“It’s different with me. Amison had nothing to do with the Crimson League. He supported Zalski, and he doesn’t want that recalled. Zalski the sorcerer, like me. Zalski my mother’s twin….”
“It’ll be all right,” she whispered, adding, “Good luck,” and giving him a big bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. He started for the door. “Wait!” she called, and scooped up Melly, who had left her stool behind and was toddling over to pull books from the bottom shelves. “I rumpled your dress coat.”
She straightened him out with her free hand and kissed him again, on the lips this time. “Good luck,” she repeated. “You have no idea how much I admire you for doing this. I’d been wondering why you’re so adamant about taking your place at court, and I didn’t understand. I couldn’t, not until you told me about the council and the spot my sister and her cronies put the king in. I realized you’re doing it to help him. This is Ursa’s fault, in a very real way, and I’m just so grateful to you for helping set things right. You know how kind the king and queen have been to me.”
“It’s not just you, you know. They’ve looked out for me my entire life.”
“Well, they owed that to your parents, didn’t they? They would have watched over you anyway, that’s just how they are, but they did owe it to your parents. They never owed me a thing, not a blasted thing. I’m so ashamed of what Ursa’s done to them, and…. Val, thank you. Thank you ever so much.”
“Of course,” Vane stammered. He didn’t know what else to say. He had not been thinking of August when he offered to join the council. He had mainly been thinking of Zacry, and how much he longed for his mentor to take up the council instead. He had been thinking of the king, and how he wished Rexson had never been half so kind to him, so he could feel partly justified, just partly, in walking away from Herezoth. “Of course. Listen, I should go. It takes ten minutes to reach the king’s office from here.”
“I should put Melly down for her nap. Can you eat at the Palace tonight?”
“I have to, August. With Rexson and Gracia and Amison and God knows who else.”
“I understand.”
“I’d much rather eat with you.”
“Well, you can tell me all about it tomorrow when I drop by.”
Tomorrow was Tuesday, August’s day off, so she had arranged to visit Vane at his estate. Vane could not continue to visit August as he had before that point; once he appeared at court, he could not give the impression he was at the Palace every other day meeting with the king, or suspicions of a sordid, even magical, influence over the monarch were sure to arise. As Vane did not think it a good idea for August to drop by openly, he had installed a gate in the wrought iron fence around his gardens. Only he and August had keys to the lock, the thought being they could meet in the apple orchard beneath the cover of the trees, or in the gardener’s shack, where they could light a fire in the grate if the day were frigid.
August asked, “We won’t see each other as often from here on out, will we?”
“We’ll see each other plenty, don’t you worry. And we won’t have to be this cautious forever. I wouldn’t put you through that. It’s only until things get established a bit more.”
“I know,” she said. “I know, Val. Right now you need to go, or you’ll be late.”
As it happened, Vane did not arrive late, though he was the last to make his appearance. The king’s office was large enough that his desk stood abandoned in the corner; he and his nobles had seated themselves around the circular table of cedar with high-backed, cushioned chairs to match. The suit of armor that had set Dorane and Ursa to kidnap Rexson’s sons still hung on the wall, though the table no longer sat beneath it. Rexson wore his usual robes, as in the library, and the other nobles were dressed more or less in Vane’s style—including, it surprised him to see, Hayden Grissner, who sat next to the duke of Podrar. The Chief Adviser had taken what Vane supposed to be his usual seat on the king’s right.
Mason Greller was around sixty, with a face marred by pox marks and a full head of silver hair to compete with Ilana Porteg’s in sheen; it fell past his shoulders and was tied at his neck. Vane respected Greller, who had seemed genuinely pleased when they first met and whom Vane knew had sheltered his mother in the days of Zalski’s dictatorship. The boy was glad to see the only empty chair in the office was one space over from him, next to Hayden. The other noblemen, ranging in age from forty to around seventy, took every remaining seat around the table, all the way to the king’s left-hand side.
