Broken Lords: Book Two of the Broken Mirrors Duology

by A. F. Dery

  “Oh, I am sorry, old mother,” he said sheepishly. “That was uncalled for.”

  “Damn straight, don’t do it again,” Graunt said, smiling toothily. “Well, here we are.” For they had come to a door that Thane was already opening for her. Graunt pushed past him with a wave of her hand.

  “Go check on your pet rabbit,” she said slyly over her shoulder as she went. “Who knows what trouble she is getting into. Didn’t you tell me the last time you left her alone with a pair of your men, she almost got her face broken and fell down a stairwell?”

  Thane stared at her for a moment, turned amusingly pale, and, bowing to her, hastened off down the corridor without another word.

  Graunt cackled as she settled in a chair to await her baggage. It arrived in short order, the High Lord’s impeccably groomed and bright-eyed servants, all dressed in pale blue and silver, anxiously placing each piece where she indicated. The High Lord trained his servants far better than Thane had his, she noted with amusement, for they behaved as if they did not notice that she was nothing like them, as if they did not know that their very proximity was making her belly growl. They could not fool old Graunt, though. She could taste their fear on the air, salty and savory, even as their faces remained smiling masks, and her dark beady eyes, even while ostensibly directed to other pursuits, still did not fail to notice the speeding of their steps when they left her room.

  Their quickening pace was a horrible tease. There was nothing Graunt enjoyed so much as flight in the objects of her interest. She sighed in disappointment as the last of them hastened away. There would be no enjoyment here, in this miserable edifice of stone and pomp. No, she had work to do.

  “Oh, but no rest for these weary old bones,” she muttered, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she heaved herself from her chair.

  Graunt left her room after setting up a little treat for anyone who might wish to return and peruse her baggage on her behalf. It was not unlike a spiderweb, the clinging, all but transparent strands formed from her own spit and the bitter tasting oil that welled in the glands of her upper throat, in a meticulous pattern that, with her age and experience, took but minutes to weave with careful, pointy fingers. It was not a thing of such beauty as a spider’s web, Graunt reflected, stepping back from the doorway to admire her own handiwork. But nothing walking into would escape, and no eyes except those as keen as her own would be able to detect it.

  One could never be too careful, after all. The High Lord had eyes everywhere. Her behavior was not strange for one such as herself- at least, not setting a trap such as this for the unwary. In her own room, it could hardly be condemned.

  Graunt carefully closed the door behind her and began the long trudge below stairs. She went back down the staircase with far greater speed and agility than Thane had witnessed, and walked around the circular hallway surrounding the dome to a barely visible door set behind one of the heavily embroidered curtains. It appeared to be set into one of the exterior walls facing the courtyard, but in truth, it led directly to a stairwell that in turn led to a hallway just as spacious as the one above. Like the upper hallway, it was dotted with doors and open doorways, but these led to the servants’ quarters, the kitchens, and various storerooms rather than the towers used by the High Lord himself and the Court and their guests.

  She would have much preferred a room of her own down here, where it was dim even with the profusion of sconces and lamps kept ever lit, and cool, even with the special fireplaces that vented out into the courtyard above, no doubt contributing to the misty effect enjoyed by the towers. Her own fires back at the Keep were more for show and keeping the air dry for her herbs than anything else; one of the things that had brought her to Eladrian soil was the persistent, soothing cold of their clime. There was a certain slight dampness down here that also appealed to her brown folds of skin, and she took a deep breath, smiling and showing all her teeth for one moment before quickly composing her features into a more benevolent expression.

  It would take time to earn their trust, being what she was, she mused, and time was something she simply did not have. She lifted from the folds of her shapeless dress a hood, and arranged it carefully over her head, shrouding her face in half-shadow. Hunching down her shoulders so she walked with a stoop, she made a visibly painstaking approach to what she judged from the noise and clatter to be the kitchen, one hand- pointy fingers folded discreetly into palm- gently knuckling along the wall as she went.

  One of the servants came rushing out at that moment, nearly knocking into her. “Oh dear, I am sorry, madam,” the woman said uncertainly. “I don’t think you are supposed to be down here? The guest quarters are above, madam.”

  “No, no, I am a humble servant of Lord Eladria,” Graunt said, slowly and as if the words cost her, covering her teeth with her lips to give the illusion of toothlessness in the dim light and shadow. “I am a simple worker with herbs, dear. I hoped to speak with your cook.”

  “Oh, yes, certainly,” the woman said, brightening. “She’s just yonder, madam, but she’s very busy. All of the High Lord’s guests seem to be arriving at once.”

  “I understand, dear. If I could just step in and sit a moment?” Graunt ducked her head as though shy.

  “Of course, madam. Let me walk you inside,” the woman suggested, offering her arm.

  “So good of you,” Graunt cooed. She kept her fingers clenched, and let her hand curve around and shake a little as though palsied as she placed it on the woman’s arm. She continued to knuckle the wall with her other hand as she was led inside, walking with slow, dragging steps that never quite lifted her feet entirely from the floor.

