The Queen of Mages (23 page)

Her bluntness angered him, but he could not
throw her hospitality in her face and storm out.
Or limp
out.
He bit his tongue and looked away.

Dyane clucked her tongue. “It is so hard to
reach them,” she murmured to her
vala
. Polly nodded
knowingly, and stared down at Liam like a cat considering a
mouse.

“What would you have me do?” he said. “The
count is dead. Lord Dardan is the count now, I imagine, unless Edon
attaints him. And I haven’t the foggiest notion where he is.”

“Since you did not find his body at the
keep, I imagine Lord Dardan has escaped into the woods with his
betrothed. That Edon did not pursue, and instead has headed back
toward the capital, means that whatever great need he had to find
her, there is something even more important.”

“Keeping his throne,” Polly said. “He’s only
been king a short while. The dukes will be sniffing for weakness.
Edon will have his hands full getting them in line.”

Dyane nodded. “That gives you some freedom,
my boy. It seems to me that you have three paths before you. You
can head off to find Lord Dardan, but unless you are a skilled
tracker you have a slim chance. He and Lady Amira will likely be
fleeing with all haste and have quite a head start. Assuming, of
course, that they still live. Your second choice is to go to
Callaston, and follow your beloved.”

Liam started to protest, but at a glance
from the baroness he quieted. What did she know of his feelings for
Katin? Certainly he enjoyed her presence, though the
vala
took pains to scorn his every attempt for her affection.

She was right about one thing: Katin would
likely be taken to the palace, maybe thrown in a dungeon cell.
Sneaking in and breaking her out would be impossible, not to
mention getting past the city gates, which for all he knew might
still be closed.

“Your third choice is to take neither path.
Seek another destiny.” Give up, she meant. Take service somewhere
else, or work as a laborer. Well, he was lettered and schooled
enough to avoid menial labor, that was certain, but the prospect
still did not appeal to him. Besides, he had a duty to his lord.
Dardan had not released him.

He gathered what little scraps of humility
he could find. “May I stay here a while?” he asked as politely as
he could. “A day or two, to hear what news comes. Perhaps Dardan
will return in secret, and it would shame me to not be here if he
did.”

“It’ll be longer than that before your
ankle’s mended properly,” Polly warned him. “Don’t be a fool and
make it worse by trying to walk on it.”

Dyane nodded. “You may stay as long as you
like, so long as you are useful once you are healed. I have little
enough time left in this life, and care to spend none of it on
layabouts.” She lifted one hand, and he saw now that she had a dark
wooden cane tipped in gold. She thwacked him on his uninjured leg
and he yelped. “Aside from your ankle and some other mild bruises,
you have no injuries. Polly here inspected you well.”

“I hope she liked what she saw,” he quipped.
The old
vala
laughed.

Dyane ignored it. “You are young and will
recover quickly. In the meantime, I will bring you any relevant
news I discover, as a courtesy. I strongly suggest that you do not
leave the house for now. If Edon’s men are still about, they may be
searching for you.”

Liam thanked her, and the old baroness stood
slowly, hobbling out. Polly closed the door behind them, leaving
him to his thoughts. How would he ever find Dardan, or rescue
Katin?

———

He took the old
vala
’s advice and
stayed off his feet as long as he could tolerate it. His ankle
began to mend quickly. Within two days he was able to walk on it
for short periods. Polly still clucked her tongue at him whenever
she saw him up and about, but Liam had always been quick to heal,
and now there was no time to waste.

Dyane invited Liam to luncheon, and told him
that Calys had been returned unharmed to the family manor. With
Count Asmus dead and Old Ban missing—no one had seen him since the
battle—she didn’t know who Calys would turn to. Someone would have
to run the county. A messenger had already been dispatched to
Callaston, to inform the countess of her husband’s death. Liam did
not envy whoever had to deliver
that
news.

Ilya was unharmed as well; he’d gone to
ground in town. Edon and most of his men had headed off toward
Callaston the morning after the battle; the few patrols he’d left
behind departed two days after that. Supposedly he’d left
instructions with the local garrison to have Dardan or Amira
arrested, should they return.

Once Edon and his men were all gone, Ilya
had come out of hiding and gone to his sister. Liam could not
fathom the burden the boy had inherited. If Dardan did not return,
or had died, Ilya was now Count Illadrin Tarian of Hedenham, at
twelve years old.

