The Lascar’s Dagger

by Glenda Larke

  Her soft laugh made him nuzzle her neck for the sheer pleasure of her taste, her closeness and, yes, the danger. Anything not to think about the sublime stupidity of what they had done.

  “We court women seek pleasure in each other’s arms,” she explained.

  Blood rushed to his face. Glad she could not see the heat of his embarrassment in the dim light, he was nonetheless robbed of speech by the unabashed wantonness of her words. Giddy hells, Mathilda, don’t tell me anything more!

  She rolled over on to her stomach to look at him. “Oh, tush! What else is open to us before we marry? Our fathers demand we are chaste and ignorant until our husband is chosen for us. Our mothers and older sisters are wiser, and explain how to remain virginal and yet skilful in the ways of pleasure, so that we won’t be cold in the arms of our husbands, nor ignorant of how to satisfy them.”

  He blushed yet again; before this night he hadn’t even known he could. “I – I fear I am ignorant of, er, court … ways. But Mathilda, you’ve placed yourself in an impossible situation. You can only be a – a virgin once.”

  Va, he was suddenly having trouble managing his tongue. He took a deep breath and added, “You are about to marry a man of … experience. He will know, and your life could be endangered. Lowmeer is an unforgiving place and the Regal is an unforgiving man. You – no, we have been insanely unwise. It was my fault – I am the older and supposed to be the wiser, and I let this happen.”

  Va save us, how can I possibly undo this?

  His renewed horror at what he had done seeped into his tone, yet she did not appear worried. She shrugged, indifferent, and placed his hand over her breast. “There are ways to deceive even a monarch. A sachet of blood, herbs that tighten the skin. My maid, Aureen, is the daughter of the palace midwife. She knows these things and she’ll accompany me to Lowmeer. Don’t fear for me, Saker. And never underestimate me, because you’ll rue that day. Right now – I think I would like another memory to cherish. You see? I am wicked at heart.”

  “You are wonderful at heart. But I fear I have disappointed you. It has been a long while since I bedded a woman, and the result was by necessity, er, hasty.”

  “Then show me what it means when a man has bedded a woman less than an hour past.”

  Unable to refuse her anything, he obliged. He might as well be hung for a gold guildeen as for a brass bit.

  Two hours before dawn, as she dressed again in the unattractive grey gown, he asked, suddenly panicked, “Does Celandine know you are here?”

  “Yes, of course. How else could I be wearing her clothing?”

  “What if she betrays you?”

  She laughed. “Celandine would never do that.”

  “How can you be sure?” He started sweating again, with fear this time.

  She shrugged. “I know her well. I saved her from an awful fate. She owes me everything, truly, and a word from me could send her to the gibbet.”

  Startled by the words, he paused, then reached for his shirt. “Do – do you trust her? She heard our conversation yesterday afternoon, and now you’re going to ask her to help you fool a bridegroom!”

  “She’s the only one of my ladies I do trust.”

  “Everyone at court has a price.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m a king’s daughter. Everyone desires my favour, yet they’d throw me to the bears and the wolves if that would gain them my father’s favour, or my brother’s, instead. But Celandine? She’s the mouse that gets her crumbs from me, and from me alone. And I know things about her that she doesn’t want anyone else to know.”

  He was not reassured. “Be careful. The more dowdy the woman, the more easily she is seduced.”

  “You denigrate her.” She pulled on her snood and began to tuck her hair up under it. “She’s a very moral woman.”

  “Possibly. I do not know her. I’ve hardly spoken to her, or her to me. I’m just concerned for your welfare. You know she has a witchery. That’s why you asked me about glamours, isn’t it?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Her talent has been useful to me.”

  He paused, searching for the right words. “Milady, Mathilda, what we did tonight gave us a moment of – of paradise, but even paradise is said to have its savage bears and cunning wolves. If you were hurt because of what happened here…” He couldn’t express his dread and had to swallow back bile.

  “Would you tie my bodice, please?”

