“I might take a book out to the garden.”
“Wish I could do that.”
“Give Zacry my best. And tell him to kiss those darling babies for me. I tell you, I’ll be happy if ours is half as precious as either one of his.”
When Vane did get to the Palace and made his way to the library, where the council was scheduled to meet, he found Gratton outside the room and Francie the lone council member inside. She had a steeled and somber air about her, and was staring resolutely at a shelf of books.
“Should I call you Ingleton, like when we met the queen?”
“I suppose so.”
Zacry entered a moment later, and then Johann, and Hart and Casandra Quin accompanied by the king. Everyone took seats around a chestnut table placed in the library for the meeting, and Rexson explained why he had chosen each new councilor. He detailed at length his vision for the council, gave concrete figures to describe its budget, and after a full hour, he left. The next order of business was to select the council spokesman, the person who would serve as their mouthpiece before the crown and press. Casandra suggested Zacry, as the idea for the council had been inspired by his research, but he refused the nomination. He lacked access to the king.
“Ingleton, then,” said Johann. “If it’s accessibility to the royals we’re after, he’s the obvious choice.” Vane could not deny that. “What say you, Ingleton?”
Just what I need, a spokesman position to draw more attention.
“If that’s what the group wants, I’ll do it.”
Hart protested, “Isn’t he a bit controversial a figure to hawk our efforts to the press?”
“The most respected councils are the councils of nobility,” Casandra noted. “Always have been. I’m not sure Ingleton as spokesman wouldn’t send a powerful statement of validity.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Francie. She turned to Vane and spoke with apology in her tone, as though she had grazed his sleeve and read his reluctance to take the spokesmanship despite being seated across the table. “It’s indisputable, what Casandra says. And you’re the only one of us who could possibly know the king well enough to adapt our proposals to His Majesty’s way of thinking.”
“I’ll do it,” Vane repeated. “Is that decided then?” Everyone nodded, although Hart’s nod was hesitant. It was official; Vane became spokesman. They then appointed Johann council secretary and moved on to discuss the budget, to determine how many and what kinds of projects they might undertake.
Meanwhile, August had changed her plans for the day. Vane had warned her not to leave Oakdowns, since the king’s custom was to make public which of his councils met when, which meant the Podrar Bugle had noted every day for the past week and a half that the Magic Council’s first session was set for that afternoon. But August felt restless, growing more and more frightened of her pregnancy becoming public knowledge. She needed to talk to someone besides Vane about the baby, someone who was not Vane’s aunt, and the unexpected balminess of the day, combined with a blessed lapse in her nausea and the lack of any sort of crowd at the manor’s gate, proved too tempting to resist. She ordered her horse saddled and rode to Bendelof’s, praying the woman might be home.
Bendelof had tea in her kettle and bread in the oven. She was baking to distract herself from what, by now, had become unwavering belief in her sterility. She had seen one midwife the previous week and a second the day before, and neither’s opinion had been hopeful, though they admitted they could not prove her infertile. They had recommended certain herbs, which Bennie deemed ludicrous, and the first had suggested a fortuneteller, perhaps (ironically enough) one who read the crystal ball rather than cards. Bennie, though, was religious at heart, not superstitious; she thought fortunetellers ridiculous and fraudulent, especially after her stint masquerading as one. She went to the Temple instead, first railing at the Giver for spurning her devotion, then begging to understand what purpose taking children from her could possibly serve. Bennie hoped prayer might steel her spirit, and to a degree it had, but she still felt broken, without direction, and the sensation terrified her. She felt seventeen again, blind and captive in Zalski’s tower.
“I’m sorry to just drop in like this,” said August, as she joined her hostess in the kitchen. She wasn’t, though; just to be with Bennie, standing in a building not overrun with servants, had calmed August a great deal. To stare up at the barn painting above the stove made her feel comfortable.
“Oh, nonsense! You’re always welcome, you know that. Anyway, it’s a Tuesday. We usually see each other then, just had that break while you got over the flu.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said August. “I didn’t really have the flu.”
