"Uncle Kovrim?" Vambran said, stiffening in alarm and half rising to his feet. "Where is he? What's the matter?"
The woman held her hands up and gestured for Vambran to calm down.
"Easy, there. Keep your voice down." As the lieutenant relaxed, she continued, "He's fine. But we all need to talk. It's urgent."
Vambran nodded and stood.
"Let's go," he said. "Tell me what's happened on the way."
"He found out what the temple is involved in," Xaphira said, also rising. "He was trying to get to you to tell you, and they tried to stop him."
"Is it House Pharaboldi?" Vambran asked.
"Yes, among others" Xaphira replied. "There's a lot more to this than you realize, but now's not the time. He's still in danger, and we've got to get him somewhere safe. I tried to talk him into going into hiding and just letting me tell you, but he refused. He wants to talk to you himself."
"Who are the other Houses?" Vambran insisted.
"First we go to him. Then you can talk about the larger problem."
"Who?" the mercenary demanded.
Xaphira sighed again.
"Ours," she answered quietly. "Matrell. And Talricci. They're all three in it together."
"Oh, hells," Vambran muttered. "Uncle Dregaul…" Then, realizing he had left Emriana by herself, he swore again. "I've got to go," he said. "They don't know."
"Vambran, wait!" Xaphira begged, grabbing her nephew by the arm. "You can't fight them all by yourself. Kovrim and I can help, but you have to wait for us."
Vambran stood indecisively, knowing the woman was right but feeling a panicky need to race back to the estate. He'd just left Emriana, left all of them. And they didn't have a clue. His desperation was overwhelming him. But he needed allies. With a great effort, he turned back to Xaphira.
"All right," he said. "Let's get him. And we don't stop until we're back at the house."
The two started walking quickly, Xaphira taking furtive looks everywhere as they traveled. She had rewound her mask around her head and drawn up her hood. Vambran kept pace with her easily, though he wondered why she seemed so jumpy. He had a million questions he wanted to ask her.
"Is Kovrim all right?" the mercenary finally asked.
"He is, but only because of some dumb luck. That, and the fact that I was there to help him."
That relieved Vambran-for a moment.
"Wait!" he said, stopping in the middle of the darkened street. "I know you've been following me since I got back into the city. It was you at the wagon yard, and again last night at the warehouse. But why? You've known something was going on for a while, now."
Xaphira raised her hands and again gestured for her nephew to calm down.
"Keep your voice down," she said, reaching out and taking his hands in her own. "Yes, I have, but I couldn't risk revealing myself too soon. There's so much more going on here, Vambran. I want to tell it all to you, but you've got to trust me that now is not the time for all this. Come on."
They continued on, keeping their pace quick without actually running. When they reached the porch where Xaphira had left Kovrim, he wasn't there.
"Now, where did he get to?" Xaphira murmured, peering in both directions. "He promised me he would stay right here and wait for me."
"Something happened," Vambran said, the panic rising again. "The men who were after him must have discovered him. We've got to find him." The mercenary struggled to keep a clear head. He was torn with fear for both his uncle and the rest of his family. He hated that he was being forced to choose who to rescue first.
"Listen " Xaphira said. Vambran cocked his head, holding perfectly still. There was a shout, muffled but distinct enough that he could tell it was coming from the alley behind the shop.
"Come on," Xaphira and Vambran both said at the same time, jumping off the porch and rushing down the street toward the corner. The pair of them raced around to the back and into the alley.
Kovrim was there, surrounded by perhaps a dozen men. Several of them were pointing crossbows at the priest.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"I can't believe he would do this to me!" Emriana sobbed, her face buried in her pillows. "He never even talked to me about it!" Jaleene sat beside her charge, gently stroking her hair and trying to soothe the girl with soft sounds.
"Your grandmother would never let this happen," the handmaiden said. "When she finds out, she'll put a stop to it."
Emriana sniffed and said, "Grandmother Hetta doesn't seem to know what's going on."
