Secrets of the Night Special Edition (36 page)

“Are you sure all the officers are loyal to you?” he asked, amazed at his temerity. “Might one of them tip off the king once they know our plans?” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

The general waved a beringed hand. “Never doubt their allegiance to me.” He scowled. “I have ways of dealing with traitors. By the time I’m done with any who betray me, that conspirator will be sorry he ever lived. You have no idea the tortures I can devise. Why, I remember a time when I was stationed near the border with Fomoria. One of my fellow officers tried to steal a woman from me. I drugged him and with the help of a few trusted subordinates, took him out in the country where no one would find him. Staked him down near an anthill and poured honey on him.” He laughed. “You should have heard him screams days later. It took him over a nineday to die.”

A jolt of alarm slammed through Roric’s gut. Nausea churned in his stomach, and he struggled to gain control of himself. “Didn’t anyone wonder where he had gone? Did no one discover him?”

“Everyone except my subordinates thought he had deserted . . . at first. But I left it to them to spread the word. After he died, I ordered them to bury what was left of him.” He grinned. “So you see, Gamal, no one gets the best of me.” Balor set his empty goblet on top of the cabinet, and Roric followed suit. “Enough talk,” he said, opening the door onto a stone porch leading down to a garden. “Now let me show you my roses.” He smiled widely. “I’m expecting a prize in the upcoming flower show.”

Roric stepped outside, shading his eyes in the bright mid-morning sun, where the aroma of roses and newly-scythed grass scented the air. He followed the general several yards from the house to the rose bushes, the grass soft and dew-laden beneath his high leather boots.

“Here, see this one?” With infinite tenderness, the general fingered a yellow beauty. Tiny dewdrops glowed like crystals on its delicate petals, its fragrance sweet and spicy. “I intend to enter this one in the show.” He moved on. “But come, let me show you others, every bit as lovely.”

Balor stopped, his mouth working. “Delbraith!” he snarled, the name catching Roric by surprise. “Watch out for him.”

Roric slanted a look his way. “The king’s secretary? Why?”

“I think he suspects us. He may warn the king.”

Roric fingered the petals of an apricot-colored rose, his stomach ice-cold. “How would he know of our plans?”

“Perhaps someone tipped him off.” A look of cruel cunning infected Balor’s face. “Don’t worry. I have my ways of dealing with traitors.”

He swallowed hard, glad Balor was turned away, the general’s attention on his roses. “What will you do to Delbraith if you discover he’s betrayed us?”

Balor spun around. “Why, he’ll suffer as any traitor would. I’ll not be as lenient as our king.” He placed his hand on Roric’s shoulder, and the major suppressed a flinch. “Remember one thing. You’re either my ally or”–He jabbed a finger at Roric’s chest–“my enemy. Any double-crosser I catch will be skinned alive.”

Chapter Three

“What would you like to wear tonight, madam?” Maudina asked, opening the wide clothes press.

“Let me see.” Keriam thought about the vagaries of life. Only recently, she’d overheard three men plotting her father’s assassination. Now she must decide what to wear for a reception. Her mind roiled with fears for her father, a torment that kept her awake at night, yet she had to pretend that all was normal. Goddess! It wasn’t easy.

She snatched her mind back to the present. In her linen shift and silk stockings, she sorted through the gowns in the expansive clothes press, her hand easing through the satins, velvets, and other costly materials. She wanted to dress appropriately for the reception and dinner, since she and her father hoped to impress King Barzad of Elegia. If all went well, Tencien and King Barzad would begin negotiations to align the two countries.

She wondered if she’d see Roric Gamal at the reception tonight, then wondered why she should care. Ah, but she knew why. She must find evidence against him, expose him for the traitor he was.

“The violet silk,” she said. With her light skin and dark hair, she considered it the best choice.

“The color matches your eyes, madam.”