Bennie set cups on the table and poured the tea; she did so with a concerned look. “Are you ill? Have the doctors said it’s something serious?”
August dunked a sugar cube in her cup. “It wasn’t the flu. It was morning sickness.” Bennie dropped her cube on the table, and the duchess added, “I’m almost three months along.”
Bennie’s arm was shaking, so she put down the sugar spoon.
Don’t envy her. Come on, that accomplishes nothing.
“Congratulations.” Bennie wiped a tear from her eye, sure August would think it a tear of joy, and hugged her guest. “You’ll be a wonderful mother, just wonderful. Such a blessing…. Gracious, August! Gracious, who knows?”
“No one but Val, and that’s the trouble. I’ll be showing soon. We can’t hide it much longer, and with him being, well, him being what he is, it won’t be pleasant when the news gets out.”
“No, it probably won’t.” Bennie bit her lip, pushing her tea away. “It won’t be pleasant at all, but August, it’ll all be worth it in the end. I’ve never been so sure of anything as that. When that baby looks up at you, maybe with Laskenay’s ice blue eyes…. Could you go somewhere else for a while, do you think? Until the murmurs die down? Fontferry, under a different name, or Traigland?”
“I don’t want to flee like that. I feel like they win if I flee. But all the same, I don’t want to deal with the hate, and when I think of the king’s boys and what they went through, and that someone could hurt my child, because the baby’s sure to be a sorcerer like Val is…. Maybe it would be best to leave, or to send the baby off when it comes, if only for a year. But I, I don’t know that I could send my child off, not without going with it. I know Val’s mother did that, but I’m not Laskenay. I’m not that strong. Every time I look at her portrait in the sitting room I wonder what she would have thought of me….”
“You know,” said Bennie, “Gracia’s reminded me quite a bit of Laskenay the few times I’ve met her: her elegance, her overpowering air. Gracia’s more confident, I’d say, but Laskenay was just as resolved. She never doubted what needed to be done, only her ability to do it. They’re similar, those women, and you know the queen adores you…. Have you discussed this with your husband, about the baby?”
“We haven’t gotten that far. We’ve been trying to determine how and when to break the news, and to whom, and in what order. The king…. Bennie, he won’t be thrilled by the timing.”
“He’ll be overjoyed for you,” Bendelof assured her.
August was not convinced. She picked up her tea, trying not to shake, and as she raised it to her lips someone battered the front door. A heavy foot kicked the wood; the girl was so startled she bobbled her cup and burned her hands with hot liquid.
“No….” said Bendelof, paling.
Another kick, and they heard the door splinter in the entrance hall. August tapped the crystal around her neck three times in a panic. Her alarm would do no good—Vane thought she was at home—but she tapped the gem, and it glowed blue. Bendelof fumbled for a knife, and she and August sprinted to the living room, to the back door in its far wall, but someone was already there, an elegantly dressed man who kicked in the exit as the women approached. They shrank away as he entered, only to find three men at
their backs who had come in the front and carried crossbows.
August gaped at the nobleman who had entered through the back door. She recognized him before Bendelof did, knew the handsome curves of his face devoid of wrinkles though he neared fifty years of age. His graying hair and beard were as meticulously groomed as always.
“Yangerton,” she sputtered.
“Drop the knife,” he ordered Bendelof. “Drop it!”
The other men, dressed as though they were Amison’s servants, aimed their bows at the former Leaguesman. Her arm shaking, Bennie did as she was told.
“On your knees,” the duke directed. “Both of you.”
Bennie’s voice cracked as she told her guest, “Do as he says.”
Not this again, not after all this time. Good Giver, not now. Not with the girl here!
Bennie dropped to her knees, her hands behind her head. August followed her example, as dizzy and nauseated as at the height of her morning sickness. Amison’s servants came up and pulled the women to their feet, tying their hands behind their backs and gagging August with a silk handkerchief. Bendelof they passed to the duke, who held a dagger to her throat to keep her quiet.
