by Bell, Hilari
But we didn’t need her to tell us Liam had been left behind — we could hear his screams even in the secluded cottage. They went on long enough to make us pity not just the boy, but also his nursery maids. All of us except Margaret were deeply relieved when a desperate message came from Rupert — who’d remembered that she had nieces and nephews — begging her to come and see if she could soothe the hysterical toddler.
Margaret, listening to those shrill cries, went a bit paler. But to her credit, she went without hesitation, and after a bit of time had passed the screaming stopped ... renewed ... and stopped again.
“He’ll cry it out now,” said Kathy, hopefully. “He’ll cry himself to sleep, probably in Meg’s arms, and he’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t so sure of that, particularly when he grew up and came of age as the son of a woman who’d been willing to murder to seize the throne for him.
“However he turns out,” said Fisk, “it’s his mother’s fault, not ours. And Meg and Rupert will look out for him.”
That last bit proved true. Another flood of maids soon descended, packed up all Margaret’s possessions, and took them off to a suite of rooms adjacent to Rupert’s. And also in easy reach of the palace nursery, where the maids said she’d promised to spend the night.
The good part of this was that Liam attached himself to Margaret like a puppy, and even went with her to visit her parents.
This in turn led her father-in-law to grudgingly accept her into his family. He could hardly stand to look at the boy, because of the painful memories he carried, but the Liege also felt guilty about it. Margaret’s ability to help the child eased that guilt.
The other good part was that we were left to occupy the abandoned “mistress cottage” in peace, because the High Liege didn’t want to see us, either.
Advisor Arnold came to tell us that since we’d “signally failed” to bring Rupert home in a timely fashion, and the Liege had been forced to humiliate himself by publicly revealing the news of Rupert’s disappearance — not to mention offering a huge reward—
“Which he didn’t have to pay,” Fisk pointed out. “Because we brought Rupert home.”
—the High Liege had decided he owed us nothing. But Rupert had persuaded him that in exchange for his Heir’s life, and that of his daughter-in-law and grandchild, we were owed at least a favor ... and one that was of some interest to me.
Fisk was still inclined to sputter about the money, even after Master Arnold had left — more on principle than because he’d expected to be paid.
“You should have known this would happen,” I said. “Because you know the difference between the High Liege and a bandit.”
“No.” Fisk blinked in surprise. “I haven’t heard that one.”
“Really? Well, mayhap ’tis only used among nobles, grousing about their taxes.”
Fisk was staring now. “So what’s the difference?”
“’Tis that when a bandit takes your money, you can go to the High Liege and he’ll have the bandit arrested. When the High Liege takes your money, the bandit doesn’t care.”
Fisk and I weren’t the only ones to be monetarily disappointed. As news of the Heir’s marriage spread, the scholars who’d been working on projects to make his wife’s child Gifted swarmed the palace. The possible side effects on the child’s mother ranged from a nervous tic, through seizures, to madness and death. Rupert sent them packing.
Benton wrote us a snappish letter about how the scholars had put months of research into those ventures, and deserved some compensation. He seemed to think we should use our influence on Rupert to bring this about. Kathy wrote him back that studying the societal changes that would result from having a Giftless High Liege would give historians even more to study, write papers and argue about. Benton being a historian, he was content with that.
The Realm’s nobility were already beginning to panic over those changes, but no one dared to bring this grievance to the High Liege, who had all but gone into seclusion over the grief of his wife’s betrayal. This meant the only one they could complain to, besides each other, was Rupert ... so they spent most of their time fruitlessly grumbling to each other.
’Twas only to be expected that my father would turn up, representing the lords and barons of the Derens River Valley. He probably had a mandate to scope out the situation, and try to convince the Liege he was destroying the whole noble class by confirming Margaret’s child (if male) as his Heir Apparent. Or if that looked to be unwise, to congratulate the Heir on his marriage.
We assumed this was his mission, because several score of nobles had arrived over the past few weeks with that same purpose. But Father had another reason for coming. Once he’d seen how the land lay, and grudgingly offered his felicitations to Rupert and his new wife, he came down to the mistress’ cottage to collect his daughter.
“Why under two moons are you living here, Katherine?” He was scolding before he even entered the parlor, where we’d been upsetting our stomachs with too much tea. Kathy’s new maid had warned us of his coming, and we’d been waiting so long for him to turn up that this was our fifth pot.
“I know you made a friend of the Heir’s Lady, but living in this place ... is...” His eyes had found me.
I came to my feet in the respectful, childhood habit, while his gaze struck my face, swept up and down over the best clothes I owned, and then came back to search my face once more. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
“Hello, Father.” My own voice came out hoarse, and he flinched a bit, drawing in on himself. And then he turned to Kathy as if I wasn’t even in the room.
“Send someone to pack your things, Katherine. Since you failed to attach the Heir, you might as well come home. We’ll see what we can do for you in the neighborhood.”
He had come in with a complaint upon his lips, but his voice then had been paternally exasperated, easy and familiar. Now ’twas cold, issuing orders and intimidation in equal measure. I have never been more proud of my sister than when she rose to her feet, and reached out to take Fisk’s hand.
