Banebringer

by Carol A Park

  She rolled her eyes and jerked her hand away to close the door behind him. “We’re not there yet.”

  Not only the daughter of a wealthy merchant. A daughter who was now engaged to a prominent noble who was about to reappear after nine years of absence—and who was presumed dead.

  “Just practicing,” he said, giving her his best charming smile. Indeed, unlike her, he seemed at home in the expensive dress clothes he had donned. He radiated charm and sophistication without even trying, and he reminded her far too much of his brother in that moment.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Before we go forward with this evening, perhaps I should make myself clear, once again. I am playing a part. I am not your fiancée. I am not your partner. I am not even your friend.”

  The smile slipped off his lips. “Still? Does everything we’ve gone through mean nothing to you?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “It means I’ve taken a barely tolerable thorn in my side and turned it into a somewhat useful tool.”

  He wasn’t deterred. “Is that Ivana speaking, or Sweetblade?”

  She gritted her teeth, but before she could speak—or perhaps injure him—a knock sounded, and then a voice outside the door. “Da? Dal? Are you ready?”

  They were all already playing their parts, as they had been since they had left the Ichtaca. The inn was in an uproar, trying to make way for all of their “servants” and meet the needs of their important guests. Ivana knew all too well what the poor proprietor and his staff must be going through.

  Vaughn offered Ivana his elbow, and she rested her hand on his forearm, mentally switching to the role she had to play for the next few hours. Their carriage was waiting.

  The ride to the palace was tense. Vaughn and Ivana didn’t speak, not even to make small talk. They both knew what was coming, and there was nothing left to say.

  Besides, if Vaughn spoke anymore, he was sure he would vomit.

  He focused on the woman sitting across from him, pushing aside thoughts of what was to come. She was stunning. The current fashion for the wealthy was teasingly modest—as though a woman was trying to see how much she could get away with without being scandalous. As a result, the dress that had been modified for Ivana for such an occasion as the Harvest Ball was in keeping with that style. The back of the dress was full and ended in a high collar on her neck—a departure from off-the-shoulder and even open-back styles of the trend before this one. But that was the back. The collar, while high on the back of her neck, was open at the throat in a sweeping V right to where her cleavage started. The floor-length dress hugged her, covering most of her skin yet emphasizing her curves. At her waist, the seamstress had cut tiny slits, allowing the barest hint of flesh to flash through when she moved.

  Thinking about Ivana wasn’t helping either. Her words to him had bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

  He slid a finger inside his belt, feeling the underside, reassuring himself once again that the aether he needed was tucked securely in a tiny pocket there. He couldn’t bring a pouch of aether into the ball—it would be found, and that would ruin everything. So he had to hide it where he could. No one was going to strip him, after all.

  Ivana’s was in her hair. A convenient place for storing just about everything—including a tiny penknife—though he didn’t doubt she had also strapped a dagger to the inside of her thigh, safely hidden under the skirt of her dress.

  Vaughn had no weapons. There was simply no way to smuggle them in without relying on an already over-burdened Danton. Vaughn was depending on others to get his bow to him when the time came.

  The carriage stopped, and the door opened. “Dal Teyrnon. Da Serina.”

  Ivana had to use a different name, since her identity had been compromised. Of course, someone might recognize her from Ri Talesin’s dinner, but dressed fully to a part so different from the one she had played before, it was unlikely.

  Aside from the one person whom they wanted to recognize her, of course, and they had no doubt he would.

  Their “footman” was Danton, standing by to see that every one of their men and women made it where they were supposed to be without question.

  The whole plan depended on this first stage. Everything had to go perfectly if they were to get into the ball. If they didn’t get in—or if they were discovered—it all fell to pieces.

  Ivana let herself be helped down from the carriage by Danton. To his credit, Danton didn’t ogle her, playing the part of the serious footman perfectly. Vaughn climbed down himself and took Ivana’s arm again.

