A Mother's Secrets
Page 11
Pellalindra nodded politely, but Vinet could see the stiffness in her shoulders. Pellalindra had no idea who this man was.
Politeness dictated that Vinet should move on and let the other guests greet Pellalindra, but curiosity bade her stay. She compromised, curtsying to Pellalindra and the man then wandering off, staying just within earshot.
“Greetings, sir,” Pellalindra said. “I hope you shall enjoy the festivities of the night.”
“We shall see,” the man said. He bowed again, reaching for Pellalindra’s hand and kissing it.
Pellalindra laughed, and Vinet could see she was flattered. “Well, let me know if there is any assistance I can offer to make it more pleasurable.”
“The only assistance renderable to me is the presence of your company, my lady.”
Vinet raised her eyebrows. That was flattery bordering on flirtation.
Pellalindra glanced around. “Well, it seems that most of the guests have arrived, so shall we take a stroll around the room together?”
The man bowed. “Your wish is my command.”
Vinet started to follow the two of them, only to be intercepted by the man in the golden peacock mask. She stopped, cursing inwardly. She wanted to find out who was flirting with Pellalindra.
“Might I have this dance, my lady? You look absolutely charming.”
Vinet glanced at Gwyn, who gave a shrug. She nodded as the musicians struck up a tune. At least it was a dance she recognized.
The man took her hand and led her to join the line of dancers. She tilted her head slightly as she studied him, waiting for the music to signal the start of the dance. Who was he?
The dance began, and he took her hand as they began the steps together. He knew how to dance, at least.
“Where did you learn to dance, my lord?” she asked.
“Oh, in the frozen north,” was the answer. “We have to do something to keep ourselves warm.”
Well, he was connected to Conn, then. She wracked her brain. His seneschal wouldn’t have come down. His bard? Aed? His shoulders were broad enough for Aed.
“And you, my lady?” the question was pointed.
Vinet laughed. “Oh, I learned everywhere I went,” she said. “One has to know the local dances, otherwise one is likely to commit a faux pas.”
The man laughed. “My wife would agree with you on that.”
His wife! Well, that ruled Aed and Conn’s bard out. Who? Conn was wearing the wolf mask, that had been obvious, so…
She nearly missed a step as the thought occurred to her. They couldn’t have… Pellalindra had been adamant about knowing which mask was worn by which guest.
Should she tell Pellalindra? It would probably cause her concern, but…
No. Conn wasn’t harming anyone. It was nonsensical, and defeated the point of the masquerade, but perhaps the only thing he’d heard about masquerades were what was portrayed in some of the risqué romances she was keeping from Niara. Mask trading and mistaken identities were always a part of those.
The dance came to an end, and Vinet curtsied to the man she was now certain was Conn. She looked around, trying to spot where Gwyn, or Pellalindra and the strange man had gone.
To her surprise, Pellalindra and the man were not far off, over by the refreshment tables. She wandered over herself, on a pretense of getting a drink to cool herself.
“I would love to know your name, but alas, this is not the night for such revelations,” Pellalindra said playfully as Vinet approached.
Vinet nearly choked on a laugh as she reached for a glass of wine. I didn’t think Pellalindra flirted with strange noblemen.
“We must all play the game,” the man bowed slightly. “Though some, I daresay, play it better than others.”
For a moment, Vinet thought that comment was pointed towards her. But it couldn’t be. She wasn’t near enough to be casually listening. Her ears were far sharper than most of the nobles here.
“Oh, you refer to the northern wolf?” Pellalindra laughed. “His blatancy will be practiced only at his own peril. Because of the status of everyone here, security is at its highest.”
Vinet nearly snorted. Conn’s identity wasn’t as obvious as Pellalindra seemed to think it was.
“My lady! You wound me!” the man clapped a hand over his heart. “I spoke only by my own humble broad observations. I accuse no one lest I myself be accused.”
Pellalindra laughed. “Of course, of course,” she said. Their conversation paused for a moment before she continued. “As newly elected Lady of the Council, I must voice that we are all intrigued as to what everyone else’s thoughts on the Council are. We’ve been established a year now. Might I pick your brain, taking advantage of anonymity?”
