The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (45 page)

Trell looked to her when he heard her intake of breath. “What is it? What is this place?”

“It
was
the Temple of the Vestals,” she whispered, turning to him wide-eyed.

“I take it the place was still standing when you left.”

She nodded.

“Any idea what happened here?”

Alyneri felt a little sick to her stomach, for instinct shouted what had in fact transpired—or at least who might be to blame. “I have an idea.” 

Trell looked back to the ruined temple, and his brow furrowed. “Let’s push on. Perhaps the Mage’s emissary can tell us something.”

They continued past the crumbling remains of the once-great structure, but Alyneri couldn’t get past the feeling that Ean had somehow been intimately involved in the disaster. On the upside, it meant he had finally recovered, and she tried to take some solace in that idea.

The Mage’s missive was addressed to a woman who lived on the Rue de la Mer, a long road that wound along the highest hill at the west end of the city. As Alyneri and Trell soon discovered, it commanded impressive views and played host to some of the most luxurious and exclusive homes in all of Rethynnea.

They stopped at the gates of their destination, which were incongruously open compared to the many others they’d passed. Trell looked upon the number engraved in an iron plaque set into the stone wall beside the gate. “Fourteen,” he said. “Here we are then.”

They headed down the drive beneath an arcade of orange trees to reach a pink marble mansion, where a groom ran up to take their horses before they’d even dismounted. Trell withdrew a leather case from his satchel, took Alyneri’s hand, and headed up the steps to the double doors.

He was just reaching for the knocker when the door opened to reveal a lovely brunette in a golden gown of shimmering silk. “Welcome to the Villa D’Antoinette, my lord and lady,” she said with a Bemothi accent exotic and heavy on her tongue.

Alyneri stood somewhat in awe of her as Trell replied, “I have a message for the Lady Ghislain D’Launier. Is she present, madam?”

“But of course. Come inside.” The brunette gave Trell a look that was wholly suggestive, and which Alyneri immediately tried to memorize in the vain hopes of ever imitating herself.

The brunette turned and led them through the mansion, whose luxurious rooms played host to men and women of so many varied races that Alyneri immediately lost count. “Is your mistress throwing a party?” she asked.

The brunette turned Alyneri a wanton look that reminded her uncomfortably of Sandrine but quickened her pulse all the same. “Always, my lady.”

Alyneri cleared her throat. “I hope we are not intruding.”

“There are no intruders at the Villa D’Antoinette,” the woman replied in her exotically throaty voice. “Only the most interesting people to make acquaintance with.”

“Sounds like another place I know,” Trell murmured.

The brunette led them up a grand, curving staircase to the second level and down a long corridor opening upon more rooms. Alyneri was beginning to wonder what Madam D’Launier did that she hosted so many people at all hours of the day, when they finally reached their host.

Ghislain was reclining upon a divan, before which sat three men at three different Kings boards, but she straightened from her languorous repose when she saw them enter. “And who do we have here, Riselle?”

“An emissary, my lady,” answered the brunette. She gave Alyneri a nod, Trell a shameless look, and took her leave.

“An emissary,” Ghislain mused, eyeing Trell inquiringly. “Well then.” Clearly in her middle years, Ghislain stood to reveal an alluring figure framed by a fuchsia gown trimmed in black lace. She motioned them to come along as she walked toward a door at the back of the room.

They followed her into a salon paneled in rich brown velvet, and Ghislain seated herself in an armchair whose upholstery matched the walls. “Very well,” she said then and extended her hand to Trell. “Let’s see what you have for me.”

Trell handed her the leather case, which she untied and opened, breaking the seal upon the parchment within and unfolding it. Her dark eyes read it over, and then she settled the missive in her lap and looked upon Trell more carefully. “Have you some idea what this contains?”

“Some idea, yes,” he answered. He squeezed Alyneri’s hand, and she sensed a tension building within him.

Ghislain’s shrewd gaze swept Trell and appeared to note every detail, from kingdom blade to wolf-grey eyes. “Your name, sir—your true name.”

“Trell val Lorian.” 