“That won’t be necessary. I made my marriage oath to Fisk here, on the same day Rupert wed Meg.”
Fisk stood too, and put his arm around Kathy’s waist, mayhap in support, or mayhap to conceal his wobbling knees behind her skirt.
My father once described Fisk as “a town-bred gutterling, with knave written all over him.” He evidently remembered my erstwhile squire, for a wave of astonished fury rose in his face.
“Fisk and I, and Kathy too, have earned the favor of the Chosen Heir,” I cut in before he could speak. “You might want to consider that, before you do anything ... rash.”
Father, in justice, hardly ever acts rashly — but this moment put that to the test. His angry color, now almost purple, didn’t fade, but he turned and walked out without another word.
Kathy drew a ragged breath, then another. I knew how she felt; Father had the trick of turning me inside out as well. But her grip on Fisk’s hand only grew tighter.
Fisk was almost as pale as his shirt, but he spoke with his usual insouciance.
“Cheer up. It could have been worse. He didn’t even send for an executioner.”
“He didn’t say a word,” Kathy said. “He’s not going to speak to us, not for a long time. Maybe never.”
“I wish we’d be that lucky,” said Fisk. “But I doubt it. If he never meant to speak to you again he’d have disowned you, too, and he didn’t. So maybe, just maybe, the old bastard is learning.”
My reward came just a week later. It seems that when someone who was officially declared unredeemed is pronounced to be redeemed after all, the High Liege himself has to do it — and between getting his marriage dissolved, and tracking down any other plots his wife might have had in play, he was busy.
They had told us to be ready to be summoned at any moment, four days ago. One can’t spend that much time doing nothing but wait, so when the footman came to fetch us I was ri
ding Chant about the park, and Fisk was in the cottage kitchen watching Kathy being taught to make bread. She’d been offered a chance to return to her old room in the palace, and bring us along. But she had no desire to take up the threads of her soon-to-be-abandoned life at court, and the secluded cottage suited us well.
I hastily changed into my best clothes — still nothing suited to court — Kathy washed the flour off her hands and brushed it out of her hair, and we all followed the footman to a great hall in the oldest part of the palace. ’Twas paneled in dark wood, with faded tapestries between glassed over arrow slits. Even the summer sunlight pouring through them barely pushed back the gloom, but if the bright joy in my heart had showed as external light, it would have made up for the stingy windows.
A long table had been placed at the far end of the room, with three judicars behind it, just as you’d find in any town square on judgment day — but the law they served was the Liege’s law, and his throne had been placed in front of the table. These judicars were here only to bear witness, before the source of the law they served.
A score of nobles had been summoned to witness this as well, but since my father wasn’t among them I cared nothing for that. He had ridden out of the palace, Kathy’s helpful maid reported, soon after he’d spoken to us — or rather, refused to speak to us. His failure to commute his sentence was the only regret I had on this good morning, but I wasn’t going to let it blight the day. And I thought Fisk was right; the fact that he hadn’t disowned Kathy was a hopeful sign.
Despite our lateness, the High Liege wasn’t there when we arrived, though Rupert came in soon after with Margaret on his arm. It might be because her dress was cut differently, but for the first time she looked a bit pregnant, and a bright happiness lurked beneath her serious expression.
I didn’t think her joy sprang from the respectful bows of the gentlemen she passed — though that had to be a source of satisfaction. The men of the court had finally figured out that insulting their future Liege’s wife was what Fisk called a Bad Idea.
Kathy’s maid said the ladies, many of whom had been trying to marry their own daughters off to Rupert, were thawing more slowly. But they too were coming around.
Rupert once more wore the clothing of a wealthy courtier, as he had when we first met him, but his subtle air of authority was new. However, he still greeted us with a wide grin, and in moments we’d all forgotten how he was dressed.
My father would have disagreed with me, but I thought that ability to make others forget his rank was his greatest gift as a ruler — even if ’twas not a Gift — and I doubted he’d ever lose it.
Then the High Liege entered, through a discreet door in the back of the room, and any air of authority Rupert had was eclipsed like a torch by sunlight. As I rose from my bow, along with everyone else, I saw that the Liege’s face was more deeply lined than when we first met, and his eyes were tired.
’Twas not only her intended victims who had suffered from Carolyn Miller’s plots, and for a moment I couldn’t help but regret our part in exposing them. Except that if we hadn’t, Rupert and Margaret might now be dead.
In exchange for a few more days added to Liam’s visits, the Liege Lady had finally confessed to what she’d done — though with her written order to dispose of “the parcel,” which we’d found in Noye’s possession, ’twas hardly necessary to establish her guilt. She swore, and mayhap ’twas true, that at first her only purpose had been to keep Margaret from using some potion that might have made her child Gifted, thus “supplanting” Liam as the Heir. The fact that an unmarried woman’s child wouldn’t be in the succession evidently didn’t weigh with her. And in fairness, if Rupert married Meg, even after the child’s birth, that might have changed. But the Liege Lady insisted she’d not intended murder, not even when Rupert set off in pursuit of Meg, without money or guards, and vulnerable to all manner of mischance. She hadn’t thought of murder, she claimed, until she learned her husband intended to hire the Michael Sevenson to find Rupert and bring him home. The Rose conspiracy — which Fisk brought down — had so ludicrously overblown my reputation that she had come to test us with her people reading Gift. Whatever she’d seen had convinced her that we would not only bring Rupert back, but find and return Margaret as well. So she sent Wheatman after me, and when Noye reported her assassin’s failure at the bridge, she’d been forced to “take that repugnant step, and order Master Noye to ... to take care of things.”
