Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1) (18 page)

Grimmel came back into the room and sat down in the chair opposite her.

“He’ll give it consideration.”

“Rubbish. He told you not to bother him, didn’t he?”

“Yes, miss.” Grimmel was bored, too. She could see it.

“Tell him I want to see him, speak to him. Now.”

“I’ll ask.” He stood again and went out.

Ella sprang to her feet and followed him through the door. There were no guards. One old man was considered sufficient to keep her in place. She was quiet enough and far enough behind him that he didn’t notice. He might be a little deaf, too, she thought.

Down a corridor she followed him, and up a flight of stairs that squeaked under her feet. She was sure that he must have heard her, but he didn’t even turn around. A few moments later he came to a door and knocked before entering. Ella stopped outside the door for a moment, and then stepped in.

Grimmel was speaking apologetically to Tarnell, who was seated at a table with three other grim and dusty-looking men. He stopped when she came in and shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” Tarnell asked.

“I want to speak to you,” she said. “In person.”

He turned away from her and addressed Grimmel.

“Take her back downstairs,” he said. “And don’t leave her alone again unless you lock the door.”

Ella was very angry by now. Some people went red when they got angry, but Ella went white, and her eyes burned darkly against her pale skin.

“I demand to see my father,” she said.

“Demand all you like. All I have to do is keep you safe, and that’s what I’ll do. Grimmel?”

“I have the right to see my father within one day, according to the agreement you signed, and which you swore to with your proper and binding oath.”

“There was no such writing in the paper I signed.”

“No, but the agreement was drawn up to be governed in accordance with the Regan Laccash, which gives me the right.”

Tarnell didn’t reply for a moment, and then signalled to his men to leave him, and in a moment they were alone in the room. He sat back in his chair.

“The Regan Laccash, the King’s laws, you are saying that you know them?”

“Of course. We have a copy at home.”

“I should have known. Your father has tricked me.”

“That is not true. The mention of it in the contract should have been enough for you to see that the laws were known, and how unreasonable was my father to assume that the king would have a copy?”

“As you say.” Tarnell was clearly put out, but wise enough not to let his annoyance rule his actions. “What is it that you wanted?”

“I will not be locked away in a cellar. All my life I have gone about the city and found no danger that could not be met by a couple of good men.”

“My daughter’s safety depends on yours. I will not risk it.”

“Did you lock up your daughter when she was here with you?”

“Of course not.” He would not meet her eyes. She waited and said nothing. She could see that he was angry. It was not at her, though. It was at being bound by his own word in a way that he had not anticipated. He was a man used to cutting through problems with a sword.

“I will arrange something,” he said eventually. “You will be permitted to move about the city when I have arranged adequate protection. May I take it that I can postpone the meeting with your father?”

“As you wish.” Ella was wise enough, young as she was, not to enjoy her triumph in a way that Tarnell could detect. She had watched her father and understood men of power, though Tarnell was blind and fitted with reins compared to anyone from the house of Saine.

Grimmel was summoned again, and she allowed herself to be escorted back to the cellar without protest. Something would happen now, she was sure of it, and anyway it was only a few weeks until the agreed and scheduled meetings between fathers and daughters, according to contract.

Everything was changing for Cal Serhan. He and Mai had become lovers, and the world seemed a much brighter place for it.

It had happened most unexpectedly. They had been working in the afternoon going through a series of documents authorising supplies to the builders and guards at Sorocaba. He disliked the work, but Mai had a light hearted approach to it that he enjoyed, and as the afternoon wore on she had become almost playful.

The work was unfinished by early evening and he had asked her to come back to complete it later, meaning the following day. He had gone down to the guards’ mess to eat with Darius and his officers. The men had all been in good spirits, and he had enjoyed himself greatly. When he had returned to his chambers he had been full, happy, and slightly drunk.

Mai was in his room with the documents ready. She was dressed somehow less than she had been that afternoon, and looked particularly attractive. He sat down at the table next to her, but wasn’t very inclined to work. There was still a lot to do, and he was thoroughly relaxed.

“I meant to do this tomorrow, Mai,” he said. He was very aware of how close she was, and how good she smelled.

