Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (62 page)

She wasn’t using a thaumaturgical glamour – that much Pentandra was assured.  An observant mage could recognize one without even using magesight. 

“This is my apprentice, Alurra,” Pentandra replied, smoothly.  “And alas, my business here does not concern the celebration.  Except in the most tangential of ways.” 

Pentandra was instantly on her guard, but not for obvious reasons.  She didn’t sense a trap or sinister intentions, but her gut was screaming at her that there was something
subtly wrong
with this woman.  Pentandra couldn’t put her finger on it, but the hair on the back of her arms and neck was standing up.  “There have been
concerns
raised in court, after your audience with the Duke.  I’ve been tasked to investigate them.”

“Concerns?”
laughed the beautiful dowager, who seemed to lack any herself.  “What about my humble little business could
possibly
concern the court?  Enough to convince a senior officer to pry herself out of the palace at night . . . to investigate?”

“I’ve always been more of an evening person,” Pentandra conceded. 

“So I’ve heard,” Amandice said, knowingly.  She knew about Pentandra’s work with the Woodsmen, she suddenly realized.  This whoremonger was better informed than she let on.

“I’m actually here to find out just what you are
planning
,” Pentandra said, without further maneuvering.  She could tell that a woman like Amandice would be perfectly happy dueling with innuendo and insult indefinitely in an attempt to get under Pentandra’s skin . . . and that was not a game she had either time or patience for. 

“Why, I’m planning the Wildflower Festival, my lady mage!” snorted Amandice.  Even her snorts were alluringly feminine, Pentandra noted idly.

“Yet you seem far more invested in the event than one would expect a . . . businesswoman to be for a mere civic display, Your Excellency,” Pentandra observed.  “One might wonder at the intensity of your interest.”. 

“You may call me Lady Pleasure, Pentandra,” the madame said, sidestepping the accusation with a friendly gesture.  Pentandra was having none of it.  She was aware of all the ways a woman in power could use that subtle force as a social weapon.

“You may call me
Lady Pentandra
, Baroness Amandice,” Pentandra replied, tersely.  “I think we’re past the point of using false lovers’ names, don’t you?  This is no simple brothel.  There is something arcane afoot, here.  Which is why I was brought to bear on the issue.”

“Well, you are correct about one thing,” Amandice agreed, her tone changing slightly.  “This is no
simple
brothel.  But I assure you, we employ no magi.”

“Nor did I say you did,” Pentandra countered.  “Excellency, I am charged by His Grace to police
all
magic in the realm.  That includes wild magic, sports, and . . . more exotic forms.  Just because you aren’t waving your certification papers around does not mean you aren’t employing spellwork.” 

It was a bluff, in the sense that Pentandra had yet to gather proof that the House of Flowers
was
employing magi.  But she had a strong enough suspicion to make the effort, if her interview with Amandice was not fruitful.  “If this is not a simple brothel, pray enlighten me to what it actually
is
,” she added, calmly. 

“Why, Lady Pentandra, it is merely the desperate attempt of a woman to raise the plight of her fellow women, for the benefit of her beloved city!” Amandice said, with mock indignity.  “After the last few years, it was clear that Baron Edmarin was not going to do anything to help.  Far from it.  So I took it upon myself to invest the last of my savings in this effort.  It’s an exercise in
civic pride
,” she assured her.

Despite herself, Pentandra found herself
wanting
to believe that.  She forced her mind away from the easy acceptance of the proposition, and focused on the task at hand.  “I find it amusing that you see profiting by selling the bodies of the girls of Vorone as a matter of
civic pride
.”

Instead of growing offended, as Pentandra intended, Amandice spread her fingers helplessly. 

“See?  I’ve already assisted by providing amusement for leading members of the Court,” she said, smoothly.  “As far as profits, I assure you that every ounce of silver those girls earn is reinvested in the business.  In
them
, in other words.”

“And I’m certain that they are all
freely
cooperating, unbound by obligation or coercion,” Pentandra observed, skeptically.

“Of course,” Amandice said smoothly, her beautiful blue eyes narrowing.  “I encourage you to speak with any of them at length.  Use truthtells, if you like.  I think you will find that among their greatest fears is that of being
expelled
from the House of Flowers.  They make a fair wage, they endure comparatively easy working conditions, and they understand that they are all working together to build something larger than any of them, individually.”

“Your retirement estate, perhaps?”

“Retire?”
laughed Amandice, mockingly.  “My dear, this is the most fun I’ve had in
years
.  Why would I
retire?
  If mere financial comfort was my goal, I had enough in savings to ensure my survival well into my dotage.  But why save my pennies for my decline, when there is still so much life left in this body?” The madame stretched luxuriously, shaking herself in a casual way that would have scandalized the court, but left no doubt as to how comfortable she was with her femininity.  “This is
not
an enterprise motivated out of greed.  It’s a matter of public service.”

“Really?  Explain, please,” Pentandra commanded.  Her anxiety had only grown since the start of the interview.

“I spent my small fortune to take a hundred girls from the worst situations in Vorone, feed them, dress them, and educate them.  A third of them wouldn’t have lived through the winter, if it hadn’t been for me, and the rest would have risked swollen bellies and dire circumstance.”

“But the life of a whore is
so
much better?”

