“Please. Speak freely,” Rina said.
“Klaar is an isolated and independent place,” Hark said. “I think these facts have shaped the people in a special way. I have seen wealthy merchants sit side by side with pig sloppers in a tavern. I’m not saying we live in a classless society, and there is certainly a healthy respect for authority—especially for you, your grace—but there’s not an ugly animosity between those classes. There is little envy among the poor for the nobility—not to the point of hostility anyway, and for the most part, the upper elite don’t hold the peasantry in contempt as they do in other places.”
“I’d think this would be a point in Klaar’s favor,” Rina said.
“I heartily agree,” Hark said. “I would even venture to say that the people of Klaar are so tolerant and amiable that someone of high birth could carry on an intimate relationship with a commoner, and the local nobility wouldn’t even bat an eye.”
People cleared throats and averted gazes around the table. Rina went pink in the cheeks.
The bastard’s talking about Alem and Rina. Tosh had a sudden urge to smash his fist into Hark’s smug fucking face, bishop or not.
Hark held up a hand, placating, reasonable. “But this isn’t the point. In almost every way the people’s attitude in these matters is commendable. But as Dumo’s representative in the mortal realm, I must think of the souls of my flock and their moral health. Even in a place like Klaar with its relaxed attitudes toward societal norms, there must be . . . well . . . a line. I have to be able to tell my flock that even tolerance has its limits. Otherwise, what is Dumo’s church for, if not to show the difference between right and wrong, proper and improper?”
Rina let out a long sigh. Her smile fooled nobody. “And in what way do you believe we’ve crossed some line?”
“May I speak freely?”
“I’ve already said so.”
“Your personal castle guard are whores,” Hark said. “And your new chamberlain is their madam.”
Stasha Benadicta choked on a gasp before it had completely escaped her mouth.
Tosh stood abruptly, his chair falling back and hitting the floor loudly. He made fists and shot dagger eyes at the bishop.
“Please sit down, Tosh,” Rina said calmly.
After a tense pause, Tosh righted his chair and sat.
Rina turned back to the bishop, her eyes hard, meeting his. “Those ladies helped free Klaar of the Perranese. I couldn’t have done it alone. And whatever you think, they aren’t whores any longer. I trust them, and I need them.”
Hark held up his hands again, shaking his head. “I know, I know. I don’t doubt their courage.” He turned to Stasha. “And you have my word, that was not meant as an attack on you as a person, but I’ve spent a good part of my time here trying to keep the people of Klaar out of establishments like the Wounded Bird. If there’s one thing parishioners can’t stand, it’s hypocrisy among their church leadership. It’s about setting the proper example, you see.” He stood slowly. “This should not be interpreted as an act of disloyalty to Klaar. It isn’t, I promise. But fair or not, we’re judged by the company we keep. I can’t in good conscience serve on this council even if it is informal. I hope you understand, your grace.”
“You’ve made yourself clear.” Rina’s voice sounded strained. “If you wish to excuse yourself, I understand. Your honestly is blunt but appreciated.”
He nodded again, something a little closer to a bow this time. “Your grace.”
With that the bishop left. Rina sighed, wilted slightly in her chair. She smoothed her hair and tried to force a smile, but her face wasn’t going for it.
“Well,” Rina said. “I want it clear nobody is forced to serve on this council. If anyone else feels they need to depart, then by all means let me know.” She glanced quickly around the table. “No? That’s a relief. Now there are some other issues I’d like to—”
Baroness Caville cleared her throat, a sound midway between embarrassment and shame.
Rina looked at the old woman. “Emra?”
“I . . . I’m sorry,” the baroness said. “It’s just. Well, I attend Hark’s service every High Day. My husband and I were regulars. I still go when I can, and I observe all of the first-tier holidays and holy stations. If the bishop can’t . . . well . . . I don’t see how I can . . .” There seemed to be genuine anguish on her face.