  Eventually she found herself settled at a small table to the side of the kitchen, a cup of tea duly fetched for her by a second servant she was passed off to with a poorly veiled look of relief on the part of the woman who had met her in the hallway. Graunt didn’t mind. She remained hunched over the table, the cup of tea sitting before her merely for show, which she made a little production of clattering around with any time she sensed someone looking her way.

  By and large, few bothered. They were all indeed very busy at this time of evening. Lord Eladria was not the only newly arrived guest: she caught scraps of conversation and command bearing the names Ossian and Malachi as well.

  Eventually the evening wore on. Her tea was discreetly tipped into the floor stones behind her chair, and refilled by a passing servant who was moving none too quickly anyhow. Some of the servants prepared to retire for the night after being relieved by a fresh influx of workers, and began to chat amongst themselves as they passed her little table, one or two pausing to greet her politely or ask her if she needed assistance, madam?

  That was how it always started. Soon enough, Graunt would be the quiet fixture who never left, a harmless, doddering old woman who was apparently a bottomless pit where tea was concerned, talking more or less sensibly about herbs from time to time, and appearing a little absentminded and distracted if anyone attempted to address her about anything else. Soon enough, they would forget she was even there, only barely acknowledging her presence and seeing her as not being too much different from the pots and pans lining the shelves, only noticed when she chose to draw notice to herself.

  And if word began to spread that some strange woman accompanied the Dread Lord of Eladria, none would equate that horrid, pointy-toothed hag with a quiet, brown little old woman who sat sipping tea all day long in the kitchen. Graunt smiled none too benignly behind one trembling fisted hand.

  The High Lord was not the only one with eyes, and if she had her way, there might be some time in this little visit for old Graunt to have some fun after all.

  Thane had never been so nervous to retreat to his own rooms. Ordinarily they were his sanctuary, his respite from the madness and inanity of life at Court. He had been using this exact suite in this exact tower ever since he had first come to Court, all those years ago, shortly after his father’s death. There was a spacious bedroo
m with a bed that was actually large enough to comfortably accommodate his frame, a study and a separate sitting room in which he could receive guests if he were the sort of person to do such an uncomfortable thing, a dressing room that he had only actually been in twice, an opulent washroom that still somehow contrived to contain only one modestly sized looking glass, and a second bedroom with a much smaller and more austere washroom that was meant for the valet he had not now or ever possessed. He was still unsure whether the High Lord had ever known or realized that there was no such person in Thane’s company, but it didn’t really matter.

  The other rooms in the tower were occupied by the other members of his party, including now Graunt and a select complement of his men that was supposedly his “personal guard.” These men- often with Thane himself, just as they did at home- would train as usual in the outer courtyard each morning before the sun had done anything more than peek shyly over the horizon, and as usual, no one would notice, for everyone else would be abed.

  Thane found their lazy indolence repellent, but that was Court. Now he hesitated before the door to the place that was his second home for a modest portion of every third year of his life and had to quell his anxiety. Not only did he not exactly look forward to apologizing for apparently insulting Kesara every time he’d seen her since they first met, but he was steeped in foreboding about what might have happened in his absence, given Graunt’s parting remark to him, or- far more likely since the bond had informed him of nothing terrible- what she might have dreamed up as an answer to the possible issues about having her here when he was not present to moderate her good intentions with reason.

  Thane drew a deep breath, and opened the door. Stepping inside the first room, the sitting room, he saw no indication of anything amiss. Everything was arranged exactly as it had always been, a cluster of lush padded chairs, a table, some kind of tall, leafy green plant in one corner. And there was no sign of Kesara.

  He moved cautiously further in, to the short hallway that led out from the back of the sitting room. First door on the left, the study. Bookshelves, desk, a couple of chairs, multiple oil lamps, and no Kesara. The door to his right, the valet bedroom, also empty. Directly ahead of him, his bedroom.

  His heart pounding nervously, he nudged open the door. But there was no one inside. His baggage was carefully arranged on one side of the room- he always unpacked himself, and the High Lord’s servants knew better than to touch his personal belongings- but the room appeared immaculate.

  He frowned, his nervousness diminishing in the face of sudden anxiety. Where the hell could she be? He wondered, imagining all manner of disastrous scenarios.

  Maybe she had managed to topple down the staircase leading to the tower, first thing. Maybe she had said or done something strange and his men had misinterpreted and despite their very strict orders concerning Kesara had managed to break her like a twig…or maybe she had stepped out onto the balcony, leaned over the railing to take in the view and fallen out. He could vividly picture her doing just that. How better to smash her own head open, after all? He hastened to the large balcony off his bedroom, his heart speeding up when he saw that the glass doors leading outside were indeed unlatched, though he could already see from the light spilling out behind him that there was no trace of Kesara out on the balcony itself. He pulled them open impatiently and rushed out, squinting into the gathering gloom as he tried to make out whether he saw anything on the stones below…

  “What are you looking for, milord? Can I help?”

  Thane jumped, spinning around to see Kesara standing in the open doorway to the balcony, watching him curiously.

  “I- uh- never mind,” he mumbled, deciding at once that if he had already been insulting her by shortening her name, being told he considered her to be terminally accident-prone probably wouldn’t help the situation at all.

