The Queen of Mages (51 page)

She blinked at him, then comprehension
dawned. “Yes. Of course! Fetch the cook. I shall require a meal for
the count.”

———

Whatever had happened to the house’s
previous owners—Liam was now all but certain that they had been
killed—a few of the servants had stayed behind when Adeline took it
over. They were brought forth, looking exhausted, clearly having
gone past initial terror into the enduring misery of serving this
mad new mistress.

The meal managed a semblance of class:
pan-fried pork medallions and baked carrots and turnips, and more
wine brought up from some cellar. The one maid who remained did all
the serving, scurrying about in terror. When she was too slow at
clearing away the plates, Adeline flicked a peevish finger and the
maid’s apron caught fire. Adeline laughed as the girl flung it to
the floor and stomped on it.

Liam made casual chatter through dinner, but
when the plates were all cleared, he came around and sat next to
Adeline, taking her hands. “My lady, we must make better use of
your power. Subjugating flyspeck towns such as this is beneath
you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think this realm has been ruled by fools
long enough, don’t you?” He didn’t, of course—well, Viktor had been
no fool, even if Edon was. “I think it’s time we had a ruler who
had real power, and would not hesitate to use it. With this,” he
reached up and gently touched her forehead, “you could be a queen
like none the world has ever seen before.”

Adeline let out a little gasp, but then
cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I shall think on it.”

“Of course. It’s a bit late for an
after-dinner stroll, but perhaps you could show me around this fine
home of yours?”

Adeline stood up and laughed. “Oh, it’s not
really mine,” she said. “It belonged to Master Rastbury. He traded
in grain. And always cheated my husband and me when buying our
stock. I simply took back what should be rightfully mine.”

Liam paused, pretending wariness. “Ah. You
have a husband?”

Adeline’s eyes widened, and she waved
dismissively. “Oh, well, yes, but he’s out at our farm. His farm.
Far away. You don’t need to worry about him.” She slipped her arm
through his and led him from the dining room.

The house was really no different from any
of a dozen other country houses Liam had visited, usually with
Dardan on some official errand. Nonetheless, he feigned interest as
Adeline took him on a little tour. The thugs and other hangers-on
were scattered around, lurking about in hallways and parlors. Liam
did his best to pretend they weren’t there.

As casually as she was able, Adeline asked,
“Does m’lord have a wife?”

“Yes, but she is also far from here.” He
held up his hands; he had taken off the false rings. “I had to
remove my rings as part of my disguise.”

“Oh,” Adeline said, and then giggled
nervously. “Might I show m’lord the upstairs?”

Liam grinned widely. “That would be an
excellent idea.”

She took him to the upper floor, which had a
long hall branching off into various chambers. “I’ve taken the
largest bedchamber for myself, of course.”

“As you no doubt deserve,” Liam murmured.
“Show it to me.”

Liam could hear her breath quicken. She
nodded, and drew him down the corridor.

His own pulse quickened as well, but it
jumped a beat when he saw Scar-cheek standing by the double doors
at the end of the hall. The man’s arm had been bandaged, and he
stared daggers at Liam, even though Adeline had been the one to
burn him. He kept one hand firmly on the pommel of the sword at his
belt.

Adeline sniffed at him. “We are not to be
disturbed.” Scar-cheek watched silently, hatred written across his
face, as Adeline pulled Liam past him.

The door had a narrow bar that might stop
someone from bursting in for a minute or two. Liam set the bar,
then put on his most lascivious grin and turned around just as
Adeline threw herself onto him. He reflexively drew back, but made
himself stop.
No. I have to do this. It is no betrayal of
Katin.
Still, the girl’s lips were warm and wet on his, and
made him tingle. He could feel his cock bulging against his
trousers already.
Maybe just a little, before—

He cut that thought off cruelly, and turned
that aggression toward Adeline, pushing her toward the bed. She
kissed and licked and bit at him, frantic with lust. “M’lord, take
me,” she purred, yanking his vest off over his arms, then pulling
at the buttons on his shirt.

