Authors: Victor Gischler
Six days’ hard riding, up at dawn and riding into the darkness each day. Always keeping the river to their right. They were lucky Alem knew how to take good care of the horses.
They paused when they finally reached the bridge. Alem’s gaze drifted up the road north to Merridan and Rina. He was strongly tempted to keep following the road north. No matter how powerful the tattoos made her, she was still alone in a big city. Brasley might not even be there. Frankly, Alem didn’t completely trust the man.
But Alem had never been to Merridan, and his understanding was that it was huge beyond all comprehension. He could wander for weeks and never lay eyes on Rina. The only reasonable thing to do was to follow Rina’s instructions.
He turned his horse east and galloped across the bridge, Maurizan riding close after him.
Three hours later she shouted for him to stop, and he did.
He looked back at her. “What’s wrong?”
Maurizan slid from her horse, walked stiffly to the side of the road, rubbing her backside. “My ass! My ass is what’s wrong.”
Alem fought to keep the grin off his face. “Looks fine to me.”
If she was amused, she was doing a great job of keeping it hidden. “Why are we riding so hard? I’ve been in the saddle more than I’ve been on the ground these last few days. I’m raw in places a lady should not be.”
He dismounted and followed her into the tall grass along the side of the road, letting the horses graze. “What if something’s gone wrong? She might have to leave Merridan as soon as she gets there. I don’t want her looking for us and we’re not there waiting for her.”
Maurizan turned abruptly, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close. “I’m getting a little sick of hearing about
her
.”
She pulled his face down to hers, mashed her lips hard against his. His arms went around her. Maurizan’s tongue snaked into his mouth. Her other hand roamed down the front of his pants, and Alem went light-headed as her fingertips brushed against his growing length. Her fingers tightened around him as her kisses became more insistent.
He pulled away, panting. She smiled up at him, threw her cloak off, pulled loose the laces at the top of her blouse. It fell open to the top of her cleavage; goose flesh rose in the cool air.
Alem looked around frantically. “Here?”
“I think you know I’ve been waiting,” Maurizan said. “I’m sick of waiting. We haven’t passed a village in an hour.”
Alem looked around again. They were in the middle of nowhere. Trees. Tall grass. “I … uh …”
She pulled him close again, kissing him. She stepped between his legs, her thigh rubbing him.
He pulled away.
Don’t! Thicko! What are you doing?
Maurizan blinked at him.
“We should … we should get going.”
Fool!
She blinked at him again.
“There’s not much daylight left, and we really should get as far as—”
The loud smack of flesh on flesh. His head spinning around. Bright stars exploding in front of his eyes. He staggered back. Hot pinpricks spread across one side of his face. He lightly touched the cheek where she’d smacked him.
She’s fast
.
When Alem finally blinked his eyes clear again, he saw her riding away east down the road. He ran for his own horse to catch up.
They rode in the open carriage down Temple Street, passing all the places of worship, the temples bigger or smaller according to the popularity of the deity. The Temple of Dumo was the biggest, naturally, and unpopular sects like the Cult of Mordis didn’t have temples within the city limits, finding it more practical to set up shop at some secluded spot in the wilds.
Nobody knew where the outlaw cults called home, but they hadn’t troubled anyone in years.
Rina pulled her cloak tightly around her. The night was cold, and the material of the custom made ball gown was fashionable but thin.
“I wish you could cover that with some makeup or something.” Brasley sat in the carriage next to her.
Rina frowned. Brasley was concerned what people would think of the tattoos around her eyes. Evidently fashion and favor could shift on a whim at court. Rina didn’t care. The tattoos were part of her now. People could accept them or not.
“There’s no point in worrying,” Rina said. “And if you mention it again, I’ll punch you in the throat. I’m already nervous enough.”
Brasley threw up his hands. “Fine. Fine. At least the others are covered.”
The blue silk ball gown had long sleeves that concealed the tattoos on her upper arms and a high stiff collar in the back that covered the tattoo on her neck. The collar fastened in the front with a glittering sapphire broach. At Brasley’s insistence, the front opened to reveal a bit more cleavage than Rina would have wanted, but Brasley had told her it was the current style and he didn’t want the other snooty women at court turning up their noses at her.
