A servant met the coach as it stopped at the stairs leading into the tower. Zaraki waited for the man to open the door before stepping down, though he longed to be free of the wretched thing. He ached all over and his legs were stiff and cramped from the hours rumbling over what passed for roads here.
“My Lord Antonin,” the servant said as he bowed low. “I’ll show you to your rooms where you can refresh yourself. Then Lord Grigor will meet you in his study.”
Even with all his practice over the past several days, Zaraki found it jarring to hear himself called lord anything. He needed to get used to it, now.
The servant showed him to a large suite of rooms that took up a whole corner of the tower. He submitted to the butler who came to help him wash off the grime from the road and to dress him from the trunks other servants had drug upstairs. When the man finished with him, he followed a different servant through several hallways and up a flight of stairs to the top of the tower.
On the third floor, Grigor stood looking out his window at the treetops as Zaraki stepped through the open door. When the nobleman turned and smiled, he saw the Lord of Boihad was short and stocky, appearing to be in his early forties. He grew his hair out in a style fashionable in southern Streza – not long, but not cropped close either.
“Welcome, Antonin,” Grigor said, smiling.
Zaraki knew the contract for this job stipulated he would remain in character for the duration. None of the servants should suspect he was anything other than a nobleman’s son from Embriel. At the same time, Grigor would never know his name or any details about him unless the man chose to buy Zaraki’s contract. Which, he could never afford.
“Please, sit.” The older man gestured at two chairs, placed near a small table. They would not meet across a desk or tables because, for now, they were equals. “I hope your trip was pleasant. Would you care to drink with me?”
“Of course,” Zaraki said, remembering not use titles or duck his head here.
They sat and the servant by the door rushed to fill their glasses with a pale wine. Once the man retreated, closing the doors behind him, Grigor raised his glass in a salute. “I see the Ostravan reputation is well deserved. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’d come straight from the border.”
He sounded surprised but did not mean to offend, Zaraki decided. “Thank you. Edik’s training is rigorous.”
“Yes, well, we’ve two days before my other guests begin arriving. You have the run of the manor, of course. Please spend all the time you need familiarizing yourself with it and with us. Whatever you need, it’s at your disposal. This venture I’m proposing is very large and carries great risk. I expect a thorough going over for all the guests, but I’m especially curious about Antosh and Vittor. They’ll be principle partners in this deal and I want to see what you uncover.”
“How long will they be here?”
“I’ve invited them all for a week. We’ll have a small gathering the first night, but then I thought it best if you had unstructured time. There’s plenty of stags to hunt in the woods. I have a stable filled with horses to ride and the mews are full of hawks. Get to know them with whatever pursuit you prefer.”
After finishing his drink, Zaraki excused himself and went to find the falconer. He had not hunted with hawks in several years and needed to brush up on his handling before the others arrived.
***
Grigor’s guests began arriving and Zaraki made sure to be on hand for introductions, memorizing names and faces as Cezar trained him to do. However, he found all the newcomers tedious from the moment they stepped foot in the manor. Four young noblemen’s sons, four stuck up, pretentious young men who condescended to the servants and molested the serving girls.
As promised, the first night the Lord of Boihad hosted a small party with musicians, but no dancing. He did not allow his daughters to attend. They all ate together in Grigor’s study, talked about their father’s holdings and their own business ventures. Antonin managed several farms for his father and a number of breweries and Zaraki fell into an easy rhythm as the lies rolled off his tongue. He had often imagined what it would be like to have his own business and sitting with these rich men, he could almost fool himself into believing it might happen one day.
Vittor of Sombath, with his charming wit and green eyes, annoyed Zaraki the least. Gregarious and outgoing, he liked to talk about himself, at length, which made that part of the job easy. Elbin and Miron could have been rolled into a single person, they were so alike in looks and personality. Vapid, vain, spoiled children, they boasted of men they had killed and illegitimate children they fathered, constantly finding ways to top the other’s story.
