Labyrinth Gate (22 page)

“Which is not to say,” continued the earl as if he had followed their glances like conversation, “that the more powerful do not use them as well. But the Gates are limited as a single source of power.” His glance flicked over them both, penetrating and alert. “Even such a deck as yours.”

“Indeed,” echoed Chryse.

He inclined his head: an uncomfortable salute, to her mind. Straightening, he addressed Sanjay. “Monsieur. If you and Madame would ride with me—there is a sight I would have your opinion of.”

Sanjay nodded, and they rode forward along the line of wagons, overtaking the lead wagon and following the track up along a narrow ridge. Ahead, they saw a line of people—the professor, Maretha and Charity, Julian, Kate—staring out at some vista or sight beyond.

Each stood with a posture so indicative of emotion that it was as if they spoke aloud: the professor enthused and excited, Maretha subdued and intent, Kate and Julian curious, Charity detached, turning even as they approached to stare back beyond them at the first wagon lumbering into view behind.

They dismounted and walked to the edge of the bluff. Beside them the earl seemed to be holding some deep emotion in check, like fire confined in a small space.

“Lord,” breathed Chryse as the valley opened out before her.

“The labyrinth gate,” said Maretha in a low voice. “That’s what the locals call it. No one comes here anymore, they say.”

A valley nestled between the tips of two lakes that arced away into the highlands, lost in the distance. Like the lakes, the valley was narrow, pierced by a few high, small ridges, and lifting at the farther end into a high bluff that rose behind into mountain.

“There’s another name for it,” said Chryse slowly, trying to remember. “I heard someone use it.”

“The belly of stones,” said Sanjay in a soft voice.

Scraps of water and the tumble of great stones lying amongst grass in a pattern that seem achingly familiar, something not quite nameable, rested below them in the deep, long hollow. Beyond, far beyond, lay the suggestion of forest, a great, dark wood.

“Their
lands,” said the earl in a voice so quiet that only Chryse and Sanjay could hear it.

“Is it really a forest?” she asked. “I hadn’t thought—” She shrugged. “Not in these lands.”

“Oh yes, it’s a forest.” The earl smiled, an uncanny and disquieting expression on his face. “My grandmother, when she was a girl, went riding in that forest on a dare. She was a wild young woman, you understand. She was gone for two months, given up for dead and the new heir invested in his duties. Then she turned up, pregnant, a little fey, as they said in those times. Her parents found a respectable older gentleman who agreed to marry her and raise the child as his own, and in time my father was born. All were relieved that he had escaped any taint of the alien blood.” His eyes, examining the ruins below, bore the cold glitter of a steel blade.

“But they were not so lucky in the next generation,” said Chryse, unable not to.

His gaze, shifting to her, seemed more amused than angered. “I have a younger sister,” he said, a confidence that surprised her far more than the previous one. “She is as quiet and unfey a woman as I have ever met.”

Chryse only smiled. The earl turned his attention to Sanjay.

“Monsieur.” His voice was as soft as the touch of the cool breeze on their faces. “What do you make of it?”

Sanjay shuddered and put out a hand to touch Chryse’s arm as he stared down. In a scatter of stones he thought he saw a movement, shadow moving in the ruins, animate, watching and aware. Sound seemed drowned here, smothered in some enveloping hush that surrounded this place.

“This is it,” Sanjay said. “Topo Rhuam. I would know it as I know my own self.”

Sun illuminated hollows and rises and a greater pattern in the ruins and the lay of the land around them, hiding the rest of the city, that radiated out from a center discernible only by Sanjay’s instinct.

“Then we have arrived.” The earl’s glance strayed for an instant to Maretha before returning to the stones below.

“It has rested alone and untouched for a very long time,” said Sanjay. “I’m not sure I want to see what happens when we disturb it.”

The earl smiled.

“T
HE BOY!” THE REGENT
threw her hand out in a gesture so abrupt that it knocked over one of the three lanterns that sat at the points of a triangle on the table. Her great billow of skirts rustled as she rocked wildly. A silent woman came forward and set the lantern back on the table. By its light, the wavering image of Nastagmas came more sharply into focus. It hovered a finger’s breadth above the table, and one could see faint shapes through it: a chair, the far wall. “You told me that he was safely disposed! How could he have escaped?”

