Banebringer

by Carol A Park

  “Of course, Dal,” she said, curtseying. “That would be such a relief.”

  The steward put one hand on the small of her back, ostensibly steering her in the right direction, but he didn’t remove it as they walked.

  Ivana bit back a grimace. So. He was that kind of man. She had suspected but had planned to avoid making herself an easy target for him. Such as being alone at night in an empty hallway.

  “A pleasant evening, wouldn’t you say?” he remarked.

  “I suppose, my lord.”

  “Well,” he said, “not so pleasant if you are unable to sleep.” He gave her a sympathetic look, and she gave him a grateful smile in return.

  “Indeed, Dal.” Worm.

  “Please, my dear. Call me Allyn.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “Ah,” he said after another moment. “Here we are.”

  The door they stopped in front of was not the door to their rooms. Ivana feigned confusion. “I…are you sure? This doesn’t look right.”

  “The hallways can look so much the same,” he said, but he made no move to leave her. Instead, he stepped closer. “A sweet thing like yourself should avoid wandering at night.”

  Ugh. What a nuisance.

  Vaughn stared up at the ceiling of his room, wide awake, even though it was well past three in the morning. His mind refused to settle, replaying the events of the previous few days, torturing him with scenarios of what he could have done differently, wondering if the decisions he had made recently would see him dead—or Sedated.

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the pervasive pale light in the room—light no normal person would notice, but that his eyes always perceived. He had grown used to it over the years, and it no longer bothered him most nights—except on nights like these.

  He turned over, buried his face in the pillow, and muttered a curse at the heretic gods who just couldn’t let go of their mortal playthings.

  Sleep. Must sleep. He would need to be as alert as possible in the days to come, lest he miss whatever trap his father was going to lay for him.

  He lay still and silent, willing himself to sink into unconsciousness, but it didn’t work.

  He sat up in frustration and punched his pillow a few times. That didn’t work either.

  Finally, he sighed. He had found only one remedy. Time for a late-night walk.

  Even a truly naïve girl would have caught on at this point. “Th-thank you, Dal. I…I’ll just be…” She felt for the doorknob behind her, but he pressed himself against her, trapping her before she could reach it.

  “Now, we can do this two ways, dear. Easy, or difficult. I would advise taking the easy way. No screaming, no struggling. Perhaps even pleasant. Yes?”

  Ivana shoved down the bile that rose in her throat. Right. “Dal?”

  “Remember, I am a steward of the Ri of Weylyn. You are nothing. Thus, your word means nothing.”

  She allowed understanding into her eyes, let him see it, and then lowered them. “Just so,” she whispered.

  “Ah, there we go, dear. Now, I happen to know that the room behind us is unoccupied and quite comfortable. Shall we?”

  He pushed open the door and guided her into the room, hand still on the small of her back. He didn’t even bother to close the door before pressing himself into her.

  Ivana mentally prepared herself as he nuzzled her neck. This was not what she had been expecting this evening. To the abyss with men like Allyn, along with the nobles who employed them, probably knowing full well of his lecherous ways. She wondered how many of the maids he was used to victimizing. Theirs, certainly—she had been far too wary of Heilyn. She felt herself start to tremble with anger.

  “There, now,” he said, “no need to be afraid. The easy way isn’t so bad, and I can be gentle.”

  Well enough, that he thought she was afraid. That would be natural.

  If only he knew that he ought to be the one quaking with fear.

  Her hand itched to reach for the dagger strapped to her thigh under her skirt. But she restrained herself, trying to think about other things while his hands moved to the buttons on the back of her dress.

  “Hello?” a voice suddenly said, and the door creaked open farther.

  Ivana blinked. Heilyn? What in the abyss was he doing up?

  The steward pulled back, a sneer curling his lip, but he quickly regained control of himself. “Ah. Dal Heilyn. As you can see, we are quite busy…”

  “Yes,” Heilyn said, a frown touching the corners of his lips. “I can see that.”

  They exchanged a long stare, and then the steward gave up. No doubt, Ivana wasn’t worth enough to him to risk getting into a scuffle with another man. He straightened his tunic, glared at Heilyn, and left the room.

  Heilyn said nothing. He just stood there, staring at her, brow furrowed.

  Anger spiked through her. She supposed he thought he was being magnanimous, rescuing her from a man only slightly worse than himself. She glared at him and pushed herself away from the wall.

  Without a word, she marched down the hallway.

  Vaughn followed close on Sweetblade’s heels, at once aghast and perplexed at the scene he had encountered. There was no way in Temoth’s realm that she had been a willing participant. Yet he doubted she was unarmed. Why hadn’t she just…knifed him, or whatever it was she did?

  As soon as the door closed behind them, she turned on him. “Don’t you ever interfere with my business again!” she snapped.

  He opened his mouth in surprise. “But he was going to—”

  “Yes, thank you. I am aware of the nature of the situation. Do you really think I was incapable of handling it myself?”

  “But you weren’t!” he protested. That was the confusing part. Why?

