Lady of Mercy (The Sundered, Book 3) (40 page)

“She is Lady Erin,” he replied. “She has come this distance to aid me.”

“In what undertaking?”

“The one that I have chosen, Grandfather. ” He paused, weary suddenly. The blood in the carved grooves of the flagstones had left their stain on more than stone. “Does Verena serve the Church in its ceremonies, or only in its politics?”

“She serves the family.” There was a hint of anger here, an echo of Renar’s edged words.

“And not the new crown?”

“The crown is dead, Renar.”

“My mother is dead. ”

“Yes.” Cold, cold word.

Erin jumped forward slightly and then gripped the armrests of her chair firmly. They were alike, these two. Their anger and their pain—both jumped to the same pulse, the same beat.

Renar, why did you say that?
She looked at his closed face, wondering if he was even sure himself.

“Why have you come?”

“I have come for your aid.” He stopped, weighing his words. “We seek to return the crown of Marantine to the line of Maran.”

“And you seek my aid?” Lord Cosgrove turned then, his arms behind his back. He chuckled; it was a black, bitter sound. “Perhaps you really are more of a Maran than a Cosgrove. Did you not hear me, boy? The crown is dead, and Maran with it.” He held out one hand; it was as steady as Renar. “Come as a Cosgrove, Renar. Or leave.”

Renar rose, shedding the walls of his chair for the first time. He looked stiffly at Erin. He nodded as she stood, watching her gather her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. He walked, rigid and graceless, to the door and then stopped.

“Is that what you told my mother?” he asked, his voice very low. He did not wait for a response. Instead, he reached for the handle of the door. “Then I fear I must give you, measure for measure, her answer.

“There is no peace between us; you have the things that she paid for with her life. Lady?”

Erin shook her head. “Renar,” she whispered, and turned to
look at the Lord of Cosgrove. His face, like Renar’s, was set and final.

She saw the two of them clearly, more clearly than they saw themselves. Taking a deep breath, she took a step away from Renar.

“Lord Cosgrove.” Her voice was a bell that rang crisply and left its echo in their uncomfortable silence. “Renar’s mother was your youngest, wasn’t she?”

He nodded. It was the only sign he gave that indicated he was listening. His eyes, black and hooded, rested upon his kin.

“Was she like him?”

“He has her looks.” The words were grudging. “And some of her ways. Stubborn.”

“As are you.”

His smile could have cut.

“Renar is of Maran; of Marantine,” Erin continued.

The smile vanished.

“But he is of Cosgrove as well, else he wouldn’t have survived this far.”

“Erin.” Renar was grim. “Come; this does neither of us any good; it tells us nothing new.”

“You loved your daughter,” Erin continued, paying no attention to Renar’s curt command. “And you loved your grandson. You raised them both.” She waited, wondering what this stern lord would say.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Without thinking, she took two steps toward him before forcing herself to stand. His call was strong.

“Do not turn that love inward; it was never meant to be a weapon.” Again, again she realized even as she spoke that it was not just to Lord Cosgrove that the words applied. “Help us.”

She wanted to touch him with Elliath’s power. She wanted to, but held her ground. Let this choice come from him, let it be for him. Anything mortal had some of the light within it.

“Lady,” he began, and his voice was ice. “My daughter Mara died when she left these walls. The queen, Maralan, was born in her stead. She sought no advice from me, no counsel.” His hands came down to touch their reflection on the desk. His
head was bowed; Erin caught a flicker of movement in the lines of the desk.

When he looked up, he was old. “It was a Maran edict.

“I would have had her choose otherwise. There were many who would have been glad of an alliance with Cosgrove.” He turned suddenly. “But she would have her fool of a husband.”

“She loved him,” Renar said, bristling.

“And he loved himself,” Lord Cosgrove replied tightly. “She was a Cosgrove—she saw the tide turn.” Hands became fists. “She tried to tell him.
You
tried. And in trying, you were dismissed from the family you tell me you want to reinstate.”

