“The Lady preserve us!”
Other cries and sounds of alarm rang out and I turned around to see what was happening.
“Groskin must have gotten the first load off the ship,” Javes said, groping for his quiz glass. He then shot the Fyrst a look and stopped.
The unicorn and leopard were pacing through the court, leading a stream of haunts—all headed for me.
“This goes back to the main reason I was sent to Iversterre, Your Grace,” Laurel said to the Fyrst, who had risen from his throne and now stood staring at the ghosts filling his hall. “We found their bodies in Iversly and have brought them home, but the moon season is here and every single one of them has chosen the human Rabbit.”
Chapter Fifty-nine
The Fyrst sat quiet during Laurel’s recital about his discoveries in Iversterre and their resolutions, not even blinking as the Faena told of the far-flung smuggling ring. He then received both the written and the verbal apologies of King Jusson delivered through Chancellor Berle, listening to her measured speech on the desire for peace and understanding between the Border and Iversterre, his eyes wandering between Berle and the haunts surrounding me. But when Berle segued into establishing an embassy, the Fyrst stopped her. “This too should go before the High Council.” He looked down at the chancellor, his face cold and still. “As it touches the entire Border, not just Elanwryfindyll.”
Chancellor Berle bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Fortunately, it is our turn to host the Council and they will meet here in two weeks. Until then”—the Fyrst looked at all of us—”I extend to you the Hospitality of my keep and city. Be welcomed.” He raised his hand and a fellow who looked an awful lot like one of the majordomo twins, but with elfin ears, started to step forward.
“What about my men who are still on the ship, Your Grace?” Captain Suiden asked from beside me. “May they be brought ashore?”
The Fyrst’s brows came together again as he stared down at the captain. But Suiden met him stare for stare, his green eyes glinting back up at the Fyrst, and His Grace’s face shifted, changing from distant affront to puzzlement. “I know you—” He looked over at Laurel.
“He is the Amir of Tural’s eldest sister’s first son, Your Grace,” Laurel said. “Prince Suiden.”
“I met the prince before he left Tural,” the Fyrst said, still frowning, “but I don’t remember his eyes being green.”
“Many things have changed since I left Tural, Your Grace,” Suiden said with a slight bow. “But right now I am more concerned about my men who’ve been at sea for weeks. May I bring them ashore?” He indicated Chancellor Berle. “They’re a part of the proposed embassy staff.”
“I see.” The Fyrst was quiet for a few moments. “Yes,” he finally said. “We extend our Hospitality to them, the staff, and”—he looked at the vice admiral—”to your sailors also.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Vice Admiral Havram said as he also bowed, looking as though he wanted to keep his officers and crews as far away as possible from the elf city.
A small smile flitted across the Fyrst’s face. “Do not fear, Vice Admiral.” He signaled and Eorl Pellan moved back to the dais. “My commander will make sure that your sailors understand the do’s and don’ts of shore leave.” He looked at the eorl. “Bring the ships’ officers here, Pellan.” He cast a glance at Suiden. “And His Highness’ soldiers.” The commander bowed and strode out of the hall, gathering certain of his guard.
“Sir?” Lieutenant Falkin murmured, and Uncle Havram hesitated, obviously torn between staying with me and going with Pellan. He then sighed and shook his head. “Nay, Lieutenant. The ship captains will take care of what’s necessary.” He caught the Fyrst’s gaze on him and waved a hand in my direction. “My brother’s child, Your Grace.”
“You are connected,” the Fyrst remarked, looking back at me. He then raised his hand once again, and the major-domos’ elfin twin stepped forward. “My chamberlain will see you all to your rooms.” He looked at the ghosts ranged behind me, then back at the chamberlain. “The west side of the fourth level.”
As the chamberlain bowed, I wondered if the quarters were as far away from the Fyrst’s rooms as one could get in the keep—and His Grace’s brows flew up.
“I see.” He shot a look at Laurel. “I will send for you once you’re settled, honored Faena. There’s much I would discuss with you.”