Antosh from Sellye made Zaraki nervous. The young man regarded him with suspicious eyes from the moment they met on the steps of the tower. Perhaps he suspected everyone he met, perhaps he had once met the real Antonin. Either way, he seemed to guard his tongue and let the others speak while he watched.
For three days, they all hunted and hawked, killing any animal unfortunate enough to pass in front of them. Servants laid out rich evening meals, the sort Zaraki had rarely tasted. At night, they sat up with Grigor, drinking very expensive wines, gossiping and playing cards. His upbringing had prepared him for all these activities and Zaraki found himself enjoying them, even if the company left a sour taste in his mouth.
***
On the fourth evening, Grigor made his apologies and retired, unused to so many late nights. He bid his guests goodnight and retreated to his room at the top of the tower where his wife and children waited.
“Come drink with us, Antonin?” Antosh asked, once their host had gone. “We found an excellent stash of wine in the cellar and had it brought up to Miron’s rooms.”
Zaraki wanted to bow out tonight. He had no head for alcohol and little patience for sitting and listening to noble sons get drunk while boasting about sexual conquests or what animal they had slaughtered most recently. But, of course, those were exactly the sorts of things a nobleman’s heir should want to sit and talk about, so he was trapped.
Once upstairs, they each claimed a chair in Miron’s small sitting room.
“What does everyone think of Grigor’s latest proposal?” Vittor asked. “I’m not sure my father will be happy if I accept only eight percent, but our host doesn’t seem to want allow us a bigger cut.”
Antosh rolled his eyes. “Grigor’s desperate for this. I heard from one of his clerk he’s overextended himself with his winery outside Lente. I think we should keep pushing for more. What about you, Antonin?”
“My father isn’t terribly interested in this, but I’m not to walk out of here with less than seven percent,” Zaraki said, committing Antosh’s concern to memory. “He just wants to make sure Andula gets a cut of the exports.”
Heads nodded. It made sense to them because of Andula’s custom houses along the Arn river on the border between Streza and Embriel.
“Speaking of your father, what does Andula’s lord think about Edik’s latest plans for his coup?” Antosh said, looking down into his cup as he swirled the wine around. “Will he win, do you think?”
Zaraki paused, unsure what the other man asked. A coup? “I don’t speak for my father,” he said, keeping his tone neutral and wondering what he had stumbled upon.
Across the table, Elbin raised his glass, watching him closely. “A cautious answer.”
“Maybe his father hasn’t spoken to him about Edik’s little rebellion against Villem.” That came from Miron.
Rebellion? Edik planned to rebel against the king of Streza? Zaraki knew he was not supposed to hear this, but he could not leave without drawing suspicion. His mind raced with questions as he tried to fit this into what he knew about Antonin and Andula’s lord. What did Cezar know before he sent him here? How should he answer?
“Ridiculous,” Antosh declared, waving his glass about and not noticing as wine sloshed out. “Ferenc has been on board with this from the beginning. I�
��m just wondering what he thinks about the recent overtures Edik made to keep the southern lords happy and out of the conflict.”
With all the noblemen’s sons watching him, Zaraki knew he had to speak with care. This conversation could end his life, he realized as his heart started pounding. He shrugged his shoulders. “Personally, I consider this all a Strezan matter. It doesn’t concern Embriel or Andula, so long as Edik keeps to his side of the river.”
“But surely it concerns your father. There are trade routes, treaties, understandings.” Elbin drew out the last word, making a clumsy attempt at sounding devious as if they all knew about this conspiracy.
Because they did, Zaraki knew. These sons were part of Edik’s revolt, their fathers, important figures in it. He had fallen into something larger than himself, something treacherous and now he needed to find a way out. Antosh eyed him warily, as if unsure of this newcomer and what he knew.
