Servant of the Crown (2 page)

He took a sharp breath, fuming at the indignity, and suddenly stopped himself. That smell of jasmine still clung to the air. Too closely, he suspected. It had followed him down the hall and even into the general’s office.

The Privileged sorcerer had been in to see Colonel Westeven just before Tamas.

His thoughts turned, and he wondered if there was something else behind this accusation and suspension. On the last campaign he had killed two Gurlish Privileged from a great distance using his powder magery. Word had it that made the royal cabal nervous. They didn’t like anything that could challenge their elemental sorcery, not even if they were ostensibly on the same side.

“Captain.”

“Sir!” Tamas leapt to attention as Westeven came out into the hall beside him. The colonel looked him up and down. “Nothing rash, remember?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll lie low.”

“This is above my head, Captain,” Westeven said, his voice suddenly a whisper. “But it might not be above General Seske’s. He’ll be attending Lord Ildal’s masquerade in Budwiel in two weeks. You may be able to talk him into letting you go on the campaign.”

Tamas ground his teeth. His suspicion about the royal cabal would have to wait. If he could speak with General Seske, none of this would matter. “Yes, sir. I’ll leave for Budwiel tomorrow. Thank you, sir.”

The city of Budwiel sat at the southernmost point of Adro and formed the border between Adro and its southern neighbor, Kez. The city was positioned deep in a mountain valley, flanked by a pair of immense cliffs, and received very little sunlight during most of the year.

To combat the malaise caused by such a state of perennial shadows, the city held twice as many public festivals as any other in Adro, and the local nobility held twice as many gaudy parties. Lord Ildal, a wealthy baron from the southern mountains, often threw the most decadent parties of all.

Tamas spent the entire week before the masquerade trying to see General Seske. He had little interest in the lavish entertainment that the nobility threw for themselves, and he was seldom welcome. But his attempts to contact the general were unsuccessful, and he found himself at the Blackstead Opera House on the night of the masquerade.

The main ballroom of the opera house was a cavernous affair with three separate domes rising high above a series of open rooms and grand staircases. The walls were of white marble with gold trim, and the room was lit by chandeliers of crystal. Frescos of the saints looked down from the ceilings and busts of famous opera singers watched the festivities from high columns. Servants rushed about with glasses of the finest champagne and trays of foreign delicacies. The elite of southern Adro had gathered in the handsomest suits, most elaborate dresses, and a sea of masks that gave Tamas a headache.

Tamas wore his best dress uniform but even his dark Adran blues with silver trim and crimson cuffs seemed drab amongst the display of wealth. His sword was buckled to his belt, but he’d left his pistol back at his room. He had enough black powder tucked into the corner of his cheek to put him in a mild powder trance, keeping him alert.

He stood on the second floor balcony, watching the ballroom for any sign of General Seske and wondering if the whole trip had been a mistake. What if General Seske didn’t arrive? What if Tamas ran into one of Captain Linz’s relatives and was provoked into another duel?

The room swirled with motion. Men and women danced in the middle of the ballroom below, holding their masks, while clusters of nobles spoke in overly loud voices along the sides of the room. The sound of music drifted over the entire event.

The hours passed. Tamas sipped a single glass of champagne and refused all other drink, though he eyed the passing platters of food, his stomach rumbling.

He wouldn’t allow himself to eat until after he spoke with General Seske.

The night began to grow late. Tamas was about to give up and leave when he spotted a figure making its way across the ballroom floor surrounded by an entourage of young men and women looking to gain favor.

General Seske was a small man in his mid-fifties with the chocolate skin of a full-blooded Deliv. He wore his Adran dress uniform, complete with dozens of medals and four golden stripes on the breast, one for every five years he’d served in the military. Like Tamas, he had forgone the customary mask as an insult to his uniform.

Tamas wound his way through the crowd and made his way downstairs, not letting General Seske out of his sight. He cut across the ballroom and intercepted General Seske by the far wall. He approached quietly, taking up a position that would allow the general to see him the next time he looked up.

