“I have never heard of them.”
He gave an impatient, dismissive gesture. “As I said, my dear, we will have ample time to ascertain their purpose here. If anyone can get to the truth of their story, you can.”
Her lips turned in a tight smile; then she frowned thoughtfully. “I could start with dinner. . . .” She rose and disappeared down the hallway, returning with a heavy wooden case made of carved jasaic wood. She set the case down on the low table and stroked her fingers over the four wards that locked it. Alanna was nothing if not careful with her secrets—some might say fanatical.
She opened the lid and a set of split trays unfolded from it as she did. They contained vials of every shape and size. She studied them, running her fingers through the air above them.
“I suppose I should not poison them,” she said with a glance at Nicholas.
“Preferably not. They might prove useful.”
She picked up a dark pink bottle shaped like a feather. The liquid inside was thick as syrup. “This might do the trick. It is sweet and difficult to taste. I shall give it to them in their wine and they will tell us all we want to know, though it will be a bit uncomfortable for them.”
“I do not wish them to remember.”
She selected a round green vial. “This will make them forget. They will wake feeling weak and feverish and no wiser.”
“I trust you entirely, my dear,” Nicholas said. “Where is that damned punch?”
A knock at the door answered his question. It swung open and two footmen came in carrying a covered silver urn and a tray with cups and an array of food. They set them down on the sideboard and ladled out a small cup. One tasted it and waited for several minutes before Alanna nodded and he served two more steaming cups. Nicholas sipped his gratefully, savoring the sweet-tart flavor of lemons, sugar, wine, stout, and brandy. Underlying it all was the spicy flavor of arrack imported from Beynto dal Corus.
He wiped the foam from his lip as the heat of the drink warmed him. An idea struck him and he eyed the drink thoughtfully. Alanna’s case remained open on the side table. If he could give her a dose of her own medicine, he might learn a great deal about her and Geoffrey’s plans.
The two footmen departed and Alanna went to the sideboard to serve some food.
“None for me,” Nicholas said. “I ate that appalling swill they call food at the inn. I may not be able to eat again for a sennight.”
“I wish you hadn’t. You never know about poisons.”
“I had the innkeeper’s daughter sample everything. There was no harm.”
She frowned. “You should get out of those clothes and into a warm bath before you catch your death.”
“What would I do without you, my dear?” he asked and held out his hand to her.
She rose and came to kiss him again, then stepped behind him and began rubbing his shoulders. Her grip was hard and sharp, like the claws of an eagle. He forced himself to relax beneath her ministrations, considering what to do. His glance fell on the tempting case again.
“Has the post come?”
“It is on your desk in your study.”
“My darling, would you be so kind as to fetch it?”
She gave a final squeeze. “Of course. I should have thought of it sooner. You will want to hear the latest news. I shall return directly.”
She hurried out and Nicholas leaped to his feet. She’d hardly touched her Bully Dawson. Would she pour it out and get a fresh hot cup when she returned? He couldn’t take the chance. He carried the cups down the hall to the garderobe and emptied them. He poured a measure of the drug from the feather-shaped vial into each and rubbed it about so that it coated the inside of each cup. He then set them near his hand and put his feet back up. He slumped as if dozing.
He heard the door open and flinched awake as Alanna called his name.
“Here you are, Geoffrey dear,” she said and came to set the pouch of mail on the table beside him.
“Thank you. Oh, would you mind? I’m afraid I was lazy and drank your punch as well as mine. They warmed me quite nicely, but I would like another.” He gestured at the cups and she went to refill them. He fished in the inside pocket of his coat for the ring of keys he’d taken from the regent in the carriage. He fingered through them, looking for the postal packet key. Any other time, the packet would have been warded by majick, but with it acting so erratically, ordinary locks had to do.