No one said anything as the chamberlain led us through the double doors out of the audience hall, back to the main stairs, and up to the fourth floor, collecting servants as he went. I kept my eyes on Javes in front of me, only catching out of the corner of my eyes the mosaics, bas-reliefs, and tapestries on the walls, an impression of shapes, colors and textures. The chamberlain reached a set of double doors (”More Gifted wood?” my uncle murmured) and opened them with a flair, revealing a large common room—a miniature hall really—with a fireplace at the end and several doorways covered by heavy curtains on each side.
“We’ll have to double up some,” Chancellor Berle said, counting doorways. The haunts followed us in as the chamberlain oversaw the lighting of the fire.
“Peat moss,” the Faena said, seeing Uncle Havram’s interest in the fireplace.
“Oh, aye.” The vice admiral’s mouth quirked. “Well, if wood’s so precious and all, I suppose they wouldn’t burn it.” He didn’t wait for the Faena’s reply but looked back at the chancellor. “Do not worry about Falkin and me, Berle. We and the other officers will sleep on our ships.”
There were two windows at either side of the fireplace, the sun low enough to blaze through them, but even so the servants went through the common room, lighting candles. Soon the scent of beeswax, lightly perfumed with myrtle, filled the air. Several more servants entered with fresh towels, bed linens, pomanders containing a medley of dried petals, spices and oils, and fresh flowers that they arranged in vases around the common area and in the sleeping chambers. Water was also brought in, poured into a large kettle and placed on the fireplace hob to heat. The chamberlain upended a small bag into the kettle and, as the water warmed, the smell of roses was added to the room.
“Nice rugs,” Esclaur said, looking down at the colorful carpets covering a floor of gray slate. “Perdans?”
“No, our own,” the Faena replied. “As I’ve said before, Border textiles rival in quality what both Iversterre and Tural produce.”
A couple of servants appeared with trays containing pitchers and chalices, and when they walked by I could smell mulled wine. Noses twitched and we turned our heads to watch them place the trays on a table near the fireplace. More servants followed behind them with a tray containing cheeses, different kinds of fruit and fresh bread, still steaming from the oven.
“A little something to tide us over until dinner,” Doyen Allwyn said. “Looks good.”
There were sounds of assent.
The servants finished and the chamberlain once again swept through the rooms to make sure that they were up to the keep’s standards. Satisfied, he herded the servants out before him and, after promising to come get us in time for dinner, he bowed and shut the doors after him with a gentle snick.
As one, everyone turned and looked at Laurel Faena, who looked back at us, his face calm, his tail lashing back and forth.
Uncle Havram held up his hand as several people inhaled, silencing them before they spoke. He then lowered his brows at Laurel. “What game are you playing, Ambassador?” he asked, his voice very soft.
“No game, honored vice admiral—Oof!”
I dimly heard shouts and the scraping back of chairs and tables as I knocked Laurel down and we rolled around on the floor—me trying to get a fist, a knee, a foot, a fingernail into a tender spot. Laurel, though, was taller, with a longer reach and almost half again my weight, and in a few moments he was staring down at me, his paws pinning my arms to the rug as he sat on my legs.
I arched my back, trying to dislodge him. “Let me bloody up, you double-deali
ng, pox-rotted, mangy son of a flea-bitten bitch.”
Laurel rumbled, his ears flattening against his skull.
“Let him up, Sro Cat,” Suiden said, coming into view over Laurel’s shoulders.
Laurel slowly got off of me, his ears still flat. I also stood, not bothering to straighten either hair or clothes, and Suiden clamped a hand on my shoulder to keep me from going after the Faena again.
“It’s no game,” Laurel repeated as he spared a brief glance around and located his staff behind Lieutenant Falkin, lying against the wall. He started to move towards it, but Falkin didn’t budge. They eyed each other.
“What the hell do you call it, then?” Havram asked. He gestured for Falkin to step aside. “You swear up and down that you’ll keep Rabbit away from this Maggot—”
“Magus,” Laurel corrected, picking up his staff.
“Whatever,” my uncle said, waving the distinction away. I shifted so I could see the Faena. “But when we get here, it comes out that he’s the one who sent you in the first place.”
