The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 2 Blood Honor and Dreams (25 page)

“That peasant girl that has been troubling
your sister so much has been arrested,” Lord Rivasa said with a
smirk. His voice sounded like the crashing of boulders next to
Myth’s more fluid drawl.

Truce shook his head slowly at the two men
and kept the smile in place. His mind however was whirling with
what Sovaesh’s reaction might be to this turn of events. The
Assassin had been quite adamant on them backing off his
daughter-in-law. This was hardly something he could have prevented,
though. Realizing his silence was stretching too long, Truce pushed
the thoughts away and shook his head slightly again. “No, I hadn’t
heard that as of yet. Might I ask what she was arrested for?” he
asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“Impersonating a High Lady. Apparently the
child has gotten it into her head that she is of Merrodin blood,”
Lord Rivasa chuckled and the stocky man’s voice reminded Truce of
an avalanche. When you combined the garish house colors of yellow
and orange with the man’s personality, Lord Rivasa was quite
possibly the most obnoxious guest his Father ever invited to dine
with them.

“It’s ridiculous. Everyone knows the Darks
slaughtered the Merrodin,” Lady Nerathane broke in, her high voice
a grating contrast to Lord Rivasa’s deep rumble.

“I wonder where she ever got such a notion,”
Truce said absently, though in truth he was actually wondering how
much longer his father could possibly be. Lord Avanti had a
tendency to be fashionably late to everything in order to make a
grand entrance and to avoid being bored while waiting for
others.

“I hear she is in league with the Fionaveir.
It’s likely those brigands put her up to it,” Lord Rivasa said with
a disapproving frown.

His beard rather makes him look like a pissed
off walrus when he frowns, Truce noted silently and watched Lady
Nerathane bobbing her head in agreement. He kept his expression
schooled as he watched the Lord and Lady. Despite all of the
dinners his father had held, he couldn’t remember a single other
time he had ever seen Lord Rivasa and Lady Nerathane in such
agreement.

“I heard the same rumor. We should simply
eliminate those outlaws once and for all,” Lady Nerathane
chirped.

“I believe we have been trying to do that for
three hundred years without much success.” All eyes turned to him
at the words and Truce mentally cursed himself. He hadn’t actually
intended to voice the thought. Shrugging he smiled again and
motioned toward the bar. “Can I get anyone a drink?” he asked,
hoping the offer of Avanti wine would soothe the feathers he had
just ruffled.

“Yes, thank you, Truce,” Lord Morcaillo said
with a nod and quickly began to gather the others in conversation
again.

With a sigh, Truce crossed to the bar and
began filling glasses with the finest vintage available. It
wouldn’t do to short-change this crowd.

“You don’t care much for any of them,” Jexon
said quietly.

Truce glanced up at the man who was now
leaning on the bar a few feet away and shook his head slightly.
“No, not at all Lord Jexon, I’m simply not much of a gossip, I’m
afraid,” he lied and offered the man a glass of wine.

“Does he have anything stronger than wine
back there? I think I will need to be partially drunk to make it
through a dinner with Wilameir Nerathane.” A delighted high pitched
giggle mingled with Rivasa’s heavy rumbling laugh echoed across the
room as Jexon spoke and Truce gave a silent nod, pouring them both
a tumbler of brandy. Jexon raised his glass and nodded to Truce.
“To getting through this dinner,” he said raising his glass for a
toast.

“And the next year,” Truce muttered taking a
sip from his own glass. His gaze rose to the stairs as footsteps
sounded and he let out a breath of relief as his father made his
way into the room. As always, Lord Avanti was dressed far superior
to his guests with brocade vest and filigreed boots. Even the
buttons on his jacket were precious stones. “It’s a good thing we
are rich, with the way he and my sister dress,” he mumbled, drawing
an amused snort from the much more sedately attired Jexon.

“As pretty as a maid at her wedding,” Jexon
muttered with disgust and flicked his gaze to Truce, taking in the
dark colored suit and single ring he wore. “No man should ever be
pretty. Remember that, boy, and I’ll respect you more for it,” he
said quietly and pushed off the bar to greet Lord Avanti.

