“Clothes, hair if we can, anything you can suggest.”
Biddy frowned in consternation. “Well, the clothes are easy. Anything else will cost money and—”
“I can pay,” Lily hurried to reassure, reaching for one of the small pouches of coin. She jangled it. “I can pay well for your help and the brothel’s secrecy.”
“Secrecy? You’d better tell me what I’m getting into here. Start by telling me who you are.”
Lily told her companion everything she thought she could without compromising anyone else. When she was done, Biddy sat back on the floor looking astonished. “I knew Kirin Felt, though not very well. I don’t think I . . .” She faltered, looking embarrassed. “Well, you know. I think he favored one of the other girls. But he was a gentleman, a good man.”
“He was,” Lily said, trying to tamp down an unfair flare of jealousy. “Will you help me escape the palace’s clutches?”
Biddy looked immediately fearful. “The palace,” she breathed. “That awful Stracker.”
“He doesn’t need to know anything about me being here. Just help me and I’ll be gone quickly . . . in moments if I must.”
“All right, all right. But we need someone else’s aid.”
“No one else!” Lily begged. “The fewer people who know, the better.”
“All the girls saw you arrive. Let’s talk to Julee. She can probably give you one of her wigs, which is quicker than us dyeing your hair.”
“Call her, then. Please hurry.”
Less than two bells later and distinctly lighter of purse, a flaxen-haired woman dressed in a dark blue traveling skirt and a black jacket with a bonnet was seen demurely emerging from an alleyway that was nowhere near The Honeypot. She looked behind her once and waved before hurrying to the pick-up point where travelers boarded the carriages that would transport them out of the city and beyond the borders of the compass of Penraven.
Chapter Nineteen
It was Janus who broke the lengthening silence. “Are either of you unwell?”
Loethar shook his head and, next to him, Roddy did the same.
“Good, then I’m not required.”
“How are you feeling?” Elka asked.
“I rather like to feel your breasts,” Janus replied.
“Not you. I’m talking to Loethar.”
Loethar felt vaguely perplexed. “I’m spectacularly aware of Roddy but other than that, there’s not really much difference.”
“Shall we put your bond to the test?” Ravan queried.
Elka frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s try and hurt Loethar.”
Her expression turned to offense. “You’ll do no such thing! We’re only just getting him back to strength, he’s got weeks of healing to—”
“Elka,” Loethar cut in softly. “Elka,” he repeated, winning her attention. “I’m healed.”
“Healed? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The magic . . . the trammeling. In the exchange I have been made whole again. I can’t feel a single hurt anywhere.”
“Well, that’s impressive,” Elka admitted, regarding them both with a mixture of suspicion and awe.
“So Ravan’s right,” Loethar continued. “Let’s test it.”
“How?”
“Loose one of your arrows at Loethar,” Ravan suggested.
She looked appalled. “So it’s not just Janus, but everyone’s afflicted with a form of madness now, is that it?” Janus gave her a glance of injury and she returned it with a glare of exasperation. “Oh, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll let you watch me bathe or something.” She stared at Ravan, then Loethar and Roddy. “I am not going to fire an arrow at you,” she said, returning a hard gaze to Loethar.
“I will,” Ravan said.
She stepped away. “Not with my bow or my arrows,” she warned and no one was going to argue with the look she was now giving off.
“All right, a stoning it has to be,” Ravan suggested without any hint of recrimination in his voice. He moved to select an appropriate weapon.
“Is this a joke?”
“Elka, relax,” Loethar calmed. “Just watch. We have to be sure.”
“And what if this doesn’t work?”
“Janus can earn his keep and fix me up again,” he replied, winking.
“No. I’ll forbid him to so much as lay a finger on you. Do you hear me, Janus?”
The doctor smiled. “I dare not ignore you, Elka.”
“And don’t say you know where you’d like to lay a finger on me either.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said, looking around them all as if wrongly accused.
