Dangerous Talents (20 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Cele approached the dark wood door and hesitated, twitching the long green dress that fell heavily to her ankles. She would have felt elegant if the extra fabric around her feet hadn’t made her nervous about tripping, especially on the stairs.

She forced herself to stop fidgeting. She’d asked Thora to bring her here, to Sorn’s father, but now that she was at the point of speaking to him, reluctance slowed her steps.
What if no one has told him yet that his son is dead
?
What if I’m the first one
?
He shouldn’t hear this from a stranger
. She almost turned around.
But someone should tell him about his son’s bravery. He should know Sorn died saving my life
. She straightened her shoulders.

“Thanks, Thora. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and you probably have things to do. I’ll catch you later.”

Thora looked at her doubtfully. “My duty is to see to your needs, Lady Celia.”

“That’s up to you, but you don’t have to wait. I can find my own way back.” Thinking of the twists and turns of their route, Cele hoped that was true. She didn’t wait to see what Thora would do, but turned and knocked firmly on the door.

A teenage boy answered. His face had the stunned look that people get when tragedy strikes, colored with a faint hope that Cele brought some relief.

He knows
.

Suddenly Cele wasn’t sure what to say. “I—I’m Celia Montrose. I’ve come to see Sevond, Sorn’s father.”

The boy stepped aside. “I’m Hrolf, Master Sevond’s apprentice. I’ll take you to him.” He shut the door and led her down a hallway. “The news has overset him. Lord Dahleven did what he could, but he couldn’t stay.”

Dahleven
. She gave him points for speaking to Sevond promptly, but her anger made it feel like swallowing stones.

“I was learning how to plate silver when he came—Lord Dahleven, that is. I’ve never seen him like that. Well, I’ve never seen him that much at all, really, but he looked awful. I think my master knew before he spoke. The tools just fell from his hands. They went into the other room then, so I don’t know what he said, but Master Sevond hasn’t said a word to me since, even when I asked him if he wanted something to settle his nerves. He just waved his hand at me, and now he just sits there with that bracelet and I don’t know what to do.”

They stopped in front of an arched doorway. Within the small parlor, a stocky white-haired man sat slumped, turning a silver cuff over and over in his hands.

Hrolf continued, barely taking a breath. “I’m no comfort to him; perhaps you—well, there’s probably not enough words in the world to ease such a hurt, but maybe you can help. I’m just his apprentice—he might talk to a lady.”

Hrolf was babbling, made talkative by his distress. Cele had heard it before on the phones with the 911 calls she’d handled. He needed something concrete to focus on. She put her hand on his shoulder and in a calm, firm voice, directed him. “Hrolf, get us something warm to drink.” The boy nodded and ran back down the hallway.

Cele entered the room and pulled a chair up close to Sevond, off to the side and facing him. “Master Sevond, I’m Celia Montrose. May I sit with you?”

The old gentleman slowly raised his eyes to Cele’s, then nodded to the chair she had positioned. She sat, her knees nearly touching the side of his leg. Sevond’s pale eyes were dry. Despite his stocky build, he looked fragile.

“Sorn saved my life. He was injured defending me.” She’d hoped that once she got started she’d know what to say. Now that she was here, it was even harder than she’d feared. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Sevond nodded and looked Cele directly in the eye. “Lord Dahleven told me. My son died an honorable death, and feasts in Valhalla. For that, I am proud. He was a good boy, and a good man.” He looked down at the carved silver bracelet in his hands. His voice became tighter. “But I’m selfish. I would rather he lived.”

“Me, too. He was my only friend here.”

“He was my only
son
. The last of the precious children given me by my Bera. He had no children. My line, my family, died with him. Where are the grandchildren to comfort me in my age? They’re buried with him on the far side of the mountains.”

Cele had nothing to say to that. Her stomach felt like a giant stone. When her mother had died by painful inches two years ago, Cele had wished a quicker end for her. A heart attack, an accident,
anything
would have been better than watching her slow, agonizing decline. Sevond had been spared that kind of ordeal. But his son was still dead. At least her mother’s death had been in the expected order of things. A child wasn’t supposed to die before the parent.

Sevond’s face was a tight mask. He’d hoped for grandchildren that would never come, now. His large, thick-fingered hands rested in his lap, gently cupping the silver cuff.

