Adric pried his wrist free from Milo’s fingers as the doorknob rattled. Adric backed away until he cringed against the damp stone wall. The door swung open. A tall, slender man dressed in black filled the doorway. The light against his back hid his face in shadows.
The man closed the door. Adric decided to take a chance. He stepped forward. “Please,” he whispered. “Help me. My friend is dying.”
The man knelt beside Milo and placed his hand over Milo’s face.
“I’m sorry.” The man’s voice was deep and melodic. “But I’m afraid that your friend is already dead.”
PART THREE
Chapter 21
i
To the Lady Kerry:
I had difficulty tapping Dasvid’s mind. He has a forceful brain, perhaps trained to resist probes by an Enos. I attempted the tap during the king’s announcement banquet. My tap did not reveal the mental picture which Dasvid carries of himself, but I did learn that he refers to himself as Byron. He struggled against me through most of the tap, but I was able to get a brief picture just after the king’s announcement.
In that flash I learned that Dasvid feared for a young boy who appeared half starved and abused. The fear had a direct relationship to the announcement. The child’s identity and relationship to Dasvid are unknown.
The Lady Jelwra’s unannounced appearance at the banquet also disturbed Dasvid. She appeared startled by his presence as well. She hinted that his name might not be Byron, and she made references to the last Lord of Kinsmail. The reference disturbed Dasvid’s companion, Seymour.
Dasvid has become a favorite of the king’s. The relationship seems quite strong. No direct attack on Dasvid is possible at this time.
You might not be the only one who wants the bard dead, milady. Corvo, the assassin whom Lord Ewehl paid to kill Lord Demythos a decade ago, is here at the palace. He won’t tell me who he’s working for and, of course, I can’t tap him. I will keep an eye on him, though.
Please obtain information relating to the last Lord of Kinsmail. I will attempt another tap and maintain surveillance. I suggest no action be taken against Dasvid at this time.
Vonda
ii
Almathea removed the diamonds from her ears, set them on her dressing table, and inserted pearls. She glanced in the mirror: her face looked fat in the wavy glass. The dressing room was too small and claustrophobic. The edges of her skirt hit the wardrobe as she moved.
She glanced into the sitting room. The overstuffed furniture scattered around the walls looked uncomfortable, but no more uncomfortable than Vonda. She still waited, her hands folded in her lap. She looked like a spider, fat and contented, waiting for the kill. Alma had been wondering why Vonda was there. Alma had no designs on Kerry land, and she had never spoken with the Lady Kerry.
Alma sighed and returned to her mirror. She had already kept Vonda waiting almost an hour. The message had to be important for Vonda to wait that long. Alma brushed her long, dark hair and pulled it away from her face. Then she wound a strand of pearls among the curls and stepped back, surveying herself. It would have to do. She had only so much to work with–her hair was coarse and too thick, her face dark and plain–and too little time. The king’s announcement had surprised her, as it had surprised the other gentry, and she wanted to make sure the king saw no one else at his festival.
She smoothed her hair one more time and pulled the door open. Vonda glanced up. Her skin formed little webs around her eyes and the corners of her mouth.
“Well, Vonda,” Alma said, “what is this thing that is so important?” She continued standing so that Vonda had to look up. Upstart servants had to be kept at a disadvantage.
“I’m pleased that you agreed to see me, milady.” Vonda’s voice was soft, like the rustle of parchment. “I have come to discuss the king’s bard.”
Alma moved her head slightly. The pearls in her hair clicked. Vonda had been watching the night before; Alma remembered that. Time to put the spider lady on the defensive. “Is he your lover?” Alma asked.
Vonda smiled. The look was cold. “Of course not, milady. I’m here on business.”
“Indeed.” Alma walked to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of water. She did not offer Vonda one.
“The Lady Kerry believes that the bard is not who he claims to be. You too seem to know something about the man. I was wondering if you would like to share your information.”
Alma swirled the water in the glass as if it were full of wine. Then she took a sip, savoring the taste, and leaned against the chair across from Vonda. “What interest does the Lady Kerry have in this?”
“A personal one.”
Alma sighed, as if she were bored. In fact, she was even more interested. She loved secrets and gossip. Her power had its base in the kind of knowledge she picked up from others. Now that she knew Lady Kerry also had suspicions and an involvement with Sir Geoffry, Alma would search for the information on her own.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Alma said. “The man looks familiar, but I don’t know where I have seen him before.”
“Beg pardon.” Vonda bowed her head a little, keeping her gaze on Alma. “But I do not believe you, milady.”
“The Lady Kerry lets you talk like that? Interesting the manner of different gentry.” Alma took another sip of her water and stood. “You may leave.”
Vonda bowed her head again and scurried around the chairs. When she reached the door, she stopped. “I hope you consider the request, lady.”
Alma smiled and waited until the door closed before setting the glass down carefully. Impertinent witch, calling Alma a liar and asking for help in the same meeting. Alma adjusted her skirts, checked the mirror once more, and let herself out of her suite.
