Bloomfade, 3034
“I’m sure he’ll return soon, Princess.”
Milisend shook her head. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him, Rosellen. Regaume was supposed to be back from Ralmogard by now. You’ve had someone check his band’s hideaway in the Borel District again?”
“Just this morning.”
“Of course you have, thank you. You’ve always been so helpful in passing our letters back and forth. I’m forever grateful for your protection of this forbidden love.”
Rosellen smiled. “I’m always on edge wondering what you and Regaume will bring back from the heists…and to hear about his kissing.”
“Oh, Rosellen, do not live through my vices. I don’t take great pride in the thefts.”
“But in Regaume…”
“Him I treasure above all the jewels. My heart flutters to think of him, and sinks to think of what might befall him.”
“Perhaps he’s used an alchemical candle to capture your heart,” Rosellen said.
“There is no such thing. And no need, as Regaume won my heart long ago.”
“Yes, I remember. The carriage ride to see your sister in Elmbrel Ministry. We had stopped in that little town…”
“Oladet. And he stole the heirloom turquoise pendant Mother wanted Avalane to have after she married Henrey. When I saw the bandit’s eyes I freely gave it.”
“And he promised to see you again.”
“Yes, here in Eglamour. And that was that…” Milisend looked down at her black leathers in her lap and continued sewing up Serdot’s dagger cut.
“Regaume has survived much,” Rosellen said. “He will return.”
“If I lose him, I lose any chance of escaping all of this. I’ve always said no to his offers to run away with him, hoping one day I will have the courage to say yes. Otherwise, my heart would die and I’d be forced to wed Lord Valient.”
“It won’t come to that, Princess. Regaume will return.”
Milisend turned to her handmaiden. “All this time thinking, waiting…I’ve made up my mind. When Regaume returns, I will leave with him. You’ve seen Father at court. Every day is worse. For too long I’ve forced myself into thinking I could do something to help, but I’m no match for all these clever politicians. I’m just a princess, Rosellen, waiting in the wings. A pawn to be married off like Avalane.”
Rosellen smiled. “You’re also a master thief, with the outfit to prove it.”
“Hardly a master. My last two heists were disasters.”
“Bad luck. You have a jewel chest to prove it. I’m happy for your decision about Regaume. He’ll whisk you away from the palace the moment you say it.”
“You’ll be all right?” Milisend asked. “I don’t want to abandon you…”
“I’ll be fine. Your mother will double her popaver when she hears what you’ve done. Her maidens will need an extra hand.”
“Is it better to have them think I was dead?” Milisend wondered aloud. “They wouldn’t come looking for me. They would leave me be.”
“It would crush your mother,” Rosellen said. “And perhaps be the final stroke for the king.”
Milisend looked down again. “I am ashamed to think only of myself.”
“It is no crime to desire a life of love for oneself,” Rosellen said. “With a dash of adventure, of course. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
63. ARTHAN
Rachard Cathedral, Delavon Ministry
Bloomfade, 3034
The morning was fresh and clear, the sun providing welcome warmth that burned away the fog of the night. But the interior of Rachard Cathedral was still dour. All came to mourn the death of the youngest member of the House of Valient.
Arthan watched glassy eyed as Bishop Nestorath said Bardil’s last rites, but he could not bring himself to listen to the words. He could only watch as Bardil’s linen-wrapped body was lowered into the granite tomb. Part of Arthan still hoped Bardil would sit up, the poisoned wound healed, before they slid the heavy lid over him.
Arthan was startled when the trumpets sounded to herald the ascension of Bardil’s soul. He looked at Maillard’s tomb, the newly finished likeness of him carved from the stone. It lay on a stone cushion, eyes aimed skyward and unblinking. In time, the mason would craft a stone face for Bardil.
He knew it was like this for all the Valients, since the times when they were royalty. As a boy he had looked upon these faces and thought about the cracks and worn places. He did not know them and never thought about seeing those he was closest to buried beneath them. Now he saw them and knew they were cold inside their vaults. He pictured himself in one, his stony likeness lying atop.