“Oh.” The word left Rina breathlessly as if the air were being squashed out of her. “Obviously you need to do what you feel best.”
The look on Rina’s face almost made Tosh cry.
***
Two hours later they all stood and stretched.
“Thanks, everyone,” Rina said. “We did good work tonight. I’d like to meet again in a week or maybe ten days.”
She made a point to spend a moment with each person as they made their way out of the hall, sharing assurances or gratitude. She’d seen her father do this, shake a man’s hand, single him out, let him know he was an important part of the team. She felt a sudden pang at the thought of him.
Father, I’ve only glimpsed what it’s like to be in charge. I never knew. I wish you were here. I wish I didn’t have to do this.
She shook her head and tsked. Selfish thoughts like that solved nothing.
When the council had gone, she turned to see that Stasha had lagged behind. The woman was visibly troubled, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why.
“Don’t let Hark bother you,” Rina said.
Stasha laughed but it was obviously forced. “I was going to tell you the same thing.”
“I must admit, he did take me by surprise,” Rina said. “I should have paid better attention when Mother and Father dragged me to temple on High Day. I didn’t realize Dumo was such a prude.”
“I should have known,” Stasha said. “I took the job as chamberlain because I knew I could do it. It didn’t occur to me that having somebody like me around could reflect poorly on you.”
“Forget it,” Rina said. “The bishop was right about one thing. People around here don’t go out of their way to look down on others.”
“It’s not people around here I’m worried about, your grace,” Stasha said. “The king’s delegation arrives in two days.”
Rina swallowed hard. “Oh yeah. Shit.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was old snow and tightly packed, crunching beneath her feet with each step. Soon the thaw would come. Some said it had already started, just a bit slowly, the weather warming so gradually most people failed to notice until one day they’d look up and realized they were simply miserably cold instead of in dire peril of freezing to death or losing a foot or a hand to frostbite.
Not that it mattered at this altitude, where snow reigned eternally.
Still, the day was bright and the sky was blue, and Rina Veraiin had to get away from the castle before she killed either herself or everyone else. Servants scurried from nook to cranny, dusting and polishing anything that would hold still. Fresh flowers—where they’d found those, Rina couldn’t possibly guess—had been put into the best rooms for the coming guests. Cupboards and larders had been plundered throughout the city to prepare the best possible meals for the king’s representatives. Klaar was a simple place, but they were all determined to put their best foot forward.
But damn it, it makes me nervous. Everyone making a fuss as if Dumo himself were coming. Everyone needs to calm the fuck down.
Including herself. But knowing she needed to calm down and being able to do it were two entirely different things.
She looked back at the semicircle of men following her up the hill. A dozen of them with long spears. This was normally how a snow devil would be hunted, men taking the beast from all sides with long spears to stay out of reach. Tusks and claws. Both were deadly. The problem was when the expedition encountered a full hunter pack high on bloodlust. But they were well past the mating season, and so far that hadn’t happened. Rina had killed three lone rogues.
Anything to get away from that damn castle for a few hours. Besides, we need to clear the way for the miners.
Silver or no, even the heartiest toughneck would balk at the thought of a hungry snow devil. Drive them farther into the mountains, and send out word that the way was clear. Klaar’s mines were open for business. That was the plan anyway.
Rina also had other reasons for coming up the mountain.
She came to the stone marker and the steps winding upward. She was surprised that the last time she was here had become such a faded memory. Her bodyguard, Kork, had been dragging her through the driving snow. She’d been stunned by violence, crushed by grief as she left her dead parents behind. Her father had given Kork his final instructions: to take his only daughter into the mountains, where the reclusive wizard Weylan dwelled. Kork had completed his mission. It had cost him his life.
The snarl and the sound of crunching snow drew Rina’s attention back to the present.
The snow devil loped down the slope toward her, running hunched over like an ape, using the knuckles of its hands like another set of feet. Its fur was completely white, long tufts curling up from its eyebrows in the shape of horns. Tusks grew from its bottom jaw. Its eyes were red coals sizzling in its skull.