  It laced at the front, and his fingers fumbled as he obliged. She teased him, kissing his nose and chin and eyes as he tried to tie the bows. He could hardly breathe. Desire built in him again. And more: a deep anger against those who would treat her like a piece of merchandise to be bargained over.

  When he bent to pick up her cloak from where it lay on the floor, she straightened her skirts and said, “No ill shall come to me.”

  Her calm put him to shame. Gone was the young girl he’d first known; this was a woman facing an unpleasant destiny with a courage that reproached him. As he placed the mantle around her shoulders, he said, his voice husky, “You gave me a precious memory too. I will never forget. And I’ll always love you.”

  She stilled for a moment, regarding him. There was little in her expression to tell him what she was thinking. “You were right; that second time was better. A memory to last a lifetime. But as for the rest … You loved me enough to bed me, but not, I think, enough to sacrifice your life for me. You’d not come to Lowmeer even if you could.”

  The truth in her words seared more than he would have thought possible. He could have hunted for a way to be in her entourage. He could have begged the Pontifect to help him. But she was right. To go to Lowmeer, for an extended period of time? To watch her day after day married to a man like Regal Vilmar? To give up the adventure of his service to the Pontifect? He couldn’t do it.

  “It wouldn’t be possible,” he whispered at last.

  “No,” she agreed calmly. “Not for someone Shenat-born. I suspect I’ll be lucky if I can say my prayers celebrating the Way of the Oak. They are very austere, are they not, with their water prayers?” She walked to the door. “Do not come with me now. It would seem strange if you accompanied Celandine anywhere at this time of night. Besides, the passage is secure.”

  He nodded. There were guards at every entrance to the royal section of the palace, so the passageways within it were safe.

  Reluctant, he nodded his agreement. “Nor should this happen again. It’s too risky.” Oh, Va take it. That didn’t sound at all the way he meant it.

  He opened his mouth to try to explain, but she cut him short. “Indeed not.” Just as he unlatched the door for her, she added, “If your life is changed by what happened tonight, I will regret it deeply – but I’d do the same again.”

  “Mathilda…” He wanted to kiss her one more time, he wanted to utter more words of love, of support, of regret, but she had already turned her back, and pulled her hood around her face. She stepped out into the passage and was gone.

  The night’s events should have made him the happiest man alive. Instead, he’d never felt more wretched, more guilty, more shamed.

  And so certain that the two of them were teetering on the edge of disaster.

  19

  The Witan’s Downfall

  Prince Ryce ran downstairs to the King’s chambers, wondering just what had prompted a peremptory royal summons not long after dawn. He was never normally up this early, a fact his father knew full well.

  He was still fixing the ties on his doublet and adjusting the lace at his wrists when he arrived at the doors to the royal reception chamber. Va only knew what his hair looked like. He was fairly certain someone had spilled ale over his head the night before, although his memory was a little fuzzy about that.

  The two pikemen on duty swung open the door without a word and Ryce marched straight in. King Edwayn was standing at the window, watching the lightening sky. The lines at the corners of his lips were grim furrows bracketing the straight lin
e of his mouth.

  Va help me. I didn’t do anything really lackwitted last night, did I? Or was this going to be about Juster and that idiotic wager on the Golden Petrel?

  It was obviously one of those times when a little formality would not go amiss. “Your Majesty,” he said, and bowed. There was a pleasant smell of fresh bread in the air, wafting up from the kitchens, but he quelled his hunger. Now was not the time to think of food.

  “Ryce.” His father gave a terse nod. “Your spiritual adviser. Witan Saker Rampion.” He spat the name out as though he were talking about a pestilence.

  “Yes, sire?”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Decent enough fellow, for a cleric. Although I’m not in the habit of, um, of sharing an ale or a lady or a night in the town with a witan.”

  The King stared at him, his eyebrows raised to signal his lack of comprehension.

  “I meant, we’re hardly intimate friends,” Ryce said. This had to be even worse than he imagined.

  “Hmph. That’s good, because I want you to kill him.”