The man bowed. “My wish is your command.”
Pellalindra smiled her thanks. “What are the nobility’s thoughts on some of our most recent decisions?”
The man didn’t answer, just took Pellalindra’s hand and joined the next dance without consulting her. Pellalindra followed without resistance.
Vinet moved along the row of dancers, stretching her hearing as far as she could. She wanted to hear this.
"The Council has most certainly made some curious decisions,” the man said as they stood, waiting for the dance to start. “The wild goose chase most recent concerns numerous nobles, myself included. If I may impart, my Lady of Council, we have taken to calling it the wild ghost chase!"
“I’m afraid I may agree with you on that. You don’t see the debates within the chamber, only the results from it. But it was a decision not easily made.” Pellalindra was silent for a moment as the dance swept them up. “How would the lords like us to vote in the future, as I assume investment in other expeditions will continue to be options?”
Vinet nearly broke her cover and stared at Pellalindra. The expedition was no wild goose chase!
The man in the purple mask missed a step but recovered so quickly Vinet couldn’t be sure if she had seen the mistake. “You mistake my statement, I’m afraid. I would hardly consider the deployment of two Divisions an expedition!”
Darkmane, Vinet thought. I knew chasing after him would come back to haunt us.
Pellalindra seemed to realize the same thing. “We wanted to bring a murderer to justice. Anyone would have done the same.”
“Deploying the Regulars in force to chase a murderer seems a little extreme, does it not?”
Vinet felt a harsh feeling of vindication as she heard the man’s words. It had been extreme.
“As you speak it, I must agree somewhat. We wished for Lady Justice to strike quickly, as idealistic as that seems.” Lady Pellalindra said.
Vinet eyed Pellalindra. She was certainly adept at appearing to agree with anyone’s statements.
The music faded, and the man led Pellalindra off the dance floor. “Ah yes. Lady Justice. I know her well. Most assuredly the idealist’s lover, but not the wife of a ruler.”
Vinet stared down at her drink. She had been accused of idealism time and time again. Maybe she wasn’t suited to being on the Council.
Pellalindra and the man started walking in her direction, and Vinet got ready to greet them. Before they reached her, however, the man in the golden peacock mask, Conn, as she now knew, walked up to intercept them. “Come now, is this really the place to be discussing politics, with such fine wine and finer company?”
The man in purple gave Conn a short bow. “A ball is the perfect place to discuss politics, good sir.”
Conn nodded. “Well, in that case, did I hear you correctly? You disapprove of the southern expedition? I thought they found a whole heap of gold!” he laughed heartily, as if at a joke.
Vinet’s hand tightened on her glass. She had known Conn didn’t approve of the expedition. And the anonymity of his new mask gave him freedom to express that opinion.
"Good stranger," the man’s voice was calm and level. "You mistake my words. I have spoken no harsh words against the Badlands expedition."
"A conversation held with a lovely lady is not one best repeated, good man. I'm sure you, of all those here, would understand this truth." The man took a goblet from a passing servant and sipped it, but Vinet noticed he never stopped looking at Conn.
Conn chuckled easily. “That is fair. Well then let us not repeat what was said but bring new information to the table. What do you think of Saemar right now? Is trade your major concern or are you one of the warlike types?”
Vinet wanted to roll her eyes at so obvious a division of the Council. Pellalindra seemed to have the same thought. “People’s ideals are rarely so dualistic.” Lady Duskryn interjected.
The man in the purple mask chuckled. "One might say I am a trader of sorts." He paused, fixing Conn with his inquisitive look once more. "And your own concerns?"
Conn shrugged. “Oh, I am concerned for the safety of Saemar, nothing more.” He turned. “Might I have this next dance, Lady Duskryn?”
Pellalindra accepted his hand, and he led her to the dance floor, leaving the purple masked man alone. He stood in contemplative silence for a moment, then walked in Vinet’s direction. He bowed. “Greetings, my lady. Are you enjoying the ball?”
