The Fyrst turned his head to stare at the first lieutenant.
"And kin to Rabbit—whom he openly called cousin, even as Rabbit evidenced his power," Laurel said.
"The bird was just enhanced, Your Grace," the Magus said in the silence. "I did not work its death—”
The Fyrst made a gesture and the Magus shut up. He then picked up the sack of jewels, hefting it a couple of times before handing it back to the eorl. "Give this to Magus Kareste, Commander Pellan.
Compensation for the indentures of his apprentice, the human male named Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees. Let it be noted in the Acta that all bindings therein are declared dissolved by my order. Fiat.”
The Magus' face was like an ice storm, all sharp angles and frozen needles. "Your Grace—”
"Silence, mage!" For the first time the Fyrst showed emotion. "You tread perilously close to being banished for sorcery, for in your arrogance you killed using your talent."
"Your Grace, if the bird did die, it was unintentional—”
"I don't know if that isn't worse! That you didn't care as long as it got you what you wanted." The Fyrst settled back into his throne, glaring at the Magus. "For the bird's death, you will lose what you turned the world upside down to gain.”
The Magus' face congealed even more. "I then appeal this decision, Your Grace, to the High Council."
Gasps and whispers shot around the hall. "As is my right.”
"As is your right, mage," the Fyrst acknowledged. He tapped once more on the throne arm and the whispering died down. "Until then, I think it'll be best if you retire until you are over your understandable disappointment of my ruling going against you." Magus Kareste opened his mouth, but the Fyrst spoke over him. "Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, will remain with me until the Council's decision. Let that be written into the Acta. Fiat.”
There was nothing Magus Kareste could do, except bow and agree—especially since the Fyrst's guards were standing at his elbows ready to escort him and his companions out of the hall. The Fyrst waited until the door shut behind them before gazing at me, his face once more emotionless. "It seems that you've acquired some powerful friends, young human."
"Yes, Your Grace," I murmured.
"You'll need them, as you've also acquired a powerful enemy."
"Yes, Your Grace.”
"But thunderclaps in the sky, is it?" The Fyrst propped his chin on his fist, ignoring Berle's smothered exclamation at his sudden likeness to King Jusson. "Perhaps you're strong enough on your own not to need hedges to hide behind."
I said nothing.
"He stopped a djinn storm, honored Fyrst," Laurel said, stepping into the breech, "that came upon us with no warning.
"A djinn storm?" the Fyrst repeated, his dark eyes not moving from mine. "Then it's no wonder the Magus is so anxious to get his apprentice back." He gave a little sigh as he settled back into his chair. "I suppose I'll have to see to his disposition, as I cannot have him wandering about, blundering into things with his talent.”
"As I have begun his training, Your Grace, I ask that he be given to me.”
The Fyrst's brow rose. "To you?" A sardonic look passed over the elf's face and was gone. "I do not think you're his favorite person right now, Laurel Faena. What if he takes it into his mind to leave you too?”
"There is a covenant, Your Grace," Laurel said. "He will honor it.”
"So there is." The Fyrst shrugged. "Well, if you want him— Let it be written into the Acta that the human Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, is given into the charge of Laurel Faena of the Black Hills Weald until the High Council's decision. Fiat." He dismissed me and looked back at Laurel. "Now, honored Faena, tell me about this djinn storm—"
"The Lady preserve us!”
Other cries and sounds of alarm rang out and I turned around to see what was happening.
"Groskin must have gotten the first load off the ship," Javes said, groping for his quiz glass. He then shot the Fyrst a look and stopped.
The unicorn and leopard were pacing through the court, leading a stream of haunts—all headed for me.
"This goes back to the main reason I was sent to Iversterre, Your Grace," Laurel said to the Fyrst, who had risen from his throne and now stood staring at the ghosts filling his hall. "We found their bodies in Iversly and have brought them home, but the moon season is here and every single one of them has chosen the human Rabbit.”
The Fyrst sat quiet during Laurel's recital about his discoveries in Iversterre and their resolutions, not even blinking as the Faena told of the far-flung smuggling ring. He then received both the written and the verbal apologies of King Jusson delivered through Chancellor Berle, listening to her measured speech on the desire for peace and understanding between the Border and Iversterre, his eyes wandering between Berle and the haunts surrounding me. But when Berle segued into establishing an embassy, the Fyrst stopped her. "This too should go before the High Council." He looked down at the chancellor, his face cold and still. "As it touches the entire Border, not just Elanwryfindyll."