The carriage turned onto King’s Boulevard and immediately hit a traffic jam. Hundreds of other carriages were trying to pull up to the palace to disgorge passengers, the entire aristocracy of Merridan all attempting to arrive fashionably late at the same time.
Brasley stood in the carriage to get a look. “This will take forever.”
“We should get out and walk,” Rina suggested. “It’ll be faster.”
“Faster but not appropriate,” Brasley said. “My duchess may be from a backwater region, but by damn she’s going to get the same fanfare as anybody else.”
He grinned and urged the driver to speed up into the line, cutting off the carriage of another noble who shouted obscenities.
What would have been a five-minute stroll turned into thirty minutes of waiting in the carriage line, but at last Rina and Brasley arrived at the front entrance. An attendant in the garish livery of the King climbed out first, followed by Brasley, who deftly slipped a coin into the attendant’s hand and briefly whispered into his ear. The attendant nodded and offered his hand to help Rina down from the carriage.
The attendant drew a deep breath and then bellowed, “The Duchess Rina Veraiin of Klaar and Sir Brasley Hammish of Klaar.”
Heads turned to look while simultaneously pretending not to care. A mutter ran through the crowd.
Brasley offered his arm. Rina took it, and they entered the grand arched entrance hall.
“Was that really necessary?” she whispered from the side of her mouth.
“One’s name should always arrive slightly ahead of one’s person,” Brasley whispered back.
As they passed through the hall, pages scurried up to relieve them of their cloaks. They paused at the top of a high stairway, and a herald shouted their names again, but this time nobody paid attention. Rina paused to gawk at the sea of people in the ballroom below.
A swirl of colors, all the exotic birds showing off their best plumage. And so
many
of them. Rina would never have thought Merridan teemed with so many earls and barons and counts.
And duchesses.
Rina’s father had always referred to the Merridan aristocracy as
way too many idle mouths to feed
. Now she had a hint of what he’d meant.
Brasley nudged her gently, and they slowly descended the wide stairway into the social snake pit that passed for the upper crust of Helva’s capitol.
* * *
At first, there were a number of awkward moments in which they ran a whirlwind gauntlet of introductions to minor nobility. Rina marveled at Brasley’s ability to match names and faces without fail, and at how he seemed to know the family history of each person they talked to. Rina did her best to smile and nod and mumble something polite. A few of the ladies gave her odd looks, and Rina realized it must be the strange sight of her tattoo.
Just as her head began to spin, she felt an arm go around her, and one of her hands in Brasley’s. They spun a slow circle around the dance floor amid the festive throng. Brasley was light on his feet, and Rina was surprised to find the experience enjoyable.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked.
“You’re a good dancer.”
“Of course,” he said. “How else do you think I charmed half the women you just met? I’ve been sweating on Klaar’s behalf at some of the fanciest parties of the season.”
Rina grinned. “Your sacrifices have been noted, Sir Brasley. What happens now?”
“We wait.”
Not a very satisfactory answer, but Rina found herself swept along by the music, and she had to admit again that Brasley was rather charming in his own way. Her thoughts drifted to Alem. And to Maurizan. She hoped they were safe out there on the road and felt a pang of guilt that she was wearing a new dress at a royal ball while they were probably holed up somewhere cold and wet.
Rina’s thoughts were interrupted by a face scowling at her from the crowd. Rina blinked, looked again as Brasley spun her around. No doubt about it, a plain woman with a wide, curvy figure in a deep green dress was staring daggers at her.
“What’s wrong?” Brasley asked.
“Why should anything be wrong?”
“I’ve held enough women in my arms to sense a mood shift.”
I’ll bet you have
. Her eyes shifted to the woman in the crowd. “Her.”
Brasley followed Rina’s gaze and winced. “Ah. Yes. Please don’t worry about Fregga.”
“You know her?”
“Fregga and I have been keeping company.” Brasley cleared his throat. “Her father was instrumental in setting up accounts for Klaar at the Royal Bank.”
