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The shifkin, silent and watchful, maintained their calm faces for the whole of the short journey. Not one betrayed any unease at being within Erith lands, in the heart of Erith government. Their shoulders were straight, the faintest shimmer of power in their eyes showing that they were alert but not disturbed.
Arrow was quite sure that the Steward would be comparing the ‘kin’s calm demeanour with that of the servants who bustled about. The Receiving Hall’s doors were flung wide by a pair of pages, high colour in their cheeks betraying their excitement, though they were careful to keep their expressions properly sober as the Steward went past, restraining themselves further at a sharp sideways glance from the cadre’s second.
There was not one speck of dust in the lightly scented air of the Receiving Hall. The hexagonal room was lit from above by stained glass set in a domed ceiling. On the outside, the dome was azure blue. Inside, light poured through a design that depicted symbols of the triumvirate that governed and protected the Erith; the Academy, the Taellan and the White Guard. Shafts of brilliant colour shone on an elaborate floor created from materials drawn from every parcel of land that the Erith occupied, from hard diamonds from the Leneasthen Mountains to soft, pale wood from the Sovernis region, far into the Erith heartlands. Three of the six sides of the room were doorways, the high, wide doors occupying almost the entire wall. The other three sides were deliberately blank, the wooden panels polished to a high gleam, with elaborate displays of Erith flowers and foliage set on low tables in front of each.
In the middle of the room Arrow was not surprised to see that a half dozen of the Taellan had been gathered; it would not have surprised her to find every Taellan here for this unprecedented event, no matter the cost in power and favours owed to get here. They were watched by a cadre of White Guard stationed against the walls, far away from the ‘kin and trying, and failing, to look harmless, hands carefully away from weapons, shoulders deliberately relaxed.
“Prime.” Seggerat vo Regersfel stepped forward and made a low bow. “I welcome you to the Taellaneth on behalf of her most gracious majesty, Freyella, and her consort, Noverain.” Not by one flicker of an eyelash did Seggerat acknowledge her presence, even when she made a quiet translation.
“Elder.” Zachary answered the senior Taellan’s greeting with a courteous nod, reminding everyone in the room that he was, in fact, absolute ruler of his people whilst Seggerat was answerable to the crown.
“Be welcome in our hall,” the Erith continued the ritual words of greeting.
Behind their Prime the shifkin had formed a loose group, close enough to aid their leader but giving him enough space that he faced the Taellan alone. The Erith warriors moved, Kallish’s cadre remaining in the room, the other cadre that had followed them through the building filing back out into the corridor, the doors closing silently behind the warriors. The wards in the room shivered, perhaps reacting to the tension.
“It is not welcome that I seek, but answers.” The Prime’s voice was so mild that it took Arrow’s mind a moment to catch up with the actual meaning. She nearly faltered in her translation, but Seggerat was too taken aback by the Prime’s words to notice, the normally inscrutable Erith lord’s lips moving for a moment without sound.
“You believe we can provide such, Prime?” the elder asked, voice not quite as smooth or mild as the ‘kin’s.
“I would not be here otherwise.”
“In what way have the Erith offended you, Prime?” the elder asked, directness earning him sharp sideways glances from his fellow Taellan.
“My mate is dead at the hands of a rogue magician with considerable learning in Erith magic. The Lady Seivella is implicated in this, and the Preceptor is now mysteriously absent.” Zachary could have been discussing menu options for the calm in his voice. Arrow tried to match his calm in her translation, and not to falter under the amber-lit stares she was now receiving from the Taellan. Apart from Seggerat, only Juinis and Kester spoke any common tongue, and might know that she was repeating the Prime’s words. The rest of the Taellan clearly thought she was making it up.
“The death of Marianne Stillwater was a most regrettable matter, and you have all the sympathies of the Erith nation. Her majesty was deeply distressed by the news.” Seggerat had been playing Court politics far longer than the Prime.
“Condolences will not bring back my mate.” Shifkin politics worked slightly differently than Erith politics.
