by Peace, Cas
“And did you believe his accusations, Patrio?” Sullyan’s mild tone was at variance with the hardness in her eyes.
Ruvar waved aside her question along with her challenge. “It matters not what we believed. The man was convinced he was being persecuted and we had to deal with this sense of injustice and betrayal before we could hope to calm his turbulent spirit. Eventually, after some days had passed, I was brought to believe he had come to terms with his situation. I felt the time had come to allow him the freedom of the island. We decided against setting guards on him. It was felt that should he be determined to end his torment and his life, it was not for us to force him to endure. We told him he was welcome to attend our services and that should he wish to join our order, or be given tasks to occupy his time, we would accommodate him. I also made myself available to him should he wish to speak of his spiritual turmoil.”
“And did he?”
“Eventually, yes. Although it wasn’t my companionship or guidance that encouraged him to integrate into our society.”
“Ah, yes,” murmured Sullyan, “Frar Varian mentioned the Baron was befriended by one of your order.”
Ruvar nodded. “It was Frar Serrin who finally managed to get past the Baron’s barriers of hatred. The two of them became fast friends. I believe Reen helped Serrin as much as the lad helped the Baron, for Serrin hadn’t found life here as easy or as fulfilling as he’d hoped.”
“This Serrin was a young man, then?” Sullyan leaned forward in her chair, watching the Patrio with interest.
“Yes, quite young. When he first came here he was thirteen years of age. When he and the Baron began their friendship, the lad had just turned fifteen. I confess I was surprised by their closeness. Serrin was a reticent boy who consistently spurned all attempts to draw him out of his resentment.”
“They sound like kindred spirits.” Sullyan’s dry comment drew a sharp glance from the dark man opposite. “I should like to speak with this boy, Patrio. Would that be possible?”
Ruvar shook his head. “I regret to say it will not. Not here on the island, anyway.”
She frowned. “Oh? Why is that?”
“Serrin left us about a week before the Baron’s suicide. I was disappointed in his decision, but not completely surprised. Despite his friendship with Reen, he was never easy with our strict and frugal way of life. He took passage with the supply boat one day and returned to the mainland. I imagine he went back to his family.” Ruvar bowed his head and regarded his hands.
Cal stirred in his chair, glancing at Sullyan for permission to speak. She waved him on.
“Patrio, may I ask you something?”
The dark man turned to Cal and smiled.
“You said Serrin was only thirteen when he came here. Is it usual for someone so young to be accepted into your order?”
Ruvar nodded. “There are always misfits in the world, souls who can’t find their true path, who feel they don’t belong where they were born. For such troubled souls, the paths of faith and discipline can restore their sense of purpose and self-worth. Serrin was sent here by his family to see if our vastly different way of life might be what he was looking for.”
Sullyan appreciated the truth of these words. She herself grew up in an environment where she was not wanted, where she didn’t fit, and her emerging talents only served to compound her misery. The quirk of fate that led her to her current life was fortuitous in the extreme. Even now she didn’t like to think what might have become of her had she not met Mathias Blaine.
“But from what you say, Serrin did not find what he sought in the strictures of your faith,” she said. “Did he speak to you about this? Did he tell you of his desire to leave?”
Ruvar’s tone was rueful. “Not in person, no. I imagine he was shamed by his failure, and maybe even feared I would try to persuade him to stay, if only for the comfort he brought the Baron. It is to my shame he felt he couldn’t approach me. Instead, he left me a letter, which I found only after the supply boat had departed.”
She leaned forward again. “Would you have attempted to dissuade him?”
“No, Colonel.” Ruvar looked scandalized. “We don’t seek to hold those who wish to leave. That’s not consistent with our faith.”
“Except for the Baron, of course,” she murmured.
She saw the look both Cal and Tad shot her. They felt she was baiting Ruvar and could see no reason for it. She ignored them.
The man himself regarded her evenly. “Of course. But those circumstances were very different.”
