Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (5 page)

Amandice thanked her lover sincerely and thoroughly, with all of the skills the Temple of Passions had taught her . . . even as she conspired to break away from the wealthy commoner. But Amandice loved the place fondly from her girlhood memories, and it allowed her a far more genteel existence than her previous quarters.  More, it was
hers.
 

The Temple had also taught her when to quit while she was ahead.  Once a lawbrother assured her that the deed conveyed ownership to the property to her, and her alone, unattached from anyone else, she knew it was time to end things. 

Amandice was too nice to be cruel to the earnest little burgher, however.  Instead of rejecting him, she ensured that one of his maidservants reported their lusty business to his wife, and within a week the affair was over.  She agreed to meet the woman at market, agreed to stop tempting her husband, and promised to report any further indiscretions to the poor wife if she witnessed them.

But she was keeping the house.

At first she sunk much of her savings into sprucing up and repairing the old place to meet her standards.  New paint was applied to the outside, the porch was expanded slightly, and she had a new fireplace installed to help heat the draughty hall in the winter.  But Amandice’s funds were not limitless, and before another summer came she was already restraining herself in her visions for restoring The Flower Bed. 

At last the Duke and Duchess returned to Vorone (without their notoriously manipulative daughter) when Amandice was in the prime of her womanhood.  It was time to act, she knew, and use the last of her capital and fading beauty to ensure her fortune.  At nineteen, a widow, she had precious little time.

At first she haunted the sidelines of court life, but within weeks of the Duke’s return to Vorone she began carefully cultivating friends and allies in the halls of power.  The novelty of the independent-minded, beautiful baroness delighted the court, and her widowhood provided some social cover from the disapproving judgments of the senior ladies there when they witnessed her many flirtations. 

The Duchess liked her –
that
was what mattered, she knew.  She played rushes and garden games with her, and with subtle flattery and deft social wit, won her favor.  The old woman even promised an invitation to meet her handsome young son, Lenguin, heir to the coronet, when he arrived for the summer.  It was Amandice’s crowning achievement.

That summer was a more mature reflection of her first introduction to court society.  Only this time it was not handsome young gentlemen who courted her, but older men; lords, barons, senior courtiers, married Wilderlords of wealth and power.  While she used these opportunities to her best advantage, assuring discretion and devotion, she kept her ultimate aspirations in mind with every secret kiss.  In quick succession Amandice had an affair with a secretary in the Minister of Treasure’s office, and then his assistant.  Before a month was out she was the clandestine lover of the Minister himself, and a regular at the palace. 

From there, attracting just the right eye was a matter of luck and timing . . . and Ishi’s grace.

Ishi was with her.  She met young Lenguin, their heir to the coronet of Alshar, in the palace gardens at Midsummer. He invited her to a swimming party at one of his many local estates (a fashion at court at the time, embraced for its dual pleasure of the opportunity for illicit embrace and inciting the ire of the conservative clergy, who saw the practice as an invitation to licentiousness) and the two spent an intoxicating few days together in rustic leisure. 

For Amandice, that “leisure” included demonstrations of devotion and adoration that, sadly, the future Duke was already all too familiar with.  Yet her beauty, wit and charms were sufficient to entice him for weeks and earn his genuine affections before he departed to Relan Cor, for instruction in the arts of warfare over the winter months.  It was a magical time for her, the absolute prime of her womanhood.  She was a beautiful widow bedding a youthful heir who was, she was delighted to find, not completely boorish by his position and obligations.

She genuinely loved Lenguin, despite his faults.  He was handsome enough, but his title and his wealth made him entitled and shallow. He also had predilections for certain intimacies most noblewomen of refinement were reluctant to consider. He acted arrogantly and even contemptuously of his seniors, enjoying the fruits of his position without yet shouldering its obligations. 

