The Queen of Mages (41 page)

Dardan had been sitting on a weathered
wooden chair on the inn’s tiny porch. He stood now and leaned on
the porch rail as Gennevan and the others pulled up before the inn.
“Count Tarian,” he said, with a grin on his face. “Allow me to
introduce you to my brother, Jeovan.” He indicated the man beside
him, a younger, slightly slimmer version of himself, who had the
same lopsided grin. Jeovan gave a slight bow. “And this is Lord
Mikan Mihel, son of Count Mihel of Vannar.” The other man was
older, probably thirty, and had a look like he was sucking on a
bitter lemon. He bowed as well, but seemed to be more interested in
looking around at the street traffic. Particularly women, Dardan
noted. Gennevan did not introduce their
valai
. “We’re off to
the malthouse, if you’d join us.”

Dardan had no particular desire to while
away an evening with Gennevan, but to turn down the offer might
hurt his chances of seeing the duke. And unless Gennevan or his
companions proved to be utterly intolerable company, it would beat
spending the evening alone in the inn. “I’d be delighted,” he said.
He had no fancier clothes with him than what he wore, so he fetched
his horse from the inn’s stable and they set off.

The malthouse was named Rapheson’s, and like
most, it allowed men only. Gennevan said almost as soon as they
were seated that they’d be seeking feminine diversions later in the
evening. Dardan smiled tightly at this, and said nothing about it.
For a while the four lords and three
valai
chatted about
nothing in particular. Gennevan must have instructed his brother
and Lord Mikan not to bother Dardan about his doings; instead they
mostly spoke about other lords and barons who resided in or near
the city. Dardan, not being particularly familiar with any of them,
mostly listened, but Gennevan made an effort to include him in the
conversation.

After a few cups of ale, Gennevan cleared
his throat and nudged Dardan, then led him away from their own
table over to an empty one by the window. “Mother has agreed to see
you,” he said. “Tomorrow, join us for luncheon at our house here in
the city.”

“Not at the castle?”

“Patience, Dardan. It took a great deal of
convincing on my part to pull this off. Bide your time.” He threw
back the rest of his ale. “And as for me, I intend to bide my time
in the company of women as beautiful as the city has to offer.” He
stood and waved over at his brother, who saw the signal and
collected the other men. “You’ll join us, of course?”

“To go to a brothel?” Dardan said. He held
up his marriage rings. “Gennevan, I’m married now.”

“Look at that dull thing,” Gennevan said,
grabbing Dardan’s right hand and inspecting the plain gold band.
“I’m married too, you dolt. These aren’t noble daughters.”

Dardan let himself be dragged along. He
could not just abandon the party; it might sour Gennevan against
him. Stewing silently, he followed along as they went a few streets
over, and left their horses in the stable of Madam Pearl’s. The
foyer smelled of cloying perfume. Dardan immediately recalled the
time when Liam had brought him into a similar place in Hedenham,
and the memory did not particularly please him. But there was more
at stake here than his own
valo
’s amusement.

The brothel seemed to have two salons, one
for nobles and one for commoners. After some confusion regarding
Dardan’s common clothes and lack of a
valo
, he was allowed
to join Gennevan and the others, while the three
valai
were
shuffled off by a dowdy matron. In mere moments, Dardan, Mikan
Mihel, and the Helgars were surrounded by a number of girls already
in various states of undress. Gennevan and Jeovan swung their
matching leers every which way, while Mikan seemed to cast a
thorough, appraising eye over each girl before passing on to the
next one.

Dardan had been sweating even out in the
cold at the prospect of coming in here, and his mood did not
improve now that he was in the thick of it. Gennevan nudged him.
“Take advantage of my hospitality, lad,” he said. “Tonight’s on
me.”

Dardan gave as wicked a grin as he was able,
which was not much. He pretended to assess the various girls, and
then picked a short, olive-skinned brunette who looked absolutely
nothing like Amira. His wife would probably faint dead in shock if
he knew he’d been in here; as headstrong and impulsive as she was,
he couldn’t even conceive that she’d ever approve of such a
thing.

