The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe (27 page)

“Of course, my dear,” he said. “If you’ll allow, a glass of something to warm me first?” He gestured vaguely in the opposite direction where certainly there was a study or sitting room.

“Nonsense. You come up right now. Porskip will bring up a bowl of Bully Dawson. That will do nicely. I had Cook prepare it this morning. Come now, before you ruin the floor. You’re a sight.”

He gave an ironic bow and gestured toward the staircase. “After you.”

She sniffed and gave him a frowning look down her patrician nose, then mounted the steps regally. Nicholas let go a silent sigh and followed. At least he wouldn’t be roaming the halls blindly looking for his chambers. But Alanna was as suspicious as a rich man in a crowd of pickpockets, and even the countenance of her husband wasn’t going to quell her distrustful nature.

Their apartments were on the third floor of the west wing. Inside was large and extravagantly decorated. Every surface was crowded with ornaments and there was so much furniture it was impossible to walk without knocking into something. The heavy curtains were flounced and gathered in billowing folds and the floors were swathed in dozens of rugs, each with a different pattern and color. There wasn’t a singled square inch of the walls that wasn’t covered with a painting or tapestry. It resembled nothing more than a high-end pawn-shop. Nicholas chewed the inside of his lip and carefully schooled his expression to keep his repugnance from showing.

Alanna preceded him, tugging the bellpull as she entered. She maneuvered her skirts through the jumbled maze of teetering bric-a-brac without toppling even one tiny vase, glass figurine, or carved box, and went into his dressing room. He followed more slowly. As with the exterior room, this one was equally garish and ostentatious. Except the rugs swathing this floor were the colorfully dyed white bearskins from Avreyshar. Nicholas paused before entering. Where had they come from? Avreyshar did not trade these. The tribes would go to war to prevent it. These had to have been smuggled out and just one cost as much as ten horses. Where had Geoffrey obtained them? And how?

“Geoffrey! Your shoes,” Alanna chided sharply.

He looked down at his muddy footwear. He was wearing boots up to his knee, but his illusion said he wore a heeled shoe. If he removed them, Alanna would instantly know something was wrong. Instead he rubbed his forehead with exaggerated exhaustion. “I apologize, my dear. I do not know where my head is.” He stepped back and returned to the sitting room, flinging himself down and putting his feet up on the broad footstool.

“Geoffrey!” she admonished.

He waved a desultory hand. “We’ll purchase new furniture, my dear. Unlike those skins in there, this is utterly replaceable. We can certainly afford it and I am damned tired.”

She came forward, taking his hand in hers and bending to brush her lips against his. It was all he could do not to recoil. Instead he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“Tell me about these Dedloks,” she said, settling primly down on the chair opposite him. “Who are they?”

“They claim they are from Shevring and that they were on their way to Tixora for the wedding of Mistress Dedlok’s brother.”

“Going overland?” she said with raised brows.

Nicholas nodded, then glanced at the door. “Where in the depths are the servants?”

She rose and went to yank the bell again. “If we are to stay here as planned, then we will have to encourage a higher standard of work,” she said. Only a moment later, someone knocked tentatively on the door. She returned to her seat. “Come in,” she called and a footman entered. He bowed low.

“How may I help you, madam?”

“Bring some Bully Dawson at once,” she ordered. “Make sure it’s hot. Get going.” She clapped her hands together sharply and the footman leaped as if stung and he fled.

Once he was gone, she turned back to Nicholas. “Overland?” she prompted.

“It seems she wished to demonstrate her wealth by arriving in some state,” he said. “They were caught in a mudslide and ended up here. They have been waiting for assistance from Shevring.”

“Do you believe them?”

He shrugged. “I’ve invited them to stay here at Molford until their people arrive. We can get the answers soon enough.”

That earned him a considering look. “You were very certain their arrival was too coincidental. What changed?”

Nicholas shook his head. “They are foolish people. Hardly a threat.”

“I have never heard of them.”

He gave an impatient, dismissive gesture. “As I said, my dear, we will have ample time to ascertain their purpose here. If anyone can get to the truth of their story, you can.”

Her lips turned in a tight smile; then she frowned thoughtfully. “I could start with dinner. . . .” She rose and disappeared down the hallway, returning with a heavy wooden case made of carved jasaic wood. She set the case down on the low table and stroked her fingers over the four wards that locked it. Alanna was nothing if not careful with her secrets—some might say fanatical.

She opened the lid and a set of split trays unfolded from it as she did. They contained vials of every shape and size. She studied them, running her fingers through the air above them.

“I suppose I should not poison them,” she said with a glance at Nicholas.

“Preferably not. They might prove useful.”

She picked up a dark pink bottle shaped like a feather. The liquid inside was thick as syrup. “This might do the trick. It is sweet and difficult to taste. I shall give it to them in their wine and they will tell us all we want to know, though it will be a bit uncomfortable for them.”

“I do not wish them to remember.”

She selected a round green vial. “This will make them forget. They will wake feeling weak and feverish and no wiser.”

“I trust you entirely, my dear,” Nicholas said. “Where is that damned punch?”

A knock at the door answered his question. It swung open and two footmen came in carrying a covered silver urn and a tray with cups and an array of food. They set them down on the sideboard and ladled out a small cup. One tasted it and waited for several minutes before Alanna nodded and he served two more steaming cups. Nicholas sipped his gratefully, savoring the sweet-tart flavor of lemons, sugar, wine, stout, and brandy. Underlying it all was the spicy flavor of arrack imported from Beynto dal Corus.

He wiped the foam from his lip as the heat of the drink warmed him. An idea struck him and he eyed the drink thoughtfully. Alanna’s case remained open on the side table. If he could give her a dose of her own medicine, he might learn a great deal about her and Geoffrey’s plans.

