stone has been missing for several months,” Alyneri explained to the Vestal as Loran looked on. “Rhys val Kincaide, Captain of the King’s Own Guard, seemed verily displeased about his absence and the mystery of his disappearance.”
Loran’s expression hardened with a frown. “It seems unlikely that the man ran off.”
“It is unthinkable,” Raine declared, and there was a cold edge to his tone. “A sworn Truthreader in the service of a king? Absolutely unthinkable.”
Alyneri gazed at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. Then she smiled and tried to lighten the mood, asking, “And what brings you to Calgaryn this time, Your Excellency?”
“Something dark and sinister, no doubt,” Fynn interjected, but at the glares he received, he added indignantly, “I didn’t mean he was dark and sinister. I’m certain His Excellency is only upon the most honorable of missions—as befits his reputation.”
“Thank you, Lord Fynnlar,” Raine said with an enigmatic look, settling his crystalline gaze upon the royal cousin. Fynn reddened beneath his steady stare and covered his unease with a hasty gulping of wine.
Tanis could restrain himself no longer. He had so many questions for the famous Vestal, but surprisingly the one that made it first to his tongue was, “Your Excellency, do you really command the Brotherhood of the Seven Stones?”
Raine turned to him with a smile. Tanis realized that even when benign, his gaze was difficult to hold. Looking into the Vestal’s eyes, Tanis felt as if he stared into the very center of the starry heavens where no truths remain hidden. His head even began to swim a little, as if he’d had too much wine.
“And you must be Tanis,” Raine said. “Vitriam mentioned you with fond regard. He says you are learning our craft well.”
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 43