Was Brasley actually going a little red?
“I should meet her,” Rina said. “Assure her she has no reason to be jealous.”
“That
won’t
be necessary.”
He was about to say something else when the music stopped. The mass of people all turned in the same direction toward a bright throne high on a raised dais.
A herald lifted his voice to carry across the hall. “His Royal Highness Edmund Pemrod II!”
A cheer went up, and Rina felt Brasley take her hand and pull her through the crowd.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s been prearranged,” Brasley said. “Come on.”
“But the king.”
She caught a few of the king’s perfunctory pleasantries as he addressed the crowd, and Brasley led her down a side hall. The king’s muffled voice died away as he led her farther down the deserted hall, their heels clacking on the tile and echoing.
Brasley stopped abruptly, knocked on the door. It creaked open a moment later and he hurried Rina inside; the door shut again behind them. They were in a spacious lounge, with cushioned chairs, thick rugs, colorful tapestries depicting bland landscapes.
An old man stood before them in a heavy black robe. He wore a black velvet skull cap that fit close to his bald head. He was dour, face gray, a sparse white beard. Stooped and frowning.
Brasley gestured to the old man. “This is Kent, the Lord Chamberlain of Helva. Lord Chamberlain, I’d like to present Duchess Rina Veraiin.”
The nod of Kent’s head was almost a bow. “My pleasure, madam.”
Rina curtsied deeply. “Lord Chamberlain.”
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “It shouldn’t be long.”
The Chamberlain left the room.
Rina’s head spun to Brasley. “
What
is going on?”
“I told you,” Brasley said. “Arranging an official audience takes forever. So I just had to arrange something
unofficial
, didn’t I?”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure myself.” Brasley went to a sideboard laid out with goblets and a crystal decanter of wine. He filled one of the goblets for himself. “But the Lord Chamberlain did say to make ourselves comfortable.” He tossed back the wine, filled the goblet again. “Want one?”
“I’m too nervous to put anything in my stomach.”
Brasley shrugged and sipped.
Rina started as the door flew open again and a dozen armored men in royal livery poured into the lounge. They spaced themselves around the room, standing at attention, backs against the walls. The Lord Chamberlain followed them, and the next man who walked in was—
Rina curtsied as low as she could without falling over. “Your Majesty.”
“Never mind all that.” The king gestured for Rina to get up. He lifted his chin at Brasley. “You there. Pour me one of those.”
“With pleasure, Your Majesty.” Brasley grabbed a clean goblet and filled it.
King Pemrod’s crown was a simple gold circlet. He took it off his head and tossed it onto one of the nearby chairs. He was old, even older than the Lord Chamberlain, a man well into his nineties, but still stood straight and had a spark in his eye. A mane of thick white hair. He unbuttoned his purple cape and let it fall.
He took the goblet of wine from Brasley and drank deeply. “Ah. That’s what I need. Damned formal balls. For some reason these aristocratic freeloaders like to get together once or twice a year to hear their king tell them how wonderful everything is. Fine. Why not?”
He held the goblet out for a refill, and Brasley obliged.
The king looked Rina up and down. “You’re Klaar’s new Duchess.” Not a question.
“It’s kind of Your Majesty to make time for me this way,” Rina said. “In such an informal setting.”
“Oh, it’s not so kind, really,” the king told her. “It’s rather convenient for me too. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t see just anyone like this, but if I grant somebody a formal audience then it’s official. It’s on the record. You understand? But if I see you like this and you say something I don’t like, I can decide I didn’t hear it. As far as the world is concerned, we’ve never met. I don’t know you.” He sipped more wine smacked his lips. “If you tell me a Perranese army has landed on Helvan soil I don’t have to do a damn thing about it because it never happened.”
Rina swallowed hard. “You already know.”
“The capitol is lousy with Perranese spies,” the king said. “And our spies spy on their spies. If you’re duchess then Arlus must be dead.”
Rina bit her lip and nodded.
“My condolences,” Pemrod said. “I met him once. I won’t say we hit it off, but it was obvious he was made of stern stuff.”