“How did your appointment with the dressmaker go the other day?” Cele asked with deliberate innocence.
“Oh, wonderfully. She has a new blue fabric with the most delicious hand. It feels like warm honey sliding over the skin. And the color brings out my eyes. She’s going to make up a new dress for me by the end of the week.”
Their conversation continued in that vein for nearly an hour. Cele was trying to think of a way to encourage Angrim to leave when the other woman stood up. “It’s time to go.”
Cele stood too, surprised at Angrim’s abruptness. “I don’t feel like another walk tonight. You go on without me.”
Angrim smiled without her usual coyness. “We’re both going, my dear, but not on a stroll. Lord Jorund is waiting. You should get your cloak—it’s chilly down in the tunnels.”
Cele stared at the petite woman waiting impatiently for her. She’d never have guessed Angrim would be the one to summon her back to Jorund. “But I haven’t sent him the information yet!”
“I did. Last night. You weren’t very circumspect. Fortunately, the guards were too worried about being blamed for your Exhaustion to pay attention. I gleaned enough from your careless glances to tell him where to search. Someone will retrieve the Staff tonight.”
How many other agents does he have hidden in Quartzholm? And what’s her stake in this? Angrim didn’t strike Cele as an altruist, so bringing greater freedom to the people of Nuvinland probably wasn’t her motivation. More likely it was because Jorund was a Jarl, or had been. He’d be one again if his plan succeeded, and Angrim was ambitious.
“Come along, Lady Celia. We need to hurry,” Angrim said impatiently. “The soven I gave your guards won’t last forever.”
“Soven?”
“It makes them sleep. Now hurry.”
Cele’s steps slowed as she thought of going back down into the tunnels. Her hands grew clammy and her stomach tightened painfully. Would Harve still be down there? “Maybe we should take weapons,” she suggested.
“That won’t be necessary,” Angrim snapped. “Come along!”
Cele stopped altogether when she got to the closet where her cloak hung. Dahleven would hate her for this. She wouldn’t blame him. She knew what betrayal felt like.
Is Neven really as black as Jorund painted him? But the Outcast Jarl was the only one offering her any hope of returning home. Neven certainly hadn’t, and Father Wirmund had as much as said there wasn’t one. It could be months, or even years, before she had a chance to talk to the Tewakwe, and there was no guarantee they could help her either. Jorund did, and his dedication to his people was admirable. She had to go.
She thought of Dahleven again. She respected the way he looked out for his men and for her, even when he didn’t trust her. He’d listened to what she had to say even when they’d been arguing. And when they hadn’t been arguing…Cele pushed the seductive memory of Dahleven’s strong arms and gentle lips away. She didn’t want to feel the way her body softened at the thought of melting into his embrace. How she hungered to welcome him inside.
No. I can’t stay. I can’t be his wife and I won’t be his mistress. People are trying to kill me. There’s no future here.
She thought of how they’d argued that afternoon. She couldn’t leave it that way. Couldn’t go without a word.
“I need some paper. And a pen.”
“Why?”
“I need to leave a note. So Dah—so Thora won’t worry.”
“We have no time for this. Lord Jorund is waiting.”
“Look, if this works, I’ll never see him, or anyone here, ever again. I have to say goodbye. And I want to thank them, too. A lot of people have been very kind to me.” It was true, she realized, even as she said it. Almost everyone had been kind to her. Sevond treated her like a daughter, Fender’s teasing flattered without threatening, and Ragni made her laugh. Thora behaved like a doting aunt. Gudrun’s warning had been kindly meant, and her gratitude for Ari’s life had been genuine. Even Neven had treated her like a princess—when he wasn’t accusing her of murder.
Angrim gave her an exasperated look, then sighed as though she realized that it would take less time to agree than to argue. “Oh, very well. I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, she returned bearing a thick sheet of paper and something resembling a pencil. Celia thought for a moment then wrote:
Dahleven,
Please forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I have come to care for—
Cele stopped. She cared for him more than she wanted to admit. Leaving him was going to tear an aching hole in her heart. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t made love. But it didn’t seem right to say it now, to write it in a letter that might be read by anyone.