The thought occurred to her then that perhaps her grandmother was in agreement with Dregaul, that the two of them had made the decision together that she should marry Denrick. As ridiculous as that seemed, especially after the conversation the girl had had with the elderly woman only two short days before, the notion left a cold hole in the middle of her stomach. She began sobbing again, feeling like her world was crashing down around her.
When Emriana had first pieced together what her uncle had announced, she didn't believe it. She didn't think that she was remembering correctly. But there was Denrick, climbing the steps and greeting Dregaul warmly, that sickly wolfish smile on his face. And she knew. In her heart, she realized that Uncle Dregaul had sealed the business relationship with her life. He had promised Denrick that the boy could have her, as though she were some prized horse or plot of land. And she understood, too, then, in that terrible moment of realization, that Jithelle Skolotti had been slain, had been murdered with Denrick's unborn child in her womb, because the heir to House Pharaboldi was to wed Emriana. The poor servant girl had died because Emriana Matrell was waiting in the wings. It made her physically sick.
She ran, then, turned and fled the balcony, dashing past both Dregaul and Denrick, who looked on with a mixture of surprise and amusement. Dregaul called to Emriana, shouted at her, demanded that she return and show proper deference, or some such nonsense, but she ignored him and ran, all the way back to her rooms.
Jaleene had arrived a few moments later, having been a witness to the whole thing, and was trying to calm her.
"Hush, Em," the woman soothed. "It's going to be all right."
Emriana sat up and looked at her companion.
"How can you say that?" she wailed softly, her eyes burning with tears. "They killed that poor girl because of me. Uncle Dregaul probably knew about it. He probably insisted on it before he would agree to the merger. What am I going to do? He's already planned my future for me, with that, that-"
"That what?" came a voice from the doorway to the balcony. It was Denrick, standing there looking in, a faint smile on his face. "What am I?" he asked.
Emriana physically recoiled from the boy, even though he was halfway across the room leaning casually against the frame of the door.
Jaleene got up and moved to stand between the intruder and her charge.
"You shouldn't be here," the handmaiden said, her hands on her hips. "It's not proper to visit a young lady in her private chambers. Leave now, or I'll call the house guards to remove you."
Denrick simply chuckled, making no move to go in either direction.
"Will you, now?" he said. "And do you think they'll respond to you, a servant, when the man they actually answer to is of a far different mind? I've already been told that I was welcome to come up here and visit my fiancee, and that is exactly what I've done. No house guard is going to throw me out, I can assure you."
"Don't you talk to her that way," Emriana said, rising from the bed to stand beside her handmaiden. "You might treat your own servants like dirt, but you will not do so here."
Denrick laughed again.
"You're still convinced I did something to Jithelle, aren't you? Well, my dear, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I did no such thing." He took a step into the room, interlacing his fingers and thrusting them out, palms downward, to crack his knuckles. "She was a comely one, and I'll admit only to having a weakness for falling into her wonderful eyes and a need to nestle against her othe
r womanly charms from time to time. But that was the extent of it."
"You sorry bastard," Emriana sneered. "The sorrow by the cistern was just an act, wasn't it? You didn't feel anything about her loss, or the fact that she carried your baby."
Denrick smirked.
"She was a diversion, that was all," he admitted. "A man of my tastes has a variety of needs, and she fit some of them nicely, but that was all it was, and all it would ever be. If she believed there would be more to it, that was her mistake, not mine."
Emriana glowered at the pompous man, but he ignored her and continued, "As for the child, I truly did not know about it." A brief grimace passed over his face, but it faded again just as quickly. "But no matter, I'm sure you'll provide me with plenty of children to dandle from my knees," he finished, taking another step into the room.
"I will never lie with you," Emriana snarled. "You can lust for me all you want, but it will never happen."
At nearly the same time, Jaleene stalked forward, with the obvious intention of physically pushing Denrick back out through the door.