  The driver—one of theirs, of course—moved the carriage away so the next one in line could let out its passengers, and Vaughn and Ivana headed straight for the pillars that flanked the entrance of the palace ballroom, accompanied by their footman, Ivana’s maid, several guards, and a few nameless servants who would go to the servants’ area to await any orders their masters might have. A total of a dozen people, including Ivana and himself, would be slipping into the ball—all Banebringers. All illegal. All risking their lives for this. All depending on him.

  Not to mention the other half dozen who were staying with the carriage—the driver, more guards, the stable hand—for the other part of their mission.

  It was an impressive entourage, and it drew stares.

  Good. That was as they had hoped. They were met at the door by the herald, a priest, and another servant, dressed in the palace livery. The ballroom beyond was already full of light, conversation, dancing, food, and most importantly, lots and lots of people.

  The herald bowed. “Good evening, Dal, Da.” He looked at Ivana, and Vaughn tensed, hoping it was merely the curious glance of someone noting her Fereharian heritage.

  “Your cards?”

  Danton produced their cards, which announced their identities both for the purposes of alerting everyone there who had arrived, and to prove they belonged there.

  Gan Barton had been instrumental in some of the behind-the-scenes preparation for this ruse.

  “Da Serina of Ferehar,” the herald announced, reading the lady’s card first, as was proper. The lack of a family name, only a region, made it clear she wasn’t noble. He handed the card to the servant waiting nearby. “And Dal Teyrnon of House—” He broke off, staring at the name.

  Vaughn could feel his hands sweating. Burning skies, this was insane. This was crazy. This was never going to work.

  The herald cleared his throat, looked at Vaughn, and then back down at the card. “Dal Teyrnon of House Ferehar.”

  That was it. It was out in the open now, for better or worse. Nine years of being a fugitive, nine years of hiding…it was all over. All for this chance to change all of their lots forever.

  The herald bowed low to Vaughn, but his hands twisted together. The name of the House was a region, which could only mean Vaughn was of the Ri’s family. The herald was no doubt versed in every noble and their families—a good memory was important for the job—and Vaughn wondered if he was unnerved because he didn’t realize there was an additional member of the Ri’s family, or if he had heard of Vaughn’s name and knew he was supposed to be dead. Either way, it would soon mean an investigation on the part of someone.

  Sure enough. The herald, a picture of duty, handed the cards to the priest, and then turned to the servant and whispered in his ear. The servant nodded and scampered off. The herald turned to the next set of guests, while the priest took his turn. “My apologies,” he said, “but we must perform the tests.”

  Vaughn sincerely hoped that his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. “Of course.” He held out his hand and waited for the prick. The priest scraped the blood off Vaughn’s finger onto the back of his white card, and then moved on to Ivana, and then to each servant in their entourage as they filtered through the line.

  Vaughn tried hard not to look at Danton. Ivana had warned him to never look at anyone doing covert work, but also not to look like he was trying not to look.

  It was difficult. Was he doing h
is job? Was it working? Maintaining an illusion on twelve—eleven, not Ivana’s—different cards all at the same time? Vaughn couldn’t handle the suspense.

  It could all end, right here, before it even started.

  The priest was obviously satisfied by what he saw on the cards. He set them aside, nodded toward Vaughn and Ivana to indicate they could enter the room, and ushered their servants down a back hallway to join others. Vaughn was proud of himself. He didn’t even look to see if Ivana had successfully swiped the cards off the table where the priest had placed them with the rest, hundreds of tiny cards, all in neat piles…

  “Relax,” Ivana whispered in his ear. “I have them.”

  Could she feel him trembling?

  He turned to look at her, and she smiled, charming, beautiful, a hint adoring, and his stomach flipped. For a moment he thought the smile was for him. Then he remembered she was supposed to be his fiancée.

  Then they were there. Standing in the midst of the Harvest Ball. It was extravagant. Every noble family that could be there, would be, along with their servants and guards.

