Her eyes darted to the bed then around the door to him. Her face fell. She sighed long and deep, disappointment obvious. And Dasen knew that this night would be much closer to the one at the Muldon’s than the one he longed for, the one that his body was already preparing, against his will, to have.
“I’m tired,” she said with another sigh. She diverted her eyes and walked to the bed. She pulled aside the sheet and climbed in, facing the side, curled into a ball as far from the center as was possible.
Dasen let out the breath he did not realize he was holding, but it did nothing to lessen his anticipation like a hunger that he could barely withhold. Maybe she just needs to remember how it feels. He picked up the candle from the table, blew it out, and stepped to the bed. It was a big bed, well wide enough for two people to sleep and never touch. Teth was not taking a quarter of it, but Dasen slid himself toward her, placed his hand on her arm, conformed his body to hers, pressed himself against her, smelled her hair, and kissed her shoulder.
She drew a long, shaking breath that Dasen took for approval. He ran his hand down her arm to her leg, pressed himself closer, moved his lips to her neck.
“Please don’t,” Teth said through a sob. “Just don’t.” She brought her hand to her face and covered her eyes. “Please,” she begged, though Dasen could barely hear her.
For a second, he thought about ignoring her. He thought about telling her no, of turning her around and kissing her until she realized that it was exactly what she needed.
He rolled away from her. “Can you talk to me?” he asked the darkness. “Can you tell me what this is about?” When there was no answer beyond the shaking breaths, he started again, “I need you, Teth. I need to be close to you. I’ve waited, I’ve been patient. It doesn’t need to be anything more than what we did before, but I need that at least. I can’t be around you all day and never touch you. I can’t look at you all day without wanting to hold you, without wanting to kiss you. Do you understand that?”
Snuffles answered him. He sighed into the darkness and slammed his hand down onto the space between them. Teth jumped. “Talk to me!” he yelled into the darkness. “By the Order, at least tell me why.”
Gasps, sobs, shaking breaths.
Dasen threw off the covers, rose from the bed, and stormed from the room. He could not sleep in his current state, and he could not stay there listening to Teth cry. He stood in the hall for a while, realizing that anyone stepping from their room would be horrified by the site of a young man standing in nothing more than a nightshirt that was propped in the middle like a tent. He strode to the washroom.
When he returned to the room, Teth was asleep. He watched her for a long time, then slid under the sheet on the opposite side of the bed. He matched her posture, curled as far from her as he could manage with two arm’s length between them.
Chapter 37
The 35th Day of Summer
Allard Stully was shorter than Ipid always thought he should be. His stiff spine and high chin created the illusion of height, but, in truth, he was a few inches shorter than Ipid. Still, he was slim and fit with broad shoulders and the presence to fill a room. Only slightly older than Ipid, he was almost entirely bald, but the strong lines of his starkly handsome, cleanly shaven face showed nary a sag. His brown eyes were piercing, full of command. Thin lips were pulled into a line as tight as the collar of his shirt, which looked as if it would choke the very life from him. His suit was ash grey, perfectly pressed, and starched stiff. His scarf was the same pale blue as the water in his family crest. A shimmering trout pendant covered it to complete the reference. In a change of protocol, his shirt was midnight black so that the entire ensemble appeared reversed. He completed it with a short, wide-rimmed felt hat in the color of his suit, like a fine version of something a boatman might wear. In his hand was a black cane topped with a silver leaping trout. Steel capped its point so that is announced every step its master took down the hall of his estate. Ipid had never seen him without the device, which was as much his trademark as his legendary poise.
“A nice trick, that,” he said, demonstrating that poise immediately. Allard Stully’s voice was smooth and steady, perfectly pitched to require listeners to devote all their attention to it lest they miss a word, and it never wavered no matter the threat he faced or impossibility he had witnessed. Ipid tried to match that poise as he recovered from the disorientation of passing through Liano’s portal, struggling to keep his face impassive despite vertigo and nausea.
