FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  “I know that. You’ve seen worse. But I would spare you what I can.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t protect me into a box, Dahleven. I won’t let you.”

  Dahleven sighed. He’d tried. And she’d answered as he’d expected. “Let’s go on then.” He gestured up the stairs, and they began to climb.

  *

  As they mounted the stairs, Celia tried to order her mind into some kind of professional detachment. It had been several months since she’d seen a man killed by violence, and even longer since she’d used her professional demeanor to calm a hysterical 911 caller. She’d assured Dahleven she could handle whatever she might see, so she damn well better.

  At the top of the stairs they turned right. Twenty feet down the hallway five men in Neven’s green livery stood around talking to one another, leaning against the walls and the open door frame. One crouched down, speaking to someone seated on the floor. There was a sound of feminine weeping.

  As Dahleven strode toward them, the men straightened and assumed an attitude of ready alertness. The man crouching rose. Behind him, sitting on the floor with tear tracks staining her face, was Celia’s new maid.

  “Halla!” Celia exclaimed. What’s she doing here?

  “My lady!” Halla scrambled to stand. The man who’d been talking to her lent her a hand. “My lady, I’m sorry. I meant no harm. Oh!” She pressed a hand to her stomach as she started to straighten and bent slightly, guarding her belly. The sentry put his free hand on her elbow to steady her. “I was only watching the skald as a favor to the guard, Dersaft, while you were at the feast.”

  Celia could see a sheen of sweat on the maid’s brow and upper lip. Halla’s breathing was rapid and shallow. “Are you all right?” She and Dahleven had reached the group. “Sit down.” She addressed the armsman. “Help her down.”

  “Has a Healer been sent for?” Dahleven asked.

  Another guard stepped forward, looking somewhat truculent. He seemed to be in charge of the group. “There’s no need, my lord. The skald is dead and the woman is only hysterical.”

  Dahleven skewered the man with his gaze. “Summon Helbreden.”

  The man hesitated, his expression registering surprise at the mention of the Healer who served Neven’s family. Apparently he didn’t know Helbreden was Talented in diagnosis, and a specialist in poisons.

  “Immediately,” Dahleven said in a soft steely voice.

  Celia hadn’t seen Dahleven exercise his authority very often. He usually didn’t have to. Seeing it now was a sharp reminder of the structure of things here. It was a little frightening, but exciting, too.

  “You—stay with Halla,” Dahleven directed one of the men. “I’m going to examine the room. Celia?”

  He was giving her another chance to back out without losing face and stay with Halla. But she had to go with him. She had to keep him from putting her in that box, from lumping her in with the women who needed protecting. Besides, she used to watch a lot of mystery movies. Maybe she’d catch something he missed. “Yes, let’s take a look.”

  The room was small, the size normally accorded to favored servants. A single scented oil lamp on a table beside the bed-niche lit the room. The bedclothes were rumpled and the air carried the tang of cinnamon and urine and feces. Eirik, nude, lay on the floor, curled half on his side. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

  Celia chided herself for the cold thought, but she couldn’t feel guilty. Eirik had betrayed her and Dahleven and all of Quartzholm six months ago. Only his blindness and his oath of fealty had saved his life. She wasn’t sure she would have trusted him to keep his word.

  She stopped near the door to survey the room while Dahleven went immediately to the table where two cups, one nearly full, one empty, stood beside the lamp and a carafe of wine, which was half full. He picked one up. She drew breath to stop him, then swallowed her objection. No fingerprint technology to muck with here.

  Dahleven sniffed the contents of the cup and shook his head. “I don’t recognize this. Helbreden will know.”

  Celia knelt by the body, lifting her skirts to avoid the puddle of urine. Dahleven put out a hand as if to pull her back, but then let it drop, saying nothing. She almost smiled. He’s trying. Her fingers searched Eirik’s neck pulse. Nothing. No surprise there: his hands and feet were blue and his skin had taken on a waxy, translucent look. She hadn’t seen him much in the last five months. Now, without the animation of Life, she barely recognized him. Suddenly the room seemed very close, and she didn’t resent Dahleven’s offer of a hand to help her rise.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Just stepping back from the body had helped.