“These are serious allegations, Prime,” Juinis said, stepping forward to Seggerat’s side. There was a slice of colour on the younger lord’s cheekbones, his eyes flecked with amber.
“I await your reply.” The Prime appeared quite comfortable, dressed in his dark, formal suit, dress shoes shining, standing in the middle of the Taellaneth, amid a powerful display of Erith artistry and resource, facing a half dozen of the most influential Erith alive. The Erith on the other hand were stiff, appearing uncomfortable in their Court finery, more than one hand showing white knuckles, ambushed in their place of power.
“Prime.” One of the quietest Taellan, a lady a few years Juinis’ senior, stepped forward and made a small curtsey. “Please be assured that the possible involvement of the Lady Seivella, and the absence of the Preceptor, are news to us, and of great concern. Do tell us more.”
“My lady.” Zachary gave her no more courtesy than Seggerat and lifted a brow in Arrow’s direction.
“The Lady Bea vel Nostren, Prime. Her House holds an expanse of land along the coast and several islands,” Arrow supplied.
“Lady Bea,” the Prime inclined his head again, unbending a little, “my mate was gifted a strand of pearls from your House’s territory. It was something much prized.”
A smile of genuine pleasure crossed the lady’s face and she made another small curtsey.
“The gifts of our territory are plentiful, and it is good to hear they found an appreciative home, Prime.” The lady’s face settled into a more solemn expression. “You suspect the Lady Seivella?”
“She attacked us in Lix,” the Prime said coolly, eyes flicking over the group, watching their reactions. Whatever he saw appeared to satisfy him as he turned slightly to Arrow. “They didn’t know.”
“No, Prime.” Kallish may not have had time to make her report. Possibly. Possibly the Erith did not want to believe one of their favoured mages would turn against them. Probably.
“Who would know more?”
“The Preceptor most likely. But I do not know where he has gone.”
“Find out,” he ordered, a snap entering his voice for the first time.
“Prime.” Heat rose in her face as she looked across at the Taellan. There was a faint smile on Gret vo Regresan’s face. Doubtless he thought the Prime was losing patience with his chosen servant.
“What?” Seggerat’s voice was a slice of frost.
“The Prime wishes to locate the Preceptor,” Arrow translated, keeping her chin up, “and wishes to know where he might be found.”
“I do not answer to you.” The elder’s voice had not warmed.
“The Prime wishes to know, my lord.”
“We do not know.” Seggerat twitched his robes back into place as he spoke, a nervous tic which Arrow was familiar with. The elder was seriously disturbed, and genuinely did not know where the Preceptor was.
“He left without a word.” Eimille vel Falsen’s face pinched in displeasure. She would take his absence as a personal slight, Arrow knew. Vailla was a favoured member of her House.
“Not even to the Lady Vailla?” Arrow pressed.
“Do not presume to speak her name,” Eimille hissed, eyes flaring pure amber.
“The Preceptor left no word, my lady?” Arrow asked steadily.
“No.”
The word was flat, the lady actually turning her shoulder on Arrow and, by default, the Prime as well, a display of bad manners that none of the Taellan would normally tolerate.
Arrow made a rough translation for Z
achary, suspecting he had probably followed most of it without her aid.
“Who is Vailla?” he asked.
“The lady is Eimille vel Falsen’s niece, and vestran to Lord Evellan,” she answered.
“A recent engagement?” he enquired.
“Yes.”
“I wish to speak with her,” he said. Arrow swallowed and wished she could take a step back.
“My lord,” she addressed Seggerat, “the Prime wishes to speak with Lord Evellan’s vestran.”
“Out of the question!” Eimille snapped, whirling to glare at Arrow before the elder could answer. “I will not have members of my House subjected-”
“I also wish to find out what this young lady knows,” Seggerat cut through before Eimille could finish, contradicting his fellow Taellan without looking at her, and flicked a glance past the Prime’s shoulder. “Kallish, fetch the lady here.”
“My lord.” The warrior’s voice betrayed nothing, and Arrow did not dare turn to gauge her reaction. A moment later the room’s wards shivered, letting her know that Kallish, and probably her third, had left.
