Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4) (16 page)

Chapter 19

The porter, Symond, entered the receiving room and wordlessly handed Edan a folded paper. The note, penned in Symond’s own hand, said that a child by the name of Keturah Kinshield had come to the palace requesting to see the king.

Edan stood and straightened his jacket. “I apologize for the interruption,” he said to Kaoque. “A matter has arisen that I must attend to.”

“Dinner will be served in a few minutes,” Symond said to the Cyprindian guests. “I shall return momentarily to escort you. This way, Lord Dawnpiper, if you please.”

Out of the Cyprindians’ earshot, Symond told Edan that Miss Kinshield was waiting in the main Council room. Edan walked through the corridors to the largest of the three conference rooms where the Supreme Councilors met. Keturah was sitting in one of the chairs, looking small and lost on its wide seat. Edan had only seen her once before, but he was struck again by how much she resembled Gavin. It would have been easy to pass her off as Gavin’s daughter rather than Rogan’s, if there was a need to. Edan was not convinced there was or ever would be.

“Miss Keturah,” he said with a slight bow. “I’m King Gavin’s adviser, Edan Dawnpiper.” Symond closed the door behind him, and Edan was alone with the child. Why hadn’t Nicholia come with her? “Where’s your mother?” He turned a chair to face Keturah and sat on its edge, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“She’s awful sick, my lord,” Keturah said, rubbing the arms of the chair nervously. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Please, can you help?”

If Gavin were here, Edan thought, he’d be running through Tern to see her right now. He was the best healer Edan knew, but he was miles away. “What’s the matter with her?”

Keturah started to cry, but she tried her best to talk through her tears. “She got a fever and headache and felt tired, and the places where the dogs bit her got red and itchy—”

“Dogs bit her? What dogs?”

“Street dogs. She bought a roast at the market, and they attacked her in the alley behind our house trying to take it. They bit her leg and hand. My grandmother heard them snarling and tried to fight them off, but she got bit too.”

Rabies
, Edan thought, a creeping dread filling his chest. “Is your grandmother sick too?” He’d need to send some battlers out to find and slay the rabid dogs before more people were bit.

Tears streamed down Keturah’s face. “She was, but she died.” Sobs shook her body and broke Edan’s heart.

He put a hand on her shoulder for comfort, and the next thing he knew, she was crying in his arms. Had she no one to comfort her during this difficult time? It occurred to him that perhaps she didn’t. If her mother and grandmother were the only family she had, that would leave only her father’s family. Gavin would take her in, regardless of the consequences to himself. And he would expect no less of Edan.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “is your mama confused or saying things that don’t make sense? Is she having trouble sleeping?” In his youth, he’d known of a man who contracted rabies from a fox he’d trapped. His family had brought him on the back of a wagon to beg for help from Edan’s father, the Lordover Lalorian, a sight Edan would never forget. The man had raved like a madman, shouting about impossible things in the sky one minute and sobbing uncontrollably the next.

When her sobs quieted, she pulled back and took a moment to compose herself. “Yes, just like my grandmother afore she died. Please can you help?”

“Of course I will. King Gavin’s away, but I’ll do everything I can. Let’s start by sending the best healers we have.” Edan stood and offered his hand, which Keturah took, and together they walked briskly through the palace to his office, where his assistant, Pryan, was hunched over his desk, scribbling madly. He looked up with a smile, which fell as soon as he saw the teary-eyed girl. Pryan stood. “Lord Edan. Miss.”

“Pryan, who’s our very best healer?” Edan asked.

“Why, Aelinara is, of course, though Baryss is a close second. Both are extraordinarily skilled healers, sir.”

“I need you to send both of them, quick as you can, with Miss Kinshield to her home. Her mother is quite ill and needs immediate attention.”

“Miss Kin—Oh, my.” Pryan stared for a moment. “Yes, I can see it in her eyes.”

“Pryan? Now, if you please.”

Pryan startled. “Of course, my lord. My lady. Right away. If you’ll wait one moment, I shall fetch them.” He skirted past them and sprinted down the hall.

Edan squatted in front of Keturah. “We’ll do everything we can to help your mother. I promise you.” It was in Gavin’s best interest to heal Nicholia, for although he was willing to accept Keturah as his own daughter to spare his dead brother’s family the shame of a bastard, it would only confuse matters of succession should Feanna’s son not survive. It was a well-established fact that Gavin had been married previously and had a daughter. Although his daughter had perished along with his wife, the fact that Keturah was the same age as Caevyan would have been might make people wonder and gossip.

Keturah only nodded halfheartedly. She was far too young to understand the magnitude of what she faced, yet there was no doubt that she felt it acutely. How terribly alone she must have felt.

“No matter what,” Edan told her in a soft voice, “things have a way of working themselves out.” He wiped away a tear from her soft cheek with his thumb. “Tell me how strong your mama is. Tell me how good and kind.”

While Keturah talked, quietly at first and then more confidently and with affection, Edan inventoried the bed chambers in his mind. While the palace was large, it wasn’t infinitely so. Perhaps Keturah could share a room with Iriel, at least for a while. Though he wanted to put on a confident face for the girl, he knew there was no hope for her mother if she’d been bitten by a rabid dog. If she’d sought treatment immediately, perhaps she’d have had a chance, but once delirium set in, it was only a matter of hours before she would succumb. His father’s best healers hadn’t been able to save that fox-bitten man.

