The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) (24 page)

44

Steffan

The thought of
her
going to
him
ignited a restless rage in Steffan
.
Unable to sit at
the inn, he wandered the streets of Pellanor, but he saw nothing. She'd slept
with others before, plying her skills on lesser men, pulling them under her
spell. He well knew what she was, the Priestess of the Oracle, a sexual goddess
draped in Darkness. He'd watched her hold sway over others, casting her allure
on unsuspecting men, but always before it enhanced his pride to know that
he
was her lover. All the others were mere tools, serving her ambition, but
he
was her paramour, her equal in the bedchamber. But somehow the Mordant was
different. There should have been another way.

His thoughts ran
in circles and so did his footsteps. Steffan found himself returning to the
inn, staring up at her window, waiting for lantern light to brighten her room,
waiting for her carriage to return...and then he'd feel the fool, and resume
walking. He meant to walk away, but somehow he always found himself wandering
in circles, always returning to the inn, waiting, watching, like a love-struck
swain. He hated himself for showing such weakness yet he could not abandon his
vigil.

A carriage
thundered down the street, pulling rein in front of the inn.

Steffan slipped
into the shadows, watching. He recognized the guards...and then he saw Braxus,
but the seneschal returned alone! Erupting from his hiding place, Steffan raced
across the street and circled the carriage, staring at the open door...but the carriage
was empty.
She stayed with him!
He staggered backwards, but then anger
roared through him. His hand sought his sword hilt. Steffan strode through the
inn, up the stairway, and down the hall, murder in his gaze.

The door to her
room was ajar.

He banged it
open and strode straight to Braxus. Whirling the man around, he grabbed him by
the lapels and yanked him close, yelling into his face. "Where is she? Why
did you leave her? How could you leave her with
him
?"

Braxus gave him
a blank look. "Orders."

"She was
supposed to come back." Steffan's voice turned to a snarl. "You were
supposed to protect her."

Braxus pushed
back, hard enough to knock Steffan to the floor. The seneschal stood over
Steffan with fists clenched, his normally calm face shattered to rage. "Do
you think you're the only one who loves her!"

The words hit
like a slap. Jarred from his rage, Steffan's glance roved the room. It was only
then that he realized the others were packing. His own anger fled, replaced by
the desperate need to know. "What happened?"

Braxus looked
away, visibly swallowing his own anger, and then he turned back to Steffan and
offered his hand, pulling him to his feet. "She had an audience with
him." Before Steffan could speak, Braxus glowered, "Alone."
Anger sizzled in the seneschal's eyes, but Steffan sensed it was not directed
at him. "I had to wait in the entranceway, wait like a lackey, yet it gave
me the chance to observe. The mansion is crawling with capable looking guards
and dwarves with pointy teeth. I liked it not."

Steffan didn't
care about the guards, he cared about
her
. "What happened?"

"She wasn't
in the audience long. When she came out, she was clearly shaken...disturbed.
I've never seen her so shaken." His gaze flashed to Steffan. "She
whispered a message for you, a warning to stay away. And then she ordered me to
bring her handmaidens and all of her things."

"Bring
them?"

"He's
holding her captive."

An image of the
Priestess bound in chains burned through Steffan like white-hot lightning.
"
Captive,"
the word snarled out of him.

Braxus sent him
a bracing look. "That's why we have to work together. We have to get her
back."

Steffan glanced
past Braxus, at the two handmaidens folding silks into the cedar chest.
"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're
not." Steel laced the seneschal's voice. "She said you're to stay
away."

Disdain twisted
his words. "Stay away and do nothing?"

"
Dead
you are of no use to her. Stay away and
live
...and wait for her
plan." His voice dropped to a hard whisper. "I would not be surprised
if the Mordant's men are watching the inn."

Steffan gripped
his sword hilt, jealousy warring with anger warring with common sense.

"You'd best
be gone."

Steffan gave the
seneschal a reluctant nod. "I'll be at the Golden Tankard. Come find me when
you know more."

Braxus nodded.
"I'll find you."

"Swear!"

"I
swear."

