He leaned back, letting Palig sponge his face with lather. He felt a surge of irony as the razor smoothed over his cheek and jaw. There was an attitude of great trust involved in letting this little man anywhere near his throat with such an instrument. But it wasn’t trust at all. It was calculation. He needed his diplomatic contingent to work well under him, to believe in his confidence and judgement. If he refused to let them do their jobs, they would perceive it as a sign of weakness. One that he could ill afford. Let it get around that he didn’t even have confidence in his own valet and he would become a laughingstock. But it was a difficult facade to maintain. Glevs’ betrayal had tainted him, coloring every relationship he had, excepting only his family, excepting only Reisil.
Palig finished attending him, and Kebonsat stepped out of the tub. Palig impatiently allowed his master to aid in his own dressing, not yet resigned to Kebonsat’s sad lack of decorum. Like a nervous hen, Palig smoothed and tucked, buttoned and laced, twitching every last wrinkle out of the tailored cobalt jacket over the black, hip-length vest, tugging the elegantly tied cravat about Kebonsat’s neck
just so
, adjusting the white cuffs of his lawn shirt, buffing his boots and flicking nonexistent lint from his black trousers. Palig lastly settled the heavy chain of office around his master’s neck before securing Kebonsat’s hair with a clip made of silver knotwork.
Glancing in the mirror, Kebonsat had to commend the valet’s efforts. On the battleground of intrigue, appearance was but another weapon, a means of distraction, diversion and disguise. It was never to be overlooked, but always planned carefully.
“Very nicely done, Palig. I shall turn heads.”
But would he turn the right one? Would he even be allowed close enough to the Vertina for her to notice him? In the few weeks he’d been in Koduteel, he’d seen the Vertina a bare handful of times, and in each one he’d spoken fewer than ten words to her. Hardly an auspicious beginning. He spared a grim smile. Battles were never won in a single engagement, and he was prepared for a long siege.
“Really, sir, you are
most
late. The Vertina will be curious at your tardiness,” Quillers called from the other room. Palig had forbidden the nervous steward entrance into his domain, for which Kebonsat was grateful. “Evral Ogal and Evral Eyan are expecting you in the drawing room to accompany you down.”
“Thank you, Quillers. Please inform them that I shall join them shortly. And send Rocis to my study.”
“But sir, the time!”
Kebonsat cast his fussy steward a mild look.
Quillers paused, his mouth open, recognizing the warning. He snapped it shut, looking as if he’d just eaten a handful of chokecherries, and nodded. “Very well, sir. I shall be quick.”
Kebonsat made his way to his study, leaving the door open. It was a dark-paneled turret room, its angled windows offering a view of the steel-gray ocean and the lighthouse standing watch over the deepwater harbor.
He settled himself behind the ornately carved chestnut desk, its corners and edges finished with hammered silver. From a drawer, he withdrew a lockbox banded with iron and sealed with three locks. He turned a key in the first and murmured a word, and then repeated the procedure with the next two locks. As he turned the last key, the box sprang open. Inside were several sheaves of papers. He withdrew a thick packet and began to flip through the pages of closely written information.
“Sir?”
Kebonsat glanced up and motioned Rocis forward. The other man stepped up to the other side of the desk, his eyes fixed on the empty shelves behind Kebonsat’s head. He stood halberd-straight, his uniform unwrinkled and unstained, his brown beard closely trimmed, his hair neatly caught behind his head. He wore his lohar secured to his belt, the simple hilt inlaid with brass.
“I have an additional assignment for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Rocis shifted his gaze to Kebonsat, his almond eyes sharp and discerning.
“I have become aware that some of the court politics have taken a rather more fatal turn for some. I need to know more specifics than are here.” Kebonsat tapped the packet in his lap. “It is essential that this information be obtained quickly and quietly. I want to know the factions, the players and their recent activities. Particularly the less savory ones. This is all very good as far as it goes, but lacks depth and detail.” He tossed the packet back into the lockbox.
“Do you have any questions?”
Rocis considered a moment and then shook his head. “No, sir.”