Aspect of Wrath, guide me.
He let her
unbutton it as he sought out the fury that lay there, always there,
in the back of his mind. Adeline pulled his sleeves down as he held
her sitting on the edge of the bed. Liam threw his arms back,
tossing the shirt off completely, and then drew the dagger from its
sheath at the small of his back, leaned away from her slightly, and
slammed the blade up through the base of her jaw.

The dagger pierced her neck off-center and
jammed against the bottom of her skull. She jerked back, pulling
herself off the blade, and blood sprayed onto Liam’s hand. A loud
crack
sounded from above him, but he ignored it and grabbed
her arm, his fingernails digging viciously into her flesh. He spun
her around, yanked her head back by her hair, and slit her throat,
cutting through the great artery on each side.

She spasmed, knocking the dagger from his
grasp, red and slick. Liam stumbled backward. Blood roared in his
ears. Adeline flopped off the bed and crashed to the floor, her
arms jerking. Liam scrambled to pick up the dagger and plunged it
into her back half a dozen times before he realized that someone
was pounding on the door. “Open up!” came Scar-cheek’s muffled
voice. He banged on the door some more, and then Liam heard quick
footsteps recede down the hall. The dagger slipped from his hand
again, clattering in the growing pool of blood.

———

Liam had only ever been in two real fights.
The first was during his time with the royal army. His company had
been sent to root out a nest of bandits in the Barnston Wood, in
the south of Stotsbury. Their lair had been found in a narrow gulch
between two ridges. Liam’s squad had been kept in reserve, in case
the bandits tried to escape past the swords of the lead squads.

But they’d had some secret tunnel, because
the bandits erupted out of the ground practically under Liam’s
feet, as surprised to find royal soldiers waiting there as the
soldiers were to see them. Armed with pikes, Liam and his brothers
had kept the bandits at bay long enough for reinforcements to
arrive, though no less than four men Liam had trained alongside
took fatal wounds that day. Once the other squads showed up,
surrounding them all, the bandits were quick enough to throw down
their weapons. They’d all hanged for it, of course, and the
ringleader had been drawn and quartered. Liam had watched, and no
matter how hard he tried, he’d never been able to forget the
memory, or the screaming. That had been at a safe remove, in the
nearby village square, as he watched from a hundred yards away,
standing with his squad.

The second fight was at Foxhill Keep, scant
weeks ago. There he’d matched swords in anger for the first time,
against men much closer, within arm’s reach. On horseback, in the
dark, he barely hit anything he swung at. He didn’t even know if
he’d killed anyone that night. The few solid hits he’d scored could
have been mere inconveniences to men in plate. Well, he’d only been
buying time for Amira to escape.

He had never done anything like this. He’d
been in Adeline’s embrace, pressed tight against her bosom. He
realized he was gasping as if he’d just sprinted a mile. Every
fiber of his body shook. He knew he should fight it, but he did
not. He crawled over to Adeline’s body again and lifted her head
up. Her eyes were glazed over; blood still dribbled from the great
slash on her neck. He should have found it horrible, but it
thrilled him.

He dropped her to the floor again and looked
up. A smoking crater a foot wide marked the ceiling above where his
head had been. That had been the sound he’d heard; she’d tried to
use her power on him. If her aim had been true, she’d have blown
his head clean off.

Liam began to feel calm reason pushing aside
his rage. Scar-cheek and friends would be back any moment. He had
no sword; in close quarters, his dagger might be sufficient to take
down one man, even against a sword, especially if he had the
element of surprise. But Scar-cheek wouldn’t be alone.

He stood up, aching, and looked in the
dressing mirror beside the bed. He was spattered with blood, a
sight to to make folk tremble. He saw Adeline’s body in the
reflection, now nothing but an empty shell. No one would consecrate
her body and send her to rejoin the earth, would they? He picked up
the dagger and went to the door.

It had been no more than a minute since
Adeline had slumped to the floor. Pounding footsteps vibrated to
him through the floorboards.
Aspect of Courage, make this
work.
He unbarred the door and opened it.