The bodies of the Hedenham men had all been
retrieved from the keep. The townsfolk grieved for their lord and
for their lost friends, family, and neighbors. A memorial service
was planned, but Liam resolved at once not to even try to attend
it. Not that Edon would be searching for him in particular, but it
seemed plainly foolish to let so many people know he was still in
Hedenham.

Even though Edon’s patrols were gone, Dyane
asked Liam to stay hidden within her manse for another day at
least. He did, despite a constant itch telling him to get
moving.

Finally Dyane gave him leave to go, if he
wished, but also offered him a permanent position, working in the
stables at her family’s house out in the country. “The third option
is always open, if you choose it. When I pass, my son the baron
will inherit my personal holdings, though he’s twice your age if
he’s a day. I will ensure that… what is your family name, boy?”

“Howard,” he said.

“Then I will ensure that Liam Howard may
always here find a roof over his head, and work to fill his days,
if he desires it.” She gave him a small purse of silver. “Either
way you will need some funds at the least. I would not have you
become a thief.”

Liam stared down at the little pouch. He
thought about Dardan, and Katin. A wave of anger overcame him for a
moment, but he squelched it. “Why do you assist me so, m’lady? I’m
just a
valo
.”

Dyane stared up at him. She was a good foot
shorter, but her gaze made him feel small. “House Tarian has always
been good to House Ulmic, and to Hedenham County. I will not
pretend that you in particular have earned much good will, but you
served Asmus’s son, and for that alone you deserve help.”

———

A horse she could not give him, but with
Edon’s men truly gone, Liam did not hesitate to go to the manor and
ask Calys for one.

She relented in the end, but at first she
begged him to stay. “My brother
will
come back!” she
insisted, as they sat on the wide couch in the sitting room. Clara
sat next to them, arms crossed and watching Liam with narrowed
eyes. “You must be here when he does!”

“He may, yes, m’lady,” Liam agreed, “but I
do not know when, and I have no idea where he’s gone. I cannot help
look for him from here. He does not know that his father—your
father—”

“Don’t!” she shrieked. “Don’t say it. I
cannot bear to think about it.” She turned away, stifling sobs, but
that ended quickly, and she stood up. “Go, then. Take a horse. Find
my brother, or don’t, I don’t care. Ilya and I will have to rule
this county in the meantime.”

Clara sighed, repeating what must by now be
a common refrain. “Neither of you are of age, m’lady. Your brother
will need a surrogate to carry out the county’s affairs for the
next few years.”

Calys planted her hands on her hips. “Yes,
yes, someone with experience will help, but my brother and I may be
all that is left of the Tarians, for all you know. We can send
for—oh, I don’t know, Baron Yane or someone. He’s old, he’ll have
some idea what we should do.” She turned to look at Liam. “What are
you still doing here?”

Liam bowed and left. It heartened him to see
that Calys had regained her usual nerve. If the county was spared
further trouble, she would become quite a formidable lady, never
mind that her younger brother would be the count in name. Stronger
men than Ilya had been controlled by overbearing sisters
before.

He found old Gerald in the entry hall. The
house major seemed more somber than ever. They nodded silently at
one another. Gerald cleared his throat and mentioned that Amira’s
maid Sara had been hiding in Amira’s rooms ever since Edon showed
up, too terrified even to come down for meals.

“I suppose it would be cruel to just pack
her off to Callaston,” Liam said, “even if the gates have been
opened.”

“I could not countenance such a thing,”
Gerald intoned. “Count Asmus…” He seemed to deflate a little at the
mention of his late lord’s name. “House Tarian would not harm such
an innocent girl so.” He turned and shuffled away.

Liam followed him to the stables. “Some of
the horses came back in good condition, though there’s likely a few
still wandering around in the woods,” Gerald said. “With the count…
with the count gone, and Lord Dardan too, well, you have your
pick.”

Liam looked them over. He could not bear to
take Count Asmus’s favorite horse, a pure white even-tempered
palfrey named Cloud. Instead he chose a younger stallion,
reddish-brown and with a bit of a temper. The horse seemed to match
his mood.

“What’s this one called?” he asked Gerald
while feeding an apple to it. The beast bit it in two and gulped
down the pieces, then bumped his muzzle against Liam repeatedly
until he showed empty hands. The horse looked annoyed by this.

“Bandit,” Gerald said. “On account of how he
steals all the apples.”

Liam laughed. “I think we’ll get along
well,” he said, and helped Gerald with the saddle.