The corridor was cool. A retainer standing near her door bowed his head at her. She ignored him. Sir Geoffry was a puzzle. She hadn’t expected him at the palace and she certainly hadn’t expected to see him performing for the king. Perhaps Geoffry believed that once he had the king’s favor, he could petition for his lands. Bad plan, of course. The king now saw Geoffry as lower class, and no amount of history could change that.
She turned down the corridor to the audience chamber, lifting her skirts as she climbed the small flight of stairs. The doors to the chamber were open. Retainers stood against the walls like statues, swords and banners crossed above their heads. Strange decorations; she did not like them. The king sat on a large chair on the dais, and Geoffry stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. Geoffry wore a linen shirt and breeches instead of his usual black. The clothing accented his slender frame and made him look younger.
Alma stepped inside and curtsied, making certain her attention was on the king. The man was too fat and smelled of sweat and ale. She supposed that if she became the new consort, she would have to do all of the work, with the king on his back and his stomach in the way. She frowned, wishing there was another way to become part of the royal family in Kilot.
“Alma!” The king sounded pleased. He stood up and extended his hand to her. She rose, nodded once at Geoffry, and climbed the stairs to the dais.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything.” She glanced at Geoffry. He was not looking at her; his gaze was on the king.
“No, no,” the king said. “We’ll be finishing shortly. Did you have something to discuss?”
“Only lunch.” Alma smiled. “I’ll just wait in a corner until you’re finished.”
“We could quit now. Lunch sounds excellent.”
Lunch did not sound excellent. Alma wanted to know why Geoffry was talking to the king, and she didn’t dare ask. She didn’t want the king to know how curious she was about things. He knew that she was intelligent and that she could be difficult, but he didn’t have to know that she was determined to make her own power base in the kingdom. “I’ll just take a chair and wait until you’re through,” she said.
She walked to the back of the dais and sat on one of the wood chairs near some
velvet curtains. They brushed against her back and the chair seemed stiff, uncomfortable. From her vantage point, she could see Geoffry’s face, but not the king’s.
The king sighed and sat back in his chair. “Finish, bard,” he said.
“I have told you about the conditions in the countryside,” the bard said. He leaned on one knee, the other leg straight down the stairs. He was as close to the king as he could be without being disrespectful. “I’m worried about an uprising. The wheat crop failures are costing many peasants their livelihood. People are starving, and the gentry is doing nothing. On Lord Dakin’s land–”
“I don’t care about Dakin,” the king snapped. “What do you want from me?”
Alma clasped her hands in her lap, wishing that she had been present for the beginning of the conversation. She wondered what crop failures had to do with Geoffry’s land claim.
“Sire, I checked with the store master. You have enough food here to feed an entire army under siege for three years. You can afford to share it, and it might ease tensions in the countryside.”
“I see no reason to feed peasants.”
Neither did Alma. And she could see no reason for Geoffry’s request. The man was crazy. He should have been petitioning for his lands rather than speaking for the unwashed.
“The common folk keep this country alive, Highness,”Geoffry said. “The gentry live off the land, but the peasantry work it. Without them we would have nothing. Right now, neither the gentry nor the kingdom itself does anything for the peasantry–”
“I have heard enough!” The king pounded his fists on the chair and the entire dais rumbled.
Alma suppressed a smile. She had never seen the king mad before. He looked like a red-faced, roaring bulldog–the small, yapping kind her mother used to keep. The retainers along the walls stood at attention and stared at the dais. Geoffry took the remaining steps in two leaps. He crouched before the king.
“You’ll listen to me, sire, because if you don’t, it could mean the end of the realm as you know it. Not one of you pays any attention to the peasantry. The beautiful Lady Jelwra over there wants land and power. Lords Ewehl and Boton want to run the kingdom their way. The council spends more time exchanging land than doing any real work. When governing is done, it is done for the landed, not for the people who work the land. I’ve traveled through the realm, sire. I know its people. And, believe me, you had better start working with them instead of ignoring them.”
The king didn’t move. Alma’s urge to smile had disappeared as well. She didn’t like Geoffry’s assessment of her, nor did she like the way he asserted that assessment to the king.
“You think these isolated incidents will become a mass uprising,” the king said. His anger seemed to have disappeared.
“I know it, sire. Kilot’s history shows it. The Dakins took their lands because the Kinsmails, who controlled it, failed to care for their peasants after a major fire swept through the forest up there. The first Dakins helped the peasants and the peasants helped them. The present Lord Dakin has forgotten the lessons his family learned. If his heirs manage the estate as he has, Dakin will not control that land much longer.”
“But attack the king?” The king was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckled turned white.
“Sire,” Geoffry’s voice softened. “Have you forgotten what happened to Queen Glerek two hundred years ago? She abused her peasants. Her laws forced them into starvation and forced the crop failures. If it weren’t for the Enos working to protect the land, she would have died in an uprising.”
The king sighed. “I have made no laws hurting the peasants.”
“You have made no laws to help them either, sire. And they are starving.”
