For love. The phrase stimulated memory of another young woman, this one with a freckled nose and captivating eyes. Cloaked in dark wool, she’d stood in the shadows of the early morning and pushed folds of fine white linen into his gloved hands. “So take it for love, then,” she’d murmured.
A chill washed up his back, across his arms, and up his neck.
“Sir?” He turned at Haldon’s voice. “This young lady is from Princess Briellen’s entourage. She would like to know if the lady may have her token back now that you have survived the match.”
Abramm turned his eyes to the girl, who was looking steadily at the floor. “Was I supposed to give it back?”
From the way she blushed, he thought maybe not. “I’ll have it sent back as soon as it’s laundered,” he promised her, handing it to Haldon. With a short dipping curtsey, she hurried away. He stood staring at the doorway through which she’d exited, thinking that Maddie had never asked for her scarf back. . . . Or had she and he just didn’t know it?
He turned and strode to the sitting chamber doorway. “Hal, do we still have that white scarf I had when I faced the morwhol?”
Haldon turned from where he was conferring with the servants. “Yes, sir. Cleaned, pressed, and packed away.”
“Where?”
“The big trunk in your bedchamber. Shall I get it for you?”
“No, that’s not necessary. I just wondered if she’d taken it back.” He grimaced. Briellen’s probably just insulted me and is having a good laugh over the fact I don’t even realize it.
“Sir?” It was Haldon again. “Count Blackwell is here.”
————
Madeleine left the Hall of Fence as quickly and unobtrusively as she could, afraid all the way back to the royal library that she would be stopped by a servant and commanded to attend her sister. Or Leyton. Both had been surprised to see her, for she’d kept herself in near seclusion since Briellen had arrived. Briellen had already grilled her about where she’d been all this time and had given Maddie a number of suspicious looks throughout the brief time they were together.
As for Leyton, she had no idea what he was up to, but that little performance on the practice floor angered her. Was he trying to humiliate the king? Did he want to break the treaty? Seeing his crowing triumph, she’d considered giving him a piece of her mind immediately afterward but decided that would bring her too close to the point of exposing feelings she did not want exposed. Especially to her brother. He probably wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to know anyway. Certainly he wouldn’t take her advice.
Thus she retreated to her library refuge without comment and left them to their conniving. If she could figure out the regalia’s secrets, what her brother and sister were scheming wouldn’t matter. Besides, Abramm had acquitted himself quite well in the match.
But best not to think of that too much.
She’d known it would be a risk to let herself see him today, and she’d thought long and hard about it, knowing she could in moments undo all the progress she’d made these two weeks. But curiosity—and concern for him— won out. She wanted to know what Leyton was up to and, now more than ever, was convinced it had nothing to do with the upcoming wedding. She was very thankful Abramm hadn’t been disarmed. . . .
But again, best not to think too closely about the match itself.
As it turned out, her summons came later that afternoon in the form of an “invitation” to share tea with Briellen in the Salmanca Room. Already irked that she had to disrupt her routine and abandon the evening ride she’d planned, her state of mind was not helped by the sly glances and furtive whispers her passage through the palace generated among the courtiers. Even worse was finding that Leyton had apparently been invited to tea, also.
She heard the two of them arguing all the way from the Hall of the Warriors as she made her way to the sunny Salmanca room at its end. For all Briellen’s talk of the walls watching and hearing, she seemed unconcerned about it now. Interposed with Leyton’s nearly inaudible tones, her voice was loud and shrill.
“You told me if he lost, I wouldn’t have to marry him,” Briellen said petulantly.
“I said nothing of the kind. The marriage was never at issue.”
“Then why did you make me do all of that with the token? Now I look like a fool.”
Maddie slowed as she approached the doorway, hoping Leyton would answer before she had to interrupt. She heard him sigh. Then with his typical evasiveness he ignored the query altogether.
“You have no choice in this, Bree. Father sent you here to marry the man for the good of our realm. You’ve known it from the start, so I don’t understand where all this contrariness you’ve manifested lately has come from.”
