Jenn looked sternly at the kruar who, having sprung their ambush to no good purpose, did their best to appear ordinary horses, ears up and peaceful, though one had a very large toad clinging to the saddle and both stood on a roof where horses couldn’t be.
“These are mine,” she admitted, not attempting to explain.
“Remarkable!” He seemed ready to take a closer look.
“M’lord.” Herer had pulled out his clockwork. “They’ve convened. We mustn’t tarry.”
The baron sighed. “For what good it will do.” He gave Jenn a wistful look. “Unless you’ve some magic to change minds who stubbornly insist on proof.”
“With respect, my lord baron,” she replied stiffly, “that’s not a proper use of magic at all.”
He had a contagious laugh, open and joyous. “Emon, please. You’re right, of course. We’re left with my powers of persuasion, such as they are. As Herer says, we’re out of time.”
“M’lord. I beg you reconsider.” Dutton’s voice was the deepest Jenn had ever heard, like one of Scourge’s rumbles. “You’ve done all you can without exposing yourself. There’s naught to be gained from these shadow lords. We could be back in Rhoth—”
Emon shook his head. “I’d ill serve Rhoth if I didn’t see it through. I’ll meet with anyone who might bring some sense back to all this.”
Shadow lords? “You’re meeting with the Shadow Sect,” Jenn said anxiously. “That’s what he means, isn’t it?” She looked to Herer. “That’s who tried to stop you in the market.”
“They’re against us?” that worthy exclaimed, growing pale. “M’lord!”
“How do you know of them?” Dutton demanded sharply, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. “Speak quickly!”
“Peace.” The baron held out a hand, waiting until his companions relaxed their stance, if not the now-suspicious glares they bestowed on Jenn. “The sect has authority within the Shadow District for good reason, my friends. Magic walks here.” He smiled at Jenn. “Have we not seen it tonight?” He gave her a curious look, his crows angling their black heads as though curious too. “Leading me to ask, Jenn Nalynn. Are you of this sect? Is that why you’ve summoned me?”
“No.” How much to say? Jenn met his eyes, kind and wise, as well as curious, and thought that if Semyn and Werfol’s father was someone to trust, his companions were another matter, being rightly concerned with protecting their lord. “The sect has been courteous and helpful to me as a—as a visitor here.” Which wasn’t a lie, if hardly the full truth. “I invited you to find me because Bannan and I thought you needed help.” She made a rueful face. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. You aren’t in trouble, are you.”
“Not for want of trying,” Bish said dryly. “Our lord’s put himself at considerable risk to move freely, away from Channen’s official court.”
“As was necessary.” Emon shrugged, his crows bobbing to keep their balance. He noticed her puzzlement. “Jenn, those who’d blame Rhoth for their woes have been swayed by promises no one outside Channen could match or comprehend. The rest hold no grudge against us, but have been convinced by lies I couldn’t refute as an envoy, trapped in meetings. If I was to find any leverage at all—any hope at all—it was here, in the Shadow District.”
It sounded more desperate than hopeful. “What will you do?”
“The shadow lords wield great influence within Channen’s House of Keys. Pray they’ll listen. First and foremost, though. Please. I must know Bannan’s safe,” Emon declared, warming her heart.
“You will,” Jenn told him, for she trusted what she’d done. Then, because Bannan would, she dared ask, “And the baroness? Is she safe?”
Emon ran a finger down the throat of the larger crow, Scatterwit. His thumb was badly bruised, the nail split, as if caught in a door; now that she looked with more concern, she noticed the purpling under his eyes and how he favored one leg. Still, he smiled at her question. “My Lila? Rarely.”
Which wasn’t an answer.
“M’lord, if you would do this, we must away.”
“A moment longer,” Jenn urged, answering to impulse. “Please.”
“I—”
A sheet of white crested the side of the roof, moths spilling over in a blinding cloud. As Jenn held out her hands to retrieve them, she looked to see what—who—followed, her heart pounding.
And there he was. Bannan Larmensu reached the top of the rickety ladder and stepped onto the roof.
Followed by the woman who could only be his sister.