  “Let’s go.” Dahleven started to pull her away. “I want to talk to Halla if she’s able, and Helbreden will be able to discern more than I can from this.”

  Celia’s gaze fell again on the unmade bed with its rumpled sheets. It was early in the evening for a man to be sleeping. “Wait.” She stepped carefully around Eirik and bent to sniff the sheets. “I thought so,” she said, straightening. “Halla was doing more than subbing for Eirik’s usual chaperone.”

  *

  Ragni wandered down a long corridor and turned left at the next juncture. He’d left the Great Hall not long after Dahleven, enduring various slaps on the back and ribald jokes as he departed. The others were confident he left to join Utta, who had left the festivities as soon as courtesy would permit. No one, including their parents, expected them to wait for the official betrothal. He didn’t confide the real reason for his departure: the drinking and wagering had no interest for him. The evening had dragged, with thoughts of Saeun intruding painfully. The feel of her emotions remained sharply etched on his heart: playful, serious, hot with pleasure.

  And fearful. That last memory scalded.

  It wasn’t possible she was dead.

  He roamed the passageways, not caring where his feet led him. He was too restless to return to his apartments. He thought about checking on Eirik’s murder, but he doubted Dahleven needed his help or wanted another nose poking into the matter. That inquiry had best be conducted quietly.

  He found himself unexpectedly around the corner from the quarters reserved for the other Jarls. Utta was just down the hall. What does she think about this marriage our fathers have arranged? He’d never wondered before. Marrying into the Kon’s family was widely assumed to be a privilege and an honor. The position carried power, but it also bore a price that few considered. Utta would understand that better than most, being a Jarl’s daughter, but now he wondered if this marriage was welcome to her. Magnus was a good man. Ragni doubted he would force his daughter to wed against her will, but did she want this marriage? Did she want him? How can she? We barely know each other.

  She’d do her duty, and that duty required her to make a place for herself in a new family. The Kon’s family. She no doubt had hoped to make a good start, and he had already embarrassed her publicly by being late to take his place beside her at the feast.

  Had Utta heard tales of his involvement with Saeun? They’d been discrete, but rumor had as many lives as a cat and came in just as many colors. But that alone would provide no provocation; men and women alike took lovers before they married.

  Had Utta left a lover behind at home?

  Ragni found himself in front of her door. He stood there, staring at the dark carved wood. It was late. Too late to call on a young woman with any courtesy. A guard assigned to this level rounded the corner and gave him a knowing grin. Ragni cursed under his breath. To back off now would brand him a lackwit or a willow-wand.

  Ragni raised his hand and knocked.

  *

  Dahleven pressed his lips together tightly as he ushered Celia out of Eirik’s room with a hand on her back. She seemed steady now, but she was still pale. He’d known it was a mistake to allow her to accompany him. As if I had a choice. Celia could be very stubborn. She would not have accepted exclusion from this with good grace.

/>   Helbreden had arrived and was kneeling, talking to Halla. He did not look happy. Then he saw Dahleven and rose to his full, rather unimpressive, height. He had to tilt his head back to look Dahleven in the eye. “You must know, My lord, I’m not accustomed to being called out in the middle of the night to attend to servants.” He tsked. “Though of course I’m honored to serve you in any way I can. This is a most interesting case, indeed, and you were right to summon me. What I cannot guess is why anyone would bother to poison a servant. And with hedugress yet!”

  “Helbreden,” Dahleven said, interrupting the Healer’s nattering. Normally he had as little to do with the man as possible, but his knowledge of poisons was considerable. “Will Halla survive?” If the maid was in imminent danger, he’d have to question her at once.

  “No, no.” Helbreden shook his head.

  Halla looked up at the Healer with wide, startled eyes.

  Helbreden, noticing, gave a little chuckle, “No, she’ll be fine. She’ll be uncomfortable for some days but she’ll live. Hedugress is very dose specific. If you don’t take enough to kill you at once, you’ll only wish you were dead.” Helbreden chuckled.

