by Dora Machado
Harald.
The reedy kid Hato remembered wading in the lake and skipping stones on the flat waters had become not only an ingenious ruler, but also the most handsome of Uras’s sons. Sporting his father’s elegance, Ethan’s commanding height, Robert’s dazzling smile and Bren’s dark eyes, Harald the fair had turned heads wherever he went. His physical beauty eased the way for his duty, but the complicity eventually ruined him. His face never suffered from the ravages that ailed his soul, and yet he died a shattered man.
Harald had come to the hunt with high hopes and renewed determination. He had seen his father and two of his brothers die. He didn’t know what would happen if anyone survived the trial, but he strove to find the cure with indiscriminate passion, and that, Hato thought, made him the most wretched of all the brothers.
Pain was of no concern to Harald and neither was suffering. It was only after he had killed his share of prospects that he began to realize the weaknesses of the selection process, the wickedness of foes who wanted him to fail and had no qualms about planting false prospects on his trail, and the necessity to find a better way to test the mark’s authenticity. Regret set in. He went from fair Harald to mad Harald in days. All those deaths began to weigh heavily on his mind, pushing him into the madness before the ague arrived to claim his life.
Obsessed with the riddle, Harald had dodged Hato’s vigilance, fled Laonia and engaged in what turned out to be his last pilgrimage to Teos. After weeks of searching, Hato had met one of Teos’s black-rigged boats, a funerary barge sailing upriver to deliver Harald’s body to Laonia. The urn accompanying the body had contained Harald’s few worldly possessions: his ragged clothing, clippings of his unkempt beard, no coin, and a small sack filled with the mysterious powders labeled “brand finder.”
Upon further study and after weeks of experimentation, Hato had discovered why only days before his death, Harald had apparently relinquished all of his coin in exchange for the powders. It was able to detect even minute traces of ink on any kind of surface, including human flesh. The messengers from Teos had reported that Harald had been found half-dead at Teos’s gates, filthy, emaciated and destitute like a baseborn beggar. He had lasted only a few hours and died a terrible death despite the care of Teos’s best healers. The messengers had not been able to help Hato establish where Harald had purchased the powders.
It came as no surprise to Hato that Harald had died exactly three years after his brother Robert. Hato regretted he wasn’t there during Harald’s last hours. If Harald had experienced any revelations through the madness, they were lost. And that, too, was sad and troubling to Hato.
After Harald’s death, only Hato and Bren remained to fight the curse’s wretched legacy. As Laonia’s Chamber Lord, Hato presided over the funeral pyre of yet another Lord of Laonia and invested Bren with his grim responsibilities.
Although Hato had never been able to replicate the effectiveness of Harald’s powders, over the years, he had developed an alternative formula to detect ink on flesh. He had dispensed his formula to his best agents, so that they could test subjects quickly while in the field. He had trained his agents to perform the tests discreetly, infiltrating the women’s sleeping quarters when possible, using expensive sleep-inducing potions to promote stealth, and applying quick healing salves to conceal the damage.
Hato had kept Harald’s original powders for his exclusive use. He used them sparingly and only when other tests proved inconclusive. Even so, his supply had dwindled to worrisome levels. As he took the small pouch back from Lambage, he calculated he might have enough to perform maybe three more tests. What would happen if he ran out of Harald’s powders before he found the brand his lord sought?
He set aside the grim thoughts and focused on the here and now, approaching the bound woman on the table with caution. In the past, more than one of his test subjects had proved resistant to the sleep-inducing concentrate Bren insisted he used to spare the women pain. All too often, he had ended up with a split lip or a nasty bruise for his carelessness. The hefty matron before him proved to be harmless. She was snoring a trumpet concert.
“Were you discreet about these abductions?” Hato said.
“I tried, my lord, but it wasn’t easy,” Lambage said. “At the moment, these women believe they’re the victims of thieves looking for ransom. I kept them separate most of the time, but they’re not daft. With every day that passes, the risk is greater.”
