by Cara Witter
It would explain the uneasiness about Jaeme that had started the moment they’d arrived in Grisham. He was usually so candid with her, and he’d assured her a hundred times that his uncle would love her, and indeed, none of her fears regarding Greghor’s rejection of their courtship were coming to pass. Jaeme swore everything was fine, but something was clearly bothering him. When she asked about it, he dodged the question every time. She wondered if he was having doubts about being involved with her, now that the political entanglements were more real than they were in the marsh or the secluded inn at Haidshir.
If he was, she wished he’d say so, instead of stuttering stilted apologies. Not that she had any desire for him to leave her—gods, it would shatter her heart in ways even Erich’s betrayal hadn’t—but she’d rather the blossom be plucked quickly than wither away from neglect.
Less than an hour had passed when the door cracked open tentatively, and Jaeme poked his head in. “Is it all right if I come in?”
Daniella swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “It’s your room.”
Jaeme walked in, shut the door behind him, and removed the formal outercoat he’d been wearing at dinner. He glanced at the spot next to her on the bed, and then, as if he thought better of it, sat on the chair at his desk and looked down at the stack of parchment in front of it. From the lack of focus in his eyes, Daniella could tell that he wasn’t really seeing it.
A stiff silence filled the room, and Daniella closed her eyes. She didn’t want to fight. She felt as though she wanted an apology, but Jaeme had already given one, and it hadn’t made her feel any better. She felt as though she ought to apologize herself for storming out of the dinner, but objectively, she knew that she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Anything except not know what to say to relieve this horrible tension between them.
“I don’t want it to be like this,” Daniella said softly.
Jaeme nodded miserably. “Me, either.” He opened his mouth as if to say something more when the door to the parlor flung open and hit the wall with a resounding crash, causing them both to jump.
Kenton stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Jaeme half rose to meet him, surprise mixed with irritation on his face. “It’s nice to see you too, Kenton,” he said dryly.
“Excuse me,” Daniella said. “Did you forget how to knock?”
Kenton ignored her and stalked over to Jaeme. “Your uncle is performing blood magic to collude with Diamis.”
Jaeme stared Kenton down. “That’s why you burst in here uninvited like a crusading army? Because you think my uncle is a blood mage?” Jaeme shook his head. “You think everyone is a blood mage.”
“We have to go,” Kenton said. “Every moment we stay here in this gods-forsaken castle we’re in danger.”
Something stilled in Daniella. Kenton did think everyone was a blood mage, but to be fair, he’d generally been right. Jaeme stepped right into Kenton’s face, his fists balling. This was going to come to blows right here in the bedroom if she didn’t intervene.
“Where’s your proof?” Daniella asked. “You do have proof, don’t you?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Jaeme said, not taking his eyes off Kenton. “My uncle isn’t the most religious knight in Mortiche, but he is the most honorable.”
Kenton closed his eyes and grit his teeth in a visible attempt to control his anger. “Your uncle is hiding a body in the stonework below the castle.”
Jaeme crossed his arms and took a step back. “Riiiight. The cold halls. Where the dead are often left before burning. I hadn’t heard that anyone had died recently, but I also didn’t ask.” He turned Kenton’s accusatory gaze right back on him. “Did you?”
Kenton’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You often tattoo the bodies of the dead with blood magic runes prior to burning?”
Daniella’s skin went cold. A body covered in tattoos. Gods, not here, too. “What did the body look like?”
Kenton turned his attention to her, though Jaeme didn’t do the same. “A boy with dark hair,” he said. “Olive skin. Marks like this.” He dragged the tips of his fingers across his cheeks, away from the bridge of his nose. “Sound familiar?”
“Yes,” Daniella said, remembering the boy in the cupboard in Tehlran’s rooms and the second in the Chamber in Castle Peldenar. “Could there be a third?”
Jaeme turned his accusatory gaze on her. “Not here.”
