Cobweb Empire (7 page)

But the Sovereign was once again turned away
and motioning to the Chamberlains. The doors were opened to admit
the next in line for an Audience.

The entrant was a spry young man with a fair
complexion, short, slender and unassuming, dressed simply as a
second-tier courtier, with a plain unpowdered wig. He moved quickly
across the expanse of the hall, and his light footfalls made no
sound along the stone floor.

“Quentin Loirre,” said the Sovereign in a
very different, lively tone, speaking almost playfully. “What have
you for me?”

“Your Brilliance!” The young man bowed like
a sleek cat, and kept a very composed countenance and unblinking
eyes, but his skin betrayed him, breaking into a fierce blush. “I
have a carrier bird with a message from Lethe. A certain Lady
wishes to convey her news of success. The Chidair Duke has been
convinced and has switched sides. Hoarfrost is now an Ally of the
Domain.”

“My dear boy, you always have such good news
for me. Tell me more of what the Lady says.”

“The Lady assures Your Brilliance that Duke
Ian Chidair, known as Hoarfrost, is precisely as dead as rumored,
furious at his fate, and halfway-mad. But he is otherwise
sufficiently reasonable, and quite interested in your offer.”

“Can he offer me arms?”

“Yes, he can. He has amassed an army of men
in a similar condition to his own. It is apparently a natural
selection, for the dead clamor to him, and he now commands enough
rabble to storm a city, much less hunt Cobweb Brides.”

“And how successful has he been in his
hunting?”

Quentin paused, as though attempting to
recall. “Begging all pardons, but the message did not go into
sufficient detail.”

“No matter. But when you write back, inquire
regarding this one detail.”

“It will be done as Your Brilliance
Commands.”

“Indeed. Do keep us well informed in that
regard. And now, this is what you will write to the Lady in our
confidence: tell her that Chidair, the Blue Duke, Hoarfrost—call
him what you will—is to gather his army and advance south. Tell him
that in due course I shall meet him halfway and unite our ranks.
But first, he is to make his stand at Letheburg.”

Ebrai did not blink, nor did he make any
movement. But his breath seemed to have stilled somewhat.

The Sovereign was perfectly aware of the
difference in her favorite advisor’s breathing, as she continued to
disregard him and instead watched young Quentin Loirre with her
impassive gaze.

The young Loirre bowed crisply, and then was
dismissed with one finger.

When the youth was gone from the Hall, the
Sovereign again turned to Fiomarre. “Well?” she said. “What is your
reaction now, my dear Ebrai?”

Ebrai looked at her with a stilled
expression. “My reaction is a mixture of distress and relief,” he
said, his dark eyes meeting hers openly. “I am stirred by the fact
that this long-desired military action is happening at last. And I
am elated that revenge is in sight. Altogether the combination is
too much for me . . . I am frankly rendered
speechless. . . .”

“And yet your words are so eloquent, even
now.”

Ebrai Fiomarre bowed.

The Chamberlains were directed to admit the
next party seeking Audience. They announced the Count Lecrant
D’Arvu of Balmue and the Countess Arabella D’Arvu.

The Count was a middle-aged, vigorous man
with a dark complexion and an artful powdered platinum wig, dressed
in somber black of mourning. And his wife was similarly clad in a
black court dress, with no embellishments except mourning lace and
a black, stark, unpowdered wig. The Countess had a thin, pinched
face, and eyes red from weeping. She was possibly youthful, but
grief had wrung all life juices from her, and she moved at her
husband’s side like a shade.

“Approach, D’Arvu,” the Sovereign spoke to
them.

“Your Brilliance,” spoke the Count and
Countess, bowing and curtsying in unison.

“Yes, what news from Balmue?” The Sovereign
did not bother with personal courtesies.

“It is all as planned, and Balmue stands
ready to proceed at the border,” the Count replied in a weary
voice. “Furthermore, the Ambassador, Marquis Nuor Alfre, is newly
returned from his Realm visit to see the Liguon Emperor at the
Silver Court, and is at present back home in Ulpheo, at the court
of His Majesty King Clavian Sestial. He says—that is—the news he
brings is rather remarkable.”