The Duke of Yangerton sat there. Vane could have recognized him without ever having seen the man. Laskenay and Valkin’s son was sure that not a soul in the room would be confused as to his identity—he looked too much like his father for that—and the narrowed, scrutinizing eyes of amber to Rexson’s left were the only such to be seen. No others achieved that degree of coldness.
The time of day provided better lighting than the previous occasion Vane had viewed Carson Amison. His face was unwrinkled, and as Vane had seen before, his tawny hair was graying. He wore a short beard meticulously groomed, and Vane discerned a powerful build beneath his tailored coat the color of sepia. To look at him plainly, Vane could comprehend how the women in the kitchens, even the younger ones, would engage in the conversation about Yangerton’s attractions he and August once overheard passing through the servants’ quarters.
The king rose and introduced the Duke of Ingleton. He spoke for Vane’s loyalty to Herezoth and also to his identity, specifying that he himself, with the late duchess the boy’s mother, had taken Vane as an infant to the woman who had raised him, and that he had kept himself informed of the boy ever since. Such explanations were a mere formality. No one, not even Amison, could argue Vane’s parentage to be other than it was, unless he wished to propose the youth were somehow the ghost of his father and not the man’s long lost son. As for Vane’s similarities to his mother, namely sorcery, no one dared to ask questions. The new duke took his seat, and the meeting started.
Amison made a request for greater funding for Yangerton from the crown. He cited that Yangerton’s population was growing faster than that of other cities, Podrar in particular, to which Mason Greller argued, “Taxes are paid by the person. Tax income should adjust for the greater numbers.”
“The increase is from birthrate, not immigration. Children are taxed at a third of the rate of adults. We all know there’s a surplus in the treasury.”
“These arguments will get us nowhere,” said Rexson, in his typical blunt fashion. “The funds you desire will have to come from Podrar. How much are you asking, Amison? And for what cause?”
“Ten thousand in gold. The parks need renovation and the City Hall repairs.”
Everyone present, except for Hayden, Greller, Vane, and the king, who knew the funds would be needed elsewhere, agreed the request seemed reasonable.
“I’d grant ten thousand if I could,” the king told Amison. “Podrar needs renovations itself, and requests have come in from a number of cities up north. I can grant seven, Yangerton.”
Amison appeared stunned for a moment, then close to seething. “I need ten.”
“And seven are available. Take care of City Hall first, then use what’s left for the parks.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, we’re discussing surplus funds.”
“Your request is not exorbitant, and I’ve told you I would give ten thousand if I had that amount at my disposal. I’ve had to earmark funds for other projects.”
The Duke of Yangerton sent Ingleton a significant glance, which Ingleton returned unblinkingly. “New projects?” suggested Amison.
“New projects,” the king conceded.
“And what projects are these?” Amison demanded.
“You’ll learn that along with the rest of the kingdom, when the time comes. Planning’s only in the early stages. Obstacles could still appear,” the king lied. Vane knew he was lying; he was talking about the Magic Council. Amison, however, was not about to s
urrender that easily.
“Obstacles like my need of those funds. I insist….”
“You’ll insist nothing. Seven thousand are available. Accept my regrets that the full ten are not, and be grateful I can dispense a reasonable percentage of what you asked. Your time to hold the floor is finished if you’ve no other business.”
The noblemen discussed other matters for an hour more. Ingleton contributed little, since nothing came up that affected him directly; he assumed he would do better to listen, observe, and familiarize himself with how such meetings generally proceeded. Amison continued to seethe, though he offered no further protestations. Between offhand remarks about the topic at hand he alternately glared at and studied the newcomer, while Ingleton stared right back to make plain that he refused to be bullied, youngest person in the room or no. He meant to imply that, his bloodline what it was, he could easily match Yangerton’s every move against him. The elder duke’s upturned lip proved he understood the message.