Truce watched him go and smirked. “Well you
are in no danger of being pretty, Lord Jexon,” he mumbled quietly,
taking another sip from his brandy. Jexon was intimidating. That
was the best description Truce could think of. He dressed like a
guard, he walked like a warrior, and he had the attitude of a bear.
There was nothing pretty about him.

Gazing over the other guests, Truce shook his
head slightly. He did not want to be in this room. He would have
given half his fortune to simply be allowed to return home to his
wife and son. There was no help for it though. His father expected
him to be here and Sovaesh had given him duties as well. Lifting
the glass for a final time, he finished off his brandy and lifted
the tray of wine glasses before heading over to the table where
they were now seated.

“Now, as far as the council goes tomorrow, I
think it is obvious to everyone present in this room that the
Merrodin line is dead,” Myth Morcaillo was saying as Truce
approached.

“Quite, and any suggestion otherwise is
simply ridiculous,” Lady Nerathane chimed in, her eyes settling on
him as he approached. Truce nodded his head and smiled faintly as
he carefully set a glass down in front of her and wished she would
take her eyes from him. Up close they were unsettling, with their
lack of white and slit pupils.

“I personally don’t see what I have to gain
either way with a vote, or why I should even bother going,” Lord
Jexon said drawing all attention to him.

“I personally don’t see what anyone has to
gain by condemning a girl to death,” Truce said quietly.

“You believe some peasant girl who claims to
be more deserves a seat on the council for telling a good lie?” his
Father demanded, eyes locked on him.

“I don’t believe she is a peasant girl
father. I’ve seen her up close, she is Elder Blood,” Truce said
calmly as he finished passing out the wine glasses.

“Done with magic, I’m sure. The women in the
city of Sanctuary have all kinds of magics cast on them to improve
their looks,” Lady Nerathane sniffed indignantly, as if it were a
major crime to alter ones appearance.

Truce fought down the urge to point out if
she hadn’t altered herself to look human right now she would be a
two hundred foot long winged lizard. “I truly don’t think she could
afford something like that. I believe it’s natural,” he said
quietly and took a seat further down the table.

“Ahh, but whoever is pulling her strings
could. She is nothing more than a Fionaveir puppet,” Myth said,
smoothly drawing the conversation back around to the outlaws once
more.

Truce watched them all and tried to determine
a strategy to sway his Father and wondered if it was even going to
be possible. If it was, it was going to take a lot of work to do.
Leaning back in his chair, he listened to the conversation and
watched the guests with interest. If he was going to be forced to
sit here all night he might as well gain all of the insight he
could.

Sanctuary

Predawn light flickered in through the
windows as the sound of the door opening drew Jala back from her
thoughts. She hadn’t bothered trying to sleep, knowing it would be
pointless. So she had focused herself instead on the Goswin curse.
So far she had not come up with any brilliant means of breaking
it.

The sound of the door opening had roused her
from her thoughts. Drowsily, she watched the figure in armor cross
the room toward her cell and wondered why neither Victory nor Havoc
had spoken a challenge yet. When dinner had arrived the evening
before, Havoc had stopped the man at the door and brought the food
over himself.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to
maintain a time stop in a room filled with Barllen?” Hemlock’s
voice came from the shadows.

“Can’t say that I do,” Jala replied, standing
slowly.

“Very draining,” Hemlock informed her as he
leaned against the bars and folded his arms once more. “It’s going
to be a very close trial today,” he said conversationally and
looked her over. “You probably should have slept. You look a bit
rough.” His gaze slowly rose again to meet her eyes and he shook
his head slightly. “Bloodshot violet is not a pretty look.”

“I’m sorry you don’t approve. When I decide
to impress you, I’ll try to look better,” she returned, too tired
to care.

“Grumpy when we are sleepy, aren’t we?” he
observed and shook his head again. “And here I went through all of
this trouble just to speak with you.”

“You do seem to enjoy our conversations far
more than I do,” she said with a sigh.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal. See, Cassia
offered me an obscene amount of money to kill Finn in the unlikely
event that he won the duel. He did win, and well Finn doesn’t have
the same advantage as you of being a good person so I’ve come to
offer you the chance to outbid Cassia. It’s a rare opportunity.”
His tone was pleasant, almost friendly as he spoke.