Chancellor Berle bowed. "Yes, Your Grace.”
"Fortunately, it is our turn to host the Council and they will meet here in two weeks. Until then"—the Fyrst looked at all of us—"I extend to you the Hospitality of my keep and city. Be welcomed." He raised his hand and a fellow who looked an awful lot like one of the majordomo twins, but with elfin ears, started to step forward.
"What about my men who are still on the ship, Your Grace?" Captain Suiden asked from beside me.
"May they be brought ashore?”
The Fyrst's brows came together again as he stared down at the captain. But Suiden met him stare for stare, his green eyes glinting back up at the Fyrst, and His Grace's face shifted, changing from distant affront to puzzlement. "I know you—" He looked over at Laurel.
"He is the Amir of Tural's eldest sister's first son, Your Grace," Laurel said. "Prince Suiden.”
"I met the prince before he left Tural," the Fyrst said, still frowning, "but I don't remember his eyes being green.”
"Many things have changed since I left Tural, Your Grace," Suiden said with a slight bow. "But right now I am more concerned about my men who've been at sea for weeks. May I bring them ashore?" He indicated Chancellor Berle. "They're a part of the proposed embassy staff.”
"I see." The Fyrst was quiet for a few moments. "Yes," he finally said. "We extend our Hospitality to them, the staff, and"—he looked at the vice admiral—"to your sailors also.”
"Thank you, Your Grace," Vice Admiral Havram said as he also bowed, looking as though he wanted to keep his officers and crews as far away as possible from the elf city.
A small smile flitted across the Fyrst's face. "Do not fear, Vice Admiral." He signaled and Eorl Pellan moved back to the dais. "My commander will make sure that your sailors understand the do's and don'ts of shore leave." He looked at the eorl. "Bring the ships' officers here, Pellan." He cast a glance at Suiden.
"And His Highness' soldiers.” The commander bowed and strode out of the hall, gathering certain of his guard.
"Sir?" Lieutenant Falkin murmured, and Uncle Havram hesitated, obviously torn between staying with me and going with Pellan. He then sighed and shook his head. "Nay, Lieutenant. The ship captains will take care of what's necessary." He caught the Fyrst's gaze on him and waved a hand in my direction. "My brother's child, Your Grace.”
"You are connected," the Fyrst remarked, looking back at me. He then raised his hand once again, and the major-domos' elfin twin stepped forward. "My chamberlain will see you all to your rooms." He looked at the ghosts ranged behind me, then back at the chamberlain. "The west side of the fourth level."
As the chamberlain bowed, I wondered if the quarters were as far away from the Fyrst's rooms as one could get in the keep—and His Grace's brows flew up.
"I see." He shot a look at Laurel. "I will send for you once you're settled, honored Faena. There's much I would discuss with you.”
No one said anything as the chamberlain led us through the double doors out of the audience hall, back to the main stairs, and up to the fourth floor, collecting servants as he went. I kept my eyes on Javes in front of me, only catching out of the corner of my eyes the mosaics, bas-reliefs, and tapestries on the walls, an impression of shapes, colors and textures. The chamberlain reached a set of double doors ("More Gifted wood?" my uncle murmured) and opened them with a flair, revealing a large common room—a miniature hall really—with a fireplace at the end and several doorways covered by heavy curtains on each side.
"We'll have to double up some," Chancellor Berle said, counting doorways. The haunts followed us in as the chamberlain oversaw the lighting of the fire.
"Peat moss," the Faena said, seeing Uncle Havram's interest in the fireplace.
"Oh, aye." The vice admiral's mouth quirked. "Well, if wood's so precious and all, I suppose they wouldn't burn it." He didn't wait for the Faena's reply but looked back at the chancellor. "Do not worry about Falkin and me, Berle. We and the other officers will sleep on our ships.”
There were two windows at either side of the fireplace, the sun low enough to blaze through them, but even so the servants went through the common room, lighting candles. Soon the scent of beeswax, lightly perfumed with myrtle, filled the air. Several more servants entered with fresh towels, bed linens, pomanders containing a medley of dried petals, spices and oils, and fresh flowers that they arranged in vases around the common area and in the sleeping chambers. Water was also brought in, poured into a large kettle and placed on the fireplace hob to heat. The chamberlain upended a small bag into the kettle and, as the water warmed, the smell of roses was added to the room.