Bannan stood high on a rooftop and watched moths vanish into the outstretched hands of the woman he loved, her face aglow with happiness, and witnessed joy as he’d never imagined it. Something had changed—what could have changed?
Whatever it was filled his heart until it might have burst.
Save that Lila stood watching with him, her utter stillness a warning not to ignore.
“Lila, this is Jenn.”
Along with Emon, Ancestors Blessed, with his bloody crows, flanked by Dutton Omemee and Bish, whom he’d not seen since his last Midwinter Beholding with the family, two years ago. And their watcher, reasonably unscathed, likely missing a knife.
Not to forget the kruar, with toad.
PatPat. As if the yling knew he’d been counting.
Did Lila even breathe?
Jenn’s smile disappeared as her hands dropped to her sides, her eyes locked with his sister’s.
“Let me—”
Lila’s head moved almost imperceptibly. No, that was, and Bannan closed his mouth. Heart’s Blood. She’d judged Jenn a threat and why wouldn’t she? Magic in abundance. A summons in the night? One that swept up her husband too? It couldn’t be worse, and Bannan was lost for what to say or do—but he, Ancestors save him, he put his hand to the hilt of that wretched knife and despaired.
Jenn took a step forward, dropping an old-fashioned curtsy. “Baroness.”
Lila gave a hard little gasp. “I’ve ’dreamed you.”
Jenn froze, which was a mistake because now she was stuck at the low point of her curtsy, never graceful despite practice, and she would, she thought numbly, tip over in a moment which would be a disaster. “I dreamed you too,” she admitted, though to be honest hers had been more nightmares of doing exactly what she was. Cheeks starting to flame, she looked up at the beautiful woman.
Seeing Semyn’s eyes and Werfol’s brow and, oh yes, Bannan’s mouth. It was like magic, seeing them writ together in this one face and she began to smile, she couldn’t help it, from her overfull heart. “I’m Jenn.”
Then, of course, she did tip, and flailed her arms to save herself landing on the roof. Just in time, someone caught her wrist.
Lila.
She held very still, for the grip wasn’t like Peggs’ or even Bannan’s. Fingers dug in, as though seeking bone. Punishing . . .
No, Jenn decided, meeting those vivid green eyes, asking a question. “I do bruise,” she answered evenly, the matter of bones being complicated. “In case you wondered.”
The hand loosened at that, but held enough to help her to her feet.
“Can you be killed?” Pleasantly, as if they discussed a late supper for those listening.
Fair enough. Jenn replied in kind. “I’d rather not find out.”
Was that the hint of a smile? “So say we all.” Lila searched her face, then frowned. “Are you dream or nightmare?”
“Lila,” Bannan warned, low and unhappy.
A tip of her head. “My brother wants me to trust you.” Now, at last, the baroness smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “His taste in women hasn’t been wise. You force me here with moths and magic, Jenn Nalynn. To meet you?” A deliberate look up and down. “Nothing inclines me to believe his taste’s improved.”
Earning Lila’s trust would never be easy, not when it came to
her family. The realization put Jenn oddly at ease, no longer afraid the baroness would reject her simply for being turn-born. They were the same, in their passion to protect.
Willing to die for those they loved.
Deeds, then, not words. “Then I look forward to your better opinion,” Jenn said simply. “You aren’t here for me.” She stepped to the side, gesturing to Emon and his companions.
“Bannan!” Emon strode forward, crows lifting into the air. When the truthseer went to bow, the baron took his hand and drew him close with a fervent, “Ancestors Blessed and Beloved.”
After the embrace, he frowned up at his brother-by-marriage. “Ancestors Witness, drawn you into this, has she?” Before Bannan could say a word, Emon turned to his wife, his frown deepening. “Where are our sons?”
Bannan tried to recall when he’d last seen Lila rendered speechless, then realized he hadn’t. “The boys are safe,” he interjected. “We came—” He ran his fingers through his hair. “We came to your rescue,” he said lamely.
Emon’s worldly and worthy companions were too polite to smile at this. They didn’t have to—he felt fool enough. “I should have known better.”