  Including his own family.

  It had been years since he had attended one of these, and he suddenly felt very old. The last time he had stood in this room, he had had a real fiancée on his arm. He had been walking on clouds, avoiding his oldest brother but wondering what mischief he and his next oldest brother could still get into at their age, while Teryn tagged along.

  Pouring lupque into the punch would have been frowned upon at age eighteen, and being engaged and in love, he could no longer have flirted openly with other women. He had thought himself a man.

  He had been a boy.

  The pang of loss he felt in that moment was real. Not for the crystal chandeliers, not for the gold embroidered tapestries, not for the marble floors, not for the sides of beef and fruit and cheese and wine spread out on long tables throughout the room.

  But for the family he had once had. No, that wasn’t right. For the illusion of family that he had once had. Ignorance was sometimes the easiest way to live, and the loss of that ignorance was the hardest part of his exile.

  He felt pressure on his hand from Ivana’s. “I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat,” she said. “I’m famished.”

  The hint was clear. They had a few hours to waste before the meat of their plan went into motion. He couldn’t just stand around. He had to look like he was enjoying himself.

  “Of course,” he said, rousing himself into motion. But no sooner had they started heading toward the nearest food table, than he saw none other than his father heading their way.

  He had been counting on his father’s terror of someone finding out that his son was not only alive but a Banebringer to keep him quiet. There was a reason he had been presumed dead, when his father knew full well that Vaughn was alive.

  They had also been counting on the fact that he would recognize Ivana. He would immediately assume Vaughn was here to attempt to have him killed again, which would distract him from their real purpose.

  He was about to find out if his assumptions had been true. Of anyone in this room, his father had the power to expose either of them.

  “Teyrnon?” his father said. “My gods, Teyrnon. Teyrnon!”

  His father wrapped him in a tight embrace, and tears shone in his eyes when he pulled back. “We thought you were dead, bless Yathyn, we thought you were dead! How…?”

  He was an amazing actor. So amazing that for a moment, Vaughn almost believed his father was happy to see him again. But his grip was a bit too tight, and he was too congenial. His father had never been so glad to see him.

  Presumed dead was the key. For this ruse, they had needed to verify what exactly had happened to the Ri of Ferehar’s sons in the official record. They had only recovered one body—Vaughn’s younger brother—but Vaughn’s had never been recovered. His father had reported him presumed dead, dragged off by the monster for later consumption—as evidenced by the trail of blood and gore leading into the woods.

  Though he had seen and even spoken to his father numerous times over the years, it was the first time since he had fled home that they had stood as equals. With the father who had not only betrayed him, but had actively sought to wipe out this blemish on their family name. He hadn’t known how he would feel.

  Now he did. He felt nothing, unless emptiness was a feeling. This man was a stranger to him. He had no father.

  So it was relatively easy for him to smile and clasp his father’s shoulders. “Father,” he said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t announce my coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  They were attracting a crowd. “But how?” Gildas asked again.

  Vaughn grew solemn, repeating the story as he had practiced over and over to Ivana, until he sounded nothing but perfectly sincere. “The monster that…” He swallowed. That grief was real. “That took Teryn. It dragged me into the woods, but I was alive, father. It left me for a time for a later meal, I suppose, not realizing I was in a condition to escape. But I woke, and I did escape, barely. I could hear its roar of anger as I fled.”

  “And you didn’t come home?” Gildas asked, feigning confusion.

  Vaughn shook his head. “My memory. Something happened. I had no idea who I was, where I was…

  “I was found and taken in by a generous merchant family of, at the time, modest means. They cared for me and my wounds and I worked with them for a long time after. Just a month ago, an accident left me wounded, but I found my memory completely restored. Of course, I immediately tried to find my family.” He ducked his head. “I…confess. I thought it would be great fun to simply show up at the Harvest Ball. What a way to return to society, yes?”