Jala chuckled bitterly and shook her head
slightly. “You know I can’t outbid an Avanti with gold. Why would
you even bother coming here? Just to torment me?”

Raising an eyebrow, Hemlock stared at her and
sighed. “While it is quite entertaining to torment you, no. Simply
put, you have gold that is infinitely more valuable than anything
the Avanti own, Jala,” he said quietly.

Confused, Jala shook her head slowly at him.
“I have limited gold,” she objected hesitantly.

Hemlock sighed again with a bit of irritation
and produced a vial from his cloak. He offered it out to her and
smirked. “Does this help you understand?” he asked.

Eyeing the empty vial, Jala looked up from it
slowly and met his gaze. “You want my blood?” she asked slowly.

“Along with just about everyone else,” he
replied with a chuckle. “Do we have a deal, Jala? One vial of blood
for your husband’s life?” he asked.

Mentally, Jala tallied all of the ways the
blood could be used against her from what Neph and Sovann had
taught her so far. It could be used to trace her or kill her or any
number of other things. “How do I know you won’t kill him anyway,
after I give you the blood?” she asked quietly.

“I will sign a binding contract stating that
as long as the blood is in my possession, Finn Sovaesh is off
limits,” Hemlock explained.

“Then if you give it away it’s no longer in
your possession and you could kill him,” Jala countered.

Hemlock snorted in amusement and nodded.
“Then we will add into the contract that I will not give, sell, or
barter the blood to anyone but you,” he offered.

“Why do you want it?” she asked, her tone
suspicious.

“Leverage against you, of course,” he replied
calmly.

“Show me the contract,” she said, taking the
vial from his hand and looking it over. There were no signs of
magical wards on it anywhere that she could see. As far as she
could tell, it was no more than it appeared - a simple glass
vial.

Hemlock watched her examination with an
amused smile and produced a rolled up paper from inside his cloak.
“Read over it. I believe you will approve,” he said, handing it to
her.

Tucking the vial into her sleeve she took the
contract, unrolled it carefully, and read over the tightly written
words. Nodding slightly, she handed it back to him. “You
anticipated my objection about giving it away,” she said
quietly.

“I have dealt with contracts for a while.
It’s fairly easy to guess what will bring objections. So I brought
two copies. This one if you were smart enough to see the issue and
the other in the event that you weren’t,” he explained. “I take it
we have a deal then?” he asked.

“We do,” Jala agreed pulling the vial back
from her sleeve. “I’ll need a knife. Bring me the guard’s please,”
she said her gaze flicking to Havoc.

“I do have one myself you know,” Hemlock said
with a smirk, but moved to Havoc’s side and pulled a dagger free
from his belt. Tossing it lightly in the air, he strolled back with
a smile and handed it to her hilt first. “Are you afraid of where
mine has been?” he asked with a smile as he watched her slice open
her palm and press the vial to the welling blood.

“I’d rather not use anything of yours,” she
replied curtly, eyes locked on the golden droplets as they ran down
the side of the glass. This was not something she could ever tell
Finn about, or any of her friends for that matter. Sovann would be
as furious as Finn if he found out, and the thought of Neph’s
reaction made her want to shudder. Still in the end, it came down
to one thing. Would she die for Finn? The answer was, “yes,” if
there was no other way to save him.

Hemlock watched her as the vial filled. He
unrolled the contract slowly. Slipping a hand into his cloak once
more he drew out a pen and hastily signed his name to the bottom.
Waving a hand over it briefly he smiled and pulled an exact
duplicate from the first. “One for each of us, though I suggest you
keep that hidden. I truly don’t think Finn would approve.”

Glaring at him, Jala handed the vial over and
took her copy of the contract. “I trust after this, we will have no
further business?” she asked.

“I see no reason at all for further
business,” Hemlock replied as he carefully sealed the vial with wax
not even looking up to her face. “Good luck today,” he said with a
smirk and turned to go. “The Lady Nerathane’s presence can test
even the best patience,” he said as he reached the door. With a
last smile in her direction, he left the room. With a sigh she
stared down at her bloodied hand and Havoc’s dagger wondering how
exactly she would explain either when time resumed.