by Peace, Cas
Chapter Fifteen
Not everyone in the Baroness’s household had followed their mistress to bed. One servant had been waiting to see the lamp in her room extinguished, and he lingered awhile yet in the hope she would fall quickly asleep. Not that there was much danger of her hearing him.
Seth crept past Jinny’s door, treading lightly on the expensive deep pile carpet. He had once questioned the wisdom of parting with so much gold just to carpet the hallways, considering it a vain and wasteful expense. Not that the Baron had taken any notice of his opinions. But now, in the dead of night and wishing to be undetected, the young man blessed the Baron’s extravagance and appreciated the irony.
Seth had been the Baron’s valet, his personal manservant. He had been part of the household since Reen was granted the estate by Elias at the Queen’s request. Seth had been in service since the age of ten, although not initially as a valet. The Baron had elevated him to that particular post, having liked the young man’s looks and recognizing his potential in more ways than one. He’d brought Seth into his personal service, replacing the valet who had accompanied him from Bordenn. Seth had fulfilled the Baron’s expectations and performed duties for his master far beyond those normally expected of a valet. His silence over those extra duties had earned him certain bonuses and a measure of his master’s trust.
After the Baron was exiled, Seth decided he would repay that trust if ever he could. Within the sphere of his own standards, Reen had been good to his servant. As he matured, Seth had become more the reliable retainer and less the passive catamite, although the physical relationship continued. It amused Seth now to think the Baroness knew nothing of his extraneous duties or of his loyalty to his exiled master. If she had, she wouldn’t have kept him on. But Jinella had done little to change the mansion’s routine and was happy to retain those of the Baron’s staff who wanted to stay. Most of them had. Her offer of higher wages for good service did much to overcome any reservations the servants might have entertained. Seth remained with them, although his tasks now concerned organizing Jinella’s social diary and planning her dinner parties with the kitchen staff.
This was the one area where Seth found cause for complaint.
He was courteous to Jinella, as his position demanded, although he went cold whenever he thought of the way she had betrayed her uncle. Seth believed the ties of blood-kinship should override all other concerns. He would never forgive Jinny for turning on Reen, who, after all, had been her champion and benefactor at Elias’s court. Seth realized he would have to hide his feelings when he decided to stay on, as his main reason for doing so was to be able to take advantage of any opportunity to benefit his true lord.
He did not, however, have to be courteous to any of the Baron’s other enemies, one of whom lived under Jinella’s roof, having been given a position of trust despite being nothing but a common whore from the city’s bordellos. Her inclusion into the household was a deliberate affront as far as Seth could see, and he intended to do whatever he could to change that. However, that was not his mission tonight. Tonight he was keeping an appointment made completely out of the blue, and one which he hoped might provide him with the opportunity he’d been praying for.
Seth crept down the stairs to the ground floor and approached the mansion’s rear door. Taking up the lantern he had left in the tiny cupboard on the wall, he lit it from the banked fire in the seldom-used room and left the house.
It was freezing outside and there was sleet on the wind. Seth pulled his thick cloak tighter around his thin frame and cursed the man he was due to meet. Why had he specified nighttime? He had spoken quite openly to Seth in broad daylight in the marketplace. Why all the subterfuge now? Why risk detection and awkward questions when they could have met in one of Loxton’s lesser-known taverns and had their conversation in comfort and warmth? Seth didn’t know the answers, but intended to find them out.
Raising his lantern against the cold, wet dark, he trudged across the back yard, avoiding the stables where the groom sometimes slept. Usually the lad went home at night, but when he felt like it, or the weather was bad, he made use of the small groom’s loft above the stables. Matty hadn’t known the Baron like Seth did and the older man was unsure of his loyalties. He was polite to the lad, but otherwise ignored him.
Once he was clear of the mansion’s immediate confines, Seth hurried his steps. His destination, the village chapel, was some way off and he didn’t want to be out in this sleet any longer than necessary.
+ + + + +
Sullyan found Taran where Elias had told her he would be—playing cards with Denny and Ardoch in the garrison. It was late and she was ready for her bed, but she didn’t want to wait until the morning. She strode into the garrison to the salutes and greetings of the men, and found the card school tucked away in a corner of the senior officers’ hall.