“Sorry,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. “It just sounded like a perfect opening for you. Oh, Lo, please don’t jump onto that either.”
Loethar began to laugh. Janus waved Elka away. “Do you really trust this magic?” he asked Loethar. “Because it’s a lot of mess coming up for me if it doesn’t work.”
“Watch,” Loethar said and startled everyone by leaping around in a mad dance. “Could I have done that earlier?”
No one answered.
Finally Ravan said in a dry tone, “Well, that was something to store away. It was definitely worth witnessing.”
Ravan’s understated manner clearly amused Elka, as did his sarcasm. Her laugh gurgled through her worry and she pointed at Loethar. “That looked ridiculous. What was it? Some sort of barbarian war jig?”
Now Loethar felt offended. “I was simply demonstrating that all my limbs are working perfectly, in harmony and without any pain. Let me assure you, I’m perfectly capable of graciously twirling around a ballroom if called upon. Ask Ravan. As Vyk he watched me dance.”
“Loethar is suggesting he danced regularly,” Ravan assured the audience. “That’s not true. Yes, he can dance, rather elegantly in fact in the Denovian style—I’ve seen him practice alone. But the truth is he refused to dance at any of the formal gatherings at Brighthelm. I think the only time I’ve ever seen Loethar move to music with a woman in his arms was on his wedding day. And that seemed purely dutiful rather than enjoyable.”
At the mention of his wife Loethar felt the good spirits between himself and Elka plummet. Disappointment knifed through him as he watched her drop her gaze and the amusement flee from her expression. “Your wife? I hadn’t . . .” Why hadn’t he told her about Valya? He should have, especially as she’d been so honest about de Vis. He tried to catch her eye to apologize silently but she refused him eye contact. “Well, you’re right, Ravan, we’d better test this magic,” she said matter-of-factly.
Ravan weighted a large stone he’d been holding in his hand. “This should do,” he said, innocent of his part in tearing a rip in the special bond that Loethar and Elka shared.
“No need for that,” Elka replied. “I think you were right: the arrow is a better idea. A much cleaner wound,” she emphasized. “Besides, I haven’t had much target practice in a while.” She threw an angry glance toward Loethar, who sighed. “Shall I aim for your heart?” she asked, her sugary voice defying her expression.
Roddy, who had been silent, flinched. “Best not, Elka. I would feel responsible if the magic failed and you killed our emperor.”
“Don’t worry, Roddy, I don’t think our emperor has a heart to hit.”
Loethar gave her a pained look but she still refused to meet his gaze and busied herself selecting an arrow and flexing the string of her bow for its tautness. He didn’t think anyone else noticed what had occurred but he’d forgotten how connected Roddy was to him now.
“Don’t worry, your majesty, Elka can’t hide how fond she is of you.”
He gave his champion a sad grin. “But does she know how fond I am of her?” he whispered only for Roddy’s hearing. “How do you feel about what we’re about to do?”
“It makes sense to see if the magic has worked. Although I can feel you without touching you, so I think it has.”
Loethar nodded his agreement.
“Do you know how to protect me, though?”
Roddy grinned nervously. “No idea. I’m scared that you’ll be hurt and it will be my fault.”
Loethar felt deeply touched. “Roddy, if this is going to work, our magic will know what to do.”
“What if she kills you, majesty?”
“She won’t.”
“She looks frightening.”
“Elka is frightening. She always looks like that,” he murmured. He winked at the youngster and they both grinned. “It’s going to work, Roddy. Your instincts will know what to do. I trust you completely.”
Roddy’s eyes clouded with anxiety but he nodded gravely. “I won’t let that arrow harm you, your majesty.”
“Are you both ready?” Ravan called from where he stood next to Elka, who was already taking aim.
“Ready,” they called in unison and Loethar felt his heart give a little to realize that Roddy had taken his hand and was squeezing it. He looked around and realized for the first time in his life he had real friends and people he genuinely cared about.
