"I present Saldorian Dominic Gregorian Feverrette, of House Feverrette." The herald announced his name with an exotic slur and bowed, stepping aside.
He wasn't certain what he had been expecting. Announcing himself in a Great House was the equivalent of painting a target on his back, and a part of him was disappointed when no attack came. Instead there was the light commotion of the people as they gossiped about who he was, and though he was familiar with court dealings, it all felt detached from him. It was a distant familiarity calling to him from another time and another life.
"It is a pleasure and an honor to be admitted here, my Lady." Dorian took another step toward the dais, and stopped as the previous occupant scurried away from the center of the room.
He took a moment to consider the platform in the center of the room and opted not to stand there. It was the single most ridiculous thing he had seen in his entire life, and he would not be put on display like that. With deliberate motions, he walked around the platform to stand in front of it, sensing the rooms' anticipation as he did so. It was obvious that no one in Delgora dared to step outside of the Vicaress' traditions.
Through the tall, thin windows he could see the deep green of foliage. Birds called to each other outside, and the patter of a light rain had begun. Although Dorian was not unaccustomed to birds or rain, he hadn't seen so much of both in the same place before. The windows were open, and a small breeze played through the great hall, but it came with warm air, sticky in its own right and did not alleviate his discomfort. His undershirt felt limp against his body, and he could feel the unpleasant prickle of sweat at the back of his neck.
Fates! He longed for his own mountains, for the ever-present brisk of snowy air.
"You are a long way from home, Lord Feverrette," the Vicaress assessed him with easy grace. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
Dorian took his cue and bowed, just low enough to be respectful. As he straightened he answered with his prepared lie; "My good Vicaress, I have come to meet with the Heir Apparent for House Delgora."
The great hall stilled from all motion. It was a strange reaction to such a simple request and Dorian's good humor waned. The Vicaress blinked once, slow and controlled, before her face took on the look of grief. He waited for her words, holding his own polite smile in spite of the rising tension. Given the state of the room, the furtive glances that passed between the people and the hesitation of the Vicaress he knew what was about to come was not good news.
It was not altogether strange to be greeted by the Vicar of a house instead of the House Witch so he hadn't been alarmed. House Witches and their families were known to travel the length and breadth of their lands, using their magic to maintain the Warding Pillars, but something was telling him this was not the case. Perhaps the girl was ill. Dorian checked the braziers flanking the Vicaress. Positioned on either side of the House Seat, the braziers stood proud and lit; two tall spires of blackened iron intricately woven together. The embers of the fire were aglow with alizarin crimson, the flames licking upward and contained inside the clawed dome at the top of the brazier.
"I fear I must inform you that the Heir Apparent died some years ago. Surely your House was informed of the loss, we were certain to send out all the proper notifications." Vicaress Reonne's voice was regretful in a staged way, her smile the personification of pity and remorse. It was the focus of the woman's eyes that gave her away. There was no real pain there, just the hawkish surveillance of a woman seeking a specific reaction.
Quelling a spurt of real irritation, Dorian made a point of glancing at the glowing braziers and let his smile fall, "Do you test me, Madame?"
The question was sharp enough to heighten the expectations of the room. Servants glanced at each other with growing concern; there was a quick whisper at his left - too low for him to hear for certain, but he thought he made out the word "imbecile". It was followed by a hiss meant to silence the speaker and was quickly drowned out by the shuffling of feet on the marble floor. With slow movements, the Vicaress turned to look at the braziers. When she looked back at him he saw something new in her face, a suspicion of sorts.
"What type of test could I possibly place before you, my Lord Feverrette? I am an Untalented and you are Witch-Born. Surely you could see through any such pretense on my part." Reonne considered him again, though this time he was certain she was looking for clues to some other puzzle. Her attempts at looking upset by his questioning were gone.
