"I'm uncertain what sort of interest you think Feverrette had with me, good sir, but I can assure you," Elsie touched her bodice, searching for another needle; "my virtue is unsullied."
There was a sudden, meaty smack as two hard objects collided, and Gremor released her, collapsing to the ground in a pool of fine garments. Elsie turned to find Bryva sheathing her dagger. For a moment she was worried that her friend had killed the man, but closer inspection proved she'd only struck him upside the head. They nodded to each other, and Elsie grabbed Gremor's feet. Bryva took his shoulders, and they hefted him up the stairwell to Bryva's private room.
"I'm glad to hear your virtue is still intact," Bryva whispered as she fumbled her door open.
Elsie tittered with amusement. "It was a near thing, what with him fighting me and all. He almost won."
The door finally opened, and they carried Gremor into privacy. Bryva kicked the door closed before they shuffled to the bed, laying him down as carefully as possible. They stepped back at the same moment, surveying the old gentleman with acute entertainment. It spoke well of him that he fought so hard for his Lord. Still, she couldn't have him running into court and causing a fuss.
Plucking the needle from her bodice, she poked him once on the hand. "I hope they stop causing so much trouble. I'm running out of opium."
Bryva snorted a laugh. "I'll move him to his room while you're in court."
Smiling, Elsie nodded and left, hurrying for Leona's room. She had just enough time to help the lady find whatever garment she was looking for, run a comb through her own hair and make it back down the four flights of stairs to the main hall. At last, she thought with growing confidence, things were starting to play out to her advantage.
***
Dorian paced the outer grounds of the safe house. It was a short walk - four steps southward, turn, four steps northward, turn - and behind him stood the house, camouflaged with jungle leaves and many plants. The borders were clearly marked here. Gold shimmered in front of him, an added warning that to cross the Pillars would land him in the Wild. He knew there was an exit somewhere; the trouble was that he couldn't find it. Not even using his Talent - which had bolstered when he had stepped outside of Elsie's office.
He could see the path to Delgora just beyond the Pillars, but he would have to cross through twelve feet of Wild to get to it. It was a goad to his pride, reminding him that she had asked for his help but he'd refused the only thing she needed. Or at least the only thing she thought she needed. Her paperwork was vague enough to the naked eye, but after closer examination he could almost sense what she was up to.
There were two bits of paper that bothered him the most. The first was a list of twelve names, with nine of them crossed off. That didn't seem like a good thing, given Elsie's training as a Bedim. The other was the family tree of House Lorant. It was complete, with no markings on it. Not even a hint as to why it was there, but he knew she'd left it on purpose. Dorian frowned, touching his lapel pocket so that the two papers crumpled against his chest.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. Forvant stopped three paces away and arched a bushy eyebrow in inquiry. "Planning on staying out here the rest of the day?" he asked.
"Elsie cannot do this on her own; this creature has been feeding off that Talented for eighteen years."
"Brochan," Forvant interrupted him.
"I'm sorry?"
"That Talented is Brochan Delgora-Fie," the man said again. "Elsie's own father. Think for a moment what it would be like, to watch year after year as your own father suffered under the weight of the Dellidus. I've seen that girl spend hours at that telescope, claiming to study her enemy but I know better." Forvant drew himself up to his full height before he finished, "She stood there because it is still her father. No child ever loses the hope to be reunited with their parents. Do you really think she would do all of this and not search for some way to keep him alive?"
"There's no way to keep him alive," Dorian argued. "That Dellidus is the single worst threat Magnellum has seen in centuries, and no Witch-Born noble would hesitate on mere sentiment with such high stakes."
"You're wasting your breath, Milord. You and I both know that Elsie was not raised as a Witch-Born noble." Forvant made a noise in the back of his throat and took another step forward. "Listen, I don't care to debate with you. I cannot imagine what's in Elsie's head. What I do know, is that she should not have to face this trial alone."
"She won't," Dorian turned to him. "Let me out of here. I have friends and family who can help. We can take this creature down."
