The White Mists of Power (30 page)

He rolled the papers in his hands. He would catch her with her lover, prove to her that the man was a liar and a class-jumper. Then the lord would show her the papers and take them to Lady Kerry. Diana didn’t dare say no to him again. She would be his consort one way or another.

He let the papers rest in his lap. They revealed nothing; that was the beauty of them. The youth had hidden most of his past. The spies were unable to verify his story. Members of the estate remembered him, but said that few on the grounds knew of his presence. Too bad Demythos was dead. It would have been nice to reveal his secrets too.

The outer door squeaked as it opened. Kensington froze. He knew that the ladylee would not come into her dressing room–not if the bard was with her–but he was frightened anyway. He leaned against the slit carved above the door.

Diana was alone. She closed the shutters with one hand and pulled the pins from her red hair with the other. Then she unbuttoned her gown and let it fall to the floor. She was slender and much more finely formed than he had thought. He felt a tightening in his groin. He would have her. And she would enjoy it.

Diana’s lover pushed the door open. His lute hit the door frame, sending a ghostly chord through the room. His face was pale and his eyes seemed too wide and dark. He slammed the door and Diana jumped. “You could have been honest with me,” he said.

“Vonda. They couldn’t find anyone who saw me on Lord Demythos’ estate, so they are calling me a liar and class-climber. I’m dangerous and to be thrown off this land after they revoke my bard’s license.”

“But no. You and your mother send out an Enos-trained spy to check out my background and judge me before you hear why so many on Demythos’ estate never saw me. And then you threaten to take away my bard’s license, the only thing that stands between me and starvation. The only thing, Diana.”

Diana reached out for him. She was trembling. “I didn’t know, Dasvid. Honest I didn’t. Please believe me.”

He watched her hand, then took it, and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. “I’m sorry, Diana. I’m just so frightened.”

“You have no reason to be frightened, Dasvid.” She spoke to him as though she were speaking to a child. “I’ll help you.”

Her long fingers stroked the bard’s neck. Kensington touched himself, felt his arousal build. She would touch him like that soon.

The bard took her hands and pushed her away. “I’m sorry, milady. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Kensington frowned, then realized the bard was referring to the hug. So the bard and the ladylee were not lovers. A shiver ran thought the lord. That changed everything.

“No, Dasvid, it’s all right.” Diana sat on the edge of the bed. She patted a spot beside her. He hesitated for a moment, and then sat, keeping a distance between them. “Explain this to me.”

“I can’t, milady.”

“You barge in here, accuse me of plotting your ruin with my mother, say Vonda–who is a very able mind-tapper–believes that you are dangerous, and you say you were going to ask for my help.” Diana touched his arm. “You owe me an explanation.”

The bard glanced around the room. Kensington held his breath. It seemed as if the bard could see him through the slit in the door. “Are we alone?”

“Yes.”

The bard didn’t stop looking. Diana let go of his arm. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

Kensington glanced around the dressing room. He was too large to hide under the table, and he couldn’t get into the wardrobe without someone hearing. If she found him, he would have to try the original plan. With the Lady Kerry already mistrusting the bard, the plan might work.

The bard stood up and turned his back to the lord. He swung his lute around, examined the instrument’s side, and then laid it across the bed. He unlaced his shirt. Diana watched him, a flush building in her cheeks. The bard pulled the shirt off and threw it on top of the lute. His back was marked with deep welts, left by improperly healed whippings.

“It’s Adric. Or it was. Lord Demythos called me by my second name for so many years, I answer to it much quicker. Byron, milady.”

“Byron,” Diana whispered.

Kensington whispered the name too. Abington Byron Adric of Kilot. He remembered when the boy was born. The crest tattooed on his chest had a dove on it, and the Enos had used a small dab of permanent red dye to decorate the tail feathers. Several years before, the child had disappeared, and after months of half-hearted searching, he had been given up for lost. The palace had made up some story and decided the boy was dead. The palace couldn’t ignore him any longer. Prince Adric had been the eldest.

The bard picked up his shirt and turned to put it on. Kensington saw the tail feathers, the red spreading across the design as the Enos had predicted it would. Diana gasped.

“The scars. What–?”

The bard shrugged on his shirt. “I was whipped several years ago, milady, and then improperly treated. That’s one reason why I’m reluctant to be on my own again.”

“Then you were planning to tell me this.”