“Wait!” he commanded. Elka lowered her bow and their gazes finally met. “Whatever happens, happens because I’ve permitted it. No one here is to blame for anything that goes wrong. Does everyone understand?” He looked at each of them and they nodded gravely. “Good. Aim for my heart, Elka. I promise you it’s there and Roddy will keep it safe. Trust him. I do.”
“I hate you for this,” she said.
“No you don’t,” he said softly back at her.
They all watched her take close aim. Loethar held his breath and as he did so he felt a change come over him, a gentle warmth. Elka loosed her arrow and it felt to him as though it took an age to fly through the air. He could take in its detail, acknowledge that it was on the mark, that her aim was true. He watched it arrive a few hairs’ breadth from his chest and he saw it bounce uselessly away.
For a few heartbeats there was a stunned silence and then Roddy started whooping and jumping up and down in celebration. Ravan was laughing, Janus looked too shocked to comment and Elka remained still, staring at Loethar. He couldn’t read what her look meant but her eyes looked misty and then she turned away. Ravan had lifted Roddy into the air and they were both grinning like loons.
Loethar couldn’t help but join the elation; Roddy deserved that much.
“We did it, your majesty!” Roddy yelled.
Loethar nodded, grinning helplessly. “Thank you, Roddy. Thank you, Ravan.” He moved toward where Elka stood near Janus and without any warning he hugged them. “Thank you.”
Janus looked awkward but he seemed to enjoy the moment nonetheless. Elka remained silent.
“I know that was hard for you,” Loethar said.
Elka bit her lip, suddenly pensive, but nodded. “In more ways than you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We had to test—”
“I mean I’m sorry about Valya. I want you to know something important. She—”
“Loethar!” called an angry voice. Loethar swung around, startled to see its owner brandishing a sword and advancing on him purposefully.
* * *
Barro was singing in a tub of water as Corbel finished up shaving. The convent had provided surprisingly decent garments that fitted even his tall frame reasonably well. It felt deeply comforting to be back in the genuine clothes of his homeland and he smiled as he fingered the toggles that served as buttons and the handsewn, roughish fabric of his shirt. He would need to buy new boots; the ones given were tight. But all in all he looked like he belonged again.
It was as though Barro could hear his thoughts. “Now you look like you come from these parts,” he said, interrupting the lusty ballad he’d been performing before picking up its threads again and singing even louder.
Corbel recognized the song and had to admit that he not only found his new companion amusing but he had a manner about him that was hard to dislike. Plus it was useful to have him as an ally—yet another protective ring he could throw around Evie.
As he tossed the linen that he’d been using to dry his now shaven face into the nearby basket, he turned back to Barro.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Where—?” Barro stopped short.
Corbel looked at him quizzically. When Barro didn’t respond he shrugged in question.
“Uncanny,” Barro breathed.
“What?”
“It is like Regor de Vis stands before me.”
Corbel made a scoffing sound but then his gaze narrowed. “Really?” he asked, turning back to the small looking glass he’d balanced on the windowsill.
“Can’t you see it?”
He shook his head sadly. “I’ve forgotten so much detail about his face, his voice. It’s the same with my brother. I can’t bring his face fully to my mind. But I carry them both in my heart.”
“We’ll find your brother, I promise you. But we need to be watchful. You might startle the wrong people looking as you do. You have grown into your father’s image.”
“I’m done hiding my face,” Corbel replied. “There is someone here I must speak with. I shall not be long.”
“Are you taking my lady with you?”
“You have to call her Evie.”
“I’ll try harder.”
“Yes, I’ll have her with me, so take your time . . . and, Barro?”
“Mmm?”
“Do not even entertain the notion of what you had in mind for Valya,” Corbel warned.
Barro spat into the water. “Her throat should be slit.”
“She is nothing but another pawn and I will not have our position compromised because of your feelings.”