“The lady is being sought, Prime,” Arrow confirmed.
“Good. Let us discuss the Lady Seivella whilst we wait.”
The elder’s eyes sparked when Arrow passed that along. His lips tightened, another sign of brewing temper. For perhaps the first time in her life Arrow was not afraid of him. Powerful as he was, he had sent her into exile with only the things she carried. Twice. And she had survived. Twice. At least so far. Freed from the oath spells, she no longer had to obey him. Be wary of him, naturally. He was elder of the Taellan, a position many ambitious Erith aspired to, and had held the post for many years without any open challenge. That was skill and cunning, with a healthy measure of sharp intelligence. She even found room for a sort of admiration as he tried to deflect the Prime by offering refreshments.
To the Taellan’s evident relief, the Prime accepted, and there was an odd pause for small talk whilst the Steward and his staff served Erith tea, additional servants arriving with ornate trays covered with bite-sized offerings of spectacular Erith cuisine. Arrow tried not to look at the trays too hard, mouth watering in helpless reaction. There had been no time for any food on the way here, and her body was still using up energy in healing.
The food at least gave everyone a safe topic to discuss, with unnecessary attention, until the wards shivered again and Kallish returned, Vailla vel Falsen escorted in within Kallish’s third.
One look at Vailla’s face and Arrow’s stomach lurched. The lady had never been able to conceal her secrets; she knew something.
“Young lady.” Seggerat handed his cup to a nearby servant and stepped forward, past Eimille, when the lady would have gone to her niece. Eimille sent a glare at the elder’s back that had defeated lesser men. The elder ignored her.
“My lord.” Vailla made a quick curtsey, eyes widening and skin paling as she looked around the room.
“Where is Lord Evellan?”
“I do not know, my lord,” Vailla replied, chin lifting slightly, colour high. Seggerat had evidently come to the same conclusion as Arrow, for his eyebrow lifted, expression darkening.
“Where is he?”
“I do not know, my lord.”
“May I?” The Prime’s question was mild but drew the whole room’s attention. Vailla licked her lips, and Arrow’s stomach twisted again. At the elder’s reluctant assent, the barest wave of a hand, the ‘kin stepped forward, closer to Vailla.
“Prime.” Vailla made a small, ungraceful curtsey.
“The Preceptor is missing.” The Prime’s voice was still quiet but held a core of power that had every Erith in the room twitching. Arrow held her position. She had faced the Prime in the heart of his territory before now. He was simply making a point, perfectly in control of himself. The gathered shifkin were still relaxed, silent observers.
“I did not know that,” Vailla answered. Arrow moved to the Prime’s shoulder and made a rapid translation.
“You know something, my lady,” Zachary prompted, more power slipping out, curling around the lady. The Prime’s power unleashed was a force of nature, and Vailla seemed to shrink where she stood, faint amber flaring in her eyes as she tried to hold her ground. Vailla was not powerful enough to stand against Zachary, Arrow knew.
“Stop this!” Eimille broke in. “She should not face such barbarity.”
“Vailla.” Arrow used the ensuing argument amongst the Taellan as cover to step out of Zachary’s shadow and make a low-voiced appeal. “The Preceptor may be in danger. You need to tell us what you know.”
“Arrow,” a tear fell along Vailla’s cheek, “he did not tell me anything.”
“What do you know?”
“Something happened, or he saw something at that dreadful place.” Vailla’s hands were clenched together, knuckles white. “I do not know what, but he was … I have never seen him like that. He was in a rage, but then … almost crying. It was awful.” Her voice was barely audible. “He was looking at some scrolls in his study when I saw him last. He looked exhausted. And the shadows,” Vailla glanced at Arrow to make sure she understood, “the shadows were thicker than I had ever seen. And there was a smell in the room. A horrible, burning smell. He told me he had something personal to take care of. That was the last I saw him.”
Sometime during Vailla’s low-voiced, disjointed speech the Taellan had fallen silent, attention resting with the young Erith.