  Gildas clasped his shoulder again. “A way to give your old man a heart attack!” He didn’t question Vaughn’s story. It wouldn’t stand detailed scrutiny, but it was believable enough for their purposes.

  Gildas turned to Ivana, and Vaughn held his breath.

  The glimmer of recognition was definitely there. But he kept up the charade, as Vaughn had hoped he would. “And who is this lovely woman with you?”

  Vaughn turned to Ivana and smiled. She was smiling shyly back at him, just the right mixture of nerves and adoration. Vaughn marveled at her ability to take on roles, even when she was standing in the presence of the man who had killed her father and destroyed her life. “Meet Serina, a daughter of the merchant family. We fell in love and were engaged before my memory returned.” He rubbed at his chin, feigning concern. “I hope…I hope that won’t be an issue, father. They aren’t noble, but their family has grown in wealth over the years and is of no small means now.”

  “I am merely happy to have you back. I will dote on any daughter-in-law you choose.” Gildas took Ivana’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Cheris is here somewhere,” he said to Vaughn, though his eyes were still on Ivana.

  Why had he brought Cheris up? She knew he was a Banebringer; was that supposed to be some sort of warning?

  “I hope she won’t be too put out. She’s still unmarried.”

  What? Really? Why had she not moved on? “Ah—” Vaughn said. “I’m afraid that was simply far too long ago…” And he had no desire to see her again.

  “No, no,” Gildas interrupted. “No hard feelings, I assure you.”

  “What about Airell?” Vaughn pointedly avoided looking at Ivana. He fervently hoped they would not run across him. Ivana had said she could handle it if he were there, but Vaughn had his doubts. He had experienced firsthand just a smidgen of the pent-up rage she still harbored toward Airell. Would she really be able to hold it together long enough not to put her penknife through his eye, and thus ruin the entire plan?

  Gildas was one thing. Oh, Vaughn was certain, presented with the right opportunity, she would take it—but she had already spent her wrath on him once.

  Airell?

  He had a feeling, as far as she was concerned, there was no pit of the abyss deep enough for him.

  “He’
s not here yet, that I know of.” Gildas smiled. “I’m to be honored tonight, as you will see, so I came up early, while he took care of wrapping up business at home. He shouldn’t be far behind.”

  On the contrary, Vaughn hoped he was far behind. “Mother? Glyn?” He had to admit he had been cautiously excited about seeing Glyn after all these years. He had missed his second oldest brother sorely, and as far as he knew, Glyn had no idea he was alive, let alone a Banebringer.

  Gildas shook his head. “Glyn is off in Cadmyr with the United Setanan. He’s an officer now, you know.” Of course. The second-son, skilled at the sword. “Your mother, sadly, had to stay home this year. Took a cold, recently, and felt it would be best not to be out and about. But as soon as the ball is over…please, come home with us. You and your fiancée. We will be delighted to receive you.”

  Vaughn was sure he would. “Of course, father,” he said, bowing. They both knew that would never happen.

  He touched Ivana’s elbow, meaning to guide her away, but Gildas stopped him by putting his own hand on her arm. “Before you go off to enjoy the ball, may I have a dance with your fiancée?”

  Vaughn glanced at Ivana out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t think—”

  Ivana bowed, smiled at Gildas and offered her hand. “Don’t be silly, dearest. I couldn’t turn down a dance with my future father-in-law.”

  “A woman of sense,” Gildas said. He inclined his head to Vaughn, who seemed distressed at this turn of events.

  His concern was misplaced.

  Ivana hated Vaughn’s father. He was a calloused, arrogant noble, the man who had killed her own father, and in so doing, destroyed her life.

  But he was not Airell.

  Airell was the reason her entire life had gone so terribly wrong in the first place. Had taken her innocence and left her to deal with the consequences alone. Her own foolish fault, to be sure, but that had only made it harder to bear.