The eight men around the card table were so involved in the game that none of them noticed her arrival. She stood in the doorway and watched for her own amusement, taking note of their expressions and eye movements. Denny clearly thought he had a winning hand, as did Ardoch. Taran was unsure of his and would change some or all of his cards. Two of the other men were happy with their hands, and the final three would probably cast theirs.
Taran, who was dealing, gave out the cards and took two for himself. Two men dropped out at that point and Denny upped the stakes. Ardoch matched him, as did Taran. Two of the others then also cast their cards and the third pushed gold across the table. Neither Denny nor Ardoch had changed their hands, and Sullyan could tell Taran was happier with what he now held. There were only four men left in the game.
At the next round, Denny added a heap of gold bits to the pile. Taran stared at him. “Are you sure?”
The old swordmaster waved a hand. “Ach, laddie, let him throw away his pay if he has a mind.” Ardoch then matched the gold Denny had staked.
Taran pursed his lips and pushed some of his own coin across. This was too rich for the fourth man, who cast his cards.
Denny had a glint in his eye as he added more to the pot. “Well?” he challenged.
Sullyan observed him keenly, watching the movements of his free hand beneath the table. She also noticed the faint sheen of sweat on the man’s brow and smiled. He was bluffing.
“I’ll match you,” stated the Torlander, pushing more gold across. Taran hesitated, but it was clear to Sullyan he thought he had a winning hand. Slowly, holding Denny’s gaze, he matched the other men’s stakes.
Denny was perspiring, but managed to disguise it. He kept a smug smile fixed on his face and regarded his dwindling pile of gold. With a deliberate gesture, he swept the entire amount into the pile. The watchers in the room gasped. The pot now contained more than a year’s salary for an ordinary swordsman.
Interested to see what Taran would do, and knowing what a good bluffer Denny was, Sullyan moved closer. She glimpsed Taran and Ardoch’s cards and knew who of the two would win, but she had no idea what they would do.
Taran was learning fast, but wasn’t yet a confident card player, especially not against a chancer like Denny. The likeable young major lived for the bet and had been gambling for as long as he had known his numbers. The amount of gold needed to turn Denny’s cards was now too much for Taran. He cast his hand.
Ardoch, on the other hand, was used to Denny’s ways and wasn’t intimidated. He merely smiled his weathered smile and pushed his gold across the table. “Turn your hand, Denny me lad,” he crowed, showing the major his cards.
With a wry smile, Denny did so. There was raucous laughter and some outrage when Denny’s cards were seen. His hand wouldn’t have won so much as a child’s game of “Match the Lady” and there were many ribald comments concerning his eyesight and failing wits.
“Well,” he retorted, laughing with them, “but for this old dog’s toothless bite, I might have won. Don’t you ever give up, you old terrier?”
Ardoch made a pithy remark that set the others off
again. Taran gathered his cards and watched the Torlander scoop up his gold, startling when he heard Sullyan’s voice behind him.
“Look at Ghyllan’s hand, Taran.”
He turned to stare at her over his shoulder. She indicated Ardoch’s discarded cards with a nod. Turning them face up, Taran hissed. His hand would have beaten the swordmaster’s had he summoned the courage to trust it.
“Dammit!” He grinned wryly and shrugged. “Ah well, it’s only gold.”
“Indeed,” she replied, remembering Taran was now a wealthy man. Not only did he have his stipend from the King, but as Court Artesan he also drew a salary.
The tall Adept rose, laying his cards on the table. “Did you want me?”
Sullyan nodded, and he followed her out of the noisy hall. She turned to face him.
“I have lately returned from the Baron’s former prison.”
He raised his brows, and she told him the gist of her findings and their suspicions. His pleasant face turned pale and he sucked in a breath. “What on earth do I tell Jinny?”
Sullyan saw his discomfiture and frowned, but she answered his question. “Nothing yet. These are suspicions only, not facts. But I have here the few possessions her uncle left behind. The Patrio thought it best they be returned to her. Can I leave them with you?”
