Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "The Queen will hear this evidence. She will have no choice."

  Shamet remained silent. Edouard knew better than he did what the charges and evidence might be. To deny it would offer false hope.

  "When?" asked Edouard.

  "She will make him wait for an audience. A few days perhaps." He hesitated. "You will have the chance to speak."

  Edouard laughed, softly. "I do not think that will help."

  Again Shamet hesitated. He should not offer counsel on this, but there was something he could offer. There was a line and he was about to cross it. "If you will not answer with words, perhaps you should think of another response."

  Edouard worked it through, frowning. "She would allow this?"

  Shamet's silence was reprimand enough. He was pleased when Edouard accepted it with good grace, proof of a change in itself.

  "Thank you," Edouard said.

  Shamet shook his head, he had given little enough. Rising to leave, he offered one last thing. "St Andre is not alone," he said and saw the stillness of understanding settle over the young man's face. "The Baron Joachim and several of his father's knights have accompanied him." Edouard did not need to be told these were men who had been at Ralmadre. There was one further thing. "And Gaspard de Nortial is with them."

  "Of course," said Edouard de Chamfort and grinned.

  Chapter 96

  Mariette stood on deck and watched the city of Allesarion draw closer. The city was set on hills above the harbor. There was a village beside the harbor, pale, flat roofed houses, bright in the sunlight, a simple place in contrast to the city above. She could see villas and amphitheaters, parks and groves. Above it all, the glitter of Micia's palace caught the eye, a magical sight with its pearly domes and slender towers. There were many magnificent buildings, palaces, temples and squares. It was an awesome display of civic power. She wondered if Edouard had watched the city draw close and how he had felt.

  She heard a step behind her and knew it was Roslaire. He had kept his distance during the five day voyage, no easy feat on such a small vessel. She turned. He was wearing a loose shirt, his skin tanned from the sun and wind. He was in his element.

  "A few more hours," he said. "Are you ready?"

  "Yes," she said, wondering if he would know it was a lie. The voyage had given her time to think. The strangeness of the journey had shown her how little she understood what she would face.

  "We will arrive quietly. Once you are settled, you can send your petition to the Queen." Roslaire's calm was reassuring. He had already found them a place to stay, and he had ensured that all the necessary details of their journey were attended to. Efficient as he was, it was more than Stefan could easily have accomplished.

  "Thank you," she said.

  He gave a half ironic bow and left her. She watched him move easily across the deck. He would turn back to Fourges, even now, if she asked him to. He would not question her decision. The thought slipped into her head, but she banished it ruthlessly. She had come too far. She must see this through.

  Roslaire returned to her side later, as they approached the harbor. He looked grim.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  He handed her a spy glass. "Look at the harbor."

  It took her a moment to find the focus. The harbor side was busy, thronged with officials and soldiers in Micia's livery.

  "Why are they here?"

  Roslaire took back the glass. He scanned the boats in the harbor and those approaching. Still watching he said, "I think you have a welcoming party."

  "But that's not possible. No one knows."

  Roslaire said nothing, but his many warnings rang in her ears. She felt a tingle of unease. "What will happen?"

  He was still scanning the harbor. "There are palace officials. There are a lot of soldiers but it looks like an honor guard." He turned to look at her. "It seems you are to receive a royal welcome."

  "Will Micia…"

  He laughed. "No, she won't be there. But even so, it is on a scale to impress, perhaps intimidate." He was watching her.

  "What should I do?"

  "Make your own statement. I presume you came prepared?" He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  His smile gave her confidence. "Yes." She had livery for Stefan and his men, and her gowns would match Allesarion's finest. She had known this might be part of the game. Her men were well drilled, used to pomp and pageantry. Thanks to Roslaire's warning, this was a challenge she could meet.

  "I will make sure there is time," said Roslaire. "Prepare yourself and your men."

  ###

  When she came on deck, Stefan and his men were ready. Immaculately turned out in the crimson and gray livery of Montmercy, she had a perfect honor guard.

  The boat was dressed too. Pennants fluttered from the rails and rigging, and the Montmercy standard snapped in the brisk wind. She had not expected this.

  Roslaire came forward and bowed. His gaze took in the magnificence of her jewels and gown, but lingered longest on her face. He bowed again.

  "Will I do," she asked.

  "You look magnificent, sweet Duchess." He was not mocking her. She saw it in his eyes. He held her gaze, and she could not look away.

  The harbor was close now. A boat with officials and heralds was making its way towards them.

  Roslaire spoke softly, "Be careful how you play the game, Mariette, Micia does not tolerate competition."

  "I know this game," she said, and hoped it was true.

  Roslaire did not answer. He stood at her side and greeted the palace officials. He had changed from the loose shirt, but he was dressed and acting as her captain. A marked change from his court finery. She realized that the Allesarion officials knew him and this added to her standing. He was giving her another gift.

  When she disembarked, Roslaire was at her side.

  The senior official bowed to her. "Our Queen invites you to stay in a royal villa, under her protection." The official indicated a waiting carriage. Clearly this was not an invitation she could refuse.

  "My men?" she asked.