“What could this mean?” Kester asked. A sensible question that drew sharp, frowning glances from his fellow Taellan. The younger Halsfeld lord kept his eyes on Arrow, one brow lifting as she remained silent.
“The Preceptor knows more than he has told about the incursion and the death of Marianne Stillwater,” Arrow said at length, reluctantly, into the heavy silence.
“This is an outrage!” Gret vo Regresan was flushed and furious. “To accuse the most respected magician of such heresy.”
“I do not accuse him of anything other than more knowledge than he has yet shared.” Arrow made each word precise, conscious of the interested, listening ‘kin gathered and the dangerous arrogance of the Taellan.
“We require answers,” the elder stated.
“Agreed.” Eimille’s normally angular, striking face was pinched, white showing around her lips. She put out an imperious hand, beckoning her niece closer, tucking Vailla to her side. “What do you suggest?” she asked the elder.
“We must check his study.”
Arrow’s attention was mostly on Vailla, sure that the lady still had more secrets, and saw the tiny flinch that she tried to hide.
“Not the study at the Academy,” Arrow said, reading Vailla’s reaction, “the one at his residence.” Vailla paled further under a hard, searching glance from her aunt, perhaps wondering how her youngest charge had found herself alone with the Preceptor in his personal study. They might be bound, but Arrow would wager that ladies of the Falsen House were expected to follow the ancient customs of demure and decorous courtship. Vailla had never been demure.
“We are not going to get in there.” Gret threw up his hands, unwittingly rescuing Vailla from further questioning. “Evellan had the place locked up tight. Has done for years.”
“Not us, no.” The elder’s eyes had travelled to Arrow. It was an all-too familiar look.
“Explain,” Zachary put in, an edge to his tone.
“The Preceptor’s residence is perhaps the best warded place outside the Erith heartland. It is difficult to access even with permission and in the Preceptor’s absence will be almost impossible.”
“Almost impossible?” The Prime caught on the distinction.
“It will take time,” Arrow confirmed.
“You?” Gret, unsettled, was in no mind to curb his tongue. “A bastard half-blood. You should have been destroyed at birth.”
“The most powerful mage the Erith have at present,” Zachary contradicted, drawing the attention, and disbe
lieving stares, from most of the Taellan. Arrow held her breath a moment. When she had dreamed of freedom from her oaths, she had never imagined standing between the Erith and the ‘kin.
“I am not at the Taellan’s service,” she reminded the elder. The amber sparks in his eyes deepened, face tightening.
“But you are at mine,” the Prime said, voice silky soft. Only then did Arrow realise that Xeveran had stepped forward and was performing translating duties. She felt her face warm at the quiet rebuke.
“That is so, Prime.” She made a small bow; an instinctive gesture any Erith would understand as acknowledgement and contrition.
“Then you will permit my agent access to the Preceptor’s residence to seek answers and give her all aid in the pursuit of the conspiracy that killed my mate,” Zachary told the elder. It was an absolute command, ‘kin power heavy in the air.
“Unacceptable,” Eimille broke in, colour high, “the Taellan will not permit a non-Erith such ready access to the innermost workings of our most senior magician.”
“We need answers,” Kester said quietly, “and there are few better placed to get them than Arrow. Recall if you will, my lords and ladies, that she has been close to the heart of our governance for many years.”
“A grave mistake,” Gret muttered, almost inaudibly, “should have killed it years ago.”
“What do you suggest, Kester?” the elder asked.
“Let Arrow, as the agent for the Prime, seek the answers and let us send an observer,” Kester began, cut across by his vestrait brother.
“You cannot be in earnest.” Juinis was more agitated than Arrow could remember seeing him, far more so than the situation warranted. Not that long ago Arrow had accused him of being reckless, and she wondered if the lord was still smarting. The criticism had been well deserved. But it had come from her.
“I will go,” Kester replied calmly, seeming to understand Juinis’ unease. The elder Halsfeld lord relaxed a fraction. Concerned about being exposed to taint again, Arrow thought, the lord’s last venture beyond the safety of the Taellaneth not having been entirely successful, with the lord finding himself drawn to the surjusi.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 42