When the meeting drew to a close, the noblemen shook hands before they went their separate ways until dinner. Everyone welcomed Ingleton, offering assistance as he settled into his new station, including Amison, whose tone was insincere and who gripped Vane’s fingers so tightly he seemed determined to crush them. As the room’s occupants filed out, Hayden rustled through some papers to create an excuse for delay. Greller stayed behind as well, as did Rexson, and Vane observed, “That could have gone better.”
Greller said, “It went just fine. None of us expected you’d impress Amison.”
“I certainly never have,” announced Hayden with a shrug. “Don’t think anyone has.”
Vane massaged his aching hand. “He thinks I’m the reason he didn’t get his ten thousand. And frankly, he’s right. When he learns about the new council, he’ll assume I manipulated….”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Hayden. “He’s just a windbag.”
“A windbag with influence,” Greller clarified.
Hayden said, “Influence he’d be a fool to use against Ingleton after the battle of looks they just had. It made me exhausted just to watch, but Vane, you matched him blow for blow. If he was testing your resolve, you left him no doubt of it.”
“You handled him well,” Rexson agreed. “Amison being Amison, I’d say this couldn’t have gone better.”
“Unreal,” said Greller. “Absolutely unreal. I could swear I was reliving the past, watching your father and his in their day. They also had their, let’s name them differences of opinion.”
Hayden suggested, “Perhaps you shouldn’t come to dinner, Vane. You’ve seen enough of Amison for one day.”
“Oh, I’ll be there. I won’t let Yangerton imagine for a second he got under my skin, are you kidding? If it isn’t any trouble, Your Majesty, you’ll even seat me next to him. I’m sure he has questions for me, with accompanying comments. We might as well get everything in the open as soon as possible.”
“I agree that’s wise,” said Greller. “Your Majesty?”
“Beside Yangerton it is.”
CHAPTER TWO
Of Elopement and Intrigue
While the nobles were discussing the Duke of Yangerton, Bennie, with Gratton’s help, was unpacking her last boxes and putting up final decorations in her new home in Podrar: specifically, in Crescenton, Hayden’s district. Bennie had been relieved beyond belief when Hayden wrote her they had caught Dorane’s spy; when she knew, for certain, that Gratton was in the clear. She did not feel guilt for having doubted him, exactly—he had given sufficient cause—but she was gladder than she anticipated to learn he was no traitor, and her delight had nothing to do with Rexson or his children, or even with Kora’s safety. The guardsman himself was so horrified by his drunken stupor at that third-class inn he had hardly touched alcohol since, limiting himself to one glass of ale when he did drink.
Bennie’s cabin, though not large, might well have been Ursa’s mansion compared to her old room in Yangerton. It stayed warmer than she expected even now, in the heart of winter. It had a parlor and small washroom in addition to the bedroom and the kitchen, a narrow entrance hall, and even two outer doors, one of which led out back to the levees on the river. Gratton had helped her discover the place, move her few possessions, and visit antique and furniture shops to procure the things she lacked. Having lived frugally for a number of years, Bendelof had saved enough to buy mostly new pieces, though she found a few older ones that spoke to her spirit.
Through Gratton’s connections, she actually found work at one of the antique shops she patronized, and with the guardsman’s help, and Hayden’s, settled on an alias to use from that point out. Hayden advised her that would be wise, considering the stir the Magic Council would cause and the League’s old enemies it could bring forward, not to mention her recent infiltration of Arbora Anders’s secret society.
A conspiratorial grin split Gratton’s face as he said, “There you are, Miss Reesp.” He stepped down from a ladder he had used to hang a painting of a barn and cornfield above the roaring fire in the kitchen stove. Bennie had fallen in love with the artwork when she saw it in a boutique; it reminded her of her grandmother, of her childhood home in the farmlands out west.
“I’ve told you, call me Hannah.”
Bennie was stacking the last of the empty crates in the corner. She had borrowed them from Hayden, and Gratton had a horse and cart to return them the next day.
