The Fanged Crown: The Wilds (2 page)

Still, the Marigold’s attack had raised questions that Harp wasn’t sure Boult would like the answers to.

“You know what the Crane means to me,” Harp finally said.

“She’s a fine ship, all right,” Boult said. “And she’s survived some seriously stupid moves on the part of her captain.”

“Trust me for the moment, all right?” Harp said. “You know I would do anything for the Crane.”

“Give me something, and I’ll let it lie,” Boult said.

“So much for trust,” Harp said, and he smiled faintly. “I told you that the colonists vanished, Boult. Maybe they got eaten by beasties in the night, or maybe there’s something more sinister happening in the jungle.” “Like what?” Boult demanded.

“Things that were set in motion a long time before the colonists arrived,” Harp told him. “Avalor didn’t give me all the details. But I trust his instincts. He isn’t the kind of elf to mistake storm clouds for evil spirits. We can trust him.”

“Really?” Boult said, giving the Marigold a significant look. “Who else knew to look for a ship in this cove?”

30 Hammer, Year of Splendors Burning

(1469 DR)

The Winter Palace, the Coast of Tethyr

Neither revolt nor act of state could remove Evonne Linden’s portrait from the wall of the Winter Palace. Despite her husband’s murder at the hands of royalists, the uprising she led in his name, or the decree that declared her to be an enemy of the Queen, Evonne continued to smile at the drafty corridor from inside a mahogany frame. Her likeness was just one among many paintings in the ancient castle that chronicled the bloodline of the royal family of Tethyr.

Painted by a master artist several years before she became notorious, the portrait showed Evonne as a shapely nineteen-year-old in a cornflower blue dress sitting on a bench, before she came into her full magical and political power. A leather-bound journal rested on her knee, and a stand of tulips bloomed riotously in the background. The artist had captured Evonne’s blonde ringlets, but not her feral smile.

A black drape had hung over her portrait during the time of her uprising, but the aristocracy of Tethyr had accepted Evonne back to the Court of the Crimson Leaf with a minimal hand slapping and the loss of a single, paltry estate.

It had been a month since Declan Cardew had seen Evonne, but she was due at the Winter Palace to attend the High Festival of Winter. Cardew’s agenda for the evening revolved around Evonne, the mage who had captured the imagination of the country as she led a hardscrabble array of nobles and warriors to avenge the murder of her husband.

“The queen’s sister,” Cardew said, fully aware that it was the last thing the dwarf wanted to talk about. “Do you know Evonne?”

The dwarfs eyes widened at the question. “What’s that got to do with the missing groundskeeper?”

“What is your name, soldier?” Cardew asked, trying to keep an amicable tone as he stared down at the glowering dwarf. As a Knight-Confident in the Order of the Dark Sparrow, Cardew knew appearances were crucial. For instance, it gave him an air of gentility to act congenially toward anyone he encountered, no matter the person’s station or birthplace—or how unreasonable theywere being.

“Amhar, sir,” the dwarf replied, his dark eyes flashing with contempt.

“And you are stationed in… ?” Cardew probed, taking a close look at the dwarfs regimentals in the hope that there was some irregularity that he could call out. But the dwarfs quilted acton was perfectly appropriate for guard duty within the castle grounds, his sheathed sword was belted at his hip, and the insignia of his order was

displayed proudly on his shoulder. Most infantry carried an ash spear, but certain orders allowed dwarves to carry axes instead.

“In Darromar. I am a member of the Order of the Tempest Stahl. Queen Anais’s Court of the Crimson Leaf,” Amhar recited tonelessly.

“Really? Why aren’t you with your queen?”

“She’s your queen too,” Amhar replied.

Cardew prided himself on his tolerance, but the dwarf was pushing him perilously close to his limit. A caravan of high-ranking dignitaries had arrived just before an abnormally thick fog had settled on the countryside. The guests had requested to see someone, and as ranking officer in the palace, Cardew v the man to talk to. Or he would be if Amhar weren’t blocking his way to the guests’ quarters in the Griffon Wing of the palace. It wasn’t the first time he and the dwarf had crossed paths that night. But if Cardew had anything to say about it, it would be their last.