Arthan felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. It was Medoff. The general looked tired. The ceremony had ended, and those who had come to pay their respects were scattering away.
“Your father’s death was my fault,” Medoff said. “I was with him, right there beside him, in Mordmerg. But I could not defend him. Bardil was not your fault. You defended him from the enemy.”
“It doesn’t seem that way…” Arthan said. “Perhaps I never should have taken him to Eglamour.”
“These masked assassins are everywhere at once. Bredahade, Mordmerg, Lyonseln, Eglamour, and in our countryside. The Army of Delavon awaits your orders, my lord.”
Arthan nodded. “A moment, please, Medoff.”
The general bowed and left Arthan alone with the tombs. He sat, thinking. Bishop Nestorath had joined the choir in singing the burial dirge. Amid the hymn, other voices flooded into Arthan’s mind. He could hear Bardil’s laughter and his words urging him to see Meriam. He could hear Bardil’s caution against colluding with the Rugens against Brugarn. Then there was Reimvick’s voice, telling him the high lords depended on him to lead as Maillard had done. He could see it in Waldemar’s eyes when the steward talked of the imbalance of power between the king, Brugarn, and the lord ministers.
Arthan heard Serdot’s voice telling him no one could be fully trusted. He saw Brugarn’s ugly face and heard his thinly veiled threats. Ambassador Vesamune’s negotiations. Desperation in Erech’s frightened eyes. Everything faded into a flurry of wooden masks, green capes, screaming, and flames.
Arthan looked up, finding himself kneeling before Maillard’s tomb. His eyes welled as he searched for answers and guidance. He lifted his eyes to the rainbow light cast by the cathedral windows and scattered across the carved stone. His eyes settled on the text etched into Maillard’s tomb. A single word was alit in red amid the writing: BOLD. It was part of the description of Maillard’s bygone battles.
Arthan stopped breathing. He turned to see the sunbeams burst through the window. The red light came from the ruby-encrusted crown of Bardhon, first of the House of Valient to be king of Donovan. Arthan looked to the window and saw Rikhard, ancient father of the House of Valient and grandson of Marshal Hilsingor of Ned Gollen.
“I am of the Valients,” he said aloud. He felt strength and confidence flow from a hidden fountain within him. “I am lord of Delavon,” he said louder. His voice echoed alone, the hymn of the choir having ceased. “I am Arthan Valient, Lord Minister of Delavon, Count of Bram, son of Maillard, and descendant of Hilsingor!” he shouted. He looked at the hard faces shining down on him from the windows and tombs. Then he turned to Maillard’s likeness.
“I promise to lead boldly, for realm and kingdom, and continent if need be. Usurpers of the crown, foreign enemies, and masked assassins—none will sway me. These shoulders were built for the burden you’ve passed to me…carried by all of you who have gone before me. Now it falls to me…” He stepped to Bardil’s tomb and laid his hand on it. “And I will avenge you.”
PART III: DARK CORNERS
64. FETZER
Thorendor Castle, Wallevet Ministry
Bloomfade, 3034
Fetzer walked slowly into his cell and closed the door. He collapsed on the bed and look
ed up at the ceiling, tracing the ancient Candlestone symbols carved in the beams with his eyes. He glanced at the table by the wall. His journal waited for him. He got up and pinched the quill.
I must admit that since Marlan and the others departed for Rachard, the training under Arasemis has been rigorous. I know he is trying to test me, to punish me, but I’ll not give the one-armed hermit the satisfaction of uncovering any weakness. Nor will I give Rodel the chance to get ahead.
Rodel is an annoying, pompous Rugen. I don’t care where he came from or what he did. He’s not worthy to be part of what I know Candlestone can become. I respect only his persistence. That quality is where our similarities end. He seems to have been bred at the dagger point, but his swordcraft is no match for me.
Rodel has tried to act friendly, but I know he is false. Marlan is a true believer in Candlestone and good with a sword. And Marlan knows talent when he sees it. Juhl is as beautiful as she is dangerous, and quicker than all of us. Although she is infatuated with Rodel, I know in time she will favor me and our destiny.