The tiny image of the old man, dissolving into nothing at its edges, seemed to shrink back a little. “But he was safe—he was. It is impossible that he could have escaped, highness, and more so that he would be found by the earl’s party, but it has happened.” The image was too insubstantial to show his facial expression, but his posture now straightened, as if with confidence. “But I will wager, yes, highness, that none here suspects him at all. The spell still holds. I have spoken with him and he remembers nothing, only his name.”

“You spoke with him?” Her rocking was still agitated. “That was foolish—like recognizes like. Well, it is done. Do not fail me again, Nastagmas.”

“No, highness!” Almost indistinct, this murmur.

“Then your report. What progress? Any sign of treasure?”

“None.”

“None? In more than five weeks? Nothing?”

“Highness.” The image flickered in the light of the lanterns as the Regent swayed back and forth, eyes half shut. “The city is vast. Even with a crew of one hundred laborers, only a small part can be uncovered at a time. And the professor is fickle. His wishes change daily as his mood alters.”

The Regent shut her eyes, hands grasping the smooth edge of the table. “Fickle!” she breathed in an undertone of disgust. “Surely the Earl of Elen does not tolerate such inefficiency.”

The image made a movement with its shoulders, fading into dark on the fringe. “The earl has his own business. He does not seem to concern himself with the excavation. But I have, highness, put a few innocent questions to the foreman, Southern, and from his words and actions it is clear that he heeds the orders of the professor’s daughter above those of the professor.”

“The daughter—ah—the Countess of Elen, I take it.”

A nod.

“Interesting.” One hand rubbed the grain of wood caressingly as she considered some thought. “Southern,” she murmured finally, as if the name reminded her of something. Her rocking gentled and slowed and she released the table edge, opening her eyes. “You must remove the boy from that place. I would prefer to have him alive—he is too fine a material for the final spell that I would willingly throw him away—but if you cannot remove him alive, then kill him.”

“It will be difficult, highness. He has attached himself to the earl’s party.”

She grimaced, rocking harder again. “One or the other. Do you understand?”

Even as he said, “Yes, highness,” her rocking stopped suddenly and she gasped twice. The image flickered out of existence, leaving only the three burning lantern wicks to cast shadows across the room. Her skirts rustled about her, and she relaxed as her waiting woman came forward and helped her up and out of the chamber.

In her dressing room she washed and changed into a new gown, and afterwards went to her private receiving room to look over the written reports of her numerous agents. Into this calm the Princess Georgiana was admitted.

“My dear.” The Regent rose and came forward to take the princess’s hands in hers, a look of concern on her handsome face. “You still look pale. Are you feeling no better?”

The princess squeezed her aunt’s hands, but could scarcely manage a smile. She sank down onto a couch and the Regent sat beside her, one hand still on her niece’s sleeve. “No, indeed, Aunt,” Georgiana answered in a voice more subdued than usual. “I seem unable to recover my usual vigor.”

The Regent frowned. “Your father had these very same symptoms—but I will say no more. What does your physician say?”

Georgiana shook her head. Her eyes had a lackluster cast, and shadows ringed them. “My physician has had to return to her family home—her father is quite ill, and she wishes to care for him in his last days. So I asked for that man that you recommended, Aunt. He suggests a stay at the ocean. He says many a young woman approaching her wedding and coronation will feel a trifle under the weather. It was meant to be a joke, I believe.”

“I feel sure it was,” said the Regent, soothing. She coughed behind her hand. “I find his suggestion to be a sound one. A few weeks out of Heffield, the good summer sea winds, and you shall be right again in no time.”

“I am sure you are correct, Aunt,” said Georgiana in a low voice, but she did not look convinced.

“Indeed.” The Regent stood up. “Now, there is no reason to delay. I will order your carriage to be ready tomorrow, and your maids to pack your things.”

“Shall I take William and Jasmina with me?”

“No, dear.” She helped her niece to her feet with gentle solicitude. “You will want to be quiet, to recover as quickly as you can.”

“Oh, of course.” Georgiana looked unsure and slightly confused. “I suppose I will.”