I was so tired of being the Michael Sevenson, I was beginning to take Fisk’s jokes about changing my name seriously. I’d not have done it to conceal shame or crime ... but fame and respect were a lot more inconvenient.
Now, however, it looked to stand me in good stead. The High Liege took his place before the throne, and began without wasting any time.
“I have lately become aware how easy it is, even for those in power, to make mistakes. I wish to state, for the record—” He glanced at the clerk who was jotting down his words. “—that having read the case against Master Sevenson, brought to my attention by my son, I believe the judicars who declared him unredeemed were wrong.”
I stared at Rupert, who flashed me a smile.
“They were wrong,” said the Liege. “But they were acting within the law. However, the basis of our law is that a crime that can be made right, by coin or labor, shall be erased from the law’s books once that debt is paid. Right or wrong, Michael Sevenson owed a debt to the law — but in saving the Realm from the civil violence Atherton Roseman sought to bring to it, and then going on to stop disruption in the line of succession, Michael Sevenson has more than paid any debt the law was owed. I therefore, by the power I alone possess, declare him to be redeemed; honorable in the eyes of man, with all rights under my law. If any man’s hand be turned against him, he may claim full redress, from his kin, from the law, and from his fellow man. Let it be thus.”
“Let it be thus,” the crowd answered.
Kathy, weeping, threw her arms around me, but it was Fisk’s gaze I met. He didn’t embrace me, but his eyes were bright with joyous irony, and his rare, unguarded smile grew wider and wider till it all but took over his face.
There was no time for congratulations, however. That discreet door opened once more, this time admitting two footmen who carried a small, iron-bound lock-box between them. They were supervised by Advisor Arnold, and followed by four guards.
The High Liege himself opened the box, with a key Master Arnold hastily presented, and pulled out a square of rather dirty white cloth. I’d have taken it for a dust rag, if the Liege hadn’t held it as if it might bite.
“Come forth, Master Sevenson, and let the outward sign of your status be removed.”
I stepped forward, but to my surprise, Rupert went with me. Taking the cloth from his father, he pushed up my sleeve and began rubbing briskly at the broken circles that marked my wrist.
“I’ve always wanted a chance to use this,” he said. “We keep it in the vault, well away from any magica because it’s supposed to be able to...”
I already knew what it could do. As the cloth whisked back and forth, the soft glow that had suffused those marks from the day they were set began to fade.
Rupert used his own magic sensing Gift to confirm it was working, holding his hand over the tattoo several times, feeling the presence of magic slowly diminish till he was certain ’twas gone. I could have told him it was, for all trace of magical light had faded, leaving only...
“How can I get rid of the ink?” I asked. In this cause I was prepared to lose some skin, even if it scarred.
“According to our records, the ink should fade away over the next few days,” Rupert told me.
The High Liege had stayed to watch this part, evidently curious himself. But finding the process less dramatic than dusting furniture, he now departed. The judicars and most of his flunkies followed him out. The advisor and the guards remained with the box.
“That’s another reason we lock it up so tight,” R
upert went on. “It’s not just magic it removes — or rather it is, but once the magic is drained from a magica item, it falls to dust within a few days. ’Tis almost as if the magic is holding it together, and when ’tis gone...”
He stiffened, evidently just remembering that I had magic in me. But I gave him a reassuring smile, and held out my other wrist for him to work on. I could sense my own magic, slightly roused by the emotion of this day, but secure under its heavy lid. ’Twas not at all impacted by whatever was pulling the magic from the tattoo on my wrist.
His tale did make me wonder, a bit apprehensively, what would become of me if I should ever lose the magic that had become so much a part of me.
There was no answer to that, so I put it aside. The future guards its secrets till the present arrives, and I was content to meet that future as a redeemed man — all debts paid.
But the future arrived sooner than I expected. After that destructive cloth had been locked up and carried away, Rupert asked me to accompany him. He had, he said, a job to offer me.
When he didn’t extend this offer to Fisk, my partner bristled indignantly. But Fisk was the one who wanted to get married, after all. It seemed fitting he should pay some price for that, and I may have cast him a rather smug look before I turned and followed Rupert down several halls to a quiet office.
’Twas clearly his, for ’twas crowded with books and a couple of engineering models — and judging by the papers that washed across the desk, he’d been busier than usual these past weeks. But he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to proceed, seating himself behind the desk and gesturing for me to take a chair.
“So, what is this task you have for me?” I said. “If it comes with a reward attached, I may ask to be paid in advance.”
I smiled, to show this was a jest — mostly. Fisk and Kathy were speaking of trying to buy an abandoned printer’s shop we’d come across in Slowbend. But even adding all our purses to what was left of Master Noye’s funds...