  She pressed her lips together and advanced on him with a cold fury that terrified him more than she ever had thus far. “And what do you think would happen, if I killed or maimed the Ri’s steward?”

  “I suppose that wouldn’t be good. But if you had, ah, dealt with him, no one would have suspect—”

  “Yes. Yes, they most certainly would have. New guests, having just killed a monster, a steward who is known for victimizing the maids, and suddenly he’s dead? And I hardly had the means at that moment to make it look accidental.”

  “But…but you’re saying you would have—”

  She had backed him against the wall now, and he didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched at her thigh.

  How had he landed in so much trouble by trying to be chivalrous?

  “Yes. That is precisely what I am saying. I will do whatever is necessary to protect my identity. Sometimes that means doing things that aren’t so pleasant.”

  He flinched back, as though she had spit at him, but no moisture left her mouth. “I was only trying to help.” Burning skies. Wasn’t it better that he had interfered? It still saved her the—

  “I don’t need your help, I don’t want your help. Especially your help.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Was this woman so damn prideful that she couldn’t be grateful for the happenstance that prevented her from having to do something unpleasant, as she put it?

  “I am sure the number of maids you’ve seduced rivals that of the steward.”

  “Now, that’s just unfair,” he said indignantly. “Seducing is very different from taking it by force.”

  She snorted and pressed one finger into his chest so hard it hurt. “You,” she said, “are everything I hate about men.”

  And then she turned on her heel and re-entered her room, slamming the door behind her.

  Vaughn stared open-mouthed at the door. What had that been about?

  Ivana tried to steady herself as she entered her room.

  The nerve, insinuating that he was better than that worm!

  In truth, she was relieved Heilyn had stumbled upon them. She may have been used to such situations, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She was simply furious that it was Heilyn wh
o had found them.

  She slammed her fist into the wall, heedless of the way it smarted as a consequence. And why did he infuriate her so much? She usually had a much better reign on her emotions than this.

  What was happening to her? Why had he unhinged her so?

  She knew why, and it was unfair of her to blame him for it. It wasn’t his fault that his smile and manner reminded her of him, and that even in her fury, every nerve had tingled at their proximity a moment ago. It wasn’t his fault that his presence was a constant reminder of events and emotions she had—up until now—successfully buried.

  It was as though he were a ghost from her past sent to haunt her, to punish her for daring to escape the pain she deserved.

  She would never be happier than when this was over and she never had to deal with him again.

  Chapter Nine

  Cracks

  “Slouch,” Sweetblade said, shooting a look at Vaughn.

  “Slouch?” Vaughn replied.

  “Yes. Look a little less like you’ve been raised to sit and stand and walk perfectly at all times.”

  Vaughn tried to stoop over a bit. “How’s this?”

  Sweetblade stared at him and then rolled her eyes up. “Never mind. Just…stand however you want.” She turned away, folded her arms across her chest, and began tapping her foot impatiently.

  He straightened up to his normal posture. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to please her. His hopes, already dim, of getting her to trust him were fizzling out.

  The expected knock came, and Ivana immediately folded her hands delicately on top of one another at her middle.

  Vaughn straightened his tunic, wondering again at her ability to change personalities so quickly, and opened the door.

  It was their maid. “Your presence is requested in the dining hall,” she said.

  Sweetblade curtsied and Vaughn bowed, trying very hard not to look at the maid, lest Ivana accuse him of more indecency.

  “Thank you,” he was careful to say to the maid, while looking at a point behind her shoulder that most definitely did not include a view of her cleavage.

  He didn’t know if the small sigh that issued from Ivana was exasperation or relief at finally having this entire situation move forward.

  If the latter, he understood. For his part, he was desperate to get this over before his father heard of it.

  They followed the maid down the hall, and unlike the winding course the steward had taken them on when they had arrived, she led them directly to the dining hall.

  He shook his head slightly. The steward. A vile man. Whatever Sweetblade might think of him, he had never forced or intimidated a woman who was unwilling, and he had a low opinion of men who did. And he still didn’t understand why his saving her from the steward had earned him such ire.

  The dining hall was as grand as the rest of the manor. The ceiling stretched the height of two full floors, and the table in the middle took up the entire length of the room. Vaughn did a quick count and guessed it could seat at least fifty people.

  Impressive, but had heard his father’s could seat seventy-five.

  He pushed thoughts of Gildas out of his mind. That could wait.

  The footman at the door bowed as they approached. “This way, Dal,” he said.

  They followed him to a spot about two-thirds of the way down the table, where he pulled out Sweetblade’s chair. She thanked him prettily, and once she was settled, he led Vaughn to the opposite side of the table, where the footman indicated he should seat himself.

  If their arrival had been noticed, no one spoke of it. Conversation continued in a low murmur, with the occasional spate of laughter from one end of the table or another. Ri Talesin was already there, at the head of the table with, presumably, his wife and daughter on the ladies side, and his four sons on the other.

  His daughter was a sight to behold; she was the very definition of gaudy. Her dress sparkled with hundreds of golden sequins, her necklace was set with large stones, and her hair was pinned up in a towering style he had never seen before.