“Then you had best be on your way. I will call—”

A footman appeared in the doorway. “Lord Felton, your highness,” he announced, followed quite abruptly by the entrance of Lord Felton himself.

“Lord Felton.” If the Regent’s tone was less than welcoming, only the footman was in a state of mind to notice it.

“Your highness,” Lord Felton began, stopped. “Your highness!” He bowed to Georgiana with obvious sincerity. “I had not expected to see you here.”

Georgiana inclined her head, but she was already drifting towards the door, propelled by the light pressure of her aunt’s hand on her back. “It is good to see you, my lord,” she said, as though she meant it. “Forgive me. I was just leaving.”

He bowed again. There was a short silence after she left as he stared after her.

“Lord Felton.” The Regent sat again, clearly impatient.

His glance returned to her as if he had forgotten her presence. The firm line of his mouth tightened as he regarded her with far less respect than he had previously regarded her niece. “The princess looks pale, your highness,” he said in a sharp tone. “Has a physician been called to attend her?”

“Of course, Lord Felton. It is a mild ailment, merely, but a lingering one. The physician is sure that it bears no relation to the disease that carried off my brother.”

“Of course it isn’t,” said Lord Felton impatiently. “You and I are well aware that your brother died of his own excesses.”

“Nevertheless, as a precaution he has recommended that her highness spend some time convalescing by the ocean. She leaves tomorrow. With a proper retinue, of course.” When Lord Felton said nothing, she smiled slightly. “Does this displease you, Lord Felton?”

His mouth was still tight. “Do not forget, Princess Blessa, that I was privileged to serve as an advisor to your gracious mother and sister and that I have known you all your life, both as a member of your family’s court and as tutor to yourself in the ways of statecraft.”

She did not comment.

“I have often thought,” he continued, slowly but with the vigor of a much younger man, “that it rankled that the inheritance passed to William’s children. We both of us know that your brother had few principles and fewer wits. Indeed, I often felt that you received the greatest share of intelligence in your family, and I have often wondered if it would have been better for you to have gotten fewer wits and more complacency.”

“This is plain speaking, Lord Felton.”

“Your highness knows that my highest loyalty is to the throne of Anglia, and to its heir, her highness, Princess Georgiana.”

“As is all of ours,” she answered.

He coughed, a keen look in his lined and aged face. “Your highness also knows that I am a very old man, and have less to fear than a younger man would.”

“Indeed.” Her voice was a trifle edged. “Is that all you wished to say?”

He gave her the briefest of bows. “Only that I expect to see Princess Georgiana back in Heffield soon, your highness. I have been working closely with her on the matter of her wedding and coronation.”

“Of course.” She rose now and walked to the doors that opened on to a little balcony. The view looked out over the courtyard of Blackstone Palace, a pleasant garden of walks and shrubbery. “And your visit here today?”

He followed her to stand in the doorway. “Your highness, I find inexplicable this sudden decision to delay the arrival of the princess’s betrothed and his family until a mere five days before the coronation. More than inexplicable—unreasonable!” His voice was low, but not at all hesitant.

The Regent had been leaning on the railing that edged the balcony. Now she turned. “Are you questioning my judgement?”

“Yes.” He met her gaze. “You can have no good reason for this whim. Prince Frederick can scarcely be expected to—”

“Lord Felton!” Her voice cut through his complaint. “I have made the decision. You will abide by it. I do not expect argument.” With a wave of one hand, she dismissed him. “You may leave.”

“Your highness—”

“You may leave,” she repeated, giving him no choice but to bow stiffly and retreat.

For a few moments she regarded the garden. Then her gaze wandered to a latticework that had been recently constructed on one side of the balcony. She walked across and ran her hands along it as though it were her lover. A single pot sat at its base, but no plant yet grew in it or climbed the trellis.

“Yes,” she said in a pleased voice. “Once I have the power, no one will suspect your fate, my princess.” A moment longer she caressed it; then she turned and went back inside and rang for a servant.

“Bring Colonel Whitmore to me,” she ordered. She sat and perused her papers until the colonel arrived. He was a young man, handsome in a florid way, with that flush in his cheeks and eyes that betrayed a weakness for the pleasures of the flesh. He eyed her greedily but with some circumspection.