I have come to care for so many here, but I’ve found a way home and must go. Thank you for—
She couldn’t thank him for the kisses that made her blood race, for the caresses that set her afire, for the respect in his eyes when he looked at her.
—for your many kindnesses, especially the pizza.
Take care of Sevond for me, and keep an eye on Ari.
Celia
Cele folded the paper and left it tented on the table, then stood and swung her cloak over her shoulders. “Okay, I’m ready.” She had to take this chance. It might not work, but if she didn’t try, she’d never forgive herself. “Let’s go.”
In the hall, the two guards sat slumped against the wall. Cele knelt and pressed her fingers against the vein in Bergren’s neck. It was very slow. “Are you sure they’re all right?”
“They’ll be fine,” Angrim answered, still inside the room. Then she emerged and ushered Cele down the hall.
*
Dahleven jerked awake at the sound of violent pounding, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.
“My lord!” an urgent male voice called.
Nude, sword in hand, Dahleven yanked open his door. One of his guards stood there, fist raised to pound again. “Report.”
The man who’d summoned him so peremptorily from sleep hesitated an instant, fear flashing across his features, before he answered. “Lady Celia is missing, my lord. Her guards were dosed with soven. The next duty of guards discovered them near death in the hall.”
“Who did it?”
“They weren’t coherent, my lord. They kept saying Lady Angrim—”
“Angrim!” Dahleven turned back into his rooms and began donning his clothes. “How long? When did she dose them?”
“Thora says she left Lady Celia some four candlemarks ago, at the last change of duty.”
What could have happened to Celia in that time? Dahleven’s gut tightened, remembering what she’d suffered before. Celia’s words echoed in his ears. She truly hadn’t been any safer in Quartzholm than she might have been on the trail.
“Roust the Trackers from their beds,” Dahleven barked. “Raise the Warden of the Guard. Tell him to establish double watches.” He would find Celia, but he wouldn’t let the search distract him from Quartzholm’s defense.
“Go.” Dahleven pulled a shirt over his head, donned and belted a leather jerkin. “Tell the Trackers to assemble at the base of the west wing ladder.”
*
Cele followed Angrim through the cold tunnels. The little blonde insisted on holding her hand, and Cele wondered which of them her clasp was meant to comfort.
They seemed to walk for hours, with Angrim pausing only long enough to refill the lantern with oil from jars they found along the way. Cele’s feet ached; she wore only the thin slippers that matched her dress. It had been late when they’d started this trek, and it was even later now. Had Dahleven discovered she was missing yet? Had her note made any difference to him? Doubt and worry sapped her energy. Cele licked dry lips and tugged free of the other woman’s hand. “Angrim, stop.”
The hem of Angrim’s cloak swirled outward as she turned around, sweeping the ground. Cele thought again, as she had when Angrim first donned it at the ba
se of the ladder, that the cloak looked like Jorund’s. The gold brooch, with its distinctive red stone glowing like an ember in the dim light of the lantern, was the same.
“How much farther do we have to go? It’s got to be nearly dawn by now.”
“We can’t stop yet, Lady Celia. We’re almost there.”
Angrim didn’t wait for Cele to agree, she just turned and went on. Apparently, she didn’t feel the need to hold Cele’s hand any longer. The previously shallow young woman was all business now.
Cele had to follow or be left alone to Find her way in the dark. She shivered as the memory of the last time she’d had to do that loomed like an ominous shadow. At least moving kept her feet from freezing. She hurried to catch up.
The cold stone floor slanted downward and sometimes they descended deep, gently sloping steps. The smooth walls changed as they continued. At first they had been the same pink of the walls of Quartzholm, then they became gray, with striations of darker rock. Now, as they descended still further, the walls sparkled with crystalline inclusions.
When she first saw the tiny sliver of light ahead, Cele thought her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, but it remained constant as they drew closer. Angrim confirmed her hope that it signaled the end of their journey. “There!” She pointed and hurried her steps. “We’re here at last!” They rounded a corner and slipped under a curtain into a room filled with light. Angrim killed her lantern.