The brunette led him down a corridor with
walls padded in velvet and lurid red lanterns hung from the
ceiling, to a bedchamber more gaudily appointed than any he’d ever
seen. “Would m’lord care for some wine?” she purred.

Dardan was distinctly aware of the dichotomy
between what his upper and lower halves wanted to do. After a short
struggle, his mind won out and he pushed her away gently. “I’m only
here to please my friend,” he said. “It would probably be best if
we simply waited it out.” He went over to a plush chair and sank
into it, crossing his legs and looking out the window.

The girl frowned at him oddly, then excused
herself. Dardan thought he was out of the woods, but in a moment
she returned with
another
girl in tow. This one looked too
much like Amira, being lighter of skin and hair. They both came
over to Dardan and tried to drape themselves over him, purring
sweet nothings in his ears.

Alarmed, Dardan leapt out of the chair and
backed away from the girls. “Really, please, I must insist, I am
fine!” They seemed to think he was merely playing a game, however,
and ended up chasing him around the room for several moments before
he finally darted through a narrow door and locked himself in the
privy.

They seemed to take the hint at this—he
wondered if they thought he was a boy-lover—and left him alone.
After what must have been the better part of an hour, he unlatched
the door and peeked outside. The dark-skinned girl lay on the bed,
looking bored and doing something with her toenails.

Dardan cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he
stuttered, left a few pieces of silver on the table, and bolted for
the hallway.

He waited out in the lobby for only a few
minutes before Jeovan Helgar emerged, followed shortly by his
brother and then Lord Mikan. Dardan did his best to look relaxed,
but he was as tense as he’d ever been. Gennevan either didn’t
notice or didn’t care; he clapped Dardan on the shoulder and made
lewd comments about the various women they’d just engaged. Dardan
worked very hard to hide his revulsion for the man as they stepped
out into the chill night air.

———

He had just enough time in the morning to
find a tailor who could provide him with clothes more suited to
calling on a duke’s daughter. There was no time for alterations,
but the tailor was able to rent him a vest and jacket and trousers
in matching greens that fit well enough. Dardan arrived at the
Helgar manse at the stroke of noon and was conducted at once to the
sitting room to meet Lady Nyera Helgar, Gennevan’s mother.

To Dardan, she seemed a cruel parody of his
own mother: fat instead of plump, eyes beady instead of wide, in
the sea blue of Eltasi blood. And where Besiana was playful, Nyera
seemed dour and grumpy. Dardan bowed deeply and waited until she
asked him to sit. The calculus of who deserved more respect was not
obvious by any means. Dardan was, by rights, a count in full; Nyera
was merely a lady, but the daughter of a duke, and much older.

“My son informed me of your… request,” she
said, pausing for what Dardan assumed was deliberate effect, since
she narrowed her eyes upon that last word. “I cannot fathom how in
the world you ever thought we might be amenable to such
nonsense.”

Dardan made to speak, then stopped himself.
There is no one to rescue me.
He remembered a time when he
would have thought Lady Nyera’s words to be an outright rejection.
Asmus had taught him that even the fiercest refusal could mask a
willingness to negotiate.
She hasn’t thrown you out, son. And
look how she waits expectantly for your reaction.
He cleared
his throat. “Excuse me. I was informed that you would at least hear
me out.” He turned his gaze upon Gennevan, who shrugged a little
and looked to his mother. “Otherwise it would seem I came all this
way for naught but what I’m sure will be an excellent luncheon.” He
made no move to rise.

Lady Nyera sighed. “I suppose it would be
rude to turn you out so soon. Please, do try to convince me.” Her
tone betrayed just how unlikely she thought he was to succeed.

“In the first, my lady, I would simply
appeal to your compassion. Leaving aside whether King Edon had any
lawful right to do what he did, he certainly lacked moral standing.
I would not like to think that such a distinguished lady as
yourself would approve of his majesty’s behavior.”

“I do not think his majesty, or anyone in a
position to influence his majesty, cares whether I approve.”

“I would be hard-pressed to disagree. Yet
what we feel in our hearts does not yield to practicality. I would
not dream of trying to tell you what you should feel, but I would
be astonished to find any sort of love in your heart for Edon or
his recent actions.”