Seske leaned over to whisper to one of his companions. He giggled and stumbled, barely caught by a young major at his side. The stumble didn’t seem to faze him. He wrapped one arm deftly around the waist of a woman half his age and dipped the opposite hand into her ample cleavage, only to come up with a silver pendant, which he admired closely and at some length. The woman blushed while Seske gave her a charming, if rather long-winded, explanation of his family’s silver mines in northern Adro.

Tamas waited as long as his patience allowed before he cleared his throat.

The general looked up and seemed genuinely surprised to see Tamas there. He lurched forward, a happy smile on his face, and pulled his companion closer. “Captain Tamas!”

“Good evening, sir.”

“I didn’t know you were in Budwiel, my good captain. I thought you were back in Adopest.”

“I was, sir.”

“Amazing!” The general paused long enough to hiccup, then regain his composure. “What brings you to Budwiel?”

“You actually, sir.”

“Me?” Seske exchanged a glance with his companion. “I am terribly complimented. Now Captain, how did you get invited to one of Lord Ildal’s masquerades? They’re very exclusive, you know. And you’re a commoner!”

The woman on Seske’s arm gave Tamas a sudden critical look up and down. Tamas felt his cheeks redden. The general didn’t bloody well need to advertise the fact. “I know, sir. I’m also a captain in his majesty’s army. I called in a few favors. The officers down here like me quite a lot.”

“Incredible!” It was clear that Seske’s exclamations had very little to do with how he actually felt. The general swayed slightly. “And what was it you wanted to see me about, young Tamas?”

“Sir, I’ve been … well, sir, this is rather embarrassing. May we speak in private?”

“It’s about that dueling business, isn’t it? Hah! I knew it. I can tell. I can always tell, my dear,” he whispered loudly to his companion. To Tamas, he said, “I was just informed of your predicament yesterday, my dear man. It seems you’re in quite a pickle.”

“Yes, sir. I am.” Tamas stepped forward to catch Seske beneath the arm when he swayed dangerously away from his companion.

Seske glanced down at Tamas’s hand, giving him a half-hearted smile, then took his arm from Tamas’s grasp with a none-too-subtle amount of distaste. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for it, good man. Orders from on high and all that. Your promotion has been cancelled, and you’ve been put under suspension. Nothing you can do but wait it out until the hearing.”

“Sir,” Tamas said, clearing his throat and glancing meaningfully at the general’s companion, “This is a private matter, sir. A private suspension.”

“It is?” Seske seemed startled by that. “Well damn me, I wasn’t told. Or maybe I was? I don’t remember. Half of Budwiel likely knows by now.” He laughed loudly. “Come, my dear.” He began to walk away, and Tamas had to step around him quickly.

“Excuse me, sir. Perhaps if we could meet tomorrow.”

Seske’s jovial drunkenness dropped like a stone. His gaze was cold, and he said, “Captain, I am on holiday. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t take up any more of my time. I’ll be back in a month after my tour of Southern Kez. You can make an appointment then.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I understand.” Tamas had not yet finished speaking before General Seske had walked away.

Tamas couldn’t help but stare slack-mouthed after the general. He’d been bullied and dismissed by the nobility every day of his career but never so baldly by a senior officer. Most of them had, if not tact, then a sense of decorum. Had Seske really been
that
drunk?

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something,” a voice said.

Tamas turned to find a young lady standing at his elbow. She was attractive, with deep-set blue eyes framed by long lashes, and was certainly no older than nineteen or twenty. Her blond hair was done up in the latest fashion of loose curls and she wore a modest, understated dress of a crimson the same shade as the cuffs of his uniform jacket.

“No, of course not,” he said absently, glancing after General Seske.
The nerve of that man
! Incompetence riddled the Adran army, almost every officer having bought their commission from the crown. Seske was no better or worse than most of them but rudeness could not be excused. “Can I help you with something?”

“I thought you looked like you needed a drink.”

Tamas glanced back at the woman to find her holding up a glass for him. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to put Seske from his mind. “It’s terribly rude of me to say, but I barely drink, and I’ve had more than enough tonight for a man in my state.”

“It’s chilled cider.” She gave him a smile that was just charming enough to make him suspicious.