  What? He blinked, momentarily speechless. His knees wobbled and he wanted to sit, but Edwayn was standing, and not even he could sit before the King did.

  “Not today, but soon,” his father added, without looking his way.

  “Ah…” He hunted for a suitable answer, but little came to mind. Finally he settled for: “I would have thought that you had other, more competent, er, blackguards for the occasional murder of an, er, inconvenient fellow, Father. I can’t say I’ve had much … experience.”

  “No? I seem to remember a brawl in a tavern, a year ago.”

  “A low-class drunkard. And the man attacked me. Somehow I don’t think Rampion is likely to do that. He’s a very serious fellow. You do know he’s a skilled swordsman? I spar with him, every so often. I’d hate to fight him in earnest, because I’m by no means sure I would come out alive.” A’Va take it, you don’t want me dead, do you?

  “He’s that good?” The King swung round to look at him. He appeared taken aback. “What’s a witan doing with sword skills better than my son’s?”

  “He wears a Pashali sword,” he replied, not wanting to admit that Saker practised much more than he could be bothered to do. “Rare as fish feathers, those. Good steel. He also swims across the Throssel river and back at Dunnock Pier every morning, after prayers. Even in winter!”

  “Fortunately, I’m not asking you to fight him, or drown him, but to assassinate him! And you have to do it alone, and unobserved. I don’t want the faintest whisper of this becoming either tavern gossip or a court rumour, understand? Which is why I want you to do it, and not someone I can’t trust to keep their mouth shut when they’re in their cups. There can be no hint that Ardrone’s heir murdered a Va-Faith witan.”

  “Ah – no. Of course not. But Father, why is it … necessary? What’s he done?” Tell me this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up soon. I like the man!

  “Oh, he deserves what’s coming to him. I’m waiting for Valerian Fox to arrive, then I’ll explain. But this business of killing the varlet – that’s just something to remain between you and me. The Prime is not to know.”

  “No, of course not.” The idea of Fox knowing that the King had ordered the death of a cleric froze the blood in his veins. His father wasn’t losing his grip on sanity, was he?

  “Pox on that dog of a dastard!” Edwayn growled. “I’ve never heard of the Rampion family. They can’t be all that important. I hope he’s not influenced you to bad habits.”

  “Never seen him drunk. Doesn’t seem to visit the port brothels or fancy houses.” Ryce shrugged. “He’s supposed to be my spiritual adviser, but we made a sort of agreement, right at the beginning. If I want advice, I’ll tell him.”

  The King glowered at him.

  “Well, that’s true enough,” he said defensively. “If I need advice on moral or religious matters, he’s the person I’d ask, not Fox or whatsisname. Conrid Masterton.”

  The King looked alarmed. “Ryce, when it’s your backside that sits on the throne, don’t trust Shenat-born clerics. At least you can bribe a merchant, but one of them, or worse-still, a shrine-keeper?” He shook his head. “About them, you can never be certain. They hark back to past glories too much, to the old stories of earth magic and oak witchery.”

  “Pickles and hay, Father, we’ve got it better than Lowmians, dressed in black, being whipped for drunkenness, jailed for laying a bet on a cockfight, and listening to sermons three hours long telling us not to fornicate! I’d rather have Shenat-cleric piety than the puritanical austerity of a black-clad Lowmeer merchant.”

  The King snorted. “You would! But we shouldn’t let hedge-born hayseeds keep our faith hooked to oak trees. I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity looking out through the leaves of a hedge! I have my doubts about the teachings of the Way of the Oak. Lowmeer may have their water shrines, but at least they put more emphasis on the importance of obedience to Va, rather than the care of a few trees and soggy marshes.”

  Tush, he’s serious! This is Fox’s doing. Growing more and more curious about just what the witan had done, he said carefully, “Your Majesty, I think you listen too much to Prime Valerian and his Lowmian attitude to Va. His sermons are as dry as ash from the hearth.”

  The King glared at him, but the retort he was about to utter was suppressed by a knock at the door and Prime Fox entered, his black gown sweeping the wooden floorboards.