Jorund came forward, smiling, with arms spread wide. He wore a glove on one hand now, and Cele wondered if his disfigurement had progressed. “Ah, Ladies,” he said in a voice that was sexier than the best FM deejay, though now it didn’t seem as compelling as it had before.
Cele shivered uncomfortably as a stinging sensation rippled outward from the amulet tied to her leg. He’s using Persuasion on me? I thought he’d lost his Talent.
“Come, rest and eat. You’re safe at last.” Jorund put an arm around each of them, guiding them toward the table with a light touch.
Cele sank gratefully into a soft comfortable chair. Angrim lingered for a moment, standing close to Jorund, yearning toward him as he ordered a meal for them. Jorund casually slid his hand up her arm, bending close as she sat in the chair he held for her. A connection sizzled between them, and Cele suddenly knew they were lovers, long comfortable with one another.
*
Dahleven ran a hand back through his loose hair. He hadn’t had a chance to braid it, and he doubted he would for some time. The Warden of the Guard stood rigid, as unhappy with the news he brought as Dahleven was to hear it. The Trackers had found no trace of Celia. It was the same story as the last time she’d been taken. She’d descended the ladder from the bathing room and then had vanished, as far as their Talents could determine. Whoever had taken her must have used an unsanctioned amulet to conceal their trail, just as they had the first time. The Warden had search teams out scouring the tunnels in all directions from that point, but he had little hope they’d find anything. The smooth, Talent-shaped tunnels revealed no tracks.
“My lord?” Thora spoke from the doorway.
Dahleven looked up. “Yes?”
“I would speak to you.” She glanced at the Warden. “Alone.”
“And I would speak with you, also. In a moment.” He needed to know how many unsanctioned amulets existed, who had them, and where they were now.
“This cannot wait, my lord.” Thora spoke firmly.
“What then?” Dahleven turned, tapping a finger restlessly on his sword hilt.
“I found this on the hearth in Lady Celia’s room.” Thora handed him a scrap of paper, the edge burned, a single word upon it: Dahleven—
Gods! Dahleven’s heart skipped a beat. She’d tried to tell him something, perhaps where she was going, and now her words were ash. Someone had burned her letter—a letter she’d had time to write. She’d gone willingly. But whomever she’d gone with had betrayed her by burning her words to him.
“The danger is greater than you understand, my lord.” Thora’s words drew him out of his dark thoughts.
Dahleven looked at Thora more closely. “Speak.”
Thora looked pointedly at the Warden of the Guard.
Dahleven sighed. He could command her, and she would obey. But his instincts were telling him to humor her. He knew from long experience that Thora didn’t overreact or behave hysterically. “Very well. Warden, leave us. But don’t go too far.”
When they were alone, he raised eyebrows at Thora. “Well?”
“I believe Lady Celia was taken to Find the Hidden Talents.”
Despite everything, Dahleven barked a startled laugh. Then he sobered. It would be funny, if Celia weren’t missing. The Great Talents had been hidden for nearly two hundred years. Generations of young Finders had tested themselves against Fanlon. Not one had Found a whisper of the Talents. Wherever they were hidden, they were safely beyond reach. “On what do you base this amazing conclusion?”
“I have a gift for scrying, my lord, and the runes have shown me fire and ruin. But first, something hidden must be revealed. It’s all tied to Lady Celia and deception.”
For an instant, Dahleven was surprised Thora spoke so easily of her skill with the stones, but she’d already revealed her forbidden knowledge to Ragni, and she was no fool. She must realize his brother would share that information with him and Neven, and that she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. She didn’t seem the least bit ashamed of violating the Traditions of Baldur’s priests.
“I’ve heard of your unusual gifts. But why should I give your reading any more value than you gave Eirik’s?”
Thora was urgent, forceful. “Lady Celia is a Finder of the like not seen since Fanlon’s day, as I’m sure Lord Fendrikanin has told you. Even if you don’t believe she can Find the Talents, whoever took her does.”