“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Kenton said, clearly speaking now only to Daniella. “That’s how Diamis kept finding us. It is the damn letters. Greghor has one of the things in his own bloody castle.”
Jaeme turned to Daniella. “You can’t believe this.”
Daniella stared at Jaeme, and then at Kenton. Could this be what Jaeme had been nervous about? But no. If he knew that his uncle could get word to her father, he never would have risked their lives like that.
Still, she couldn’t shake the sense that there was something Jaeme wasn’t telling her, something the Council knew that she didn’t.
Kenton shook his head adamantly. “It’s true. You told your uncle about going to Bothran, and we got attacked. And then Ithale? How could Erich have found us in Ithale? How could he have gotten there so quickly, if he didn’t have advance notice? You told your uncle and he told Diamis. All those people injured and killed—even Nikaenor’s father—because you wouldn’t listen when I told you not to write.”
“Stop that,” Daniella said. “There’s no reason to lay blame. He wouldn’t have done that on purpose.” Even if Kenton was right, Jaeme couldn’t possibly have predicted that his uncle would be working with her father.
How could that even have happened? Her father didn’t have a presence in Mortiche. And for the two of them to end up together? The coincidence of that—
“On purpose,” Jaeme repeated, glaring at her.
Daniella winced. She hadn’t meant to side with Kenton. “I was defending you—”
“Thanks,” Jaeme said dryly. He turned back to Kenton. “Fine. Show me this body, then.”
Kenton waved a hand at the door. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Daniella added. “How did you come to find it, anyway?”
Kenton gave Jaeme another fiery glare. “I was trying to do his job.”
Jaeme just glared in return. Daniella hadn’t sensed so much hostility between them since Kenton had accused her of killing his father.
The three of them traveled past the cellars and away from the area where the dungeons were located down a dank, dimly lit tunnel. Cobwebs hung in a complex design crisscrossing the ceiling above them and down the walls. There was more than one set of footprints on the dusty floor, no doubt in part from Kenton’s recent snooping.
Kenton led them through a door with a broken handle to a fork in the stone corridor, then guided them to a second room with an iron door handle.
“It’s locked,” Kenton said. “I had to pick it.”
“You had to,” Jaeme repeated. “You couldn’t instead, say, not pick it? Because I can’t count the number of times I’ve passed this door and—”
Kenton stooped, bringing a pin to the lock, but as he twisted the handle to begin to manipulate the pins, the door pushed open.
Daniella blinked at it. It hadn’t been locked, after all.
“Breaking and entering, destruction of property, and you don’t know how to lock a door behind you,” Jaeme said. “Excuse me. I need to alert the guard that you’re no longer welcome on the castle grounds. Or the city. Or—”
“Enough,” Daniella said. As the door swung open revealing only an empty stone table, a chill traveled down Daniella’s spine—one that went deeper than surface temperature.
It was a chill Daniella recognized. It was the feeling of a soul being ripped to shreds, of power without thought or care—utterly devoid of joy. It was the fe
eling of incredibly powerful blood magic. She trembled in response and felt herself shrink back from the doorway.
“Okay, so where is it?” Jaeme smirked, a vicious gleam in his eyes. “Looks like a big empty room to me.”
Kenton cursed and stalked over to the empty slab and ran his hands across the thing as if looking for a hidden catch. He found nothing. “I don’t know where it went, but it was here.”
Daniella shuddered as she watched him. The body might no longer be there, but the evil residue permeated the very air around her. Something terrible had happened in this room—something relating to blood magic, she had no doubt.
“Awfully convenient,” Jaeme said, “that it’s magically missing the very moment that we come down here to look for it.”
“Inconvenient, I would say,” Kenton responded, “seeing as I came to find you as soon as I saw it, which means that someone noticed I found it and decided to expediently remove it.”
“If it was ever here in the first place.”