Cele groped for something to say. “That’s a lovely bracelet.”

Sevond lifted it so the pattern caught the light. Stylized horses danced around the circle. “Sorn made this. Many years ago. He did fine work. See here?” Sevond’s finger traced a short line of metal beading. “Even the blankets are detailed. Much better than most apprentice work. But his father’s craft didn’t make his heart sing. It wasn’t his fate, he said. He was Lord Dahleven’s, from the time they were boys.”

She ached for Sevond. He didn’t blame her, but she felt responsible despite what Dahleven had said. She might not have killed Sorn, but if he hadn’t been protecting her, if she hadn’t fallen into this violent world, he might still be alive.

A commotion in the hallway brought Cele’s eyes to the arch just as a young woman rushed in. Wisps of her pale blond hair straggled around her face and neck, escaping intricate braids and sticking to her flushed, tear-stained cheeks. She knelt on the other side of Sevond’s chair and hugged his waist, burying her face in his side.

“Oh, Master Sevond. Oh!” She wept, her words muffled against his clothing.

“Aenid! Aenid, my dear. Oh, dear, Aenid,” Sevond murmured, patting the young woman’s back.

Cele leaned forward instinctively to comfort the girl, then pulled back. She didn’t know her, and the girl obviously wanted Sevond’s touch now, not some stranger’s. It was hard to watch her sob and do nothing, and Cele wondered if she should leave and allow Sevond and Aenid to share their grief in private.

Sevond continued crooning to the weeping girl. “You cared deeply for him I know, little one. He loved you, too. You were like a little sister to him.”

Aenid moaned and cried harder. Cele’s eyes grew moist. Her own grief for Sorn seemed shallow, yet she didn’t feel foolish weeping for a man she had barely known.

Eventually, Aenid lifted her damp face to Sevond’s. Sorn’s father seemed a little more at peace. Perhaps he had needed to comfort someone else. Then Aenid reacted to Cele’s presence. She straightened and wiped her face, smearing the moist evidence of her grief.

“My apologies—”

“I’m Celia Mon—”

They spoke at once, and stopped. Cele smiled at the overlap. Aenid raised an eyebrow.

“You go ahead.” Cele nodded encouragement to the younger woman.

Aenid almost looked offended. Her voice was thickened with weeping, but she spoke with composure. “My apologies for intruding upon you. My grief robbed me of proper behavior, I fear. How did you know Sorn?”

“He was my friend. He saved my life. I’m Celia Montrose.”

Aenid’s eyes widened, as though startled. “Uncle Dahben spoke of you.” Her voice was odd.

“Dahben?” Who was talking about her already?

Aenid gestured impatiently. “Uncle Dahleven. He said Sorn died because of you.”

So, Dahleven
does
blame me, despite what he said
.

Sevond gently rebuked the girl. “My dear, he died of wounds won in honorable combat.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.” Aenid’s puffy eyes were cold.

Clearly, Cele had overstayed her welcome. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said, standing.

Aenid stood to face her.

“He was a kind person,” Cele said, trying to make up for whatever she’d done to offend. “Sorn was my friend, though I only knew him a day.”

A change in Aenid’s face made Cele pause; the younger woman’s gaze fell to the cuff Cele now wore on her forearm. Aenid’s expression turned surprised, then thoughtful.

Unexpectedly, Cele found it hard to speak, her throat tight. Her mind blanked; she couldn’t think of anything adequate to say. “I’m sorry.” She left, heading down the long hall to the door. The boy was nowhere in sight.

Aenid caught up with Cele as she reached for the latch. “Wait.”

Cele turned.

Aenid’s tear blotched face blushed red to the roots of her pale hair. “You…you said Sorn was your
friend
.”

“Yes. He made being lost in a strange place a little less terrifying for me.” Cele remembered Fendrikanin’s teasing. “I guess he adopted me as another one of his ‘sisters.’“

Something in Aenid relaxed. “He…he wasn’t in love with you, then?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Suddenly, Aenid’s question shifted into focus. “You were in love with him,” she said softly. “And he loved you, too, didn’t he?”

Aenid’s red face blanched white, which sharply delineated a scatter of freckles across her cheeks and delicate nose. Sweat sprang to her brow and upper lip, her eyes lost focus, and she wavered. Cele steadied the girl as she started to slump, and helped her over to a bench, pushing Aenid’s head between her knees.