The sun was high and hot as summer drew
toward its close. Liam cantered Bandit around the yard a bit to
warm him up. Gerald had packed up a camp roll and some provisions;
Liam would be able to bivouac out in the wilderness and save
silver. He took a sword, dagger, and bow, as well.

He brought Bandit to a halt before Gerald.
“Good luck, old man.”

Gerald shrugged. “The watchword of the
Tarians is duty, not luck,” he said, and went back to the
manor.

Liam rode down the gravel path to the road.
He stopped and looked along it in both directions. There was no
traffic just now, no farmers returning from market, no travelers. A
cooling breeze came out of the east, ruffling his hair, and Liam
put on his hat. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of grass and
dust and nature all around.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a
silver coin. One side showed the profile of the late King Viktor
II. The reverse depicted the eagle of House Relindos. Looking at it
made Liam angry.

He knew his duty was to go after Dardan, but
desire tugged at him. “All right, Bandit. Let’s see which way we
go. Heads, it’s north to the keep to track Dardan. Tails, the
capital and Katin.” Sunlight glinted off the coin as he flipped it
high into the air.

When Liam was a boy, his father had once
told him, “When you truly can’t decide between two paths, flip a
coin. In that instant, when the coin’s in the air, you’ll know in
your heart which side you want it to land on.”

Liam caught the coin without looking at it,
stuffed it in his pouch, and turned south toward Callaston.

Princess Taya Relindos stood at the top of
the Grand Stair of Elibarran and watched her brother, King Edon, as
he stood surrounded by a circle of dukes. Most men Edon’s age would
be impressed by the fine clothes, the jewelled rings, their aura of
power. Edon looked at them like bugs underfoot.

She had scarcely seen Edon when he had first
returned from Gravensford. Death and fire had roamed the halls of
Elibarran, and Edon had confined Taya to her rooms. The guards
posted at her door were loyal only to her brother. Meals were
brought in while she stalked about like a trapped cat. She’d had
only her
vala
for company, and Juliet had gone almost as
stir-crazy as Taya, despite the opportunities presented by several
days cooped up privately. Juliet stood behind Taya just now, and
the princess felt comforted.

Then the news had come that Edon was leaving
the city again, a bare ten days after arriving. In that time she
had softened up the guards and gotten some gossip out of them. And
then there were the palace servants, who would sooner stop
breathing than gossiping. Their words had been hard to believe, at
first: Viktor, the king, her father… dead? It could not be. Then
the certainty, borne by every tongue, that it had been Edon who had
murdered him.

Taya knew that Viktor and Edon had not
gotten along. The whole
kingdom
knew. But it was a far cry
from paternal derision to murder… or it should have been. She had
been let out of her rooms just as Edon was departing, and had only
enough time to rush to the stables and ask him, “Is it true?”

He’d glanced down at her from atop his
destrier, imposing in his golden plate, and nodded once before
galloping away, a score of knights and lords in tow. He’d left
Terilin Faroa as his seneschal, but the craven duke dared not
impose his will on Taya. It had been easy to make Faroa divulge
Edon’s destination.

Why Hedenham County? Relindos had no
holdings there. Taya made up for lost time in the following days,
interrogating every servant, guard, and courtier she could get her
hands on. There were all sorts of rumors and stories about Edon,
and the only one that stuck in her mind was about a lady, a noble
lady, whom Edon had had brought to the palace. It had been the day
after the summer ball, the same day Edon had decamped for
Gravensford without warning. She hadn’t seen him since the ball;
she’d stayed up until dawn carousing, and slept half the day. By
the time she’d woken, Edon was gone, and her father would not speak
of it.

A few of the palace guards and servants
spoke of a lord and lady who had been summoned by Edon, but none of
them seemed to know the details—who they were, where they lived.
Taya suspected that Captain Portio might know something, but she
could not turn him. He pled ignorance or found some way to excuse
himself whenever she thought she had him cornered. Others might
have considered it bad luck, but she suspected that the good
captain was deep in Edon’s pocket.

With Edon gone for weeks, she’d more or less
put it aside, but after Edon completed his coup and left for
Hedenham, Taya had begun to wonder. Who was the lady? A daughter of
a Hedenham baron? Why would Edon depart the city so soon after
taking the throne? What could possibly be so important?

———

Taya did not particularly miss her father,
except as one misses an ancient oak finally blown over by a storm.
The landscape was different now; she could not fail to notice it
wherever she looked.