“It was,” Daniella said. She shrugged apologetically at Jaeme and pointed at the empty table. “Can’t you feel it? Someone’s been doing blood magic. There.”
Both men followed her finger and studied the stone. In the light, there appeared to be dried blood clinging to the corners. Jaeme ran his fingers across it, flicking away the flecks that came off on his skin.
There, on the corner closest to them, some of the blood was fresh.
“Okay,” Jaeme admitted, “so what if there was a dead boy here that was being used in blood magic rituals? And what if that person was talking directly to Diamis? You still have no proof that it was my uncle. Half the knights in Mortiche are in town, and half the dukes are staying in the castle. We can’t even begin an inquest into who it might have been, because you don’t have proof that the body was here. We have an empty stone table and some dried blood. It proves nothing.”
“Except that you are a blind idiot,” Kenton muttered.
Daniella shot him a dirty look before redirecting back to the topic at hand. “You’re right, it’s not proof, but it is still worrisome. It could be any of the knights or anyone under your uncle’s employ. Plenty of people might have had access to your letters.” Daniella looked meaningfully at Kenton. “Didn’t you say you were worried about them being intercepted?”
Kenton heaved a sigh. “I did.”
“But you didn’t even spare that a thought,” Jaeme said. “You just went after my uncle like a rabid dog.”
“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Kenton said. “We can’t stay here. If Diamis knows our every move, you can bet Erich is on his way.”
Another chill went through Daniella.
“He can’t march his troops over the border,” Jaeme said.
Kenton looked completely exasperated. “Jaeme. There’s a spy in your own castle. How can you be sure a few soldiers can’t slip through? They can ferret a body into your own castle, but not soldiers into the country?”
Jaeme turned to face Kenton, stepping into his personal space again. “You know what, Kenton? You’re right. You aren’t safe here. Go on, leave. You can go get Sayvil’s stone, and I’ll tell you what. If Kotali ever comes calling, I’ll get that Earthstone for you, have it sent right over. Hells, I’ll even tie a bow on it, especially for you.” His gaze turned cold. “Or maybe you’ll get lucky and find a better bearer on your way. Take your damned chances and leave me be.”
Jaeme turned and began to march from the room, brushing by Daniella’s hand as she stretched it out for his. He strode away without a backward glance, and her chest squeezed.
Kenton threw her an irritated grimace. “That went well.”
She returned the look. “Wonder why, after the way you started it.”
Kenton sighed, and to her surprise, he nodded. “Will you talk to him?”
“Yes,” Daniella said. “But not for you.”
Kenton nodded again. “Fair enough.”
“What of the rest of you? Are you really going to leave?”
Kenton ran a hand one last time over the table before stepping out of the room. “I don’t see what choice we have. I better go find the others.”
Daniella hurried after Kenton as he strode down the corridor.
She didn’t want to be left alone in the cold.
Thirty-five
Perchaya strolled through the garden on Duke Hughsen’s arm, admiring the large grapes that hung from the latticework along the pathway. The night was warm, the air thick and balmy. The torches set on posts every few feet cast shadows of the various bushes and vines across the cobbled stone, which danced with the flickering flames, as if she and Hugh were walking through a menagerie of dark spirits.
“Tell me about Andronim,” Hugh said. “You said you met Daniella in Drepaine, but that’s not where you’re from.”
“I’m from Dov,” Perchaya said. She felt a bit sheepish telling Hugh about her humble upbringing, but it wasn’t as if she’d hid it from him, unlike the ring on her gloved hand. “It’s a farming town. We had sheep and cows. Wheat fields, when the rabbits didn’t ravage them.”
“That sounds lovely,” Hugh said, and he sounded sincere, though Perchaya couldn’t imagine that he was.
“Lovely?” she said. “No, this garden is lovely. This castle is lovely. I imagine Bronleigh is just as impressive?”
Hugh shrugged. “It’s not incomparable.”