He allowed a moment of quiet to stretch out, trying to feel the undercurrent of the room. He'd always prided himself in being an intelligent man so as the situation became clear to him, Dorian realized he needed a quick removal from the current conversation. Reonne was not lying, she truly believed the Heir Apparent to be dead - or she had until a moment ago. Whoever had called him imbecile in the crowd obviously knew a little more on the subject than the Vicaress, though he could not risk exposing said person by looking their direction. He had already given the Vicaress a clue by glancing at the braziers.
While he was not normally so clumsy, the blatant manner in which the woman lied had riled him up a bit. Politics he could handle, the barbs underlying pleasantries he could manage, but such a falsehood when proof contradicting her was a few steps away - that irritated him. Only now did he realize the Vicaress had been ignorant of the brazier's significance. And while none of this mattered to his hunt for the Bedim, Dorian could not deliberately risk the life of another Witch-Born.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Reonne. House Feverrette was under the impression that the Heir Apparent was still alive." Dorian tapped his thigh twice, reigning in the barrage of questions that came to him. Fates preserve him, he wanted to know what was going on. "If it is not too difficult for you, perhaps you can enlighten me as to the circumstances surrounding her death."
Reonne's eyes narrowed just-so, no doubt ascertaining that he knew something she did not. There had never been any softness to her face, and yet her features seemed to harden further, a sign that Dorian took as the evidence of a carefully held temper.
Politician, he thought again and gave her a charismatic smile.
***
Elsie watched the exchange with a growing sense of apprehension. The fool had nearly given everything away in a single sentence. He stood almost center of the great hall, light streaming in from the high windows and casting him in an arrogant, near heroic pose. Save that he had terrible hair, her mind corrected. No doubt it was the latest fashion for young men, but to Elsie it looked like a botched up, shaggy rug slapped haphazard atop his head.
The Lord Saldorian Feverrette, the Bedim Hunter, had arrived in Delgora. She ground her teeth together and thought for a moment about hanging herself as a fool. She should never have sold those darts. From where she sat - just right of the dais - the details of the man were easy to see. There was a power to him that went beyond his race. All Witch-Born had a power to them, but this one was different. It was more of an after-thought, as though he could live easily without the Talent. He had the shoulders of a swordsman, strong and competent, a trait that echoed through the rest of his form.
If she could get past the traumatic hair, then he was mostly a handsome man. His pale eyes remained fastened on Reonne, not blue or green as Elsie would have expected, but soft gray. A trait, no doubt, that led to many a maid swooning. Beyond that she could see one small dimple forming just to the left of his mouth, a result of the very mild smirk he presented to the Vicaress. His hair did manage one redeeming factor and that was its color, a rich chestnut shade that burnished under the sun light.
His clothing was all wrong, though. The seamstress in her immediately set off to correct the defects of his garb. He was wearing far too much green and in that, too many different shades of green. There was the dark green jacket half covering the almost-jade waist coat and a frilly bit of white peeking out from under his sleeves. The boots and pants were fine, if a bit more worn than a nobleman should allow their clothing to be.
The Vicaress spoke again, dragging Elsie's attention away from Feverrette's shortcomings.
"It is a grievous tale, my lord. I am willing to share it with you," Reonne said, "though perhaps in a less public forum."
Risking a glance at the lady, Elsie could see the determined set of her shoulders and entirely new problems began to surface. Lord Feverrette knew the truth. Of course he did, he was Witch-Born. Lady Reonne was suspicious again. While it could be a good thing for the Lady to focus on Feverrette, giving her a bit of breathing room to conduct her sedition, it didn't feel right to let the man be used as a sort of distraction. Even with the moping hair and over-used green, he deserved a bit more consideration than that.
And then there was the complication of his intentions. She had no illusions that he had come for any other purpose than to find the Bedim. Announcing himself at court meant that he was hoping to draw an assassin out. More complications began to crowd her mind. If Feverrette died on Delgora grounds there would be an investigation. When the noble houses found Delgora bereft of an Heir, they would split the land amongst them and be done with it. Unless, of course, she revealed herself, but if she did that then Reonne would disappear, and she would lose her one link to the Dellidus.