Forvant shook his head, "You know I can't."
"This isn't about me or you or Elsie, this is about Magnellum. Our home. The lives of millions."
"She's got a good plan, Milord. Perhaps you should trust her."
"A single House Witch against an overly fed, Talent-Crazed Dellidus?" Dorian felt his eye twitch. "She's planning suicide."
"And what if she were?" Forvant narrowed black eyes at him. "The Dellidus would be dead. Leona would still be safe and capable of leading should it come to it. What does her life or death matter to the Bedim Hunter?"
Dorian stammered, faltering and stepping back as though he'd been physically struck. The magic within him stirred at the question. "It's complicated," Dorian found his voice again.
"That's what I thought," Forvant fixed him with a shrewd glare. "You caught her fancy, I'll give you that. She even trusted you enough to put you here. But I'm going to be blunt with you. Elsie doesn't need rescue."
"What if she does?" Dorian gripped Forvant's shoulder and tried to make him listen, make him understand. "A single Dellidus on this side of the Pillars can tilt the balance of power. Even if Elsie's plan works and she ascends, she might not have the Talent to overtake it."
Dorian only partially believed his own words. In his wide experience with Witch-Born he'd felt the measure of power in too many nobles to count. Elsie, as an Heir, already exceeded them all. When she ascended her magic would more than double. If she couldn't take down the Dellidus, he wasn't certain anyone could. Forvant's torn expression told him the older man thought the same thing, but loyalty was on Elsie's side.
Giving up, Dorian turned and charged through the Pillars, sprinting as hard and as fast as he could, his magic propelling him forward at preternatural speed. He registered Forvant's shout of alarm and the sting of salt as it pelted his skin but was too focused on his goal to think further.
Twelve feet.
Just twelve feet, he coached himself.
It was as though the Wild expected him. Outside the protection of the Pillars he could see what had been hidden by the Wild. Large, bulbous plants moved with an alacrity that matched his own. One shot out at him, opening at the last moment to reveal gaping, sharp teeth and strands of some sticky substance. He was so startled he nearly forgot to duck.
The plant caught him anyway, its mock-jaw clamping down tight on his left calf. In the split second it took to unholster his pistol and shoot the plant anchoring him, Dorian thanked the Fates that Elsie had left him armed.
White fluid exploded around his left leg, splattering up and around his waist as the hold on his calf abruptly loosened. He turned and managed two more sprinted steps before a vine lashed at his face, snapping just below his chin with a vicious crack. He felt his skin flay open, knew the wound was substantial but didn't have time to dwell.
Dropping his pistol, Dorian drew his sword and hacked at the vine as it came again. Cleaving the end off, it fell limp to the side and Dorian gained one more step. The Pillars were one leap away. He brought his left foot down, conjuring all of his might and Talent into the jump of his life. But his foot slammed into mud that quickly began to harden around his ankle.
He staggered forward and dropped his sword. Feeling and hearing the snap of his captive ankle, nauseating pain swarmed his head, dazing him enough that he lost sight of his right wrist. Three thin vines snagged the wrist, squeezing ti
ght enough to break the skin. Alarm focused him again. Shouting in fury and effort Dorian wrenched his hand away, breaking all three vines. He tore his foot from the cemented boot, feeling every inch of the wounded limb as he freed himself.
Leaving sword, pistol and boot behind Dorian leapt through the Pillars, grateful for the sting of salt as his body collapsed onto the path. Wheezing and dizzy he laid there, trying to find his Talent long enough to heal himself.
"My Lord!" Forvant called from across the Wild.
Dorian lifted a shaky hand to let the man know he was alive. Broken and bleeding, he thought as he found his breath again, but damnitall if he wasn't still alive.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was a wonderfully boring set of court hours. Elsie sat just beside Leona, whose anxiety had lessened considerably in the three hours they'd been sitting there. The poor girl was cursed with the most readable of countenances. This was a horrible trait for someone involved with politics but Elsie suspected it was this exact naivety that Reonne was counting on to win her the House Seat. Not that Magic needed to read the girls face to know what sort of mettle she was made of. If it came down to it Elsie knew that Magic would invade Leona's mind to determine if she was suitable as a House Witch.