“As should I,” the baron said bluntly. “Imagine my surprise to find no hapless wife languishing in her cell, and her brother playing in the canal.”
About to object, Bannan found he couldn’t.
“‘Hapless,’ am I?” The back of a limp hand rested across a brow. “‘Languishing?’ And misplaced the children?”
Pretense. Misdirection. Why? Seeing Emon grow still, Bannan eased closer to Jenn, wishing, among other things, to take his doubtless bewildered love aside and explain.
Explain his sister? Ancestors Witness, easier to describe walking the Verge to Tir. At least, Bannan consoled himself, Jenn hadn’t let Lila intimidate her.
“We paid the constables, m’lady, but you were gone.” Dutton frowned. “What happened?”
Gleeful, that smile. “Bribed twice? They’ll miss me.”
The rest looked confused. Emon scowled like a gathering storm. “You promised me no one knew who you were! That you were safe!”
“As you’re ‘safe’ here. Really, Emon,” she chided gently.
“Heart’s Blood, woman! Don’t tell me you used yourself as bait! That was never the plan.”
“Wasn’t it?” She locked eyes with her husband.
For it had been Lila’s, Bannan realized, since the moment she’d sent the boys to him. Ancestors Battered and Bled. She’d aimed herself like an arrow at her husband’s heart, using his love for her, his love for his dearest friends, to set her trap. She’d known Emon would tell his companions she’d come to Channen, that he’d order them to rescue her, if he couldn’t.
She’d known they’d be betrayed.
The truthseer watched the same realization drain the righteous fury from Emon’s face, leaving it bleak. “I see.”
Something in those words altered her face as well. It might have been pity; it was nothing so kind as regret.
Gone the next instant. “Shall I continue?” Lila said briskly. She didn’t wait, but looked around at them all. “Someone paid the constables to patrol another hall than mine, leaving the key to my cell.”
“Did you get a name, m’lady?” Dutton asked grimly.
Lila smiled at him. “I did, indeed. My, the constables grew fat today. The man who’d bribed them first was Glammis Lurgan.”
From their faces, the name was unfamiliar. Faces, Bannan knew, could lie.
“A bold plan, m’lady, to trap them into trying to take you, but I’m glad you weren’t tempted to play along.” Herer shook his head. “Begging your pardon, but even a confession from the man would change nothing. The shadow lords employ such tricks themselves. Why would they care? And if they’d been behind it—” He shrugged, leaving it at that.
“I’m flattered by your confidence, Herer, but that wasn’t my intention. Besides—” Lila looked at her husband. “—I’d heard the name before. Glammis is a collector with an unsavory reputation. Not that any of his ‘guests’ have come forth to press a complaint.”
Emon moved involuntarily, his face gone white, but it was Bish who spoke up. “How can we be certain, m’lady, Glammis wasn’t simply after the next beauty he could spirit away? You’re not exactly hideous,” she added with a grin.
“A burden I must bear,” Lila agreed. “But you’re right, I couldn’t be sure. So I followed Glammis—who is, by the way, not only Rhothan but has a revealing tang of Essa in his speech—to a large building on the Straight. Imagine my surprise, dear husband, when I realized it was the very same address Scatterwit here,” a nod to the crow, “had given me in our last exchange. Where you plan to meet this night with the shadow court.”
“A trap!” Dutton scowled. “I knew it, m’lord. We’ve enemies among them too.”
The baron raised his hand for silence. “Go on.”
They worked together now, his sister and her husband, letting the others chase this distraction. Bannan could see it, as plainly as if he watched Scourge toy with a mouse.
Just as merciless.
“Oh, I shall. A coincidence? Unlikely, as you rightly say, Dutton, but still. A servant proved more than happy to gossip. Said this Glammis is an annoying upstart of a Rhothan who claims—the servant was most unflattering—to be a magic-user. He comes regularly to the Shadow Sect, does some minor business for them in return for permission to ply his craft in Channen, import tokens and so forth, though she was surprised he’d returned so soon. All quite legal, if unusual.