“As one of the whores of the House of Flowers, yes, infinitely so,” Amandice countered sharply.  “Have you not seen the desperate circumstances in the camps?  Deplorable, with no future for any of the girls there.  Here, they’ve not only been fed, cleaned and clothed, each been instructed in court manners, etiquette, and all the other social graces.  Some have even learned to
read
.  But I was careful at selecting my charges, I assure you,” she insisted.  “Each of them, bless their nubile bodies, has a
true
vocation for the work.  Coercion was unnecessary.  No one comes to the House of Flowers unwillingly.  And no one stays here if they desire to leave.”

“So putting a hundred whores on the street is a
civic project?
A training program?” Pentandra asked, skeptically.  “Then why the decision to sponsor the Wildflower Festival?” she asked.  “There can’t be much in the way of return on that.”

“Only if you approach things as a
traditional
madame, and not a philanthropist,” admitted Amandice.  “My girls are safe.  My girls are clean.  My girls are protected.  And my girls are getting
better
,” she said, happily.  “They’re a long way from where I want them, but they’ve performed spectacularly thus far.  I have high hopes.”

“I know, I’ve seen some of their work around the palace,” Pentandra shot back.  “Seducing guardsmen?  Clerks?  Knights?  What is next, ministers of court?”

“Well, we’ve only just been
admitted
to the palace,” Amandice pointed out.  “The novelty hasn’t worn off, yet.  We’ll work our way up in rank soon enough.”

The woman’s nonchalance and disrespectful manner made Pentandra’s blood boil, for some reason.  Partially because, had she been in the older woman’s slippers, she might have done something remarkably similar.

But she wasn’t.  She was a court minister with a job to do.  No matter how much part of herself wanted to express sympathy to the madame for her attempt to bring cheer to the depressed town, she was here to do a
job.

“And where do you plan on stopping?” Pentandra asked, her voice so low it was almost a whisper.  “The coronet, itself?”

“A country looks to its sovereign for symbolic virility,” Amandice suggested.  “His Grace is a handsome young man, and possessed of an exceptional wit.  Surely you would not deny him a few simple pleasures . . . and education in the arts of lovemaking.”  Amandice stopped herself abruptly as a thought occurred.  “Unless
you
were planning on initiating the lad into the crimson arts yourself, my dear . . . ?”

Pentandra was unexpectedly shocked and taken aback by the suggestion. 

“Me?  And
Anguin?
” she asked, the scandalous nature of the idea driving his title clear out of her head.  “Why, he’s barely a man!  And I’m a
married woman!
” she reminded the madame.

“I’m certain the strength of their marriage vows gives many pause for thought before they commit an infidelity . . . but to do so with your sovereign couldn’t quite be considered
breaking
them, would it?” she asked, slyly. 

“I have no desire for the boy!” Pentandra said, defensively.

“Not even with the power you could wield?  That doesn’t sound like the Pentandra we all know.”

“Perhaps what you
think
you know is mistaken, Excellency,” Pentandra said through clenched teeth.  She could feel Alurra stiffen behind her at the rapid-fire exchange.  The girl might be unsophisticated, but she understood when two mature women were arguing with each other.  “I have a
husband
.  I don’t want power.”

“Oh, marriage has
ruined
you!” Amandice said, in exasperation.  “Don’t you realize how close you could have been to being a
duchess?
The first mage-born sovereign since the Magocracy fell?”

“Only if I want to seduce and captivate an innocent
boy,
” snorted Pentandra.  “A boy whose ‘power’ right now essentially stops at the town wall.  If you are going to credit me with such opportunistic viciousness, Excellency, please also credit me with some wit, while you’re at it.  Any power I’d get from seducing Anguin I’d have to build myself, anyway.”

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I supplement his training with some
practical
experience, with some of my best girls,” Amandice continued.  “Our duke deserves no less!”

“If I don’t want power from that font, what makes you think I’d surrender it to you?”

“Because
someone
has to look after the lad,” Amandice said, softly.  “I knew his father, you know, before he married that . . .
Remeran
.  In his youth.  Anguin favors him strongly, in the face and shoulders, but has far more intelligence and vision than Lenguin ever possessed.”

“You speak as if you knew him intimately,” Pentandra observed, finally detecting a potential weakness in the dowager. 

“Briefly,” conceded the older woman.  “For one glorious summer, before he headed back to Falas in the south.  And compared to is sire Anguin is a fitter Duke than Lenguin
ever
was.  He could become the greatest of his house.  Once he’s properly educated,” she added.

“So you wish to become the Ducal Whoremonger, then?” Pentandra accused.

“If the position is vacant,” Amandice shrugged.  “
Someone
needs to get the boy laid.  You of all people should know what happens when there isn’t a healthy outlet for a young man like that.”

“Again you presume, Baroness.  There are those who suspect your good intentions, and you have done little to discourage those suspicions.”

“Oh,
please!
” Amandice dismissed, haughtily.  “I’ve done nothing but cooperate with you.  And my intentions are pristine . . . even if they don’t seem like it, from your narrow perspective. 

“Look, little mageling, I appreciate your interest in my enterprise – I really do.  Believe it or not, I have a
tremendous
amount of admiration for you and the work you do,” she praised.  “But I have to insist that you leave me to
my
business, and you attend to what is properly yours.”

She delivered the line casually, though with enough force to demonstrate her resolve. 

But there was something else . . . a wave of magic that was subtle and indefinable emanated from her as she spoke.  Pentandra could
feel
it trying to undermine her own thoughts and feelings and replace them with a kind of blind complacency.

It wasn’t as direct an effect as a spell, but there was an undeniable attempt at arcane manipulation going on.  Before she had acquired Everkeen she might have succumbed to it.  But somehow, even from its magical pocket, the baculus anchored her mind even as her emotions invited her to surrender.