Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  In her experience, it was likely a place to engage in petty gossip and backstabbing. Both men and women would troll for sexual conquests. She had found that those that were not engaged in some kind of meaningful work tended to find ways to occupy themselves that were not especially worthwhile.

  Or, it could be full of interesting people where she would find some good friends.

  She certainly hoped for the latter.

  At least they would know who she was.

  Last evening had been the welcome feast for her. It had gone reasonably well in Cella’s mind. She had not tripped, spilled, or gravely insulted anyone. She hadn’t embarrassed herself on the dance floor. She hadn’t stumbled over her speech thanking King Graydon for Kerban’s hospitality, though she felt it was a bit bland.

  Unfortunately, being surrounded by so many strangers had been rather taxing for Cella. And there was the introduction to the two other noble visitors to King Graydon—the emissaries of Torquin and the Srian people.

  Cella could only describe Shand Mogren of Torquin as oily and pointy. He was a thin, angular man with a pointed goatee and a thin plait down the back of his neck, both of which were oiled with something scented.

  He had slightly angled black eyes that watched everything with a sharp keenness, as though he was looking for an opening to exploit. The black trousers and purple and black robe he wore seemed to emphasize his angularity rather than disguise it. Even the toes of his boots were pointed.

  He was one of those people who spoke in smooth, polished phrases of nothingness. The words were never outright insulting, but somehow, Cella was left with the feeling that she was less than acceptable, as was most everything else in Kerban or Jorval.

  In contrast, the Srian was a warrior. He was as tall as Arto but more thickly muscled. His arms were bigger than her thighs and she could have fit inside his chest twice over. He wore dark brown leather trousers and a burgundy tunic with white catlike figures embroidered around the hem. His hair was very short, cropped close to his skull, and he had no facial hair.

  He struck her as quiet and thoughtful, but also deadly. There was no doubt about that.

  Shand Mogren had cornered her after dinner, before the dancing had started.

  “Lady Vallant,” he greeted her. “How delightful that you were able to bring greetings from your uncle. Your words were quite, mmm, polite. And you dressed so well for the occasion.”

  “Thank you, Shand.” Cella did not wish to give offence so she granted him his title. Neither did she have any desire to be in conversation with the toad.

  “I hear Duke Arto was sent to fetch you. What a journey that must have been, I would think twice as long as he would normally have taken. How many days did you say it was?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Cella was mortified, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it. She should have known that Arto didn’t really want to escort her. The emissary was right, it probably took him far longer with her inability to ride. What a burden to have her foisted on him.

  She laced her fingers together and raised her chin a little. “I understand the Torquin army was beaten back yet again by Kerfaen, Shand. Even with a traitor helping from the inside, you’re now here to rescue your Shoku Armand. Tell me, is it true that a woman was instrumental in bringing down your troops?”

  Mogren’s smile thinned. “I don’t generally concern myself with such petty details. I leave that to snide little court gossips. Men of rank and duty have no need for such speculation. And little girls shouldn’t bait their betters.”

  Mogren then paled, his black beard suddenly stark against his face. He recovered quickly, though. “Ah, Lady Vallant, have you met the Srian Emissary? They appear to have sent us their most physically imposing specimen. He speaks so little that we have yet to bask in the glow of his wisdom, however.”

  “I speak to whom I need to.” The giant’s voice was a deep tenor, even and calm. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Cella. I am Dochir, from Srian. Is this person bothering you?”

  Somehow, Dochir made the term person seem like he was describing something nasty on the bottom of a boot after a walk through the stables. He did not make any threatening gestures, merely stood beside Cella and waited for an answer.

  “Please excuse me, Lady Vallant. I do have many others to greet this evening.” Mogren bowed and retreated.

  “He reminds me of an eel. Kind of like a snake, but slipperier.” Dochir watched the Torquin emissary go, his hand clasped behind his back.

  Cella tried hard to stifle a giggle, but didn’t quite manage it.