“So these are the Exiles,” Allard continued, eyes rising to Liano then Eia. He flashed a knowing smile at Eia, gaze lingering on her shimmering forest green dress. Cut in her, now signature, style, it conformed to every curve of her body. “I have heard of their power, but seeing it, I realize even more what a fool Kavich was. I urged him to surrender, you know. We read the same reports from Thoren. He thought it treachery that had undone the city. I knew that no matter of treachery reduces a city to ash in the course of an afternoon.”
He paused and walked from the door toward Ipid, the striking of his cane muffled by the rich Imperial carpet at his feet. They were in an intimate, but immaculate, room defined primarily by the oval table that occupied its center. Despite its size, it was a delicate thing, the top so thin as to seem impossible. It richly stained maple surface was inlaid with tiny patterned rings of dark wood running to its center. Without visible legs or supports, it appeared to be floating. Eight chairs, each the size of a throne, were spaced around it with twice that number of their simple, low armless cousins along the walls for the aides and advisors of the officials who claimed a space at the table. Above those chairs, breaking the dark wood paneled walls, sixteen ancient, fading tapestries hung, showing intricate patterns carefully, flawlessly repeating.
“Weaver tapestries,” Allard caught Ipid’s inspection and gestured toward them with his cane, “from every significant era dating back to the creation of the Empire. One of the world’s finest collections and my pride. They say that each Weaver pattern depicts the history of its time.” He pointed toward the second down the line on his right. “This one is from the Liandrin Revolt. The pattern is almost indecipherable. It looks like a jumble, discordant colors, uneven spacing, untied knots. You wouldn’t even guess it was made by Weavers, that they would allow something so erratic to leave their looms. Yet, even in this, there is a pattern. No matter how difficult to discern, how imperceptible, the pattern is always there. It changes from tapestry to tapestry, but certain elements always remain, running through them all from era to era.” He gestured toward each tapestry in the line. “Even in times of great conflict, the Order maintains Its patterns and the Weavers find them.”
He turned from the tapestry and approached, peeling a kid leather glove from his hand and offering it in greeting. “So I believe is this time. Even as the Exiles return, the Order perseveres. Even as cities are destroyed, the Order rises from the ashes. You, me, we are the instruments by which the Order will be restored. We are the knots that anchor the pattern and allow it to repeat.”
Ipid nodded and took the man’s hand. His grip was strong, and he held Ipid’s eye for an uncomfortable time. Ipid did not look away. He greeted his rival but refused to be sidetracked by philosophical diversions meant to reveal his loyalties and state-of-mind. He glanced to Eia when Allard released him. Her attention was on the tapestries, which she examined with contempt bordering on horror.
Allard chuckled. “Of course, your wife does not share my sentiment. Though the rumors that reach me are that the Exiles are no more than vassals now, that they are here at the bidding of the Darters and have no desire to oppose the Order. Is that true, Lady Ronigan, or should I use a different title since you are not truly joined to our Chancellor?”
“You have been speaking with our friend the ambassador,” Eia said in her universal language. Her eyes moved to their host and remained there, absorbing him in a way that made Ipid’s insides tremble.
“Not nearly as muc
h as I would prefer,” Allard said. “I was able to wash some information from him, though the brandy was far more expensive than any soap.” Saying what he had been told to say, Ipid hoped for the ambassador’s sake. “But I am being rude.” Allard stepped past Ipid and approached Eia. “My name is Lord Allard Talgren Elias Stully, duly elected representative of Wildern on Orm to the great Parliament of the Unified Kingdoms, and Chairman of the Orm River Shipping and Warehousing Company.” He paused for a breath after the long introduction. “It is my understanding that we now kiss.” He took on a confident air. His eyes darted to Ipid, looking for a reaction.
