Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (53 page)

“And he is actually an
undead
Alka Alon,” Pentandra finished.  “I know, we heard about that.  So it’s our good guys and their good guys against our bad guys and their bad guys.  I don’t see what the problem is in helping each other.”

“It is happening, but slowly, as suits the lives of –” the big man stopped and yawned before finishing.  “—the Alka Alon.  My wife, would you be
terribly
upset if we spent the evening in repose?  It’s not that I did not miss you fiercely, but I have been on the road since before dawn—”

“And again dawn brightens the east,” Pentandra said, understandably.  “Our happy reunion can wait until morning.  Or later.  But not much later,” she added.  “I’ve missed you more than you can
imagine.
”

Chapter Eighteen

Lady Pleasure

Pentandra did not intended to awaken the next morning until late, but her scant few hours of sleep were interrupted by a breathless messenger from the palace.   She hurried downstairs in her robe, no kerchief, her eyes bleary and her heart racing.  Would there be recriminations from the bloody night?

As it happened, the message was, indeed, for her to appear before His Grace in court – not for judgment for murder and mayhem, but as a witness for
treason
.  Anguin had decided to hear the backlog of criminal cases accumulating on his docket, as well as rule in a few civil matters, at a special court after luncheon, while the barons were still in town to bear witness to it. Both she and Arborn were commanded to attend to provide testimony against certain parties.   Court dress was recommended.

She tipped the messenger a penny from a jar next to the door, intended for such gratuities, and then put the kettle over the fire.  Then she realized she must be sleepy – and heated the water magically, instead.

“Well that settles what I’ll wear, today,” she sighed to herself as the water in the kettle began to bubble as she fed power to it.  “I
really
must get some new clothes, soon!”  

Her wardrobe was extensive, but most of it was for the sunnier climes of Remere and Castabriel, not the misty dampness of the Wilderlands.  She had a gown and mantle she had designated her “standard court robe” for such occasions.  For truly high ceremonies, she had something grander . . . but that didn’t eliminate the need for a good seamstress in her future.

“What is the problem, Mistress?” Alurra’s sleepy voice asked from the stairs.

“A lack of tea, at the moment,” she yawned.  “But we have a busy day ahead of us, after a busy night.  Arborn and I have been summoned to court this afternoon.  And I was supposed to move into the palace today,” she sighed.

“I can help with that,” Alurra assured her, as she took a seat on a stool without even feeling for it.  Lucky the Raven was on her shoulder, though the black bird seemed every bit as annoyed at the hour as Pentandra.  “I can pack things, and get them ready to move,” she offered.

“I really don’t have that much baggage,” Pentandra decided, taking two earthenware mugs down and preparing her morning tea.  She stopped, and looked at the blonde girl across the table.  “Have you experienced menarche, yet?”

“Huh?”

“Have you had your monthlies?”

“Twice,” the girl said, embarrassed.  “I didn’t know what—   
Why?
” she asked, curiously.

“A girl your age is too young, yet, for a full strength dose,” she decided, adding only half of the bitter root to Alurra’s cup.  “But this is Barrenroot.  And some other herbs, but at full strength Barrenroot helps keep your cramping modest, your bleeding light, and it prevents having a baby.”

“Prevents having a . . .
how?
” Alurra asked, suddenly interested.

“It’s actually a common remedy, if prepared properly.  This is my family’s recipe.  How it works is . . . well, that’s more herbalism than alchemy, but simply put it affects your feminine energies.  I drink it every morning. It keeps me healthy.”

“I guess I do have a lot to learn,” Alurra nodded.  ”Antimei started me on herbalism, but we’ve only covered some basic healing herbs.”

“Let it steep for a few minutes,” she suggested.  “Then add some honey.  The taste takes some getting used to.  But easing cramps and not having babies makes it worthwhile.”

Alurra made a face.  “You don’t
want
to have babies?  I thought every woman did.”