Pulling the hood
of his cloak up to hide his features, Steffan slipped out the door and down the
hallway. He made his way to the back of the inn and out into the alleyway. If
anyone kept watch, he did not see them. Steffan stayed to the shadows, moving
through the back ways.
Held captive,
the words thundered through his
mind. He could not imagine her a captive. How he rued her decision to come to
the queen's god-cursed city. They should have stayed away, stayed in Rhune,
never tangling with the oldest harlequin...but none of that mattered now. Rage
engulfed him. By all the gods, he swore to get her back.

45

Liandra

Messengers came
from the north bearing tidings of war. The Mordant’s forces broiled out of Raven Pass, putting an end to the south’s respite.
Bloodshed in the north.
In many
ways the war seemed distant, yet the queen felt a nagging threat growing in her
court, as if shadows coalesced around her with a strangling darkness. Liandra
shivered at the premonition, touching the key hidden in her bodice for
reassurance. She missed Robert, she needed Robert, yet her shadowmaster
lingered in Lingard. She’d sent dispatches summoning him back to court, yet his
replies spoke of nothing but rebuilding the great city-fortress. Something was
amiss, another subtle threat cloaked in shadows.

Liandra reached
for a quill, setting ink to parchment. This time she summoned him home with no
uncertain terms, craving his keen advice as much as his presence in her bed.
Melting the emerald green wax over the candle flame, she sealed the parchment.
Her royal seal ensured the scroll’s privacy and a speedy delivery…but a wax
seal was only as strong as the courier’s loyalty.

The queen rang
the hand bell, summoning her page. “We will see our deputy shadowmaster now.”
The page bowed and was gone.

Her quill
continued to scratch across parchment, sending orders the length and breadth of
her kingdom. So many details to ensure prosperity, so many distracting threats
of war, the queen felt beleaguered, yet she persisted, no detail too small.

A knock sounded
on the door and Master Raddock appeared. Swathed in somber robes of black, her
deputy shadowmaster looked like a plump crow with dagger-sharp eyes.

Wielding her
feathered quill like a sword, she pointed to a stack of sealed scrolls on her
left. “These are for the royal couriers. Have them sent at once. And this,” she
tapped the single scroll on her right, “is for the Master Archivist. We order
this one to be sent by one of our shadowmen. Have him masquerade as a merchant
and order him to see the scroll delivered directly to the Master Archivist’s
hands.”

Master Raddock
raised a bushy eyebrow. “You do not trust the royal couriers?”

“We have
suspicions. It has not yet grown to mistrust.”

He took the
scroll in question and slipped it into his pocket. “Shall I have the couriers
shadowed?”

“It has not yet
come to that. And our shadowmen are stretched far too thin as it is. Meanwhile,
we have other concerns.” She fingered the quill. “Tell me of the prince of Ur.”

“Merchants flock
to his mansion by day, offering the finest wines and the most exotic
delicacies. Rumors say he sponsors the best bards and the most refined
courtesans. By night, the mansion hums with lavish banquets, attended by the
wealthy and the powerful. The city is agog with the spectacle of his wealth.
One cannot pass through the markets without hearing his name spoken. The rumors
are reaching mythic proportions.”

“So he spins a
web of wealth in order to entice.” Having twice played chess with the prince,
she knew he had a devious mind. Liandra wondered at his true intent. “He courts
the wealthy and the powerful…we need names.”

The master
removed a tattered slip of parchment from a different pocket and began to read.
“Duke Anders, Lord Nealy, Lord Wesley, Merchant Gillrod, Merchant Langford…”

The list was
long, full of men who had fallen out of favor with her court…and men who still
served her court, all of them powerful in their own way.

“Captain Blackmon,
Lord…”

The queen
interrupted, outrage in her voice, “Captain Blackmon? The captain in our royal
guards?”

“Yes, majesty.”
He fumbled through another sheaf of parchments. “The notes say Captain Blackmon
left the prince’s mansion with a very expensive courtesan on his arm.”

She felt a noose
tighten around her. “Continue.”

“Merchant
Harstow, Lord Saddler, Lord…”

The queen
interrupted again. “Lord
Saddler,
our master of coin? We never
considered him to be a man for frivolities.”

“Yet he attended
one of the prince's dinners.” He glanced down at his sheaf of parchments, his
voice growing hesitant. “All of your small council have accepted invitations
from the prince save for Sir Durnheart, Major Ranoth and myself.”

“
All?”
 

He nodded.
“Several have returned more than once.”