"I told you," she said, planting her hands against his chest and shoving, "that it is not proper for you to be here. Now leave, or I-"
Denrick swung a fist up, smacking the servant hard with the back of his hand. The blow snapped Jaleene's head around, and with a grunt, she stumbled backward and tumbled to the floor, sprawling full out. She moaned once softly and lay still.
"Don't ever lay a hand on me again," Denrick said coldly, walking to loom over her. "You need to learn to remember your place."
Emriana gave an animal cry and lunged forward to punch at the callous, hateful man, but Denrick was ready for her, bringing his arm up to ward off the blow, then reaching out and grasping her by her wrists. He jerked her around, twisting both of her arms up behind her back, and walked her forward, toward the bed.
In a flash of realization, Emriana came to understand that he was leading her toward a bed, and the images of what he would do to her there began to cascade through her mind's eye. She panicked, fighting for all she was worth, digging her heels in and trying to jerk her arms free. In her desperation, Emriana managed to slam the heel of one of her boots against the man's shin. He yelped in surprise and released her.
The girl darted away, thinking to charge out the door, but Denrick was too fast, and he cut her off, forcing her to turn away from him or be caught again. She angled away, looking to double back around, but Denrick simply sidestepped several times, slowly working her into a corner.
"There's no place to run," the man said, settling into a position facing Emriana, keeping her pinned in the corner of the room. "And this time, you don't have a cistern or your fool brother here to protect you."
Emriana glanced furtively around, looking for a means of escape, or a weapon with which to defend herself, but there was nothing. She glared at the man, hoping her fiery gaze made it clear that she would not go down easily, and he would be better served to find some other woman with whom to dally. In her heart, though, she feared that it was only a matter of time. She stole a quick look toward Jaleene, but her only ally at the moment was out cold.
"If you touch me, I'll tear your eyes out," Emriana warned the predator in front of her. "You think you had problems before, trying to figure out what to do with Jithelle, but you don't know the half of it, if you get any closer to me."
Denrick smiled that wolfish grin.
"I have no doubt at all that you mean what you say, and that you could probably back it up, too. But why all the fuss? I wasn't kidding before, when I told you by the cistern that I could delight you. No woman yet has shied away from me, once she's felt my touch. I doubt you'll be any different, if you'll just let down your guard and see what you're missing.''
"You unbelievable, smug bastard!" Emriana said, shaking her head in scorn. "You think you can turn me to your side just by your touch? How arrogant can one man be?"
Anger flashed in Denrick's eyes, then.
"Watch your tongue, Em. I won't tolerate that kind of attitude from my wife."
Emriana's jaw dropped.
"Your wife! Do you honestly think this marriage is going to happen? You're delusional. My grandmother is going to put a stop to this as soon as she-"
"Your grandmother is on the verge of falling into her grave," Denrick interrupted. "She's in no condition to do anything about any of this. Now quit stalling, Emriana, and accept the fact that you are going to be my wife, and you are going to serve me dutifully, in any capacity I wish. The sooner you get used to that idea, the better off you'll be."
Emriana snarled, lunging left and darting back to the right, running as fast as she could for the door.
She almost made it, too, but Denrick was just a half-step faster. He dived for her and got a hand in her dress-the damned dress! — and tripped her up enough that she went sprawling. She scrambled desperately forward, opening her mouth to scream for help, but then someone was standing in the doorway. As Denrick grabbed at her and sat on her to keep her still, Emriana craned her neck, hoping it was Vambran. Instead, it was a Matrell house guard, and he was leering down at what was taking place.
"Help me," Emriana pleaded at the man, expecting him to come to her rescue.
Surely, no matter what Uncle Dregaul might be planning, it didn't include her being ravaged against her will.
"So?" the guard asked, smiling unpleasantly. "You finally figured out a way to keep her from sneaking off, huh?"
Denrick chuckled as he began to wrap something tightly around Emriana's wrists, tying them together behind her back.