“So did I. At your age,” Pentandra reminisced.  “I thought that’s all women wanted to do: get married and have babies, lots of babies.  That’s all my mother, my sister, my cousins, my aunts ever talked about.  When I got my Talent, my older sister actually felt
sorry
for me, because that wasn’t my future.  Instead I was thrilled.  I didn’t
have
to get married.”

“But . . . aren’t you married
now?
” she asked, confused.

“I am – and recently,” Pentandra said, blushing a little at the admission.  She had no idea why.  Perhaps because she felt her mother’s snort of approval in the back of her mind.  “But that was
my
choice, not a dynastic alliance.  Or a commercial bargain.  I fell in love, and with the perfect man.  That alone is why I agree to wed.”

“And babies?”

“I’ve just been married – give me some time to enjoy it before I’m cured with babies!” Pentandra said, chuckling.  Despite herself, she enjoyed the girl’s company.  Alurra’s easy smile and friendly manner were easy to fall prey to.   “Goddess, I can barely manage
breakfast
—”

“Oh!  Let me get that!” Alurra said, jumping up and moving toward the buttery.  

“Can you?” Pentandra asked, curious.  She had little idea what capabilities the blind girl had, although she was very intrigued by them.

“Oh, my, yes,” Alurra assured, as she began searching for utensils by touch.  The bird looked intently over her shoulder at the table while her hands worked.  “I used to make meals for myself and Antimei all the time – I worry, now that she doesn’t have me to look out for her.  But I can make breakfast, if you can show me where a few things are.”

“That would be lovely, especially considering that there are a dozen more Kasari in the loft I hadn’t figured on,” Pentandra frowned. 

“Oh, Kasari can survive anywhere,” Alurra dismissed.  “They’d be fine with a piece of raw hide and a squirrel for breakfast.  But I’ll manage something a little more substantial,” she promised. 

While Pentandra watched with fascination the sightless girl cooking , they continued to talk and drink their tea in the little kitchen, allowing Pentandra to find out quite a bit about Alurra. 

The girl was largely innocent, as far as such things went, having lived a sheltered life in her remote village.  But she was also clever and observant – if such a term was appropriate for a blind girl. 

She seemed to make up the lack of vision with not just animal assistance, but through some natural magical facility that informed her as she worked.  Either that or she was an incredibly good guesser, Pentandra reasoned.  But before they finished their conversation the girl had managed to put a cauldron full of oats and dried fruit on to boil, and was preparing to make biscuits. 

Pentandra found her friendly and personable, a refreshing change from the posturing and positioning at court, or even Arborn’s laconic conversations.  Perhaps, she considered, it really
was
time for her to take an apprentice.  She left the girl with instructions to feed the Kasari and start packing up the bedchamber, though she was doubtful she could accomplish that without assistance. 

Pentandra left for the palace dressed for court, reasonably washed up and less nervous about the consequences from the night before.  A steady spring rain had rolled in at dawn, making the air misty and wet, and causing her to use magic to keep dry.  Of course, none of that would matter if she was greeted with armed guards and escorted to the dungeon for murder . . .

She shouldn’t have worried. 

As she approached the gate, she noticed the heads of Opilio the Knife and Bloodfinger adorning matching spikes on the gatehouse.  Someone had even thoughtfully stuffed dead rats into their mouths, so that the rodents’ hindquarters protruded.  That had to be the Constable’s work, she decided.  Which meant that the task was approved after-the-fact by the Duke, and wouldn’t cause any official problems.

That eased Pentandra’s mind, at least.  It also made her shudder.  Having a license to commit murder was a power she had never desired. 

Not
seriously.

*

*

*

She spent the morning discussing the new staff’s duties with each of them, giving some instruction and some guidance, while trusting them to figure most of the job out on their own.  She met briefly with Birsei, to go over some matters of housekeeping in the office before he led her upstairs to her personal quarters.