Lambage was right. There were no secrets among the highborn. Rumors that the Lord of Laonia was abducting and killing women were rampant among the houses. Nobody mentioned the curse outright—the curse of curses made sure of that—but the hunt for the brand was openly known as the house of Uras’s cause.
Hato had avoided disaster by adding to the rumors, tempering truth with lies, promoting ignorance through misinformation and combating gossip with more gossip. To pacify highborn sensibilities, he had planted the only notion capable of alarming and appeasing his rank at the same time—the notion that the house of Uras hunted only baseborn branded. It allowed the highborn houses to indulge in their favorite pastime, scandal mongering, without having to do anything about the matter. Despite all of his precautions, Hato knew that he trekked on shifty territory. The slightest slip, a subtle change or an implication could turn the divided highborn houses into a rapacious pack.
“Where’s this woman from?” Hato asked.
“House of Siara,” Lambage said. “Third wife to the heir’s second cousin.”
“Riva’s newest vassals,” Hato said. “Siara lost his territory but gained a seat on Riva’s council. I suppose she could be a trap from Riva.”
“Or an excuse for the king to come after my lord with a charge of kidnapping or murder.”
“I wouldn’t put Riva beyond that,” Hato said. “Where’s her brand?”
Lambage blushed like a damn maiden. “On her bum.”
Duty and perversion were but a step away when one served a cursed lord. Hato rummaged through three layers of ruffled underskirts to uncover a wide expanse. The brand was just another dimple on the woman’s ample seat. Stretching the skin between two fingers, he examined it closely. It looked remarkably real.
He took the small brush, dipped it in Lambage’s bowl and, after shaking off the excess, painted a translucent trail over the small brand. The woman jerked. A puff of smoke rose from her sizzling skin. Tiny bubbles boiled, sparked and fizzed, gnawing on the mark like little gluttons. Fake or not, she would have a hard time sitting tomorrow.
“Now we wait,” Hato said. “Is the next one ready?”
Lambage turned to the next subject, a pretty girl laid out on the bench who was also already asleep. She kept giggling in her drug-induced dreams, an odd reaction that Hato had seen once or twice before. Better than wailing.
“Who is she?”
“The seventeenth daughter of the house of Ladin.”
“The old goat. He’s got so many daughters he won’t even know this one’s missing.”
Hato brushed the liquid on the woman’s wrist, saturating the mark, ignoring the subject’s frantic giggles. Subjects. That’s how he had learned to think of them in order to perform his duties. He tried to be swift, accurate and professional, but sometimes, when the scope of his foul obligations collided with his reticence, he faltered. The thought of Bren restored his aplomb. His duties were by far more noxious.
Because of the lack of space in the hull, the last subject lay on Hato’s pallet. The striking beauty was dressed in the finest silks. Her sleeve had been lowered to expose the remarkable brand she wore on her shoulder. She was also doubly bound.
“Yadire of Irugay,” Lambage said with awe. “Niece of the lord Irugay and by far the fiercest woman I’ve known.”
“Irugay is not an easy man to appease,” Hato said. “If he finds out that our lord has abducted his niece—”
“Let’s hope we can release her soon and without harm.” Lambage offered the bowl.
Hato dippe
d the brush in the bowl and did as he had done with the two other women.
“She said something interesting when I questioned her,” Lambage said. “She said that over the last ten years, the brand had ‘grown’ on her shoulder.”
“That’s a new one.” Hato finished his ministrations. “It’ll be a moot point if the powders find traces of ink.”
“What if it’s real, my lord? A craftsman can fake a brand, but nobody can make it grow like the woman reported. Nobody except ….”
“Who?”
“The Triad, my lord. One of the gods?”
Hato understood his agent’s unspoken fears. What hope did his lord have if even the gods decided to act against him?
“You never told us, my lord,” Lambage said. “You never said why the blight befell the house of Uras in the first place.”
