“Oh for Notameer’s sake,” Zachary grunted, putting down his glass forcefully as Belphegore sat up, intrigued.
“Arlen, what are they talking about?”
“It’s nothing,” Zachary stood, and then added, “and I don’t have a son, Radford.”
“A bastard then,” Radford corrected carelessly.
“Oh he’s a bastard,” Zachary agreed venomously, “but he’s not mine.”
Moving up and toward the doorway, Mallinson and Radford followed after him like a set of malicious geese, Belphegore in tow, his interest piqued.
From across the room, Zachary caught eyes with Marcel, who tipped his head, wordlessly asking if everything was alright. Zachary gave him a curt nod.
Reaching Daniel, Zachary found another of his childhood bullies waiting at the boy’s side, looking strangely pleased with himself.
“Not much resemblance, I must say. Fortunately, he must take after his mother, eh?”
“And thank Haylix she’s prettier than yours, Milton,” Zachary snapped, his temper getting the better of him. “Daniel, get out, now.”
Daniel bristled.
“Arlen,” Belphegore chided.
“I will not—” Daniel began.
“It’s not up for debate. Get out,” Zachary repeated sharply.
“It seems that all the Zacharys are destined to hate their sons,” Radford scoffed, and Daniel looked at the man with such disgust, Zachary almost felt better.
“You think he’s my father?” Daniel recoiled.
“You announced yourself as a Zachary.” Milton turned on the boy, riled by his tone.
“Octania’s spark, you’re right—if only a father could permit his name to more than one child,” Daniel snipped.
“That is a Magi you address, boy—watch your tongue!” Radford stepped in, his hand raised as if to slap Daniel. Zachary seized his wrist.
“Don’t,” he snarled.
Belphegore raised his hands. “That is quite enough of that,” he said, taking easy control. The men stepped clear of Daniel, who hadn’t moved. “This is clearly a family affair. I thank you, my lords, for bringing the boy’s presence to our attention, but Arlen can take it from here. Good day to you all.”
The three Magi looked between one another and then, under Belphegore’s prompting, dissipated, shooting Zachary and Daniel scathing looks as they went.
When they were clear, Belphegore relaxed. “A brother, Arlen?” he asked disparagingly.
“My father’ll fuck anything with a pulse,” Zachary muttered into his hand, rubbing his mouth.
“Doesn’t explain how you were born,” Daniel mumbled back under his breath, too soft for Belphegore to hear. Zachary snorted.
“You must be new to the academy or else I am going senile. Daniel, was it?” Belphegore asked, extending a hand. For the first time Daniel seemed to realise whom he was being addressed by. He bowed, looking unsure of himself, and awkwardly took Belphegore’s hand.
“Yes, my lord. I came to study in Harmatia a few months ago, in preparation for the assessments.”
“I see.” Belphegore smiled kindly. “It is a pleasure to meet you. It would seem you inherited the same predilection Arlen has for picking fights.”
“No, my lord.” Daniel shook his head. “I don’t like to fight.”
“In which case, you might be a little more wary of your tongue, or you may find it will get you into trouble.”
“I apologise, my lord. I’ll hold my peace in the future.” Daniel looked suitably embarrassed with himself.
Belphegore gave Zachary a meaningful look. Zachary gave an exaggerated shrug in response and, taking Daniel by the arm, dragged him from the room, out of the way.
“What are you doing here?” Zachary hissed when they were clear of prying eyes.
“I needed to speak to you.”
“And it couldn’t have waited until I was home?”
“With the hours you keep, not if I wanted to catch the evening courier.” Daniel was unperturbed by Zachary’s tone. “Thank you for not letting him hit me,” he added in abrasive thanks.
“Fine then,” Zachary sighed. “What was so urgent that it couldn’t possibly wait? You want to send a message, what has that to do with me?”
“I need your blessing.”
“Blessing? Sweet Haylix, are you getting married?” Zachary mocked.
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Re’th kyjyewgh hwi,” he muttered quietly in Althion.
“Watch your language,” Zachary snapped and, at his brother’s surprised expression, reminded him, “We were both raised in Corhlam, Daniel—I can speak Althion as well as you.”
