Ferret didn’t mind such vague information, for getting out of the castle was nice, and she was able to get her thoughts off the disturbing memory of the last encounter with her mother.
The streets were crowded as expected, everyone going about their morning business, and the market was especially busy at that time of day. Merchants hawked their wares, while a madman in rags stood upon a crate, hollering loudly about the city’s impending doom. Several stray dogs tore out of an alley chasing a mangy gray cat, the animals drawing curses and a few misplaced kicks aimed in their direction.
Ferret spotted Creel ahead, walking out of a shop, munching on something. She winced inwardly as her footsteps rang loudly on the cobblestones as she jogged to catch up to him. Passersby turned and gawked at her, many moving out of the way as if she were a runaway team of oxen.
I can’t wait to get rid of this form and be me again! She did have to admit her clockwork body had its uses, especially in combat. But she yearned to be able to eat and drink again, to smell the scent of roasting meat, to feel the fresh air and sun on her skin.
Naturally, Creel heard her coming and turned to await her approach. He saluted her with his dagger, upon which was speared half a link of spiced sausage. His other hand held a hunk of hard cheese. “Morning, lass.”
“Morning.” She fell into step beside him as he resumed his walk, heading farther away from the castle.
“What’s on your mind this morning?”
“Do you still have Rabbit-sticker? My old knife,” she added at his confused look. “I decided to name it Rabbit-sticker.”
“Ah. Aye, sure do. It’s back in my pack at the castle. Why do you ask?” He finished the last of his cheese and sausage and washed it down with a drink from his water skin.
She shrugged. “Just thought of my mother last night. She wasn’t good for much, but she did leave that knife for me… along with some advice.”
“What advice?”
“Either become a whore like her or find a man with coin to get hitched to,” she replied bitterly.
Creel chuckled. “I reckon she didn’t know you very well then, if she thought those were the limits of your potential.”
“Nay, not so much.” She was warmed by his words.
“By the time this mess is done with, I reckon you’ll have to fight off plenty of fellas, wealthy ones among them, eager to court a lass such as yourself. Those who aren’t intimidated by someone courageous and clever and spirited, at any rate.”
“You think?” She stopped suddenly, struck by the idea. Not that she was particularly interested in finding a husband, for she valued her freedom and still dreamed of becoming a bard, but the prospect that she would be someone men found not only desirable, but also of worth, made her think.
“Aye, why not? You’ve earned the respect and admiration of many, not the least of whom is our queen. I imagine she’ll see you set right, and if not, Taren and I will. Nothing to fret over.” He clapped her on the back.
They resumed walking, Ferret thinking on that.
Creel entered an armorer’s shop, and she accompanied him inside. The front of the store had shields and armor on display, everything ranging from leather cuirasses and bracers to plain shirts of ring and chain mail up to full suits of plate mail. The back of the shop must have held a forge, from which came the sounds of a hammer ringing on metal.
“Ah, Master Creel!” The armorer came from the back room and clasped hands with Creel. “Just finished her up yesterday.” He retrieved a bundle from the back room and set it down on the counter—Creel’s leather armor.
“Just in time. We’ll be back on the road again today, I reckon. Tomorrow latest.”
“And you’ll be much better protected than before.” The armorer smiled as Creel ran his fingers admiringly over the new breastplate. “Assuming you don’t encounter any more flaming arrows, of course. I also replaced some of the straps on your other pieces that were heavily worn.”
Ferret remembered the scorched hole his cuirass had suffered some weeks earlier from an erinys’s arrow, along with other damage from his various injuries over the past months. She assumed the armorer must have replaced the entire breastplate, for it looked new.
“Looks better than the day I bought it,” Creel said after examining the cuirass.
The armorer beamed. “Please, try it on and make sure everything fits.”
Creel lifted the cuirass and slipped it over his head. Before the armorer could come around the counter to aid him, Ferret stepped up and began tightening the buckles as she had on past occasions. Creel smiled at her fondly as she cinched the straps at the sides. The armorer regarded her a moment with raised eyebrows but made no comment, seeing she knew what she was doing. They added the bracers and leg pieces that covered the thighs and knees. In moments, Creel was all suited up. He took his time checking the fit, stretching and rotating his arms, twisting his torso and leaning over as far as he could, then raising each knee to his chest. When he was satisfied nothing chafed or restricted his movement too much, he said, “Excellent work, Master Chalmer.”
“Thank you, sir. Might I check this one strap here?” Chalmer fussed with one of the bracer straps, adjusting the buckle, then frowned. He removed the piece and sliced off an inch of extra leather with a keen knife, then folded over the end of the supple strap so that it wouldn’t pull through the buckle. With an awl, he poked a number of holes and quickly stitched it together with gut string. The whole adjustment took only a couple minutes, and the bracer fit perfectly when he slipped it back on. “I think that ought to do it.”
Creel removed his coin purse. “And we agreed on five crowns, didn’t we?”
Master Chalmer held up the palms of both hands. “Sir, I cannot accept any payment.”
“Come again?” Creel paused with his purse open.
“You were responsible for helping return our queen to us, yes?”
“Aye, along with the help of others.”