He laced the shirt. “When the time was right. I still need some type of protector until I figure out how to reach my father. I tried once and was nearly killed.”

“Why would someone want to kill you?”

“I don’t know. They attacked me when I was a boy, when they could have manipulated me. Sometimes I even think my father was behind it.”

Diana touched his arm and pulled him back to the bed. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

“It would be stupid to lie about something like this.” He picked up his lute and slung it over his back. Then he kissed her cheek and stood up. “I’m going to go now, Diana. It’s better not to stay too long.”

She pressed the ring into his hand. “I can’t help you because I’m not Lady Kerry yet. But as soon as I am, I’ll contact you. I’ll stay in touch–”

“No.” The bard slipped the ring onto his finger. “No, don’t contact me until you’re lady. This is dangerous, Diana, and someone will kill to keep me away from the throne. You’re the only friend I have right now. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Where are you going to go?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ll be all right.”

Diana grabbed a sheet of parchment from her bedside table. “There is something I can do. Just wait.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and inkpot. She dipped the pen and began to write. “Will you use the same name?”

“I hadn’t thought about it–”

“All right. You’re Byron again.” She handed him the parchment. “It’ll get you in anywhere. No one will need to know if your license has been revoked or not.”

The bard took the parchment. “It may be years, you know,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “Now go before my mother makes good her threats.”

The bard ran his finger along her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered and let himself out. Diana leaned against the bed frame. A tear glistened in the lamplight. She wiped a hand over her cheek.

Kensington clutched the papers. They were worthless now. He had to think. He had only a few servants with him at Kerry. By the time he sent someone to find the bard, it might be too late. He would have to risk losing the man. If it weren’t for the ladylee, he would go himself.

Diana walked to the dressing room. She glanced about, saw the dress, and picked it up. He pushed open the door, grabbed her, and covered her mouth. Her cheeks were damp. “Don’t scream, milady,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”

She nodded and he let her go. She moved away from him. “What are you doing here? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to possess a few secrets. Very interesting lover you have there, Diana.” Kensington smiled at her. This might be easier than he thought.

“I think we should strike a bargain, milady. In return for my silence about your relationship with a bard, you will become my consort. Sound fair?”

Diana laughed. “I’ve refused you three times, milord. What makes you think that I’ll accept you under threat?”

Kensington leaned against the wall. “I heard every word uttered in this room. All I have to do is send a messenger to the palace. Does the bard mean anything to you? You’re the only one who holds his secret. How will he feel when he learns that you’ve betrayed him?”

Diana whirled, slid her hand under her pillow, and pulled out a dagger. She pushed Kensington and shoved the dagger against his breastbone. “I don’t like to be threatened,” she said.

“So you believe the bard.” He kept his voice calm. He liked the way she touched him, how close she was to him. Her perfume smelled better mingled with her scent.

“What I believe doesn’t matter. But if what he says is true, you would be killing him.”

Kensington looked at the dagger. Diana’s hand was trembling. “What are you going to do?”

She opened her mouth, drew in breath, and Kensington thought she was going to scream. He grabbed her wrist. She pulled away from him and tried to plunge the dagger into his chest. He sidestepped. The dagger hit the wall and stuck. He lunged for the hilt, knocking her hand away. Diana reached for the blade as he pulled the dagger from the wall. She hit him, knocking him off balance. Her hand covered his and they fell to the floor. She had him pinned. She tried to pry the dagger from his hand. In a moment she would scream and the guards would catch him. He wrenched his arm free and shoved the dagger forward. It thunked as it slid between her ribs.

Diana’s eyes widened. As he let go of the hilt, her hands found it. She tried to pull it out, but her fingers kept slipping. She fell back against the bed, blood spreading along her dressing gown. Her hands slid off the dagger. He touched her face, but her eyes were empty.

He crawled over to her and hugged her against him, stroking her hair. Diana. He wanted her as badly as he wanted the land. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think. The bard was the last one seen leaving the room. If Kensington left another way, they would blame the bard. He was already under suspicion.

Another way. The window. He kissed Diana’s head and leaned her back against the bed. Then he hurried to the window and pulled back the shutters. The wind blew in, chilling him. He leaned out. The drop was long, but he was tall.

He hefted himself onto the stone ledge. He gripped the edge tightly and lowered himself to his full length. Then he took a deep breath and let go. The fall seemed to last forever. Finally his feet hit the mud–the soft, soft mud that cushioned his fall.

PART FIVE

Chapter 24