by Becca Abbott
“Hunters,” said a lord of a southeastern parish. “Two units, nearly a hundred men! They’re building the barracks right outside the church. When I asked the abbot, he said it was for the protection of the parish. I ask you! What is my militia? A dance troupe? Why should I pay a copper to support soldiers over whom I have no authority?”
Locke was damned confident, thought Severyn, displeased. He hadn’t even waited for royal permission!
“Protection against what?” he asked.
“Against h’nara!” The nobleman was disgusted. “Four hundred years they have been living among us and suddenly they are a threat? There are h’nara who’ve served my house for generations! I doubt they’ve more than a drop of the damned blood in them anymore, but still they must be registered in the parish census? And the Church wants to raise my tithes so they may put men onto my land to guard against them? I’ll be damned if I pay a penny!”
“The Church’s fear of h’nara does seem greatly overwrought,” Severyn allowed.
The man laughed shortly. “Loth knows, the taints can make a body uneasy with their unnatural coloring and witch spells, but what of it? Hell, my wife’s maid saved my son’s life when he was an infant with one of her healing charms. Yet the Church would have me turn her in as dangerous and… ” He suddenly reddened, breaking off. With a mumbled apology, the lord hastily withdrew.
Severyn turned and immediately saw why. His own heart sank. Had it been possible, he would have disappeared, as well, but it was too late. His Eminence, the Archbishop advanced on Severyn and the glittering assembly parted hastily to let him pass.
“Your Highness! We meet again.”
“Mazril.” Severyn acknowledged the man’s brief bow. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“Most diverting.” The bishop’s smile was easy, charming. “My regards on this happy day.” He hesitated and looked around. “Wherever did Arami get the money? The last time we spoke, he was complaining about being quite out at the pocket.”
“Messerling looks to enjoy a good harvest this year,” replied Severyn and hoped his own smile was as believable as Locke’s. “I have no objection to helping Arami out now and then. How much longer do you plan to stay in Lothmont? Does the Conclave continue?”
“It ended yesterday. If it were up to me, I’d return to Zelenov immediately, but Charity is determined to make the most of our little holiday. I’m afraid Zelenov doesn’t compare in her eyes.”
“Your wife accompanied you?” Severyn looked hopefully around, but the exquisite Lady Locke was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s about somewhere. Your glass is empty, brother. Shall we have some more punch?” Slipping an arm familiarly through his, the head of the Tanyrin church started toward the buffet. Severyn held determinedly to his composure. In truth, the man’s touch made his skin creep.
“Very soon you, too, will have a lovely helpmate. You’ll learn the true joy of marriage. I should hope you would feel free to call upon me to conduct the service.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency. I will mention it to Miss Eldering when we begin the planning. She is in mourning, so of course, we cannot contemplate having the ceremony until the year is past.”
“Ah, my dear, naive Prince.” Locke chuckled indulgently. “You will soon discover, planning for a wedding will consume all that time and more. Your fiancé is secretly glad for the delay, I would suspect, so she might have more time to spend her family’s money. Speaking of which… ” The Archbishop broke off, responding to a greeting from a passing nobleman. “It’s a shame how the Elderings had sunk so far into ruin. I should be very surprised if the new earl can spare two coppers to rub together for her expenses, and that in spite of the fortune we poured into his coffers to support his Hunter unit.”
Having seen the state of the Shian barracks, Severyn struggled to keep his polite smile.
“Still, one must mourn the ignoble end of a family so old and honorable as the Elderings. Their connection with the Church goes back to the dark time of naran rule. In fact, I recall reading in an accounting record somewhere that some valuable Church property is kept in trust there.”
“Church property?”
“Yes, although I can’t remember what, exactly. So many of the Church’s relics and artifacts were scattered during the Reformation to keep them out of the hands of the rebellious h’nara.” He might have said more, but suddenly an impatient look flashed across his face. It was gone almost at once, however.