“I am well aware that Anais is ruler of the realm,” Cardew, said tersely. “My question is why are you separated from your regiment?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Amhar asked in disbelief. “A scout arrived with the news a while back. The queen and her entourage were forced to stop in the village of Celleu due to the fog. The horses lay down on the ground and refused to continue blindly.”

“If it’s so bad, how did the scout make it back without peril?” Cardew said testily.

“Listen to me,” the dwarf growled. “There’s something wrong. There’s a plot underway, and you’re too stupid to see it.”

As Cardew looked down at the angry dwarf, he had an unpleasant thought: if Evonne were traveling with the queen’s entourage, she would be delayed as well.

“Your concern has been noted,” Cardew said brusquely. He wanted to be away so he could check on the status of Evonne’s arrival.

“You’re risking everyone’s lives,” Amhar said harshly. “I told you about the groundskeeper—”

Cardew cleared his throat, interrupting Amhar and giving himself time to consider what punishment would be acceptable for a soldier who so brazenly insulted a Knight-Confident. But it would have to wait until morning. The number of soldiers at the palace was unfortunately small. If Cardew locked up the dwarf for insolence, it would mean one fewer soldier on duty. And Cardew intended to dine with the dignitaries, not spend the night on watch.

At that moment, a door behind them burst open, and three young girls barreled out the door. The blonde cousins were nearly identical except for their size and the fact that the youngest, Ysabel—Evonne’s daughter—still toted a grubby poppet.

The redheaded governess followed close on their heels— . the same redhead that Cardew had enjoyed in the stable loft earlier that afternoon. The flustered woman barely had time to give Cardew an appreciative glance before hurrying down the corridor after her charges.

“Girls, come here,” she called, waving a pair of silk slippers while Cardew tried to recall the governess’s name. Lilabeth or Lizabeth, or something else entirely. Cardew had never been good at remembering women’s names.

The girls paid no attention and scampered down the hallway like spoiled little brats. Cardew had the same trouble with his own charge Teague, Evonne’s only son.

Cardew turned his attention back to the dwarf, who was gripping the handle of his axe like he was about to chop down a tree. Cardew raised an eyebrow.

“If the night’s festivities will continue without Queen Anais, it’s safe to assume that they will continue despite the

mysterious disappearance of your groundskeeper,” Cardew said.

“It’s not just him,” Amhar said. “There’s the load of wood, delivered unexpectedly. In a fog such as that outside—”

“Did you check the wood?” Cardew asked sarcastically. But Amhar took him seriously.

“Yes, I checked it. There was no writ of sale. And there’s the question of the fog itself. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Before Cardew could reply, a young soldier hurried around the corner. Unlike Amhar, the soldier wore the hauberk and helm of a guard on perimeter duty. The crest on his shoulder was a white and green diamond, an insignia Cardew didn’t recognize. There were soldiers from too many regiments at the palace that night. It was causing havoc with the lines of authority.

“There’s a disturbance on the road, a mile north from the gate,” he told Cardew breathlessly. There was a wet sheen on the young man’s face and hands as if he’d been outside during a heavy rain.

Cardew sighed. “What happened? Did a goat cart run off the road?”

Amhar shot Cardew an angry glance and turned to the soldier. “What kind of disturbance?”

The soldier shrugged helplessly. “The patrol sent a single scout. He caught me at the North Lion’s Gate and told me to find the ranking officer. I sought you out right away.”

“How many soldiers are at North Lion’s?” the dwarf inquired.

“Only seven on the gate, sir. We sent a dozen to meet the Queen on the road before the fog set in. They haven’t returned.”

“What about the southern and eastern gates?” Cardew asked.

The soldier looked pained. “Unmanned, sir. The orders were

to secure the ballast-doors and group in the north field.”

“There’re only eight guards in the palace itself,” the dwarf reminded Cardew. “We should cancel dinner and set a guard on the guests.”

That was the worst idea Cardew had heard all night. Even if Evonne was delayed, Captain Landon Bratherwit had already arrived and was, in fact, the man who had requested to see Cardew. There were rumors that the Captain was looking to fill a post in Darromar. Cardew had never met Bratherwit face-to-face before. And face-to-face was Cardew’s specialty. If he wanted to have any influence on the maneuverings between Evonne and her sister, Queen Anais, Cardew had to be awarded the Darromar post, not escorting Evonne’s son to lesser nobles’ estates in backwater provinces and seeing to overturned goat carts.