He found the proper key and opened the pouch as Alanna set his steaming cup beside him and sipped her own. He had no idea what sort of dose of the drug was required to be effective. He might very well have given her too little or too much. But hopefully, while Keros and Ellyn were rescuing Carston, he’d discover some useful information about the regent’s business.
He unfastened the pouch and withdrew the correspondence. He flipped through it.
“Any word from Sylmont?”
He glanced at Alanna. She perched on the edge of her chair, her color high as she sipped her drink. There was something in the question that suggested she was looking for specific news. For the first time he wondered what had brought the two of them to Molford. He’d assumed it was something to do with Carston, but if the boy was safely locked up, there would be no need to visit. So either something had driven them from Sylmont, or they’d come for business other than Carston.
He slid his fingers under the seal on the first letter and popped it free. It was from Geoffrey’s steward in the castle. He expected it to be full of the ordinary business of the castle. Instead it read more like a battle report.
The clash between the majicars has destroyed much of the docks and the ships sitting in the harbor. Many majicars have died, others have gone into hiding. The people have risen up against them. Food is becoming even more scarce than before. The riots in the city have caused fires and looting. Many people have come to the castle for refuge. We have kept the gates locked against them, but I fear they will soon overrun us. Majick is very irregular and I must tell you, sir, that I fear the city is on the verge of collapse. The people are begging for you.
Additionally, it appears that the lights of the Pale have begun to dim. It is quite worrisome.
I await your instructions.
Nicholas reread the report twice, unable to cover his astonishment and horror.
“My dear, what news? You look alarmed.”
He glanced at her. She’d nearly finished her Bully Dawson. Her face was flushed and her mouth was tense as if she felt pain. She pressed a hand to her stomach.
“The news from Sylmont is distressing,” he said. “It appears the city may be in ruins.”
She tsked. “I had hoped it would not go so far. But we will rebuild. The Dhucala will give us all the funds and slaves we need.”
That rocked Nicholas back in his chair. “The Dhucala? You’re in this with the cracking Jutras?”
“Me, my love? We are in this together.” She frowned as if beginning to sense something was off. “I am feeling rather . . . unwell.” She slid off the arm of the chair and landed heavily on the floor.
Nicholas leaped to his feet and came to stand over her. He gripped her shoulder and shook it. “Tell me what you’ve planned with the Dhucala. Tell me now!”
She stared up at him, her eyes glassy, the ring of brown around her pupils a thin scrap of color. Her body clenched tight and pain rippled across her countenance. She let out a long, raw moan. She began to shake and the tremors shook her like an aspen leaf. Suddenly she went boneless and still. Nicholas swore and gripped her hair, pulling back her head. She looked sightlessly up at him, her mouth gaping.
He let go of her and staggered back to the scattered mail. His throat felt like someone was crushing it in their fist. He read through everything and then began a search of the apartment. He found little, but now the Avresharian bearskins held a more sinister significance. They had to be gifts from the Dhucala. Or bribes. How long had Geoffrey been an agent for the Jutras? How could he? It was insane. The Jutras w
ould have killed him and Alanna once they overran Crosspointe. How could Geoffrey believe otherwise?
But the man had an extraordinarily healthy sense of his own abilities. Of course he would think he was the exception to what everyone knew to be the truth, especially with Jutras agents plying him with unimaginable wealth and no doubt making extravagant promises.
Nicholas slammed the flat of his hand against a door. His mind was a cauldron of fury and fear and it bubbled with unanswerable questions. What had Geoffrey given the Jutras? When were they coming? Were they already here? He dragged his fingers through his hair. Damn Geoffrey to the depths! With the majicars going insane, riots in Sylmont, no king or regent to lead, Crosspointe was a plum ripe for the picking.
Suddenly he strode back to the sitting room and stepped over Alanna’s body. He picked up the vial of the truth drug and slipped it into his pocket. One way or another, Geoffrey was going to answer his questions.
He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door firmly shut behind him. He found the key on the ring and twisted it in the lock before striding down the corridor. He needed to find Geoffrey’s study and search it.