“Ahh…” she broke into a smile, dark and mysterious. Her gaze flicked to Alyneri. “And who might you be, dear girl?” 

“Alyneri d’Giverny,” she answered, cringing at how young and unworldly her voice sounded by comparison to Ghislain’s. She was grateful to still have hold of Trell’s hand.

“Incredible.” Ghislain sat back in her chair and looked over the both of them with an expression of wry amusement. “Half the city seems to be looking for you, dear,” she said to Alyneri, and her eyes shifted back to Trell as she added, “and I would hazard to say a fair share of the spy networks of three kingdoms are on the hunt for you, Prince of Dannym, albeit more discreetly.”

“We—I…” Alyneri cleared her throat. “I’ve been separated from my companions. We were hoping you could help us.”

“To be certain, you’ve come to the right place.” She shifted her gaze back to Trell, and there was both challenge and the hint of amusement in it. She waved the missive in her hand lightly. “Would you like to read it?” 

Because she held his hand—because she knew him so well already—Alyneri could tell Trell was experiencing an intense emotional upheaval, though outwardly he seemed utterly calm. “Perhaps…yes,” he answered at last. Alyneri knew those words had cost him much to admit. She just didn’t know why.

Ghislain handed him the parchment.

Alyneri read it over his arm. There were only eight words printed there in a neat but flowing hand.

Please see that he reaches his family, Ghislain.

Alyneri’s eyes filled with tears.

Trell swallowed and clenched his teeth. He handed the parchment back to Ghislain. “Why?” he asked tightly.

Ghislain held his gaze. “Who knows the inner workings of a Mage’s mind?”

Trell worked the muscles of his jaw. “Do you know him? Do you know who he is?”

Ghislain’s reply was an elliptical smile. “He is a great man with many names.”

Trell dropped his head, and Alyneri felt the tension bleeding out of him. “He is that,” he admitted, his tone intense though the words were softly spoken.

“Come, darlings,” Ghislain said, standing then in a rust of silk. “I have something to show you.”

She led them from the room without waiting for a reply. Alyneri followed somewhat in awe. Ghislain reminded her of Queen Errodan and the Fire Princess Ysolde both—also women of authority who bore their power quietly and without pretense.

Ghislain led them through the mansion and into a salon that opened onto a small balcony. There, before a railing covered in bougainvillea, a man sat in profile to them. His shaggy hair all but covered his face as he gripped a goblet of wine and scowled at a King’s board. The game seemed to be dominated by the black pieces belonging to the other player, who was notably absent.

“Have you made your move yet, my lord?” Ghislain asked as she neared.

The man turned her a sudden scowl, and Alyneri gasped. “Fynn!”  

Upon seeing Alyneri in turn, Fynn did the unthinkable—he leapt from of his chair, actually
dropping
his wine, and threw his arms so fervently around Alyneri one would think she’d just rescued him from a hurricane sea.

“I never imagined I’d be so happy to see you, Fynn!” Alyneri laughed as she hugged him tightly.

“Your Grace, you have saved me from a fate worse than death!” Fynn declared. “I vow to you, Ghislain has already taken my coin and my pride. I was beginning to fear she’d set her sights on my very soul.”

“You pawned that trinket long ago, my lord,” Ghislain murmured with dark amusement.

The moment of reunion duly honored, Fynn suddenly pulled back from Alyneri and took her firmly by the shoulders. “But where in the nine bloody hells have you been?”

“Retrieving me, I think,” Trell replied soberly.

Only then did Fynn take notice of the man standing just behind Alyneri, but when he did, he stared, and then he laughed boldly. “By all the bloody fortune in the thousand realms!” Fynn bounded three steps and threw his arms around Trell, shrugging him roughly from side to side in a bear of a hug. “
Woohoo!
I never thought I’d see the day! Welcome back, cousin!”

“Trell, may I present your cousin, Fynnlar val Lorian,” Alyneri murmured.

Trell happily but modestly received Fynn’s affections. “I think I remember something of you, cousin,” he observed as Fynn finally released him. Then he frowned. “Something about… mud pies?”