The three men outside skidded to a halt,
Scar-cheek in the lead. Adeline’s body was clearly visible from the
corridor. Liam stood by, dagger in hand, dripping blood. “Her power
could not save her,” he growled. He lifted the dagger and pointed
it at the men. Their eyes widened in horror and confusion. “And it
will not save you.” He took a step forward, his voice rising. “Tell
them that she is dead.
TELL THEM!
”

The two young men behind Scar-cheek spun and
fled on the instant. Scar-cheek himself seemed made of tougher
stuff, but whatever loyalty he had to Adeline must have died with
her, for he backed away down the hall, wary eyes on Liam, and then
rushed down the staircase.

Liam heard panic and shouting down below as
he pulled on his shirt and vest. There was no time to lose. He
stalked down the stairs. Men and women fled past him out into the
night, shying away from him when they caught side of the blood and
gore. He paid them no heed and went out onto the front steps.
There, clearly lit by the house’s lamps, he turned and stabbed his
dagger into the doorframe.

Across the road, something moved in the
darkness: a reflected eye, footsteps scuffing in the dirt as a
shadow ran off. The signal was sent.

———

A few minutes after Liam had left the
Cordways’ the night before, James Cordway had slipped out into the
darkness, and went from house to house, rounding up men he trusted.
They’d gathered in clusters at the roads leading out of town,
waiting.

One man had been sent to skulk in the
shadows, to watch for Liam’s signal. The dagger in the doorway set
the man off to spread the word that Adeline was dead and the town
should be retaken.

The thugs put up hardly any fight at all,
confronted by armed mobs of angry townsmen, staves and wood axes
and torches in hand. Without their patroness, they were no more
than common ruffians, and vastly outnumbered.

James Cordway was made interim magistrate by
acclamation, although he swore up and down he never wanted it and
would step down as soon as the new baron appointed a replacement.
But he didn’t hesitate to condemn the men who had served
Adeline.

A makeshift gallows was erected in the town
square, built from the fallen timbers of the trade office. Six men
swung from it in turn at the next noon, the sour thugs who’d
flocked to Adeline’s call. Scar-cheek and Black Tom were among
them. Some of the others had escaped into the night, making for
parts unknown.

Men of the town patrolled all that day,
keeping an eye out for troublemakers. Liam didn’t ask what had
happened to Adeline’s body, or the house she’d occupied. He cleaned
himself up and changed into garments borrowed from men James knew.
They were happy to gift them to this Oliver Smith, the man who’d
faced down Adeline.

He went back to the Cordways’ and found
Katin waiting for him. She’d stayed inside the whole night with
Lisa and her children, huddled and praying. The relief on Katin’s
face was obvious, but she stayed back until Liam went over to her
and wrapped her in an embrace.

“It’s over,” he murmured to her. “They’ll
give us horses and supplies. We can make for the coast, and then
north into Seawatch.”

James was still out in the town somewhere.
Lisa Cordway came in, shepherding her children. “Come along. We’ll
go visit your cousins.” With a last, awed glance at Liam, she took
the children out.

Katin pushed Liam back a little, looking up
into his eyes, and took his hand. She pulled him along into the
cozy little bedroom at the back of the house. It held only a single
large bed shared by the family, not a patch on Adeline’s stolen
bedchamber. No lights were lit; only the afternoon sun crept in
through the cracks of a shuttered window.

Katin stepped back from him. “I’ve made you
wait too long,” she said. She sounded afraid. She undid her blouse,
her dress, bodice, shift, all falling away into a pile on the
floor.
Afraid? Why? She’s done this before.

She came over to him and helped him undress.
Soon they both stood naked, skin to skin in the quiet dimness. He
recalled the few sensations he’d felt with Adeline: the formless
lust, the cold certainty, shuddering wrath. This was unlike that in
every way.

There were no words. He kissed her and
lifted her onto the bed. He caressed her arms, thighs, breasts, as
she rubbed her leg against his groin and stroked his back. Soon,
too soon, he slipped between her legs and pressed into her.

It wasn’t the act. It was only faith that
mattered. He prayed to the Aspects, all of them, to the Caretaker
himself, but not with words. Just emotions, his rage, lust, envy,
disgust. He plunged into Katin, and she was silent, biting her lip,
eyes squeezed shut. Was it pain? Ecstasy? Did it even matter?