  Damn the fellow. Impeccably turned out, even at dawn. With a jaundiced eye, Ryce regarded the lacework on the Prime’s collar and cuffs, and the bright gemstones in his clerical pendants and rings. The lower clergy might dress plainly, but as they rose to the higher levels they didn’t stint on their baubles. The man keeps his king waiting while he puts his rings on? Arrogant coxcomb.

  Fox inclined his head to the King rather than bowing.

  King Edwayn switched his glare to him as the door closed. “Eminence,” he said, “I wished to see you about one of your clerics. Witan Saker Rampion, to be exact.”

  The Prime raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “Sire? If it’s about that affair on board Lord Juster’s ship—”

  “He ravished Lady Mathilda last night.”

  The words were so outrageous, it took a moment for Ryce to make sense of them. Ravished? No one would dare! Not Mathilda! In the palace? And above all, not the calm, controlled Rampion. He stared at his father in disbelief, wondering for a blink of an eye whether this was some sort of plot on the King’s part to diminish the status of the Pontificate. No, surely not.

  Valerian Fox was equally speechless. When he found his tongue, he sounded inane. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  As if Father would make such an accusation without being sure. At any other time, Ryce might have laughed, but there was nothing humorous in this. He had to swallow before he could speak. “Is she all right?” he asked. The look the King gave him told him the question was just as stupid as Fox’s.

  “Of course I’m sure!” King Edwayn snapped, answering the Prime. He took a deep breath and began to explain. “Rampion spoke to her yesterday about her betrothal to Regal Vilmar. She was upset and could not sleep. She decided to go to the chapel to pray. This was about midnight. Foolish girl chose to go alone. Unfortunately, Rampion was there.”

  “I’ll kill him!” Ryce said, his rage swamping his discretion.

  King Edwayn shot a furious look in his direction. “Va defend me from your witless thinking, Ryce. You will do no such thing. We must avoid scandal at all cost! She’s to marry the Regal and no wisp of a word of this must reach his ears.”

  “Forgive me,” Fox said, bowing his head in contrition. “If Rampion truly did this – this iniquitous deed, it is my fault. The Pontifect herself recommended him and I acquiesced, even though he was not known to me personally. I should have investigated further. I was told he was a man of considerable learning…”

  “And, it seems, no restraint on h
is filthy urges,” Edwayn said from between gritted teeth, “and certainly no respect for the Crown. What I need to know is what is to be done now.”

  Ryce had never seen him in a rage like this one: deadly, white hot, yet controlled. He wasn’t about to do anything without thinking through the consequences.

  “You would be within your rights to charge him with treason,” the Prime said slowly. “And have him executed.”

  “And just how would I do that and keep what happened quiet? A treason trial has to have three judges, at least one of them a senior cleric, and one a peer of the realm. No matter whom I chose, they could hold me to ransom with that secret – even if it was possible to hold a closed trial.”

  “I’m glad you don’t have such a low opinion of my discretion.”

  “You have a lot to lose, Fox. I appoint primes: I can rid myself of primes.”

  “I would have kept counsel without the threat.”

  Ryce blinked, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Was the Prime chiding the King?

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Edwayn answered testily. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you hold a partnership in Viscount Sturvent’s Spicerie Company. If this marriage to the Regal doesn’t go ahead, and there’s no bride price, you stand to lose almost as much as the Crown.”

  Ryce looked from one to the other, trying to absorb all that was said. Oh, Va, he thought. Why do I always feel one step behind? No matter how hard he tried, he seemed to miss half the nuances of conversation while it was in progress.

  The Prime ignored Edwayn’s statement. “Who else knows what Rampion has done?” he asked.

  “Besides the man himself? I doubt he told anyone. So just the three of us here, plus Mathilda and her handmaiden. Mathilda ran straight back to her rooms afterwards, woke this one woman and came directly to my bedchamber. She seems to think this particular handmaiden of hers can be trusted.”

  “Then perhaps we can contain it,” Fox said.