  Halla groaned and clutched her belly.

  “She won’t even get to enjoy the euphoric effects that come with the higher dose,” the Healer added.

  “Then I’ll talk to her later.” Dahleven singled out two guards. “Take her to a private room in the servants’ hall and find a woman to stay with her. And I want one of you to stay posted outside at all times.” One of the guards sighed and Dahleven’s temper flared. “Is the Kon’s service too onerous for you, Pinder?”

  The man stiffened. “No, my lord.”

  “Good. You can take first watch, then. Proceed.”

  The two guards urged Halla to her feet with exaggerated gentleness and half supported her down the hall. Dahleven turned to Helbreden. “I would have you examine Eirik’s body. And I’d like to know if the poison is in the wine they apparently drank together.”

  For once Helbreden was brief. “Yes, my lord.”

  “My Lord Dahleven!” Another guard in Neven’s green livery was hurrying toward them, his eyes wide and urgent.

  Now what?

  *

  Utta’s maid narrowly opened the door and gave Ragni a disapproving glare before announcing him to her mistress.

  Ragni winced. What was he doing here? What good could possibly come of calling on Utta this late?

  From within, Ragni heard Utta’s low voice granting him entrance. The maid gave him another dark look as she swung the door wide to admit him. Utta sat by the fire in a warm and comfortable looking robe, her medium brown hair unbound, falling in waves to her waist. The face she turned to him was neutral, unreadable.

  “Leave us,” she told her maid.

  Ragni didn’t look to see the maid’s undoubtedly displeased expression. He just waited for the “Yes, my lady,” and the click of the door latch. Even then he didn’t speak. Utta probably expected a glib excuse. In former days he might have offered one. He’d seldom had any trouble charming a young woman out of a pout and into his bed. But that hardly seemed right—not if they were to go on well together as husband and wife.

  She knew how to wait. She didn’t fill the silence with falsely cheerful chatter or sharp words; she just gestured to the other chair by the fire and waited for him to explain.

  What had he thought to say to her? What did she want to hear? Ragni opened his Empathy to her. Her emotions were a swirl of anger, embarrassment, and curiosity. But uppermost was dread. Dread? She feared him? Or was it the long years of an uncertain future that troubled her? Well, he’d given her little reason to look forward with hope.

  He could apologize; women often softened to that. But he’d done nothing he ought to apologize for, and he suspected Utta was too shrewd to be distracted with the usual cozening. Suddenly he could almost hear Saeun’s exasperated voice advising him: Perhaps you should try telling her the truth.

  He almost smiled. Almost. Saeun had always demanded the best from him.

  I’ll try, he promised her. He didn’t expect full accord with Utta. His father and mother provided no expectation of that, but they had always dealt with each other in a straightforward manner. It seemed a good pattern to follow.

  “It must have been difficult for you this evening,” he said. “I …regret the embarrassment you suffered.” If anything, Utta seemed to become more angry, but he could tell she was trying to clamp down on her feelings. Does she think I’m lying?

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

  “Father Wirmund called me aside at the last moment.” He felt a knot of anxiety within her relax, but he didn’t spend time wondering about it. He wanted to finish. Saeun would expect it of him. “He told me my lover was dead.”

  He’d surprised her. “Your lover? What happened?”

  Ragni hesitated for a brief moment. His father would likely prefer he keep this to himself, but Utta deserved the truth. “You might as well know it all. You may have already heard some rumor of it. Saeun stood accused of using unsanctioned magic, and she fled …into the storm.” His voice cracked. Lord and Lady! Ragni looked away, wide-eyed into the fire, trying to keep the unwanted moisture in his eyes from spilling. He would not weep!

  “Is he sure? Perhaps she took shelter somewhere?”

  Was she really concerned? Or was she wondering if her competition was truly gone? Ragni reached out to read her but his grief keep him from feeling anything from Utta. He struggled to get his unruly heart under control. He finally looked back at her, and her expression was gentle.