He blinked at her and took the glass. “Thank you, madam. I apologize for not introducing myself. You caught me somewhat off guard, I …“

“You’re Captain Tamas,” the woman blurted, then seemed to catch herself. “We haven’t met. I know you only by reputation.”

“I didn’t realize I
had
any sort of a reputation in these … circles.”

“You don’t. I mean, you do. But I hadn’t heard of you before a few days ago.”

Tamas glanced off, trying to see General Seske, but the general had disappeared. And with him Tamas’s hope of going on the next campaign to Gurla and ending this nasty business of the duel before it could go to a hearing. “Good things, I hope. I mean, I hope you’ve heard good things.”

“Not really,” the woman said, with a half-smile that seemed meant to soften the words.

“I see.”

“Would you care for a dance?”

Tamas hesitated. The offer caught him off guard, and it was very tempting. He usually welcomed a conversation with a woman so fetching, and there was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But he was in a foul mood and spending any more time in this place would likely set him off. It wasn’t a good idea. “I’m a terrible dancer. I would only embarrass us both.”

“You can’t be that bad, Captain.”

The word
captain
slid off her tongue in a silky manner that made Tamas forget all about General Seske, and against his better judgment the two of them were suddenly in the middle of the floor, swirling among a dozen other couples.

“I don’t know your name,” Tamas said, counting steps desperately in his head as he tried to remember the waltz that went with this song.

“Erika. Erika ja Leora.”

Tamas searched his memory for the name. It tickled something in the back of his mind, just out of reach. The
ja
indicated she was Kez nobility. Not surprising in a city right on the border. To her credit, she didn’t have the slightest accent. “It’s my pleasure, Lady Erika.”

“This was not a chance meeting,” Erika said.

“I gathered that it might not have been. What can I help you with, my lady?”
What the pit does a Kez noblewoman want with a powder mage
, Tamas wondered.
The Kez hate powder mages
.

“This is a rather sensitive matter, actually. Can you give me your word as a gentleman that you’ll keep quiet about what I tell you?”

“My word as a gentleman is worth very little, my lady,” Tamas said.

“Still …”

“You have my word.”

That seemed to satisfy her. The music grew quieter and the tempo slowed, and Erika stepped forward to press against Tamas’s chest. Her head came just up to his chin, and she looked up at him. “I am a powder mage, and I need someone to train me how to use my powers.”

Tamas’s mouth went dry and he missed a step, nearly tripping. The couple beside them bumped him, and the entire dance floor nearly fell into chaos. The music continued, however, and Tamas felt the gentle pressure of Erika taking the lead.

“You weren’t kidding about being a terrible dancer,” Erika said. She pursed her lips, her cheeks suddenly rosy. “I’m sorry, that was awfully rude of me. Is something wrong?”

“Erika ja Leora,” he repeated. “Now I know where I’ve heard that name. You’re that Kez powder mage everyone talks about.”

She seemed to stiffen, and their step faltered again. A moment later they were back in the rhythm of the dance. “Half Kez,” she responded.

Tamas tried to wrap his head around the woman with whom he danced. Erika ja Leora was the heiress of a Kez duchy on her mother’s side. On her father’s side, she was third in line for an Adran duchy. Within the world of Adran nobility, she was one of the most eligible young women in all the Nine. Even Tamas had heard of her in that fashion.

Tamas caught a break in the dance to disengage from Erika and retreat to the side of the room. He turned to find that she’d followed him, a troubled frown on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Did I say something to upset you?”

Upset him? Tamas felt like a pauper caught nabbing the crown jewels. “My lady, I cannot train you to be a powder mage.”

She scowled. “And why not?”

“I’m a commoner, my lady.”

“All of my tutors have been commoners.”

“Men and women of reputation, I’m sure. There is very little good said of me amongst the nobility.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you. Do you have any other excuses?”

Tamas felt a flare of anger. Powder mage or not, her noble arrogance was coming through. Did she think everything was owed to her because of her station? He could think of a dozen reasons not to train her. The Privileged cabal already had it out for him. His status as a powder mage was well known, and while mages weren’t executed outright for the crime of their birth as they were in some other countries, they weren’t exactly welcomed into society. If he began actually training other mages, the cabal might come after him openly.