“That isn’t fair,” Renar said, feeling young and foolish, as he did so rarely now that his childhood was past. His colors rose, reddening his cheeks. His hands mirrored his grandfather’s.

“Fair! What is ‛fair’?” Lord Cosgrove said, as he stepped forward around the desk. “The king was the author of his own misfortune—his stupidity cost Marantine everything!”

“Everything?” Renar’s voice rose. “Did his stupidity cost the life of the person whose blood stains the family crest?” He, too, stepped forward. “Or was it your cowardice?” He closed his eyes, and his voice dropped suddenly. “Was it ours?”

The door to the library opened suddenly, and two guards stepped in, weapons drawn.

Both men turned to stare at them.

“Lord,” one began, “we heard shouting.”

From their reaction, Erin knew that they had never seen him so raw in his anger. They all but jumped back through the door.

He knew it as well. His height seemed to dwindle as he struggled for control.

“How do you know?” Renar asked softly. “How do you know what she knew? How do you know that she tried to sway
^my
father?”

Lord Cosgrove reached out suddenly and both of his hands folded themselves around Renar’s collars; only then did Erin realize how close together the two stood. He was the taller and larger man; it was almost a matter of ease to lift Renar off his feet.

Erin’s nails bit into the palms of her hands as she watched
them. Like the Cosgrove guards, she knew this was no time to interfere. And like them, she wanted to.

“You did nothing, either.” Lord Cosgrove said. He released Renar suddenly, to resume the battle for self-control.

“I know.” It was as much an admission of guilt as either was willing to make.

Erin wondered who the queen of Marantine had been and how she would have felt to see these two, son and father, as she came between them.

“I have lost one child to Maran,” Lord Cosgrove said. “I did what I could to ensure that I would never lose another.” He walked back to his desk and sat down heavily. “She came here. She came to ask my aid. She had her suspicions of Duke Jordan, even then.” He closed his eyes, remembering.

A weary smile touched his lips. “You are not like your mother,” he said softly. “She was always different; not a Cosgrove, not at heart. You have more of us in you than she.”

Renar said nothing.

“She told me. Demanded my aid. We argued. We never argued so much when she was young.” He bowed his head. “I sent my agents out. I watched for word. They heard nothing, saw nothing.

“And then you came back, and your father disowned you. Two months later, Marantine fell. The riots followed. We lost many in them. Duke Jordan took governorship. We made our pledges.

“Verena volunteered for the council.” He ran his hand over his eyes. “The Church made its rules clear. The stones are blooded here by quarters.

“But the family survives.”

“Grandfather ...”

“I never thought you would come back.” The old man rose. “Better that you stayed away. In safety; you were good at that. Tiras always said you were his best.

“Why have you come? You have no hope of restoring what was destroyed.”

Very starkly, Renar replied. “To kill Jordan.”

“To be king?”

“No,” Renar whispered. “To kill him.” He drew breath. It hurt. “To kill him. For Maran. For Marantine. For my mother.”

“As Cosgrove should have done.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence again, the silence of two separate struggles. “She was my youngest.” Lord Cosgrove smiled again, almost ghostlike. “The youngest are always the most wayward.” He drew himself up, and his eyes glittered. For a moment he wavered, and then his face stiffened, shutting out vulnerability and doubt. Wordless, he lifted his arm and his shaking hand pointed to the doors.

Erin bowed her head; she lost sight of their pain through her own, unexpectedly. To come so close ... As Renar turned, she glanced back once and then began to follow the isolated prince.

And then Lord Cosgrove spoke, his voice a whisper. “Renar, hold. I am grown old and foolish, but I must know. How will you kill him?”

Renar’s eyes widened before they closed, and when they did, his lashes were moist. But he offered no tears. “Stent,” he said, in so quiet a voice that Erin almost missed it. He stood and walked in a blind teeter to where Lord Cosgrove sat.

“Re.” His grandfather held out a hand.

Then they both straightened out, aware of their dignity, and aware of the woman who watched. It was habit; she was not of the family, and weakness such as this was a family matter.