  “He’s sure. I don’t want to believe it. I’d like to imagine she has a magical amulet that would hide her from the Trackers and Finders, but I know how unlikely that is.”

  Utta was quiet a moment. “She was more than a diversion to you. You loved her. Love her.”

  He remained silent. How stupid was he, to confess his love for another woman to his future bride?

  After a moment Utta continued. “But such magic is possible, isn’t it, however unlikely?”

  Ragni looked at her with surprise.

  Utta gave him a small smile. “I expect you to take lovers from time to time. How could you not? You may even choose to have an elskerinne. But a tragic lost love?” She shook her head. After a pause she asked, “Who might know if she had such an amulet? Was she a Daughter of Freya?”

  Stunned that he hadn’t asked himself that question before, Ragni shook his head. “I don’t know.” Utta’s words kindled hope again. Perhaps Saeun could have an amulet that concealed her from Celia’s Talent. The Daughters of Freya had made others. He’d taken one from Thora once. Its purpose had been different, but it showed that such things were possible.

  Thora.

  She was a woman who knew things. She’d been around as long as Ragni could remember. She’d even been part of the army of nannies that had chased after Dahleven and himself before they came into their Talents. And Thora was a Daughter of Freya.

  A knock sounded at the door, breaking into Ragni’s thoughts. Utta’s maid returning to save her?

  “Come,” Utta called.

  The door opened, revealing one of Neven’s armsmen, an embroidered hawk swooping out of a field of green on his left shoulder. His face was rigid with shock. Grief and worry flowed from him, hitting Ragni like a blow to his chest. The armsman wouldn’t meet Ragni’s eyes. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lady. Father Ragnar, my Lord Dahleven sent me to find you. Your father—” the man broke off.

  Ragni stood abruptly, feeling draining from his body. “What?”

  The guard cleared his throat. “Kon Neven has collapsed.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SAEUN HELD HER breath, pressing back into the pillows of her nest-bed, and stared up into large, golden, not human, eyes. Eyes that stared back. Was this part of the Fey-marking? Was she imagining shadows in the corners now, and creatures in the walls? Suddenly they
disappeared. “Wait!” She stopped herself. What am I thinking? I don’t know what sort of being that thing is. But she spoke again. “Please?”

  The eyes reappeared, blinking open.

  Better to know, than wonder. Saeun drew a shaky breath. “Who are you?”

  The creature, or spirit, didn’t answer. The golden orbs blinked and continued staring.

  “I’m Synda. Who are you?”

  The other’s stare didn’t waver.

  Am I just talking to myself? “You have beautiful eyes.” Slowly she sat up. When the other didn’t flinch, she stood, keeping her gaze locked with her visitor’s. Standing, she was closer, but the angle was different, and she couldn’t see as well. Slowly the eyes moved until she had a better view between the twisted, woven branches of the ceiling. The eyes seemed to be embedded in the bark. Almost more to herself she murmured, “Are you part of the tree, I wonder? Or can you come out and say hello?”

  The eyes withdrew. To Saeun it looked as though part of the tree had moved and slowly slithered away. She lifted a small glow-globe from its stand and held it high, searching the ceiling. The globe was cool to the touch, and very heavy. She peered into the openings between the woven branches until her neck began to ache and her arms grew tired. The little globe threw scant light into the dark recesses of the living canopy. Finally she stopped her search and curled up on the foot of the bed.

  The eyes peered at her from the far rim where the bed seemed to grow out of the wall. They blinked in what looked like the knotted burl of a root.

  “Hello,” Saeun squeaked.

  “You greet me,” the root burl said, its voice like the clattering of branches in the wind. Its mouth looked like a folded crease in the knotted surface and barely moved as it spoke.

  “Yes,” Saeun answered, not sure of what else to say.

  “Why?”

  Why? It was in her room and it wanted to know why she spoke to it? But she wasn’t back in her brother’s holding anymore, or even Quartzholm. “It seemed the courteous thing to do.”