Zaraki shrugged again, looking bored and uninterested as if he could not imagine caring about something so pedestrian. “As I said, I don’t speak for Andula or for my father,” he said before adding, “As long as he’s alive.” The spoiled sons laughed at his joke because they had all thought the same thing before. If only their fathers would hurry and die.
***
His answers seemed to satisfy the pampered, young men and they turned their attention to cards and dice. Zaraki drank more than he normally would, afraid to risk even the smallest crack in the assumed persona he kept himself wrapped in. Several more barrels of wine appeared and the gathering did not break up until late in the evening.
Exhausted, he finally escaped, desperate for silence and sleep as he stumbled back to his rooms. The wine dulled his mind and he hated the feeling. When he pushed the door to his room open, he heard the rustle of fabric and dropped his hand to the dagger at his waist, wondering if he had been found out and if this was where they would kill him.
In the candlelight, he saw a girl sitting in the middle of his bed, dressed in nightclothes. She kept her long auburn hair in a loose braid over one shoulder and the neck of her shift hung open. He told himself he was drunk and not in any shape for this.
“My lord,” she said, looking down to appear shy and inviting. “Lord Elbin sent me. He hopes you find me suitable.”
Zaraki found her very suitable and all thought of sleep fled his wine muddled mind as he crossed over to her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he kissed her and let his hands roam through her lovely hair and over her lovely breasts. She pressed herself against his hands, but when he drew back, he saw her eyes shut tight and a grimace on her face.
Ah, he thought, as he tried to clear his head, recognizing the odd tone in her voice finally. It’s like that, is it? He had another three days here and they expected him to sleep with the girl, willing or not. Turning her down would seem odd for a lord’s spoiled son and would mean questions he did not need. His training said to take her and preserve his story at all costs because his loyalty lay with his employer, not the girl. But he would not stoop to rape.
He smiled and scooted away from her.
Panic crossed her face as she reached for him. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I’ll do better. Please?”
Shaking his head, Zaraki said, “I’m not going to force myself on you.”
“You’re not?” Her eyes filled with tears.
She might be lying and might run straight to Elbin, or whoever had ordered her here, but he thought it unlikely. Chances were better in other rooms, other unwilling girls submitted to the wishes of Antosh and his friends. “No, I’m not going to do that.”
Now, the girl started to cry in earnest and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. Please? They’ll punish me if you’re not satisfied.”
Her tears made Zaraki uncomfortable. Sex he understood because women around Ostrava knew they could sleep with Cezar’s spies and expect no awkward mornings or professions of love. Most of his contact with women outside the bedroom consisted of Aniska trying to stab him with practice swords. “Well, we have a problem then, don’t we?” he asked, smiling at her and pulling one hand away from her face. “Because they expect me to enjoy my night with you and I don’t need the sort of talk that will come if I don’t.” He reached into the small pouch under his belt and drew out a gold tira – the sort of gift a nobleman would give a girl who pleased him.
“Take this,” Zaraki said, pressing it into the girl’s hands. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell everyone what a pleasant night we shared. You can tell everyone what a considerate and talented lover I am. That way everyone’s reputation remains intact. Deal?”
Staring at her hand, she sniffed and looked up at him. “You’d do that for me?”
“Yes. I’ll sleep on the floor and first thing in the morning, you can slip out.” Stretching out on the rug, Zaraki thought wistfully of the fine bed next him. He only had a few nights left to enjoy it and he had just given up one for a girl he did not know.
***
His final days at the manor passed without incident. They all went hunting in the forests again. Zaraki managed to kill a small stag with a well-aimed crossbow quarrel, which surprised him because he never trained much with them. Dinners broke up at reasonable hours and none of the attendees seemed to doubt his story though someone set a servant to watch him.
Grigor invited him to tour a mill built downstream one afternoon and Zaraki delivered his report on the four noblemen. As trained, he offered no opinion and only reported the facts and personal details he had learned. Seeming pleased, Grigor thanked him and promised to write to Edik and Cezar as soon as possible.