Amison spoke in Bennie’s ear. “My apologies for invading your home like this. Allow me to explain: Ingleton’s an upstart, and he must be stopped. I won’t have him and his magic and his council destroying centuries of the government we’ve designed, centuries of noble families in power. The bloody magicked will not take command, not again. Ingleton must be humbled, must go somewhere, anywhere: Traigland seems willing enough to take in renegade sorcerers. So I’m going to kill off his tart for him, to lighten his baggage” (August whimpered through her gag) “and you, Mrs. Reesp, are going to make sure he gets the message I’m sending him, the message that he’s to disappear or his aunt will go the way of his wife, because I myself will be disappearing after this. Understood?”
Man alive, he doesn’t know me! I thought I was the one he…. I’d recognize him anywhere.
Amison had clearly been tailing August for some time, had been planning an assault. Bendelof spoke carefully, so as not to cut herself as her neck muscles bulged.
“Think this through, by God. You’ve got to think this through! Getting rid of Ingleton won’t destroy the council.”
“He’ll become its driving force, the whole kingdom knows that. Bring him down and its efficacy is gone. The magicked are weakened to the point of being a nonfactor. Who’ll lead them, Zacry Porteg? The man lives across an ocean. It’s Ingleton who’s the problem. As the man’s a bloody sorcerer and damn nigh untouchable, this is the only way to remove him from the scene. He knows my secret, see? He’s made that plain. I’m finished. I’ve nothing left to lose, but damn if I’m not taking what he loves most with me. Damn if he’ll appear at court again to triumph in his victory….”
The duke nodded to his accomplices, one of whom drew away to aim his bow at August. She screwed her eyes shut and braced herself.
“Wait!” pleaded Bennie. “Good Giver, wait a minute!”
Amison pressed his blade harder against Bennie’s throat. “Hold off,” he told his men. To the redhead: “You’ve something more to say?”
“You’ll want to hear it,” she gasped, and he relieved the pressure on her neck, though he kept his dagger against her carotid artery. Her head was spinning; she tried to collect herself, to find the courage to start talking. Images of Gratton kept floating before her mind.
You can do this. Stall for Vane. You saw August call him. Maybe he’ll get here in time to save you both, but if he doesn’t, you can do this. You can’t let this man kill August and her child.
“I’ve seen you before,” Bennie told the duke. “In the Palace. I remember the day Zalski fell, remember everything about it.”
Amison studied her face. His own grew contorted, in rapid succession, with effort, recognition, and hatred. “You’re Bendelof Esper.”
“Got your interest now?”
Amison gripped his dagger tighter than before. “Say what you will. And be quick.”
Now that she had begun—that was the difficult part, the first step—the words she needed issued from her mouth like a vomit. “You had influence under Zalski, more than you ever had beneath the kings. He was a sorcerer, true, and he changed the power structure, but he was a duke born and raised and had blood as noble as the best of them. You adapted to the new regime. You decided to support him, and he rewarded your goodwill. His strength was your strength, before I took that strength away. Me and Hayden Grissner, right? Heavens, you must loathe the very thought of the Peasant-Duke. Well, let me tell you a little secret: he and I are still chums. Kill me instead of August, and you’ll stick it to him as well as Ingleton. And the king, the king who dared give a country hick a title, you’ll stick it to him too.”
“Don’t lie to me! You don’t remain in contact with….”
“My necklace,” said Bennie. “I’m wearing it right now. It was his mother’s.”
Amison examined the charm, the rose, then broke its chain with a swipe of his dagger. “You’ve no place wearing that, you common piece of filth!”
The necklace flew across the room, sliding beneath the stove, and Bennie shook at the violence of the duke’s reaction. She said, “You saw her with it, didn’t you?”
“The queen wore it constantly.”