Because he didn’t know. Because despite his efforts, Hato had never found or understood the reason for the curse. But Hato wasn’t about to admit his failures before Lambage or anybody else for that matter.
“The reason for the blight is not relevant to your work,” he said. “Your loyalty is to the Lord of Laonia.”
“Of course, my lord,” a visibly frazzled Lambage said.
Hato stomped to the steps. “Call me if there are any changes.”
He didn’t know what irked him the most, the prospect of a long, uncertain wait for the powders to produce results or the reality of his pathetic ignorance.
Chapter Seventy
LUSIELLE WAS DEEP IN THOUGHT, PONDERING everything she had learned from Elfu, when the Lady of Tolone strode into her room unannounced. The lady’s dazzling smile provided cover to her shrewd stare. Lusielle had learned to dodge appearance’s lures long ago. She called on the Strength to help her. She smoothed her skirt and nodded demurely, gesturing for the lady to sit on a chair opposite to hers.
The Lady of Tolone chose to remain standing. “We shall be arriving at Teos in a couple of days. When we get there, it will be best if you and your companions leave the barge in secret. I don’t want Tolone to be associated with your reckless deeds.”
“As you wish.”
“You think I’m weak,” she said, clasping her hands. “You think I don’t have the backbone to stand by my commitments.”
“If you’d like to know what I think, you have but to ask,” Lusielle said. “The Lord of Laonia has been very good to you and Tolone.”
“I’ve been good to Laonia, too,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been patient. For ten long years I honored the old marriage contract that was signed between Tolone and Laonia on the day I was born. I stood by Ethan, Robert and Harald. And for what? To watch Tolone die along with Laonia? How long was I expected to wait? All three sons of Uras died. They all died. And so will Brennus.”
“That might be true.” Lusielle’s belly twisted with fear for Bren. “But he has done everything in his power to help Tolone. He could use your help.”
“Why should I waste my precious resources on a doomed cause?”
“The difference between doom and grace is hope.”
“You want to discuss virtues with me?”
“Loyalty would be a good one.”
“I don’t mean to be crass,” Eleanor said, pacing the room. “But I don’t see a future for Bren and therefore, I don’t see him as my husband.”
“Or perhaps,” Lusielle said, “since your affections lay elsewhere, you don’t see him as your husband and therefore, you can’t think of a future that includes him.”
“Nobody speaks to me like that!”
“I’m not asking you to love him,” Lusielle said. “I’m asking you to be steadfast.”
Eleanor’s lips quivered with anger. “You’ve got a lot of gall.”
“It’s not gall, it’s more like faith.”
“Faith?”
“Faith that the fair Lady of Tolone’s reputation will live up to your person; that you are more than a pretty smile, a pretend ruler or someone’s nice-looking toy.”
The lady made for the door. “You may have forced me to take you to Teos, but I don’t have to stand your impertinence.”
“My personal shortcomings aside, you still have a chance to be loyal.”
The lady’s hand froze on the doorknob. “Why should I strive to be loyal in a world where nobody else is?”
“‘Cause you’re better than most?” Lusielle said. “‘Cause you’re a rare occurrence, a virtuous ruler and so is Laonia’s lord?”
“Virtue is but an indulgence,” Eleanor said, facing Lusielle. “It feels good, but it doesn’t get the job done. Don’t you think we all want to be good?”
“Only when it’s convenient.”
Eleanor hissed. “You righteous little wench. What do you know of the burdens of rule? You’ve never felt the weight of a whole people on your shoulders; the endless responsibilities that come with being someone like me; the expectations, the traditions, the code—”
“Some things can be changed for the better.”
“Changed?” Eleanor said. “How?”
“I don’t know how, not all the time, not just yet. But here’s something I really like about the Lord of Laonia: Despite his desperate circumstances, despite his personal affliction, he’s willing to stand up to Riva, to say that Riva’s rule is not absolute and tyranny is not unavoidable.”