She curtsied in response. “As much as you,” she responded.
He laughed. “An enigmatic response.”
“Perfect for an enigmatic evening,” she replied. She couldn’t take the measure of this man. She had no idea what to make of him.
Like an angel, Gwyn appeared at her elbow. “You need to see something,” she whispered. She glanced at the man. “Pardon me, my lord, but I must claim my friend.”
“Of course,” the man waved. “Do not let me stop your enjoyment.”
Vinet followed Gwyn through the crowded ballroom and out to the garden. “What is it?” She whispered.
Gwyn simply shook her head and continued leading her. The gardens were also full of guests, though it was nowhere near as crowded as the ballroom. Gwyn led her to a small, secluded grove.
She quickly took in the scene. Conn’s bard sat with his mask off and a harp in his hands. The mask beside him was the gray wolf mask Conn had originally been wearing. A young elf woman stood next to him, as well as a slender man in a black fox mask. The woman in the aqua mask, from the beginning of the ball, was there also, staring at the bard. “A lie is a lie, sir,” she said.
Vinet poked Gwyn. “Who’s who?” she asked.
“Elf woman, Saihid’s sister. Black fox, Saihid. The woman…” Gwyn’s voice trailed off.
Vinet nodded. “Conn has the golden peacock mask now.”
“Oh, no harm is done. Let my lord and his lady have some fun at the southern lords’ expense. You have no idea how often they mock him, calling him barbarian and savage. This is just a bit of innocent fun,” the bard implored.
Vinet knew that was true. But Conn seemed to encourage that by appealing to every stereotype they had. He seemed to enjoy the image.
“I hardly doubt it will be innocent,” Saihid said. “Lady Duskryn assigned the masks for a reason. She knows everyone in that room simply by looking at them. Speaking of which, who are you?” The Duskryn guardsman looked at the lady in the aqua mask.
Vinet watched as the lady laughed. “Ah, my darling fox of the platinum. You cannot lecture on the meaning of a masquerade and then immediately ask me my identity. Truly the fox is cunning.” She walked near him, circling. “You can call me Maiden.”
Saihid seemed utterly confused. Vinet couldn’t suppress a smile. “I… very well, Maiden. What brings you outside on this cold night? Surely the ballroom is more comfortable and suited to your tastes?”
“The cold is what suits a bitch like her,” Conn’s bard muttered under his breath. Vinet raised an eyebrow, certain that she had been the only one to hear that comment.
The woman raised a hand, and there was a loud twang as every one of Conn’s harp strings snapped. Vinet stared. What had she done? How had she heard?
“Come with me, my black fox,” the woman said, taking Saihid’s arm.
Saihid seemed even more startled but didn’t resist. As they passed near Vinet and Gwyn, the woman looked in their direction. “Have a good night, mother’s daughter.”
Vinet stiffened, and she felt Gwyn do the same thing beside her. What was AeresThonEsia doing here?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Conn, his wife, and several other masked figures arriving, all talking at the top of their lungs. Apparently, the mask switching had been discovered.
Vinet tugged Gwyn’s arm. She didn’t want to deal with this. “Let’s go dance,” she said to Gwyn. “I’ve had enough of politics, intrigue, and deception for the night.”
Chapter 7: The Great Hunt
“Vinet? There’s a dwarf here to see you. The same one that went off on that expedition to the badlands.” Gwyn announced, peeking into Vinet’s study.
Vinet glanced up from her reading. “Here? In Ninaeva?”
Gwyn nodded.
Vinet closed her book. “Show them in.”
Gwyn nodded and left the room. Shortly afterward she returned, followed by a female dwarf. She was short and stocky, like most of her kin, but she seemed thin. Her red hair was tied back in a severe braid with only a few rebellious curls escaping, and her face, despite rumors to the contrary, was completely free of hair.
“Lady Vinet?”
Vinet nodded. The dwarf woman’s eyes seemed dark and sad.
“I’m Yderdochter. Went with Jimesseran on his expedition north.”
