by J. V. Jones
“Baralis kidnapped my daughter several months back,” said Maybor. “I haven’t seen her since.”
Cravin did not look surprised. “Baralis will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
Maybor looked to either side of him, checking for ears that belonged to humans, not pigs. When he spoke, his voice was low and urgent. “What is it that he wants?”
“Power,” murmured Cravin. “He wants to control the north. With Bren’s armies at his disposal, he thinks he can dominate Annis and Highwall and Borc knows who else.” He turned and looked Maybor straight in the eye. “As I said before, Baralis is a dangerous man.”
Everything was starting to fall into place for Maybor. Why hadn’t he thought of it himself? Baralis wanted to create a northern empire. The five-year border war with the Halcus fitted in nicely; he was merely softening the enemy up, so when the real war came he could hit them hard. “My son told me Kylock plans to invade Halcus once spring is fully here.”
Cravin pulled back his lips to show a sharp-toothed smile. “Kylock has already invaded. I received word by pigeon yesterday.”
Maybor hid his astonishment. “Aah. He decided to move fast, then.”
“It would appear so,” said Cravin. “Surprise was obviously his main consideration.” A gust of wind caused him to draw his cloak close. “One thing’s certain: the duke won’t like it one little bit.”
“Why can’t he call the marriage off, then?” asked Maybor, wishing he too had brought a cloak.
“It’s not that simple. The betrothal has gone too far now. He’ll lose face by backing down, people will call him a coward. The best thing he can do is come up with a way of neutralizing the marriage.”
“What d’you mean?”
“He should let the marriage go ahead as planned, but somehow—by either direct action or treaty—he should try and take the edge from the whole affair. At the moment the situation is fraught with risk: Annis and Highwall are nervous, the knights are having trouble in the south, and now Kylock’s busy invading Halcus.” Cravin shook his head. “The duke must do two things: first, he needs to dissipate tension in the north; and secondly, he needs to put Baralis in his place.”
Maybor couldn’t argue with that. Despite the flies, foul smell, and cutting wind, he was beginning to enjoy himself. “Do you think he can pull it off?”
“I would never underestimate the duke,” replied Cravin. “However, it’s up to you and I to monitor matters carefully. If an opportunity presents itself, and in my experience one usually does, we must be there to seize the moment.” A naked glance left Maybor with no doubt that the man was talking about treason.
Cravin reached in his cloak and pulled out a slip of parchment no bigger than the palm of his hand. He held it out to Maybor. “Take this, it is the address of a lodging of mine on the south side of the city. It’s very discreet, no one knows it exists. If you ever need to meet anyone in private and don’t want the eyes of the court upon you, feel free to use it as your own.” Cravin began to move away. “The servants there always know how to contact me if you should ever have need.” He bowed once and was gone in an instant.
Maybor tucked the parchment under his belt, waited a moment, and then began to trace Cravin’s path back to the palace. The man’s footsteps were stamped in blood, so his path was easy to follow.
Twenty
Melli followed Nessa into the stables. Long forgotten smells filled her senses: hay and dung and grease for the tack. The duke, who had seen fit to ignore her all of yesterday, had requested that she accompany him for a short ride. So here she was, dressed in a sturdy cloak with not a single frill to soften the eye, determined to pick the best mount she could find. Her father had kept stables in his estate in the Eastlands, and she knew from experience that nothing annoyed a horse owner more than when an inexperienced guest chose to ride his best mount. Melli knew that she was far from inexperienced, but the duke didn’t, and he would be furious at her selection.
“I’ll take that one,” she said to the groom, indicating a fine chestnut stallion.
“But miss,” said the groom, “the duke likes to ride Sparsis himself.”
Melli turned to Nessa. “Did the duke express the wish that I should take any horse of my choice?”
Nessa nodded vigorously. Having spent a full day together, Nessa was now firmly in Melli’s court.
