by Morgan Henry
Arto sidled Merlo beside Marta.
“Look, it’s Duth Bridgend.” He pointed out his home to her.
“What does Duth mean?” Cella asked.
“It refers to the home of the noble family of the seat,” he explained. “My brother lives at Duth Clawynd with his lovely wife.”
“I’ve heard of them. Lord Merrin is the King’s Champion and his wife is the Countess of Clawynd, correct?”
“Yes. You’ll likely meet them. Merrin will want to visit and I’m sure Lady Aenid will want to meet you as well.”
“Me? Why on earth would she want to meet me?” Cella’s eyes were wide and she fisted her cloak closed.
“Well, you are visiting from a far away and exotic land,” he teased. “Besides, I’ve never brought another woman back from Kerfaen before.”
“You’ve never had the responsibility of the malairte before,” she returned. “Tell me about the castle.”
He described the Keep and the town. The road led through the town to the Keep, so he was able to point out many of the shops and people he had described as they rode through.
As the sun was setting, they arrived at his home.
They clattered on the cobblestones riding through the long archway into the courtyard of the Keep. The party emerged into a bustling hub of activity. A set of soldiers was arriving from their duties at the border. They took over the south end of the courtyard.
Arto directed their party to the north end where grooms were waiting to take the horses and servants to take the baggage. He kept an eye on his little sola, but they were in his home where there should be no threat to her.
He had his head housekeeper to put Cella in the bedroom opposite his own room. He couldn’t put her directly in his personal bedroom, much as he wanted to. That would be going a step too far. But she would be close, and he would ensure they were together at night.
The housekeeper put Valina in a set of rooms on the floor below, and the Knights were in the opposite end of the same floor. His housekeeper was a bit of a matchmaker and likely wanted Valina to have some choice if she wanted a lover.
His parents were gone, only fifteen months before, but his grandmother was still alive. She lived at the Keep in a set of rooms at the opposite end of the floor from him.
She was an exceptional woman, frailer than he remembered her as a boy, but still sharp. Lady Meodi, Dowager Duchess of Bridgend, had long ago given up active management of the duchy, but she helped out in many ways and was always ready with advice—solicited or not.
Arto wasn’t sure if he was eager for Cella to meet her or not. Meodi was a strong woman. Cella was strong as well, but not as outwardly forceful. They could join and be unstoppable, or clash and be at odds forever.
Though the party had arrived late, the staff of the Keep knew they would be there and had prepared accordingly. Dinner would be served once everyone had a chance to clean up, and the night would end relatively early, he was sure.
He collected Cella and escorted her to the library, where the party was assembling before dinner. They would likely wind up here after dinner as well.
It was large. His father and grandfather had loved books and enjoyed using the area for social purposes as well. His grandfather had expanded the room so it was three times the size of the original. There were two large fireplaces to warm it with seating grouped around them. There were several small desks for guests to use and plenty of lamps that could be lit to accommodate various readers. There were also two small tables for cards when they were entertaining. Two entrances to the gardens beyond were closed at this time of year, but in the summer would be open to the flower gardens that his mother had loved so much.
“Grandmother!” Arto greeted her warmly with a bow, a hug, and a peck on her cheek.
She returned his hug. “I’m glad to see you back where you belong. You and Merrin have been neglecting me.” Her sharp eyes twinkled a little and she cocked her head, daring him to disagree.
“Merrin is a newlywed. Would you begrudge him time with his bride? I seem to recall tales of you and Grandfather closeting yourselves away after you were married.”
She chuckled and tapped him on his arm, pleased at his reply.
“Grandmother, May I present Lady Cella Vallant, Master Enchanter and niece to the Vizier of Jorval?” He gave a small bow to both women. Cella curtsied deeply. “And may I present Lady Meodi, Dowager Duchess of Bridgend?”
“I’m honoured to meet you, Your Grace. Duke Arto has told me wonderful stories of you as he was growing up. It seems you know much of the ways little boys get into trouble.” Cella had a small half smile on her face. Arto had told her of some of his escapades that his grandmother had intervened in.
“Oh, yes, I had my fair share of little boys getting into trouble around here over the years. Neither myself nor Arto’s mother were blessed with girls, so we became well acquainted with falls into creeks, wild schemes to acquire gerto eggs and tame them, and I believe Arto was convinced he could make wings and fly at one point.”
Cella laughed. “That sounds like something an imaginative boy would come up with.”
They were interrupted by the call to dinner. Arto was proud of his servants. They had a beautiful meal to welcome him and his guests. The service was as flawless as the Kerfaen Keep, but much more intimate due to the smaller numbers. His grandmother and Cella were at opposite ends of the table, so didn’t manage to converse much as they ate.
After dinner, they converged on the library again. Several of the knights started a card game over brandy that would likely go on for a while. Arto saw one of the Knights slip out of the library. He winked at Arto as he left. Arto suspected an assignation was in progress. His grandmother collected Valina and Cella by one of the fireplaces.
Arto thought he had better drift over and see what the ladies were up to.
“So my thoughts were correct, you are rather young to be a Master,” Meodi was saying.