“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”
“You don’t think he likes you?” Leyton’s voice rose with incredulity. “How in the world can you think such a thing?”
“I don’t know. He’s just . . . so reserved.”
“That’s the way he is. All those years of Mataian celibacy, no doubt. Though I must say with all the fault-finding you’ve done lately, the prevailing theory around the court these days is that you’re the one who doesn’t like him.”
And now having stood there much too long, Maddie cleared her throat and stepped into the room. Surprised by her sudden entry, they broke off their discussion and turned to greet her.
“Madeleine,” Briellen said, after only a moment’s awkwardness. “You’re finally here.”
Leyton, by contrast, glowered. “I suppose you heard all that.”
“Me and half the palace,” Maddie said. She frowned back at him. “I couldn’t help but notice, too, that you didn’t answer her question about the token. Why did you have her do that?”
Leyton’s glower intensified. “It’s a Chesedhan tradition. I thought it would add interest to the match and honor him at the same time.”
“You knew he couldn’t win.”
“He’s supposed to be the White Pretender. I thought he’d find a way. Or at least he’d use the Light.”
“Use the Light? It was just a simple practice match.”
“Tradition says Eidon will give the victory to the man who is worthy,” Briellen put in.
“Surely his worthiness to marry you was decided before the treaty was signed,” Maddie said dryly.
Briellen frowned, but Leyton only stared with that flat expression that told Maddie she was getting close to something he didn’t want her to know. She opened her mouth to pursue it—
And then wanted to shout in frustration when the servants chose that moment to enter with the cakes, tea breads, and pot of hot water, and Leyton glanced round at the clock. “Oh! Look at the time. I’ve got an appointment downtown. You’ll have to excuse me, ladies. Enjoy your tea, now.”
He gave them a bow and left before anyone could say a word to stop him.
“Well,” said Briellen, “it’s good to see you out and about.” She smiled. “Although it looks to me as though you’re working much too hard—eyes all red, shadows below them. Are you going to sit down?”
Maddie sat across the small table from her.
“Really, dear, you look positively haggard,” Briellen went on. “And don’t think people aren’t noticing. Don’t think they aren’t talking.”
“Bree, they’ve been making up things about me since the day I arrived. I stopped catering to them long ago.”
“Well, then perhaps you could cater to me. Because some are actually suggesting I’m jealous and have forbidden you to come round.” Her chuckle had a strange edge to it. “Others wonder if you’re finally beginning to show and have begun your lying in.” She patted her hand against her waist to demonstrate an expanding womb, as if she feared her reference had been too oblique.
Maddie rolled her eyes. “If I were, I wouldn’t be ‘lying in.’ I’d be leaving. In fact, I would have left long ago.”
“Yes. I suppose that would be the best solution.”
Maddie looked at her sharply. “Do you want me to leave, Briellen?”
“Of course not. Why would I want that?” She motioned for the servants to pour the tea.
Once the cups had been filled and the cakes chosen, Briellen wielded her considerable talent for making small talk by asking Maddie benign questions about her reading, followed by a recounting of some amusing events that had occurred last week in the palace. Then, out of the blue, she pounced:
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be visiting him in his apartments anymore.”
It took Maddie a moment to realize Briellen’s “him” referred to Abramm. Though she recalled no such specific agreement, she knew better than to say so. Nor to protest that if the king summoned her she’d have no choice but to obey. Instead she simply said, “I haven’t been there since the day you arrived, Bree. I make all my reports in writing, and Lieutenant Meridon has been ferrying books back and forth for me.”
Briellen regarded her in silence, her gaze sharp and suspicious. “So you’re saying you’ve not been to his apartments,” she said finally.
“That’s what I’m saying.” She knew Briellen didn’t believe her but gave thanks when her sister dropped the matter and returned to less threatening subjects. It was the first time Maddie had ever been on the receiving end of Briellen’s social graces, and as the hour progressed she began to understand why people loved her. She had an uncanny ability to make you think she truly liked you—even for someone like Maddie, who knew otherwise.