“You shall report to me twice a day, more often as necessary. I shall expect your first report before breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” Dismissed, Rocis spun and moved fluidly out the door. Kebonsat frowned after him, drumming his fingers on the desk. Then he closed the lockbox, securing the locks and resetting the magical wards. He returned the box to the drawer and stood, turning to face the bank of windows.
There was someone after Reisil. He was certain of it. He couldn’t imagine that he was sufficient a threat to anyone to merit the attempt. Not yet anyhow. A marriage between him and the Vertina was far from likely. And assassinating him, the Patversemese ambassador, would likely provoke a war that Kodu Riik could ill afford.
But why such a blunder? Any assassin worth his salt would have aborted an attempt with such little chance of success. Why put her on her guard? Why involve him? And what was the purpose of the poison?
The rattling of the windows brought him back to himself. When would the next attempt come? He could teach Reisil to defend herself from sword and knife attack, but he couldn’t do a damned thing to help her against a crossbolt, short of locking her in a closet. Silent and deadly and impossible to counter, even with plate armor, they were ideal for the determined, patient, shadow work of a proficient assassin.
Kebonsat jammed his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t protect Reisil. No more than he could protect any of his soldiers when they took the field for battle. And on this battleground, far from home and with little authority, there was even less he could do to protect her. The only thing he could do was give her the benefit of his experience and training. Which meant anticipating her enemy, seeking out and exploiting his weaknesses. And that required information.
His last thoughts as he departed his study to join his waiting companions were of Reisil in the moist heat of summer, her flower-scented hair tangled around his fingers, her pale, naked body urgent beneath his.
Chapter 19
“
M
ust you go?” “I’m late already.”
“I could come with you.”
Juhrnus bent to kiss Karina’s inviting lips, slipping his hands inside her robe to stroke her breasts. His body quickened as she squirmed closer. He lifted his head, breathing heavily.
“I would not be able to spend any time with you. This is
ahalad-kaaslane
business.”
Desire evaporated with the words. He pulled away.
Ahalad-kaaslane
business. As if he had any business with them. As if they hadn’t turned the same cold shoulder to him that they had to Reisil. How did she stand it? The feeling of helplessness and abandonment? He lifted Esper into his sling and pulled his cloak on.
“I’ll try to visit again soon.”
“Don’t be too long,” she said, sitting back down on the bed, reclining to reveal her long, pale legs and the tuft of red hair at their apex. “Father will be sailing home soon. I’ll be less . . . available . . . then.”
Curiosity stayed him. “I will admit that I’m surprised your mother and uncle allow my visits. I cannot marry. Our play taints you for the kind of husband that might answer their ambitions.”
Juhrnus disliked Karina’s fawning uncle Halvasti, a useless fop who dangled around the fringes of the court licking boots—a ring-pigeon for anyone’s plucking. Her mother was little better. She craved the power her wealthy merchant husband spurned and didn’t mind using her four daughters to gain it. Juhrnus couldn’t regret that they turned a blind eye to his frolics with Karina, but it did not earn them his respect.
Karina smiled and stretched, her robe falling open to expose her curved body, her full breasts above a narrow waist, and the pattern of finger bruises and bites Juhrnus had left on her skin.
“I wouldn’t worry for me. I shall get the husband I want. But to answer your question, someone might have told my uncle and mother that you were highly placed among the
ahalad-kaaslane
and at court—that you have the ear of even the Iisand himself.”
Juhrnus’s mouth fell open. “You didn’t?”
Karina smiled wider, running her fingers through her long auburn hair and then suggestively down her body. “I couldn’t help myself, could I? And they have been so grateful for my help. They have so little time until Daddy comes home. He dotes on mother, really, but he won’t put up with her machinations. Are you sure you won’t stay a while longer?”
Juhrnus shook his head. He’d spent much of the last couple of days in bed with Karina, trying to forget. He found a few moments of oblivion in her arms, but he couldn’t avoid the truth forever. He was a token
ahalad-kaaslane
. Even more so than Reisil. At least she still had a calling; she wore the Lady’s blessing on her face and carried Her power in her hands. The Lady did not call to him. Nor did his
ahalad-kaaslane
brethren accept him into their circle. They spoke to him, welcomed him back to Koduteel, ate and drank with him, but shut him out from their secrets. They asked him for nothing, expected nothing of him. Useless as tits on a boar.