Pryan returned with the two healers, each carrying a bag bulging with supplies. “We’re here, Lord Dawnpiper. A wagon is being hitched out back to take these ladies to Miss Kinshield’s home.”

Edan stood. “Good. Pryan, go with them, please. Spare no expense or effort to save her mother.” Baryss extended one hand to Keturah, who took it, and the four of them started off towards the rear door. “Pryan,” Edan said, calling him back, out of the child’s earshot.

His assistant stopped and turned back. “Yes, my lord?”

“When her mother passes away, bring Keturah back here and then make burial arrangements. I’ll talk to Iriel about sharing her room and have a bed brought up.”

A doubtful look crossed Pryan’s youthful face. “Forgive me, my lord, but isn’t that a bit hasty?”

“Let’s hope so, Pryan. Let’s hope so.”

Chapter 20

Feanna was sitting at the open window, looking out onto Lake Athra beyond the rear garden and at the waterfall that fed the lake from the mountains. Sunlight glittered on the surface of the gently flowing water, drawing her eyes to the multitude of sparkles. While her sitting room had a lovely view, unspoiled by the rooftops and streets of Tern, it was still a prison. Her apartment door was locked from the outside, and she hadn’t been permitted to walk about the palace at all since she returned home. Her hips and knees ached, and her feet and ankles were swollen from too much time sitting.

Though they brought her books to read, she had no one to talk to. The solitude was becoming tedious. This was all Gavin’s fault. He would pay.

She pulled his warrant tag from its hiding place between her breasts and clutched it in her hand. She
shifted
but felt nothing. Nothing, damn it. Her empathic gift should have filled her with whatever emotions he was feeling—joy, fear, hope—stupid emotions that betrayed the weakness beneath the strong exterior he tried so hard to project. She let go and tried again. Still nothing. It was like the time before they were married when she’d thought him dead.

The warrant tag had been his for years. There was no reason it would simply lose its Gavin-ness and then find it again, a few hours later. He had to be moving into dead zones where her gift couldn’t reach—perhaps another realm. He was the Wayfarer, after all, though she didn’t truly understand what that meant. She only knew he occasionally walked right into thin air, disappearing from view, and returned later with stories to tell. Was Daia also in this dead zone?

He didn’t often go anywhere without his champion, as if he needed a skirt to hide behind. Granted, Daia didn’t wear skirts—she was too manly for that. Gavin seemed not to mind her lack of femininity, which reminded Feanna of her first husband, Henrik, who’d barely touched her during the six years of their marriage. Henrik preferred those young men he hired to help tend the fields. She pushed the memory away with the hope that Henrik was in the depths of hell, screaming in pain for dying and saddling her with so much debt.

Fate had a strange way of turning her life completely around. She’d met Gavin, a fairly handsome man, despite his scars, with a kind of boorish charm, who’d turned out to be far wealthier—and randier—than she’d ever hoped for in a husband. Daia was never far from his side, except for the evenings they used to spend in the family room with the children and nights in their bedchamber. Feanna wondered whether Gavin, with his hearty sexual appetite, required things of his champion beyond protection. There was no way to know unless she had an item that belonged to Daia. If she did, she would know what Daia felt. She ran her thumb absently across the wolf’s head etched into the leather warrant tag. She could do more than feel Daia’s emotions. The notion of pushing her own feelings into Gavin’s champion made her giggle. What kind of chaos would ensue?

Could I make her hate him so much that she kills him?

She didn’t know, but it was worth trying. She could push her feelings into both of them at the same time. The future king was growing in her belly. What further need had she for its father, anyway? The problem was that Daia had few possessions, and what she had, she took with her. If Feanna could sneak into Daia’s room, perhaps she would find something small that wouldn’t be missed.

Someone knocked on the door. Feanna tucked the warrant tag back into her corset, making sure it was completely hidden by her bosom. “Come in,” she said with a sigh.

The lock rattled, and the door opened. Eriska swept in carrying a large silver tray. Gavin’s manservant, Quint, followed her with another. “We brought your dinner, Your Majesty. The cook prepared your favorite this afternoon: roast lamb with squash pudding. He thought it might lift your spirits.”

Feanna waved dismissively and turned back to the view from her window. “Put it down. I’ll eat when I get hungry.”

“May I pour you a glass of wine, Your Majesty?” Quint asked.

She turned back to him. “Yes, that would be lovely.” But he didn’t pour the red wine into a crystal goblet; instead, he filled a pewter one.

“I’m supposed to drink wine from this?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, my queen,” he said. “No glass. Jophet’s orders.”

She felt a hot streak burn red across her vision. Her lips curled and her fingers followed suit, turning into claws. “Get out! Get the hell out of my sight. You make me sick. Nothing but pathetic excuses for human beings. A waste of flesh and clean air.” The two servants, faces comically contorted into shocked submission, bobbed and ducked, apologizing softly as they backed out.

Feanna knew she should try harder to put on a different face for her captors if she wanted to convince them that Gavin had grossly exaggerated his claims of her so-called illness. Ragetha wasn’t at her door to give her a signal, and apparently she hadn’t instructed her relief guard before leaving her post. Stupid whore.

“Wait,” she said, stopping the guard as she was closing the door behind her. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Norna,” the woman replied in a voice almost as deep as Cirang’s. “I guard your door at night.”