A short while later, Keriam studied herself in her full-length mirror, satisfied that she did, indeed, look her best in the gown with long sleeves and a modest neckline. Cut on the bias, the long skirt swung with every movement. She smoothed a hand along the luxurious fabric, loving its soft, rich feel. Maudina had arranged her long hair in an upswept style, with pearl hairpins and circlet confining the tresses.

Dabbing lavender water on her forehead and behind her ears, she heard a knock on the door. As she dismissed her maid, her father entered the room, beaming with pleased satisfaction.

“You look lovely, Kerry.” He gestured toward a wooden bench under the window. “Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said, joining him at the bench. “You look quite handsome.” She smiled, sensing his unease, aware this evening’s affair meant much to him.

He rested his hands in his lap, his crimson silk tunic drawn to his knees. Gold threads ran through the neck, sleeves, and hem of the tunic, the silk shimmering with each movement. Soft leather boots reached just past his ankles.

He smiled. “I daresay you’ll receive much masculine attention tonight.”

She winced. Her father had broached the subject of marriage more than once lately. “Father, I–“

”I understand. You don’t want to talk about marriage. But Kerry, you’re twenty now, and we must discuss the matter soon. We must find you a husband.”

“Very well,” she said, “but let’s wait until a better opportunity. Now is not the time....”

“Of course. I merely brought up the subject because you look especially pretty tonight, sure to turn every male head.” He reached over to squeeze her fingers, his hand lingering on hers. With his touch, images flashed through her mind, scenes and voices from long ago.

Keriam saw two men in a tavern, heard the noise and laughter, smelled the beef stew, the beer’s malt aroma. Instinctively, she knew the men were her father and Balor, both of them perhaps nineteen or twenty. An argument over one of the tavern maids broke out between Tencien and another patron, soon erupting into a fight.

“Please, gentlemen,” the tavern owner cried. “No fights!” But no one listened.

The brawl spread, involving every customer. Fists and tankards flew, chairs smashed
over heads, shouts and curses filling the air.

While Tencien turned to the side, a vagabond aimed a knife at him. With no time to spare, Balor plunged his dagger into the assailant’s back, then pulled it out, the weapon dripping with blood.

“Kerry!”

“
Let’s get out of here,” Balor said, while the fight raged around them.

Outside on the street, Tencien heaved a deep sigh. “You saved my life.”

Balor slanted him a questioning glance. “What do I get in return?”

“Anything, if it’s within my power.”

“Anything,” Balor repeated. “I’ll remember that when you take the throne.”

“Kerry, are you unwell?” Her father peered at her, waving his hand in front of her eyes. “You’ve been in a trance for some time.”

Jerked back to the present, she shivered, rubbing her arms. “I ... I had a little dizzy spell. Don’t know what came over me.” She pressed her hands to her cool cheeks, then drew them away, forcing a smile. “I’m all right now.”

“Are you certain? Perhaps we should send for the physician.”

“No need for that.” She smiled. “See, my dizzy spell is gone already. No doubt I rushed around too much, getting ready.” Of all the times she had touched her father, she wondered why she’d never had that vision of him and Balor before. Could it be because of her recent spirit travel, in which the general had figured so prominently?” She glanced at the hour glass atop her dresser. “Oh! It’s getting late. Almost time to welcome our guests. You know how I always enjoy meeting new people and greeting old friends.”

In the receiving line later, Keriam stood next to her father, greeting each person–over one-hundred–as they approached her. She placed her right hand on the right shoulder of each visitor, the guest responding likewise. Each one moved through the line too quickly for her to pick up any images, thank the Goddess.

A flute, harp, and chimes rendered soft, quiet music, with bell like tones in the background, a pleasant accompaniment to the talk drifting around her.

Keriam braced herself as Balor came into view, her breath quickening. Since overhearing the officers planning her father’s assassination, she had used her special ability to spy on the general at night as often as possible. However, she couldn’t always summon her power, and so far, had discovered nothing incriminating. But she would not give up.