  Was this the fashion for noble ladies now? It had been awhile since he had been in such company.

  The men on either side of him didn’t seem inclined toward conversation, so he glanced down the table at the other women there. Indeed, many had their hair pinned up so high it was a wonder the ensembles didn’t come tumbling down with the slightest twitch of their heads.

  Temoth. It must be new; usually what the nobles did, the commoners mimicked, to the degree they were able, and he hadn’t seen it reach the streets yet.

  Then again, the commoners might not be able to afford the hundreds of pins and vats of hair ointment that must be required to keep such a style in place.

  Finally, his eyes drifted to Sweetblade. Her hair was pinned up, but not so ostentatiously. Combined with her simple but flattering dress, she was out of place among the row of peacocks she sat with.

  He found he liked her appearance, in contrast. Especially the tiny curls left down that tickled her neck as she spoke with the woman to her left.

  She glanced his way and frowned when she caught him looking at her.

  He couldn’t resist winking, and her frown deepened.

  He averted his gaze to his own side of the table and noticed for the first time that a large section of seats had been left empty, close to the Ri.

  Perhaps left for the guests the steward had mentioned? Fairly important ones, if they were seated so close.

  The Ri’s sons were stately, sitting with rod-straight backs as they conversed quietly amongst themselves.

  Suddenly conscious of his own similar posture, he tried to hunch down a little.

  “Are you quite all right?” the man to his right said to him.

  “Ah, pardon? Yes, of course.”

  The man tilted his head. “I wasn’t sure. You looked as though you might be doubled over in pain.”

  He groaned internally. “A spasm, nothing more. Occasionally my stomach gives me fits.” Vaughn coughed a bit for good measure.

  The man gave him a sympathetic look. “No doubt your food is not what it should be.”

  While Vaughn was puzzling out the meaning of that comment, the man continued on. “Heilyn, is it? I heard about your daring defeat of the bloodbane spawned in the capital.”

  “Luck, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, my friend, your luck may well bring you enough money to supplement your options and clear up that stomach problem.”

  Supplement his—oh. Right. He was a commoner, and therefore destitute. Even though that wasn’t at all true of many commoners, at least here in Weylyn, it was the perception among many nobles. Vaughn blinked and gave what he hoped was a grateful smile. “That would be wonderful.”

  The man inclined his head. “The name is Dewain,” he said. “I extend my gratitude to you and your friend.” He nodded across the table. “My daughter was visiting in the capital last week. Who knows what could have happened if the monster had been allowed to rampage?”

  Vaughn sincerely doubted his daughter was anywhere near the quarter of the city where the monster had appeared, but he smiled anyway. “As I said, luck.” He glanced across the table to Sweetblade. “And, she’s not my friend. Just the innkeeper where I was staying.” It sounded dumb the moment the words left his lips, and the man gave him a quizzical look.

  Thank Temoth Sweetblade hadn’t heard that.

  “Well then,” the man said. He turned back to the more interesting person on his right.

  Vaughn breathed out and found himself hunching down out of pity for himself. This was an awful experience. He had never sat at a table in a noble’s hall and tried to pretend to be a commoner before.

  The conversation at the table quieted at the sound of the Ri clinking his spoon against his glass, a broad smile on his face. “I have just been informed that our guests of honor have arrived.”

  Was he referring to them? But, no, the Ri was standing and looking toward the door.


  The entire table turned toward the door to view the guests.

  There in the door, surrounded by guards, stood two jewel-encrusted women, one younger, and one older.

  And to the right and back of the older one stood none other than Gildas himself.

  Damn.

  A flood of long-buried emotions crashed into Ivana’s wall, rending the crack with a violence that mirrored itself so painfully in reality that she had to choke back a gasp.

  She struggled for control, grasped for it even as it swirled around in the whirlpool, taunting her, telling her the past decade had been a farce.

  It had been 13 years since she had last seen Gildas, and though he had aged, he had the same self-important bearing and superior countenance. It was almost as if he were still standing above the bleeding body of her father, sword dangling from a careless hand, ready to move on to the next inconvenience he had to deal with that day.

  Except this time, the flash of pain quickly morphed into rage. It took every ounce of self-control she had left not to leap across the table and stab him right then and there.

  She gritted her teeth. She should have just taken Heilyn’s job. Who in the abyss cared if Gildas was Conclave? He was a monster, and if anyone deserved a bloody end, it was him.

  A muffled moan floated across the table to Ivana from Heilyn.

  He was staring at Gildas, face as pale as death. He had never looked anywhere close to that afraid of her.

  A sudden stab of pity pierced her rage and calmed her riot of emotions to a reasonable level, which was as much a relief as it was an outrage. Pity! For him? Where had that come from? Open the flood gates, and the whole damn lot comes through.

  She took deep breaths until the flood subsided enough that she could think clearly again; it would take more than that to put it back where it belonged. However, she was finally satisfied that she had herself under temporary control, at least.

  She knew Gildas wouldn’t recognize her; she was no longer the wide-eyed, innocent 15-year-old his eldest son had seduced.