Irons in the Fire (32 page)

"It's very late." Welgren looked up to assess the Lesser Moon's passage across the night sky. "We should all get some distance away from here before dawn."

"Indeed." Ernout stepped forward to embrace Failla once more. "Saedrin watch over you, my dear." He continued more softly, for her ears alone, "Be careful. If you need to, you can always come to me. But only you."

She nodded, mute with the effort of holding back unexpected tears. The thought of leaving her uncle's comforting presence to travel with yet another stranger tore at her.

Reniack was already mounted. "Dastennin grant us safe haven. May his storms bring confusion to our foes!" He departed with a wave of his hand.

"Saedrin send us all peace and prosperity." Welgren looked grave as he courteously offered Derenna his cupped hands so she could remount. "Even if it must be at the cost of a final year of warfare."

"Indeed," she agreed gravely as she gathered up her reins.

Failla watched them ride into the trees, soon swallowed up by the darkness.

"Shall we be on our way?" Nath was looking uncertainly at her.

He was afraid she was going to start sobbing in earnest. Failla tucked away that realisation for some future use. Drawing a resolute breath, she waited until she felt the threat of tears recede. "Indeed."

"Master Priest." Nath turned warily to Ernout. "Can we escort you?"

He shook his head as he wrapped his cloak around himself and sat in the carved niche once again. "I will keep vigil here till dawn. My vows demand it."

"Then we'll wish you fair festival, sir, and Dastennin's blessings." Nath inclined his head respectfully before looking at Failla. "So where do we go now?"

Ernout answered him anyway. "To the White Hound Inn, on the Ashgil Road out of Viscot."

"That's an inn used to keeping the guildsmen's secrets," Failla explained to Nath as she climbed into her dappled horse's saddle.

As they reached the trees, she looked back once, to see her uncle still seated beside the carved face looking out from the rocky outcrop.

It was time to take stock of her own situation. She was back in Carluse, but no one knew she was here besides her uncle and this man Nath. Did the map-maker even know who she was, or rather, what she had been? She would have to take care to find out without letting him know, if he was indeed ignorant of her time spent pleasuring Duke Garnot.

She was back in Carluse. If she could reach her uncle's shrine in Carluse Town unnoticed, he would hand over her hoarded gold without questions. That was a relief, because she had never lied to him and would hate to have to start doing so. Besides, he had an uncanny talent for knowing when someone was telling him less than the truth.

If Aremil and Charoleia, back in Vanam, could find aetheric adepts to help them, all well and good. If this conspiracy could bring down the dukes and secure the peace that her uncle and all his fellow plotters yearned for, that would be better still. If all that the Vanam conspirators brought was more of the usual fighting, as long as Uncle Ernout stayed out of it, that would suffice. She would lose herself in the confusion and finally put her own desires first instead of serving so many other people's needs.

Failla looked covertly at Nath. He rode beside her, oblivious to her scrutiny. It should be easy enough to give him the slip, when it came to it. The only question was, how devoted was he to his faraway wife? Would her absence leave him willing to seek comfort in Failla's bed? Would it serve her purposes to seduce him? Time would doubtless tell.

Chapter Twenty

Litasse

Triolle Castle Demesne, in the Kingdom of Lescar,

Summer Solstice Festival, Third Day, Noon

"What do you think, my love?"

Litasse smiled with genuine delight. "She's beautiful."

"A most generous Solstice gift." Iruvain whistled through his fingers like a stable-boy. On the far side of the grassy expanse, the groom persuading the chestnut mare to show her paces raised an obedient hand.

"Such generosity costs Duke Garnot of Carluse little enough, given he breeds the animals." Litasse fanned herself with a silver-mounted spray of black feathers. It was a hot day to be wearing a riding dress of emerald wool and she had been standing waiting while Iruvain looked over every new horse his loyal vassals had sent him.