There was a spirit of rebellion in Lenguin, she saw, a feeling of resistance to the path that had been laid for him by his birth.  He treated her both kindly and rudely, depending on his mood and which of his gentlemen were in attendance.  And Amandice, for all of her wiles, could not keep Lenguin’s exclusive attention, she discovered.  While she accompanied him to a number of functions, twice she encountered other ladies of the court being quietly escorted from his chambers as she arrived.

Still, Amandice was not about to let such an opportunity slip away because of mere personal tastes.  She set about his seduction with patience and tenacity.  Persuading the awkward young heir to steal a kiss or two at first was simplicity itself.  Progressing from gentle amusement to more lusty adventures was elementary for the talented ingénue. 

She readily surrendered her virtue – what was left of it – to the heir for weeks at his discretion.  She haunted his quarters at the palace, met him at the stables when he hunted, chased away her rivals for his affection with especial fervor, lavished him with simple gifts, invited him to stop by her hall in the middle of the night, and did everything she could think of to befriend the Duchess while bedding her son at every opportunity. 

She was all too aware of her narrow chance.  Lenguin was to embark on his military training, as befit the heir to the throne.  The pressure for him to wed was growing, as his sire sought to consolidate power for his family through alliance.  Yet she knew that a lord in Lenguin’s position had at least some say in his future bride.  If she could snare his heart before he left Vorone, she reasoned, and enflame it sufficiently, then perhaps she could convince him to advocate for her as a potential bride. 

So Amandice did her womanly best to enchant the Duke with her charms and gave him the promise of much more passionate times when he returned the next summer.  She spared no effort in her quest, and exhausted the store of favor she’d accumulated at court as she conspired to monopolize Lenguin’s time in Vorone.  Whenever the subject of his eventual marriage came up, Amandice did her best to advance herself as a candidate despite her lack of power, wealth, position, affiliation, or anything save her devotion, loyalty, beauty, and title.  Dukes had married for love and beauty in the past, not riches and political alliance, she knew.  There were stories about it.  And wars fought over it.

But those stories were concerned with the girls who had successfully changed their fates with their beauty.  Those wars were fought when a powerful man found his passions outweighed political necessity.  They did not tell the tales of those girls who failed to turn a passionate affair into a commitment and a coronet. 

The long winter that followed that glorious summer was full of hope and expectation to Amandice.  Spring came and lifted her heart with promise.  She, along with the rest of the town, prepared for the annual return of the court.  When the news came that the Duke and his family were returning to Vorone – including the dashing young heir – Amandice spared no expense preparing her freshly-painted house for her noble lover.  She even pawned some of her lesser jewelry to pay for an entire new wardrobe for the season, designed to dazzle and impress.

But then the other news followed a few days later, carried by a swift rider.  News that left Amandice stricken.  The Duke of Alshar had arranged a marriage for Lenguin with the niece of the Duke of Remere, to be realized at Midwinter.

Amandice’s hopes were crushed . . . but not destroyed.  When one opportunity ends, Ishi provides others, she knew.  A duke’s
mistress
holds almost as much authority and power, position and title as a duchess, she reasoned.  If she could not have his hand in marriage, she could settle for his heart and . . . other parts.  Imagining a dumpy, doughty Remeran noblewoman in her lover’s bed, she predicted just how quickly Lenguin would tire of such congress and seek relief and repose in the arms of another woman.  She conspired to make herself the mistress to the heir.

She put her plan into action using every resource at her disposal.  She was at the welcome reception and the ceremonial Opening of the Palace after the Wildflower festival, dressed in a stunning new gown and stylish hat.  Her maids had taken hours applying cosmetics and styling her hair, and she was certainly noticed by the court.  Two days later she attended the opening joust of the season with two dear (slightly less-attractive) friends and their maids, and contrived to place herself in view of her lover. 

She quickly caught Lenguin’s eye, she saw.  It was only a moment, as she crossed in front of his reviewing stand, but when she dropped her fan and beamed at him, she saw his smile.  There was no doubt in her mind. 
He remembered her!

