. . . and nearly walked straight into Isily.
Chapter Twenty Three
The Baroness At The Fair
She was just about the last person I expected to see at Chepstan Fair.
She was dressed in a dark blue traveling gown with long pointed sleeves under her mantle, laced in front and low cut in the style popular in Castabriel the last few years. But the front of it was paneled to allow for the growing bulge in her tummy. Behind her were three young maids in attendance, wearing similar traveling gowns. All young, pretty and, I suspected, extremely deadly.
“Oh, Baron Minalan,” he said, sweetly, her eyes flashing at me, “What a surprise meeting you here!”
I froze. I wanted to . . . I wanted to strike her. Shake her. Scream at her. But I knew that she thought I was still under her compulsions, and I realized that this was an ideal way to possibly learn of her further plans, as sickening as it was to do so.
It took a lot of control to bring my emotions in check – Ruderal took a step back, though I let nothing show on my face – but after the longest, hardest second of my life I forced a smile, as genuine as I could manage. She is your sister, I reminded myself. I’m supposed to think of her as my sister, not my rapist. That was the ruse.
I was almost appalled at myself at how easily I was able to slip on that mask. I forced myself to look at her pretty face smile.
“Ah! Baroness Isily! This is indeed a pleasant surprise! This is far from your estates in Greeflower,” I pointed out.
“I had some business in Wilderhall,” she dismissed. “I was in the region and remembered Baron Arathanial’s invitation to his fair. It would be rude of me not to take him up on his kind hospitality.”
“And is your lord husband well?” I asked, wondering just how long and how far I could bear this ruse. Her maids quietly retreated to the front of the stall, offering us privacy, although all three managed to keep their eyes on us while pretending to look at hats. One, a pretty brown-haired girl, seemed to be studying me, as if I might spring at her mistress at any moment. Pretty brown eyes, and familiar. Definitely an assassin, even if the others were not.
“He is,” she agreed, blinking slowly. “Busy at his scrolls and spells, and running our estates. I see him so rarely. It seemed like a good time to conduct some business, before the heat of the summer and my pregnancy makes such things difficult. Yet he is excited at the prospect of his new heir,” she said, patting her belly.
The belly where my baby was growing.
“I do wish him good health,” I said, still smiling. I was speaking of the child, of course.
“And your lady wife? How is Baroness Alya?”
“The Baroness is shopping at the moment in the drapers’ stalls,” I said, carefully, while trying not to sound like I was being careful. The last person I wanted this murderous bitch to encounter was my wife. “We will be staying for but a few more days, alas. More than that and it wouldcome to the attention of the Prince, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, yes, your internal exile,” she reminded me. “A pity. I’d like for you to visit Greenflower, sometime, and enjoy our hospitality. When the Prince’s wrath cools, perhaps,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“I do hope to take you up on the invitation someday,” I nodded. It’s harder than you think, pretending that you’re enthralled. And that you like someone you want to strangle.
“And what do you plan on spending your summer doing . . . really?” she asked, fishing for information. I didn’t hesitate. I told her the truth, as little as I could get away with, just as I would have under her spell. I just took care not mention any of my more sensitive projects, if I could help it.
“I’m overseeing a clandestine war through proxies against the Lord of Sashtalia. Even now I have warmagi preparing to assault a few fortresses in Rolone, in support of my friend Arathanial’s efforts.”
“What a daring and clandestine action,” she cooed, admirably. “I won’t breathe a word of it, of course. Such wars are so dull and boring. My husband’s own researches have been fascinating, I must admit. While the details are technical, and not for such common environs as this, I would dearly love to discuss them with you.”
“That would be delightful,” my treacherous mouth said of its own accord. It was having an easier time with the ruse than my mind was, thankfully. She’s just another pretty noblewoman, I reminded myself.
“Perhaps you’ll join me for a cup this evening so that I might enlighten you,” she suggested, forcefully. I felt a tiny twinge of magical force emanating from her and realized that she was trying to ensure my compliance. “They are most interesting, and should be brought to the Spellmonger’s attention.” The way she was swaying her boobs in front of me, that wasn’t all that desired the Spellmonger’s attention.
“I would be honored,” my mouth said, and sealed my fate. I felt nauseated.
“I’ve rented a canopy behind the listfield,” she offered. “Much more private, I’ve found, than an inn. Join me there at midnight. And I think the discussion would bore your pretty wife. Perhaps she should retire early.”
“Perhaps she should. I look forward to it, Baroness.”
“As do I, Baron,” she smiled, wickedly. She was clearly enjoying the manipulation, the control, and the power she had over me. I wanted to vomit. She turned and gave me an alluring look over her shoulder before leading her maids away, a sassy wiggle of her bottom implying her intentions for the evening.
I stood there, that stupid smile on my face, numb, as her maids followed her, the brown haired girl giving me a knowing look.
“That seemed . . . awkward, Master,” Ruderal observed, thoughtfully.
“You have no idea . . . or maybe you do,” I admitted. “Tell me, what did you see in her pattern?”
He shuddered a bit. “She’s not a particularly nice lady,” he decided.
“True. Go on.”