This was his fault. If not for him, Geoffrey never would have been regent; he’d never have been in a position to so thoroughly tear apart Crosspointe. Nicholas pushed the guilt aside. It wasn’t productive. Now he had to think how to fix this mess.
He stopped, putting a hand against the wall to steady himself as fear seized him. It couldn’t be too late. There had to be time yet to prepare for the Jutras invasion. Additionally, it appears that the lights of the Pale have begun to dim. It is quite worrisome. Nicholas pushed himself away from the wall. Even if he could stop the Jutras, he could do nothing to save the Pale. Without it, the Jutras didn’t matter. Crosspointe would be a land of spawn.
He pushed the thought aside. He’d do what he could—what he knew how to do—and pray to the gods that the Ramplings still had Lucy Trenton in their pocket and that she could fix the Pale a second time.
Chapter 16
Keros dumped the regent onto the floor inside the bedchamber and just barely restrained himself from kicking the bastard. He returned to Ellyn and Cora in the main salon. The girl was peeling off her borrowed cloak and shivering. Ellyn had released the illusions disguising them and now Keros did the same for himself. His majick responded better than it had before whatever had happened to him at the inn, but it still no longer felt like it welled from a rich and dense sea as it had done before the fall of the Kalpestrine. Now it felt shallow and thin, like the difference between a hearty stew and a watery soup.
The footmen had stirred the fire and warmth was slowly creeping through the room. Ellyn went to look out the windows. She opened one and peered up and then down before pulling her head back in. Keros gave her a curious look. They both wore glamours that hid their white eyes, but nothing seemed to change the constant flow of lights. He was beginning to get used to it and was no longer quite so distracted by them.
“Do you see anything interesting out there?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I like to know where the exits are.”
He stared at her a long moment. He could hardly see the girl he’d known and loved so many seasons ago. She’d changed in almost every way. She’d always been strong, but then it had been the strength of a green sapling, deeply rooted and wild in the wind. Now she was a weapon—a flashing sword honed to a bright edge. She was dangerous. He was, too, he thought. That was what this life had made of them.
He was shocked to find that for once he did not regret it. Because now he was a man who could curse the local brothels to make men pay for abusing Margaret’s enslaved family; he could help rescue a kidnapped young boy; he could burn this despicable place to the ground when he was done and then he could go help Margaret. He could kill and he could heal—he was a man to be feared, a friend to be depended on, and a majicar with the power to do what he needed to do. Today he was glad to be who he was instead of who he might have been had the Gerent not thrown his entire village into a sylveth tide.
“Where is the boy?” she asked.
He concentrated on the link to the bracelet spell. Carston was downstairs somewhere, likely in the cellar. He told Ellyn so, then turned to Cora, who hung back by the door, watching her two companions uncertainly. She wasn’t cowering into herself, he was pleased to see. Her neck was raw and red from the collar, as if it had grated against her skin. It had been roughly made.
“You’ll need to stay here and wait for us,” he told her.
Her gaze fixed on him, her eyes sunken and large. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’d rather save that until we are on our way,” he said. “Suffice it to say we are the people who took the iron collar off your neck. You’re free.”
She blinked, dazed, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. The regent will only sweep me up again. I’ve nowhere to go and no way to live. Besides, we’re in his house.” The last was angry and accusing.
“You don’t have to worry about the regent anymore, and we’ll make sure you get out of here safely.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, her mouth pinching together. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking or feeling. She didn’t look particularly grateful or happy. But, then, she’d not had an easy time of it and she was entitled to feel however she wanted.
“What do you want?” she said, staring down at the floor.
“Me?”
She nodded shortly. “It’s got to cost something, doesn’t it?”
She had learned the rules of survival fast.