Rina tapped into the spirit, and the world slowed.
She watched the snow devil come toward her, measured its speed, calculated when it would leap. It was fast, vicious, and strong, but Rina felt no fear. There was only cold cunning as she visualized how she would meet it. Her hand was already moving back to the two-handed sword slung across her back.
When Kork died, she’d taken up his enormous two-handed blade. It was a ridiculous weapon for her, longer than she was tall, and under normal circumstances she’d barely been able to lift it. But with the strength of the bull tattoo, the sword had become flashing death. She’d lost the sword in her battle with the other ink mage but had found another in the castle’s armory, this one somewhat shorter so she could wear it across her back.
The snow devil growled and leapt.
She pulled the sword from its scabbard and in the same smooth motion sliced down through fur and flesh just to the left of the beast’s head into the meat of its shoulder, its growl twisting into a scream of surprise and agony.
The two halves flew past her on either side, landing a dozen feet away, blood staining the snow garish red.
The men with spears had arrived on the scene, and one knelt while pulling a long curved knife from his belt to remove the tusks. They’d fetch a nice price as curiosities in places like Merridan and Tul-Agnon.
“Up these stairs,” Rina told them. “We’re almost there.”
They followed her up the mountain.
She paused at the mouth of the cave. Kork’s body was still there, crusted with ice. She went to one knee, reached out with a shaking hand to touch the cold armor on his shoulder. She hadn’t expected such a sudden emotional response, but her eyes misted and a lump grew in her throat.
She paused a moment, composed herself, and then called back to the men behind her. “Build the pyres in the clear space at the cliff’s edge.”
“Yes, milady.”
The men sprang into action, unpacking tools and wood they’d carried on their backs up the stone stairway.
“And somebody light me a torch,” Rina said.
A few minutes later, she carried the torch into the depths of the cave. The dead wizard sat where she’d left him, frozen, looking more like a pale sculpture than someone who’d ever been alive. Rina knew little about Weylan. The wizard had been dying. His last act was to gift her with the magical tattoos that had changed her entire life.
She moved past the dead wizard and raised her torch to examine the shelves and tables behind him. Books, old and leather bound. Vials and jars containing . . . Well, who could guess? Powders, herbs, a container that seemed to be filled with dried eyeballs. Another sealed jar contained a pink mist that swirled within. Ingredients for fell and exotic potions.
In addition to laying Kork to rest, these items were the reason she’d come. Perhaps somewhere in the wizard’s books or other paraphernalia lay a clue to the ink mage tattoos. Rina had once been told that hundreds of different tattoos existed, maybe thousands. With just a few tattoos, Rina felt impossibly powerful. What must it be like for an ink mage with a score of tattoos? Or a hundred?
She considered the skeletal hand on her palm.
Some power is too much and too dark for anyone. I don’t want this.
Rina recalled Weylan’s warning that the power could be a warning. He’d asked her if she’d be able to step away, if she could let go of the spirit before she burned herself out.
I don’t know. I hope so.
Most of the tattoos had been lost to time, but even one or two more could help her.
It’s not because I’m greedy for power. I just need to defend my people.
Rina hoped she wasn’t kidding herself.
She returned to the mouth of the cave. She dipped a hand inside her furs and pulled out a chuma stick from the inside pocket. She lit it with the torch, puffing, taking the smoke into her lungs, feeling a vague and mild calm ease through her limbs. The leaves were grown in the bottom lands. The chuma sticks were a habit Rina hadn’t tried very hard to shake.
Rina watched six of the men gently lay Kork’s body on the first pyre.
One of the men broke off from the group and approached Rina. “We’ve finished the pyres, milady.”
Rina stuck the chuma stick into the corner of her mouth, motioned with her chin toward the cave. “The other body’s in there. Send men to fetch him.”
“Yes, milady.”