“She likes you . . . a lot. She has all sorts of ideas about you. Some of them are . . . intense. She thinks a lot of herself. She has lots of plans. And she doesn’t mind hurting people.”
“That’s it?”
He shrugged. “I only saw her for a few moments. The longer I know someone’s pattern, the more I know about them.”
“Doesn’t that make life complicated?”
“In some ways. In others, it makes it easier. But if I keep my mouth shut about it, most of the time, I can get by.”
“Ruderal, you’ve discovered one of the central tenants of wisdom. And what is my pattern telling you right now?” I asked.
“That you really, really don’t like her,” he reported, dutifully. “You hate her. She scares you. A lot. She makes you feel guilty and afraid. You want to hurt her, but part of you doesn’t, either, and that part of you is making you anxious and guilty.”
I looked at him and blinked. “Yes, I can see why you’d need to learn discretion, with that gift.”
“What’s discretion?” he asked, curious.
“Keeping your mouth shut,” I smiled. “A good apprentice holds his master’s secrets more dearly than his own. Can I count on your discretion in this?”
He nodded, solemnly. “Of course, Master. I won’t tell anyone.”
“In this case, it could mean lives, if you do. She is one of those dangerous magi I spoke of, only I cannot act against her yet.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know what her plan is, yet. So I need to find out. But doing so is going to be . . .”
“Awkward?” he offered.
“Exactly. So I need to conduct a spy mission, of sorts. Let’s keep this between us, for now. Ah, it looks like it’s done.”
The felter had missed the understated drama, having no appreciation to how close to having a magical battle erupt in his stall he had been. He had been busily stitching my order, and presented to me with some ceremony.
It was a hat – a green pointed hat, without the three smaller points a journeyman mage would wear. An apprentice’s hat, in
Sevendor green. I’d have one of the castle ladies embroider some snowflakes on it when we returned, I decided.
Ruderal was impressed, and insisted on seeing himself in the felter’s tiny looking glass. We walked back to camp with him nearly strutting in his new clothes.
We enjoyed dinner that night with Sire Sigalan and his sister Sarsa. She was married to one of my vassals, Roncil of Northwood, and had traveled to the fair to supply her distant domain and visit her kin. It was a grand time in Sigalan’s pavilion. It was a much grander pavilion than he’d enjoyed the last time I’d seen him at the fair, too, a spoil from one of the knights who had followed Sire Gimbal into exile. The fare was richer and more plentiful at his table, and he had opened a barrel of wine, not mere mead as he was used to. The guards at the encampment gate were in fine chainmail, carrying halberds and wearing new matching helms, too.
We talked until the moon rose, trading news of our domains and the struggles we both encountered organizing and ordering them. Sigalan was no baron – technically he was a knight banneret, but he had little desire to add to his demesne or join the peerage. He merely wanted to be strong enough to resist the pressure to take Sendaria’s colors. That made Trestendor’s encampment a most excellent place for gossip and news at the fair.
The news was mostly good – the re-built village of Gosset was thriving, his new domains were producing, and the lourdin mine near his hilltop stronghold was providing a steady income. He was even contemplating taking a wife, referencing his sister’s happy match. He was a young lord, still, only a few years older than me. Alya, of course, immediately sensed an opportunity and huddled with Sarsa to compile potential prospects.
I trusted the man to make his own choice of wife, but the news that he was inclined to wed was good. It proved Sarsa and Roncil were getting along. My alliance with Sigalan was based in part on that marriage, and it was good to hear that the Riverlord noblewoman was so taken with her Wilderlands knight. The domain was doing better, too, after raids and near-insurrection last year. It had been among the first to use the plowing wands. The crops were already leaping out of the ground two weeks early.
It was a grand night, and I linger as long as I could, trying to put off the inevitable meeting. When the time came, and Alya started yawning, I walked her slowly back to our tent, explaining that I had some further business to conduct.
She was already sleepy from the food and wineand merriment. She did not object to letting her go to bed, nor was she concerned that I would tarry and talk, long into the night. We were at the fair, after all and that’s where business got done.
Of course, the business I had to do was horrifying to me. I stopped before she retired, and I embraced her.
“Mmmm, you’re warm,” she said, a little tipsily.
“You know I love you,” I said, looking into her eyes.
“You’d better,” she nodded, yawning.
“Sometimes I have to do things I don’t like, to protect you and the children,” I said, not really certain where I was leading myself. I suppose I was just trying to prepare myself for my meeting.
“I know, Min,” she said, sympathetically, as she pulled off her gown. “I’m sorry about that. But you do a good job.”
“I try,” I promised. “I just want you to know, even though I have to do them, I don’t like them. And sometimes I really, really don’t want to do them.”
“But you do, because you’re a good man,” she said. It made me feel sick to my stomach. “You always do the right thing, even if it’s hard. It’s one of the things I admire about you,” she admitted. “You could have run away from Boval Castle, but you didn’t. You could have run away from . . . me, and Minalyan, but you didn’t. You could have left the Bovali to languish at the coast, but you didn’t. You could have forgotten your promise to the Kasari, but you didn’t.
