The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (32 page)

“I was in the library.” I apologised. “That coffer looks to hold a lot of the pieces Temar’s hunting.”

“That’s fortunate.” Camarl’s expression was uncompromising. “That could well be all the spoils D’Alsennin wins from this Festival.” He set down a broad collar of curling gold links and tossed a letter at me.

“
I learn you are interested in acquiring certain heirlooms of my House
,” I read. “
Certain others have also expressed a desire to acquire these pieces. Accordingly, I intend to have three jewellers unbeholden to any Name appraise the items in question. Once I have established their value, I invite you to make an offer. From Messire Den Turquand, given at his Toremal residence, Summer Solstice Day
.”

“His man must have been waving it in the breeze to dry the ink on his way here,” muttered Camarl. “What do you make of it, Ryshad?”

“Den Turquand got wind of the value of Kellarin artefacts,” I said slowly. “And he’ll sell to the highest bidder, no question. Some of the Names offering argument to D’Olbriot before the courts will be only too glad to pay thrice their value to use them as bargaining counters.” I couldn’t contain my anger. “But these are people’s lives! Hostage-taking belongs back in the Chaos.”

“How did he get wind of this?” Camarl demanded.

I looked him in the eye. “I’ve been asking various of my acquaintance if their masters or mistresses have heirlooms that might date from the loss of Kellarin.”

“Perhaps it might have been wise to discuss that with myself or the Sieur,” Camarl said bitingly. “Servants gossip and share titbits with their betters, Ryshad.”

“I’m sorry. I’m accustomed to use my own judgement in service of the Name.” I managed a fair appearance of regret. That all the Demoiselles and Esquires gossiped just as eagerly among themselves and Camarl learned all manner of valuable things from his own valet was neither here nor there.

“This is just not a priority.” Camarl screwed up the letter, hurling it into the empty hearth. “These people under enchantment—let’s be honest, a few more seasons, even years, would make no difference, not after so many generations. Setting the colony on a sound footing, stopping interest in Kellarin degenerating into an ugly scramble for advantage—that’s what’s important. This business of artefacts, it’s simply a complication. What’s the Sieur to do, Ryshad, if someone comes demanding concessions on trade in return for one of these cursed things?”

I kept my eyes lowered, expression neutral. I’d spent long enough in the service of the House to realise the Esquire’s anger wasn’t really directed at me. Although everyone treated him as such, Camarl wasn’t yet formally confirmed as the Sieur’s Designate. If all the black crows hovering round the House this Festival came home to roost, the Sieur’s brothers and all the other men bearing the D’Olbriot Name would be looking for someone to blame.

“Go and get yourself liveried,” Camarl said after a moment of tense silence. “Attend us to the law courts before you go off to answer that challenge.”

I bowed to the Esquire’s turning back and closed the door softly behind me.

Back in the gatehouse I dug my formal livery out of the depths of my clothes press. Dark green breeches went beneath a straight coat of the same cloth, more a sleeved jerkin in style really. Banded with gold at the wrists and around the uncomfortably constricting upright collar, it had a gold lynx mask embroidered on the breast, eyes bright emeralds among the metallic thread. There’d be no doubt that I belonged to one of the most ancient and wealthy Houses of the Empire as we travelled through a city gaping for a glimpse of nobles they only knew through gossip, scandal and broadsheet tales.

I scowled into the mirror and went to wait in the gatehouse. This was evidently a day to show I knew my place.

“Not going to be fighting in that?” Stolley laughed from the seat where he was reading the most recent broadsheet. It was his privilege as senior Sergeant to be first to see the tittle tattle culled from rumour, venal servants and indiscreet clerks.

I smiled humourlessly. “Hardly.”

“Got up and trod in your chamberpot, did you?” He shook his head. “At least your livery still fits. I need a new one every year.”

“Master Dederic must love you.” I ran a finger round inside my collar. “I don’t suppose I’ve had this thing on more than ten times since I swore to the Name.”

“Lucky bastard,” said Stolley with feeling. “Oh, and my wife says you’re to come to supper when Festival’s over. I warn you, she’s inviting her niece, saying it’s time you found a nice girl to court, now you’ll be settled in Toremal.”

“Married to you and she still wants to shackle her niece to a chosen man? They say misery loves company.” I tried for a smile to take the sting out of my words. “Any word this morning, anything on who attacked D’Alsennin?”