"I do wonder, my Lady, what you hope to do on the day of Ascension," Feverrette had a pleasant, cultured voice.
Elsie cringed.
Fates, she had to get the man out of Delgora. He was going to ruin everything.
"A House Seat can only be filled by a House Witch. Without the Heir Apparent, these people have no hope for survival."
"I am aware of the Societal Laws, My Lord Feverrette." Reonne's voice dropped in temperature.
Elsie hoped Feverrette would catch on to the danger and cease his questioning. She looked back at the man, saw the flash of something in his eyes and knew it was no use. Feverrette was hell-bent for answers, and he was not going to be stopped by mere prudence.
"I could put a dart through him," Bryva whispered.
Elsie smiled. As satisfying as it might be to watch Saldorian Feverrette twitch under the influence of a Bedim Dart, the trademark poison would lead all questions to the Sanctuary, and then they would really be in trouble. With a deep, steadying breath, she focused back on Feverrette and prayed the Fates suddenly took away his tongue.
"Forgive me, Societal Laws have nothing to do with this. These are Civil Laws, the laws that bind all of Magnellum together. Without them, the Wards would fall, and the Wild would overtake everything in sight. Only a House Witch can keep the Wards on the boundaries, thereby keeping the people safe from the Wild." Feverrette gestured to the rest of the room. "These people should be marching through the borders to another House if there is no Heir Apparent."
The room stirred again, murmurings about safety issues, doubts rising and Elsie relaxed. The people would be safe. She would see to that. And now the focus was entirely on the Vicaress. Earning the ire of the people would not be conducive to her plans. Elsie knew this. Reonne knew this. And obviously Saldorian Feverrette knew this. She might actually have to thank Mop-head. If Reonne was busy comforting the fears of the people then she might be distracted. And a distracted Vicaress was very, very good for Elsie.
"I thank you for the concern for our people, Lord Feverrette, but I assure you that all is well in hand." Reonne gave Feverrette one of her predatory smiles and gestured toward the servants. "Shall we discuss your accommodations while you grace us with your company, My Lord?"
"As you wish, My Lady," Feverrette bowed his head.
When he looked back up his attention turned toward the servants. Elsie wasn't hard to find since she was sitting in front, so she shouldn't have been surprised when he locked eyes with her. There was something altogether feline about him, something that made the pit of her stomach lock up. It was like looking into a storm cloud, swirling with depth and secrets, and for a moment all she could think was one word over and over; trouble.
She could have sworn his mouth quirked with a small smile, and she had a horrible thought that he might know who she was. Their gazes held for a moment, and though she had only been conscious of the trouble he could present, there was an undertone of interest somewhere in the back of her mind. Eventually remembering propriety she glanced away.
Lord Feverrette moved from the center of the great hall and to his own servant as the Vicaress began addressing issues from the local villages.
Feverrette's servant was, by all appearances, an aloof man. His chin never dropped too far, even when Feverrette bent to whisper some sort of commandment into his ear. There were several differences between Lord and servant, and they could easily be seen in the dress code. While Feverrette needed serious attention to his wardrobe, his servant was immaculate in his garb. The cravat at his throat was meticulously tied, fluffing up like a peacock might its feathers, and starched white enough that Elsie imagined a single fleck of dust would ruin it.
Court hours were nearly complete when there was a disturbance at the back of the room. Elsie followed the commotion as Lady Leona, daughter of the Vicaress, finally made her appearance. Pardoning herself and smiling at everyone she passed, Leona swept through the room with a lighthearted presence that put everyone at ease. Elsie smiled when the lady looked her way and was rewarded with a gentle nod.
"You are late again, Leona," the Vicaress said, smothering most of the warmth that had entered the room.