“I’m sorry, Cal,” she said, and began to gather up the documents. It was the first time she had used his first name, and it felt good. It felt intimate.

“Well, if you’re here we might as well,” he said.

“Perhaps you’d like to do something else?” she said. He could feel her knee touching his under the table, and her face was very close to his, turned towards him. She was looking at him in a way he didn’t recognise, but excited him.

They kissed.

After that it all happened in a way that seemed both inevitable and wonderful. He had never had a lover before. Brial hadn’t allowed it in the valley, and he’d been far too busy in White Rock to even think about it. He knew the practicalities, of course, but the emotions that he experienced overwhelmed him. They spent the night in his bed chamber, and he didn’t get a lot of sleep. Towards morning he was exhausted and finally slept, only to be woken by Alder, chiding him for being still in bed and pointing out that he had an appointment in thirty minutes. Mai was nowhere to be seen.

He was impatient with his life that day, and more than one person asked him what was on his mind. Nothing, he told them, but he didn’t think they believed him. It was afternoon before he was finally free, and he went directly to Mai’s room.

She was there, sitting on her bed stitching something. He stood in the doorway for a moment, searching for something to say, but she smiled, stood up and kissed him. He felt somehow renewed again.

And so it had gone on. He could not have been happier. He threw himself into his work at White Rock with even greater vigour, but he looked forward to his evenings and nights now as the highlight of his day. He felt complete.

Now it was three weeks later, and he was climbing the stairs to his chambers. One of the guards had been injured in training, and Darius had insisted on being present to oversee his care. It was unexpected, but their meeting had been a routine thing, and easily rescheduled. He was close to the top of the stair when he heard a cry. It was a shout of pain and surprise, and it was, he was certain, Mai’s voice.

Anxious because of the pain he had heard, and his gut somehow twisted by it, he ran the rest of the way to the top and down the corridor into her chambers, bursting through the door. She was not there. He was puzzled for a moment, then understood, and turned and ran back to his own rooms. He found her in his study, sitting on the floor, holding her wrist, or at least holding what was left of her wrist. The sword, shadow cutter, was unsheathed and lying on the floor beside her. There was blood everywhere, and Mai was pale enough to be dead. She looked at him as he came in, and he saw fear.

He said nothing, but knelt beside her and looked at the damage carefully. The wrist was cut through. Bones and veins were severed, and blood was pumping out at a frightening rate. It was enough to kill her unless he acted quickly. He could not believe what she had done. She had tested the sword’s edge on her wrist. It was an edge that was never meant to be tested. Now he hesitated.

There were two things he could do. If he was Serhan the seneschal, loyal servant of Gerique, and what he pretended to be, he would complete the cut and remove the hand, cauterise the wrist with a red hot timber from the fire in the next room, and call the castle’s physician. On the other hand, he could fix it.

Serhan chose honesty, and risk.

He seized the wrist in both hands and spoke the words of the healing spell. The pain of such a healing would be great, and Mai screamed and struggled to be free of his grip. After a few moments he released her. The wrist was healed, and the blood had stopped, though it still coloured both of them and painted the floor and walls of his study.

Mai looked at her wrist and at him. Her eyes were big. Her face was pale.

“You are one of them,” she said, and her voice was full of pain, and hatred. “You are Faer Karan.”

“No,” he said.

“Only they can do this,” she said. He had no idea where such an idea had come from.

“I am a man,” he said. “I can do it, so what you say is not so.” She looked scared and confused. He wanted to comfort her, but he also wanted to know what she was doing in his study, a place he had forbidden to all his servants, and with good reason. What was she doing with Shadow Cutter? But then, in every way that mattered, she was no longer a servant.

“Centuries ago,” he said. “There were men with great powers, like the Faer Karan. They built great redoubts, like White Rock, but were overthrown by the Faer Karan.”

“You are such a one?” she asked. Still there was so much doubt and pain in her voice.

“No.” He shrugged. “I learn, I explore, but it is forbidden. If they knew that I could do what I have just done for you, I would be killed. You understand this?”

She nodded yes, seemed calmer.