Stolley stood up to pin the broadsheet to the door for the men on duty during the day to read if they had the skill. “Just Tor Kanselin’s men saying the lad only got off his leash because Esquire Camarl was busy dallying in the gardens with Demoiselle Irianne. There was a bit of nonsense when one of our lads wondered if the Esquire had got round to plucking a petal or two.”

“And that’s supposed to get Tor Kanselin off the hook?” I retorted, annoyed. “And when their esquire got married last Solstice, didn’t I hear they were whispering in corners about Camarl never having a girl on his arm? Hinting he might take a less than rational view of women?”

“They can’t have it both ways,” Stolley agreed. “Yes, Demoiselle, how can I serve?”

He turned to deal with the first of a flurry of visitors arriving for a lunch party and then with a series of coaches drawing up to take cadet members of the Name to engagements all around the city. I dutifully assisted, holding fans, offering a supporting hand, closing doors, careful not to crush expensive silks or feathers as I did so. In between I watched the toings and froings outside the open gate. Several women from grace houses went past, Stoll’s own wife among them. If I was to make the step to proven man, the Sieur had to see my face, and I had to be on hand to do him some service. That meant buckling down here for a good few seasons, fetching, carrying and proving my loyalty day in and day out. I tried to imagine Livak among the placid wives and decided she’d be as out of place as a woodlark in a hencoop.

Messire’s coach finally rattled up outside the gate just as the fourth chime of the day rang out from the bell tower. The bay horses were matched within a shade of colour, the woodwork and leather shone richly in the sunlight and liveried footmen jumped down to attend to door and step. The Sieur arrived with the echoes barely died away, Esquire Camarl, Temar and Demoiselle Avila with him. For all the fullness of his figure, the Sieur moved with brisk determination, twinkling eyes keen.

Temar was looking stubborn about something. He carried his sword, and as he approached held it out to me. “I thought you might use this, for this afternoon.”

“My thanks, Esquire.” I took the scabbarded blade and bowed first to Temar and then to Camarl, who watched with distant annoyance as I unbelted my own sword and gave it into Stolley’s keeping. Camarl had given me that new blade at Winter Solstice and I’d accepted it gladly, all the more so since I knew both smith and the smithy where it had been made and would wager my oath that no unquiet shades hung round it. But I couldn’t throw Temar’s offer back in his face, could I?

“At least you’ll get some fresh air down at the sword school,” the Sieur remarked genially. “Put an end to this nonsense of a challenge as soon as you can, Ryshad. Let them have their fun, but don’t risk your skin trying to prove a point.” He favoured me with a warm smile.

Another carriage pulled up and the Sieur’s elder brother appeared behind us, several clerks laden with ledgers with him, Messire’s youngest son hovering at the back. The Sieur turned. “Fresil, send Myred to find me if there’s any nonsense over the Land Tax assessment. And I want to know at once who’s behind any application to sting us over Kellarin for the year to come.”

The brother nodded, face uncompromising beneath his bald pate. We all made our bow as Esquire Fresil climbed into his coach, a ribbon-tied document clutched in one age-spotted hand that would summarise the House’s finances to the last copper cut piece.

“Your uncle will make sure no one rolls up this House in parchment, won’t he, Camarl?” The Sieur smiled with satisfaction. “If Fresil can teach Myred half his skills, he’ll make a worthy successor to assist you.”

Which was as close as Messire ever came to telling Camarl he favoured him as Designate.

“I don’t think we need fret unduly about proceedings in the Imperial court today,” Messire continued easily. “We’ve been looking into potentially contentious areas for most of For-Summer, Dolsan and myself. We’ve plenty of strings to our bow.” His expression turned cold and I turned to see Casuel hurrying down the residence steps. “But we don’t want people wondering about anything underhand. Ryshad, tell that importuning wizard to keep his distance today.”

I walked hastily over to Casuel. “We’re off to the courts, Master Mage, so the Sieur has no need of your services.” I tried to keep my tone light.

Casuel looked crestfallen and suspicious at one and the same time. “Surely reminding people D’Olbriot has Archmage Planir for an ally will strengthen his position?”

“You know what folk are like, Casuel.” I shrugged. “An advocate might see you and raise the question of magic just to confuse the real issues.”