“You’ve returned our queen and our hope to us. I can’t accept any payment for that. Besides, Her Majesty herself graced my humble establishment with her presence and commissioned a breastplate. I hope she was satisfied with it.”
“You made that?” Ferret asked before Creel could reply.
“Aye, I was so honored by being granted the commission. And now I’ve got contracts to outfit a number of her royal guardsmen and military officers.”
“Indeed, she seemed very pleased,” Creel answered. “She looked every inch a proper queen.”
Chalmer’s smile widened. “Excellent. The duke’s treasury reimbursed me quite generously, along with the promise of yet more future work. In fact, I’ll be needing to hire more help. Thus, I can’t accept any coin for your armor. I imagine your work has only begun. That’s why you’re off again so soon at the queen’s behest?”
Creel smiled ruefully. “Aye, just so.”
“Then I wish you the best of luck.”
“Well, I thank you again, Master Chalmer. I shall spread word of your excellent craftsmanship. Good luck hiring more apprentices.”
Chalmer bowed. “Farewell, sir. It is my honor to outfit Her Majesty’s associates to the best of my abilities.”
Creel shook hands with the man, then he and Ferret were heading back toward the castle.
“I reckon it’s about time we get back and round up the others. We’ve got to see about getting you fixed back up, eh, lass?”
“Aye. That we do.”
Chapter 33
Taren approached the dungeon cell, wondering if what he was about to do was the right decision. Surely, Irralith hadn’t earned any leniency, yet he didn’t believe the changeling to be truly evil—mercenary and opportunistic, certainly, but she had treated him well under the circumstances, considering his abduction had been the price of her own freedom, or so she claimed.
If I was put in such a position as she, would I have acted differently? He liked to think he would have but couldn’t answer that for sure.
/>
The gaoler unlocked the cell and pulled the door open.
“I’ll be fine, if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside,” Taren said.
The burly man grunted something unintelligible but walked a few paces away and leaned against the wall. He began picking under his dirty fingernails with the tip of his dagger.
“You are about the last person I expected to see down here,” Irralith said. The changeling’s amber eyes glowed luminously like a wolf’s, reflecting the torchlight from the corridor.
“Yet here I am.” Taren stepped inside and regarded her silently a moment.
Irralith sat up straighter on the stone bench that also served as a bed. She held her head high and her shoulders back, although she made no effort to disguise her inhuman appearance with illusion.
“And what is it you wish of me?” she asked after returning his stare a long moment.
“I thought the humane act would be to remove that collar Nesnys placed on you. I can sense its magic—some kind of locator spell so you can’t escape her grasp, I would assume.”
“You would do that for me?” She looked puzzled.
“Yes. Queen Sianna will determine your fate, not I, but I don’t like the thought of Nesnys having such a hold over you and knowing your whereabouts. Let her have something new to worry over.” He gave her a faint smile.
Irralith regarded him silently but didn’t react when he approached her cautiously. She was shackled by an ankle to an iron loop in the wall. In such close proximity to her, he briefly recalled their dalliance in his room the prior night and flushed at the memory.
Taren reached out and gripped the collar at either side of her neck. As his mother had taught him, he snuffed out the enchantment by siphoning it from the collar. He felt the power swirl through him, a brief burst, then the cold iron became inert. Cautiously, to avoid injuring Irralith, he injected a wedge of force inside the locking clasp. The iron snapped and came apart in his hands. He lifted it free of Irralith’s slender neck and tossed it aside.
Before he could withdraw, she snared his wrist in her hand. Her grip was firm but unthreatening, and her skin was as cold as the dungeon floor.
“I thank you for your kindness, Taren, undeserved as it was.” Irralith held his eyes and gave a tentative smile.
He nodded and pulled his hand away. “Best of luck to you, Irralith.”
Once he was back in the corridor, the gaoler secured the cell door.
“Taren,” Mira’s thought appeared in his head, “Queen Sianna is seeking you.”
“I’ll be right there, Mira. Are you feeling better?” He had checked her room after dressing, but she had already been gone—out for her morning exercise and meditation, he assumed.
“Yes, a few good hours of sleep did me well.” He sensed her contentment and smiled.
“Glad to hear it. Thanks for the warning about the queen.” He quickened his pace as he headed up out of the dungeon.
“My pleasure.”
His thoughts were already turned toward Sianna and what she might be seeking him for. Probably wanting to make plans regarding our quest, I imagine.
***
He was surprised to be summoned directly to Sianna’s own sitting room. Rafe, who’d apparently become the official commander of her royal guard at some point, knocked on her door then held it open for Taren without waiting for a response. He nodded to Taren and looked as though he was trying to restrain a smile.
“Your Majesty.” Taren took a knee when he stepped inside.
Rafe shut the door behind him.
Sianna turned from the window alcove, which provided an impressive view across the lake. She was dressed in a cream-and-sage-colored dress, and her hair was pinned back in a coppery tumble, shining in the sunlight. His heart skipped a beat at her beauty.
She made a moue at him. “No need for such formalities, Master Taren. Come, will you sit with me for a bit?” She waved him over to the padded bench before the bay window.