“Darling! There you are!” Adorned in silk and jewels, a spectacularly lovely, raven-haired woman sailed up to them. She stopped at the sight of Severyn, raising her dainty hand to her mouth to hide the charming moue of surprise. “Oh! Good evening, Your Highness! I beg your pardon!”
Severyn, relieved at the interruption, could not help smiling his appreciation. “Lady Locke. How delightful to see you.” He took her hand. “You are a lovely as always. His Eminence is a fortunate man.”
“Is there something you wanted of me, my love?” asked the Archbishop. There was a slight edge to his voice.
“Lord and Lady Norwich are having a house party next week and invited us. I know how much you loathe such events, but do say I may go!”
“Of course, my dear.”
Lady Locke clapped her slender hands in delight, rising on tiptoe to deposit a chaste kiss upon her husband’s cheek. “You are the most wonderful of men, my sweet! Severyn, it is marvelous to see you again. I’ve heard a tantalizing rumor. You are soon to be wed?”
“Miss Eldering has agreed to make me the happiest of men,” replied Severyn, trying not to stare at her luscious breasts. They threatened to escape the low-cut bodice with each breath. “Unfortunately, due to the death of her father and brother, we may not hold the ceremony until next year.”
“How sad! Still, Stefanie is such a lovely child. Well worth waiting for, I’m sure. Oh! There is dear Lady Pomfrette. Please do excuse me, but I must catch her before she leaves!”
The two men watched her glide away, trailing lace and perfume in her wake. Severyn took a deep breath. “A charming woman, Locke.”
“The light of my life.” The sour note in the Archbishop’s voice was unmistakable, but he made a quick recovery. “How fortunate you will soon be delighting in your own married bliss, too. There is nothing like it.”
“So I hear,” replied Severyn.
“Ah! That reminds me. Michael Arranz is yet unwed, is he not?”
The chill was back, prickling Severyn’s skin.
“His father, Lord Philip, and the present duke were married and hopeful fathers at his age. I’m afraid the Council has been sadly remiss in not providing him with a bride, as well. I can only blame a surfeit of pressing business on the oversight.”
“Surely there’s no hurry,” replied Severyn. “After all, the duke is in no danger of dying without heirs.”
“Still, there are traditions to uphold. It is our solemn responsibility to see to the longevity both of your line and of Lord Michael’s.”
“I’m touched at your concern for my friends’ marital bliss.” Severyn gave his most noncommittal smile. “Although I should be more concerned for Arami and Eleanor’s continued childlessness.”
“I have faith that Loth will bless them in time with children. That doesn’t absolve us of our responsibilities, however. I shall make a point of bringing of Michael Arranz’s marriage to the Council at the earliest opportunity.”
All in all, Severyn decided, the party would not rank among his favorites.
PART IX
White of hair, grey of eye
Touch a taint and you will die
Hair of white, eye of grey
Oak and sword the taint will slay
Child’s rhyme, author unknown
Marin shook Michael awake from deep, dreamless Sleep. Squinting at the bright sunlight pouring through his windows, Michael groaned and tried to pull the covers over his head.
“I’m sorry, m’lord,” Martin said, yanking
them back. “But His Grace has returned and insists on speaking to you.”
Michael swore. “To the devil with him,” he growled. “I’m tired. Leave me alone!”
“Now, now, Lord Michael,” Marin admonished him. “You don’t mean that, I’m sure. Come along. I’ve called for some hot water…” He looked toward the bath-tub still sitting in front of the fireplace. “I can’t believe you went to bed in those filthy clothes, my lord!”
Michael had vague recollections of meaning to have a bath. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Only since last night, m’lord. Once you’ve spoken with your grandfather, you can come back to bed, if you still wish it.”
Michael glowered at his servant as Marin cheerfully rummaged through the wardrobe in search of clean clothing. Grandfather was back, was he? Perhaps it was just as well. There were a few things he wanted to say to the old bastard; the brutalization of Eldering was only the beginning of it!