“Why do you do this if it is so dangerous?” she asked.

“For other men’s reasons, at least at first,” he smiled a wry smile. “Now I do it because I can, because the prize is still there.”

“I do not understand.”

“Nor should you. I keep secrets because they are secrets that can kill. They can kill me. They can kill my friends. They can kill you.” He took her shoulders in his hands and looked into her eyes. “You must not say anything of what you have found, or seen or heard here today. Not to anyone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Cal.”

“Not a word. Not a hint. Nothing.”

“Nothing. Yes, I understand.” Her composure was returning.

“Now tell me, what were you doing in here? It was expressly forbidden.”

She looked away again. “I wanted to see; to know more about you.”

He chose to believe her, because to not do so would have been a harder road, one that he did not think he had the strength to travel.

“And now you do,” he said. “Go back to your room and change – wash off the blood. I will do the same. Then come back here.”

She nodded and was gone. Part of him wished he had not used magic, but the greater part knew that there had been no real choice. It would have been hard to explain the sword anyway.

*              *              *              *

Darius Grand was bent over a table in his chambers. He was reading a document that he had no real desire to read, and it was the more difficult for that. His mind wandered constantly to more attractive thoughts, so he was surprised, annoyed and relieved when Cora Bantassin burst into his chambers without knocking. She was cursing and holding forth about something. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Stop,” he said. “Stop talking.”

She did, which surprised him. Then started again.

“I don’t like it,” she said. “Doesn’t he know what she is?”

“He? She? What are you talking about?”

“Cal and his secretary, Mai.”

“What about them?”

Cora seemed to wake up and look at Darius for the first time since she came through the door.

“Don’t you know anything that goes on here?” she asked.

“Almost everything. However, I do try to avoid keeping track of everyone’s personal lives.”

“The secretary, Mai. Didn’t you hear anything about her from Stil’s reports? I know we don’t get to see them, but you must know what’s in them. I do.”

“Tell me.” Darius was uneasy. This sounded like a genuine concern.

“She’s from Sorocaba. You remember the place?”

“Of course. Cal and I were there thirty or forty days ago. Something about a wizard, I think. Cal killed him, or so I believe, and the problem was solved to our lord’s satisfaction. Yes?”

“Quite so. And this wizard, do you remember his name?”

“No.”

“Rollo. He had a wife and child.

“Mai is the wife?”

“No! She’s the wife’s cousin. Stil’s people think she was sent here to gather information to help with their uprising.”

“Cora, she’s been here for at least three years.”

“Some plans take that long. Anyway, the reports suggest that she knew Rollo, knew him well, that they were close. He may have sent her here”

“Rollo is dead. You think she wants revenge?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But she’s bedding Cal Serhan.”

“You think he’s in danger?”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse, Darius. You know how Cal is with secrets. He lives and breathes them. He’s a walking locked box, but he’s a man as well.”

“You think he’ll tell her things that he wouldn’t otherwise?”

“Yes. Yes. We forget, Darius, but he’s very young, and he’ll behave like any young man. He’ll want to impress, and if not that, he’ll want to share. He’ll believe in her. It’s the way young men are.”

“Some of them.”

“You were never such a man?”

“Not that I recall.”

“With you I could almost believe it,” she smiled, a twisted, frowning smile. “The issue, however, is Cal.”

“He’s capable. More capable than most, and men should be allowed to make their own mistakes – especially with women.”

“There’s more at stake than that, Darius. Gerique has read all of the colonel’s reports. He knows what Mai is more certainly than you or I, and yet she remains not only alive, but in a place where she may have influence.”

‘It won’t do any good to talk to him, Cora.”

“He needs to know.”

“Perhaps, but don’t push too hard. Just give him the information; don’t tell him to do anything.”

“I’ll tell him as soon as I can, then. It worries me, Darius.” She stood beside him in silence for a moment. He looked into her face and saw, perhaps, something that he had not thought to see. Cora had had a child, a son, but he had died young. Had he lived he would have been about Serhan’s age.

“I know.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Let him find his own path, Cora. If he lives long enough it will be a spectacular one.”