Fender had indeed waxed eloquent on Celia’s Talent. She’d succeeded at every test. She’d Found Ari, thank Baldur, though she’d never before laid eyes on him. Still, it was ridiculous to think she could Find the Talents.
But she could be pressured into trying, and Exhausting herself to death. The thought chilled him.
“It does me no good to know this. We can’t find her trail. Could one of your friends with an unsanctioned amulet be concealing her tracks?”
Thora shook her head. “No one I know would have reason to use Lady Celia so. But we can help you find her.”
“We?”
Thora hesitated, taking a deep breath. “The Daughters of Freya.”
Dahleven snorted in disgust. This shouldn’t surprise him after everything else. “You’re involved with them, too?”
Thora ignored his tone. “There are ways of seeing afar that those who perform sanctioned magic have ignored.”
A guard rapped, then opened the door. “Father Wirmund, Overprest of Baldur,” he announced.
Thora’s face tensed.
Dahleven turned to the door. She ought to be nervous, considering what she’s been up to.
Like a storm cloud roiling over the mountains, Father Wirmund entered the small room Dahleven was using as his center of command. “Lady Celia is leading you a merry chase, I understand.”
Wirmund’s implication sent a hot surge of irritation through Dahleven’s veins, but he kept his voice and face impassive. “Good morning, Father Wirmund. You’re up with the dawn. Will you break fast with me?” Dahleven clenched his teeth and smiled. Fencing with Wirmund was a waste of time, but religion and politics would continue their dance long after Celia was found. It was best to keep Wirmund as an ally.
“I shall,” Father Wirmund answered tightly.
“Thora, arrange something for us.” Dahleven hesitated an instant, then, despite his doubts, added, “And attend to that other matter, as well.”
Thora nodded and left.
Dahleven gestured to a chair, but Father Wirmund ignored it.
“You must find Lady Celia immediately!”
Wirmund’s
vehemence surprised Dahleven, but he merely lifted a brow. “We are doing all in our power to do so. Why such urgency? I did not think you particularly concerned with the lady’s welfare, Overprest.”
“I’m not!” Wirmund kept his voice low. “She has stolen the Staff of Befaling!”
Dahleven would have laughed if the implication weren’t so grave. “That’s ridiculous. Your rooms are guarded, and the Staff is warded with ritual magic.”
“Nevertheless, the Staff is gone, and your lady was near my rooms only yestereve.”
“Yes, I know. And she was accompanied by two guards and Lady Angrim. Are they all accomplices?”
“Then what conclusions do you draw from Lady Celia’s latest disappearance?” Father Wirmund asked. “This cannot be coincidence.”
“We have hostiles acting within Quartzholm.” Dahleven kept his voice from sounding like he was schooling an idiot. “It is they who are most likely responsible for the theft.”
Wirmund’s jaw worked. “And Lady Celia?”
“Is in danger.”
“Are you besotted? She clearly left under her own power! Lady Angrim is hardly able to carry her away. And your own brother stated the woman lied about her ignorance of why she was taken the first time.”
Dahleven didn’t wonder how Wirmund knew so much about Celia’s disappearance. The Overprest had his spies, as all powerful men did. “Ragni also said there was no darkness in her.”
“She wouldn’t seem dark if she believed her actions were just. It’s obvious that whoever took her the first time persuaded her to his cause. She’s taken the Staff and gone to join him, and has used an unsanctioned amulet to keep her movements secret.”
“And how did she, or anyone, take the Staff without being observed?”
“Who knows what Talents her patron has?” Wirmund paced the length of the small room, then stopped in front of Dahleven. “You don’t seem to appreciate the danger we’re in, my lord. Whoever has the Staff can release the Great Talents. And Lady Celia has given it to him.”
The Hidden Talents. Just as Thora said. Gods, what has Celia done? “You have a low opinion of Lady Celia if you believe she’d ally herself with those who tried to rape her. But then, you never have believed her story despite what Ragni said, have you?”
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