Stefn!
Fear shot through Michael. He launched himself off his bed.
“Lord Michael!” Marin called after him in alarm.
Michael didn’t stop. He ran down the hall to Stefn’s room, reaching the door only to find it locked. Locked! Whirling around, he saw Marin running after him.
“Here, m’lord!” puffed the servant, handing over the key. “I looked in on him not five minutes ago… ”
Michael unlocked the door and threw it open. Looking wildly around, he saw Stefn. The youth was on his feet in front of a chair, a book held in front of him like a shield, eyes wide and frightened. “M-my lord?”
Sanity returned to Michael in a rush. He drew a deep breath.
“He hasn’t been here, my lord,” said Marin, hurrying into the room after him.
“What is it?” asked Stefn anxiously.
“Nothing,” said Michael, who wondered distantly at the speed of his racing heart. The impulse to seize Stefn, to wrap his arms around him and hold him safe and close was nearly overwhelming. “We’re leaving for Shia in the morning.”
Still apprehensive, Stefn nodded.
“Be ready,” added Michael. Then, feeling a little foolish, he left the room, Stefn staring after him, mystified.
“My lord?” Marin inquired after Michael had locked the door again.
“Stay here.”
“But your grandfather…”
“I’ll talk to him. You make sure no one but me enters this room, do you understand?”
Marin nodded. Michael turned on his heel and went back to his room.
He would have to talk to Grandfather, if only to inform him he meant to leave Blackmarsh at once. Lord Damon was a law unto himself. As long as Stefn was in Blackmarsh, he was in danger. Loth only knew what other plans the old man had up his sleeve.
A quarter hour later, cleaned up but still deathly tired, Michael presented himself at his grandfather’s quarters. The duke took one look at him and said, “So, it was you who caused the wave. Young fool!”
Michael shrugged.
“It was irresponsible. I didn’t give you the spells as playthings!”
“You wanted to know if I was a true naragi. I wanted to know if the spells were truly what you claimed they were.”
“You’re still angry about your cethe?”
Michael gritted his teeth and didn’t reply. His grandfather snorted. Rising from his chair, he strode over to Michael. “Is the boy still injured?”
“Of course not! And if you attempt to harm him again…”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” The duke turned away in disgust. “He’s your slave, not your lover! It’s obvious you haven’t even used him to regain your strength! What will you do if you face one of Locke’s mageknights? Do you think you’ll have the luxury of such delicate feelings?”
“I’m returning to Shia in the morning,” said Michael, fighting his temper.
“You’re going to Tantagrel,” corrected his grandfather. “Inform Severyn of the Hunter garrison newly established on our doorstep. If there is anything he can do to remove them, it would be very much appreciated.”
“I’m sorry, Grandfather, but Severyn asked that I go back to Shia.” Michael rose so swiftly, it forced his grandfather back several steps. The duke’s eyebrows snapped together.
“Has Severyn left it unattended?”
“Of course not. Auron is…”
“Challory is a capable man. You can return to Shia after you’ve delivered my message to Tantagrel.”
“With all due respect, sir, I take orders from the prince!”
Color flared on the duke’s high cheekbones. “Your loyalty is first and foremost to your family!” he retorted. “I’ll hear no more of this foolishness! It’s your fatigue causing you to talk this way. Enough of your absurd, maidenly reticence! Mount your damned pretty-boy and recover your strength and clarity of mind!”
Michael wondered distantly what would happen if he planted the old man a facer. His fists clenched at his sides, but before he could do anything irreparably stupid, there came a low, but urgent knock on the door.
“What?” roared his grandfather.
The door opened a crack. Dex looked in warily. “My apologies, Your Grace, but Lord Michael has a visitor. Lord Forrest is here and desirous of speaking with him at once!”
“Forry?”
“Send the marquis up,” said the duke before Michael could move. “And bring refreshments.”
Michael had no choice but to sit down again.