  Kesara came out onto the balcony, stopping short of the railing as she looked around. “It’s getting too dark to see anything out here,” she said slowly, no doubt still pondering his intentions for coming out in the first place.

  “Yes, yes it is,” he agreed. “Did you come out here earlier? The doors were unfastened.”

  “No, I didn’t go into either of the bedrooms,” Kesara said. “One of the servants might have left it undone. The other one is for your valet, yes?”

  “You know about valets?” Thane said, turning to her in surprise.

  Kesara raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I have no idea,” he said bluntly. “I never knew about them before I came here the first time. My father might have had one, but I never met or heard about such a person, and certainly have never employed one myself.”

  “But how do you dress yourself for formal occasions, then?” Kesara asked, wide eyed, then flushed as she realized what she was asking and added quickly, “Never mind. Please forget I asked that. My mind must still be half asleep from the trip.”

  Thane tried not to smile. “Most people dress themselves, I’m just as competent in that department as anyone else.”

  Kesara nodded and looked back out over the balcony, tilting her head she peered off into the distance.

  “Oh, are those mountains over there?” she asked, transparently trying to change the subject. “I didn’t notice any on our approach, but I guess that must have been because of all the trees.”

  “No. I’ll show them to you before we leave the country,” Thane said, brightening. “They’re actually quite clever.”

  “Clever?” Kesara squinted still harder.

  “They’re part of the High Lord’s defenses. You’re going to give yourself a headache that way, you know, and it won’t even be my fault this time,” Thane said dryly. Then he suddenly remembered why he was out there in the first place. “Where were you, if you don’t mind my asking? I didn’t see you when I came in.”

  “I wasn’t in here when you came in,” Kesara said. “After Bill and Steve escorted me here, I went back out while the servants were bringing in the baggage. I just wanted to see where the servants’ quarters are.”

  “But why?” Thane asked, perplexed.

  “I have to sleep somewhere,” she pointed out. “And I am technically a servant, milord. I need something to do when you’re busy with the High Lord. The servants here presumably have no reason to despise me on sight, unless there’s something you’re not telling me about them, so who else would I be hanging around?”

  It truly occurred to Thane for the first time that his Keep must have been a very lonely place for the Mirror. He’d known, of course, that his servants didn’t care for her and so on, but as he rarely sought out other people’s company himself, the idea that she may have wanted to but been unable hadn’t even crossed his mind.

  “Is everything all right?” Kesara’s voice broke tentatively into his thoughts.

  “Of course. Why do you ask?” he asked, still distracted as he glanced at her.

  She gave an almost imperceptible shrug of one shoulder, and he realized suddenly that he was frowning quite openly and quickly composed his features.

  “If you don’t want me to be around them, you only have to tell me so,” she said hesitantly.

  Thane shook his head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, unless you decide you want a fancy uniform like theirs. I mean THAT would be wholly unacceptable. You’d look like a corpse in my house colors.”

  Kesara laughed, a little uncertainly to his ears, and said, “I was very surprised to see Graunt, of all people, in the kitchen.”

  “Well, she’s certainly not wasting any time,” Thane said.

  “You know, she looked…human,” Kesara frowned into the night. “I almost didn’t realize it was her, but then I overheard her say something about rabbit stew to one of the kitchen workers.”

  “I doubt that was unintentional. She was letting you know that she was there,” Thane told her. “What did you tell the servants? About who you are, I mean?”

  “I didn’t, rea
lly. I just said I work for you,” Kesara said. She lowered her voice and added,“I’d been meaning to ask you anyway, Thane, what I should tell people. Since you haven’t liked any of my suggestions so far, even when I offered to stay out of sight in here.”

  “Do as you have been for now, until I speak with the High Lord. Your identity will be no secret after that and you can say whatever you like to whomever you like.” Thane turned to the doors. “Let’s go inside. There’s something I wanted to talk you about.”

  Kesara followed him inside the building and down the hall to the study. He could feel her curiosity and trepidation through the bond, a need perhaps for…he didn’t know what. Reassurance? Information? “I like it better in here than the sitting room,” he told her, settling in the chair behind the writing table. It was sized appropriately, of course, as was the writing table itself. He would have expected no less of the High Lord. He motioned for her to take one of the other chairs and she complied.

  “It’s nice,” Kesara admitted, looking around. “Lots of books.” They surrounded the room in neat shelves that hugged the walls.

  “What do you think of the palace?” he asked, stalling a little. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt so nervous. It was a simple apology, and it’s not like he hadn’t apologized to her before.

  This is just so humiliating, he thought with an inward sigh.

  “I haven’t seen much of it, milord,” Kesara said, “but what I have seen is lovely. It is nothing like the palaces I saw in Ytar.”

  Thane blinked at this. “You saw palaces?”

  “Of course, milord. It was part of my training,” Kesara explained. “We Mirrors are usually bonded to the wealthy and powerful. We must learn to behave ourselves properly in those settings according to our station, and how to interact appropriately with those of different stations. And part of my apprenticeship was spent training under Duke Herelia, so naturally I lived at his palace during that time.”