by Serena Chase
Again, Rose noticed her uncle give a slight shake to his head. Kinley’s nod was even subtler, but she saw it.
Lord Whittier inhaled sharply. “The prophecy,” he whispered. “Eyes the hue of jeweled sky—” He broke off. Leaning back in his chair, he stared at Rose. Suddenly, the duke flew to his feet. “Cobeld’s whiskers, Drinius!”
Rose gasped at the profanity she had never heard used outside the stables. And certainly never from Lord Whittier’s lips.
For a long moment no one moved, not even to breathe. Finally, Drinius spoke again, his words softer now but his tone carrying as much warning, perhaps more, than before.
“As Kinley said a moment ago, it is a cruel fate for a girl to be born with red hair in E’veria,” he said. “The bog isolates Veetri from much of the violence we see in other areas of the Kingdom, but increasingly these past years, young red-haired women are being hunted and killed by Cobelds, simply because they resemble the description of a woman in an ancient poem.”
Rose reached up and touched her hair.
“I will not let that fate befall my niece,” Drinius stated. “That is why, all those years ago, I obtained the powder and ordered Koria to dye her hair.”
Rose noticed Mrs. Scyles’s expression and it sent a shiver of dread across her scalp. Her uncle seemed to have noted it, as well. The muscle in Drinius’s jaw twitched and the tip of his blade pressed up under Mrs. Scyles’s chin.
“I believe your smile is unwarranted, Mrs. Scyles, considering the precariousness of the position your slanderous lips placed you before Koria so efficiently closed them.”
Without moving the position of his blade, Drinius stepped forward and leaned down until his nose was within a breath of hers. “You are under arrest.” Then, with a grunt of disgust, Drinius sheathed his sword.
“Pardon me, Drinius, I don’t question your authority,” Lord Whittier cleared his throat. “But what are the charges?”
“Slander,” the knight began. “False testimony. Theft of personal property.”
“Theft?” Whittier looked confused.
Drinius turned back to Mrs. Scyles. “Did you or did you not,” he asked, “steal a wineskin from Mistress Rose’s bedchamber?”
Still unable to speak, the Asp’s expression hardened, but then she nodded the affirmative.
“That should do for now,” Drinius said. “Sir Kinley de Whittier, as my fellow knight, you bear witness to her confession.”
Kinley nodded. “I do. Would you like me to take her into custody?”
“No.” Drinius glanced at Rose. “I have another task for you. Lord Whittier, I trust you can spare a guard or two to transport Mrs. Scyles into the custody of the jailor in . . . Delna? I think that would be a suitable place for her to await her trial.”
“Delna? That’s at least a four-day ride. We have a small jail in Glenhume that would suit.”
“No. I prefer to have her a bit farther from Rose, if you don’t mind.”
Whittier stood and exited the room to see to Drinius’s request.
“Hear me, woman,” the knight growled when the door was shut, “in or out of jail, if you repeat what you have learned of Rose, and thus endanger my niece’s safety, your life is forfeit and I will have no qualms about personally carrying out your sentence. Am I understood?”
Mrs. Scyles swallowed and nodded fervently.
“Sir Kinley will stand guard while you collect your things. You will leave within the hour and you will never return to Glenhume again. Understood?”
Again, she nodded, but when Kinley opened the door, Mrs. Scyles squinted at Koria with a curse and a question in her eyes.
“I will watch you leave Mirthan Hall, Aspera Scyles,” Koria said, “and I will restore your voice when you cross its gate for the last time. But should you use it to endanger or even disparage the character of this child it will be my pleasure to lead this knight directly to whatever hovel you cower within.”
Rose’s eyes widened. Could Koria use her abilities to do that?
“Kinley,” Drinius said, “please escort Mrs. Scyles to her room. And see to it that her final moments at Mirthan Hall are well supervised.”
In less than the time given, Aspera Scyles was packed and away from Mirthan Hall. Before exiting, she paused in the doorway only to turn her head back and spit on the polished floor.
At Mrs. Scyles’s childish gesture, the tension of days—no, years—erupted within Rose with a shout of laughter that completely overtook her. Burying her head in her hands, she collapsed at the foot of the stairs, still laughing, until her hysteria gave way to violent sobs that wracked her frame.
Lord Whittier pulled Rose gently into the cradle of his arms, much as he had when she was a little girl awaking from a horrible nightmare. “It’s all right now, Rose. She’s gone.”
A steady stream of tears flowed down Lady Whittier’s cheeks as she sat next to her husband on the stairs and stroked Rose’s hair. When Rose had cried herself into exhaustion, Sir Drinius carried her up the stairs to her bed where Lady Whittier held her hand and sat by her side through the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was a bit later than normal when the exhausted family gathered for breakfast the next morning. The mood was one of false cheer and stilted conversation. Finally, after one exceedingly long silence, Rose realized that a member of their party was missing.
“Where’s Kinley?”
The adults at the table exchanged looks with one another.
Rose set her fork down. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
“Don’t be cross with him, dear,” Lady Whittier said.
“When will he be back?”
Whittier exchanged another glance with Drinius. Drinius cleared his throat. “I sent him to deliver a message for me. From there, I assume he will continue on to his new post.”