“I’ve never heard you use it.”
“A mother tongue doesn’t fall so quickly from the mouth. But nobody speaks it in the capital, so unless you want to mark yourself out even more, keep to the Common Tongue. Now what is it you want? You’re wasting my time.”
Daniel opened his mouth to reply and then froze, going taut and hunching over himself, as if he’d torn the muscles in his stomach. He gave a hiss of gurgled pain, his teeth gritted.
Zachary blinked. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Daniel forced himself to straighten but Zachary could see it caused him great pain. He kept his expression the same, despite the fact he was shaking. “I need your blessing to invite a guest to the house.”
“A guest? Do you even have friends?” Zachary raised his eyebrows and Daniel huffed impatiently.
“My mother,” he said.
Every limb in Zachary’s body locked into place. He stared, long and hard at his brother, caught off guard. “Your mother?” he eventually repeated.
“I need to see her.” Daniel suddenly looked drained, slouching against the wall. Zachary’s first instinct was to forbid the request, but his sensible mind caught up with him. If he forbade Daniel, the boy would merely go and invite her anyway. Knowing their father, Rivalen, would undoubtedly pander to Daniel’s wishes, if only to spite his eldest son. Zachary couldn’t afford to show his hand now.
“Are you writing to our father and asking his permission?”
“Yes.”
Zachary turned away, trying to compose himself. “Very well. Tell him I would be happy to accommodate your mother a few weeks, at her leisure. If you need to see her, she must come. In fact, tell him I insist upon it.”
“You…You do?” Daniel blinked, perplexed.
“I do. Now go and send your damned letter, and Daniel—if you disturb me again at my work,” Zachary turned his back on the boy, “I shall see to it you never become a Magi. Do you understand?”
Daniel blinked rapidly. “No, I don’t.” His surprise was replaced once more with anger. “You make absolutely no sense. Defending me one minute and casting me out the next.”
“This is a friendless city, brat, and until you learn to play by its lack of rules, you have no place in it. Now go, and Athea forbid I see you again today.”
“I’m glad to quit your company,” Daniel growled and stormed away.
Zachary watched him go. Behind him, Marcel shifted out from where he’d been lurking close by.
“I thought I recognised him,” Marcel drawled and Zachary’s eye twitched. “He is Isolde’s son.”
“For once in your life, Hathely, you are talking too much,” Zachary warned as his second in command moved to his side, the pair watching Daniel disappear down the corridor.
“Does he know?” Marcel asked faintly.
“No.” Zachary closed his eyes. “Nor will he ever, if his mother has any shame and I retain mine.”
Marcel touched a hand lightly to Zachary’s back, making him jump, uncomfortable with the sudden, uncharacteristic contact. He didn’t like to be touched, especially not there.
“That is not shame,” Marcel said.
Zachary clenched his fists. “And that’s not for you to decide,” he retorted, pushing past the blond and going back into the common room. “And if you’re as clever as you’
re supposed to be, you won’t bring it up again.”
Marcel replaced his pipe wordlessly into his mouth, and they went silently back to their places in the room.
Rufus watched from the window as Boyd ran furiously through the garden outside, shouting after Joshua, who was piling through the snow with unadulterated glee.
“A bag of gold says you can’t catch me, Boyd!” Joshua taunted, and Rufus lowered his head into his folded arms, propped up against the window sill, watching with a melancholic pleasure. It was good to see his brother playing, though Boyd looked positively manic.
“Stop! You’re killing me! Please for the love of Titania, stop—you’re getting soaked!” Boyd was half-sobbing as Joshua grabbed a fistful of snow and threw it at the back of the physician’s head. “I am a man of medicine, not a plaything—please!”
Rufus’s smile elongated and he closed his eyes, resting his cheek on the stone ledge. He could almost sleep like this, ready to drift off. All at once, however, he became abruptly aware he was no longer alone. With a sharp jerk, he sat upright. A man was stood at his side, staring at him with a mixed expression of curiosity and heavy disdain. Rufus scrabbled to his feet.