“Every time you’ve been faced with a difficult task, Min, you’ve done what you had to do to protect those who were important to you. I don’t really know what’s been bothering you of late,” she said, looking away, “but even though you’ve been trying to hide it, I know it’s there, hurting you. And I know you have your reasons for not telling me – I can accept that. Secrets are part of a spellmonger’s life. And I am the Spellmonger’s wife.”
“But—”
“Let me finish,” she said, placing a finger on my lips and nearly missing. “I trust you to do the right thing, even when it’s hard, because that’s what you do,” she said, with emphasis. “Even when it hurts you. You’re the smartest man I’ve ever met, the wisest, and I’ll never understand half of what you do, but I trust you to do the right thing, even when it feels bad. Hells, I don’t think I could talk you out of it,” she snorted.
“So if I have to—”
“Do it,” she insisted. “Do it, and if you don’t think I should know, don’t tell me.”
I felt like the absolute lowest form of life in the world.
“It’s kind of a spy thing—” I began, lamely.
“Then I definitely don’t want to know any more than I have to,” she assured me. “You do a lot to keep Sevendor safe. If it involves our security, then whatever it is, you have my blessing.” She kissed me warmly, the taste of wine heavy on her lips. “Now I have to go to bed. Quickly. And then perhaps throw up. I don’t think this child of yours likes wine,” she said, patting her still-trim belly affectionately.
I stumbled through the darkness toward the listfield like a condemned man seeking the gallows, passing revelers and mysterious shadows without seeing them. I tried to think of any way I could avoid this, any way I could evade the inevitable encounter, but with every step I took I knew that I was committed, now. Worse, Alya had blessed my poor rationalization of what I was about to do.
If I wanted to learn Isily’s plans, I needed to have her trust. Right now I did, because she thought she had power over me, and didn’t have the self-control not to brag and boast. Her confidence was my best weapon. And the best way to keep her trust was to allow her to think I was still enthralled to her.
I forced aside the revulsion I felt about the idea. After what she had done to me, stealing not just my virtue but also my seed without my consent, I felt righteous anger that tempted my lesser nature. I felt pain and anguish at what had been taken from me. I felt insulted at her appearance here, where she knew I was likely to travel. I felt even more fury for the life of the poor child she had conceived, a child that was doomed to a life under her manipulative control. A child I could not even acknowledge.
I composed myself the best I could, even using a few minor warmagic spells to control my emotions and focus on the mission. True, I wasn’t going to kill anyone, I was going to purposefully be unfaithful to my wife, but it was a battle nonetheless. Using battle preparation charms seemed perfectly reasonable.
At last I could delay no longer. I was on a mission, I reminded myself. A mission of critical importance.
I found her pavilion in the nicer part of the encampment where visiting nobility or professional jousters could rent a handsome canopy from one of Arathanial’s attendants for a mildly large fee. The tent came complete with a bed frame, a bucket for water, a kettle and firewood, and hampers of food and butts of wine and ale could be arranged with his victualers. It appeared from her baggage that Baroness Isily had taken advantage of all of the amenities.
Isily had chosen the most secluded pavilion in the lot, likely paying for the privilege of privacy – but she took no chances. The tent was warded and guarded powerfully, I saw, as I studied it with magesight. Arcane barriers and charms against noise encircled the structure, and a dome of shimmering force ensured that no one would walk by and even consider going in on a whim.
The outer flap was open, a lantern hanging from the pole over a small banner with her husband’s arms. Great, no magelight – which meant Briga would be witnessing my infidelity this time. At least, some sadistic part of me snickered, if I was forced to be unfaithful, I would be making a cuckold of
Dunselen . . . again.
I don’t know why that helped me perform my mission, but it did.
Isily was waiting for me, attended by one of her maids – the brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. The girl smiled knowingly at me and her mistress before pouring wine and retiring outside. Isily – who had shed her traveling clothes for a translucent muslin gown under her mantle – sat on her bed, awaiting me.
“Thank you for coming, Minalan,” she smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you would.”
“How could I fail, if you needed me? I merely had to put my wife to bed.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I had business to conduct,” I said, taking a seat in a folding chair next to her bed. Out of reach.
“So you do,” she said, arching an eyebrow, and lounging on one elbow. Her gown hid very little. “I was not jesting about Dunselen’s work. He has been intently studying for months, now, ever since the Magic Fair. And he’s been doing experiments for at least a year and a half.”
“And just what does captivate the old piss-pot’s attention so?” I asked, with authentic contempt.
“Why, the Snowstone spell, of course. He’s quite obsessed with it. He’s seen what you can do with your toys, and he’s mad to re-create the spell. He seems to think it will establish him as the greatest thaumaturge of all time.”
“It might,” I conceded. “Considering I don’t understand how I did it myself.”
“He has been collecting information on the spell for years, now. Every factor he could find, compiled in dozens of scrolls. He thinks that he’s close to an answer.”
“Theoretical?”
“Yes, but he’s based them on some practical essays. He’s made a few encouraging trial runs. And he’s planning a major practical experiment in about . . . four months,” she said, rubbing her hand over her rotund belly.
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 39