“You already paid us. You warned us the regent was coming. If not for you, we might have been in some trouble. But the regent’s kidnapped a young boy and is keeping him prisoner here. Ellyn and I have to go find him. We need you to wait here for us. Don’t let anyone come in.”
She frowned. “What about Mistress Dedlok?”
Ellyn snorted, covering her laughter with her hand. Keros smiled. “Mistress Dedlok is . . . indisposed. You need only to divert anyone from entering. Can you do that?”
She nodded, chewing her upper lip. “You’ll come back?”
“We will.”
She nodded and moved farther into the room, giving Keros a wide berth as she went to stand near the fire-place. He went to the door and Ellyn slipped out into the corridor with him.
She led the way, moving swiftly and surely. She’d been here once before for a few days, while serving as Alanna Truehelm’s lady’s maid. It was enough to give her the lay of the land.
She quickly wound a path down to the main level, into the kitchens and through to the wine cellars. They used a glamour to keep from being noticed. She went directly to a rack of whiskey casks and reached between them, touching a spot beneath the third cask. There was a slight click and Ellyn pushed against the rack. It swiveled, revealing a door behind it. She fished some metal tools from her boot and picked it. A moment later they were in the lavishly appointed corridor on the other side.
“I never got any farther than the door before,” she murmured. “Lady Alanna is very demanding and suspicious.”
Keros hardly heard her. He tipped his head, his eyes drifting nearly closed. The lights down the left side were different somehow. They moved strangely. More oily and undulant, slowly billowing. He followed them like a trail. The farther he went, the more they pulsed and bulged. Their colors changed as well—growing red-tinged. Almost bloody. The bright jewel tones muddied and turned flat and dull. A sort of a scent accompanied it—more psychic than real. It was meaty and slightly sweet, and altogether stomach turning.
He glanced at Ellyn, who paced along beside him.
“I see it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smell it, too, though it isn’t quite smell . . .”
Carston wasn’t far. He felt the closeness of the ciphered bracelet. They turned a corner and both stopped dead.
“What happened here?” Ellyn asked, sliding a knife from its sheath on her thigh.
“I have no idea,” he said.
They looked down a wide passage. On the right was a single door. It was closed. Ahead the corridor opened into what appeared to be a lofty room full of expensive flotsam and jetsam. But what stopped them both were the lights in the middle between them and that room—the room where they had to go to get Carston.
It looked like someone had plunged a careless hand into their careful pattern and snatched a clump. Strands hung broken or twisted together in knots and tangles. The color was so dark that it looked black, but even as Keros stared, he realized he was wrong. They were red.
“What is it?” Ellyn whispered.
He started. He’d almost forgotten her. He didn’t answer and instead took another few steps forward. He reached out and touched one of the strands. It sent a flash of heat through him and he felt instantly nauseous. He jerked away, but not before he felt a taste of something he’d experienced once before. The thing inside him pulsed hot as the flavor of it burned through him.
His cods shriveled and his bowels clenched tight. Instinctively he reached out and grabbed Ellyn’s hand.
“Come on.”
He ran forward through the lights, pulling himself in tight to avoid touching them where he could. He fled to the other side, dragging Ellyn like a sack of turnips. When he stopped, he was panting and his skin twitched. It felt like he was being smothered under a hill of ants.
He shook himself and Ellyn did the same.
“What was that?” she whispered. Her face was pale and she still held his hand.
“Jutras majick,” he said around the boulder in his throat. “The remnants of a spell.”
“What? Here?”
“The cracking bastard is working with the Jutras,” he said and spat to clear the taste from his mouth.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve tasted Jutras majick before,” he said. He’d been there in the throne room when they invaded and killed Queen Naren. He’d witnessed the horrors of their blood majick as they tortured and killed two people. If not for Lucy, he’d have been the next under the knife. If the truth be told, that was the reason he’d signed on to help the Ramplings. The Jutras scared him nearly witless and the idea of them overrunning Crosspointe still gave him horrendous nightmares.
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