Nyera pursed her lips and glanced at
Gennevan in a way that made her son throw his hands up as if to
deflect something. “Is that the sum total of your argument, Lord
Tarian?”

“Not the least part, my lady. In the second
I would simply call upon your obligation to help your lessers. Of
course Duke Eltasi is not my liege lord, but just as the Caretaker
does not so finely discriminate among those of his flock, so
neither should we. My father has always—had always been willing to
assist those who came seeking his aid, no matter their station, or
which dukedom or county they came from.”

“So you do consider yourself our lesser,”
Nyera said, with the first smile Dardan had seen from her. “With
all your claims, I thought you might consider yourself equal to the
king.”

“I consider myself his superior in moral
matters, I am proud to say. Shall I go on?”

“I do not think I could stop you.”

Dardan cleared his throat and took a sip of
water. There was wine as well, but he was not about to begin
dulling his wits, not yet. “In the third—” And here, Dardan knew he
was making a gamble. He had not really discussed this topic with
Amira, though he’d overheard many of her conversations with Garen.
“How many Eltasi are there around the age of eighteen?”

Nyera drew back, as if startled. “What an
odd question.”

“Indeed, I did not think I would witness
such precise interrogations,” Gennevan said in a warning tone.

“It’s not as if such things are secret,”
Nyera said, “but it is a very odd question.”

“The precise number is not what concerns me,
though I would suspect with as many children as his grace had, and
how many children you and your siblings have had, there would be
quite a number. Not to mention other branches of Eltasi, his
grace’s siblings and cousins and such. The reason I ask is because
of the nature of this power that Edon wields.”

“What do you know of it?” Lady Nyera’s voice
had sharpened all of a sudden, and she leaned forward a little.
Just then the house major came in to announce that luncheon was
ready, but Nyera waved him off. “We heard no more than rumors, but
my son told me that you witnessed it.”

“Indeed, and more like it. King Edon has
acquired this power, and he is not the only one. I personally know
of at least three others. Two men and a woman.”

“You said nothing of this to me,” Gennevan
griped.

Dardan held his left hand out, fingers
together, palm down. It was a rare sign, and he wondered if
Gennevan or his mother knew what it meant. Hand-language had never
been more than a fad among the nobility, but Besiana had taught him
a few signs. This gesture meant
I have secrets.

Gennevan frowned, confused, but Nyera raised
her eyebrows and then laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Ah,
the little count thinks to reveal his cards at just the right
moment.”

“I doubt any man would choose to reveal them
at what he thought was the wrong moment. You see, I spoke of a
woman who shares Edon’s power. That woman is my wife.”

Both Helgars stared, perplexed. Even their
valai
who, like all good
valai
, had been listening
intently, dropped their jaws. Dardan had resigned himself to the
fact that everything he said here would soon reach ears he’d rather
it didn’t. There was nothing he could do but continue on. “Ever
since the summer ball, Edon has been in pursuit of Amira. His
sojourn at Gravensford set the stage for his coup. She shares his
power, and he will not rest until she is his.

“Amira, and Edon, and the other two we know
of who share this power—all of them are between eighteen and twenty
years of age.” He hadn’t thought to inquire after Dexter Carmichael
in Tyndam Town, but the lad had looked of an age with Amira. “Now.
How many Eltasi did you say there are who are in that age range?
What do you suppose Edon would do if he found out that one of your
nephews or nieces had developed this strange new power as
well?”

Dardan leaned back into his chair and
waited. Everyone else was silent so long that he began to worry.
Gennevan looked at him with mingled horror, anger, and fascination.
Finally Lady Nyera spoke. “What is it you are proposing? And be
reminded that I have as yet promised nothing.”

“I want Eltasi’s assistance. The exact form
that takes is entirely up for discussion. Deposing a mad king might
lead to a succession struggle, or a civil war—I would not claim
that that would be a better outcome than simply dealing with his
reign. But Edon has evinced a particular hostility toward my
family, and I will not simply roll over for him. Eltasi must decide
whether it is in its interest to sit idly by while Edon commits
outrage after outrage.”