Perchaya pulled him to a stop and smiled up at him. “Incomparable. Tell me, how many bedrooms does it have?”
Hugh bit his lip and looked a bit embarrassed. “There’s more to a place than size,” he said.
Perchaya gave him her best charming smile. “How many?”
He reached up with his free hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t—I don’t actually know.”
Perchaya laughed, her voice ringing across the stones of the far wall. “Ask me how many rooms were in my home in Dov.”
Hugh cringed. “How many?”
“Three,” Perchaya said. “Total. And it was far nicer than many of the houses in town. We weren’t well off by any stretch, but by Dov standards we were doing better than average.”
Hugh looked down at her in concern. “And does all of this . . . make you uncomfortable?”
Perchaya certainly seemed to have made Hugh uncomfortable, and she was sorry for that. “No. It’s just different. You’re right that size isn’t all that matters—er—” Her cheeks grew hot at the suggestiveness of her word choice, and from the bright look in Hugh’s eyes, he’d clearly noticed.
“The quantity of the accommodations aren’t the only measure of quality,” he said, then scrunched his brow, like he was trying to decide if that was actually better.
Perchaya’s cheeks burned, but unless she was going to excuse herself and go die in her rooms, there was nowhere to go but onward. “Exactly. I miss some things about Dov. But I always wanted to get out and see more. That’s one of the reasons I moved to Drepaine, for the opportunity. So I’m grateful to be here.”
Hugh smiled. “For your illustrations, yes? Have you found any inspiration in the castle?”
Perchaya was supposed to be working on portraits of the Bearers, but she had only a few inks with her, so she hadn’t done more than sketch them in charcoal. “I’ve been working on pictures of my traveling companions,” she said. “But a drawing of the castle would be lovely.”
“Have you seen the library? Perhaps there are texts there that might provide ideas for your illuminations.”
Perchaya had seen the library when Jaeme showed it to them. The others had perused the shelves, while Perchaya had spent nearly all her time with the beautiful illuminated copy of the Banishment Chronicle, whose pages were so big they covered the entire table on which it lay. The inks had been brilliant—probably imported from Tirostaar—and so precise that the illu
strations had appeared more like stained glass than drawings.
“I’ll have to take another look,” she said. She remembered her thought that there might be texts there that Kenton hadn’t seen before, ones that might answer her questions about Diamis’ plans for them. “The books are in Mortichean though, so I’m afraid I could do little more than look at the pictures.”
Hugh shrugged. “There are priests who manage the collections. Any of them would be happy to translate for you, I’m sure.”
Perchaya smiled. If she could manage to keep her true purpose concealed, that might be workable. “Is this another benefit of living in a castle?” she asked. “There always seems to be someone available to serve.”
Hugh ducked his head sheepishly. “That’s true.” He paused. “Do you think you could be happy in a place such as this?”
Perchaya’s eyes widened. A place like this? He couldn’t possibly be suggesting that she might end up living in a castle.
Though it sounded for all the world like he was asking if she’d be happy in his. Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I don’t know what will happen. There are still many questions to be answered before our travels are done.”
Hugh nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I hope at least I might—”
“Perchaya!” Kenton’s voice cut through the night air, and Perchaya wheeled to find him charging toward her down the path. Hugh put a hand protectively on her arm as Kenton approached and stopped just short of them. “We need to go,” Kenton said. “It’s not safe here.”
Hugh put a hand on his sword, but Perchaya stepped between them, not sure if Hugh meant to defend her from Kenton or the threat Kenton came to warn them about. “What’s wrong?”
Kenton shot a suspicious look at Hugh. “Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”
Hugh frowned. “Surely I could be of help. If Lady Daniella needs to be on her way—”
There were all sorts of things Kenton might want to say that wouldn’t be wise to say in front of Hugh, trust him though she may. “It’s all right,” Perchaya said squeezing Hugh’s arm. “If we do leave, I’ll come to say goodbye.”