  Dochir smiled down at her. “I have visited Jorval before. It is a lovely country. The mines in the north produce some fine gems for our weapons crafting. I also found the olives from the groves nearby are delicious.”

  Cella smiled. “Yes, they are. Delicious olives, I mean,” she added hastily. “My father has mentioned that he has seen more of your people lately. It must be very different to be away from your beautiful mountains.”

  “It is, but travel is good for broadening one’s horizons. Jorval and Kerban know this, that’s why you’re here.” Though there were quite a lot of people in the room, there was a space around the two of them. Dochir moved to be closer to her, since he had to speak up over the noise of the multitude of conversations going on.

  “Yes,” Cella agreed slowly, “but there seems to be more to your travels. Perhaps I presume too much,” she added when he looked at her sharply.

  “We have realized that we need to know our neighbours a little better. There is no ill intent here. I hope to reassure King Graydon of that when I speak with him privately.”

  Cella believed him. If he had meant ill, he would be a one-person army. She did however, think there was more to Dochir than a warrior’s body and goodwill.

  They spoke of olive groves and gems for a few more minutes before Arto came to join them.

  “Duke Arto de Ludo of Bridgend, may I present Emissary Dochir of Srian.” Cella introduced the two men.

  Arto slipped an arm around Cella’s waist, pulling her body against his. “Good evening, Emissary. How have you found Kerban thus far in your travels?”

  “More crowded than the mountains of Srian, but with friendly people,” answered the large man.

  “Emissary Dochir rescued me from Shand Mogren’s conversation,” Cella informed Arto.

  “Hardly rescued. The Lady Cella was more than holding her own with Mogren’s slippery words,” replied Dochir modestly.

  “Either way, I’m glad he’s gone,” Arto said easily. “If not, I might have had to cede the first dance to him out of political politeness. If truly pressed, I would much rather see you partner with Emissary Dochir. You two seemed to be having an engaging conversation.”

  “I would not presume to ask the Lady Cella for the first dance. Perhaps later in the evening?” He smiled at her politely. She nodded but suspected he wasn’t much of a dancer. It took only a few steps to discover she was wrong.

  Now, though, she needed to mingle with the Kerban nobility. Maybe she would make some friends.

  The common rooms were not overly full. They were a set of linked salon-type rooms lined along the edge of a courtyard garden area. In the finer weather, large glass doors would open to the garden and Cella could see benches set along the bricked pathways.

  Now, though, the fireplaces were lit against the damp of the day and the doors were closed. There were plenty of couches, settees, chairs, and low tables set up in conversing areas around the rooms. There were people reading, chatting, sewing, and she saw one gentleman slouched in a chair, sleeping.

  A young brunette approached Cella. She was taller than Cella by at least four inches but appeared to be younger, though Cella wasn’t too sure about that.

  “Lady Cella?” the brunette enquired. At Cella’s nod, she continued with a friendly smile. “I’m Lady Valina, daughter of Lord Hirt and Lady Lovina, the Marchess and Marchioness of Angles
ly.”

  “I have your clothes!” Cella exclaimed. She realized how stupid that sounded. “I mean, how lovely to meet you, Lady Valina.”

  Valina gave a lovely, tinkling laugh. “I heard you stayed with Mother and Father on your travels, Lady Cella. Mother wrote a lovely letter about your visit. She was quite delighted to have hosted you and more than happy to find a use for the riding habit I grew out of a month after it was made. She hates waste like that.”

  “I wrote her the other day, telling her of the journey and how pleased I am with Kyna. I told her that I had not met you yet, but was looking forward to it. I would like to meet Lord Vigo and Lady Lyr as well.”

  “They will be pleased to make your acquaintance. Neither of them are here just now, but they may pop in later.”

  “There seems to be a fair amount of people here. Is this usual?”

  “Oh, it’s not bad for a rest day. During most of the week it’s just the men and ladies that don’t do anything else. Either they’re elderly and have retired, or they are away from their lands and don’t have much responsibility here. Some are too young to have many duties. Or they’re just lazy and don’t do anything else anyway.” She said this last quietly, obviously not wanting that remark to be overheard.