This mare was the last, Duke Garnot's gift to her since this was her birth festival. Well, she wouldn't hold the stable where it was foaled against the innocent animal. Litasse looked forward to riding into the cool shade beneath the trees of the ducal hunting park that stretched out before them. Even if the tended trees and streams merely feigned the freedom of Sharlac's wild woods.

Iruvain ran a hand around his neck, loosening his sweaty shirt collar. No one thought less of him for shedding his doublet in the heat, Litasse thought, whereas any hint of such informality would be scandalous in their duchess.

"You must write and thank Duke Garnot, and find some suitable gift for Duchess Tadira," he announced.

"Naturally, my lord."

Could she find some appropriate jewel in the coffers of Triolle bequests? If she did, Litasse suspected Duchess Tadira's keen eyes would immediately recognise it. Perhaps she could find some outdated piece whose stones could be reset? In silver, by way of tacit declaration that the mines were still enriching Triolle.

The groom brought the mare towards them at a smart trot. How long could she escape for? Litasse wondered. She had done her duty planning every detail of the five days of festival. Surely the castellan could cope with whatever minor crises arose among the kitchen and household servants while she rode out for an hour? She would be back before the entertainments planned for the most favoured vassal lords and their ladies, who had been invited to spend this most auspicious day of festival with their duke. When the lords would laugh and applaud with Iruvain as the tumblers and mummers pranced to the minstrels' music. While their whey-faced ladies confided their fears, as if she could avert the warfare that threatened their sons and husbands.

One of them was bound to enquire about news from Sharlac. All she'd had was a brief letter of blessing from her mother. Her father hadn't written a word to her for three full seasons now, but she had thought he'd remember her birth festival. Iruvain hadn't noticed, with his thoughts full of Carluse horses.

"I'm sure Duchess Tadira would welcome a string of Aldabreshin pearls," Iruvain said suddenly.

He proposed giving pearls to the woman who'd helped encompass her brother Jaras's death? Litasse had no doubt that Duchess Tadira had known all about whatever trap Duke Garnot's bastard had sprung on Sharlac's forces at Losand. Pearls, when he'd merely given her topazes that morning.

Litasse looked around. There was no one to overhear them. Valesti stood stony-faced beneath the light pavilion erected fifty paces away. Grooms tended the other horses in the shade of the trees framing the gate at this end of the bridge crossing the rock-cut ditch. The tower-crowned wall of the castle rose up behind them, blocking any sight of Triolle Town.

"My lord, such a gift would be ruinously expensive. According to the Solstice accounts from our reeves, we're owed more in levies than they have managed to collect."

Iruvain looked sharply at her. "All the more reason why we should show Duke Garnot of Carluse and everyone else that we still have all the coin we might wish to spend."

"It will do nothing for Triolle's reputation if some Relshazri merchant presents his bill and we have to ask for time to pay." Litasse shook her head. "The price of pearls has risen beyond all reason with all these improbable tales of dragons and other calamities throwing trade with the Southern Seas into chaos."

"Not pearls, then." Iruvain coloured. "But a handsome gift all the same. See to it." His glare warned Litasse to say no more as the groom approached with the mare.

"Your Grace, I believe you're wanted." The boy was looking over their heads towards the gate.

Litasse turned to see newcomers talking to the grooms.

"It's Hamare." Iruvain smiled unpleasantly. "He can wait while I try her paces. You, boy, down."

The youth slid quickly from the saddle and Iruvain mounted. Swiftly adjusting the stirrups for his longer legs, he rode away before Hamare reached them.

"Your Grace."

As the spymaster bowed to her, Litasse heard the irritation in his voice.

"You." She looked sharply at the groom. "Be off."

Hamare watched the lad go before turning his attention to Iruvain. The duke was urging the mare to a canter across the grass. "This is the third time he's summoned me, only to keep me waiting on his whim like some lackey. Have I done something to offend him?"

Litasse felt suddenly cold despite the midsummer sun. "You don't think he suspects, do you?"

"No," Hamare said shortly.

Litasse searched his face for any hint that he was lying. All she saw was that he was hot and exasperated, in his black breeches and tightly buttoned doublet. "Do you want some wine and water?"