The conversation wandered from the amusing and whimsical to the reflective, including the unwelcome observation that Abramm must have been a very handsome man before his face was ruined with those scars, whereupon Maddie had to bite her tongue to keep from saying she thought he still was. Thankfully Briellen noticed nothing, prattling on about the orchid collection and the strange Terstmeets they had here, and then she fell into a lengthy defense of why she was sure Abramm was pursuing another woman. She raised Leona as a possible competitor, confessing it hard to believe because Leona’s brother, Byron, had been so sweet and helpful to her.
“He was the first one to greet me the day I arrived, you know. And even now, if I need anything, I have only to go to him. He’s really quite extraordinary, so it would surprise me if his sister is the one.”
“I can say with almost total certainty,” Maddie assured her, “that you have nothing to worry about as far as Leona is concerned.”
“You don’t think she’s after him? Because I do.”
“Oh, she’s after him. She just doesn’t have a chance of capturing him. He’s committed to marrying you, Bree, and he’s not the sort of man to keep a mistress . . . or even to indulge in the occasional extramarital affair.”
“Thanks to all those years of being a Mataian, I guess. . . .”
Maddie smiled at her obtuseness. “He’s yours, Bree. You needn’t worry about that.”
“Well, thank you for that comfort, little sister. And I suppose you do know him well enough that your opinion has merit, hmm?” She smiled sweetly.
And again Maddie was smacked with sudden wariness. It was not helped by the way Briellen now launched into a recitation of all the men who’d caught her eye in court, rattling on about her flirtatious encounters, even with married men like poor Arik Foxton and Brannock Whitethorne’s son Geoffrey, and speculating that so-and-so liked her, and Lord Such and Such was obviously smitten. Which didn’t seem at all the proper sort of conversation for a woman who was to be married in little more than a week. But every time Maddie tried to steer her away from the topic, she came right back.
The clock just finished striking five and Madeleine was rising to leave when her sister blindsided her one last time: “Stay away from him, Mad. I mean it. I’ll take you at your word when you say there’s nothing between you two, but I’m tired of being embarrassed. Stop hiding out, and stop visiting his rooms.”
“Bree—” But she broke off, knowing it was useless to protest further. She’d already declared her innocence over and over, and it had fallen on deaf ears. Why think anything would change? But it was frustrating that after all her efforts to stay away and be discreet and give no fuel to the gossips, they’d found something anyway. And worse, that Briellen believed it.
“Do you understand me, Madeleine?” she said sternly. And there was something in her eyes that gave Maddie a sudden chill.
“I do.”
“Good.” And she flicked her hand as if to dismiss a servant. “You may go now.”
Unnerved and uneasy, Maddie took her leave, passing the “extraordinary” Count Blackwell on his way in with a book in his hand and a servant bearing a beribboned velvet box in his wake. Seeing Maddie, he stopped and said, “Oh, good. They said I’d find you here. The king asked me to give you this.” He held out the book. “We found it on the table of the Cabinet meeting room this afternoon. No one had any idea where it came from, but Abramm thinks it might be the one you lost.”
Stolen, actually, Maddie thought as she saw the title. Blackwell held the book for a moment as she took hold of it, smiling at her. “He thought you might want to put it back with the others.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll do that.” As he released the book, she caught a glimpse of Briellen’s suspicious glare and added, “I have a special locked room now, where I keep them while I’m working on them.”
“Ah.” Blackwell then turned from her and proceeded toward the First Daughter. “Your Highness, the king sends his compliments and thought, in light of your support of him in his match this afternoon, you would appreciate this token of his esteem. It is an old family heirloom, a bracelet his mother once wore.”
Maddie took her leave quickly lest Briellen decide to call her back so she could help her admire the gift. Indeed, she was surprised at how much Abramm’s generosity bothered her.