Viktor had had such high hopes for his
firstborn son, hopes that withered as time revealed Edon to be a
malevolent, lecherous brute, his cruelty kept in check only by the
threat of his father’s wrath. Viktor’s two daughters did him no
good; he had no time for them, leaving them to be raised and
attended by their mother and their maids. Queen Alise was gentle;
too gentle for the rigors of child-rearing, and so Taya had been
abandoned to the ministrations of a series of nannies and
governesses. None of them had lasted long, except Mrs. Hastings.
That crone had been more than equal to the task… and had left Taya
with scars that none could see.

Luka had been his father’s last hope, but
he’d turned out bookish, utterly indifferent to matters of state
and war. A final disappointment. No wonder Viktor had spent so much
time drinking.

Taya drank, but not to excess. Only to the
point of pleasure. And unlike her father, she had goals that she
could effect herself, rather than trusting to blind chance. She was
almost eighteen. Already her network of informants in the palace
rivaled Lord Gessim’s. Between them and the others she questioned,
she pieced together that Edon had returned from Gravensford
accompanied by a dozen young lords who obeyed his every command
with alacrity. Sir Mirlind, whom Viktor had sent to keep an eye on
Edon, was not among them; Taya was sure that Edon had killed him
before returning to the capital.

Edon and his men had burst into the throne
room while Viktor held court. The king, having not yet sent for his
exiled son, was infuriated that he’d returned. He’d ordered his
guards to arrest Edon, only to watch helplessly as a thunderclap
flung them across the room. More guards attacked the prince and met
the same fate. Viktor fled, and Edon followed. None saw what
happened next, but more thunderclaps were heard, and Edon returned
to the throne room, spattered with blood, where he sat upon the
Oakheart Throne. King Viktor was not seen alive again.

Edon had immediately summoned the
Epirro
Ulishim
himself, Grand High Steward Aerandin, to perform a
curious dual rite: the burial ritual, to consecrate Viktor’s body
and prepare him for his return to the earth; and the coronation, to
formally invest Edon as king. Only a few nobles had been permitted
to attend, to attest that both ceremonies had been rightly
performed. Taya had not seen either.

There was fighting afterward; a few dukes
tried to resist their new king, but the rebellion lasted no more
than a day or two, and the traitors were either killed in the
fighting or captured and put to death. It had not taken long for
Edon to gain control over the dukes, the army, the Wardens, and the
Niderium. The Niderium had almost been an afterthought; they had
significant wealth but did not involve themselves in the politics
of the realm. Edon’s visit to Ulisharran was nothing more than a
formality, to remind the priests of who was in charge.

The Wardens had holed up in their little
fortress. Taya did not miss that none of them had ridden with Edon
to Hedenham. It had taken Edon longer to bring them to heel than
she would have expected. Once Edon again returned to Callaston, he
sent for Wardens to serve as his bodyguards. He sought to bind them
to him, that much was obvious. Edon might not have much cunning,
but brute force seemed to serve him well enough.

Taya did not fear for her own life. She and
Edon had always gotten along, more or less, mostly because they had
no shared interests and thus nothing to conflict over. Edon rode
and hunted and whored; Taya kept busy with arranging entertainments
for visiting nobles and dignitaries. It was her cover for
collecting information and establishing her own little power base.
She would not be passive and weak like her mother.

But now Edon had power, power that Taya had
craved and had long known would never be hers. Her stomach had sunk
whenever Viktor had called her to his study, wondering if today was
the day he’d inform her that she would be married off to this duke
or that count. The end of her freedom, to while away her years as a
gussied-up brood mare in some far-flung manor, seeing to the
household in whatever absurd little domain fate sent her to.

Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of
irony. She had lost her father but gained a chance at power, a
chance at ruling. Edon was strong like an ox, and about as clever.
Taya’s mind was sharp and her will iron. The realm would never
accept a ruling queen, but women had ruled from behind husbands and
brothers before. All she had to do was to let Edon occupy the
throne while she quietly arranged events to suit her. It wasn’t
glory she wanted; just the knowledge that the realm danced to her
tune, even if her brother was the piper.

She had been worried at first about
competition from Edon’s new wife, who was the youngest daughter of
the Duke of Westreach. Cheraline Artalis—Cheraline Relindos,
now—was plump, pretty, and, as far as Taya had seen, perfectly
obedient, at least in public. As Edon’s wife, she’d be ideally
positioned to influence her husband in the most subtle of ways. But
by all reports, the girl was just as quiet and servile in private,
as well—information that pleased Taya, and had cost her a pretty
penny in bribes to the girl’s maids.