Satisfied by what she had heard so far, Sullyan abandoned her challenge, asking the Patrio to recount the day of the Baron’s suicide. Ruvar proffered the fellan jug and she permitted him to refill her cup. He then added more to his own cup and passed the jug to Cal. The small silence that reigned while these domestic tasks were accomplished served to draw a line under what had gone before. When Ruvar took up his tale once more, all was ease between them.
“I fear it may have been Serrin’s decision to leave that started the Baron on his final slide into depression. He’d been ill for some while before the boy left. Serrin nursed him devotedly and had himself become exhausted and pale. I imagine he found the Baron a demanding and ungrateful patient, and maybe the strain of it broke their friendship. But from the moment the lad’s departure was discovered, the Baron’s demeanor changed for the worse. He suffered fits of rage and ranting, and when he was calm, he was silent and withdrawn. Our meager diet had already removed the excess flesh he carried when he arrived, but now he grew gaunt. He adopted a reclusive regime and never went abroad in daylight, or even on moonlit nights. He spoke to no one and grew increasingly frail. He had always used a cane, but now he leaned heavily upon it. We believed he was suffering some deep malady of spirit.
“Then, about two and a half months ago, I was woken in the dead of night by Frar Durren, who told me he’d seen the Baron cast himself into the sea from the island’s highest point. I immediately knew that if this was so—and I had no reason to doubt Frar Durren—then the Baron was dead. It is a long drop to the rocks below; no one could survive that fall.”
“Would his body have been recoverable from the rocks?” asked Sullyan.
Ruvar shook his head. “There had been a storm the night before. In this region, the waves are often steep and fierce; it takes them several days to calm down after a storm. I knew his body would have been washed off the rocks; nevertheless, I ordered the signal beacon lit. We found nothing.
“The following dawn, one of the fishing vessels from the village put in to the landing stage. I told the fishermen what had happened and asked them to search the area on the off chance of recovering the Baron’s body. They told me it would be useless, but they agreed to carry out the search. As you already know, they found no sign of the dead man.
“While we waited for the fishermen to return, I asked Frar Varian to go through the Baron’s rooms in case he had left a message of some kind. It was there that the knife was discovered, along with a large pool of blood. I went with Frar Durren to the place where he had seen the Baron jump and we found traces of blood on the path and on the rocks. Frar Durren told me he thought he’d seen blood on the Baron’s clothing, particularly about his wrists and hands. We surmised he’d tried to use the knife to slit his wrists but that the blade, being blunt, hadn’t done its work properly. The Baron, lacking the courage to cut his wrists deeper, cast himself into the sea.”
Ruvar shook his head sadly. “I can only imagine what black despair led him to attempt the opening of his veins. The irony is that the act was totally unnecessary. Even had his fall not dashed the life from his body on the rocks, as it surely did, the sea would have taken him swiftly and with more mercy than he showed to himself.”
Sullyan pursed her lips. “So the fishermen returned to tell you they could find no trace of the Baron’s body, and then you wrote your message to the King and bid them deliver it to the nearest garrison.”
Ruvar
nodded. “We found no message in the Baron’s quarters, nothing to indicate he intended to harm himself. We gathered his few possessions and I have them here safe. I understand he has a niece. Will you carry them to her?”
“I will, although I doubt she will want them. She, too, suffered at his hands, and most unjustly. Patrio, would it be possible for us to see the Baron’s rooms? And would you object if I spoke with Frar Durren about what he saw that night?”
Ruvar shrugged. “You are welcome to move about the island as you wish, and I have no objections to you questioning Frar Durren. Whether he chooses to answer you is his decision. We are a largely silent order and some of us take this vow more literally than others. There are those who will speak only to me. But Frar Durren may well decide to respond to your questions. I only ask that you respect his right to refuse if he so wishes.”
Sullyan inclined her head. “Of course. I have already told you, we will cause you no inconvenience if we can avoid it.”