“No, no—the pies were entirely Sebastian’s idea. He was a royal pain in the arse.”  Fynn grabbed Trell by the shoulders and laughed again. “I knew it!” He shot Ghislain a telling look and declared, “I knew it was true!”

“What do you mean?” Alyneri touched Fynn’s arm to gain his attention. “You
knew
Trell lived?”

He released Trell and turned to her. “I’d gone to investigate rumors out of Veneisea, you may recall—after the attack on Ean. I returned with news of Trell the same night the rest of that bloody mess happened.”

Alyneri went cold. “What bloody mess?”

“Oh, Fortune curse us all—you don’t know?” Fynn looked from her to Trell and back again. Then he looked to Ghislain, the quiet voyeur behind their reunion. “It’ll have to wait,” he remarked with an accusatory glare at their host. “Some things aren’t safe to discuss even in the Villa D’Antoinette.”

“And I was so looking forward to finishing our game, my lord,” Ghislain murmured. “You must return soon that we may complete our accord.”

Fynn murmured something noncommittal and dragged Alyneri and Trell from the room.

It was a tense half-hour spent mostly in silence as they rode back to their villa. Alyneri soon began to recognize the streets, but when she arrived in the yard to find it empty and the place looking abandoned, her trepidation grew immensely. “Where is everyone?” she asked as they were dismounting.

“Rhys and Brody are probably off searching the lower city again,” Fynn grumbled. “Bastian sailed north with the
Tungsten
three days ago to deliver news of you, cousin,” he said, indicating Trell, “to my dear auntie, your Queen mother. Seth got tired of being ignored by the zanthyr and left at the same time I did this morning, and I don’t know where Phaedor is,” he added, glowering around at the bushes and trees and the high walls, “but knowing him he’s probably just waiting for the opportune time to appear and scare the nine hells out of all of us.”

“And everyone else?” Alyneri’s unease was reaching alarming proportions. “What of the Vestal and Tanis and Ean? Carian vran Lea?” 

“Yeah,” Fynn muttered darkly, “we’ll get to them.”

He led them inside the manse, which seemed disturbingly dark and empty to Alyneri, and into the closest room that hosted a bar. He poured three glasses of wine, and as he handed Alyneri’s to her, he said gravely, “Your Grace, you’d better sit down.” Then he looked to Trell. “You might as well sit down too, cousin.”

They sat. Trell reached over and took her hand, for which she gave him an immensely grateful look.

Fynn settled into an armchair across from them. “The night you disappeared, your Grace, everything went to hell,” he began. “Brody and I got back from Veneisea to report on what we’d learned of Trell,” and he looked to him, adding, “Indora’s Magisteré was adamant that you lived. You apparently made quite an impression on the Lord Commander of the Tivaricum as well. I’m glad to know you take after your old cousin Fynn,” and he winked and gave Trell an approving nod.

“But as I was saying,” he went on, abruptly exchanging his grin for a gloomy expression, “Raine D’Lacourte was up in arms about having learned something important about the Fifth Vestal’s plans and certain of a sudden that he had the upper hand—a lot of shite that turned out to be, let me tell you.” He looked sternly to Trell and warned, “Never believe a Vestal when he says the game is up. Raine told me that night that he was planning to take Ean to Illume Belliel, because he was certain the Fifth Vestal intended to claim him as he’d claimed Franco Rohre—”

“
What?
” Alyneri gasped. “Fynn, for Epiphany’s sake—”

“But that’s not even the worst part,” Fynn continued dourly. “Vran Lea returned from Belloth-knows-where to tell us that Franco Rohre had been seen in the Temple of the Vestals, and then the zanthyr appeared with news that Ean had awoken.”

Alyneri pushed hands to her cheeks. “Was he—?”

“As witless as ever,” Fynn grumbled. “I was on my way to tell him that you lived, cousin,” he said, looking to Trell, “but I was too late. He took off with Creighton’s Shade—”

“Creighton’s
Shade!
” Alyneri very nearly shrieked. “Fynn, have you gone mad?”