His assignment to play nanny to the Scallacians was hardly more than a bone, but it was all he had, and he meant to do it.
“I’ll come again soon,” he promised again.
Karina yawned delicately, pulling a sheet over herself and settling back on her pillows. “You can see yourself out, can’t you?”
Juhrnus skittered as fast as he could along the twisting roadway, its cobbles slick with ice. Wind rattled the shutters on the upper stories of the buildings, dipping down to swipe at him as he made his way along. His cloak belled like a sail, tugging him sidewise, and he lurched to a knee, cursing as he fell, pain shooting up to his hip. Esper squirmed in his sling, his tongue flicking uneasily at the rough ride.
~Sit still, Esper. I can’t keep my balance as it is.
~Cold
. Esper’s mindvoice was as cool and dry as a salt cave.
~I know. Another ice storm. Don’t complain. Reisil says it’s a blessing that winter hangs on. Keeps the plague from spreading as quick. Better to thank the Lady and hope winter never ends.
Juhrnus lurched to his feet, holding his arm against Esper’s sling to steady him. He took a step, and pain exploded up from his knee. He bent to examine it. His breeches were torn, and blood trickled down his calf to where his pant leg tucked into his boot, staining the buff-colored material a red brown. He scowled. This wouldn’t get him to the palace any faster. A gust of wind shoved at his back and sent him stumbling forward. Cursing, he caught himself on the corner of a building. Juhrnus paused a moment to lace his hood more tightly before setting out again.
He paused at the palace entrance, rubbing his gloved knuckles over his eyes, knocking away the ice crystals clinging to his lashes and brows. The guard examined him and then passed him in with a wave. Inside, the trees were sheathed in a thin casing of ice, and their branches groaned heavily as the wind rushed through them.
He wound up the hill toward the palace, skidding backwards a step for every two he eked forward. At last he topped the crown and paused, gazing over the spectacle. Lights danced like fireflies in every window he could see. The dome of the rotunda glowed. Glossy carriages with heavily blanketed horses filled the east ward and spilled out onto the entry avenue. Long snaking banners strung from the towers struggled against their moorings, and midnight-blue and gold pennants bearing red-eyed gryphons cracked and snapped in the wind. The wide, columned portico of the main entrance glowed with colored lights of violet, cornflower blue and alfalfa green. The columns were wound with blue and gold ribbons decorated with silver and copper leaves and trimmed with tinkling bells. Liveried guards stood at attention, stoically unmindful of the bitter wind. The bells in the campanile clanged together softly, the sound mournful.
Juhrnus angled for a side entrance, stopping several times to identify himself at the hail of patrolling guards. At last he managed to scurry inside a servants’ entrance. He pulled off his gloves with his teeth, shook out his cloak and stamped his feet. A shower of ice pattered onto the slate floor. He stroked Esper with chill fingers.
~Time to go grovel for our saviors.
Juhrnus’s mindvoice was as bitter as the wind.
~They may help.
~And they may wipe us out.
~Not all who have magic are bad. You trust Reisiltark.
For a moment, an image of Reisil appeared in Juhrnus’s mind. A halo of green limned her, radiating a glowing warmth that was echoed in Esper’s mindvoice.
Juhrnus glanced down at his
ahalad-kaaslane
, his throat knotting. He’d always accepted Reisil’s magic without a second thought. Because she had given him back his soul in saving Esper? Yes. But that wasn’t all. He had known her since they were children. As much as he’d despised her then, he knew she would never use her magic against Kodu Riik.
~You never hated her. You liked her.
Juhrnus grimaced. Sometimes having an
ahalad-kaaslane
was like having a second conscience.
~She made me angry.
~Yes
.
She had made him livid, trailing after Kaval like a love-sick kitten. He’d always known what Kaval would be. How he would use Reisil. But she didn’t want to listen.
~You were not kind to her
. There was no reproof in Esper’s voice.