Maledicte (21 page)

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G
ILLY AND
M
ALEDICTE HAD BEEN
returned from the funeral for only minutes; in silence both of them fled to the dining room and the warming comfort of the liquor on the sideboard. Maledicte poured two glasses, and raised a toast. “Done and be-damned,” he said. Gilly swallowed his whiskey without a response, too shaken by Mirabile’s conduct at the funeral. They had not expected her to attend at all, considered her safely rusticating in the country. But Brierly Westfall’s sudden miscarriage had kept the Westfalls in the city, and Mirabile with them.

Still, funerals were not the ceremonies they once were. With the gods gone, there was no one to impress with their piety but themselves, and Vornatti’s funeral was sparsely attended: Mirabile, Echo, two representatives from the palace, indistinguishable from each other, and Vornatti’s solicitor, Bellington. There was no ritual, nothing but two cemetery workers covering the hole in the earth, shadowed by a chapel now used for harvest storage, and overlooked by the great stone god chairs, overgrown by weeds.

It was when the grave was nearly full that Mirabile had whispered, “You murdered him. To keep him from me. I would have shared everything with you—now we’ll see what rumors I can spread, see how fast your welcome disappears.”

“Do so, and I will comment on the timeliness of Brierly’s miscarriage, your access to Harlot’s Friend, and your hatred of the countryside. Whileeveryone knows of your murderous past, they know nothing of mine,” Maledicte said.

“Bastard,” she hissed, trembling with frustrated rage, then as suddenly as a shadow chased by sunlight, her face cleared. “I’ll strike a bargain with you. We’ll keep each other’s secrets, each other’s counsel, and each other’s company—”

“No. I’ve made one dangerous bargain already and it’s consumed any desire to make another.”

She growled under her breath, a distinct animal sound, and Maledicte cast a wary glance at her. She dimpled and said, her voice sweet again, “Mal, remember me, and this, the moment you’ve spurned me. I told you once before—I am as clever and as determined as you. I have been playing too gently, but that’s done now. I have a mind to level the field. I know what you fear—”

Maledicte seized her shoulders, grip bruising, suddenly washed with rage at her nebulous threats, but instead of the fright he hoped to see, she laughed, honestly amused. “Such a savage,” she said. “Is unthinking force always your solution when there are subtler resources to draw on?”

Heads were beginning to turn, and Maledicte felt trapped, unwilling to back away, conceding her this round, and equally unwilling to keep Echo’s scrutiny on him. Gilly put his hands on Maledicte’s arms, and Maledicte relaxed, given a reason to release her. Mirabile leaned forward, closing the distance between them once more, even as Maledicte attempted to back away and was blocked by Gilly.

Mirabile kissed his mouth, her lips cold on his, and he shivered. She left the gravesite, the only sign of her anger the fisted hands at her sides. Maledicte turned back, aware of Gilly muttering quietly to their coachman, and the man slipping away. Then it was done, and Maledicte and Gilly had come home, Gilly taking up the reins of the coach.

“You sent the coachman after her?” Maledicte said.

“She seemed too confident. I want to know where she goes,” Gilly said.

“Yes,” Maledicte agreed. Unsettled, he took refuge in peevishness granted by the front door opening, heralded by its usual creak and Livia’s voice as she played butler. “Who’s that now? All these cards and flowers, all this fuss for one old man—”

“It’s Bellington,” Gilly said, looking into the hall. “With Echo at his side.” He set down his glass; it clattered on the tray. “With Vornatti’s death so sudden, with Last’s dislike of you, with Mirabile spreading her venom, Echo will be looking for something actionable.”

“I don’t fear Echo,” Maledicte said.

“You should. He has followers beyond that rabble of Particulars. Powerful men like Westfall and Last. Even Aris listens to him.”

“So what do you counsel?” Maledicte said.

“Attend to Bellington’s reading of the will without any asides or insults. Be silent as best you can and pretend to grieve. Please. Or Echo’ll have you in jail.” He ushered Maledicte into the hallway. From the library, Gilly heard the stilted tones of Echo conversing with Bellington.

“I could remove his threatening presence for good,” Maledicte said. “A doctored drink—some of my stock is quite tasteless. It would be a small matter to—”

“No,” Gilly yelped. “Are you mad?” He dropped his voice to the barest whisper. “And to discuss such a thing so close to Echo.”