Leona curtsied at the foot of the dais. "My apologies, Mother. I was trapped inside a book and simply could not make my way out of it until the end."
Reonne gave her daughter a censored look that brought a blush to Leona's face. After a moment of silence she gestured toward Feverrette, "We have a guest."
Lord Feverrette knew a cue when he was given one. He stepped forward and bowed to Leona, a crisp and polite motion that Leona reciprocated.
"My Lord Feverrette, this is my daughter, Lady Leona Menavine."
"A pleasure, my lady."
"Lord Feverrette?" Leona gasped, "As in House Feverrette?"
"The one and same."
"I have read so much about your lands. You shall have to compare the real land with what I have heard."
"If it pleases you, my lady," Feverrette's smile was warm, but not enamored.
Elsie noticed that straight off. Most men were enamored with Leona upon first sight. She was bright and beautiful, with fiery hair that curled around her head and hazel eyes that displayed both her youth and a depth of intelligence that could not be hidden. As the two parted, Feverrette to his servant again and Leona to the chair just right of her mother's, Elsie wondered if the Lord's tastes went in another direction.
It was not unheard of.
It also didn't really matter. He'd piqued Reonne's interest. He'd foolishly shown the importance of the braziers. He'd pressed for answers; he had alluded to the presence of the Heir Apparent, instilled a bit of fear into the people as to the uncertainty of their future. He'd put them all in danger.
Elsie had to make him leave.
CHAPTER FOUR
Reonne left the great hall with a nagging sense of unease. The Heir Apparent was dead. She'd seen to that. She'd seen to the death of the entire Delgora family. Her mind played over the events again, trying to find some hint of folly. But twenty-five years was a long time and details were hard to remember. Impatient, Reonne waved off every servant and made her way to her private rooms. Copper light fixtures and polished brass decorations glinted with the evening sun, illuminating the manor with orange, glowing light. While she was not a superstitious sort of woman, the House seemed to bask in the slowly fading light, as though the hand of the late Lady Delgora was reaching for her from the shadowed corners.
A mistake had been made somewhere. She could feel it.
Pacing the length of her room she listened to the whisk of her gowns against the floor, the pat of her slippered feet as she continued the movement and replayed that night in her mind. Brochan Dunmore Delgora-Fie, husband
of the House Witch had been the most difficult. He had managed to call out a warning, but she thought the Dellidus creature had silenced him before anyone had heard. The Dellidus had taken him into the Wild, and Brochan's fate was sealed. A male Witch-Born was powerful, but to be alone in the Wild, outside of the Warding Pillars with a Dellidus was a sentence worse than death.
Her mind switched to the heir, Elsie. She'd sent poisoned tea to the little girl. She couldn't be seen in all of their rooms the night they died, after all. Mirias, her most trusted servant, had been given the task.
The Heir Apparent had died. Reonne could still remember the body as it was burned with her parents.
Yet Feverrette was adamant the girl was still alive.
And Feverrette had the Talent on his side.
Reonne stopped her pacing to consider. Things were going according to plan. The Ascension Day was a mere four months away. Victory was so close she could almost smell it. She could not afford to fail now.
***
"I would compliment you on your choice to stay, my lord, but I fear you would hear the hollowness of it." Gremor said as he unpacked their travel gear.
Dorian smiled and leaned further into the window seat. "As I recall, you mentioned how beautiful it was here."
"Beautiful in a sticky sort of way, my lord, ease my mind and tell me we are not here for long."
"I cannot," Dorian loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his waist coat. The encroaching night began to cool the air, but not so much that he could really say it was comfortable yet.
They fell into silence again. There was a cramp in his left shoulder, and he started to rub at it, frowning as he tried to pull his mind into focus. He'd heard the announcement of the Grizzato character just before they'd entered court, and all of his instincts urged him to make chase. Every now and then a single Bedim would settle in a town and become their own little legend, though he hadn't encountered one that left a trademark behind.
Witch-born Page 3