“That woman is one of the reasons the Denova Set no longer exists.”
“That woman is an outcast from her family in Droste and an outcast from the barbarian she aligned with. She has no power any longer. Leave her alone. We have much bigger fish to fry.”
Barro nodded. “I see you haven’t forgotten how we speak here.”
“It’s coming back to me,” Corbel said dryly. “Heed my warning.”
“As you wish.”
Corbel left Barro singing at the top of his voice and heedless of the spy who had been eavesdropping his conversation, went in search of Evie. He found her already waiting for him in the main courtyard. She was sitting alongside the cloisters, admiring the well-tended gardens. Her head was bent, looking at what he suspected was a frond of herb, because she kept smelling it, presumably trying to recognize its fragrance. He smiled, taking in all the details of the woman he loved. Her hair was damp and tied loosely back and while she was never one for makeup, he loved that her complexion was clear of even a hint of lip color. She was now very appropriately dressed in a plainish dress which despite its best efforts couldn’t hide what she worked so hard to do—her high, full breasts and her neat but curvy figure.
“Hello, Evie,” he said softly, forcing his gaze away from her chest.
“Ah, Corbel, I—” She stopped and blinked.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly worried.
“Nothing,” she stammered. She looked more carefully. “Is that really you?”
He gave a small laugh. “Yes, last time I checked it was.”
“But . . . but look at you.”
“I suppose it is a bit of a shock,” he said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“A bit of a shock? You’re joking, right? You’re . . . well, you’re er . . . almost handsome,” and she now sounded self-conscious. “I won’t say altogether handsome because it will go to your head.”
“Never did before.”
“When all the girls at the palace used to swoon over you, you mean?” she said tartly.
He grinned. “Gavriel and I were in great demand, I’ll have you know.”
She threw the herb frond at him in reply.
“That’s called feremore. It’s used to help cry-babies.”
“Cry-babies?”
“Infants who can’t settle, feed badly, cry a lot. Your mother used it a great deal for Leo, I seem to recall. Although I was very young, I could be making this up.”
“Oh, what we’d call colic, I suppose.”
“You know, you need to forget about who ‘we’ are,” he cautioned.
“Yes, sorry. I really will be more careful.” She smelled her fingers. “It has a lovely fragrance, part citrus, but a soft note of aniseed there. Is it used for anything else?”
“I’ve only ever known it to be used for squally newborns, crushed into a drop of honey to sweeten.”
She shrugged. “There’s only one small plant of it. I guess they don’t have much call for a cure for infant colic in a convent. Anyway, you look much younger, much happier.”
“Barro thinks I’m the image of my father,” he murmured.
Her gaze softened. “Well, that must feel good to know, right? You really are very handsome.” Her tone was bright but Corbel could tell she was trying to cover her embarrassment.
He nodded. “It means a lot to know,” he said and hoped she didn’t realize he wasn’t answering her question but responding to her comment.
“Hopefully someone might recognize you, lead you to Gavriel.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good thing right now. If I’m recognized it could signal all sorts of problems. Loethar, for starters, would want me dead.”
Her eyes widened. “You say that so calmly.”
“It’s a fact. Anyone as close as we brothers were to the Valisars is probably long dead. I’m just hoping with all of my heart that the man who was here not so long ago might just have been Gavriel . . . and that he survived.”
“Master Regor? Miss Evie?” a newcomer inquired.
“Yes, that’s us,” Corbel said, swinging around to see a young nun.
“I’ve been asked to take you to meet the Qirin. Please follow me.”
They made small talk as they fell in step alongside her, she inquiring that their bathing facilities were comfortable and them asking her about life in the convent.
“This is it,” she finally said, gesturing at a door. “Ah, here is the Mother.”
“Well, well,” the Mother Abbess said, regarding Corbel with deep interest. “And how are you both feeling? Much refreshed, I hope?”
King’s Wrath Page 24