“Reilly Mac Gearailt.” The man thrust his hand into Rufus’s chest.
“What? Oh! Er—R-Rufus Merle,” Rufus stammered in return as his hand was crushed in a harsh grip. “Ouch,” he added blandly. Reilly released his hand.
“You do not remember me?”
“I…No?”
“We met the night you arrived. You called me a false leader.”
“Did I?” Rufus gave a nervous chuckle, shifting back slightly as Reilly took another step toward him. “Well, that…er, that was silly of me, I’m sure. I wasn’t in my right mind. No doubt I said many unwarranted things.” He paused. “Mac Gearailt,” he repeated, trying to remember why he recalled the name. “Oh, that’s right. Boyd mentioned that you wanted to flay us alive…Oh.”
“Relax, Magi.” Reilly kicked Rufus’s empty chair out of the way. “I am bound by the law of my lord.” He loomed predatorily, blocking the doorway. “How do you feel?”
“Threatened,” Rufus replied, his skin crawling as Reilly laughed, moving in even closer.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Magi?”
“Exceedingly.” Rufus took another step away and his back met the wall. He flattened himself against it. Reilly’s lips curled up, pleased by this fear. Neither moved for a long moment, and then finally Reilly pulled away, allowing Rufus to relax.
“Thank you,” Rufus murmured.
Reilly turned to the window, his arms folded. “Tell me,” he said stiffly, “what is it about you that attracts my wife?”
Rufus stammered, confused. He searched the room for some hidden woman he may have missed, but saw no one else. “I beg your pardon?”
“She devotes so much time to you, to your needs. Tell me, Magi,” Reilly curled the word around his mouth like it was an insult, “what is so inspiring about you that she would do so much?”
“My delicate features and poetic nature?” Rufus suggested, bewildered. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’re having marital problems, I suggest you take them up with your wife.”
“You think yourself a funny man?”
“I think myself an honest one. I’ve not been advertising—there’s no further thought from my mind. Nor have I ever been an adulterer. I’ve not lovingly shared a bed with anyone in many months, and the last woman I had a meaningful relationship with died fifteen years ago. You must be mistaken—” Rufus made to walk around Reilly, but the Cat Sidhe pushed him back.
“I didn’t say you were sleeping with my wife, nor do I care. I asked why she was devoted to you. Why is she prepared to throw so away much, even push her loyalties to the limit for you?”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rufus tried to wriggle past but Reilly piled against him, pushing him back against the wall. Rufus’s body protested the abuse and he gasped in pain. Reilly didn’t seem to care.
“She cried before you!” he hissed. “She has never done so in front of anyone else. It is not in her nature. So why you? When I was with her from the start, when I saw her…Not even when…” Reilly broke off. “What have you done, to earn Fae’s loyalty?”
“Fae?” Rufus stilled. “Fae’s your wife? When did that happen?”
“She has been married to me for over fourteen years.”
“That would mean she was…when we met.” Rufus shook his head in disbelief. “She was married. I had no idea. But,” Rufus frowned, “there are no children?”
Reilly’s expression twisted angrily. “We Cat Sidhe do think of other things than procreation. We’re not vermin.”
Rufus battered the comment away distractedly. “Apologies for your clear lack of sex but Fae has always given the impression of wanting them. She was so good with my cousins, so sweet-tempered. I was sure she would have…Or adopted…” He paused, sweeping his eyes up to Reilly’s. “Perhaps she didn’t want to inflict you on any child,” he said. Reilly released him and went for his sword.
Before anything could escalate further, the door burst open and Boyd skidded into the room, slipped on his own wet shoes, and toppled face-first onto the floor. Rufus and Reilly stared at him in silence, both as shocked as the other. When the physician didn’t move, Rufus spoke.
“Boyd, are you hurt?”
“No.” Boyd's voice was muffled by the stone. “No, I am quite well.” He winced, rolling onto his back so that he was sprawled, looking up at them. He noticed Reilly for the first time and balked. “Oh, Commander Mac Gearailt, I didn’t see you there. Excuse me.” He forced himself to his feet, brushing himself down, his eyes averted. He began to chew nervously on his thumb. “Ur, Rufus, I may need your help. We were playing a game, and he went to hide, and—well, I’ve lost Joshua.”