  "They may accompany you, but the villa is well guarded." The official bowed. "The Queen is anxious to ensure your safety."

  There was nothing she could say. Roslaire handed her into the carriage and stayed by her side. As the carriage moved away, she saw the first lines of slaves. The overseer's whip cracked. She heard the clank of chains. The sun seared her skin, and the heat was like a dozen blankets, stealing her breath and wits.

  The journey did not take long. The carriage arrived in a shaded courtyard. At last she could breathe again. Roslaire helped her down, concern in his eyes. He stood close as the palace officials approached.

  "My Queen bids you welcome. She hopes the villa will meet your needs."

  "It is beautiful," said Mariette. "Please convey my thanks to the Queen for her kindness."

  The official bowed again. He started to turn away.

  "I wished to make a petition to the Queen," Mariette said. She felt a sense of urgency. If Clement St Andre was here, there might be little time.

  The official turned. "You wish to visit Lord Edouard de Chamfort, guest of Queen Micia," he said, his face smooth, unreadable.

  Mariette was beyond surprise. "Yes, that is my wish."

  "The matter is in hand," said the official. He clapped his hands.

  In moments, the courtyard was deserted. Mariette took a breath. She looked to Roslaire. "How could she know?"

  "Micia knows everything, remember that," he said.

  Mariette wondered if that could really be true. Could Micia know about her and Edouard? Despite the heat, she shivered, chilled by a sense of danger and the knowledge that it was not only herself she might put at risk. But it truly was too late to turn back. She had started this, now she must see it through.

  ###

  A formal invitation to the palace arrived the next day. She was surprised at the speed. It made no mention of her request to visit Edouard, but the invitation was fo
r that afternoon. She would be collected by Micia's stewards and taken to the palace.

  "Clement St Andre and his embassy are here," Roslaire informed her. He was not included in the invitation. She could tell he was unhappy about this. He paced the villa's elegant courtyard. "You will go."

  It was not exactly a question, but she answered. "Yes, of course."

  "You are prepared?"

  "She has no reason to harm me. Perhaps this is for Edouard. His choice."

  Roslaire prowled to the window and stared up towards the palace. "I would like more time. I have contacts in the city; they will tell me how things truly stand."

  Mariette shook her head. "I can't put this off. As you say, Clement is here. I may not get another invitation."

  "If you are certain," he said. He sounded grim, almost anxious. This surprised her.

  She was grateful for his concern but unsure how to express this gratitude. It was difficult between them, at this moment more than ever. On an impulse, she embraced him and kissed his cheek. It was meant to be a friend's kiss. She felt his breath on her skin. It felt strange to be so close to him. She stepped back. "I don't know how long this will take."

  "I'll be here."

  She left him and went to get ready.

  ###

  The palace officials came at the appointed time, accompanied by a procession of mounted soldiers and slaves carrying a sumptuous litter. There were four officials. One stepped forward and bowed. He indicated the litter. It was large enough to hold six people. A dozen slaves stood waiting. Steps had been set ready. The official offered his hand. She allowed him to assist her, determined to seem at ease. A girl appeared to lift and settle her skirts.

  The journey was like nothing Mariette had experienced. Cocooned in silk and satin luxury she saw nothing of her surroundings. She heard the tinkle of bells. The litter swayed as it was lifted. The air was scented. Beyond the silk curtains, the city hardly seemed to exist.

  It seemed they traveled for a long time. Long enough for her to become anxious about where they were taking her. Then the curtains were swept aside to reveal a marble tiled courtyard. She saw the officials and slaves with Micia's running leopard tattoo. She was in Micia's palace. It felt like a different world, and all Roslaire's warnings returned to her.

  The senior official stepped forward. He bowed. "You will accompany us, my lady." She noticed he did not say where they were going.

  She obeyed, graciously. It felt important to hold to the dignity of her rank and the protection it offered. At the back of her mind, she knew this would only work if Micia allowed her that dignity. She tried not to think about that.

  It was a long walk. The palace was beautiful, full of light and the sound of water and birdsong. She felt as if she was in a dream as they passed from courtyard to hall and on to another courtyard. Soon she lost all sense of direction.

  A long flight of marble steps led to the first floor and wide marble corridors.

  Finally they halted before a door. There were palace guards standing before it. One of the guards reached to open the door. Mariette hesitated. The official waved her forward. It was done in silence, no knock or announcement was made.

  Mariette entered a bedroom. A sumptuous marble floored room hung with pale silks. It was cool and quiet; the walls and floor dappled by light and shade. In the center of the room, she saw a huge, canopied bed. Sunlight flooded through open doors and beyond the doors she could see a balcony. Lush vines trailed the balustrade. The room seemed empty. She paused by the door uncertain. The official urged her forward. The guards waited close, as if they would prevent retreat.

  She realized that this was part of Micia's game. She wondered why or how the scorpion queen intended to test her. What did Micia know? What did she hope to discover? Or provoke. Mariette took a step into the empty room. The officials remained in the open doorway. No doubt they had orders to report back. There would be little that happened in this palace that escaped Micia's notice.