  “I see.” Cella thought it was more or less similar to her home.

  “There are quite a few here for the Year End Celebration, like us. I don’t have many responsibilities here in Kerfaen but I don’t spend all my time in the commons.”

  “What do you do to occupy your time?”

  “I enjoy riding and get out most days. I also have some mage talent, so I go to study three days a week. I’ll never be more than an apprentice, but I can at least be useful. And there’s a fabulous library here in the Keep! It’s wonderful not to have to read the same books over and over.”

  Cella couldn’t help but be charmed by Valina’s warmth and enthusiasm. “I doubt I will be here many days either. I will have duties at the Guild, I’m sure. I have contacted the Master here in Kerfaen and will meet with him to see what I will do.”

  “May I introduce you to some of the people here? I suspect you haven’t had the time to make many acquaintances yet.”

  “Of course.”

  The two wandered room to room, Valina introducing Cella to various Lords and Ladies. Some Cella remembered from last night, some she did not. She was able to introduce Valina to Emissary Dochir. The massive Srian hinted he wished to speak to Cella privately, but then he seemed easily distracted by the excited Valina. Cella got the feeling that Valina led a bit of a sheltered life in Anglesly.

  They entered yet another salon and Cella felt Valina stiffen.

  “What’s wrong?” Cella whispered, barely moving her lips.

  But Valina couldn’t answer.

  Three ladies approached. Cella didn’t like the look of them.

  The centre woman was tall and perfect. Her dress was the latest Kerban fashion and fit her perfectly, her black hair was elegantly styled, her jewellery was understated yet obviously very expensive, and she wore just enough makeup to enhance her features.

  For all this perfection, her face had a hardness to it, that of a person who felt that life hadn’t treated them fairly. There was almost a “used” quality to her, like she had lived too hard, too fast.

  The two flanking her were obviously there to agree with her and make her look even more perfect. They were dressed well, but not as well as the centre woman. They had nice jewellery, but not as expensive. They were her nicely dressed, bipedal lapdogs.

  “Lady Cella, may I present Lady Suro, and her companions, Lady Sophie and Lady Kune.” Valina’s voice was polite and flat as the tile underneath their feet.

  “Ah, this is Arto’s new plaything. Surprising, he doesn’t usually go for such, ah, ample women.” Lady Suro’s voice was rich and melodious with an undertone of bitter malice.

  Cella’s jaw clenched. This was why she hated spending much time at court. “He is certainly free to choose whomever he desires. I am fortunate to know such an honourable man.”

  “Please, Suro. You’re just jealous that despite your flagrant attempts to throw yourself at him, His Grace won’t give you the time of day.” Valina tossed her head.

  “Oh, he’ll tire of her, just as he always does. After all, what could she offer him, except her willingness to play his sexual games? I’m sure she was quite convenient on the journey from Jorval to Kerban.”

  Suro sniffed derisively and continued. “Hopefully she was at least better than his hand. No one holds onto Arto for long. Of course, when he enjoys my bed, that will all change.” She smoothed her gown over her hips. “I’m simply biding my time, Valina. A strategy little rabbits like you know nothing about.”

  Cella could see that Valina was right. Suro was jealous and for all her bluster, Suro knew that Arto wasn’t interested in the hard woman.

  There was no use wasting her time on the viper Suro and her lapdogs, despite the fact that the thought of being a convenience to Arto cut her deeply. What was worse, it could be true. After all, there hadn’t been much choice in the way of women for him along the way.

  “Valina, I hate to trouble you, but the air in this vicinity seems a trifle foul. Would you mind if we moved on? Pray, excuse us, Ladies.” Cella turned her back on the three and she and Valina moved on.

  She wished she was better with returning such veiled insults. Calling her ample was nasty, but by calling Valina a rabbit, she implied the young lady allowed herself to be sexually used by any man with an erection. Cella highly doubted that was true.