“No, he didn’t,” Laurel said. “I was sent by the High Council.”
“Do not shave words and dice meanings with me, cat,” Havram said, his voice still soft. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Yes, honored vice admiral.” Laurel shot a glance at me, and then away. “I know.”
My uncle’s voice grew softer. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Yes, it bothers me—”
“You lied,” I said, “and have been lying from the beginning.”
Laurel sighed and began to untangle his beads. “No, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell all.”
“Do you think that’s better?” I asked. “That it makes it all right?”
“No. I’m not justifying. Never to justify.” Laurel looked at me and this time didn’t look away. “But perhaps to explain.”
“What’s there to explain?” I shoved my hair out of my face. “How funny you found it to dupe the human?”
“Dupe you?” Laurel rumbled back. “Are you with the Magus?”
Well, no, I wasn’t. “But—”
“I have done what I’ve sworn I’d do. Your indentures are dissolved, by order of the Fyrst.”
“At least until the High Council meets,” Javes murmured, his yellow wolf eyes fixed on the mountain cat.
“Perhaps it would be best if we were to all sit down and discuss this,” Doyen Allwyn said as both Laurel and I opened our mouths.
“Yes,” Chancellor Berle said, walking over to where the food and drink sat on the table. She picked up a chalice and poured wine into it. “I want to hear why we should still believe the ambassador’s professions of goodwill and safety.” She pulled a chair up to the table and, sitting down, began to fill a plate with cheese, bread and grapes.
I hung back as the rest moved to join her, but Uncle Havram took one arm, Captain Suiden grabbed the other, and from behind Jeff herded me over to a chair and I was pushed down into it.
Laurel sat down on the opposite side of the table between Chancellor Berle and Vice Admiral Havram, leaning his staff against his chair as he kept his eyes on mine. Falkin moved to stand behind the vice admiral, his gray gaze fixed on the cat.
“Well, Ambassador?” Havram asked.
“As I said, this is no game.”
“Then what is it?” Suiden asked, standing behind me, Javes and Esclaur on either side of him.
“There are two main factions in the Border, honored folk—those who want war,” Laurel said without looking away from me, “and we who want peace.” Honor Ash’s haunt floated to his side and stood also watching me.
“War because of the smuggling?” Chancellor Berle asked, sipping her wine.
“Among other things, yes,” Laurel replied.
“What other things?” Esclaur asked.
“The fact that Iversterre was once ours, being one,” Laurel said. “Many feel it only right that it should be ours once again.” He ran his paw over his head, still looking at me. “They’ve seized upon the running as a rallying cry and are ready with detailed battle plans so that this time there’d be no premature fracturing of the Alliance as there was in the last war.”
“Fracturing?” the chancellor asked, picking up a slice of cheese and laying it on a piece of bread.
“The Alliance fell apart after Iversterre sued for peace because no one could agree on what to do next,” Laurel replied, glancing at the chancellor. He then looked back at me. “However, your honored father did speak before the High Council, Rabbit. He was most eloquent in his pleas for diplomacy, and enough members were swayed to agree that I should be sent to Iversterre to perhaps find a peaceful solution.”
“Which was to comb the mountains over Freston until you found me?” I asked.
Laurel sighed. “The Magus has many friends on the Council, and when he saw which way the vote would go, he got them to make your return a condition for considering peace.”
I shook my head, for the first time feeling something other than numbing anger. “But why? I’m just a farm boy from the backwoods and surely not the first apprentice to slip his master’s bonds. Why all this trouble just to get me back?”
“How many mages were there, Rabbit?” Laurel asked.
“What?”
“How many mages did Kareste have with him in the Fyrst’s hall?”
“Nine,” I said, after a moment’s count.
“Ten altogether, with the Magus. All full master mages, no? None were apprentices or even senior journeymen.”
I nodded, my brows coming together.
“Yet you shrugged their combined working off as if it were a mere annoyance,” Laurel pointed out. “Just as you did the first time when they came seeking you.”
I frowned deeper at him.