The Sovereign watched with softly lidded
languid eyes. “Go on. What news?”

There was a tiny pause before Count D’Arvu
replied. “It appears, Your Brilliance, that the Imperial House
Liguon is in mourning. The Emperor’s daughter, the Infanta, has
suffered an assassination, on her sixteenth Birthday Feast Day,
only a week or so ago. She has been struck down with a dagger
through the heart, and because death no longer takes us, she is now
dead, yet ‘lives’—she is one of the so-called undead. And the
traitor murderer, the man who struck her—this is the truly
remarkable part—is none other than Vlau Fiomarre, the middle son of
the Marquis Micul Fiomarre and the brother to the man who now
stands at Your Brilliance’s side.”

At the mention of the name “Vlau Fiomare,”
Ebrai made a small sound that was immediately stifled.

“Oh! What a marvel indeed!” The Sovereign
spoke in delight, her voice taking on a warm timbre, and she
immediately turned to her favorite. “Good heavens, Ebrai! Your
family never ceases to astonish! Now your younger brother has
distinguished himself indeed! Naturally, I welcome him and expect
him to join us here, if he is at all at liberty to do so.”

“I—” said Ebrai, “I am equally astonished as
Your Brilliance.”

“If one might add, Your Brilliance,” Count
D’Arvu continued, “the news gets even stranger. It appears that the
dead Infanta, Claere Liguon, had decided that she is the Cobweb
Bride. She has left her father’s court, perversely taking her
murderer with her, in order to travel north in search of Death’s
Keep in the most distant portion of the Kingdom of Lethe, somewhere
in the Northern Forest in the Dukedom of Chidair. Our sources tell
us that she may be somewhere out there even now, traveling
discreetly and in secret. She has not yet been intercepted.”

“A dead Grand Princess and her murderer,
traveling together? What exquisite torment for
both . . .” the Sovereign said with a delicate
smile.

“It is so indeed, Your Brilliance. But the
result of this, of course, is that the Emperor is in agony and
upheaval, and he is certain to be at his weakest now. Furthermore,
with the cessation of death, and the newly proclaimed Law of the
land sending all young daughters to be Cobweb Brides, the Realm
itself is at its most vulnerable. The populace is distracted,
grieving, forced not only to deal with the undead—as we are, here
in the Domain—but in addition to give up their daughters. And since
the three Kingdoms of the Realm are in turmoil, one dares assume
they will not stand easily with their Kings and the Emperor who had
thus surely betrayed and abandoned them.”

“You speak things that bode well for our
campaign. Go on. Is there anything else?”

“There is. . . .” For the
first time, the Countess D’Arvu spoke, in a faint voice. And her
husband threw her a nervous glance.

“My dear Countess Arabella, what is it?” The
Sovereign now glanced in the woman’s direction, directing the full
force of her serpent gaze and terrifying beauty upon the
supplicant.

“Your Brilliance, if I may—” The Countess
curtseyed deeply again. “I beg Your Brilliance’s indulgence in
listening, for I have come for one purpose only, and it is to beg
and plead with Your Brilliance on behalf of Lady Leonora, our only
daughter, who is in Your Brilliance’s service, and has not been
seen or heard from for the last month.”

Rumanar Avalais continued to look at the
Countess.

“If Your Brilliance might possibly have the
means of calming a very distraught and foolish mother—that is, if
there is anything that may be divulged as to our daughter’s
present . . . situation—”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” said the
Sovereign, and the blue of her eyes was like the soothing blue of
sky. “Could it be that Lady Leonora, that sweet forgetful child,
did not remember to write you a letter? Why, she has been somewhat
indisposed for the last week, and I told her to keep to her bed,
and rest and regain the roses in her cheeks. I even sent my own
physician to tend to her. But she is so eager to serve me, I am
afraid she must have overtired herself yet again.”

The Countess D’arvu’s face came to sudden
joyful life. “Oh, Your Brilliance!” She fell into a deep eager
curtsy, this time voluntarily. “A thousand blessed thanks! We have
been so terribly worried! That is, we have not heard, and had no
idea! How ill is she? Might it be possible to see her?”

