"At what cost? The Bedim never do anything without their self-interests foremost in mind. They will betray you all."
"Good Feverrette ... it has been my experience that most people move with their self-interests foremost in mind. Betrayal is a way of life."
She left him then. Walking sure and rebellious, hoping it would be the final barb of insult to the young lord; she made her way to the Sanctuary gates. The guards admitted her without question. It wasn't until she heard the clang of the gates shutting that she turned around. Feverrette remained at the edge of the jungle, just where she had left him, no doubt in terrible debate.
Taking a moment to watch him she ignored the curious glances the guards sent her way. So that was the legendary Bedim Hunter. Brash, arrogant, not so young anymore but confident he could do what needed to be done. It was a pity, she thought as she turned to move deeper into the enclave. If he wasn't here to hunt her she might have brought her cause to his feet. With a harsh breath and a lift of her chin, she started for the heart of the enclave. The Triad would be ready for her and it wasn't wise to keep them waiting.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gremor was waiting up for him when he returned to the Manor. The old man stood up the moment he entered the room, relief washing his features for just a moment before his usual guise of disinterest returned. Dorian barely glanced at him, he was so angry. That impetuous, assuming little tart had led him to that trap. She'd walked him straight to the Bedim's Gates, knowing the reaction he would give her. He'd been played, and damned adroitly, too. Pacing to the window seat, Dorian sat down and yanked his boots off. One by one he threw them at the furthest wall, trying to expel his frustration. Gremor moved to gather the boots and place them in their proper position beside the armoire. Dorian watched him and frowned, shoving a hand through his hair while the night replayed itself in his mind.
He would not be able to find the Bedim house on his own, not for a while at least. Delgora was cursedly hard to negotiate with its twisting paths and overgrown jungle everywhere. That wasn't what bothered him, however. What really ate at his temper was the idea that a Witch-Born noble had sought the aid of the Bedim. He simply could not abide by that. Just thinking of it made him physically sick.
"May I assume the skirt-chasing was to no avail, Milord?"
"No, I caught the twit."
Gremor nodded slowly, clasping his hands behind his back. "She was not forthcoming with her affections then?"
"Not everything I do is in search of a woman's skirts, Gremor."
There was a mild look of surprise on the old man's face.
"The Bedim have a sanctuary here," Dorian leaned further into the window seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. "A rather large one, too."
"A sanctuary?"
"And Elsie Delgora is working with them."
Gremor gripped the side of the armoire to keep himself upright. "That cannot be right," he blustered. And then he straightened, yanking the armoire open and tossing garments onto the bed. "We have to get out of here before they find you."
"It's not a matter of them finding me, Gremor. I announced myself in court. They already know where I am."
"All the more reason to hurry."
Dorian smiled, weary and unhappy, but grateful for the man's concern just the same; "Gremor."
His servant paused, one arm full of shirts and turned to face him. The fear was easily readable on his face. "You do not plan to leave, do you?"
"No."
"My Lord, I must advise against staying."
"I hear you, Gremor, but we can't. Whatever is going on here in Delgora is big enough for that Skirt to risk her life and show me the Bedim."
"Is she one of them? A Bedim?" Gremor stood still, unwilling to put the garments back in the armoire.
"It would appear so." And for some reason that realization irked at him a bit more than it should. He hadn't even gotten the girl's name; where her affiliations were should not matter to him. The fact that she was affiliated with the Bedim did matter to him in a sense. For one, she might be able to help him find the newest Bedim trying to make good on the contract against his life and for another, he had to convince her of their treachery before Delgora became a Bedim breeding ground.
"Then she is Second Born? Like you?" Gremor was watching him with growing curiosity. He was obviously driving at something, Dorian just didn't know what.
"No, actually, I believe she is merely their contact. Their means into the Manor, though ... " He squinted out the window. "Though she believes she is fighting for Delgora."
"They have her fooled then," Gremor clucked his tongue twice. "Well, we shall have to educate her as to their true face."
"I tried that already. We would need hard evidence to sway her."
The moon descended from the sky, the darkest part of the night filling the world outside his window. Dorian forced his body to relax in the window seat, trying to salvage some bit of comfort before the day demanded his attention. He could still see her, molten eyes flashing up at him in the dark, a secretive smile that played across her face as she baited him during their walk. Flawless. It was the only word that could come to his mind; unreadable, intriguing, almost intoxicating, and beautiful in that unassuming way that only servants could really hold on to.
Until the moment she had marched through the Bedim Gates.
There had been no small amount of rebellion in her stance as she had done it, too. As though she were deliberately trying to insult him, Dorian smirked. Of course, she had insulted him on purpose. She had given him no name, but her deepest secret, that of working for the Bedim, she had flaunted in his face.
The Skirt wanted him to leave.
"There is another option, Sire." Gremor cleared his throat. "We could use her to get to them. Learn what their plans are in order to stop them."
Dorian shook his head. "I cannot. Not her." He bounced his head off the window frame and groaned. Impossible, irritating, terrible woman that she was, the Skirt would know he was using her if he tried anything.