“One more thing,” Rina said. “Take some men and pack up all of the wizard’s things, especially the books. Be careful. There’s magical stuff in there, and Dumo knows what might explode or turn you into a cockroach or something.”
The man squinted into the darkness, a worried frown on his face. “In there?”
Rina puffed the chuma stick. “In there.”
“Yes, milady.”
***
Alem shaded his eyes from the sun, squinted up the mountain at the flicker of orange light. “Do you think that’s it?”
Brasley lowered the wineskin from his mouth and smacked his lips. He followed Alem’s gaze up the mountain. “The pyres?”
“I don’t know what else it could be.”
They stood atop one of the keep’s corner towers, one of the places that let them view the duchy in every direction. Just a week ago, they wouldn’t have lasted a minute in the frigid wind, but now the day was pleasant, sky clear, visibility going on for miles.
“She’s found the bodies, then,” Brasley said. “Why didn’t you go with her?”
“I offered,” Alem said. “She said she wanted to do it alone and had to get away from all the craziness. I sort of got the feeling I was lumped in with all the craziness.”
Brasley chuckled. “Don’t take it personally. She’s got a lot on her mind, not least of which is a future husband she’s never met.”
Alem frowned. “That hasn’t been decided yet. She probably won’t even like him.”
“Of course she won’t like him,” Brasley said. “Pressured into marrying some fellow she’s never met? Our Rina? I’d rather breast-feed a snow devil than try to get that woman to do something she doesn’t want to do. That’s not the point. Women in her position marry men they don’t like all the time. There’s too much at stake for the kings and queens of the world to leave such matters in the fickle hands of love. You’re lucky you’re lowborn. You can do as you like.”
“Lucky?” There was an edge to Alem’s voice. “How about you take over running the stables and give me the title and the money and the hunting lodge. Take your turn at being lucky for a while.”
Brasley waved him away. “Oh, you know what I mean. There’s a certain responsibility that comes with being part of the nobility. It’s not all drinking and womaniz
ing, you know. I mean, for me it mostly is, but still.”
“Not so much womanizing when you’re married to Fregga,” Alem said.
Brasley made an annoyed noise in his throat. “You’re only saying that because you want me to be in as bad of a mood as you are.”
“Yes.”
“And anyway, who says the womanizing stops just because I marry Fregga?” Brasley took another long pull at the wineskin.
Alem looked so genuinely shocked that Brasley laughed, spitting out wine. It dribbled down his chin and onto his heavy fur cloak.
“Oh, grow up, you ridiculous stable boy.”
“If you love somebody—”
“Love,” Brasley scoffed. “I’ve never known it, and you’re drowning in it.”
“If you’ve never known love, I feel sorry for you,” Alem said.
“Quite the reverse, I’d think,” muttered Brasley, lifting the wineskin again.
Alem frowned and looked back up the mountain.
Brasley was looking back the other way at the road leading up the mountain to the Long Bridge.
A long moment passed, and finally Brasley sighed heavily. “Do you believe in luck, Alem?”
Alem turned back to him, a curious look on his face. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“Yes,” Brasley said. “All bad. Do you see that line of men heading for the bridge?”
Alem crossed to the other side of the tower, leaned against the parapet, and squinted down at the road. He counted forty riders, most of them in full plate armor. Banners streamed behind them, and a herald out front bore some nobleman’s house colors.
“I can’t quite make out the coat of arms from here,” Alem said.
“It’s the king’s delegation from Merridan,” Brasley said with an air of dread. “The bastards are a day early.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Eastward across the sea and sharply south lay the heart of the Perran Empire, a long, thin island surrounded by numerous smaller islands. Such a people, as one might imagine, were good with boats and sailing and shipbuilding and the art of navigation by the stars. They quickly found the continents to their east and south and subjugated the people there. Fearless, ruthless, and efficient, the Perranese Empire was forged in fewer than fifty years and stood for nearly four hundred.
The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2) Page 7