"Nice rugs," Esclaur said, looking down at the colorful carpets covering a floor of gray slate. "Perdans?”
"No, our own," the Faena replied. "As I've said before, Border textiles rival in quality what both Iversterre and Tural produce.”
A couple of servants appeared with trays containing pitchers and chalices, and when they walked by I could smell mulled wine. Noses twitched and we turned our heads to watch them place the trays on a table near the fireplace. More servants followed behind them with a tray containing cheeses, different kinds of fruit and fresh bread, still steaming from the oven.
"A little something to tide us over until dinner," Doyen Allwyn said. "Looks good."
There were sounds of assent.
The servants finished and the chamberlain once again swept through the rooms to make sure that they were up to the keep's standards. Satisfied, he herded the servants out before him and, after promising to come get us in time for dinner, he bowed and shut the doors after him with a gentle snick.
As one, everyone turned and looked at Laurel Faena, who looked back at us, his face calm, his tail lashing back and forth.
Uncle Havram held up his hand as several people inhaled, silencing them before they spoke. He then lowered his brows at Laurel. "What game are you playing, Ambassador?" he asked, his voice very soft.
"No game, honored vice admiral— Oof!”
I dimly heard shouts and the scraping back of chairs and tables as I knocked Laurel down and we rolled around on the floor—me trying to get a fist, a knee, a foot, a fingernail into a tender spot. Laurel, though, was taller, with a longer reach and almost half again my weight, and in a few moments he was staring down at me, his paws pinning my arms to the rug as he sat on my legs.
I arched my back, trying to dislodge him. "Let me bloody up, you double-dealing, pox-rotted, mangy son of a flea-bitten bitch."
Laurel rumbled, his ears flattening against his skull.
"Let him up, Sro Cat," Suiden said, coming into view over Laurel's shoulders.
Laurel slowly got off of me, his ears still flat. I also stood, not bothering to straighten either hair or clothes, and Suiden clamped a hand on my shoulder to keep me from going after the Faena again.
"It's no game," Laurel repeated as he spared a brief glance around and located his staff behind Lieutenant Falkin, lying against the wall. He started to move towards it, but Falkin didn't budge. They eyed each other.
"What the hell do you call it, then?" Havram asked. He gestured for Falkin to step aside. "You swear up and down that you'll keep Rabbit away from this Maggot—"
"Magus," Laurel corrected, picking up his staff.
"Whatever," my uncle said, waving the distinction away. I shifted so I could see the Faena. "But when we get here, it comes out that he's the one who sent you in the first place.”
"No, he didn't," Laurel said. "I was sent by the High Council.”
"Do not shave words and dice meanings with me, cat," Havram said, his voice still soft. "You know exactly what I mean.”
"Yes, honored vice admiral." Laurel shot a glance at me, and then away. "I know."
My uncle's voice grew softer. "It doesn't bother you?"
"Yes, it bothers me—”
"You lied," I said, "and have been lying from the beginning.”
Laurel sighed and began to untangle his beads. "No, I didn't lie. I just didn't tell all.”
"Do you think that's better?" I asked. "That it makes it all right?”
"No. I'm not justifying. Never to justify." Laurel looked at me and this time didn't look away. "But perhaps to explain.”
"What's there to explain?" I shoved my hair out of my face. "How funny you found it to dupe the human?”
"Dupe you?" Laurel rumbled back. "Are you with the Magus?"
Well, no, I wasn't. "But—”
"I have done what I've sworn I'd do. Your indentures are dissolved, by order of the Fyrst.”
"At least until the High Council meets," Javes murmured, his yellow wolf eyes fixed on the mountain cat.
"Perhaps it would be best if we were to all sit down and discuss this," Doyen Allwyn said as both Laurel and I opened our mouths.
"Yes," Chancellor Berle said, walking over to where the food and drink sat on the table. She picked up a chalice and poured wine into it. "I want to hear why we should still believe the ambassador's professions of goodwill and safety." She pulled a chair up to the table and, sitting down, began to fill a plate with cheese, bread and grapes.