The Queen of Mages (5 page)

Besiana seemed satisfied by Dardan’s
capitulation, and changed the subject. Once the meal had ended and
the dishes were cleared away, she led him to the sitting room and
gave Bertram explicit instructions that they were not to be
disturbed. The old major frowned disapprovingly, but he nodded and
shut the doors. Even Rose was left outside.

Mother and son settled onto the couch.
Dardan was glad that the evening candles muted the room’s garish
color scheme. His mother seemed focused inward, which was unusual.
“Is something amiss?”

Besiana sighed. “A most terrible thing
occurred. Lord Keller Skarline fell to his death four days
ago.”

Dardan stared. “What?”

“From the front wall of Elibarran, right
into the Great Square. He almost flattened an apple cart, if the
story is accurate.”

Dardan had met Keller Skarline once or
twice, at this function or that, but had not really known much
about him. Except that he was the king’s spymaster, a fact which
was supposed to be secret but which everyone knew anyway. “I assume
he was pushed,” Dardan said.

“He did not seem the type to walk absently
along the merlons,” Besiana said. “The crown is investigating, of
course. They even have a pair of Wardens looking into the matter,
so I hear. The first question is, who would benefit from his
death?”

“Anyone who wanted the post of spymaster to
open up, but I can’t think of anyone who’d want it
that
badly. But you have your ear to the court, of course,” Dardan
admitted. The one disadvantage to spending most of his time in
Hedenham was its distance from the political machinations of
Callaston. He despised court politics, but could not deny their
importance.

“Many rumors fly. The one that piqued my
interest was that Lord Keller favored a more subtle approach toward
the Vaslanders, a position shared by our own Duke Loram
Arkhail.”

“The Vaslanders? What of the Vaslanders?”
Dardan asked. They hadn’t crossed the mountains in twenty years,
since King Viktor had thrown them back when Dardan was just a babe
in arms.

“Their warriors gather across the northern
border,” Besiana said darkly. “Duke Faroa favors an immediate
attack against them. So does Prince Edon, it seems. Our own Duke
Loram, however, calls for restraint.”

Dardan’s stomach roiled. Only a few counties
stood between the Black Mountains and Hedenham. Dardan’s home
hadn’t seen fighting in the last war, but some towns not terribly
far to the north of Hedenham had been sacked and burned. If the
Vaslanders did invade again, Hedenham—his father, his sister, his
brother, his people—might suffer.

But Count Asmus Tarian owed his direct
allegiance to Duke Loram Arkhail of Thorncross. If Duke Loram
favored a subtle approach, then Asmus must perforce agree. He
couldn’t understand
why
Duke Loram would be so cautious;
Loram’s seat at Thorncross was even closer to Vasland. Loram hadn’t
fought in the last war, though. His father had been the duke then,
and Loram had been away to the south somewhere. Perhaps he’d never
seen the destruction with his own eyes.

Dardan had. When he was ten, his father had
taken him north to Cold Hills County, in Seawatch. The land had
begun to recover by then, but they still saw the ruins of countless
destroyed towns and burned farms. Count Asmus had wanted Dardan to
see with his own eyes what the Vaslanders had wrought.

Pieces fell into place in Dardan’s mind.
“Faroa might have wanted Skarline out of the way, if Skarline’s
reports supported Loram’s position. And Blackwall suffered badly in
the last war.” Dardan had been to the Dukedom of Blackwall once as
well, along the northern hills where the Vaslanders had held
Garovan territory for a long part of the war. The destruction
hadn’t been as severe there as in Cold Hills, since the Vaslanders
had used it as a base of operations rather than just pillaging it,
but the few Garovan folk who lived there had all had a permanently
haunted look. Dardan had seen them cast their eyes up the towering
mountains as if expecting a wave of Vaslanders to sweep over it at
any moment. “House Faroa lost some family in the fighting as well.
Though perhaps there’s a simpler explanation. Blackwall is renowned
for its mines and smithies. Perhaps Faroa has a surplus of
blacksmiths who need employment turning out swords and
shields.”

Besiana shrugged. “Well. Whatever his goals,
I hardly think murdering young lords is an effective way to achieve
them.”

But Dardan cared nothing about Keller
Skarline or Terilin Faroa now. Visions of Vaslander berserkers
rampaging through Hedenham Town filled his mind. “Father must know
of this,” he declared. “Although… he may insist on readying the
garrison.”

“I thought your father always kept the
garrison readied,” she said.
Your father,
Dardan noted, not
my husband.

“Father directs them in hunting down
brigands and poachers, yes. But mobilizing them for war is another
story entirely. Only by the king’s authority may that kind of order
be given. The king will not be pleased if that happens without his
approval. They are the king’s soldiers, not father’s. Too many
dukes and counts have suborned garrisons in the past for the king
to ever turn a blind eye to that sort of thing.”

“Then I will petition his majesty at the
next court, to send such an order to the Hedenham garrison. The
next court session is the day after tomorrow, I believe.”