“He’s nothing but a man. Not some avenging creature of a dark god,” Maledicte said, a faint smile curling his mouth.

By the time Gilly had his panicked urge to laugh under control, Maledicte was greeting the two men, Echo first as was due his rank. “Lord Echo, what brings you here? I find it hard to imagine that you intend to pay your respects to Vornatti since you had none for him while he was alive.”

Echo’s dark eyes narrowed. “I find it odd that Vornatti took you in, and suspicious that he died so abruptly.”

“The ways of the heart are not easily understood,” Maledicte said. “Neither why he cared for me, nor why his heart stopped. But if it gives you pleasure, you may join me for the reading of the will.”

Bellington started into speech, portly form rocking back onto his heels. “If it’s your will that Lord Echo be privy to the contents, then I withdraw my objection.”

Maledicte settled himself as Bellington took the will from his worn leather valise. Bellington coughed, face reddening. “You are familiar with the late baron’s will?”

A tap on the door interrupted Maledicte’s response, and drew a snarl from Echo. “Your servants don’t know their place.” He yanked the door open, startling Livia.

Behind her, Janus stood, elegant in the color the court called Last blue. Echo mimicked Livia’s startlement and stepped back. “You visit a house of mourning?” Maledicte’s smile bloomed, and Bellington coughed again.

“Aris sent me,” Janus said, with a half bow in Echo’s direction, “to carry his condolences.” He held out a letter sealed in gold-edged blue. Echo moved to take it, and Maledicte forestalled him.

“First you pry into the will, now my correspondence? How deadly dull your life must be, Echo, to find mine so fascinating.”

He claimed the missive from Janus, and Janus bent and brushed his lips over Maledicte’s fingers. “He waits on a response, my dark cavalier.”

Bellington stood, “Perhaps I should return—”

“Sit,” Maledicte said, “read away. Let us hear my guardian’s last thoughts.”

“In broadest outlines, the entailed properties in Itarus and his title go to his next of kin, Dantalion Vornatti; his Antyrrian country estate, being a residence for life, reverts to the Crown; the Dove Street residence and his considerable fortune fall to you, Maledicte.”

Echo grew more intent. As if sensing their master’s mood, the Particulars in the garden straightened.

“Perhaps we should take another look at his cadaver,” Echo said. “To leave a fortune to a stranger and slight his own blood—”

“If it pleases you. Only make sure you tamp down the grave dirt well after, or you’ll find him up yet again, and burgled,” Maledicte said, even while Janus stiffened minutely. Gilly’s throat felt thick, and he concentrated on looking merely miserable, rather than guilty.

“By the gods, your tongue is foul—”

“Tell Aris,” Maledicte said, his voice overriding Echo’s. “Tell him I am only too glad to accept his condolences, and to accede to his request. With pleasure.” The opened letter whispered stiffly in the close room, the vellum brushing Maledicte’s sleeves.

“Perhaps Echo can deliver your reply,” Janus said, “if he truly intends to petition Aris for an exhumation.”

Echo stormed for the door, and Maledicte said, “Gilly, it seems Lord Echo has had a surfeit of our company. Show him out, and Bellington as well, please.”

“Sir,” Bellington said, hesitating. “We should go over the details. Besides the usual estate matters, there’s the Antyrrian audit books to be dealt with. They need to be sent abroad to wait for the next auditor.”

“Another day will suit, surely,” Maledicte said.

Bellington nodded. “It may take some time for Itarus to name a replacement for Vornatti’s post. I understand the court abroad is most competitive. Though I believe Dantalion Vornatti is in the running, if only for familiarity with the baron’s script.”

Gilly herded the men to the door. Bellington stepped out with the step of a man relieved of an onerous duty.

Janus nodded to Echo and said, “Shall I walk you to your coach, my lord?”

“No,” Echo said, letting his gaze linger on the letter in Maledicte’s hands.

Gilly shut the door and slumped against it, slid down to rest on the cool tiles of the foyer, exhausted.

A shadow came between him and the light and he looked up. Maledicte hesitated on the stair. “Are you well, Gilly?”

“Well enough for having Echo in the house three days after a murder.”

“Watch yourself,” Janus snapped. “Echo will be snooping for days. Only Aris’s interest sent him off so soon.”

“And sooner or later, someone will tell him of my chest of poisons and potions. It will be a sore disappointment to him that Vornatti died of nothing so exotic,” Maledicte said.