She handed him the small package which he accepted a little hesitantly. Sullyan saw his reluctance. “What is it, Taran? Is something wrong?”
He could never hide his feelings from her, but the reason for them escaped her. He looked at the ground, shamefaced. “Jinny and I haven’t seen each other for three days now. Not since I told her why she hasn’t conceived.”
Sullyan pursed her lips. “Ah. She took it badly, then? Well, what did you expect? She trusted you, and if you have not, in fact, betrayed that trust, you have come perilously close. It will take her some time to come to terms with her feelings. Did you explain why?”
Taran nodded miserably. “That only made it worse. Now she thinks I care more for my honor than for her.”
“And do you?”
The brutal question stung him. “Of course not! I love Jinny…” He faltered, frowning when he saw her smile.
She laid a hand on his arm. “But you have never admitted that to yourself before, have you, my friend? You have never really believed it. And if you have no trust or faith in your own feelings, why should Jinella?”
Seeing his misery, she decided to be blunt. “Go to her, Taran. Talk to her. Sort out your feelings, decide what you really want, and then tell her. Put your heart into it—that huge and loving heart from which your depth of passion and strength of spirit arise. Let yourself go, allow yourself to love. You will be amazed how easy it is. And that is not advice, my friend, that is an order.”
“Yes, Colonel.” He grinned weakly, and she shook her head.
“What are we to do with you, Taran Elijah? Do not put it off. Do it as soon as you may. The King is going on an official visit and you will have some free time soon. I advise you to make the most of it. Now I am for my bed, once I have spoken to the General. I wish you good night.”
The conversation with General Blaine didn’t go at all as Sullyan planned. He approved the proposed visit to Lerric, but over one aspect of the journey he adamantly refused to be moved.
“No, Brynne, I will not permit you to accompany Elias. You’ve suffered enough at that traitor’s hands. If he is there, I won’t give him the opportunity to work more mischief. I shall go with the King and we’ll take a sizeable guard. You will remain here.”
“But, Mathias—”
“No, Colonel. I’ve made up my mind. Reen hates you with a vengeance and I won’t risk you falling into his hands again.”
“The Baron hates all Artesans, General, not just me. You’ll be in as much danger as I would. If you will not permit me to go, at least take Robin with you. Two Master Artesans ought to be more than a match for anything Reen might have planned. You will need someone to stand for you.”
Blaine couldn’t refute this argument. Vassa was still on duty at the castle and would remain there in Elias’s absence, as there was still Seline’s safety to consider. Blaine could choose his company from among those left at the Manor, with Robin to lead them, and Sullyan would command the rest while Blaine was away. He accepted the advisability of taking another strong Artesan with him, and Sullyan was appeased by his accession to her request. If she couldn’t go, Robin was her second choice. She retired to bed if not wholly satisfied, then at least easier in her mind.
+ + + + +
The chapel lay wrapped in darkness when Seth pushed open the heavy wooden door. He held his lantern high and peered into the gloomy interior. There came a faint rustle of sound and an inky shadow detached from the freezing blackness. It moved slowly toward him.
He stayed where he was and let the shadow approach. It had an awkward, gawky motion, as if not quite under its own control, and he recalled thinking the same thing when it had accosted him in the marketplace the day before.
The figure shambled to a stop before him and he smelled again the foul miasma rising from the man. It wasn’t just the stink of an unwashed body, although that was there in abundance. No, thought Seth with a tiny shiver, it was more like the charnel stink of meat gone bad. He wrinkled his nose.
“You find me repulsive, yet you still came.” The man’s hissing whisper floated out of the shadows.
Seth shrugged. “You don’t have the most savory aroma, but I’ve smelled worse.” He heard the man’s gargled laugh. “I only came because you said you had a message from my lord, the Baron. Can we get on with this? It’s bloody freezing. Why you couldn’t have chosen a warmer or lighter place, I don’t know.”
“Afraid of the dark, are you, boy? Well, since you’re so curious, I’ll show you why this time and place was chosen. Sit down and shutter that lantern.”
