Cethe (18 page)

The music grew louder. Severyn heard laughter and, as he came out onto a square of lawn, the clink of fine crystal and china.

A long table was set up on a patio in the center, open to the deepening indigo sky. Men and women in glittering finery sat around it,

indulging themselves in roast fowl, in beef and pork, and fish of al kinds. Breads of every description and shape were heaped high

in ribboned baskets. Wine flowed freely. Pelthe snifters were everywhere.

The diners spotted Severyn approach and, one by one, got quickly to their feet, bowing as he made his way up the length of

the table to his brother. Arami lifted his glass shakily in greeting. “Look who’s here?” he shouted. “It’s Sev!”

Sometimes, Severyn could not believe this sot was the same brother he’d adored in his boyhood; the dreamy, artistic, and

sweet-natured youth he’d fol owed about like a puppy. He often wondered, if Arami had lived at Messerling with him, would he have

ended up like this?

There were drunken huzzahs. Somewhere, a dish crashed to the patio stones and one of the maids shrieked. Hysterical

laughter fol owed, along with the sound of chairs fal ing over. The crowd was distracted.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Arami complained. “Brett! Move! I want to talk to my brother!”

A wel -dressed man sitting at the king’s right returned an uncomprehending look. “M-majeshy?”

Arami lifted a hand. At once, two footmen standing at attention behind his chair came forward. With great care and courtesy,

the men escorted the inebriated courtier away. Severyn watched him settled into another chair, stil clutching his snifter. Was Brett

his brother’s pelthe supplier? Or was it the giggling woman nearby?

“I’ve sent dozens of messages to Messerling,” continued Arami. “Where have you been?”

“Shia. Why, is something wrong?” As if he didn’t know, thought Severyn, resigned.

“I need some money, brother. I’m a bit short this quarter. Can you spare a thousand or two?”

“No.” Leaning forward, Severyn examined the food in front of him. “Why don’t you ask your good friend, Montaigne?”

The question brought a sour expression to the king’s sal ow features. He gestured again, and this time, a footman arrived with

a bowl of finest crystal. Inside was a scant amount of pale yel ow liquid.

“Sidney charges too much in interest,” retorted Arami. “Why so stingy, Sev? I know Messerling and Tantagrel have done wel

this year. You could spare it.”

“Not real y. I’m getting married.”

The king nearly dropped his snifter. “What?”

“Congratulate me, brother! I’m about to be the happiest of men.”

“You’ve proposed to Lady Sheldrake?” Arami’s bloodshot eyes brightened, darting down the length of the table to a ripe

beauty flashing coquettish glances in their direction.

“Stephanie Eldering.”

Frowning, the king pul ed over one of the table lamps and, with the ease of long practice, used the flame to warm the yel ow

liquid inside the snifter. When a filmy haze rose on its surface, he put his nose into the glass and inhaled deeply.

“Why not Amanda?” he coughed with another look toward the hopeful widow. “Haven’t I specifical y asked you to consider

Lady Sheldrake?”

“Stefanie Eldering is a chaste, high-blood maiden,” replied Severyn. “Amanda Sheldrake is… not.”

“She’s very wealthy, though.” Arami cradled his snifter, a sly look coming over his sunken features. “Very wealthy.”

“The Elderings, too, have a considerable fortune,” retorted Severyn, remembering the hidden room.

“Eleanor won’t like it,” Arami warned darkly. “She particularly hoped you would choose Amanda.”

“Your wife… ” began Severyn between clenched teeth. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Fortunately, the Church has no

power to select my bride, nor does Eleanor.”

The reminder that he’d not had the same freedom brought a look of sul en resentment to Arami’s face. “Eleanor’s not that

bad,” he muttered.

That’s why you avoid her at every opportunity?

But again, Severyn was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. His brother’s marriage was a mystery to him. Arami seemed at

times to positively hate his wife, yet at the same time, he seemed almost feverishly anxious to avoid her displeasure. Little wonder

he sought relief in wanton hedonism.

Arami’s manner changed; his voice became wheedling. “How about five hundred?”

Five hundred was getting away cheaply. Severyn al owed himself to be grudgingly persuaded. Leaving his brother saturated

in pelthe, he made his escape.

Severyn had the unenviable task of both proposing to Miss Stefanie Eldering and informing her official y of her father’s and

brother’s deaths. He was not looking forward to it. Back at his estate in Messerling, with his friends around him and the drinks

flowing, the plan had seemed simple enough. Marry the girl as a cover for their activities at Shia. Her blood was sufficiently noble to

mingle with his own; she would make a satisfactory queen if they al survived this. He would be solving two problems at once.

Cheers! But as the moment approached, Severyn found himself wondering what the hel he was doing.

Timkins had sent a note ahead the night before so Severyn was expected. He found the ladies waiting for him in a large, very

pink and white drawing room. While the aunt, Lady Scott-Eldering greeted him effusively, Severyn covertly studied his future bride.

Miss Eldering was smal and exquisitely pretty. A dol , thought Severyn, stunned: the flawless creation of some genius

sculptor. She looked very much like her elder brother, but was unmistakably female, smal , ful breasts pushing against her

fashionably tight, low-cut bodice, her waist so tiny he was sure he could span it with his hands.

“Ladies, please, do not stand on my account,” he said as soon as he could get a word in edgewise. “I apologize for thrusting

myself upon you on such short notice, but I bear very grave news.”

“Please, sit down, my lord,” invited Lady Scott-Eldering. She waved him to a sofa only slightly more substantial than the

dainty, satin-covered chairs scattered about. “What news is this?”

I murdered your brother-in-law, my lady, and now I have come for your niece.

Taking a deep breath, he said aloud, “I would ask that both you and Miss Eldering sit down.”