"No." He was still watching Iruvain. "Thank you."

The grooms by the gate whistled and clapped their approval as the duke schooled the horse through the elegant paces for which Carluse saddle horses were famous.

It struck Litasse for the first time that Iruvain hadn't come to her bedchamber even once since his return from his lengthy progress along the dukedom's eastern border. Did he suspect she was dallying with Hamare? He couldn't know, not for certain. Was he about to accuse her regardless?

The duke was riding towards them now, his expression clearly darkening.

Surely Iruvain wouldn't denounce her in the midst of the festival? Litasse felt sick. Could she pretend to faint and blame the heat? Though the fuss would only delay a confrontation. And if she swooned, every vassal lord's lady would spread the rumour that she was pregnant. That wouldn't help matters.

"Duke Garnot of Carluse is most generous to his friends, is he not?" As Iruvain rode up, he ignored her, all his attention on Hamare.

"He made Solstice gifts of saddle horses to every duke." The spymaster had to shade his eyes with his hand as he looked up. The sun was right behind the duke's head.

Iruvain made no move to dismount. "Even Duke Ferdain of Marlier?" He scowled.

"Even Marlier," Hamare confirmed.

"What's to do with Marlier?" Litasse looked from her husband to Hamare. She was used to Iruvain not telling her things, but she'd trusted Hamare to keep her informed.

"You don't think Duke Ferdain would seize Duke Garnot's whore?" Iruvain challenged the spymaster. "Their present truce be cursed, Marlier and Carluse have been at daggers drawn for generations."

"If the doxy fell into his lap, I imagine he'd see what he could shake out of her petticoats," Hamare answered Iruvain with some irritation. "I cannot believe he would send mercenaries to kidnap her." He spared Litasse a quick glance. "This is the latest rumour. I give it little credence."

"I find it wholly believable. Ferdain of Marlier has long been Secaris of Draximal's ally." Iruvain jabbed an emphatic finger at Hamare. "If Draximal is about to march openly into Parnilesse, Duke Secaris will want Duke Garnot of Carluse distracted, not massing his forces on their common border ready to come to his wife's brother's aid. If this whore has told Ferdain of Marlier where he might strike at some Carluse weakness, Duke Orlin will be left whistling for Duke Garnot's aid when Draximal marches south."

"Are Draximal and Parnilesse truly preparing for outright war?" Litasse asked doubtfully.

Hamare shook his head. "There's no indication of anything more serious afoot than For-Summer's customary skirmishing."

"No indication bar the warnings of every vassal lord with lands along the banks of the Anock," Iruvain retorted.

"Those lords must talk long and loud about such dangers if they don't want the militias they have mustered deserting to go back to their hayfields and harvests." Hamare wiped sweat from his forehead.

"I find their foreboding quite credible." Iruvain's lips tightened. "If Marlier attacks Carluse, and Parnilesse attacks Draximal, we will be surrounded by warfare. Before summer's done, we'll see starving wretches overrunning our borders followed by the bandits who prey on them." He shook his head, grim-faced. "We may have no choice but alliance with Carluse and Parnilesse. Our three dukedoms share common borders and that would leave Marlier, Draximal and Sharlac all isolated. None of them will be able to act alone." His expression lightened a little.

So much for Sharlac's alliance with Triolle, sealed with the bloodstains on her wedding sheets. Litasse bit her lip. So why should she feel guilty because Hamare's breath on her skin and the pulse of his blood inside her was the only consolation she found in a marriage even lonelier than her rank had led her to expect?

"What if Duke Garnot of Carluse isn't interested in attacking Draximal on Parnilesse's behalf?" Hamare demanded. "He may be sending Duke Ferdain Solstice gifts, but I still believe Duke Garnot has every intention of attacking Marlier in the autumn. That's why he has been recruiting mercenaries. He'll plunder the gold that Duke Ferdain has amassed from the increased trade down the Rel. Then Duke Garnot will secure the river trade for himself."