“At the embassy in Iversly,” Laurel reminded me. “You are very powerful, Rabbit. Very, very powerful.”
“All right, I’m powerful. But as I said back on the ship, the Council wasting time by sending you after me doesn’t make sense, Faena.” I waved a hand at the haunts around us. “Not if they wanted to stop the slaughter.”
“Yes, I know,” Laurel said.
“You know,” I echoed, and then gave a short laugh. “Maybe I’m not the only dupe here.”
Laurel rumbled. “I have admitted that there were things kept from me—”
“No! Really? How that must rankle, honored Faena.”
“So, Ambassador,” Uncle Havram said, breaking into Laurel’s increasing growl. “You were sent by the High Council, as a favor to this Maggot—”
“Magus,” Laurel said.
“—to find Rabbit.” My uncle’s brow rose. “But if he was so hidden from everyone, how did you know where he was?”
“Mages aren’t the only ones with the talent, honored vice admiral. As I told Rabbit, I tracked him.” Laurel rooted around in his side pouch, pulling out a small wooden horse with faint chew marks where a teething child had gnawed on it. I grew still as Honor Ash’s haunt ran a ghostly finger over it.
“Your father gave it to me—” Laurel began.
“My da?” I asked, the numb feeling stealing over me again.
“His father helped you to find his son for a master that his son fled from in abhorrence?” Chancellor Berle asked, refilling her chalice. “What a family—” She broke off as she caught the vice admiral’s stare.
“No,” Laurel said, “not for the Magus.” The cat’s face softened. “And it wasn’t just your father, Rabbit, but your entire family, plus Brother Paedrig, Dragoness Moraina, and Honor Ash.” Laurel waved a paw back at the sprite’s haunt. “It was she who remembered your toy.”
“Gifted?” Havram asked looking at the wooden horse, and the haunt smiled.
“Moraina did choose each jewel used to buy your indentures, Rabbit, from her hoard—and she hummed as she did so,” Laurel said, his brows crooking as his head tilted to the side. “Honor did wish me good hunting.” The haunt’s smile widened. “Brother Pae
drig insisted on praying over me, even though I’m not of your church. And your family—” Laurel shook his head, his beads rattling. “Bring him home, they said. Bring him home, safe.”
The room blurred and I looked away. “You could’ve told me.”
“Yes,” Laurel said, with another sigh. “I could have.”
“All along you’ve said ‘Trust me’ and ‘My oath to you,’ ” I said. “How can I?” I took a deep breath, still feeling the pain of being laid open to the bone. “Why should I?”
“I was afraid, Rabbit,” Laurel said, “that if I told you, you wouldn’t come, and that amid accusations of interference with your indentures, we would lose the chance for peace.”
“But you’ve been accused,” Lord Esclaur said, “and the Maggot—”
“Magus,” Laurel said.
“—does not have Rabbit, so will there be war?”
“Why?” Laurel opened his eyes wide at the lordling. “I kept my word in bringing Lord Rabbit back to the Border and, regardless what Kareste has said, I did not meddle with his apprentice’s bindings. It was the Fyrst’s decision to remove him from the Magus’ care.” Laurel shook his head. “Killing birds. Shameful!”
“And you had nothing to do with it,” Javes murmured.
“Oh, no. The Magus managed to do that all on his own,” Laurel said, showing his eyeteeth. He then looked at me and his grin faded. “Rabbit—”
“Why don’t you want Iversterre back, Ambassador?” Chancellor Berle asked.
Laurel sighed once more and, looking away from me to the chancellor, shrugged. “We don’t need it.” He saw the incredulous stares aimed at him. “We don’t. We feed ourselves and export our surplus, we have thriving industries, we have a brisk trade with the Qarant, among others. We prosper, honored folk. War tends to change that.”
“Even if you win?” Javes asked, his voice dry.
“We won the last time and it nearly pulled us apart, squabbling over who gets what.” Laurel shook his head again, beads clacking and feathers fluttering. “No, no, and three times no. We do not need you or your land. We have more than enough here.” His ears flicked back. “Besides, all we have to do is wait because, as you turn fae, you will surely need us.”
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