"That is a strange thing to hear from you, Sire. You've used women, sometimes in the basest of manners, for your own gain."
Dorian glared over at him. "Your memory is to be my conscious now, is it?"
"I merely shed light on the truth."
Irritated again, he returned his attention to the window. "Go to sleep, Gremor. I've a feeling we're both going to need the rest."
***
The hiss and clank of the large, steam-powered generator drown out the sound of her feet as she climbed the staircase. There were moments when she took for granted some of the finer points of technology. Her eyes strayed through a window as she passed to where the generator toiled on. The cursed thing failed three times a month and required the attention of no less than a dozen Untalented engineers, but the bright spill of light from the polished brass lamps made up for the maintenance.
Two men opened the double doors leading to the main conference hall, stepping aside for her to pass. Elsie held back a smirk as she walked by. She was always amused by the Untalented guards that the Triad kept on staff. There wasn't a chance either of them could do more than get in her way if she'd intended to fight the Triad.
The conference hall was a demented mock of Delgora Manor. Skeletal wrought-iron-copper-mesh pillars stood evenly spaced down the elongated hall, each of them holding a brazier in the center that flickered hints of copper quickly subdued by shadow. There was no stand in the center as with the manor, just the raised dais where the Triad perched. The three were getting on in years, which to any other Bedim could have spelled a death sentence. Bedim Knights had a habit of dying young, but these three had secured their retirement with the sheer ingenuity of the Sanctuary. Never before had there been such a place of neutrality, and Elsie imagined their passing would end the tremulous peace between the Bedim.
She spied Artimus at the far left wall and thought the change might be welcome.
"You betrayed us, Nessa Gelgova," Tra
viata, the eldest and only female member of the Triad, spoke first. Elsie had never felt any friendliness from the woman so the biting tone of her voice didn't surprise her.
Not that she'd had much interaction with the Triad in the past, of course. She saw them in passing, from a distance, and had only been called to the conference hall twice before. Once to sell those cursed darts, and once to register with the Sanctuary as a full Bedim Knight, neither time had been her version of fun. The Triad were formidable as individuals, but together they were down-right frightening.
"You betrayed yourselves," Elsie lifted her chin with defiance. "I warned you of the dangers those darts represented. I told you that any alchemist worth their salt would figure them out."
"You brought the Hunter to our gates!"
"He would have found you anyway. Now you have ample warning of his presence. I can see the Bedim scrambling for his contract even now."
"A contract you don't want fulfilled," Artimus spoke. "Confess, Nessa. You brought him to us hoping he would destroy the Sanctuary."
"I brought him to you to keep him out of Delgora Court. He threatens my ascension," she argued.
"Then why not kill him yourself?" Traviata squinted down at her with hawkish surveillance.
Elsie was prepared for that question, "The Hunter dead on Delgora grounds would be troublesome for me. I do not have the time or inclination to kill him."
Traviata settled back in her chair with a sigh. Elsie watched as the Triad glanced at each other before Traviata - evidently the spokesperson for this issue - turned back to her. "Let us discuss the Dellidus problem. We have seen your proof and are distressed that this information was not shared sooner."
"Proof?" Artimus asked, sounding shocked.
"Your plan is risky, Delgora," Traviata used her real name, which made Elsie stiffen a bit, "But we agree to provide aid. There is much risk when it comes to the Wild. In consideration of what must be done to protect all of us, the contracts against Saldorian Feverrette have been suspended until further notice."
"No!" Artimus shouted and strode into the center of the room. "You cannot remove a contract!"
"The contracts have not been removed, Berkuska, they have been suspended. Feverrette is not to be harmed on Delgora grounds until the Dellidus has been dealt with." Traviata stood, elegant and fierce in a charcoal robe that might have been plain on anyone else. The movement brought her features out of shadow, revealing burnished auburn hair streaked white at the temples and a face of such sweet contours that it was hard to believe the woman an assassin. When she spoke, however, all doubt fled. "If you cannot abide by this, Artimus Berkuska, you will be removed from Delgora."
Artimus clenched his fists, the sound of his leather gloves squeaking under the pressure reaching her. Elsie felt the undercurrent as the two stared each other down. Something more was going on, something that Elsie was not aware of. When Artimus turned on his heel and stormed to the doors, she determined to find an Archive. It was irritating that she would have to go to such lengths for that arrogant Feverrette, but she needed to be prepared. Everything she knew about Artimus Berkuska told her that he was not going to abide by the counsel of the Triad.
CHAPTER SIX
Reonne loathed having to depend on the Creature. The more that twisted, dark thing was about, the more it risked exposing itself to the public. Panic would spread from one corner of Delgora to the next in a matter of days, and she would lose the control she had so painstakingly committed herself to for the last thirty-seven years. If she could find her way through this mess without It, then all would be well.
There was a knock on her study door and she squared her shoulders. Taking a slow, deep breath she willed all of her frustration away and focused. When she was ready, she called for them to enter.