“Already?” Rufus asked dully. The physician pulled a face.
“You mean to tell me there is a human child running amok in the grounds?” Reilly demanded. “You never tire of being a disappointment, do you Physician Dacey?”
Rufus saw Boyd bristle, but the physician clearly wasn’t foolish enough to retort. He mumbled something, shuffling his feet. “I’ll find him.”
“Yes, you had better. I don’t need some Harmatian Prince disturbing my troops in their training.”
“I’m sure he won’t…that he hasn’t…” Boyd continued to mutter. Rufus moved past the pair and out of the door, ignoring them both. His mind was occupied by his discovery—Fae, married? From what Rufus had already discerned of Reilly, the match seemed absurd. Perhaps, Rufus reasoned, he was prejudiced, but when he thought of Fae in love, all he could see was her dancing with Jionat during the Summer Festival. When Rufus tried to imagine Reilly dancing, he couldn’t picture it.
I called him a ‘false leader’, Rufus thought. I wonder what I meant by that.
He reached a heavy side door and stepped out into the frosty courtyard. The world beyond was a white wilderness. He paused, struck by its silent beauty. The never-ending sky and the jagged mountains were infinitely more beautiful than when he’d been looking through the window.
The bright, cold air seemed to revive him and he stepped out into the snow, which crunched satisfactorily beneath his shoes.
“Joshua?” he called faintly, knowing his brother wouldn’t respond, not when he was feeling so playful. “Ready or not then,” Rufus set out, “here I come.”
The field was frozen when the Hunter reached it. From a distance, the sun had deceivingly lit it gold, making it look alive with long stalks of corn. If it had been once, the snow had long killed anything food worthy. The vast man stumbled across the white expanse, a dark spot in plain sight. His hands were stained, his clothes caked in dried blood, and he had a look about him—a severe ferocity that would stop a feral wolf in its tracks.
Now, however, Varyn was being hunted. His obvious Isny features—the dark, bold face and ey
es the colour of coal—were always enough to make him stand out, but it was his tattoos which had betrayed him this time. The tattoos that marked him as property of the Shin.
Even as a free man, there was no place for an ex-Shinny this close to the King’s city. Varyn should never have come. He cursed as his legs gave away beneath him.
Not here, he thought, not now.
Behind him he could hear the thundering of horses’ hooves, and he knew it was useless. There was nowhere to hide for miles—the landscape was as open as the sky. He wasn’t in the mountains here, he was on the treacherous Kathrak plains of South Meare, too close to Sigel’eg for his own good. And for him they were treacherous, more than the perilous mountains and coasts of Isnydea, which had claimed hundreds of lives.
Varyn tried to stand, but the pain came over him again and he collapsed, his strength seeping away. Once, long ago, he’d made a wish that when he died, it would be on Kathrak soil, and that he would leave behind something to be remembered by—an achievement, a memento of good. Something to prove that his life had value.
As King Bozidar’s men surrounded him, sprawled against the frozen grass, Varyn consoled himself that at the very least one of those wishes would come true.
“Well run, Hunter,” the leader of the group said. He was a young lieutenant with a scar down his face. “You gave us a merry chase. But it would appear even you cannot outrun a horse forever. Get him up.”
Two of his soldiers got down from their horses and forced Varyn up onto his knees. He stared dully at the Lieutenant, who watched him with glee. This idiot thought he'd felled Varyn. It made the Hunter want to laugh. It was no mere man who’d brought him to his knees—it was magic, a curse, a woman…
“So this is the one they say has ‘dragon blood’, is it?”
Varyn groaned. They said many things about him but the worst were the things which were true.
“Then you can all call me Dragon Slayer.” The Lieutenant dismounted his horse. On foot, he wasn’t so tall.
Varyn grumbled. He was worth too much gold to be killed by some fresh-faced soldier, still green and bloodthirsty. The Lieutenant’s men came to the same conclusion, and one spoke up.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 23