Reeking of patchouli with its pungent, cloying scent, the general grinned as she greeted him, his gaze sweeping her body. His bushy eyebrows topped dark, ferret-like eyes that appeared to miss nothing, eyes that reflected the man’s evil soul. An urge to knife him in the gut made her heart hammer in her chest, every muscle tense. A jumble of images rattled her brain, of sword fights and ants crawling over a man’s body, pictures that confused her and sent her head pounding. When he moved on, she released a long sigh and offered a warm smile to the next in line, Conneid Delbraith, her father’s secretary.

Roric Gamal was one of the last guests. As he approached her, she schooled her features to present a picture of warm welcome. Several inches taller than she, he was clad in a light brown tunic with gold braid at the shoulders. A dark brown belt studded with amber circled his waist. He was as handsome as she remembered, but a traitor, nonetheless. She vowed she’d find evidence against him, prove his part in the conspiracy. He smiled then, and as she put her hand on his shoulder, all her dark thoughts flew, replaced by an awareness of his maleness, the touch of his hand on her, the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers.

“Princess Keriam.” Disregarding his allure and desperate to discover more of his machinations, she deliberately let her hand linger on his shoulder for a few extra seconds, and, like a never-ending cavalcade of revelations, more images raged through her mind. She saw Roric and Balor viewing rose bushes, fingering the petals.
Rose bushes?
The vision confused her and hurtled countless questions through her brain. All of Roric’s emotions collided in her head, worry, despair, but hope, too, an amalgam that blocked clear thought. Above all, she got the impression of goodness, and she released her hand, puzzled about his intentions. She gave a slight shake of her head and returned his smile, incredibly relieved the line neared completion.

At the end of the receiving line, the men gathered around her, as if they’d never seen a woman, Keriam thought with a blend of annoyance and amusement. Should she be flattered, or were they interested only in the wealth and power she would bring to a marriage? Still, their easy talk proved a pleasant change from palace demands.

Palace officials and foreign dignitaries crowded the room, their voices mingling as everyone made light talk before moving to the state dining room. She saw Roric Gamal across the way, deep in conversation with an Elegian general. He caught her gaze and smiled. Without thinking, she returned the smile, her body warming, as if bathed in bright sunlight. She mentally chastised herself for her reaction, for this man was the enemy, and she must never succumb to his ensnarements. In her night travels, she had spied on the major, but so far had obtained no evidence against him. We are dealing with crafty traitors, she thought, swinging her attention back to her guests.

“Gentlemen,” she said after a long discussion of Elegian pottery, convinced they’d exhausted that topic, “will you excuse me while I get a goblet of wine?” Thirsty after so long with nothing to drink, she wanted to get away. Besides, she saw Fergus Morrigan, the palace steward, standing alone across the room. She always enjoyed his company.

An Elegian knight made a small bow. Like the rest of his countrymen, he dressed like a dandy, clad in a gold satin tunic, his hair curled in tight ringlets, his feet encased in purple velvet slippers. Yet she knew his foppishness was only for show. Inside, these Elegian males were hard as iron.

“Princess, please permit me the honor.” He spoke fluent Avadoran, but with a guttural Elegian accent. “I am ever your servant.”

“Thank you, Sir Guleesh,” she responded in his language, “but there is someone I wish to speak to. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?”

Fetching a bronze wine goblet from a passing servant, she saw Fergus approach. A friend and helper for so many years, she’d always admired him.

He smiled her way. “Madam, every man in this room has his eyes on you. Surely some fortunate nobleman will ask for your hand tonight.”

She laughed. “Oh, Fergus, not you, too. His Majesty said the same this very evening. But I’m not ready to marry, and when I do, I’ll marry for love.” What a foolish dream, she fretted, for royal marriages were most always arranged.

A trace of sadness touched the steward’s face. “Ah, yes, love. That should be the only basis for marriage. I chose my dear wife for that reason.” He sighed. “But since her death, I find it difficult to love another.”