The king looked at Geoffry. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glowed. Alma wondered if passion always made his face seem so alive.
“I must discuss this with Lord Boton,” the king said.
Geoffry’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Don’t you ever make decisions on your own, sire?”
“You are an impertinent young man!”
Geoffry nodded. “I’m glad we agree on something, Highness.”
The silence seemed long. Alma resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. Then the king chuckled. “You did warn me about that, didn’t you?”
“Several times.”
“And I warned you that I didn’t take criticism well.”
“But only once.”
The king’s chuckle grew into a laugh. The guards relaxed, and so did Alma. She didn’t want anything to happen to Geoffry, and she didn’t want anything to interfere with her own plans. “And so what do you suggest, sir bard?”
“Feed them, sire. And let them petition you with their grievances.”
“Petition me? Those people in these chambers? I wouldn’t know what–”
“Sire, this chamber was built for that purpose. And if you don’t want to accept petitions, assign another to sit in your place.”
“You’re lucky that I like you, bard, and that you have good ideas.” The king waved his hand in dismissal. “I will consider your grievance my own way. And tonight you will sing for me so well that I will forget your impertinence.”
Geoffry bowed. “Thank you, sire.” And without a single glance at Alma, he left the audience chamber.
Alma stood and put her hand on the king’s shoulder. He was tense. She stared at the doors, wishing she could see through them and see Geoffry. He never did what she expected. He was one of the few people she had ever met whom she couldn’t read. Usci was another. She wished he were here instead of home, tending to her business. He might understand the bard. Perhaps she would send for him.
The king patted her hand as Lord Boton stepped through the curtains in the back. Alma had suspected there were listening chambers, but she was surprised that the king would reveal them to her.
“What do you think, Boton?” the king asked.
“The bard has a point, sire. He knows the lands better than we do, and several gentry have reported trouble with their people. I’ll look into the matter. But I would also have someone watch that bard. He reminds me too much of Lord Demythos.”
Demythos. Alma squinted. Her mother believed that Demythos had been murdered because of his unpopular and outspoken views.
“You know, Boton,” the king said softly, “there are still times when I miss that man.”
“He tried to run your kingdom.”
The king looked directly at Boton. “So have others.”
Lord Boton’s eyes widened. Alma felt a shiver run down her back. The king seemed shrewder today than he ever had before. She wondered, if she became consort, whether he would prove as malleable as she had hoped.
“Demythos was a good man. He thought of others before himself.” The king smiled. “You’re right, Boton. The bard does remind me of Demythos.”
Lord Boton frowned. The king took Alma’s hand off his shoulder and stood. “Alma and I are going to lunch.” He led her down the stairs and tucked her hand into his arm. His body seemed almost too warm. He leaned his head near hers. “I see you so rarely, Alma, and I do miss your mother so. She was the heart of the council.”
Alma nodded. She had heard that before. Too bad her mother was not the heart of Jelwra. Her father had run the lands, and had raised Alma. She would never give as much away as her mother had.
“I would love to discuss the bard’s proposition over lunch,” she said, turning the conversation from her mother. If the king liked the former lady of Jelwra, he would not like Almathea.
The king patted her hand and walked her slowly out of the audience chamber. “I no longer discuss business over meals,” he said. “Ruins the digestion.”
As if anything ruined the king’s digestion. Alma did not sigh, but she made a silent vow. She would never, ever have a meal alone with the king again–at least not until she became consort.
iii
To the Lady Kerry:
Dasvid shocked the palac
e by confronting the king over the crop failures. Surprisingly, the king listened to him. The king and the council examined the situation and decided to allot five pounds of food per family as long as the wheat disease continues. Dasvid has also been promoted to the king’s representative to the underclasses. He is to hear their petitions and to bring valid claims before the king. Dasvid seems to enjoy the job. He spends most of the day listening to the petitions and his evenings entertaining the king.
The king’s fascination with Dasvid is unusual. Most entertainers would have been banished for their impertinence, yet Dasvid is still a favorite. He seems to have no outside contacts. His only real friends are his traveling companions, the magician Seymour and the boys Colin and Afeno.
As you requested, I met with the Lady Jelwra. Dasvid fascinates her as well. Mentally, she refers to him as Sir Geoffry. Although my tap of her mind was abortive, I learned that she has not known him long and is not clear about his identity. She is also planning something to do with the king, but the idea was nebulous and unfocused because it had nothing to do with our conversation. During our meeting the Lady Jelwra protected Dasvid from my questions. I do not know why.
Vonda
iv
Alma finished buttoning her day dress and looped the braids around her head. She set the remaining pins on her dressing table. The room was a mess without Usci, but she didn’t want any of the palace serving people inside. The dressing room was hers, sloppy as it was, and she didn’t want anyone snooping.
She sighed and checked her appearance one final time in the wavy mirror. She hated hunting, thought it both boring and barbarous, but right now she couldn’t refuse any invitation of the king’s. She liked the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was looking, the way his eyes gleamed, as if he were thinking that he could make love to her and she would be useful to him.
The White Mists of Power Page 19