“Truly,” Eia replied, blushing – she actually blushed! “I am Eialia Oie Alliera of the house Eieniette, Caliele Za’ of the great and wise Hilaal. Exile as you call us.” She smiled fiendishly and approached. Her hips, perfectly outlined by the flow of tight green silk, swayed. Her hand found his arm and moved up it. Her head tilted to receive him. Allard for all his bravado seemed unprepared for such a return – even whores in the Kingdoms were not so forward. “But remember, my lord, that your life, that of your wife, children, and precious corporation, ride in the hands of the man who shares my bed.” With that, she rose to her toes and kissed him. She was passionate, lips and tongue moving aggressively. Ipid’s heart pounded despite his full knowledge of the game at play. Allard pulled away almost as fast as it had begun. He stared at Eia, looking more flustered than Ipid ever remembered seeing. Ipid fought the smile that threatened to overtake the stern resolution he had painstakingly forced upon his expression.
Seeking a refuge after his initial miscalculation, Allard turned to Liano, who hung to the far wall. “And this is?”
Liano held up his hands and pressed himself back. He lowered his head so that his face would be entirely hidden in his hood.
“His name does not matter,” Ipid answered. “He does not need nor want introduction.”
Allard withdrew his hand slowly, mouth quirking. “I have to say that I was surprised when I got your message,” he transitioned smoothly as he replaced his glove and strode to the other side of the table. “Please, have a seat.”
A tall, wiry man with a thin rapier at his side stepped from a shadow near the room’s lone door and pulled a chair back for his master. He took a place at Lord Stully’s side, flanking what must be his twin on the other. Both men were dressed as footmen, but the flow of the movements even more than the swords at their sides marked them as bodyguards of the highest order. Ipid had no fear with Liano and Eia there, but they looked fast and sure. He wondered if even Elton could have handled them.
Ipid pulled out a chair and sat at the opposite end of the table. Eia took a seat next to him, legs hanging over the broad arm, small body nearly lost in the expanse of the seat, slippers dangling from her feet. Liano eased into a corner and very nearly disappeared as the shadows merged with the black of his robes.
“How did you get Vontel to work for you?” Allard asked out of the blue. He sat forward, hand still gripping his cane, dark eyes blazing in the light of the lamps. “He has always staunchly refused to have anything to do with you. Even before the invasion, I couldn’t pry a thing from him about you.”
“It’s complicated,” Ipid admitted, knowing the value of information, and the purpose of the man with a trout as his emblem in fishing for it. “The important thing is that he has informed me of your plans and brought us together to discuss them.”
“That wily bastard!” Allard rapped the handle of his cane on the table for emphasis. “The one thing you could always count on with him was that he was feeding your enemy every bit as much information about you as he was giving you about them. ‘Assured mutual defamation’ he called it. Very concerned with a level playing field. Until now, apparently.”
“Apparently.”
When he got no more response, Allard sat back. His mouth formed a hard line as he studied the man across from him, calculating, considering. “You are not here to kill me,” he finally decided on a course. “You could have done that at any time without need for a meeting. That Imperial bastard left me entirely at your mercy. I never would have considered a betrayal from that flank. I have to admit, I was quiet upset at first. I know my reputation, but when the safety of my family is threatened, well, I have been known to be less pragmatic. I’m afraid the ambassador may not have seen my best side, but after some level of irrational panic and a great deal of thought, I agreed to meet you.”
He paused, stared at Ipid, then took a deep breath. “You see my dilemma. I am caught, jewels in hand, conspiring against a self-proclaimed tyrant. The tyrant who called for the death of a man on the steps of the Temple of Order on the day of his inauguration. A tyrant who has declared martial law throughout the land, rationed food to near starvation, forced men into work crews. A tyrant who has a well-deserved grudge against me. All this led me to expect a much harsher response. But then, I realized that if you wanted to harm me and my family, you wouldn’t send an Imperial ambassador to arrange a meeting.” Allard spoke with the calm of great control, but the cracks were starting to show.
“No,” Ipid answered. He forced his face to be impassive, to keep from smiling as he congratulated himself for having read Allard Stully perfectly.