“Yet I’m there but a short while when what do I see? This law-abiding Rhothan marching my brother, arms tied, out a side door.”
Bannan saw Jenn tremble and reached for her hand. She squeezed his as though he needed reassuring. Given how close it had been—had Lila not been there? Had Lila been fooled by Glammis’ traps? He squeezed back.
“Then Dutton’s right, m’lord,” Herer stated, his face troubled. “The shadow lords are against us! They want to stop our mission so badly that when m’lady escaped their trap, their henchman took you, Bannan.”
“Except that tonight isn’t their trap,” Lila said gently, “but mine.” Her fingers moved. Your turn.
Ancestors Sly and Conniving. Bannan took a step forward. “Whatever his involvement in the threat against you, Emon, Glammis admitted he’d had no interest in your mission here.” The truthseer hesitated. Bish and Dutton had served Emon’s father; this Herer, he didn’t know. “What I would say concerns the Larmensu, and your sons.”
“After my wife,” Emon said, bowing slightly toward Lila, “these are my most trusted advisers. There is nothing you may not say in their hearing.”
Because he understood what his bloody-minded wife had done and why, and that he’d pay the price, should she be right.
The pair of them watched him, waited for him to finish it. Heart’s Blood. He could hate them. Should. Jenn stood watching, perplexed but knowing to be silent. How dare they ask this of him, in front of her?
Unsuspecting, Emon’s companions bowed to the baron and baroness, murmuring, “M’lord. M’lady.”
All of it, brother, Lila signed then, and shot Bannan an unreadable look.
In the border guard he’d taken the name Captain Ash from his predecessor, earning a reputation as an infallible interrogator, his well-bearded face known only to his patrol and the lord commander of the border guard, who reported directly to Prince Ordo.
That Captain Ash was Bannan Larmensu? Tir had known from the beginning, having helped him assume that identity and protect it. Being young and a fool, Bannan had shared his accomplishment with Loiss and Renee, a pair of equally young fools who’d joined for glory and become his friends. Having watched both die on patrol, helpless to protect them, he’d let no one else come so close, made no more friends among the guard
.
And kept secret his name.
Of course Lila had known; if she’d told Emon, he neither knew nor cared, trusting his sister.
But the deepest secret of all, that Bannan had inherited the Larmensu gift and was a truthseer? Outside of Marrowdell, that knowledge should belong only to their aged nurse, Lila, and Tir. That Emon knew? In no sense a worry.
That Glammis did? Was beyond terrifying.
Yet Lila wanted him to bare his secrets to these three. Wanted to show them the trap even as she sprang it. Would use him, as readily as her sword.
Bannan braced himself.
The mist wreathing the rooftop thickened and chilled; someone else expressing an opinion. He managed to smile at Jenn Nalynn; she didn’t smile back.
In for it, then. “Glammis knows us as Larmensu. He knows some of that heritage possess gifts, though it’s a secret we’ve protected all our lives. Gifts of magic. He knows I’m a truthseer. That Lila—” he waited, lifting a brow.
His sister lifted hers. No, that was.
Fair enough. “—is aware of it.” Emon nodded impassively.
His companions, after shock flickered over their faces, grew grim and even more attentive. Not that Bannan had hoped to surprise a reaction. Not from such as these.
He didn’t need one.
“Though Glammis went to the jail for Lila, he said he’d been hunting for me at the same time. These—” Bannan reached into his belt and took out the tokens, “—are for a wishing to bind a truthseer’s gift and will. They were purchased here, in the Artisans’ Market, by someone I now believe must be one of the ‘like-minded’ patrons he boasted of having. The Baroness Abeek Harrow.”
Emon’s companions shared meaningful looks. “We know the lady,” Bish commented.
“My chief adversary and a dangerous one,” the baron said grimly. “In no way am I shocked to hear this.” He heaved a sigh of relief, his face clearing. “Ancestors Blessed, this is what I’ve needed, Bannan. Proof! Magic misused by one of the court? There’s no greater crime here. Once I bring this to the shadow lords, name names, they’ll collapse her influence in court.”
A Play of Shadow Page 52