There were four reports of the Grizzato, two of them said to have occurred on the same night. Combined the loss was substantial to the Delgora coffers and Elsie wished that she'd actually had something to do with them. The arms deal at Winter Tournament was going to cut her finances down to fractions. And since Saldorian Feverrette was sequestered in the safe house, out of Reonne's sight and out of Elsie's way, there was nothing stopping Leona from traveling to the Tournament.
She'd just settled back in her chair, allowing herself a moment to relax while Reonne fumed at the room when the double doors at the back of the hall opened. The braziers flared from crimson to green, leaping in height as Elsie faltered and lost control of her emotions. Fear slammed her heart against her chest as Feverrette sauntered into the room. He never glanced her direction, his silver eyes fastening on Reonne while the herald stammered through the announcement of his arrival. Though the smiles exchanged between Vicaress and Lord were pleasant enough the room began to stifle with tension.
Leona gave an alarmed squeak and glanced at Elsie, but she didn't have time to react to the girl. She had to focus, dousing her magic and her fear at once, and the braziers lowered to their normal height.
"My Lord Feverrette," Reonne greeted him with a small nod. "How unexpected. I had been told you left early this morning."
"Fates preserve me, I did, my Lady." Feverrette turned his attention to Leona and presented the single most charming and wicked smile Elsie had ever seen. "I got just far enough away to change my mind."
Though he was looking at Leona she knew he saw her, right in his peripheral vision. Elsie battled to keep a bland expression as Reonne glanced between Feverrette and her daughter.
"Changed your mind?" she asked.
"I wonder, good Vicaress, if you would allow me to escort your daughter to Winter Tournament?"
Elsie let go of the breath she'd been holding. The blasted man wasn't going to give her away, but he wasn't going to be set aside either. How had he escaped? Forvant would never have let the man near the tunnel. Naharia stayed at the safe house as much as possible these days so it was unlikely he'd followed her out.
There was a fresh scar on his chin, thin and white and Elsie began to understand what he must have done.
He was insane.
"That depends on Lady Leona," Reonne said after a moment.
All eyes turned to Leona, who hadn't stopped smiling. "I would be honored, Lord Feverrette."
Elsie had to applaud his tactics. Approaching the request at court, in front of the Delgora people, put Reonne in a terrible position. Given the sudden doubt about their safety since Feverrette had so clumsily pushed about the lack of an Heir, the people would lose faith in Reonne if she denied the young lord his request. He was a Witch-Born even if he was male and Delgora was in desperate need of nobility.
"It would seem that we have an agreement, my lord." The Vicaress stood, turning to the small door leading off into her private study. "This court session is over."
The curt and sudden departure of the Vicaress did not go unnoticed. Murmurings began almost before the woman had gotten completely out of the hall. Elsie watched Feverrette as he glanced in the direction the Vicaress had left, and for a moment he actually looked pleased with himself. He seemed to sense her attention because he turned back, his expression as readable as granite. The battle wasn't over between them, and her Talent broiled in something like anticipation for the moment they faced each other again.
Then he turned to Leona and with the utmost of decorum, bowed low and humble before leaving the room. It was an effort for Elsie to focus on what the Lady said to her.
"Nessa Gelgova! You are a miracle worker!" the girl whispered, her voice laced with excitement. "I thought for certain he had come to ruin everything."
"Funny. I thought the same thing."
"You mean that wasn't planned?" Leona glanced at the large double doors and frowned. "Oh dear."
Giving her two pats on the forearm Elsie smiled, forcing herself to keep positive. "Not to worry, my Lady. His issue is with me, I promise. If anything comes of it, I'll be the one to earn his ire, not you."
Leona still frowned, "That sounds ominous."
"It's not as bad as it seems, you have my word."