“Do you know what Bradigan wants?”
Shaking his head, Michael rubbed his aching temples. Damn, but he needed to sleep. “I hope it’s not bad news,” he said. “Forry was in Lothmont, last I knew.”
In short order, Forry appeared. He, too, looked tired and dusty from the road. He bowed to the duke and gratefully took a chair. The refreshments arrived soon after he did, t’cha and honey-cakes, both of which he accepted with enthusiastic thanks.
“Severyn’s fine,” he replied in answer to the duke’s question. “He’s off to Tantagrel by now, I suppose. I’ve got a new assignment for Mick. He wants you to go to Withwillow at once.”
“Withwillow?” echoed Michael and his grandfather in unison.
“Aye. It seems we have a possible ally in the Bishop there. Severyn wants you to feel him out.”
“Gabriel Storm?” The duke looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard he’s a fair man and the h’nara of the parish speak well of him and their lord. Why does Severyn think he might be an ally?”
Forry, between mouthfuls of cake, recounted the particulars of a meeting between Severyn and Jason Thornwald. When he’d finished, the duke was grim.
“That would explain the garrison at Creighton,” he said. “This is disquieting news, indeed.”
“Why send me?” Michael asked. “I should think one of you might be more acceptable.”
“Severyn seems to think if Storm objects to speaking with you, it will tell him all he needs to know about the bishop.” Forry shrugged. “He won’t trust anyone who looks down on you for being h’nara, I suppose. He also said you had unique abilities to see the truth behind the lies. I assume he refers to your, er, witchly talents.”
Michael nodded. “I’ll go, of course,” he said, carefully not looking at his grandfather. “What of you?”
“I’m overdue at Forrest Glen. The process of winnowing my guard for men trustworthy enough to send to Shia is going to take some little time, I’m afraid.”
“You’ll stay the night?” asked the duke.
“I wouldn’t say no,” admitted Forry. “I’ve not had much sleep these past five days. Sev wanted to get you the information as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll talk to Annie,” said Michael, rising. “She’ll see you comfortably tucked up. Grandfather? If you’ll excuse us?”
The duke nodded, but his gaze was far away. Together, Forry and Michael left Lord Damon’s rooms.
“Are you all right?” Forry asked as they made their way through the house to t
he main wing. “You look worse than I do.”
“Too much witchery,” replied Michael and wondered what Forry would do if he knew the truth. “A good night’s sleep and a nap in the coach tomorrow will see me right as rain.”
“Good. If Storm is genuine, it could be of enormous help to have a man on the Council.”
“What about Arami? Do you think he’ll approve the Council’s request to move more troops into the West?”
“Eventually. Sev has managed to delay the inevitable by buying his brother off. Arami agreed to send their Petition to Tantagrel instead of acting upon it himself. It will require that we step up our plans, however. Even the prince can’t afford to keep bribing His Majesty indefinitely.”
Stefn listened with a wooden expression while Marin outlined the change of plans. He would not be going home, after all. Instead, as soon as Lord Michael was up and about, they were off to the city of Withwillow. It was profoundly irritating that he should secretly find the news terribly exciting. Of all cities in Tanyrin, Withwillow was the one he had always most wanted to visit.
Withwillow was home to the most prestigious of Tanyrian colleges, the St. Aramis Academy, with its dozens of libraries and lecture halls, great museums and shrines. It might not be the seat of ecclesiastical power in Tanyrin anymore, but it was the kingdom’s intellectual soul. So many of the books in Shia’s musty library had been written by men educated there, so many of their magnificent illustrations and colored plates had been produced by Withwillow’s Academy-trained artists.
Sharp rapping on the bedroom door sent Marin grumbling to open it. “I told the footman a half-hour, damn it, not a few… ” He broke off. It was no footman outside, but a young, very pretty girl who peered curiously into the room. She looked familiar and Stefn, startled, racked his brains for the reason why.