“All right, then, Hannah, what do you think? Straight enough?”
She left her work to join him before the fire and take his hand. “It’s perfect,” she said. “The entire place is perfect.”
“I don’t know about that,” he protested. “It’s livable, sure enough, and I’m glad you let Hayden and me get you situated, because I’ll be honest, damned if I thought you would. Everything just seems bloody big for one person, that’s the problem. You have space in the living room for more shelves and another chair or two, if you want them, and plenty of room for another wardrobe.”
Bendelof’s eyes twinkled. “Is that so?”
“You’ve made a grand mess of this, woman, and there’s only one way to fix it that I can see. I’ll have to marry you and move in here myself.”
Bennie’s mouth fell open. He dropped to one knee and pulled a gold band from his pocket.
“It was my grandmother’s. Hopefully it’ll fit, but I’ll get it sized if it doesn’t. I tried to compare it to a ring of yours.”
“What ring of mine?” she asked. “I never bought…. I don’t have….”
“That’s what I figured out. So what do you say? Bendelof Esper, will you marry me?”
“I will,” she whispered. She pulled him to his feet and kissed him, kissed him until the sound of the barn painting crashing to the floor jarred them apart. Gratton had not hung the thing as securely as he should have, but no damage was obvious from where they stood, and neither one of them cared the artwork had fallen.
“How am I this lucky you didn’t marry someone else?” he asked. “In all seriousness, you’re too good a catch to be waiting around. Someone should have snatched you years ago.”
“I never let anyone close enough to throw a hook. I lost a lot of people with the Crimson League, people I cared about: Ranler and Kansten, and Sedder. I worked with him here in Podrar before that ambush when he died. And that last day, when Laskenay…. And Neslan. Good God, Neslan.” Bennie wiped her face with the back of her hand; she was starting to tear up. “I’m sorry, Gratton. I’ve told you these stories, some of them more than once. I guess my point is that to risk that kind of loss a second time, risk losing someone I loved even more deeply than those others, I just…. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. The very thought terrified me, and the only way to avoid the chance was to keep any kind of romance out the picture. It wasn’t difficult. I’ve always been comfortable on my own. Life and the League taught me to fend for myself, and I wasn’t unhappy continuing down that path. It was familiar. Safe. I did have friends, a
nd a livelihood, and even if I hadn’t, just to be alive seemed such a miracle I could have been content.”
“And now?” he asked.
“I don’t look at life anymore the way I did last year. I could make it on my own if I had to, that’s still the way it was, but I wouldn’t choose that. It seems incredible to think I ever would. I’ve been a coward my whole life, that’s what it comes down to.”
He kissed her forehead. “If you’re a coward,” he said, “then I’m a crow. A bloody black crow flying away from stickmen in cornfields and vegetable gardens. That’s a fact, Bennie, and I say it with no shame.”
She kissed him on one cheek while she stroked his other. “I love you,” she told him.
“I love you more.”
“To think I once imagined you were Dorane’s spy.”
Gratton’s face turned gray. “You did not!”
“Can you blame me? I hardly knew you, and after you let the Fist escape from that awful inn that night…. I’d have been remiss not to suspect you. Why did you drink like that?”
Gratton turned defensive. “That’s the only time alcohol’s affected my career. I’d drink, and heavily, there’s no point denying that, but not on the job. I had too much self-respect. And I never once found myself incapacitated at work, not from a binge the night before.”
“So why did you drink that evening?”
“I thought I’d ruined any chance I had with you, asking those questions about the League. I knew you preferred to avoid the topic, and I not only brought it up, I took it too far. When you mentioned a hostage, and I figured out you meant yourself, and you felt so damn uncomfortable as to drink from that glass of ale you’d been staring at like it was poison ever since they brought it to you…. I figured I was finished, and for good, so I drank when you had to leave. It was a stupid choice.”
The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 31