“Yes. It feels as though I’ve been in training forever. I started in the Lithalla when I was only ten. When I melted the lamp in my bedroom trying to get it to work better, my parents thought I better have formal instructions before I maimed myself or burnt the house down.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“Oh my,” Meodi said. “I’m starting to be grateful that none of our family has been overly gifted with kerfios. Trying to fly was bad enough.”
“I only broke my arm, grandmother. Merrin was the one who cracked his skull trying to hone his quarterstaff skills in the creek.”
“Ah, yes, I remember that. You two were quite the handful.” She redirected her attention to Valina. “Lady Valina, we’re so pleased you could visit us. How is your dear mother? I remember her as a young girl at court. You look a great deal like her.”
“She is quite well. She says she’s happy that Vigo is taking over more of father’s duties so she can stay at home more. I miss home, too, but I’ve been enjoying seeing more of Kerban.” Valina sipped her coffee and sat very straight.
“Valina was very kind to travel with us,” Cella added. “She was the first woman my age I met when I arrived in Kerfaen and has turned into a wonderful friend.”
Arto relaxed a little. It seemed as though grandmother and Cella were getting along rather well thus far.
“So which of you is Arto’s lover? And what kind of trouble has led him to bring you here?” Meodi asked.
Arto choked on his brandy.
“Oh, do grow up, Arto. It’s obvious something is going on. One doesn’t arrive from the capital with barely a day’s warning and a contingent of guards for no reason other than you felt like a ride.”
Arto managed to clear his throat. “I would have discussed it with you, Grandmother, just maybe a little more discreetly.”
Meodi sniffed.
Cella smiled behind her coffee cup. “I’m his lover,” she informed Meodi as she set the cup down. “There seemed to be an interest in harming me, so his Grace felt that it would be
easier to protect me here, Duchess.”
“How do you know you didn’t bring trouble with you?” Meodi asked Arto.
“The guards and Knights I all know personally. I don’t believe Valina wishes to harm Cella, she has no reason to do so,” Arto explained.
“You can be rather short-sighted. What of the servants? Do you know them well enough to say they are safe?”
“Kyna could have killed Cella off long ago if she wanted to, and the rest have had no interaction with Cella at all. I will check into them again, but I think you’re looking for trouble where none exists. Please, Grandmother, let me look after the security,” Arto pleaded.
“What do you think of this, Lady Cella? You’re the one that has to suffer the consequences if he’s wrong,” Meodi pointed out.
“He is correct in saying Kyna could have harmed me long ago if she wished, Duchess, so I don’t think she’s an issue. Neither is Tors. Ebir was a servant in the Kerfaen Keep to the noble guests, so surely she would have been screened to be safe.” Cella tapped the side of her cup with a finger. “The manservants of the Knights barely knew I existed before this trip, so I can’t see them as part of a plot. I certainly understand your trepidation, though. Perhaps we should have left the servants behind.”
Meodi shuddered. “Travelling without servants creates hardship where there need be none. I’m glad you at least gave them some thought, since my grandson seems to have lost his wits.”
“Oh, Lady Cella is quite good at travelling without servants,” Valina interjected. “She travelled from Jorval without anyone, and she didn’t even know how to ride.”
Meodi turned toward Cella, her mouth slack with shock. “What? What is this? You must tell me more.”
With that, the Dowager’s attention was diverted and they spent the evening discussing Cella’s earlier riding lessons instead of nebulous plots.
* * * *
King Graydon looked at the beautifully dressed and artfully made-up woman in front of him with distain, though he hoped he managed to keep the expression off his face.
It had been three days since Arto left and he was hopefully closing in on the people and motives behind the plot to harm Lady Cella.
Doan had provided a great deal of useful information and recommended several people for further questioning.
It was little known that Doan was as much a personal servant as a valued spy, ferreting out information from the servants about their masters so skilfully most didn’t realize what they were revealing.
It was even less known that Graydon himself had some ability with kerfios to get the truth.
He had a small ability to truthsay, but he was also able to use kerfios to put people at ease, lower their guard so they would speak more freely. He had never admitted this to anyone and had publicly employed truthsayers to ensure it was never known.
Lady Suro had no idea who she was up against.
“Thank you for bringing your concerns about Lady Cella to me, Lady Suro. I have so little time to spend in the common rooms that some behaviour goes unnoticed,” he said smoothly.
“Of course, you are far too busy to be overly concerned with the likes of her, but Your Majesty should know she is not as sweet as she appears.” Suro looked down and arched her neck a little, attempting to look graceful.
“It’s only natural to want to see people like that get what they deserve. Some sort of embarrassment or humiliation, especially in public,” Graydon went on.
“Oh, it would be mean to truly wish such things. But it’s so hard not to want to see hypocrites get what’s coming to them.” Suro sighed and looked out the window, presumably disappointed in her own failings.
Graydon knew better. “Yes, it’s unfortunate that the drug you put in her food didn’t act a little quicker and leave her vomiting on the floor in the great hall.”
“Yes, it is,” Suro mused, then she gasped. “I mean, what drug? Did someone drug Lady Cella?” Her hand fluttered and came to rest on her chest as she coloured, caught in her lies.