On the appointed day, he bid the lord of Boihad and the others farewell, then called for his carriage. Servants packed his belongings and then he was away. Free of Deblin and the strange feelings the area conjured. Free of the suspicious, prying eyes of Antosh.
As the coach carried him back to Ostrava, Zaraki thought about what he had heard. He could not and would not tell anyone, except Lord Edik. But should he admit to it at all? The chance Edik would find out seemed remote. Who would tell? The noble’s sons did not know who he truly was. But they could have told Grigor about the conversation and he might tell Edik. Then, Zaraki feared, he would look guilty for not divulging he knew this huge secret.
And his oaths demanded he tell.
At the thought of this, though, he felt sick. Perhaps Edik would kill him just for the knowing?
“No,” he said aloud as he sat alone in the carriage. Previous jobs had exposed him to all sorts of secrets and his lord never threatened him. Noble and spy both swore oaths, with Edik promising to shelter and care for all Ostravans who kept their vows. He would tell his lord what he heard, be honest and forthright because he needed to keep his oaths. Always, he needed to keep them.
In the end, Edik did not seem concerned and Zaraki felt foolish. His lord even smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, seeing his discomfort as he repeated what he had heard.
“Obviously, this is a secret and I’m your employer.”
“Yes, my lord. Of course,” Zaraki said, nodding his head. “I’ll always keep your secrets.”
Edik smiled, his thoughts already whirling with plans. How he hated to lose this one. Zaraki’s contracts would bring in much-needed funds for his revolt against Villem, but he had to write that off now. He had to be cautious and plan carefully, just like with the others who found out more than they should. “Good boy,” he said, not betraying any of the disappointment he felt. “Cezar trained you well.”
Dismissed
Cezar watched Zaraki riding back into the yard of the castle and sighed. The young man had returned from Deblin and gone straight out for three weeks on a contract for another nobleman. The job had been dangerous and he had hoped the boy would not return, making his own life easier. Unfortunate, he thought.
For five years, he had watched Zaraki grow from a boy to a man with increasing unease. The boy had always been different, ambitious and bright. Worst of all, he knew it.
He knew he could be more than just one more spy in a nobleman’s stable of talent.
Now, Cezar knew he could not delay any further. He needed to see Edik and put his plan into action. As they ate and drank together that night, he laid out his concerns. He told his lord he had two letters Zaraki tried to send to a powerful noble in Embriel, offering his services and outlining a plan to start the same sort of system in place here in Ostrava. This was all a lie, of course. There were no letters. Instead, there was only his own fear. Fear that as he aged, he was slipping and losing his edge. Fear that Zaraki was the natural replacement.
“You know I trust you,” Edik said, covering his surprise at having a solution to his problem dropped into his lap. “It seems a shame to waste such a talent. We could make a fortune on the boy. But you’re right, of course; he’s far too bright. We can’t risk him taking what he’s learned here and setting up something similar to compete with us. We have to protect ourselves.”
Surprised his friend gave such swift approval, Cezar felt he must be missing something. The two men watched each other before Edik smiled and refilled both their cups. He let it pass, and they sat up talking late into the night about future plans and past victories.
In the morning, Cezar sent a runner to fetch Fellnin, and his eager young assassin appeared at his door soon after. He felt like a coward turning his children on each other, but could see no other way out of this. “Please come in and shut the door, son,” he said, pointing at a chair. “This isn’t for everyone else to hear. Sit down.”
An accomplished, ruthless swordsman in his early twenties, Fellnin had grown into a large and imposing man. Cezar often hired him out for contract killing because assassinations did not bother him the way it did most of the others. Zaraki and Aniska both turned those jobs down. They found stealing, sneaking, spying acceptable but would not kill unless it was necessary to protect themselves or Lord Edik. But, where Zaraki was bright and cunning, Fellnin was barely controlled rage and temper. His storming emotions left him open to manipulation.
A Gift Freely Given (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