“What if the king doesn’t listen? Father may
try to convince the garrison commander to mobilize anyway.”

Besiana started. “What? He couldn’t do that!
Could he?”

“Father and the garrison commander get along
quite well,” Dardan said, “which you would know if you ever spent
any time there.”

“Hm,” Besiana said, eyeing him coolly.

“This is delicate, but… Do you recall Baron
Parvis Stanton?” he asked.

“Of course. Wretched, selfish little
man.”

“Well, the other week he was accused of
raping a farmgirl.”

“How horrid! Oh, dear. Though I can quite
believe the charge.”

“Father ordered him to stand trial, of
course, and even though father would sit in judgment as befits the
noble accused, Baron Parvis chose to flee and hide instead. The
baron obviously feels his guilt. Father may be impulsive and
brazen, but no one who knows him can rightly accuse him of
countenancing injustice. So he ordered the garrison commander,
Captain Orrel Stanton, to find and retrieve the baron.”

“Oh my!” Besiana’s hand flew to her breast.
“He ordered Parvis’s own brother to find him? I remember that
boy!”

“The very same. The spitting image of his
brother, in fact, though commendably loyal where the baron is
treacherous.”

“Did he do it?”

“Yes, without hesitation. I’ve never heard
Captain Stanton speak ill of his older brother, but he took a
detachment of twenty men and a Warden and rode without delay. He
returned a day later with the baron in chains.”

It pleased Dardan to see his mother, for
once, at a loss for words. Finally, inevitably, she spoke. “I had
no idea the county was such a hotbed of scandal,” she nearly
giggled.

“Yes, well, I’m sure it pales when compared
to the daily mischief of the Callaston nobility,” he said dryly.
“The upshot is, Captain Stanton respects father and is quite likely
to obey if he orders a war footing.”

“Oh, dear,” Besiana muttered. “Then the
king’s permission is all the more critical. I shall endeavor my
utmost to attain it.” She stood, and Dardan followed suit. “I’m
afraid I am quite tired, my boy. We shall speak further in the
morning. ROSE!”

The nervous
vala
scurried in, but was
forced to backpedal as the countess swept out. Dardan watched them
go, then sat back down, alone at last.

Speaking with Besiana always left him
agitated. He stared at the wall for a while, letting his
aggravation wind down. He’d just begun to consider searching the
kitchen for more dessert when Liam popped his head in. “Evening,
m’lord,” the
valo
said brightly, his face a little
flush.

“You’re back early,” Dardan noted.

“Ah, well, m’lord looked so glum when I
left, I couldn’t bear to leave you in your mother’s clutches.” He
brushed a stray lock of sandy hair out of his eyes. “It seems
you’re rid of her already, though.”

“Not soon enough. She harped at me about the
widow again.” Dardan supposed he probably still looked glum. “We’ll
be staying in the city for the summer ball.”

Liam nodded. “You’ll need a new suit, and
all the usual nonsense. We’ll start on that tomorrow, if it pleases
m’lord.” He cleared his throat. “You look tired, m’lord. We’ve had
long days of riding, so maybe it’s best you go to bed.”

Curse the man, he was right. Dardan trod
gloomily up the stairs, and dismissed Liam for the night. He washed
again and dressed for bed in a linen nightrobe. He gazed at himself
in the mirror, at the broad chin, the too-short nose, the small
dark eyes. He’d been told his face had a pleasing symmetry to it,
but girls never swooned over him the way they did over some boys.
Over Liam. Perhaps they’d all just been humoring Dardan his entire
life.

The dinner conversation came back to him.
His mother assumed he’d bedded a girl. It spoke well of him, he
supposed, but she was wrong. He almost had, a few times. Once was
the farrier’s daughter in Hedenham Town, when he was fifteen. He’d
followed her around all during the Wintergift feast, drunk on
spiced ale, gazing at those long eyelashes, savoring that sweet
laugh. She’d snuck him back to her bedroom, but they’d just ended
up talking through the night and kissing a little. She’d been so
warm and soft. He woke up lying next to her, still fully clothed,
in the sober gray light of dawn. When she’d woken, she’d thrown him
out at once, fearful that her father would discover him and try to
nail horseshoes to his feet in a rage. He’d mooned after her for
weeks on end.

Then there had been the night after his
sixteenth birthday. Liam had been his
valo
for a few months
already—nobles were only supposed to have
valai
once they
came of age at sixteen, but Asmus had declared there was no sense
waiting, and who would care, out there in the country?—and had
taken him to a little brothel on the edge of Hedenham Town. Dardan
made it as far as the foyer before panicking and running out into
the night. Liam had at least had the sense not to mock him openly
about it, but for days afterward, the man’s every expression looked
like a smirk.

There had been a few opportunities since,
this girl or that who fancied bedding a lord. Dardan had resigned
himself to the idea that his first bedding would wait until
marriage, to whatever woman would have him.
Perhaps it will be
this Amira,
he mused.
But if she’s really so beautiful, what
would she want with the likes of me?