“So it could be . . . years.” Rose’s shoulders slumped.
“Sir Drinius.” Lady Whittier’s voice shook the tiniest bit. “Do you foresee any complications concerning Mrs. Scyles?”
Drinius gave a slow nod. “I do. Although the housekeeper herself may not know this as of yet, the Scyles clan has recently declared independence from both the Regency of Dwons and the Kingdom of E’veria. They have allied with the Cobelds in hopes of gaining independence from E’verian rule.”
“The Scyles clan?” Rose paled. “There is an entire clan named after her?”
Drinius gave her a small smile. “I believe it is the other way around, but yes. There is a Scyles clan. And if she finds a way to them while she awaits trial . . .” He shrugged.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s likely.” Lady Whittier worried a crust of bread until it was little more than crumbs. “She came to Veetri because of a falling out with her clan. I don’t think she’d go back. Do you, Whittier?”
“Clearly, she is not the person I thought her to be.” Lord Whittier’s voice was grave. “Drinius, what would you recommend I do to ensure Rose’s safety?”
“Gladiel and I have been working on a plan. With these new developments, however, we will need to speed it up.” Drinius paused. “As soon as possible, we will come for Rose. If even the slightest possibility exists that Mrs. Scyles will tell what little she knows to the wrong people, Rose could be in danger.”
A small stifled sob came from behind the hand that rested at Lady Whittier’s lips.
“You will have her yet a bit longer, my lady,” Sir Drinius said, giving the duchess a gentle smile, “while we ready a secure location.”
The evidence of Lady Whittier’s affection brought tears to Rose’s eyes. She dug her fingernails into her palms to steady her voice. “Does it matter that I would prefer to stay here?”
“I’m afraid not.” Drinius’s tone set Rose’s teeth to grinding. “But,” his stony voice softened, “I take no joy in removing you from those you love.”
Rose knew her uncle’s concern was sincere and that he regretted the pain his actions would cause her, but that didn’t ma
ke the idea of leaving Mirthan Hall any easier to digest. As Lady Whittier deftly steered the conversation to more cheerful topics, Rose stared at her plate, silently cursing the red hair that had dictated her fate, and broken her heart, time and again.
It wasn’t easy for Rose to tell her uncle good-bye a few days later. It had been so long since his last visit, and so much had transpired during this one, that she felt as if she was just getting to know him again when he rode away. Although he promised an adventure to come, the thought of his return was more bitter than sweet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Drinius had been gone a fortnight when the men assigned to escort Aspera Scyles to the jailor returned. Lord Whittier had promised Rose a story after dinner, but as soon as the men entered, those plans disappeared.
The guards were filthy and haggard. Though young, both seemed to have aged ten years since they had left. They hung their heads, unspeaking. Finally, Lord Whittier prompted them. “Well? Were you successful?”
“No,” the first guard answered, his voice raw.
The second guard spoke up, “She escaped, my lord.”
Lord Whittier flew to his feet. “She what?” With a glance toward Rose and then his wife, he said, “Come with me.”
The bedraggled guards followed Lord Whittier into his study and they remained within for the better part of an hour.
Lady Whittier wrung her hands, pacing, while Rose stared out the window.
Mrs. Scyles had escaped? How? She was no match for two guards. It made no sense.
Finally, Whittier came out and excused the guards with instructions to rest and recover.
“Rose, have you noticed any of your, ah, powder, missing?”
She shook her head. “The new moon isn’t until next week. I haven’t looked.”
“Would you?”
She nodded, grabbed her skirts, and fled up the stairs. Koria met her at the top of the stairs. “Rose, is something amiss?”
“Mrs. Scyles escaped. The guards returned. They look . . . terrible.” Rose suppressed a shiver. “Haunted. Lord Whittier sent me to check the powder.”
Rose retrieved the wineskin and noted that it was, indeed, quite a bit lighter than it had been. “She used it on them, didn’t she?”
“She must have.” Koria’s hand trembled at her throat. “Oh, those poor men.”
“But Kinley supervised her packing! He would’ve never let her come into my room.”
“She must have found your new hiding place and taken some. She must have hid it among her things.” Koria’s eyes slid shut. She took a deep breath. “I’ll go to the spring and bring back sulfur water for the men. Without treatment, they may still be influenced by whatever lies she told them.”
It took several weeks before the two guards were back to normal, and although Lord Whittier sent out a search party to apprehend Mrs. Scyles, they could not locate the fugitive. Finally admitting defeat, he sent a messenger to Sir Drinius and doubled the guard surrounding Mirthan Hall.
An early spring hurried the onset of summer and the mildness of that Veetrish season lazed its way into autumn with no sign of mischief from Mrs. Scyles, nor any word from Sir Drinius. But plenty of troubling rumors circulated among the staff and in the village of Glenhume. As the trees began to turn color and lose their foliage, Rose, by order of Lord Whittier, stayed within the gates of Mirthan Hall, which now remained closed and guarded when not in use.