  As she was thinking this, a man entered through an archway on the far side of the room; he was dressed in a loose robe. Head bent, he was toweling off short dark hair as he walked. After a moment he looked up and noticed them. The towel still obscured much of his face. Clearly annoyed by the intrusion he started to speak and stopped, abruptly; the towel stilled as he stared. "Mariette?"

  Even when he spoke, it was a moment before she understood it was him. He looked different, even allowing for the cropped hair, the robe and the exotic setting.

  "Mariette!" The towel dropped unheeded. There was a look of disbelief on his face too, and shock. He came toward her slowly. It was clear he had had no warning of her visit. Micia had planned this; she realized the scorpion queen was playing with them both. She could not speak. The sight of him, the reality, a growing realization of the danger in this place, it all took her breath.

  He came to a halt a few paces away, staring at her face with a sort of wonder. A smile replaced the frown. Another half pace forward and he reached for her hand. She let him press it to his lips. When he did not release it, she pulled away, casting a glance over her shoulder to the watching men.

  Edouard turned on them. "Get out," he snarled the words, betraying his own shock. He took a step towards the door. She had no doubt that if they had not obeyed, he would have enforced the demand. The door closed, leaving them alone. The silence echoed between them.

  She retreated a few steps. He watched her.

  Seeing him here, like this, she had an urge to embrace him. To put aside all that had come between them. The insanity of the thought brought a moment's panic; what had been done could not be undone. She had a duty to the Compact and they had trusted her to undertake this task. Unable to speak, trapped by an ongoing deception, she walked away from him and out onto the balcony. The only escape the room offered. She could feel his gaze at her back.

  A moment later, she heard his footsteps retreat and waited holding her breath. The sight of him confused her, was it possible to love and hate a man. She felt guilt at the thought. There was one thing she could no longer deny. His reaction had been genuine. He had loved her, perhaps he still did.

  She should not have come here. In just a few moments, the feelings and doubts she had hoped to resolve had become impossibly tangled. There was no way to ask the questions she must ask without revealing the truth. A truth that, perhaps, he alone now did not know. Understanding a little of Allesarion now, she knew that here, the truth was as dangerous as a blade in her hand.

  Beneath the balcony, the courtyard held a fountain surrounded by vines. The sound of water and birdsong filled the air. It was a beautiful place, fit for a prince, but there were guards at the door.

  A servant brought a tray of refreshments and set them on a low table, beside a bench and cushions. There was no sign of Edouard. She needed to sit down, but a desire, a need to maintain dignity prevented her from doing so. The servant brought wine. He was an older man, quiet and precise in his movements. She watched him set things ready. He worked smoothly but did not look at her. The tattoo on his shoulder reminded her he was not a servant but a slave. He finished setting out food and wine, only then did he turn to her. He looked worried. After a moment, he bowed and retreated, bare feet silent on the marble floor.

  She had been holding her breath, now it felt as if her lungs would burst. The bench was no more than two paces away, but she stood frozen.

  At the sound of footsteps, she started and turned.

  He came from the shadow into the sunlight, moving with familiar panther like grace. He wore shirt and breeches now. She saw he was well, whatever its nature, the wound Roslaire had spoken of had been healed successfully. But he was different. She tried to work out what had changed. He looked harder, leaner in the face. It was more than physical appearance though.

  He was staring at her. The shock was gone and the look on his face made her shiver. She thought about what it would be like to greet a friend, or lover, after being alone so long. Diane had b
een right. Roslaire could have asked their questions. Edouard had reason to be grateful to him and no reason to lie to him. Would he lie to her she wondered. He had lied in the past. The thought gave her courage.

  "Mariette, I can't believe you're here. That you came. But I'm not sure it was wise..."

  She held up her hand, and he stopped a few paces away. He was smiling. The smile changed his face again and he looked more familiar. She had not imagined it would be this hard to hold to the task she had set herself. She struggled with a foolish urge to pity him. It was hard not to imagine what it must have been like for him to live with the consequences of his actions, but should she pity him when so many others had suffered? And that was the heart of it, the reason she had to be strong.

  "I have news," she said. "Letters from your father, from Elle and your brothers."

  "Are they well?" He could not hide his anxiety from her, or perhaps he did not try. "I heard that Ferdinand had imprisoned Charles? I would have returned but…"

  "Charles is free; you have Arnaud to thank for that."

  He nodded once, not seeming to notice her tone. "I knew Arnaud would not fail me." The smile was gone, and she heard the strain in his voice, "And my father?"

  "The King's men are at Chamfort." She saw his shock and spoke quickly. "Your father is safe and well. Your brothers and Elle are at Etrives."

  She could see his relief. For a moment he stood very still, as though it was too much to hear good news. She should tell him the rest, but he deserved a moment to savor the good. She turned away to allow him privacy. In the garden below, huge fish, silver and gold, swam lazily beneath the fountain.

  He came to stand beside her. "Thank you," he said. "It means so much to know you believe in me." His hand brushed her face. In a heartbeat, he would kiss her. She could not allow that to happen; it would be an unforgivable betrayal. "Edouard." She covered his hand with her own. "No."