“Oh, I think we both know you slipped it onto her plate when you were talking to us. What I really want to know is, where did you get it?” Graydon’s voice went hard. The polite, gentle man was gone, replaced by the King who sought justice.
Within a few minutes, Suro was sobbing and Graydon had all the information he was going to get from her.
Suro had poisoned Cella, but swore she only thought it was straight galar, not altered with kerfios. The Torquin emissary had given it to her. She knew nothing of the push off the ramparts but had finally admitted that she suspected there was someone else the emissary was influencing.
It was a stupid, petty prank, but not meant to kill.
“Though you did not mean to do permanent harm to Lady Cella, you did mean to humiliate her for no reason other than you didn’t like her. You did not stop to think that any herb or drug can occasionally have unwanted effects and must be treated carefully. Though you did not intend it, she was critically ill. For that reason, Lady Suro, you are no longer welcome in Kerfaen Keep. You have until tomorrow sunset to pack your things and be gone. Do not return,” Graydon dismissed her.
It was a harsh punishment, but Suro was an adult who should have known better. He was sick of her petty politics in the common rooms. Perhaps this would bring some much-needed collegiality back.
On to the Torquin emissary.
Chapter 20
Cella and Valina walked into the town at the base of the Keep. Arto had attempted to keep Cella confined to the Keep but she and Meodi managed to convince him to let her go into town.
They were shadowed by Thede, but convinced him to keep back a ways so they had the illusion of freedom.
Cella had never been one to shop aimlessly, but she was enjoying their outing. There was no Lithalla in the town, but there was a Healer Hall. A Master Mage and a Master Enchanter shared a location to provide their services. Cella discovered that the Enchanter was elderly and wanted to cut back on his work, but there was no one to take his place.
They looked in a dressmaker’s. Valina admired a deep red fabric that would look stunning on her and Cella was drawn to a deep green. Neither committed to a dress, however.
Valina did insist that Cella have the cobbler start on a pair of boots for winter. She pointed out that Cella would be in Kerban for a year and didn’t have adequate footwear for the deep winter. She was measured and chose a utilitarian style of black leather with shearling lining. They had a sturdy sole with a very small heel and would lace up to end just shy of her knees.
The day was cool and overcast. There was a thin, cutting wind that made them all grateful for their cloaks. As they were walking past the school on their way back to the Keep, Ebir caught up with them.
“Lady Valina, Lady Cella, I’m so glad I found you quickly. His Grace has asked me to fetch you. He needs you to join him back at the Keep.” Ebir was slightly out of breath.
“What’s happened?” asked Cella.
Thede joined them to hear what Ebir had to say.
Ebir lowered her voice. “He had found the traitor and wishes for you to join him as he questions the culprit. He is quite, ah, distraught that he has followed us from Kerfaen.”
Cella exchanged looks with Valina. They both knew that Arto would be beyond livid. Cella worried that he would think he had failed her since the traitor had followed them.
The three followed Ebir through a field and to the side of the Keep.
She led them through a servant’s entrance to the Keep and into the unoccupied wing.
“Wait, why are we in this wing?” asked Valina.
“His Grace said the family wing does not have cells for confinement. He has him locked in the cells under this wing, my Lady.” Ebir bit her lip and looked at the floor. “His Grace was quite angry when he discovered the traitor.”
Cella could certainly believe that. She was curious as to who this person was. They hurried down the stairs to a stone corridor.
Th
ere were a couple of torches lit in the hall, and Ebir took one to give them some additional light. It smelled damp and musty, as most unused, underground places do. The only thing that seemed missing was an endless drip of water to torture the mind.
They started through the door into the cell. It was strangely dark and as soon as she and Valina were at the threshold, Cella knew they had made a grave error.
Her chest tightened, squeezed by the vise of her own idiocy.
How could she have been so stupid? Arto would not have let her near the traitor. Not in the same wing and not in the same room.
She whirled and faced Ebir.
“You!” she accused.
“Shut up!” snapped Ebir. She shoved Thede into Cella and Valina and they all stumbled into the cell.
“What?” gasped a shocked Valina as she hit the ground, looking from her maid to Cella and back again.
Thede drew his sword.
Two other men came forth from the depths of the cell. Cella, Valina, and Thede were trapped between their adversaries. Both men had swords drawn, but they didn’t need them.
A weapon appeared in Ebir’s hands. It was a short blade, only about two feet, and was thin and wickedly sharp on both sides. It gleamed wetly in the torchlight.
She lunged forward with all her weight behind her and thrust it through Thede’s back, piercing his heart.
Cella would never forget the shocked look on Thede’s face that quickly bled into pain and then the slackness of death. He crumpled, his weight pulling the blade down and sliding off it.
“What do you have against me? Why would you do this?” cried Cella as she pulled Valina up, pushing her friend behind her and stepping back toward the corner of the cell.
“I could care less about you, this is about me,” sneered Ebir.
The taller and better dressed of the two men stepped forward. “Ori! Bind her,” he commanded, gesturing to Valina.
Valina fought and Cella with her, kicking and spitting at him. But Ori efficiently shackled Valina, her hands in front of her and attached to an iron collar.