The groom did not look happy, but complied with Melli’s wishes. He saddled the horse, muttering words to the effect that it just wasn’t decent for a woman to ride a stallion. He led the horse through to the courtyard and held his hand out for the mounting.
Melli straddled the horse like a veteran. She settled herself in the saddle whilst her feet found the stirrups. Everything fit beautifully—the groom had a good eye. The horse she had ridden here was nothing compared to this powerful creature. She bent down and whispered gentle words of encouragement in his ear. They were going to be friends, she was sure of it.
“Where does His Grace intend to ride today?” she asked of the groom.
Seeing how well she sat the horse, the groom looked a little more respectful. “Well, miss, I can’t be certain, but for short rides he likes to go to the meadow at the green side of the valley, behind the trees.” He pointed to a place that looked to be no more than three leagues away.
“Very good. Tell His Grace that I shall meet him there.” Melli pulled on the reins and turned her horse.
Both Nessa and the groom were openmouthed, but she gave neither of them time to protest. Her heels kicked against the stallion’s flanks and she was off, trading cobblestones for grass in the swish of a horse’s tail.
The wind was in her hair, fresh air was in her lungs, and a mighty beast lay between her thighs. It was wonderful. Melli felt free for the first time in many weeks. Even to be outside was a treat. The view was breathtaking. The lodge was situated on the curve of a slope that led down to a breathtaking valley. A lake lay at its center and trees, mostly firs, formed small groups around its edges like women at a dance. Ahead of her lay the mountains, terrible in their splendor, still white with winter’s weeds.
The horse was nervous of its new rider and reacted skittishly to her commands, but Melli persisted in treating it gently, but firmly, and gradually, as they made their way across the valley, the stallion became settled.
It would be so easy to just ride away and never come back. Easy, yet dangerous. Melli valued her life too highly to risk galloping off into the mountains. Funny, but the idea of escape didn’t appeal to her much at the moment. She was in no physical danger and the duke hadn’t pressed her for any sexual favors, so she felt safe for the time being. And, if she were honest with herself, she was actually looking forward to the duke catching up with her. Melli couldn’t wait to deal haughtily with his anger and then confound him by showing off her skills with a horse. He was such an arrogant man, practically begging to be taken down a peg.
Melli thought he would have requested her presence yesterday. All afternoon she had waited for his summons, hair dressed, pretty shoes pinching, and cheeks bright with the flush of fine wine. She was disappointed when no word came. Staying in her room was dull, and Nessa’s company left a lot to be desired. The duke might be annoying, but at least he wasn’t boring.
Her best policy concerning her mysterious parentage was, she decided, to stick to her original story, and no matter how hard the duke challenged her give nothing away. Stubbornness came naturally to Melli, so this course shouldn’t prove too difficult. The duke wouldn’t be able to trick, or catch her off guard, again.
Aware that her horse had not used a tenth of his potential, Melli urged him into a gallop. For an instant she was scared by the power. Then, a second later, she was thrilled by it. She brought her body down and gave him the reins. Ditches, streams, fallen logs, and boulders: her horse leapt them all with the grace of a demon. She could feel his sweat soaking her skirts. The ground was a blur and the distant trees were a target. She couldn’t tell whose he
art was beating faster: hers or her horse’s.
The minute she pulled on the reins, Melli became aware of a sound behind her. Hooves were thundering at her back. It could only be the duke. She brought her horse to a halt and spun to meet him. Minutes passed as he drew close. His first words were: “Are you out of your mind! What were you thinking, taking my best stallion? It’s a wonder it hasn’t killed you.”
Melli raised an eyebrow to an arch. “I didn’t realize you had such protective instincts. Perhaps in a former life you were a shepherd.” She turned her horse on a pinpoint and galloped off.