The two footmen departed and Alanna went to the sideboard to serve some food.

“None for me,” Nicholas said. “I ate that appalling swill they call food at the inn. I may not be able to eat again for a sennight.”

“I wish you hadn’t. You never know about poisons.”

“I had the innkeeper’s daughter sample everything. There was no harm.”

She frowned. “You should get out of those clothes and into a warm bath before you catch your death.”

“What would I do without you, my dear?” he asked and held out his hand to her.

She rose and came to kiss him again, then stepped behind him and began rubbing his shoulders. Her grip was hard and sharp, like the claws of an eagle. He forced himself to relax beneath her ministrations, considering what to do. His glance fell on the tempting case again.

“Has the post come?”

“It is on your desk in your study.”

“My darling, would you be so kind as to fetch it?”

She gave a final squeeze. “Of course. I should have thought of it sooner. You will want to hear the latest news. I shall return directly.”

She hurried out and Nicholas leaped to his feet. She’d hardly touched her Bully Dawson. Would she pour it out and get a fresh hot cup when she returned? He couldn’t take the chance. He carried the cups down the hall to the garderobe and emptied them. He poured a measure of the drug from the feather-shaped vial into each and rubbed it about so that it coated the inside of each cup. He then set them near his hand and put his feet back up. He slumped as if dozing.

He heard the door open and flinched awake as Alanna called his name.

“Here you are, Geoffrey dear,” she said and came to set the pouch of mail on the table beside him.

“Thank you. Oh, would you mind? I’m afraid I was lazy and drank your punch as well as mine. They warmed me quite nicely, but I would like another.” He gestured at the cups and she went to refill them. He fished in the inside pocket of his coat for the ring of keys he’d taken from the regent in the carriage. He fingered through them, looking for the postal packet key. Any other time, the packet would have been warded by majick, but with it acting so erratically, ordinary locks had to do.

He found the proper key and opened the pouch as Alanna set his steaming cup beside him and sipped her own. He had no idea what sort of dose of the drug was required to be effective. He might very well have given her too little or too much. But hopefully, while Keros and Ellyn were rescuing Carston, he’d discover some useful information about the regent’s business.

He unfastened the pouch and withdrew the correspondence. He flipped through it.

“Any word from Sylmont?”

He glanced at Alanna. She perched on the edge of her chair, her color high as she sipped her drink. There was something in the question that suggested she was looking for specific news. For the first time he wondered what had brought the two of them to Molford. He’d assumed it was something to do with Carston, but if the boy was safely locked up, there would be no need to visit. So either something had driven them from Sylmont, or they’d come for business other than Carston.

He slid his fingers under the seal on the first letter and popped it free. It was from Geoffrey’s steward in the castle. He expected it to be full of the ordinary business of the castle. Instead it read more like a battle report.

Nicholas reread the report twice, unable to cover his astonishment and horror.

“My dear, what news? You look alarmed.”

He glanced at her. She’d nearly finished her Bully Dawson. Her face was flushed and her mouth was tense as if she felt pain. She pressed a hand to her stomach.

“The news from Sylmont is distressing,” he said. “It appears the city may be in ruins.”

She
tsk
ed. “I had hoped it would not go so far. But we will rebuild. The Dhucala will give us all the funds and slaves we need.”

That rocked Nicholas back in his chair. “The Dhucala? You’re in this with the cracking
Jutras
?”

“Me, my love? We are in this together.” She frowned as if beginning to sense something was off. “I am feeling rather . . . unwell.” She slid off the arm of the chair and landed heavily on the floor.

Nicholas leaped to his feet and came to stand over her. He gripped her shoulder and shook it. “Tell me what you’ve planned with the Dhucala. Tell me now!”

She stared up at him, her eyes glassy, the ring of brown around her pupils a thin scrap of color. Her body clenched tight and pain rippled across her countenance. She let out a long, raw moan. She began to shake and the tremors shook her like an aspen leaf. Suddenly she went boneless and still. Nicholas swore and gripped her hair, pulling back her head. She looked sightlessly up at him, her mouth gaping.

He let go of her and staggered back to the scattered mail. His throat felt like someone was crushing it in their fist. He read through everything and then began a search of the apartment. He found little, but now the Avresharian bearskins held a more sinister significance. They had to be gifts from the Dhucala. Or bribes. How long had Geoffrey been an agent for the Jutras? How could he? It was insane. The Jutras would have killed him and Alanna once they overran Crosspointe. How could Geoffrey believe otherwise?

But the man had an extraordinarily healthy sense of his own abilities. Of course he would think he was the exception to what everyone knew to be the truth, especially with Jutras agents plying him with unimaginable wealth and no doubt making extravagant promises.

Nicholas slammed the flat of his hand against a door. His mind was a cauldron of fury and fear and it bubbled with unanswerable questions. What had Geoffrey given the Jutras? When were they coming? Were they already here? He dragged his fingers through his hair. Damn Geoffrey to the depths! With the majicars going insane, riots in Sylmont, no king or regent to lead, Crosspointe was a plum ripe for the picking.

Suddenly he strode back to the sitting room and stepped over Alanna’s body. He picked up the vial of the truth drug and slipped it into his pocket. One way or another, Geoffrey was going to answer his questions.

He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door firmly shut behind him. He found the key on the ring and twisted it in the lock before striding down the corridor. He needed to find Geoffrey’s study and search it.

This was his fault. If not for him, Geoffrey never would have been regent; he’d never have been in a position to so thoroughly tear apart Crosspointe. Nicholas pushed the guilt aside. It wasn’t productive. Now he had to think how to fix this mess.