Marlan and Juhl will be worthy companions in my eventual leadership of Candlestone. Bertwil was slow, thickheaded, and never acknowledged my dominance. If he had listened to me he’d still be alive, useless as he was.
But this Rodel…I suspect his intentions. Could he be an agent of the Rugen emperor, sent to infiltrate and destroy Candlestone from within? He claims to follow our path, but he is less fervent than he should be. After we complete our tasks in Donovan, his loyalty to us will be tested when we turn our attention to Rugenhav and beyond.
I resent not being sent with Marlan and Juhl to finish off the Valients. But I’ve taken great pleasure in succeeding at whatever Arasemis throws at me. He cannot defeat me. No one can. Perhaps he was formidable when he was young, before he lost his arm. But there is a limit to what he can teach me. I’m fast approaching that point. Then what purpose does he serve? How would he serve Candlestone except to be a book-drunk obstacle to the greatness and speed that we could achieve?
In anticipation of my ascendancy, I’ve explored every nook and corridor of Thorendor while Arasemis studies and Rodel sleeps. I’ve seen everything, inside and out, past all but the best-locked doors. It is a magnificent place but still fast asleep under dust and lost memories. One day Thorendor will be great again, when it is no longer shackled by the hermit. When the name of Candlestone is no longer kept secret. And when our deeds spark fear and submission.
65. SERDOT
Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry
Bloomfade, 3034
“Not now, Serdot,” Reimvick said. “I’m due to meet with Waldemar.”
Reimvick tried to sidestep Serdot, but he blocked his path. “I’m afraid it’s urgent,” Serdot said. “I just received word that Arthan arrived in Rachard, but that more assassins killed his brother, Bardil.”
“How dreadful. But Arthan is in one piece?”
Serdot nodded. “For now…”
“Please relay my condolences. Arthan has endured more loss to his house than any high noble should in the absence of war.”
“I will, Lord Reimvick.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see Waldemar.”
“I have another matter to discuss,” Serdot said. “I need to speak with you about Garion.”
“He’s long dead now, isn’t he? You and Lord Valient tied the bow on that whole conspiracy very nicely. Shouldn’t you be focused on the assassins who attacked them in Delavon?”
“I didn’t say they were attacked in Delavon, my lord. Did you already hear a rumor?”
“No, no…I just assumed…”
“Despite what happened to Lord Valient and Bardil, I have reason to believe a danger still lurks here in the palace. Surely you have time to speak with me for one moment?”
“Fine, fine. What is it then?”
“I wanted to ask you about Garion’s alchemy. You recall his use of a cloaking cloud before he was arrested?”
“Yes, go on, go on…”
“Items like that take some skill and time to prepare. I’ve questioned Sir Hamelin about it, but neither he nor any of the other Crownblades ever saw Garion prepare alchemical mixtures. They never once smelled anything peculiar among his personal effects.”
“Garion was a weasel, Serdot. He hid from us all this time. I’m not surprised that he would hide his alchemy.”
“But he was foolish enough to keep his mask and his orders among his things in the Crownblades’ barracks. My lord, I suspect Garion had help. He clearly knew how to use alchemical items, but I think someone must have helped him make them or hide his laboratory.”
Serdot noticed Reimvick’s brow glisten. The lord minister’s breathing also quickened.
“I suppose you’re right, Serdot. But who and where? As the king’s protectors, the Crownblades have access to the entire palace and everyone within it. Proving your theory correct will take some time.”
“I wonder, given your extensive social connections within the royal court, my lord, whether you know of anyone practicing alchemy. Presumably in secret.”
Reimvick swallowed. “Alchemy is most dishonorable. If anyone in this palace has such a deplorable pastime, they’ve done a good job of keeping it to themselves. I could not guess who would—”
Serdot held up a fragment of crystal, the upper half of a vial taken from Reimvick’s privy. “I found this in the corridor where the lord ministers’ apartments are located. It could have been anyone passing through, of course. Stuck to the bottom of anyone’s slipper or boot. But I wanted to show it to you and to you only, in case you’d seen anything like it before.”