Lady Scott-Eldering, alarm appearing on her pleasant face, did so, tugging Miss Eldering down beside her. “My lord? What is

it? Has something happened?”

As gently as possibly, Severyn gave them the official story. Both women paled as he recounted it. Miss Eldering’s eyes, the

same emerald green as her brother’s, went round and dark with shock.

“Fortunately,” he finished, “your brother, Stefn, survived, although he was gravely il at the time.”

The girl seemed paralyzed with shock, but her aunt looked distinctly annoyed. “What? That Boy escaped?”

“I… I, yes, my lady,” replied Severyn, taken aback.

The aunt made an attempt to get a hold of herself. “I’m sorry. This is a terrible shock, Your Highness!”

“How… ” whispered Miss Eldering. “How could they have broken through the gate? Shia is invulnerable.” Her eyes suddenly

wel ed with tears. She looked up at Severyn, parted her lips to go on, then slumped, insensible, in her chair.

In the confusion that fol owed, servants were cal ed, the young lady was revived with smel ing salts and gently borne away.

Feeling like a cad, he apologized again to Lady Scott-Eldering.

“Not at al , Your Highness. We cannot but thank Loth that you came when you did! I just wish… ” She hesitated, then. “If only

That Boy had died instead of Al en! What dreadful luck!”

“My lady?”

She seemed to recal to whom she was speaking, breaking off, two spots of color brightening the rouge on her cheeks. “Oh,

dear! You probably think I’m a horrible woman to say such a thing about my own nephew, but he is a sin-catcher. Al these

misfortunes must be laid at his door! As long as That Boy lives, poor Stefanie wil be plagued by evil luck.”

“Then it’s a good thing, is it not, that she wil shortly be a Lothlain and not an Eldering?”

Her mouth sagged. “Your Highness?”

Briefly, he told her the other reason for his visit and watched the woman transform from shock and dismay to excited delight.

“Marry her? Oh, my goodness! Oh, dear! Little Stefanie? A princess?”

“Of course, in light of the recent tragedy, we would have to wait… ”

“Only for a year, Your Highness. Do you mean to propose soon?”

“I should like to do so within the week,” he said. “Then I intend to return to Shia to assist the new earl in rebuilding the castle

defenses.”

“Do you want Stefanie to return, as wel ?”

“Not yet, my lady. I’m afraid we were not entirely successful in capturing or kil ing al the outlaws and, until I can guarantee that

my future wife wil be safe, I would prefer she remain here.”

“How very thoughtful.” The woman appeared relieved and delighted by the news, and why not? Severyn thought cynical y.

Although official y in mourning, there would be plenty of opportunity for the ladies to enjoy Miss Stefanie’s social coup.

Severyn escaped soon thereafter. Not until he was several blocks away did he slow down, wiping his brow. Thank Loth,
that

was behind him! Miss Eldering was easy to look at, but she seemed rather delicate and easily upset. On the other hand, her brother

had that same fragile look and it was whol y deceptive.

What he needed right now was a drink. He thought of the Fairhand Club and wondered if Forry and the others were there.

They were. The club’s steward took Severyn straight to the breakfast room, a spacious, sunny chamber at the back of the

house. There, he found his three friends reading the paper over their baked eggs and t’cha.

“Oh, it’s you,” Forry greeted him. “I didn’t look to see you here this early.” The marquis gave one of the empty chairs at the

table a push with his foot. “Sit down. Care for some breakfast?”

“Oh, it’s me?” Severyn took the seat. “You were expecting someone else?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Forry rang the smal , brass bel at his elbow. “Jason Thornwald. Old friend of mine. Ran into him last

night at Sharkers in Lower Lothmont. Seemed agitated and insisted upon talking with us ‘first thing.’”

A waiter appeared, took Severyn’s order for t’cha and toast, then departed.

“Slimming?” asked Erich with raised eyebrow.

“I’ve just come from breaking the news to Miss Eldering. My appetite hasn’t recovered.”

“A bad conscience brings indigestion, isn’t that what they say?”

“I should have left you to do it,” retorted Severyn. “The poor girl fainted dead away.”

“At which, the news of her father’s death or your proposal?”

The return of the waiter with the t’cha-pot saved Erich from Severyn’s immediate vengeance. No sooner had the man gone,

however, then the steward reappeared, this time bearing a smal silver tray. He bowed over it before Forry. Forry whisked the card

from it. “Ah! Thornwald!”

Jason Thornwald was the lord of Withwil ow, a lush, prosperous parish on the southern coast. It was home to the city of the

same name, long a center of culture and education. Although a mere baron, Jason Thornwald was wealthy and powerful, a man of

moderate views who regularly attended the Advisori meetings.

“Send him in, Jones.”

The baron was of average height and early middle-age. He had the sunburnt countenance of one who spent much time out of

doors and the open, easily-read face of an honest man.

“Come in, come in!” Forry exclaimed, jumping up and pul ing out a chair. “We’re just finishing breakfast, my lord. Have you

eaten?”

“Yes, thank you. No, wel , a cup of t’cha, if you insist.” Thornwald took the offered seat, again glancing at Severyn. “Thank

you for seeing me,” he went on. “I - I must confess, Your Highness, your being here is a stroke of good luck. I’d stopped by hoping to

get your direction from Forrest and here you are!”

“Is there some way I can assist you, my lord?” asked Severyn, more curious by the moment.

Thornwald did not answer immediately, but waited as his t’cha was delivered. On a hunch, Severyn said to the waiter, “Please

let the staff know we do not wish to be disturbed.”

Nodding, the waiter hurried away. Thornwald, after a keen look at him, said, “Thank you, Your Highness. I would prefer that

what I have to say not become common gossip.”

Forry abruptly stood up and went to the door. The click of the lock fel into the sudden quiet. “Now,” he said, “we may be