She stood, Cal and Tad rising with her. Patrio Ruvar came to his feet and moved toward the passage leading to the door. “Will you need a guide to show you the way back to the guest cottage?” he asked. “We make no more light than is necessary, so there are no lamps to light your way.”
“I thank you, Patrio, but we will do well enough. I have already trespassed on your hospitality and goodwill tonight; we will leave you in peace. But one more request I would make before we go.”
He cocked his head. “And what is that?”
“Would we be permitted to attend the Sunrise Service tomorrow morning?”
Her question clearly surprised Ruvar. He stretched his eyes wide, but recovered well.
“Of course, Colonel. You and your men will be most welcome. I will send Frar Varian to you at the hour of the sixth bell.”
He opened the door for them and they wrapped their cloaks about them as they stepped out into the swirling snow. The glow from the open door didn’t fade as they walked back the way they had come, not until they had rounded the first outcropping of rock. It seemed the Patrio’s curiosity had been more than piqued by what he had seen and heard that evening.
+ + + + +
“I really think we ought to ask Adept Elijah to contact the General with this news, my Lord. He specifically said he wanted to be kept informed of anything unusual.”
King Elias glanced in irritation at the tall man striding at his right shoulder. Colonel Jerrim Vassa was not the King’s favorite person at the best of times, capable commander though he was. Elias found him dour and unapproachable, but he was honest enough to admit that the real reason he could never warm to Blaine’s second-in-command was simply because his tour of duty followed Sullyan’s, and whatever other fine qualities the man possessed, he didn’t comfort the King’s lonely heart like Sullyan did.
Unaware of his monarch’s unflattering thoughts, Vassa carried on. “And you have to admit it’s damned peculiar. Roamerlings never leave their dead behind; they always take them back to Endormir to return them to the steppes of their ancestors. Even then, they don’t bury the corpses, they burn them. They believe the spirit is trapped forever unless the bodies are burned. Added to the fact that this is the second one found in Lerric’s province over the course of the last month and I definitely think we have enough to justify informing the General.”
Elias grunted. “Only just within Lerric’s borders. You know how the Roamerlings wander. That’s how they got their name.”
Vassa raised his brows and Elias capitulated. “Oh, all right. If you’re so sure my Lord Blaine wants to be bothered over so trivial a matter as two dead outlanders, go right ahead. But don’t blame me when it turns out these men killed each other over some family feud and were hastily buried by their shamed relatives or, worse still, slaughtered by some peasant farmer of Lerric’s who looted the bodies and was terrified of being found out. You’ll find Taran in the garrison. I overheard him saying he’d be playing cards with Denny tonight. Goodnight, Vassa.”
Vassa, dismissed, turned on his heel and made his way toward the stairs to the castle’s lower floor. Elias strode down the corridor. His second companion, the man who walked at his left and who’d held his peace while his monarch took some of his bad mood out on the colonel, followed.
First Minister Levant sighed deliberately, drawing a fierce look from Elias.
“Go on, then, Rendan,” growled the King, “say what you’ve got to say.”
Levant ignored his sovereign’s belligerent tone. “Was that really necessary, Elias? Vassa’s only doing his job, and you’re determined to make it difficult for him. It’s hardly his fault he’s not Brynne Sullyan.”
Elias halted in his tracks, staring at the shrewd and honest face of his most trusted advisor. He had the grace to flush slightly before glancing away. “Am I that obvious?”
Levant smiled. “Only to me. Although I can think of another who’d see through you in an instant.”
“Yes, but if she were here I wouldn’t be behaving like a small boy deprived of his favorite puppy, would I?”
The King continued down the hall.
Levant raised his brows and his grin widened as he followed. “Now there’s a thought. What’s it worth not to tell Senior Master King’s Envoy Colonel Sullyan that you just described her as your favorite puppy?”
“Go to hell, Rendan! You know what I mean.”
Levant caught Elias’s arm. The King halted, but would not meet his minister’s sympathetic gaze. “You have to stop this, my friend,” Levant advised softly. “It’s doing you no good. Why can’t you settle for her friendship and service? You know it can never be anything else.”