“Planir should deal with this nonsensical prejudice once and for all.” Casuel flushed with irritation. “So what am I to do today? Sit on my hands?”

“You could go and see what Velindre thinks of Allin and Temar’s little adventure?” I suggested.

The Sieur snapped his fingers at me and I bowed. “I’ll see you later, Casuel.”

Messire was first into the coach, nodding me into a seat opposite. I tucked Temar’s sword in hastily as Avila arranged her skirts to her satisfaction. As Temar joined us the Sieur sat back against the mossy velvet upholstery. “Thank you, Ryshad. This is no time to be associated with magic in the public eye.”

“That is surely a little difficult,” said Temar with barely restrained indignation, “when the Demoiselle Tor Arrial is the foremost practitioner of Artifice in this city.” Temar was richly dressed in the latest style, in dark russet silk, the clasp at his throat a complex knot of gold set with small faceted stones. Gold chains secured with garnet studs looped around the cuffs of his coat. Borrowed wealth it might be, but after today none of the commonalty thronging the streets would believe any rumour claiming the Esquire D’Alsennin was just some washed-up pauper. His only ring was the sapphire signet I remembered, a jarring touch of colour that must have had Master Dederic tearing his well-cut hair. I was glad to see Temar wearing something of his own among all this borrowed finery.

Avila was laughing. “I am the only practitioner, as far as I can tell. But the boy has a point, Guliel. That Artifice cured his wounds was widely discussed yesterday.”

Messire nodded. “True, but that’s not elemental magic. In time, with care, we can make people understand the difference.”

“So what is our purpose in displaying ourselves at court today?” Avila asked politely after a short silence.

“To show young D’Alsennin alive and well and ready to uphold his rights. To show we have nothing to hide and stand ready to answer any mean-spirited accusation.” The Sieur beamed with a charm that won an answering smile from Avila.

In bellflower blue brocade she looked every measure the noble lady. A collar of pearls and sapphires circled her neck and silver rings adorned every finger, two set with diamonds that flashed fire in the sunlight. Her hair was dressed high and, as she leaned forward, I saw she had a striking jewelled ornament pinning on her veil of lace. The spray of emerald fronds had a blue butterfly nestling in the centre and it took me a moment to recall this was the badge of Tor Arrial. Did this mean Messire has secured the alliance of the current Sieur, or was he putting the Name on notice that Avila was not about to yield any of her claims?

“Cheer up, Ryshad,” chuckled the Sieur. “I’m sorry you have to be liveried up but it’s as well to remind everyone where your loyalties lie. Have you heard the rumours running round about your adventures in the Archipelago?”

His tone was familiar, intimate, with all the sincerity that had convinced me Messire’s oath bound him to me as securely as mine to him. But he’d handed me over to Planir without hesitation when that best served the wider ambitions of his House. I sat back in the shadows as we swept between the shade trees lining the road to the lower city.

As we passed the conduit house, the bowl of the lower city spread out before us beneath the cloudless sky. The vista was a chequer pattern of myriad roofs, packed as close as the tiles they were made from, dappled with all shades of colour from the rawest new orange to ancient faded umber. Here and there a taller tower of golden stone looked down on less favoured neighbours, a gatehouse or some other remnant of a noble edifice now given over to more mundane uses, yet still keeping mute watch over a Name’s interests. Chimneys that took no rest for the Festival breathed faint plumes of smoke that thickened the air as we left the green freshness of the upper city and the fitful breezes from the distant, hidden sea were baffled by cornices and façades turning them this way and that.

The carriage rattled over the cobbles, coachman keeping the horses trotting at a steady pace, a footman using a long horn to clear the commonalty off the road. It sounded ever more frequently as we drew nearer to the sprawling mass of the law courts.

“The walls!” Temar exclaimed. He twisted in his seat to peer out of the window. “That is the Toremal I remember!”

“How the city is grown,” murmured Avila, mouth set in a bloodless line.

“Shall I lower the blinds?” Camarl forced a smile as he waved to acknowledge some loyal tenants cheering the D’Olbriot lynx on the door.

“No, I don’t think so.” The Sieur clapped silent hands to show his admiration for a puppet in D’Olbriot livery held up for his amusement. The crowd was swelling with fervent excitement, the noise almost painful to the ears by the time we drew up beneath the looming shadow of the Imperial Courts.