Unable to keep the smile from her face, Melli struck a path for the far trees. She heard the duke pursuing her, and after a minute he seemed to be gaining. “Come on, Sparsis,” she whispered to her horse. “Time to show your owner your worth.” A squeeze of thighs and a guiding pull on the reins and the course was altered enough to take in a filigree of tiny streams that were bent upon the lake. Horse and rider jumped them like gods. Then came one final leap. The stream rested in a depression and the breadth was hard to judge until they were on top of it. The bank on the other side was sharply sloped. The stallion cleared the water, and then slammed into the slope, shank first.
Melli was thrown forward. Almost in slow motion she saw the rocky bank approaching. She even knew which rock was hers. Crack! A sharp pain in her forehead, a sharper pain in her side, and then everything went black.
• • •
Jack felt a sudden pain in his forehead. He was holding a cup of water and lost his grip, sending it smashing to the floor.
Magra looked up. “Jack, are you all right?” There was genuine concern in her voice.
He wished she’d never spoken, for until her words had skimmed across his thoughts, he’d been seeing a vision of Melli. Gone now. Even as Magra got up from her chair, he was beginning to doubt it had happened.
Magra ignored the broken cup and took his hand. “Come on, Jack,” she said. “Sit down by the fire for a while.” The lines of her beautiful, haughty face were taut with worry. She led him to the bench and forced him to sit. Then she surprised him by kneeling down at his feet. Her cool hand still held his.
“Jack,” she said softly, “you don’t have to go through with it tonight.” He started to protest, but she spoke over him. “No, hear me out. You can leave the cottage today. I have some gold set aside—not much, but enough to ease your journey. Please take it.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
Jack looked into the deep blue of her eyes. She was speaking the truth. It had been a long, long time since anyone had worried about him. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Such smooth and fragile flesh. His mother would have been the same age, if she lived. “There’s no need to worry about me,” he said. “I’m going to be coming back. I promise you that.”
“I expect you to keep that promise, Jack.” Magra smiled, and for one instant she looked so like Tarissa it took his breath away. One final squeeze of his hand and she was up, brushing down her skirts and tut-tutting over the broken cup.
Tarissa came bursting into the room—Jack liked the fact that she wasn’t one for discreet entrances. Seeing Magra picking up pottery fragments, she said, “What’s been going on here? I only left to feed the chickens and when I get back, you two are busy destroying the place.”
Jack and Magra laughed. The atmosphere in the cottage was so much lighter when Rovas wasn’t around. Tarissa went for a cloth to soak up the water and Jack turned back to kneading the dough for the week’s baking. They had no proper oven, so the freshly prepared dough would be taken to the town to be baked. It was nice to be here, all working around each other, exchanging jokes and small talk, holk warming on the fire, tallow burning with a smoky flame. It felt like home.
Jack was struck by a sudden deep hatred of Rovas. How could he have threatened to throw these two honest and hardworking women out of the house unless Tarissa did his bidding? He was a truly despicable man. Magra and Tarissa deserved better than someone who sought to control them by casting out a net of dependency and shared guilt.
Once finished with the kneading, Jack placed the loaves on a large wooden tray. With a sharp knife he slashed the top of each one and then covered them with a damp linen cloth.
Magra stepped forward. “If they’re ready, I’ll take them into town.” She went to pick up the tray.
“But Rovas has taken the cart,” said Jack. “You can hardly walk all that way on your own. I’ll come with you.”
“No, Jack. You can’t risk going into town.” It was Tarissa. “Mother will be all right. She’ll find Rovas once she’s there and he can bring her home.”
“That’s my plan,” agreed Magra.
Jack realized that it was indeed a plan, drawn up by both women in advance to give him and Tarissa a chance to be alone. He took the linen cloth off the tray and removed half the loaves; he was not going to let Magra carry such a heavy weight all the way into town. She started to protest, but he stopped her. “I won’t allow you out of the house, otherwise,” he said. “Besides, I’m sure I can bake these into something on the fire. They might be a little flat, a little burnt, and a little tasteless, but if nothing else we can feed them to Rovas.”
Everyone laughed. Magra picked up the newly lightened tray whilst Tarissa held the door for her. “Take care, Mother,” she said, laying a kiss upon her cheek. Jack came and stood beside her, and both watched as the older woman walked up the muddy path and onto the muddy lane.