In retrospect, the entire conversation bothered her. Briellen, volatile as she was, had seemed unnaturally so today. The dark intensity of her paranoia interspersed with the deceptive pleasantry of her small talk had been particularly unsettling. And all those stories of her flirtation were just plain weird. Something wasn’t right.
Then again, it couldn’t be easy to have to marry someone you didn’t like. It was one of the reasons Maddie herself had always given thanks she’d been born Second Daughter. Briellen had been prepared for this, though, had known it was her sacrifice to make for her people. Maddie had long thought it was a sacrifice she valued, but maybe things looked different when the prospect of actually making that sacrifice was staring you in the face.
There was something else, too. She glanced down at the book Byron had returned to her. The rhu’ema who had come against Abramm at his coronation were still here, still working. She had no doubt they did not want this treaty ratified. And Briellen was not only a pivotal figure in the affair, but one that could be easily manipulated.
INTERLUDE
SECOND
HAZMUL STOOD ON the darkened balcony of the royal gallery that evening overlooking the crowded King’s Court below him. He was letting his host do most of the talking tonight, something he often did of late, as the man’s thoughts had become more and more one with Hazmul’s. So often now he said and did exactly what the rhu’eman warhast would have directed him to do, the actual direction was not even needed.
It had been a masterful stroke to use this particular man. Hazmul had made the change four years ago, when the former High Father Saeral’s body had become useless—as much because hosting Hazmul’s powerful essence had worn it out as because the position it held had become functionally irrelevant. With Gillard on the throne and Abramm no longer a player, he’d wanted to be closer to the hand that held the reins of Kiriathan power. When Abramm returned, it had been an easy matter to manipulate his host into a position of influence.
He watched the vivacious First Daughter below, cutting a swath of light and life through the star-struck courtiers, promising so many, so much. . . .
“I
see she’s wearing the bracelet we prepared,” he said to Vesprit, who lurked in the deeper shadows at the back of the gallery. “Has anyone commented on it?”
“No, sir.”
He smiled down at the young woman and shook his head. It had taken almost nothing to steer her onto this track. She was so ripe, so easily worked: emotional, self-absorbed, filled with gossamer dreams that had no chance of ever coming to fruition. And so very weak in the Light. She reminded him of Raynen in many ways.
It helped, too, that she and Abramm were so fundamentally incompatible. And that Abramm was in love with someone else.
His smile broadened. It was so amusing to insert one weak person on the verge of fragmenting into the midst of his enemies and watch them all go to pieces around her. He’d seen it happen over and over, just as it was happening now.
“The bracelet should do its job well,” he said. “Next will be to move the king and Madeleine back together.”
“She’s been adamant about avoiding him, sir.”
“Of course she has. He, on the other hand, is growing quite impatient. It won’t take much of a nudge to get him to break the ‘rules’ and summon her. When he does, be ready. I want them alone together long enough for them to act on all this heat they’re generating.”
“And then send in one of my people?”
“Yes, but keep it subtle. This is a very sensitive part of the plan. If they become suspicious it could ruin everything.”
“I understand, sir.”
Hazmul had no doubt Vesprit did, but he was still inexperienced in dealing with humans who carried the Light. It would probably be best if Hazmul took a more personal hand in things over the next few days. Just to be sure everything was managed as it should be.
CHAPTER
19
Gillard did not want to wake up. At least, not into the nightmare in which he’d recently been living, shrunken by whatever power Abramm had brought to bear on him. It was too horrible, too impossible to believe. He didn’t want to believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. But he kept waking up and finding himself trapped in this unfamiliar body. Even the face wasn’t right. He’d insisted Prittleman—No. It’s Brother Honarille. Must remember to call him Honarille— bring him a piece of polished metal last night, certain that some sort of switch had occurred and he inhabited a body not his own while his own flesh was in turn inhabited by whoever owned this one. His first sight of the narrow face in that metal mirror had set his heart soaring.
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