Vinet tried to throttle down her excitement. “Is Jimesseran here? Did he find what he was looking for?”
Yderdochter shook her head. “Jimesseran’s dead. This is for you.” She took a ragged journal out of her jacket and thrust it towards Vinet.
Vinet took it, still trying to process Yderdochter’s words. “Dead?”
The dwarf shook her head. “Just read it,” she said. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
Vinet paid the dwarf’s rudeness no mind, staring at the journal in her hands. She had known Jimesseran was dying when he set out but she hadn’t thought that he’d die on the journey. Did I expedite his death by funding the expedition?
No, Jimesseran would have gone anyway. That was his life’s dream, and he would want someone to know what he had discovered. She sank back down in her chair in front of the fire and began to read. Excitement rose in her as soon as she started. He’d been successful! He’d gone further north than anyone, through N’Dar’s Dagger and the Channel of Sorrows. And after two weeks of traveling, he’d found nephelm sites! Abandoned, unfortunately.
She flicked through the pages impatiently. Surely, he’d found more! He described a marvelous bridge, with dragon statues, and another statue of a curiously-garbed female nephelm warrior poised to slay them. So, the nephelm had been dragon-slayers? Were they the reason there were no more dragons left?
She froze as her eyes moved to the next line.
A dragon! We saw a dragon, albeit far in the sky above and only a glimpse since the road, even traveling north along this strong river, is heavily wooded. I’m sure it was a dragon. Yderdochter... be safe we are not using the road, sticking to the woods with the road just in sight.
She stared at the sentence, trying to make sure she’d read it correctly. Dragons had been extinct for hundreds of years. Yet Jimesseran’s writing reported a sighting of one, not more than a month’s travel northwards?
She wished there was more detail, but the last pages of the journal were ragged and nearly illegible. His illness, whatever it was, had been catching up to him, and for some reason he’d sent Yderdochter away. There was only a brief mention of another strange creature, and another bizarre segment at the end which implied that he would die fulfilled. Did that mean he’d found the nephelm? There was another fragmentary sentence that mentioned someone watching, but was that real or delusion? Th
ere was no way to tell!
She put the journal down, torn between elation and frustration. There was something to the north, that was certain. She just wished Jimesseran had been able to make it back himself.
She should probably make sure to send a copy of the journal to Kamian. He’d be as interested in this as she. After the conversations of the masquerade, she was less inclined to think that anyone else on the Council would want to see an expedition’s journal.
“Lady Vinet?”
She looked up to see Kildar, her seneschal, at the door. She smiled. “Yes, Kildar?”
The old man approached her, a thin envelope in his hand. “A messenger arrived and brought this for you.”
Her eyebrows rose as she saw the address when the letter was in her hands. Lady Pellalindra Duskryn.
She opened the envelope and pulled out the most expensive piece of parchment she’d ever seen, trimmed with gold illumination.
The wording was suitably formal for such a piece of parchment, but Vinet quickly gathered the gist. An invitation to the 112th Great Hunt of Duskryn. Apparently now that Pellalindra was Lady of the Council, she was inviting the councilors to all her grand events. She leaned back in her chair as Kildar left the room. Did she have to go? She really didn’t want to deal with all that politicking again.
A flash passed in front of her eyes, and she grasped at her chair. Not now. Not again!
On the corner of her desk, the Book of Truths opened on its own. She gasped.
The vision took her so fast that she could do nothing to prepare. A forest, with trees taller than she’d ever seen. A lone wolf. A scream of horror. The twang of an arrow. And a feeling of something familiar. Something…
She gasped, and her vision dissipated. She was back in her library, Pellalindra’s invitation having fallen to the floor in front of her. The Book of Truths was closed.
She stared at the paper. Normally, she had no idea what her visions meant. This time, however, she felt a certain connection with Pellalindra’s invitation. Gwyn would probably tell her to leave well enough alone. But there was something… something in that vision, a deep sense of familiarity that gave her heart a pang of longing for something she’d never known. She picked up the paper again, noticing that her hands were shaking. There was a postscript.