  “Oh, Lady Cella, I’m so sorry,” began Valina.

  “Why are you sorry?” That came out a trifle harsh. Cella moderated her tone. “You didn’t call me ample, and frankly, calling you a rabbit was outright despicable.”

  “I was trying to avoid them until I could warn you.” Valina sat down in an alcove with two chairs. Cella joined her. “Suro is the worst gossip, but she has a following that believes she is witty, stylish, and to be admired. She could make life here uncomfortable for you.”

  “And for you, I would think,” Cella said neutrally.

  “Oh, she already dislikes me. She had a thing for Vigo once, and I introduced him to Lyr. Well, when he fell in love with Lyr, she was livid and I will forever bear the responsibility of poking the beast.”‘

  “I’ve found the best way of dealing with people like her is to ignore them and carry on. Our actions will speak louder than her words. Now, you spoke of riding?”

  Valina embraced the subject change. “Yes, would you like to go with me this afternoon? I could show you some of the city as well?”

  “That sounds lovely, actually.” Cella was a little surprised to note that was the truth. She would like to go for a little ride on Marta. Would wonders never cease?

  Chapter 14

  Suro surreptitiously watched Cella and Valina leave the common rooms. Suro had taken an instant dislike to Cella when she saw her at the banquet last night.

  She watched Arto fawn over Cella like she was some precious jewel. He was normally kind and attentive to his lovers, but this appeared far deeper.

  He sat beside her, danced with her, introduced her to various friends, and kept a hand on her whenever they were directly together—it was unacceptable.

  Suro knew that she wanted Arto for her husband. He was a noble in the confidence of the King, very wealthy, and had a reputedly large and lavish manor house. This was what she needed in a mate.

  Suro had grown up in a noble house as a cousin. She was used to wealth and privilege and had no intention of working for a living. Thus far, she had managed to support herself with handouts from her relations and various lovers along with the occasional blackmail scheme.

  She was prepared to let Arto have his little flings, but once he became her lover, that would be ended.

  What did Arto see in that dull, fat Cella? She was barely able to speak in public beyond a few polite phrases. Her danc
ing skills were adequate but nowhere near as polished as Suro’s. She didn’t dress as stylishly or dramatically.

  Suro began to devise some gossip to spread about the fat little Cella.

  It would have to be done carefully. Nothing should appear to have come from Suro herself.

  She discarded the notion that implying Cella had been unjustly promoted to Master. It wouldn’t do to antagonize the guilds.

  Perhaps she should focus on the burden Cella was to her poor Arto. Or an implication that Cella hated it here, hated Kerban, and couldn’t wait to leave?

  Hmm, that may work.

  As soon as was opportune, she worked this into the conversation the ladies were having.

  “Though it’s nice to have Duke Arto here for the Year End celebrations, it’s such a shame that it wasn’t actually his choice.” Suro affected a sad note into her voice.

  “Oh?” asked Sophie, looking more vacant than usual.

  “Well, yes. He was ordered to look after the Jorval woman by the King, so of course he can’t just do as he wishes. I can certainly understand why His Majesty wouldn’t want to be saddled with her directly.” Suro was aware that others in the room were straining to hear her gossip. She kept her voice a little low, all the better to entice them.

  “Why not? She seemed nice enough last night.” Kune was a little smarter than Sophie and played into Suro’s plan.

  “Apparently she hates it here. She wants to go back to the Vizier’s court where she’s high in the ranks and makes sure everyone knows it. I think she called Kerfaen a ‘backwater port town.’ Can you believe it?” Suro sounded suitably appalled. “I thought she was just shy and quiet until I heard that.”

  Sophie and Kune made appropriate noises of dismay. Suro smiled.

  Later, as she was leaving the common areas to tidy herself for dinner, the Torquin Emissary approached her.

  “I know I am not appreciated here by many, but would you consider honouring me with your conversation for a moment?” the Shand asked.

  Suro reluctantly agreed, but once the man started to speak, she became much more interested.