It took a week to arrange to actually meet with the heir at a function.  She managed to secure another invitation to hawking with Lenguin at his estates.  He recognized the purpose of her presence at once, and to her delight he indicated his desire to renew their intimacies.  Amandice did not hesitate.  While they were passing through wood and field, Lenguin found a way for them to be separated from his gentlemen for a time.  Enough time.

He took her in the middle of the beautiful field, passionately and roughly, and she reveled in her success at the seduction. 
She was bedding the heir of the entire duchy, betrothed not a month!
  Though she would wear no coronet, she bore the honor proudly, and did her best to entertain and delight Lenguin with every skill at her disposal that brilliant afternoon.  They walked back to the rest of the party slowly, hand in hand, Lenguin promising to continue seeking her acquaintance whenever he could.  That was as much success as a proposal of marriage, from such a powerful man.  He had not even seen his new bride, he complained, and he could not imagine married life to be anything but dull.  He far preferred Amandice’s company, he told her sincerely.  That was all the opportunity Amandice needed.

For three weeks she did all she could to be in Lenguin’s presence.  She haunted his steps and made herself available to him at every opportunity.  She delighted his senses and flattered his ego.  She did her best to live up to his ideal of a graceful mistress.  Her seduction worked magnificently.

Lenguin left games of dice to steal away with her for a few moments of passion.  He spent many evenings toasting her loveliness with Cormeeran wine while they both sat naked in the famous hot pools of the House of Steam.  He took her hunting with him, and then took her in the stables afterwards until they emerged with straw in their hair to the laughter of his gentlemen.  He gave her a parrot from the jungles of Farise, after that, a bird who became a beloved pet.  She named it Vanity, and taught it to speak.

She was not the only maid in court, nor even the only one vying for Lenguin’s affections and favor, but the beginning of summer saw her and the young heir in love, to her mind.  Twice he visited her in her own home for unforgettable nights of passion – but that saw him leave at the dawn, eager to escape notice or scandal.  Amandice spurned her other lovers cruelly, in the face of her success, and she wasted no pity or mercy on her rivals for Lenguin’s eye at court.

But then Lenguin was called to accompany his father for a week on a tour to inspect Tudry and attend a tournament in the northwest.  He would not return until Huin’s Day at Midsummer.  As a military operation, she was not invited to go with Lenguin.  Instead she spent the time until his return preparing even more grand entertainments for her beloved, even as she openly bore the envy and scorn of her rivals, and those at court who disapproved of the young man’s dalliances.  She loved Lenguin, and would serve him in any capacity.  She could easily bear the whispers against the Heir’s mistress with her head held high.  Once he came back to Vorone things would be different.

She had especial news for him, too.  Their love had borne fruit over the beatific summer months.  She was blessed with a baby in her belly, the heir’s first child.  All seemed perfect, as Huin’s Day approached with the promised arrival of her noble lover. 

But he had scarcely enjoyed one night’s passionate reunion with her when he broke his own news first: his bride had arrived at port in Enultramar three weeks early, to avoid the storm season and the Farisian pirates.  He would be departing the next day to greet her, before he escorted her to the great abbey where they would be wed at Yule.

Amandice was devastated.  She pledged to follow him south and be his mistress after he wed, but he refused.  He would be too busy for such dalliances for awhile, he assured her, especially with his father in poor health. And he claimed it would not be fair to his new wife. A portrait of her had arrived at the palace while he was in the north, revealing his wife to be was a beautiful Remeran lass.  Lenguin pledged his love to Amandice and gave her gifts, but he also firmly insisted that she stay in Vorone until his eventual return.  She had not the heart to reveal her pregnancy to him, then, for fear of appearing desperate.

Besides, he mentioned, her name was not well-liked by his mother or his conniving sister, now that the apparent truth of her designs was obvious.  Though the one was busy planning his wedding and the other safely married off in Castal, Lenguin still feared their disapproval and their power.  Amandice did not know why, but when he told her that he and all of his heirs would likely be assassinated by his wretched sister, Grendine, she resolved to conceal her pregnancy from him and the court.