“It is worth checking out,” Cardew said to the soldier, ignoring the dwarfs suspicious glance in his direction. “I’ll bring the guests to the Grand Library. We’ll keep it quiet until you get back.”

The dwarf hesitated, obviously not sure what to make of Cardew’s sudden change of heart, but he followed the dripping soldier out of sight. There was no way Cardew was going to cloister such important people in the library or terrify the children with such nonsense. As Cardew headed down the corridor to the Griffon Wing where Captain Bratherwit and the other guests were lodged, his mind flitted away from the annoying dwarf and back to Evonne.

In the four years her son had been his charge, she had barely cast her topaz-colored eyes in his direction. He had always believed that if he just had the chance to spend a relaxed evening in her company, she would find him as intriguing as he found her.

A month before, Cardew had chaperoned Teague to the Masque of the Siren, a costume ball for children at Queen Anais’s palace. When he had brought the boy home, the

doorjack told him that Evonne wanted to see him in her private study. His heart pounding, he had climbed the grand staircase and rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in,” she said in her distinctively low voice. She was seated behind a desk carved from dark wood. Bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes lined ther walls, and a fire burned brightly in the open fireplace. Cardew had never met a woman who had a study of her own, but then he’d never met a woman who’d lead a revolt against the throne either.

“Lady Linden,” he said, bowing. “You requested me.”

“Yes, Master Cardew,” she said, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk. The cut of her black dress was casual, but she wore blue silk gloves that covered her slim arms up to her elbows. “Please sit.”

“Thank you,” he said, choosing a chair covered in supple red leather directly across from her.

“You escorted Teague to the palace?” she asked. She had been writing something on a scroll, which she rolled up and placed in a drawer. Evonne had a reputation as a powerful wizard, and as a man with a martial bent, Cardew had little use for the arcane arts. But Cardew never underestimated the potential of an intelligent woman. Under the right circumstances, self-confidence could be as pleasing in a lover as innocence. “How were the festivities?”

Cardew hesitated. He felt an odd tension running between them. In the presence of another woman, he would have dismissed it as attraction and begun calculating the steps to get her into bed. But with Evonne, the standard formula was too prosaic. Besides, he wanted her to come to him.

“Enjoyable,” he said carefully. “There were a few surprises, but most seemed satisfied with the affair.”

She tipped her head to the side and scrutinized him openly. He could see her eyes travel over his face and down

his body. It was a brazen move, and after an uncomfortable moment, Cardew found himself very much enjoying her attention.

Tve been watching you,” she said with a little smile. “I believe you have a… good eye for detail. I was hoping you would be able to be more specific.”

Cardew knew exactly what she meant. While the children stomped around the dance floor dressed like animals and mutilating the simplest dances, Cardew spent the evening analyzing every nuance of conversation and connivance of the adults in the hall. Most of the members of court thought like sheep, bestowing loyalty on whoever was popular among the rank-and-file nobles. But Cardew knew that the power struggle between Queen Anais and Evonne still simmered. And he knew which nobles were smart enough to be waiting patiently in the proverbial middle ground between the sisters to see who would ultimately prevail.

“Rase Lahame talked to Captain Yohns for quite a while on the portico,” he began. “The Captain was most uncomfortable and kept checking over his shoulder.” Cardew talked for a long time. When he finally finished, Evonne gave him a bright smile that made him shiver pleasantly.

“You do not disappoint, Master Cardew,” she said, standing up.

“Please, call me Declan,” he said.

“I look forward to another discussion sometime soon,” she said. Unexpectedly, she slipped off her glove and extended her bare hand. He stepped forward and grasped it, noticing a faint network of red scars branching across the back of her hand and up her wrist. They fascinated him, but he was clever enough not to let his eyes dwell on them too long. He let himself briefly enjoy the touch of her warm fingertips, bowed formally, and hurried down the stairs. The scars stayed in his mind for days. It was

the first time that something other than perfection had appealed to him.