“Take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. That’s right. Another one,” Cele directed.

A minute later, Aenid pushed herself upright. She was still pale, but some color had returned to her cheeks.

“How long since you’ve eaten?” Cele asked, the professional part of her mind clicking in.

“Not long. I’d just finished my midday meal when Uncle Dahben…”

It wasn’t low blood sugar then. It was probably just the shock of the news.

“I suppose I’ve been anxious since Sorn left.”

A little bell rang in the back of Cele’s mind. “Were you and Sorn…? Could you be pregnant?”
It could be something else
, her professional mind said.
Just the shock of Sorn’s death
. But her instincts said otherwise.

A light came to Aenid’s face. “I’ve been hoping. It’s been over three months since my last courses, but I’ve never been regular. I’ve prayed that Freyr blessed us, but I’ve been afraid to believe it.”

Cele blinked, nonplused. The father of her unborn child was dead, and Aenid was happy and eager rather than afraid of the prospect of raising a child alone. “How long were you and Sorn lovers?”

Aenid looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “Five months. But I’ve loved him forever, I think.”

“Sevond doesn’t know about you and Sorn, does he?”

“No. Oh! I should tell him!” Aenid jumped up. “He’ll be so happy!” Then she paused, a shadow darkening her joy. “
If
I am truly with child. If not, it would be cruel to add to his sorrow.”

Cele nodded. A lot of early pregnancies ended in miscarriage. “Why did you keep your relationship with Sorn secret?”

“We were afraid Grandfather wouldn’t approve.”

“Why? What could anyone possibly have against Sorn?”

“He was only a carl—a freeman— and he wasn’t landed.” Aenid’s voice said she thought she was stating the obvious. “Being with him wasn’t a problem—I’m of age after all. But we wanted to marry, so we kept to ourselves. We were afraid that if Grandfather found out, he might try to arrange a marriage for me. There have been offers aplenty. I’m the Kon’s granddaughter after all. At least, until the next election.” Aenid’s voice was bitter.

Aenid is Neven’s granddaughter
?
And Dahleven is her uncle. And Neven’s son
. Cele wrenched her mind away from that fact. It didn’t matter what or who he was. “Election?”

“For the Konship, of course.”

“I thought that was hereditary.”

Aenid stared at her as though she were demented. “The Jarldom is hereditary, but the Jarls elect the Kon of Nuvinland from among themselves every five years. Grandfather has been Kon for nearly twenty. Jarls’s sons and brothers and cousins and nephews who don’t even know me have asked for my hand, just because I’m the Kon’s granddaughter. Sooner or later, he’ll say yes to one of them. Sorn and I were hoping for later.”

“Would he do that? Marry you off against your will?”

Aenid looked down at the floor. “No, probably not. But I don’t think he would have let me marry Sorn, either.”

“Well, he can hardly pressure you to marry now.”

“Why not?” At Cele’s raised eyebrows she added, “Many men are happy to have proof their betrothed wife is able to bear healthy children. But he’ll probably wait until the baby is born.”

Cele nodded, suppressing a frown. Was that all Aenid was to Neven, a brood mare to be sold to the highest bidder? “Are you all right now? You probably want to spend time with Sevond.”

“Yes, I’m well.” Aenid laid a hand on Cele’s. “You won’t tell Grandfather? Not until I’m sure?”

Cele clasped Aenid’s hand in both of hers. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Neven anything.”

Thora waited for Cele in the hall. Cele’s shoulders relaxed a little. She was grateful the older woman hadn’t accepted dismissal. She really didn’t want to test her memory of the way back to her room just then.

She followed her escort? maid? guard? down the hall, trying to memorize the twists and turns of their route.
Two doors on the right before the left-hand turn, then a gradual curve to the right and a flight of stairs
. All the while, that odd sensation she’d experienced before insisted that her destination was above her, first to the right, then ahead, then to the left as she and Thora wended their way through the halls. The keys hanging from Thora’s waist chimed together as she moved briskly.

They turned onto the mezzanine, where there were more people. Cele had lost track of how she got there. She tried to mentally retrace the last few turns in their route but a servant bustled by with an armload of linen and Cele barely stepped out of the way in time to avoid a collision.