He drifted up the stairs after Janus, paused again. “Gilly, I’ll need your help.”

Gilly nodded, wondering what Maledicte wanted now.

“Vornatti’s Antyrrian ledgers need to be copied. The private ones that detail all the funds diverted back to Aris. You needn’t worry about copying Vornatti’s hand, just the information,” Maledicte said, continuing up the stairs, untying his black cravat, slinging his black coat over the banister.

“It may take days,” Gilly said. The private ledgers filled nearly an entire shelf.

“Then it takes days,” Maledicte said. “Aris wishes to see those ledgers gone, and as he barters so nicely for them, I cannot help but think they may have other uses in the future. And don’t fret, Gilly, I’ll stay out from underfoot while you work.”

“You’re in mourning, Mal. Your activities must be curtailed—”

His only answer was the flutter of tossed paper as Maledicte continued on his path up the stairs.

Gilly smoothed the paper out, the thick foolscap, the weight of the seal against his palm letting him know that this was Aris’s letter in truth, and not some convenient forgery.

Maledicte,

Let me express my condolences for your loss, and relay an unusual request. As you have no doubt been aware, a financial agreement existed between myself and your guardian, wherein he arranged certain figures to the benefit of us both. As I cannot rely on the next auditor to be so amenable, please bring me those ledgers. In recompense, I am prepared to grant you dispensation from whatever scandal-broth your impetuous heart contrives to create.

Aris

The request, couched so openly, in a letter passed hand to hand, left Gilly breathless. The king was perhaps the fool the newspapers called him to think Maledicte’s behavior might always be so easily condoned. Maledicte’s own nature stirred trouble, but with Ani’s wings urging him on, Maledicte was capable of anything. And Aris thought to dismiss all trouble with a smile and a gracious word. It went beyond foolishness and into madness.

A
RIS ENTERED THE THRONE ROOM
from the king’s entrance at the rear of the dais. By the main door, two of the Kingsguard stood to attention, dressed in the armor the palace etiquette required, enamel over steel, Last blue over silver. The elaborate gate that closed off the anteroom was drawn back, showing Aris his petitioners—two Dainanders in their customary gray cloaks, and on the receiving end of their horrified gazes, Maledicte. Though he was dressed in gray as they were, it was entirely evident that he held none of their abstemious views: His grays were silk and satin, his hair curled and glistened; they wore wool and linen, and kept their hair cropped close.

Aris hid a smile as he nodded greetings. With Maledicte a visible reminder of Antyre’s decadent court, the straitlaced Dainanders’ eagerness to return home might outweigh their avarice. Aris waved Maledicte forward, and once he had entered, the guards shut the anteroom gate on the waiting emissaries.

Maledicte dropped into a bow as he approached Aris; it felt amused to Aris, as if Maledicte mocked the role of court and courtier, the positions of king and servant, when they were only two men.

Aris settled himself on his throne, conscious of his own smile. “You came. My request done?” His gaze flicked to the single book held in a gloved hand.

“Delivered to your quarters, I believe. Your Captain Jasper seemed most eager to relieve me of the burden.” Maledicte offered up the ledger he held.

Aris opened it, and Maledicte said, “Careful, the ink may still be damp.”

Wariness replaced the pleasure Aris had felt. He tapped the open book with an agitated finger, smudged the ink, and said, “So I see.” He waited for an explanation.

“Vornatti’s hand was crabbed and nigh unreadable, quite gave me the headache looking at them. I thought to spare you that pain.”

“The originals?” Aris asked.

“Quite safe,” Maledicte said. “I am careful of my possessions.” The dark gaze that met his was confident, and under its power, Aris bit back his first instinct to shout for the guards.

Aris tore his eyes from those dark ones, and said, “My brother thinks you dangerous.”

“What courtier is not?” Maledicte said. “I have a sword to let men’s blood, and a wit to make them wish their wounds fatal. But I am hardly the only such in your court.”

“I could wish otherwise,” Aris said, impetuous himself. “It makes me feel less a shepherd of my people and more a serpent charmer.”

Maledicte smiled, and uninvited, dropped to sit on the stair, looking up at Aris. “I am charmed,” he said.

“And yet you deny me what I asked for.”

Maledicte sighed, traced the horned image of Haith worked into the side of the throne. “Vornatti had the training of me, sire, and so I am constitutionally unable to part with anything of such potential value.”