Bartimus sat quietly in the corner to one side of Grozier Talricci's chair. His employer and the other heads of the three Houses were gathered together in an inner room, a study with a beautiful atrium along one side, discussing some of the business details of the impending merger. The wizard wasn't really listening closely, for the details were not important to him. Nor, for that matter, was any of that his responsibility. He had been brought there solely to keep an eye on everyone else, while Grozier concentrated on the financial aspects.
Bartimus studied each of the other three people in turn, observing their mannerisms, their speech, and the looks in their eyes, for he knew that it would be through those things that he could determine if any of them were nervous or unsure about what was taking place. Those telltale signs were the clues he was responsible for spotting, so that he could warn his employer if there were any potential surprises ahead.
Thus far, Anista Pharaboldi seemed perfectly at ease, but Dregaul Matrell was agitated over the attack on his mother. Bartimus would have thought that the man would have been pleased to see the matriarch of the household, a potential thorn in their sides, eliminated, but instead, the man seemed to be concerned about it all.
Bartimus couldn't say he blamed Dregaul. The whole affair of the servant girl's pregnancy and the ensuing chaos had left everyone on edge. Grozier certainly hadn't wanted to take such extreme measures to deal with the unfortunate discovery by Vambran Matrell of the servant's elimination, but the persistent mercenary officer had left them with little choice. It was even more unfortunate that Vambran was a member of one of the Houses involved, as that created still more problems. Indeed, Bartimus didn't really consider the whole affair settled. Vambran would have to be once and for all permanently removed from the middle of things before the issue was closed.
In the meantime, though, Grozier and the other two needed to move forward on the facets of the deal that really mattered. They had to begin planning how to invest their pooled resources, to get the army they were going to buy early enough in the season that they could get a full summer campaign out of it. Any mercenary bands they still employed in the fall would continue to be able to conduct the business of warfare, of course, but it was a much dicier proposition then. The weather was less likely to cooperate, and cash flow would certainly be a larger problem, as most of the summer trade boom would be past them. There was no more time to delay gett
ing the merger going, regardless of the potential problems looming on the periphery.
The wizard realized he was letting his mind wander and he wasn't watching Grozier's counterparts as well as he should be. He mentally smacked himself for getting distracted and refocused. Dregaul was arguing some point about profit splits, and how much should be reinvested back into the effort, while Anista was suggesting that they diversify those earnings into some war-related businesses that could, in turn, cut costs down the road. Grozier was shaking his head at both of them, trying to get them to understand that there would probably not be much revenue in the first two years.
"The costs of conducting the conquest are going to increase as time goes by," the head of House Talricci explained. "You have to take into account the lengthening of supply lines."
"Ah," Anista said, frowning.
"Why?" Dregaul demanded, seeming to grow upset at that notion. "What drives the cost up?"
Grozier sighed and said, "Because, as I explained before, it gets longer. Either that, or we build a way-station at some point closer to the front and deliver the supplies there ourselves."
"Yes, let's plan to do that," Dregaul said, nodding. "Between us, we have the subsidiaries needed to get that done less expensively, anyway, which of course puts more funds back into our war chest."
"Remember, though," Grozier said, "that a full waystation could be sacked or taken over by the enemy. If that happens, it sets us farther back than if we just pony up the extra coin for lengthening supply lines."
"Hmm, good point," Dregaul said, frowning again.
"That doesn't leave us very much play in the numbers, then," Anista Pharaboldi said, scribbling something on a piece of parchment in front of her. "We'll be running a shortfall for at least-"
The door to the room slammed open, and Hetta Matrell strode inside. The look on her face told Bartimus she was ready to chew through steel, she was so angry. The other three individuals in the room jumped slightly at the sound of the door banging against the wall, Dregaul most of all. Bartimus, however, subtly slipped a hand in his pocket, ready to wield a little magic in his employer's defense, should it come to that.
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