Her fingers
drummed on the desk. “We like it not.” She gestured with her quill. “Continue.”

A knocked
sounded on the door.

“Come.”

Her page poked
his head inside. “Majesty, your small council is assembled and awaits your
pleasure.”

“Let them wait.”
When the door closed, she gestured for her deputy shadowmaster to continue.
Master Raddock read the names in a dispassionate voice, a rarefied list of the
wealthy, the powerful, the openly loyal...and the quietly disloyal.

The master fell
silent.

Liandra pondered
the list.

Master Raddock
ventured, “There is nothing illegal in hosting dinner parties.”

“Nothing
illegal, yet everything suspicious.” Liandra tugged on the feather quill,
considering. “Have your men continue to shadow the prince.” She gave him a
piercing stare. “Impress upon them that no detail is too small.”

He bowed towards
her. “As her majesty commands.”

Liandra stood,
arranging the folds of her silk gown. “Walk with us to the small council.”

Her deputy
shadowmaster followed half a step behind. The queen swept through the gilded
hallways, her mind mulling the list of names. A pair of guards saluted, opening
the doors to the council chambers. She strode into the chamber, her loyal lords
jumping to their feet. Her gaze raked across them, fresh with suspicion.

One was missing.
“Where is our Lord Sheriff?”

Her lords looked
at the empty chair as if they’d just noticed it. None had a reply. She looked
to her deputy shadowmaster, but he too was silent. It was not like her loyal
sheriff to be tardy. Annoyed, the queen took her seat at the head of the table.
She looked to Major Ranoth. “We will begin with the war.”

A vellum map was
spread across the council table. Metal figurines were placed across the map,
most of them crowding the north, marking the armies. Emerald green, checkered
blue and red, maroon and silver, the armies stood arrayed against the Mordant’s
horde of black and gold. The major moved the green knight mounted on a rearing
white horse, representing Prince Stewart and the forces of Lanverness. “Prince
Stewart and the Rose Army are encamped here, just south of the Snowmelt River.
At last report, Princess Jordan and the Army of Navarre are here. By now, the
two armies should have joined forces. I expect them to make for Eye Bridge, to
try and contain the Pentacle in the north." The major gave the queen a
grim look. "If the fighting in the north has not already begun...it soon
will. War has come to Erdhe.”

War again,
an
ugly nemesis that dogged her. The queen knew the details, having read and
re-read the dispatches but she found it instructive to see the pieces move
across the map. The war in the north was her most dire concern, yet her mind
kept picking at the list of names, like an itchy scab that relentlessly
annoyed.

Major Ranoth
finished and the others gave their reports. Instead of absorbing their words,
the queen found herself listening to their intonation, noting the skittishness
of their glances, wondering at their loyalty. Having seen enough, the queen cut
the meeting short. “Lord Saddler, we will see you in our chambers.”

The portly lord
looked puzzled. “May I ask why?"

The queen
snapped a reply. "No, you may not."

Flustered, her
master of coin bowed low. "As you command.”

"We are
done here." The queen rose abruptly.

The others
sputtered at her abrupt dismissal, but the queen paid them no heed. She swept
from the chamber and strode through the hallways, her deputy shadowmaster and
her portly master of coin rushing to keep pace.

The queen
entered the sanctuary of her solar. Taking a seat in front of the hearth, she
arranged the pleats of her gown. Her master of coin fidgeted in front of her,
her deputy shadowmaster skulking in the shadows. The queen allowed the silence
to weigh heavy. The fire snapped and crackled releasing a breath of cedar.
After a hundred heartbeats, she stared at her master of coin, her voice grave.
“We hear you have attended the prince of Ur at his mansion.”

Master Saddler
looked startled at her line of inquiry. “Yes…my wife insisted. The markets abound
with rumors of the prince’s lavish banquets. Claudia pestered me till I
accepted the invitation.”

“And was it
lavish?”

“Beyond
measure.”

The queen
waited, spearing him with her stare.

Her portly lord
flashed beet-red, sweat beading on his bald pate. “Urian brandy flowed like
wine, the best musicians, the most exotic dishes, an abundance of everything,
and,” his voice dropped to an embarrassed hush, “there was even rumors of
courtesans in the upstairs rooms.”

“And did you
enjoy them?”