“No, no I haven’t. Is it dangerous?”
Serdot shook his head. “Just a shard of equipment typically used to mix or store solutions.”
“Oh, well, thank God for that. Now, Serdot, I must be going. I do hope your search turns up more clues.”
“May I continue to ask you about my findings, my lord, with the understanding that they will remain a secret until our investigation is complete?”
“Of course, of course. Your trust in me is well placed.” Reimvick wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Will Lord Valient be returning to the capital soon?”
“As soon as he’s able, my lord.”
“Yes, of course. Now, excuse me, Serdot. Waldemar is waiting.”
Serdot stepped out of his way and watched Reimvick scurry down the corridor. “Thank you for your time, Lord Minister.”
Reimvick did not turn around but waved a hand. Serdot gritted his teeth as he watched him go. He had gotten the response he expected from Reimvick but wished he could push harder. He knew he’d have to wait until Arthan returned before accusing a lord minister of ties to the assassins.
Serdot also could not silence a small doubt, given that Reimvick’s own brother, Raymond, had been the first high lord to die. Reimvick could have simply coveted Raymond’s lord ministership, but that did not explain the attacks on Maillard, Gottfried, and Brugarn. Despite Reimvick’s behavior and the certainty that his privy held a secret laboratory, Serdot felt no closer to unraveling the mystery.
66. ARTHAN
Rachard Castle, Delavon Ministry
Bloomfade, 3034
“As I said before, they had the same masks as Marlan and Garion,” Arthan said. “All of these killings are related.”
General Medoff turned to Livonier. “You were supposed to protect him.”
“Our scouts gave us no warning,” Livonier said. “And they came from the trees.”
Medoff pounded his fist on the table. “There is no excuse!”
“Sir Livonier fought honorably,” Arthan said. “Everyone did. But we’re not accustomed to fighting an enemy like this. Their methods are not traditional.”
“If I may…” Alfrem began quietly, handing Arthan a sealed letter. “You father had me keep this alongside his will. Maillard didn’t tell me much, but I believe his
letter is relevant to these assassins’ untraditional methods. I think the time has come for you to read it, aloud, as your father intended.”
Arthan complied.
Arthan, my son,
If the alderman has given you this letter then the rot in Eglamour has worsened, as I long feared it would. If you are called to war, either on the fields of battle or in the shadows of court intrigue, know that you have more tools at your disposal beyond what Master Pelinaud could teach you with a sword. Alchemy, Arthan. Don’t shudder at the word.
Have you ever wondered why the House of Valient stayed loyal to the Avaleaus despite losing the crown to them? It was a time when alchemy was not shunned as it is today. Your ancestors were good at chemina arcana. The Avaleaus were novices at best.
A secret pact was made whereby the Valients would support the Avaleaus with their alchemical and political skills, and the Avaleaus permitted our house to keep our ancestral lands. The Avaleaus wished to wrap themselves with the legitimacy of Hilsingor’s heirs.
This addendum to my will was recent but necessary. When I heard what happened to Lord Raymond I knew where things were going, even if I didn’t have the courage to take this path myself. Do not make the modern man’s mistake of viewing alchemy as merely an extension of pagan mysticism.
While it’s true the original natives of Pemonia had outlandish beliefs, some of their methods were real and not unlike Old World physicians and widsemers. Indeed, the ancient Almerics practiced what is called classical alchemy before the Church labeled it as incompatible with Messengian teachings.
This letter should be accompanied by a sword named Adrithayn. It’s very old, forged by the alchemist smiths back when our house ruled Delavon as kings. I never raised it in battle, nor did your grandfather. But if things change as much as I believe they will, you will need Adrithayn.
Do not worry about what others will say. Many have secretly kept these ancient ways alive, lest their enemies rekindle an old advantage. In time, those who possess these methods may make all the difference, for better or for worse. Do not forget that.
Lords of Deception Page 29