When the first snow came, Rose packed two saddle bags and kept them at the foot of her bed in readiness for her uncle’s arrival. When her seventeenth birthday passed with no word from Sir Drinius, however, Rose began to worry that things were far worse on the other side of the Veetrish bog than even the gossip of the staff could imagine.
Rose’s emotions vacillated between sorrow and excitement. Daily, she wrestled with anger and hope. She hated the thought of leaving Mirthan Hall, but she couldn’t help but experience a little thrill thinking about what might come next.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Just east of the Stoen border in the province of Dwons, the Cobeld waited for the woman sitting across the table from him to speak. The dim lamplight of the wayside inn revealed her as a most pathetic creature, but he doubted even the noonday sun would make her less so. Thinner even than her cloak—and it was in sad shape, indeed!—the woman’s fear was written in the shadowed creases at the corners of her down-tilting eyes. And fearful she should be, when addressing a Cobeld.
The inn was busy tonight, full of Dwonsil warriors who had allied with his kind against the tyranny of E’veria’s King. Still, they kept their distance. Despite the advantage of their stature, they were no threat to him. Pawns, all of them: expendable fools, just like the young clansman who had contacted him, knees knocking, to arrange a meeting with the beggar woman before him now.
The woman pressed a hand to her stomach in an attempt to quell the rumble of emptiness his keen ears picked the sound up with ease. It would be cruel, he thought, to let her live.
Perhaps he should.
For the moment, however, he decided it would please him to know her name.
“Scyles,” she said. “Aspera Scyles.”
“Ah. You are of the clan?”
“I was.” Aspera nodded. “I’ve been away for years.”
She spoke haltingly, telling her story as if the words themselves were painful to press past her lips. He had no interest in the details of her wretched life, of course, but her discomfort pleased him. He let her ramble on.
She had left her home province for a better life in Veetri, she said. After more than twenty years of faithful service, however, her fresh start had soured. With no reference to show for her employment and no prospects, Aspera Scyles was now desperate enough to betray her former employer.
“Not them,” she amended her tale. “Her.”
“Yours is a sad story,” the Cobeld attempted a guise of compassion. “But what has it to do with me?”
“It’s the girl they’ve fostered these last nine years. She matches the description in,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “the prophecy.”
He felt his pupils dilate, not that she would see a difference in the blackness of his eyes. “I am listening.”
Her eyes darted to his beard and she scooted her chair the tiniest bit back. “H-how much are you willing to pay?”
“Tell me what you know,” he said slowly, “and I’ll tell you what I’ll pay.”
He leaned back from the table and prepared to wait. If she was truly of the Scyles clan, she would bargain.
“Assure my safety and make me an offer.” Aspera crossed her arms. “You won’t find her without my help. She hides her identity behind a witch’s poison.”
He chuckled. “You think I am afraid of a little poison?”
“No,” she lifted her chin, but still it quivered. “But you are afraid of her.”
Anger rose hot and red from the ancient place it simmered within him. He pressed it down. Not yet, not yet. As he regained perspective, he tilted his head, feeling an instant of what could only be called admiration. It was a risk for her to be so bold with one of his kind, and although her hands shook, she had taken the risk. He would remember to be more wary when dealing with the females among his new allies.
After a long moment he reached into the pocket of his cloak, pulled out a small pouch, and set it on the table. He then produced a flask and uncorked it, but he did not tip to drink.
“This bag contains fifteen gold rounds.” He relished the way her eyes widened at the sum. “I will give you six now, in good faith.” He counted out six of the shining coins and pushed them toward her. “Consider them yours. If your information pleases me, you will receive the other nine coins.”
As soon as he released the coins, she swiped them off the table and into the pocket of her threadbare cloak.
“Tell me what you know,” he said, tilting the bag toward her, “and you will have wealth enough to see you comfortably through five winters without a moment o
f employment.”
“Her hair is black, but unnaturally so.” The woman spoke quickly, her words slurred by desperation and greed. “When untouched by the powder of ebonswarth, I believe her hair is red. Like the color of an oak leaf in autumn.”
“And her eyes?”
“The darkest, oddest shade of blue you’ll ever see.”
His mouth twitched, sending a quiver through the thick silver and gray hairs of his beard. “And where might I find this odd young woman?”
“In Veetri. She lives with the—”
“Well? Speak, woman!”
She swallowed. “If I tell you her location will you give me your word that none shall be harmed but the girl?”
His smile was slow, but wide. “And why would I want to harm even her? I only wish to find her. After all, she may not be the one I seek.” He tilted his head. “But why do you seek to protect the very ones who threw you out to starve?”
Her jaw worked on the answer awhile before she spoke it aloud. “I had a happy home there until she turned them all against me. I don’t care what you do to the girl, but you must promise not to harm the family. Or me,” she added, her eyes darting again to his beard. “Otherwise I will tell you naught.”
“Your loyalty is admirable. And you will, most certainly, have my word.” He took a sip from the flask.
“Good.” Aspera Scyles expelled a sigh of relief. “She answers to the name of Rose.” The woman’s facial muscles contracted as if speaking the girl’s name filled her mouth with bile. She idly rubbed at a scar on her knuckles. “She lives at Mirthan Hall under the protection of Lord Whittier de Barden, Duke of Glenhume.”