While they had been professionally scrubbed, they remained every bit as inadequate for her use as they had yesterday.  Less than half the size of her present chamber.  But they were hers, by right, as Ducal Court Wizard, and she was damned if she would give them up to live in Minalan’s holiday home.

After giving some instructions to the young castellan, Pentandra took a few moments for luncheon before being summoned to court (which was being held in the East Hall, Birsei informed her) at the noon bell.  That’s where she found Arborn, dressed in what passed for Kasari finery, waiting for her.

“What is this about?” Pentandra asked him, after a chaste kiss.

“His Grace wants to run his docket,” explained Sir Vemas, who was passing by.  He was in his own court finery, his baldric-of-office over his shoulder.  He did not at all look as if he’d run a nasty street fight for most of the previous evening.  “Mostly old business.  But apparently you two are witnesses in a few cases, so that’s why you were called.”

“Us?  What did
we
witness?” Pentandra asked, confused.

“The treason of Lord Garway of Lotanz, I believe,” Vemas supplied.  “The lord of Osbury Keep in Lotanz?  Otter’s Point?”

“Oh!”
Pentandra exclaimed, remembering the episode.

Last summer, at the beginning of the Great March, the very first Wilderlord the Kasari column had encountered was the one most proximate to their lands – and most vehemently against them.  Lord Garway of Lotanz bore little love for their people, considering them savages no better than goblins, and tried to restrict both their right (according to Anguin’s letter of mission) to quarter in his castle or to cross his lands.  “I guess I am looking forward to this, then.”

Minalan had adeptly arrested Lord Garway, after some adventure, for the crime of denying the Duke and his sworn marshals – that is, for defying Minalan himself.  Pentandra had enjoyed watching Min take care of the unpleasant man, arresting him and having him imprisoned at Tudry, until he was brought to Vorone with the warmagi there.  He was charged with rebellion.

Nor was he the only one charged in a case where she and Arborn were required to speak.  There was the matter of Sirs Helden, Oacei, and Sire Gand, who had also attempted to halt Minalan’s magical (and ducally sanctioned) march through the Wilderlands that same summer.  While Pentandra had not been as involved in that fight, she did have knowledge of the day.  And Arborn had been there.

“What of our . . . other activities, Constable?” Pentandra asked, quietly.

“Oh, I discussed that with Count Salgo this morning, and got
his
blessing.  Indeed, the old man is quite pleased with the turn of events,” the constable reported, pleased with the praise.  “Speaking of which, I have a list of names of suspects in the brutal slaying.”

“
Do
you, now?” Pentandra asked, smiling despite the grim night’s work.

“I do – the usual suspects are wanted for questioning.  in my considered opinion as an officer in the watch, this bears all the marks of a gang war,”  Sir Vemas said, in scholarly tones.  “I have a list of known and suspected gang associates the Watch wishes to question about the matter.  Most of the rest of the Crew are on it – except for their master, of course.  I still cannot tie him to the rest.  Not enough to swear an oath on.  But let me depart – I need to drop this off and get back in time for my testimony.”

Pentandra watched the nimble constable thread his way through the gathering crowd of courtiers, but before she and Arborn could find their places they were joined by Astyral and Azar, both in court finery themselves.  Astyral dressed in gleaming white Gilmoran cotton doublet, cut in a military fashion, while Azar was dressed in black leather and black wool.

“Pentandra,” Astyral chided in his Gilmoran drawl, “you had a party last night and didn’t invite us?”

“What?”
she asked, confused.

“The city was alive with magic,” Azar supplied, more quietly than usual.  “Any mage with the sensitivity of a vole knew there was power afoot.  And blood.”

“I’m sure I
don’t
know what you gentlemen are speaking of,” she said, with exaggerated patience.  “And if I did, I’m sure I would
not
be at liberty to discuss it.  His Grace has
many
duties for his court,” she added.  “Not all can be discussed by light of day.”