With a reluctant nod of her head Leona departed, moving to the private stair at the back of the hall. Elsie waited until the girl was out of sight before releasing a long, stressed breath and rubbing her temple. Complications were multiplying. While she would still manage to get to Winter Tournament, now she would have to dodge Dorian Feverrette and his loyal lap hound Gremor. Aside from which, Feverrette would not be protected outside of Delgora. Any Bedim who knew the man would be after him.
She couldn't protect him and conduct her business at the same time. She wasn't Talented enough to split herself in two.
In fact, she was fairly certain no Witch could manage that.
Frowning, she marched to the double doors, ignoring the curious glances of the people in the room. Once upon a time Father Schroder had told her of a way to make a contract disappear. It wasn't gone, just lost. One misspelling in the middle of the contract and the whole thing could fly into obscurity. He'd told her this in the utmost of confidence, hoping to help her be rid of the blasted contract that Artimus had gotten out of her.
She just hoped Feverrette's contracts weren't as difficult to cover up.
***
Gremor was draped half over his bed, one foot touching the floor, one hand flopped above his head, mouth gaping and snoring in the deepest of sleep. Dorian stood in the doorway, smirking in spite of his considerable annoyance. Crossing his arms he leaned against the door frame and watched as the old man began to wake himself. There was real startlement in his face as he came out of the dream world, his saggy features working hard to focus on the room. It took a moment for Gremor to notice Dorian but when he did he bolted upright, nearly toppling off the bed, eyes going round with fear and relief.
"My Lord!"
"At least one of us was comfortable last night," Dorian crossed the room to the bathing corner. He turned his back so the older man could right himself and pulled the two levers on the copper tub. The pipes moaned, rumbling with the rush of water into the basin. He glanced at where they ran up the wall, disappearing into the ceiling. "If Delgora were a bit wealthier they could have better plumbing."
"Yes," Gremor replied, though the sound of it was absent and almost lost.
Dorian began to strip his jacket off and surveyed the man from across the room. He was staring at the door, puzzled, one hand rubbing his forearm. It was possibly the first time Dorian had ever seen Gremor look his own age. The confounded look on the old man's face told Dorian more than Gremor could ever have explained. Wo
rry alone would not have driven his friend and servant to sleep on the master bed. He'd been put there, which meant he'd been drugged, which also meant he'd made a go at Elsie Delgora. Though Gremor did not know he'd matched wits with the Heir Apparent.
Dragging his shirt over his head Dorian asked, "How did you find Nessa Gelgova?"
Startled, Gremor half-jumped and whip to face him. After a moment he seemed to grab hold of his composure, making a pointed display of tugging on his jacket hem. "Your latest conquest is tenacious, to say the least."
Dorian laughed and threw both jacket and shirt at the man. "She's not my conquest, Gremor. But tenacious is a good word for her."
"She's a far cry from the other Skirts you've chased." He caught the jacket but the shirt fell to the floor. As he bent to grab the garment Gremor continued, all traces of confusion leaving his face as he distracted himself with the conversation at hand. "At a distance you might think her a lady, gentle and fine. But up close she's a bit grittier than one might expect."
"I noticed that myself as she was pummeling me into submission," Dorian stepped out of his pants and made a quick hop into the bath. Warmth enveloped him in a delicious sort of way that immediately began to relax his body. He gave an involuntary groan of approval and slid deeper, allowing the water to lick up against his neck.
"She bested you?"
"Mhmn." Dorian closed his eyes and smiled. "Bested me and stuffed me in a box. It was very unpleasant."
"But that means she's Witch-Born," Gremor's voice lowered three octaves, hissing more than whispering in an accusatory manner. "If she's a Bedim Knight, why are you still alive?"
"You almost sound unhappy for my survival."
"Of course I'm happy you're alive. I just want to know why and how."
Opening his eyes again Dorian gave Gremor a slanted gaze that immediately made the man start to squirm. "I have never doubted your intelligence, Gremor. I trust you can puzzle this one out. Meanwhile," he closed his eyes again, refusing to be distracted from enjoying the bath, "start packing our things."
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