“Riva is too powerful,” the other woman said. “Tolone is too weak.”
“Change can be slow, but it can happen, if you are willing to accept new ideas and build trust with others who care—”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?”
“What if I told you that there might be a way for Lord Brennus to prevail over his plight?” Lusielle said. “What if I told you that I have important information that might favor his chances? What if you knew that the Lord of Laonia was going to rule his territory for a lot longer than you think? Would you find common cause with him to keep Tolone and Laonia free?”
“Tolone and Laonia have been good together,” the lady admitted. “But tell me: what are the odds that what you claim to know can change Brennus’s fate? One in two? Three in five?”
Lusielle wanted to lie badly. “One in ten, maybe. I can’t say for sure.”
“You must think I’m the greatest fool around.”
“I think no such thing.”
“Oh, my.” The lady gawked. “By the Twins, you poor wretch. You like him! You’re in love with the Lord of Laonia!”
“It makes no difference if I am or not.”
“It’s why you’re willing to help him. It’s why you’re willing to tackle such poor odds. I didn’t think it was possible. I mean … he’s doomed, girl. He’s going to die!”
Lusielle thought she knew exactly how miserable a squirming worm would feel when suddenly dug out of the dirt. Fate was truly a twisted thing. Why was she committed to the task of bringing Eleanor closer to Bren, when the mere thought of the two of them together made her heart sick?
“And yet you don’t really care, do you?” The lady shook her head. “It’s kind of how I felt once, when I … with Tatyene. It made no sense and yet …. Forget it. It’s too late now. It would take years to build that kind of trust.”
“Or maybe only an instant.” Lusielle retrieved the vermillion shell from the remedy case and contemplated it for a moment. It was an object of odds and gambles, an effective if peculiar weapon. Could it serve to win a hand for freedom’s game?
She put the vermillion shell against her lips and blew into the trumpeted end.
“Did you just—” The lady stared. “Did you just erase that shell?”
“I did,” Lusielle said. “The evidence that condemned you and kept me safe is gone. And so that you know, there’s no second shell to this one. Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“I’ve taken the first step in trusting you,” Lusielle said. “Now you must strive to do the same. Trust yourself. Trust your ability to rule. Protect Laonia. Kick R
iva’s troops out of Tolone. Prevent them from landing on your shores, using your roads and reaching Laonia.”
“How—How could know about that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lusielle said.
“I—I can’t.” Eleanor wrung her hands. “If I change my mind now, Riva’s wrath will fall on Tolone.”
“Not if you ask Laonia for help. Not if you rely on the terms of the alliance. If you do, the lord Brennus will come. He will help you to protect your borders, but you have to act swiftly.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“I think you can,” Lusielle said. “Stop Riva’s invasion of Laonia now.”
* * *
Even though Lusielle was tired, she couldn’t sleep. The river sang a steady lullaby against the barge’s hull, a throaty song perfect to appease the senses; but her churning mind kept asking questions and her heart was equally bothersome. A heavy weight had settled on her chest, a constant worry that would not let up. Despite the steady current, a full rig of sails, and a favorable wind, the barge wasn’t going fast enough to match her heart’s urgency.
She lit the bedside lamp, reached for her remedy case and pulled out her annotation book. She ran her fingers over the healing leaves etched on the cover. Old, battered and worn, the little book measured about the length of her hand, although it was thick enough to feel both solid and stout.
The book’s stiff spine creaked as she opened it. The luminous pages welcomed her like an old friend. Her mother’s rounded calligraphy crammed the first few hundred pages, spelling out lists of ingredients and complex recipes. Angled annotations flanked orderly segments. Questions and comments crowded the margins.
Lusielle spotted some of her own work as well, notes she had added to her mother’s brews, new recipes she had concocted, lists of customers and the remedies she had mixed for them, detailed observations she had learned when testing different ingredients.