“Now, now, Countess, I do not recommend
anyone attend the sweet girl in her quarters just yet, for I am
told she might not be up to receiving visitors. It is best that we
let nature’s healing take its course, and in the meantime she will
be sure to write as soon as she is up to it.”

“I do hope,” put in Count D’Arvu,
courteously, “that she is not contagious?”

The Sovereign gave a gentle reassuring
laugh. “Not at all, I am told. It is simply exhaustion and a bit of
a stomach malady that will pass soon enough. But now, as she is one
of my dearest young Ladies-in-Attendance, you must know how much I
love and worry about her myself. Had there been anything in the
least
truly wrong with her, you would have had my personal
carriage at your door.”

The Count and Countess bowed again in
grateful unison.

“Now then, I do hope it is all settled in
your mind, my dears. Is there anything else you have for me?”

“Nothing more but our deepest gratitude,
Your Brilliance,” uttered Countess D’Arvu.

But her husband cleared his throat and said,
“Oh, I had almost forgotten, Your Brilliance, there is one more
thing. Though, I am unsure if it is even of any import, or
relevance. But it is a bit of a curiosity, a wonder, one might say.
And it just happened overnight.”

“Indeed? Go on.”

“I am told by one of my reliable sources who
is also in Lethe, that there is an interesting rumor being passed
around in the north country. Not sure where it originated, but it
is said a young woman has appeared—a girl, in some tiny godforsaken
village there—who has the miraculous ability to put the dead to
rest,
permanently
.”

“What did you say?”

The Count drew his brows together in an
effort of thought. “My source places the rumor somewhere in the
northernmost villages in the Dukedom of Goraque. Within hours the
peasants have spread it like wildfire, as far as Letheburg.
Supposedly, a day ago, an old woman has
died
—in the true
way. Her body remains while her spirit has flown.
How
she
died—when no one else can die—is unknown. But they say her own
granddaughter is responsible.”

The Sovereign moved forward slightly, her
back no longer against the throne.

“This is a very interesting rumor indeed,”
she said, and her languid eyes opened fully, clear and sharp as
glass.

“I thought it might be of some interest to
Your Brilliance. Because quite a few of those villagers speak of
her as though she is the Cobweb Bride, found at last. While others
call her something else altogether—they call her Death’s
Champion.”

“Could she really be this Cobweb Bride? Or
is it merely superstitious country nonsense?”

“I do not know, Your Brilliance, I only know
there has been much talk of this, and supposedly the girl has also
similarly
killed
someone or something else—”

“I am glad you told me about this particular
curiosity, Count.” The Sovereign spoke without looking at him or
anyone, her gaze directed at some indefinite point before her.
“Now, I want you to find out more. Get me the source of these
rumors, and learn everything you can about this Death’s Champion.
If she is real, I must know.”

“Yes, Your Brilliance.”

“Excellent! Now go. And oh—be sure to find
out what
else
this girl can do.”

The Count and Countess made their courtly
obeisances and backed out of the Hall.

The Sovereign lifted her finger and
proclaimed. “The Audience is over.”

Was it a trick of the candlelight, but her
eyes, so very blue, for a moment appeared as black as night.

Chapter
4

“
I
want you to
grant me my final death,” Claere Liguon said to Percy Ayren.

Vlau Fiomarre heard those words issuing out
of the dead girl’s lips, and it struck him like thunder.

“No!”

Before he could stop himself, before he even
knew what force was driving him, the exclamation came forth
unbidden, and he was leaning forward in the cart, staring at her
with a wild expression on his face.

Percy, meanwhile, pulled hard at Betsy’s
reins and abruptly stopped the cart.

“
What?”
she said, turning around
fully to stare at the Infanta.

Everyone else was staring also. Even the
soldiers stopped riding, and gathered in a cluster around them. The
knight rode back a few paces and paused directly at the side of the
cart closest the Grand Princess. From the side of his eyes, Vlau
Fiomarre momentarily noted the knight’s careful attentiveness. But
mostly, Vlau’s attention was upon the Infanta, while a fever arose
in his mind, an urgent impossible storm of . . .
grief
.

The Infanta’s white, sallow face, frozen
like a delicate mask, was trained upon Percy.

The other girl was looking at her with a
shocked expression, and then a gathering frown.