“By the Order,” Allard finally declared, after a long pause. “I am glad I never invited you to cards, Ronigan. We’d be all night waiting for you to take your turn. That is how this is supposed to work, you know? Even if you’re holding nothing but trump, we still have to lay the cards and count the points. The very fact that you are here, shows that you have won, so you might as well gather your coins.”
Ipid watched, eyes stern, face set. The cracks were there and multiplying. Sweat beaded on Allard’s lip. His cane trembled where he clutched it just a bit too hard. His eyes darted to his guards, to Eia, to Liano, then back to Ipid. Ipid smiled. He looked to Eia, who turned her languid attention to the other end of the table. She nodded. Ipid acknowledged her confirmation of what he already knew: Allard Stully was his. “Your analogy is flawed,” he finally said. “First, we are not playing one another. Second, I am a long way from winning.”
Allard slapped his free hand hard on the table. Ipid barely kept himself from jumping. “I knew it! You want me to betray my fellow conspirators. You think to turn the head against the body, but it will never work.”
“I want to make you Chancellor,” Ipid cut him off before he could get going.
Allard stopped mid-breath, hand held above the table, body frozen. Not a muscle on his face so much as twitched. Finally, the corners of his mouth began to creep up, his eyes narrowed, and he laughed. It was a constrained laugh, holding little humor, calculated and cold. “Word has always been that you had not an ounce of humor in you. Resolute Ronigan, we used to call you. Lord Conneray does the most marvelous impression, all puffed up and serious, frowning and adjusting his glasses, but it is clearly you that is toying now.”
Ipid spared him the memory. He sat forward, frowned, and adjusted his glasses. “I want to make you Chancellor.”
Allard straightened. He moved the cane in front of him and looked to each of his guards in turn. “I see,” he said, voice straining. “I can’t. I was prepared to give up everything, to give you the name of every man conspiring against you, to give you every detail of our plans if that was what was required to save my family, but this is too much. You clearly think that I can bring my allies to your side. You think that if you use me as your puppet, they will not see you pulling the strings.” He laughed at that. “No one will be fooled. The people have no love of me. They follow me only because they hate you more, especially outside Wildern where your soldiers rule with all the compassion and subtlety of the swords they carry. The only thing that would be accomplished by making me Chancellor is to convince the common people that all their leaders have turned against them. There will be no controlling them. Even your knights and wizards won’t be able to hold them back. The whole country will fracture and burn. Better to kill me
than to make me oversee that.” He sat back, closed his eyes, and took a long breath as if expecting Ipid to take him up on the offer then and there.
It was Ipid’s turn to laugh. “And I always thought you a man who eschewed dramatics. As steady and unchangeable as the river they say of you. It was Kavich, himself, that had the impression of you.” Ipid took on a serious countenance, pretending to grip a cane before him. “So you’re saying that a hundred men lined up to fuck my wife,” he mocked Allard’s soft, steady voice. “That’s fine. Just make sure we charge them next time.” Ipid gave a bittersweet chuckle at the memory. “Kavich used to say that every time your name came up, and we always laughed.” He snickered again then turned serious. Allard could not hide his offense for all his obvious effort.
“I’m not an idiot,” Ipid declared. “Do you think I cannot see the situation before me? You are absolutely right, installing you as Chancellor now would be a disaster. You are far too aloof, too proud, too stiff to ever be a man of the people. Even Kavich who spent his youth swaddled in silk and gold could put on the airs of a common man. Whenever you are among them, you looked like you are walking through a recently occupied corral with new shoes. No, I am under no delusions that the people will rally to you out of love.
“Rather, I know and accept my position. I am hated and destined to be more hated still, but I must deliver the invaders’ terms – and they are called the Darthur, not Darters. You and your rebellion have no chance of overthrowing me. What you can do is bring down the wrath of the Darthur upon us all.”
“But I cannot . . . “
“Stop and listen! You will continue to lead this rebellion just as you have. You will organize it. You will fund it. You will guide it. I want you to make sure that you bring every city, every district, ever farm and village into your fold. I want every one of them to be unified against me.”
The False Martyr Page 46