“I’d be honored.” He joined her at the window seat, glad he’d taken the time to bathe and shave that morning.
“Are you well? I heard what happened last night and feel terrible!” Her face was a mix of concern and guilt.
Taren flushed in embarrassment. “I’m fine. Was mostly a matter of my own foolishness, getting drunk and allowing myself to be put in such a situation.” He wondered uneasily how much she knew of what had happened, particularly Irralith visiting his room.
“Still, the fact you were nearly… no, you were abducted right here from the castle beneath our noses. Were it not for your brave friends, you could be in Nesnys’s clutches right now.”
“True enough. I owe them for saving me again. Mira especially.”
Sianna smiled. “She’s quite something. What of that witch who abducted you? Her fate now hinges upon my justice.”
He told her how he had removed Irralith’s collar a short time before. “I hope you don’t mind me doing so—”
“Not at all. I think that was the compassionate thing to do—a nice change. In such troubled times, it seems we are always quick to lash out in anger. Nobody should be subject to that… fiend’s clutches.” She shuddered and rubbed at the scar where Nesnys had bitten her last finger off.
Taren nodded slowly. “If you seek my counsel, I would recommend showing mercy toward Irralith. She was coerced by Nesnys to try to abduct me, but I don’t sense evil or malice in her. Not that I’m a priest or any expert in such matters, but that’s my opinion.”
Sianna nodded. “Thank you. I’ll take that under consideration. As to your quest, shall we meet just before the dinner hour? I must spend the morning with the foreign monarchs, and then a lunch banquet—”
As if mentioning it made it so, the door opened, and Iris appeared. “Sianna, they are awaiting you.” She paused at seeing Taren.
“Hello, Iris.” He smiled.
“Taren.” She returned his smile, although she did glance pointedly between the two of them.
Her demeanor had thawed considerably toward Taren since he had rescued her and Sianna, but he suspected he and the queen weren’t seated a proper distance from each other, their knees less than a foot apart on the bench. He didn’t mind Iris’s occasional chilliness, knowing she had Sianna’s best interests at heart.
Sianna sighed and rose. “Will you give us a moment, Iris? I’ll be right out.”
Her chamberlain gave a crisp nod, face carefully blank, and stepped back outside.
“I don’t know if time will allow us to talk more later, but I wanted to wish you well,” Sianna said. “We’re all depending on you and the others, and if something were to happen… well, I don’t know if I could forgive myself.”
“That burden doesn’t fall on your shoulders, Sianna. Well, I guess it does indirectly, being queen, but I mean that you aren’t ordering us to go… This is something that must be done anyway, to set things right for the sake of my family ties and also for Ferret’s sake…” He trailed off, unsure what exactly he meant to say, for he was entranced by her green eyes.
She cleared her throat nervously and glanced down at her shoes after a moment. “Well, just make sure you come back to us. You… and your friends. My friends too.” She smiled.
“Thank you for the well wishes. If the gods allow it to be so, I’ll be sure to return. You won’t be rid of me so easily.” He grinned, and she returned it.
“I still wear this, you know.” She pulled on a leather thong around her neck and withdrew the locator stone that hung in her bodice. “In case you need to find me.”
She looked as though she might say more, but at that moment, Iris burst through the door again. Taren hurriedly stepped back, aware that Iris would perceive their proximity as too near.
“Your Majesty,” Iris said with clear irritation, ignoring Taren.
“Yes, I know, Iris. They’re waiting for me.” Sianna rolled her eyes and winked at Taren before adapting a rigid queenly posture and striding briskly toward Iris. “Lea
d the way.”
Taren and Rafe exchanged amused looks as they trailed Sianna and Iris down the corridor, Iris clucking her disapproval at the queen. He took a side corridor and went to find Mira and Ferret to kill some time before they were summoned for their official audience and sent on their way.
Despite his apprehension over their impending departure, he found himself in a cheerful mood after his meeting with Sianna.
Chapter 34
With some difficulty, Sianna contained her surprise at the sight of the creature occupying the dungeon cell, even after Creel’s warning about the changeling’s startling appearance. Looking at her, Sianna couldn’t determine whether her face was painted or tattooed in such a dramatic fashion or if that was her normal coloration.
Throughout the morning meeting with her peers, she couldn’t stop thinking of the prior night’s abduction attempt and how close they had come to losing Taren to Nesnys’s clutches. In the brief time between the meetings and the banquet, she had asked Creel to escort her down to the dungeon. She wanted to see the creature and judge her for herself.
Sianna stood just inside the door with Creel beside her, his arms crossed and expression inscrutable.
“Sit up, you,” the gaoler commanded, prodding the woman in the leg with the head of his mace.
The changeling squinted in the torchlight, her slitted amber eyes luminous and unnerving, reminding Sianna of a lizard’s. She obeyed the gaoler and sat up on the stone bench. “Ah, the young queen, our would-be savior,” she said with a sneer. “Have you come to pass swift judgment on me? I feared I would be left to rot down here for some weeks before any decision was made.” Her eyes slid from Sianna and remained fixed on Creel a long moment, during which some unknown expression passed over her features—fear or nervousness, perhaps.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 29