“Well, her son, and Hayden Grissner, they hardly know August. Her death won’t affect them like mine will. Let August go, and Ingleton will hear your message loud and clear when she delivers it, believe me. He won’t only have the threat against his aunt over his head, but his aunt and wife. He’d have more to lose by staying involved with that council you hate.”
“I’ll kill you both and leave a letter for Ingleton, how does that sound?”
“That’s a mistake,” said Bennie. “Killing his wife’s a mistake. He’ll just want vengeance, and he’ll stay at court to spite you. He’ll send his aunt off, sure, but he won’t leave. I’m telling you, you have to let August live! How can I make you see…?” And somehow, she knew. “How would Zalski have taken to someone killing his wife in an attempt to browbeat him? You wouldn’t know this, but Laskenay had her chance, in a warehouse.”
“He would not have taken well to Malzin’s death.”
“That’s why Laskenay spared the woman. Well, Ingleton’s his uncle’s nephew, you got that? He sure didn’t marry for public approval. He loves the girl. Let her live, unharmed, to tell him you let her live so that he’d go away, and they’ll both go away, him with her. You’ll get what you want—he’ll be gone, gone for good—but you have to let her live.”
CHAPTER TEN
Race to Bendelof’s
The Magic Council was discussing converting large schools—two or three in major cities—into institutions where children who worked magic studied with non-magicked classmates. Francie submitted the council might have to compensate families who withdrew their children because of the proposed changes. Casandra asked whether there was an Education Council; Vane said there was not. Johann was arguing they must select staff carefully and place dismissed teachers elsewhere when something moved against Vane’s chest.
The duke had grown so used to his crystal’s weight and bulk that he rarely gave the stone a passing thought. When it burned him and he pulled it out by its chain to see it glowing blue, for a second no one noticed.
“What’s that?” asked Hart Quin.
Vane’s eyes grew wide.
“Ingleton?” asked Zacry.
Vane tapped the crystal, and it returned to normal. He grabbed Zacry across the table. “August. The blue means August. She’s in trouble.”
Zacry jumped up. “Where is she?”
“Home. She’s at home, come on!”
“What?” said Francie. “What do you mean, trouble?”
Vane did not answer. He and Zacry tore from the library. Gratton waited for Francie in the corridor among a group of guardsmen, and Zacry grabbed his elbow as
he and Vane ran past. A second later, heedless of witnesses at the original site, the three men were standing just before the servants’ door. No one was there to mark them appear.
“What the…?” asked Gratton.
Vane pulled his companions out the Palace. “August needs help.”
“Right,” said the captain. He asked no explanation.
Five seconds more and the men were standing in the gardens at Vane’s estate, beneath one of the many trees that gave the site its name. A trail of stepping-stones led to a pond off to the right. To the left a dirt path ran to the manor, and behind them the flower garden bloomed: lilies and lilacs and pansies and snapdragons. Gratton drew his sword.
“What are we looking for?”
“August. Intruders. Any sign of a struggle…. The Giver’s harp, I wish I knew! She needs help, that’s all I can say. The crystal….”
Gratton wasted no time asking what Vane meant by any crystal; he tore off toward the lake. Meanwhile, a robin tweeted overhead, and a couple of pigeons waddled on the path to the manor, which Vane studied as closely as he could from a distance of two hundred yards. Everything seemed in order there. At least, no smoke was billowing from the windows or roofs.
“She was going to take a book out here.”
“Where?” asked Zacry.
“Under the trees? By the flowers?”
Zacry ran to the flower garden. Vane pushed farther into the woodsy sector of the grounds, cursing their size more vehemently than ever, peering around trunk after trunk for some sign or signal, or for August herself. He joined Gratton and Zacry where they had split up about five minutes later; all three were breathing hard from their sprints.
“Find anything?” Vane asked.
“Nothing,” barked Gratton.
“Not a leaf out of place,” Zacry said. “You sure she’s here?”
“She said….” Vane began, and then grew pale. “She could be inside. Bleeding out.”
“Bleeding out?” said Gratton.
The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 42