Edon had married the girl only a few days
before departing for Hedenham, and spent every evening trying to
get her with child. Even someone as dim as Edon knew the value of
getting started on the business of making heirs.

Taya came back to herself when Edon finally
broke from the cluster of dukes and started up the Grand Stair,
with the Wardens at his back. Taya straightened her spine and
rested one hand gently on the banister. “Your majesty,” she called
out as Edon came up the steps toward her. Taya bowed, and her
vala
followed suit.

Edon looked up at her. “Sister,” he said,
flat and cold as winter ice. There was a round, shiny patch on his
left cheek, the size of a plum. Only a minor disfigurement, but the
rumors said it had been inflicted on him by a woman he’d brought
into the palace. A noblewoman…

Taya smiled at him. “I am glad to see you’ve
returned safely. Might we converse? I have much concerning our
family to speak to you about.”

Edon jerked to a halt. Taya felt
satisfaction at getting his attention. She just hoped it wasn’t the
wrong kind of attention. She tried not to envision their father,
fleeing from his son, cut down by whatever terrible power he
wielded.

“The family? Very well. Come along.” He
strode off without another word, the two Wardens hewing close to
their king. One of them she did not know; he was of middling age
and had only arrived in the city recently. But she knew the other:
Mason Iris, he of the young face and white hair, who had been at
court that spring and summer. His silvered armor and gleaming sword
peeked from beneath his black cloak; the sigil of his order perched
upon his shoulder. Warden Iris spared her a slight nod, but he
watched only for physical threats.
Your wariness will be of no
use against me, Warden.

———

In Edon’s study, Taya sat demurely on the
edge of the chair Edon offered her, her hands crossed on her knee.
Today she had deliberately worn a high-necked gown of soft gray,
cut to conceal her charms rather than enhance them. Her brother he
might be, but she had seen him look at her with hungry eyes before.
He would never act on it, she knew, nor would she let him.
Power
or not, I’d rip your balls off if you tried that with me.
She
wanted him focused, not distracted. They’d left her
vala
and
the Wardens outside. She hoped the men knew better than to bother
Juliet. Taya’s
vala
did not tolerate pushy men.

Edon had been back from Hedenham two days
already. All his time since then had been taken up with governing
the realm. The wheels of commerce and politics did not grind to a
halt merely because a king died.

“What concerns you?” Edon said, dropping
into his own chair. He was still young, but already seemed as tired
as their father always had.

She hesitated for effect. “It is difficult
to begin… I say this from a place of love, dear brother, but I’m
afraid I must be blunt. You murdered our father.”

Edon had been rubbing his eyes. He stopped
abruptly and glared at her. “Who are you to accuse me?”

“It is not an accusation. It is merely a
statement of fact. I am no one to judge matters of state and war.
You clearly believed that Vasland was a great enough threat to… do
what you did. As is your right, as king.”

“And I mean to finish that,” Edon said.
“When I leave here again, it will be for Vasland. Father’s death
will not have been in vain.”

Taya nodded. “And I hope you have a rule as
long and fruitful as any king’s. But like all men, you are not
perfect. You have your flaws.”

“Get to your point,” Edon said.

“None can doubt your strength. But I mean it
as no insult when I say that cunning and cleverness have never come
easy to you. Let me help you on that account. I know you have
councillors and lords at your call, but none of them have the
safety of this family as their primary concern. By contrast, this
family is all that I have.” She held her breath and waited. Would
Edon take offense? Would he let her in?

He stared at her. For a moment Taya thought
he was angry with her, but he blinked and looked away, as if
considering something. Finally his eyes met hers again. “Come
here.” He stood and went out to his balcony. Taya followed, and
stood at the railing.

“Choose a tree,” Edon said, looking down
into the gardens below. There was no one around, only the stillness
of a summer afternoon.

“A tree?” Taya pointed at a tall, spindly
poplar, a scarecrow of a tree she’d always liked. “That one.”

Edon stared down at the poplar, and a moment
later its trunk exploded into shards. Taya jerked back a split
second later when a thunderclap struck her ears. She stared dumbly
at her brother. Her mouth worked, searching for words, until at
last she simply went back inside and sat down again, if only to
stop the world spinning about her.

How had she missed this? How could Edon have
this astonishing power without her knowing? She gritted her teeth
and tried to contain the anger that roiled up, to save it for
later. She was going to have unpleasant words for several of her
informants.