The King twisted away from Levant’s touch. His minister’s use of the phrase “my friend” recalled memories of Sullyan saying it and the emotions it always engendered in his breast. Hearing Levant utter those words was almost too much to bear. He was about to snap some ill-tempered retort when he heard his daughter’s voice calling imperiously. Pulling himself up with an effort, he turned around. Levant stepped prudently away.
Princess Seline marched up to her father and stopped in front of him, chin raised defiantly. Elias sighed, recognizing the signs of petulant determination when he saw them. Seline had the trait from both her parents, although Elias believed the haughtiness that went with it was wholly Sofira’s. He could hear Seline’s nursemaid, Bessie, panting up the stairs behind her charge, and realized they must have had yet another battle of wills. He found himself hoping he could side with Bessie on this one, and then felt guilty for the ungracious thought.
He looked down at the sulky face of his daughter and reflected that, distant as they had become lately, they were both suffering the same malady. He pined for Sullyan’s company while Seline pined for the young swordsman, Tad. This was Seline’s first infatuation and Elias thought she could have found a worse hero to worship than Tad Greylin. He liked the youth, who was well-trained, polite, and respectful. Tad, realizing he was the focus of Seline’s tender young love, went out of his way to be careful of her feelings without encouraging her unduly. Elias had cause to be grateful for the young man’s consideration.
“Well, Seline, what is it? The hour is late, I am tired, and you should have been in bed long ago.”
“So I keep telling her, your Majesty, but she just won’t listen,” puffed Bessie, arriving at Seline’s side.
“Oh, be quiet, Bessie! I said I would go to bed and I will, but I want to speak to my father first.”
Elias raised his brows at his daughter’s tone and saw Bessie flush with displeasure. He really ought to have words with Seline. The girl was becoming far too waspish. Far too like her mother ….
Elias strangled that thought. He was depressed enough tonight. Thoughts of Sofira would make him resort to the brandy bottle again and he could do without that.
“Very well, daughter, I am listening. What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait till morning?”
Seline held her father’s gaze defiantly. “Th
ere’s a fair in the city tomorrow, in the merchants’ market. I haven’t been out of the castle for days. I want to go.”
It wasn’t lost on Elias that his daughter wasn’t actually asking his permission. He shot a look at Bessie’s long-suffering face and decided a day out at the fair would benefit her, too. He knew how difficult she found it looking after his ungrateful and haughty daughter—especially in the absence of the affectionate Prince Eadan—and although Bessie was well paid for her trouble, he wasn’t above giving her the odd treat as well. He smiled at the plump nursemaid and nodded to his daughter.
“Very well, Seline. I’ll get Denny to detail someone to accompany you.”
The Princess’s face turned thunderous and she stamped her foot. “No, Father! If you do that, you’ll spoil the whole thing! I know I can’t go alone, but I want to go with just Bessie. How can I enjoy myself with your soldiers trailing around behind me? Can’t I go into our own city without some great lumbering bodyguard getting in the way? What do you think is going to happen, anyway? I’m hardly going to get snatched by demons, am I? I’m not going to start another war!”
Elias went white. Seline’s spiteful reference to his disastrous invasion of Andaryon shot straight to the hurt in his heart. It was exactly the kind of wounding comment Sofira would have made, and it turned his soul to stone.
“Very well, Seline,” he ground out, the words like broken glass on his tongue. “You may go to the fair with only Bessie. But you are to be back within the castle long before dusk, do you hear me? Any later and I will rouse the garrison to fetch you back. Make no mistake that I mean what I say!”
Seline glared at her father. She knew he would carry through with his threat. She didn’t make a fuss, however. She had what she wanted. She turned away, a smug little smile on her face. Bessie cast a deeply apologetic look at Elias, but he barely noticed. He had already dismissed his cold, defiant daughter from his mind and turned to resume his interrupted walk toward his chambers. He’d just conceived a pressing urge to spend time with a certain bottle of brandy.