“Are you sure it’s safe for her to go alone?” asked Jack as Tarissa closed the door.
“Really, Jack, you know Mother, she’s a lot tougher than she looks. She might have been a delicate court beauty once, but that was over twenty years ago.” Tarissa slipped her arm through his. “Come on, let’s not waste a minute.” She pulled him toward the fire.
Tarissa’s words about her mother started Jack thinking about a subject he hadn’t considered for some time. “Who is your father?” he asked.
Surprise flitted across Tarissa’s face. “Why do you ask now?”
“Why not? Is it such a big secret?”
Tarissa sighed and turned her face toward the fire. “He was a very important person.”
“Was?”
“He’s dead now.” Tarissa spun around. “Please, Jack, let’s not spend today dragging up the past. I won’t ask you any questions, so please don’t ask me any.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him full on the lips. “If we must talk about anything, let it be the future.”
He kissed her back. Her saliva acted like a drug, taking his mind from its purpose. Nothing mattered anymore, only following the slope of her tongue to the softness behind her teeth.
They made love by the slow-burning fire. It was nothing like the first time; there was no terrible frenzy, no feeling that it was salve upon a wound. There was gentleness and touching—and wonder as he looked upon her form. When finally they fell apart, sweated skin resisting the separation, it was a feeling of tenderness, not relief, that united them.
Jack tilted Tarissa’s chin and looked into her eyes. Tears welled at the corners. “What’s the matter?” he asked, immediately thinking he’d done something wrong.
“Jack, I’m so worried. I might never see you again.” As Tarissa spoke, a heavy tear slid down her cheek. “Promise me you won’t do anything brave or daring. If it looks dangerous, just get out of there as fast as possible.”
“I promise.” His second today. Jack realized that Rovas’ words were true: “Magra and Tarissa would never forgive me if you didn’t come back.” Surely then the smuggler could be trusted?
Jack had given Rovas’ plan a lot of thought and there were still things that bothered him. “Did you ever help Rovas smuggle goods into the garrison?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
“Yes, I used to stand guard near the tunnel entrance, keeping watch for the patrol.” Tarissa wiped the tears from her eyes.
“Why do you ask?”
“That’s how I’ll make my escape. Did you ever enter the tunnel?”
“No, but I know it leads somewhere in the officers’ quarters.” Tarissa began to pull on her clothes. “You know there’s a huge rock above the entrance?”
Jack nodded. He was pleased with what Tarissa said: it confirmed all that he had been told by Rovas.
“Will Rovas be there to help you out?” she asked.
“No,” said Jack. “He said I could manage it on my own and that guards patrol the area regularly. So it would be too dangerous to wait around.”
“For Rovas, maybe—that man couldn’t hide in a blackened barn—but for me it would be easy. I used to do it all the time. I’d hide up a tree until I saw the rock moving, then I’d slide down and help push it out of the way. If the patrol was passing I’d hoot like an owl, so Rovas would know it was best to wait.”
“You’re not coming,” said Jack. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Oh, yes I am. I won’t even tell Rovas. I’ll just be there to help with the rock. I’ll find my own way back.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will, and you can’t stop me.” She was quite determined now.
Although Jack didn’t like the idea, he couldn’t help admiring Tarissa for her bravery. The thought that she was willing to risk her own safety for him was heartwarming. He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her close. Tarissa squawked indignantly. She was in the middle of pulling on her drawers and landed in an unladylike heap in his lap. Jack burst out laughing; he couldn’t stop himself. Tarissa slapped him, not at all gently, and scrambled to her feet. “Well, I’m coming and that’s final. I’ll have no man tell me what I can and can’t do.”
How could he prevent her? In some ways Tarissa was like Melli: stubborn to a fault. Part of Jack was pleased at her resolution. It was nice to think she would be waiting for him. “Well, it seems I have no choice but to agree.”