The scrawny fellow waved at the nearest pew and Seth frowned. This meeting had taken on a surreal and faintly disturbing quality and he was no longer sure he’d done the right thing in coming. But the figure had made no move on him, and Seth knew there was no one else around; he had checked carefully before entering the chapel. He sat.
“Keep silent and attend,” the man said, his voice hoarse and unnatural. Seth heard the rustle of cloth as the man opened his cloak. The charnel smell grew suddenly worse. It was gloomy in the chapel with the lantern turned down so low it illuminated nothing but the flagstone on which it sat. There were no other lamps inside, nor outside in the street, so where, thought Seth with sudden alarm, was that sullen, ruby-red glow coming from?
He leapt to his feet in terror when he realized he was looking at the man’s eyes. They weren’t reflecting any outside light, but glowing with a demonic inner fire. He shuddered violently and tried to turn, intending to run. The hand that clamped his shoulder felt like a claw of iron. It gripped his bones like a vice and he couldn’t move. Neither could he cry out. His throat had tightened in horror.
“Seth! Do not fear me. Do you not know your own master?”
Seth froze, his terror abating. “M-my Lord?” he squeaked, looking for the Baron. He had clearly heard Reen’s voice.
No one else was there but Seth and the filthy vagrant fellow, who chuckled in the Baron’s unmistakable voice. Seth stared in wonder, too amazed to be frightened.
“My Lord Baron! How is this possible?”
“No time for explanations now, Seth. Just accept, and do as I bid you. The man before you is another of my servants and I can speak to you through him. He tells me you are loyal to me and that you’re willing to work my will against those who caused my downfall. Is this true?”
The strangely ghostlike voice was undeniably the Baron’s, no matter how changed it sounded in the scrawny fellow’s mouth. The dreadful smell assailed Seth’s nostrils, and the ruby glint of the eyes was disconcerting, but Seth was a practical man not given to flights of fancy. If his lord had found a means of communicating through this fe
llow, Seth could accept that.
“Command me, my Lord! I will do all I can to aid you.”
“Good, very good. First I need some information, and then you will receive your instructions. Tell me, Seth, how is my dear niece, Jinella?”
+ + + + +
Reen broke contact with his servant and slumped to the bed, exhausted. He was pleased. He had been confident Seth would be willing to aid him, but hadn’t expected to find his erstwhile manservant still in Jinny’s employ. He sneered in the dark. Stupid, sentimental girl! Her sense of responsibility to those of lower status would be her undoing—he’d make sure of that.
The start of his scheme should go according to plan with no one the wiser. With any luck, he might even get three at once, although Seth’s news about Jinny’s problems with Taran had come as a bit of a blow. Still, even if Taran wasn’t there, Reen now had two agents in Port Loxton. It was only a matter of time and opportunity.
The other piece of news Seth had passed on was of more serious import. It was a large part of Reen’s plan that he should have control over Sofira’s children, Eadan in particular. While it was true Seline could inherit the throne if Eadan should die, her rule would last only until she wed a suitable Prince. Having Albia in the hands of a stranger would not suit Reen’s scheme at all. If he couldn’t get his hands on Eadan, he would have to have the boy killed. Seline could be betrothed to some youngster who could be groomed in Reen’s ideals before he grew too independent. This moving of Eadan to the Manor was an inconvenience, but it wasn’t insurmountable. He decided against telling Sofira where her son was. Her anger might distract her from the more important issues at hand.
A scratch at the door alerted Reen to the return of his other two minions. He smiled as he rose to admit them, trying to rein in his baser emotions. Now, finally, he could conduct this most essential of experiments, test his control and his strength and his will. He relaxed his hold over his desires, letting the dark anticipation flood through his body. Restraint was no longer needed. Indeed, it was counterproductive. Desire—lust—was necessary if he was to overcome his normal disinterest at the thought of bedding a woman. The success of his wedding night hinged upon the control of his own body’s reactions, and the success of all his plans rested on the outcome of his wedding night. Stoking the fires within with thoughts of what was to come, he opened the door.