Mirias opened the door and stepped aside, directing Naharia Gelgova into the room. The older woman looked nervous as she trudged to the center, dipping into a curtsy and keeping her eyes fastened on the marble floor. There was nothing spectacular about the woman. She was aged enough to have the general appearance of being worn down, her eyes a faded blue and her mouth framed with the evidence of both laughter and pain. She kept a strict sense of her hair because it was pulled up into a bun that almost looked painful, streaks of white blazing through the otherwise blackness on her head.
Reonne nodded for the door to be closed and they were alone.
With deliberate care Reonne began to walk around Naharia, allowing the silence to further unnerve her guest before she came to sit behind her desk. "Let us get to the point," she said at last. "You were the last person to see the Heir Apparent alive, were you not?"
There was a small tic at the corner of the woman's left eye. "I was, Milady."
"My reports tell me that the girl was playing, and she just fell over. Is that how you recall it?"
"She was playing with her tea set, milady."
Reonne tapped the papers on her desk, keeping a shrewd eye on the woman. "How quickly did she die?"
Naharia looked startled for a moment. "I beg your pardon?"
"How quickly did the girl die? It would seem to me that it would have been instantaneous, given that you did not have time to call for help."
Reonne caught the woman's eyes as she looked up. Her face had paled by three shades and her mouth opened a bit. It was exactly as Reonne had suspected. The poison she had given to Mirias would not have been so quick. The girl would have choked, convulsed, died in immense pain yet the reports from her death mentioned no such thing. At the time she had been so busy filling the role of reluctant ruler that she had completely neglected this detail.
"It was very fast, Milady." Naharia lied to her.
Reonne gave the woman a pleasant smile. "As I thought. I just needed to clarify this before my meeting with Lord Feverrette. You may go now."
Leaning back in her seat she regarded the doorway as Naharia left, debating her next move. She noticed as Mirias began tidying the room, watched the awkward movements as the woman hobbled from one area to the next. Mirias had a crooked leg, a fact that had earned her considerable derision from the populace until Reonne had taken her in. No one crossed the woman now, not with the Vicaress as her patron.
Letting go of a troubled sigh, Reonne focused on the problem at hand. Elsie Delgora was alive. She was alive and no doubt planning some awful bit of vengeance. Reonne glared at the doorway. Naharia Gelgova, that wicked little woman, had managed to hide the real girl from the world. Where had she sent the child?
Through the doorway she could see the flicker of one of the braziers and her mind flashed back to Lord Feverrette. The man had taken a particular interest in the braziers, she recalled. That was a sign of sorts she just knew it.
"Mirias."
"Yes, Milady?"
"I want you to put out the fires in the braziers today."
"Yes, Milady."
"Inform me the moment it is done."
***
Wind began to pick up speed. It charged through the treetops, slashed branches against each other and flung leaves from their perches. Carrying with it the scent of a Witch-Born it whooshed through the open window of a carefully hidden hovel, disturbed dust and papers from the table sitting center of the room. The Dellidus inhaled once, twice, quick and then slow, double checking that it had identified the aroma correctly.
Cracking one eyelid open, he began to stir from his cot in the far corner; the scent of the Witch rousing it further.
A new Talented, it thought again. Not the same ones that had plagued Delgora for years but a fresh one, this one was male.
It sniffed again.
He carried the scent of high mountains and a cold wilderness foreign to Delgora.
The creature smiled, and thought that the Vicaress would be visiting soon.
***
Elsie unlocked her little shop door, admitting herself into what she hoped would be privacy. Artimus's reaction to Feverrette was more than a little troubling and the sudden a
ppearance of this brash Talented would throw the political spectrum of Delgora off its normal kilter. If the man left this morning then the effects of his debut at court yesterday should be minimal. Reonne would still be suspicious, no doubt, but Elsie had dealt with that for twenty-five years now.
The shutters were still closed but the morning light leaked through cracks and edges, spattering onto the floor and revealing that she had forgotten to sweep yesterday. Heaving a sigh, she added that to her list of duties for the day and moved to the counter. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought an ancestor or two might be frowning down at her in consternation. Sweeping floors was not exactly the type of work a Witch-Born was meant to do. By all rights, she should be traveling the land, repairing the Wards that kept their people safe.
The very front room of the shop was the smallest, containing only one counter and one chair. Villagers would place their orders there, most of the time with Bryva, while Elsie worked in the back room where all the supplies were stored. This was also a strategic move since anyone who understood magic might be able to see through her guise as she sewed. Most of the time she sewed at a normal pace, but every now and then, when she had other duties to attend, she would spur her movements with her Talent.
"Good morning," Bryva said from the back room.
Not a private morning, she thought. "Good morning, Bryva."
Her sister walked out of the back room with an armful of a gown and promptly dropped it onto the counter. Elsie watched her with a fond smile, admiring the capable and still feminine set of the woman's physique. There were very few women who could walk the line between martial training and womanhood as well as Bryva Gelgova. The sleeves of her gown concealed the strength of training and the features of her face were such that one would expect her to be someone's mother. Round, high cheeks, a pleasant sort of mouth and green eyes all contributed to a trustworthy effect that had earned her a high position in the Manor.
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