His voice was
shocked. “Majesty, I’m a married man!”

She granted him
a small smile. “We meant the dinner.”

“Oh.” He took a
deep breath, regaining his composure. “Majesty, I’m a simple man with simple
tastes. It was too much for me.”

The queen
waited.

He rubbed his
hands on his velvet doublet, his voice dropping to a whisper. “In truth, it
felt like a bribe. I won’t be going back.”

Her voice held a
dangerous edge. “And were you bribed?”

He flustered.
“Nothing untoward was said…it just felt…soiled.”

“Did you meet
the prince?”

“Such a young
man to wield so much wealth.”

“What did he say
to you?”

“I…don’t
remember.” He rubbed his forehead. “I left with the most terrible headache,
probably too much brandy. I won’t be going back.”

A terrible
headache
...the queen recalled having a terrible headache the first time
she’d met the prince.
An odd coincidence
…
if one believes in
coincidences.
“So you won’t be going back?”

“No, majesty.”

He spoke the
words with iron conviction. Liandra found relief in his loyalty. “Your words
please us. Ever our honest lord.”

He bowed low,
relief on his face. "Did I do wrong to attend?"

“You would do
wrong to persist. Such lavishness raises doubts. If any of our other lords
favor the prince in any way, we would hear of it.”

His face
sobered. “Yes, majesty.”

"And if you
see our Lord Sheriff, send him our way. We wish to speak with him."

His ample brow
furrowed. "It's not like the Sheriff to be absent from a council
meeting."

Another worry to
add to her list. The queen offered her ringed hand. “We thank you for your
loyalty and your honesty.”

Kissing her
ring, he took his leave.

The door closed
and she was alone with her deputy shadowmaster.

Master Raddock
skulked in the shadows.  “Do you believe him?”

“We do."
Liandra's voice brimmed with conviction. "He is an honest man. That is why
we raised him to a lord. We need more honesty in our court.”

“But you
mistrust the prince.”

It was a
statement not a question, yet she chose to answer. “Wealth can be such a
slippery seduction. We almost feel as if the Red Horns arise from the grave to
threaten our throne again…yet he is the son of an emperor, the emissary of our
greatest trading partner. Where the prince is concerned, we must tread with
caution.”

“What would you
have me do?”

“Tell your
shadowmen to keep vigil.” Her gaze snapped towards him. “You said you received
an invitation to one of his banquets?”

“Yes, majesty.”

“We want you to
accept.”

He took a half
step backwards. “But I serve best from the shadows.”

“Attend the
dinner and speak to the prince yourself. Give him a chance to woo you. We need
to know his motives, we need to know his true intent, and we need to hear it
from the prince himself.”

His face turned
reluctant. “As you command.” Bowing, he turned towards the door.

“And, Master
Raddock.”

“Yes, majesty?”

“Find our Lord
Sherriff, it is not like him to go missing.”

“Yes, majesty.”

The door clicked
closed and she was alone with her thoughts. Liandra stared into the fire,
considering all she’d learned, plots within plots. She shivered despite the warmth,
feeling threats close around her like hounds chasing a fox.

Footsteps came
from the inner rooms. Lady Sarah appeared bearing a tray with tea and
fresh-baked scones. “I thought your majesty might like something to eat.”

A tempting smell
teased a smile from the queen. “Fresh-baked scones with cranberries?”

“Your favorites.
Master Carl baked them himself.” She set the tray on the table and began to
pour a cup.

“At least our
baker is loyal.”

Lady Sarah set a
cup of tea and a scone near the queen. “You have doubts?”

“We always have
doubts. Doubts and suspicions, yet we do not have proof enough to act.” Liandra
tasted the scone, savoring a sweet flaky morsel spiked with tart cranberries, a
bite of heaven. “Master Carl has outdone himself.”

Lady Sarah took
a seat across from the queen. The two women sat in companionable silence,
finishing the scones and tea. When the last morsel was consumed, Liandra set
her cup aside. “We thank you for the delicious distraction…but we suspect you
came bearing more than just scones.”

Lady Sarah
blanched pale, staring at the hearth. “You know me too well.”

The queen
sighed. “And you know we must hear whatever it is you have to tell us, for a
queen can never be uninformed. Ignorance is a fatal weakness for a crown,
especially when that crown is worn by a queen.”