Almost apologetically, Renar turned to Erin. His eyes were red-rimmed, but no tears escaped them.

“Stenton Cosgrove,” he said. “All of his friends called him Stent—and I wanted to be as important as I thought they were.”

They returned to their seats, and in earnest began to tell Lord Cosgrove the minutiae of their plans. It took a pitifully short time.

 

“That’s idiotic!” Lord Stenton Cosgrove’s face was red. “I have never in my life heard such drivel!”

“It may be ‛idiotic,’ but it’s the only chance we have!” his grandson shot back. “Unless you have troops to aid us, and I haven’t noticed many with your colors in the street!”

Erin sighed. She had been sighing for the better part of two hours. Lord Stenton Cosgrove had a very brittle method of exhaustive questioning. He was known for his sharpness for very real reason.

“Lord Cosgrove,” she began.

“
If
you have this so-called mage, and
if
his powers are up to the attack on the gate, it still has to be opened.”

Renar nodded grimly.

“Have you thought on that?”

He nodded again.

“Details?”

“Later.”

Lord Cosgrove snorted; he knew prevarication when he heard it, being a master of the art himself. Then he turned and gave Erin an appraising glance. “So while Re is off on his fool’s errand, blithely entering the palace and equally blithely asking all three hundred of the royal guards to kindly get out of his way while he kills Jordan,” he paused for breath, “you will be knocking cheerily on the church’s doors and asking the Swords to step aside while you kill the priests?”

“I won’t be alone, either.”

“Ah, yes. You’ll be with the patriarch of Culverne.”

She bristled at the tone of the words. “Yes.”

“No.”

They both turned to stare at Lord Cosgrove. His word was completely final.

Renar sighed. “Stent, I’ll be using the underground.”

Stenton Cosgrove raised one eyebrow.

“Underground? ”

“My mother built a few tunnels in her spare time.” His smile was bitter. “I played in them. I learned to use my skills there. I’m not so stupid as to walk up to doors at the head of my army.”

“That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say so far.” He raised his head thoughtfully. “Tunnels?”

“Emergencies.”

“Mara.” He shook his head and leaned over the desk to drum his fingers against the table. He, too, had a map; not so fine a one as Renar had procured, but clear enough to tell the tale. “This route?”

“Morgan’s suggestion.”

“This route, then. But it’s heavily patrolled.”

“By city guards. Most of them don’t have official uniforms anymore; Tiras tells me they’re responsible for their own.”

Stenton Cosgrove smiled. “Yes.” He stood, walked over and rapped at the library door. It opened instantly. “Get the captain. Send him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door closed swiftly. Booted steps echoed in the hall.

“There is one other family that we might wish to speak with,” Lord Cosgrove said, as he rested his chin atop his steepled fingers.

“baton.”

Lord Cosgrove nodded. “Tiber. He’s living on the political edge as it is, but he still maintains a large group of family guards. For his merchant lines.”

“Would he help? He and Jordan were once close.”

“You and Jordan were once close,” Lord Cosgrove said darkly. No other explanation was offered. Or needed. “He may attempt to negotiate concessions if you succeed.”

“Such as?”

“Marriage is the most probable.”

Renar cringed.

His grandfather smiled. “Merchanting territories. Tax concessions. Land—the land of the nine that fell is still in Jordan’s keeping.”

“and?”

“You can get away with the land concessions.” His eyes were twinkling. “But he’s likely to press for marriage at a later point in time. If you succeed.” The smile vanished. “Now. The gates. It takes half an hour to open them—and you won’t have it.”

“Speak to Lord Beaton,” Erin said crisply. “We-we might have a method of opening the gates.”

“Oh?”

“The details ... haven’t been worked out yet.” She was painfully aware of Renar’s raised eyebrow as his gaze fell against her profile.

He nodded. “How long do we have?”

We.
Erin smiled. “A week for the message to travel out of the city and back.”

“Let me speak with Verena, then. She rooms here; I’ll send a message via Lianar.”

They rose, and the doors to the library swung open.