Cethe (22 page)

realized he didn’t have it. The hel with it. He continued down the corridor to his own room and was asleep when the footmen

brought the bathtub.

…
It has rained for two weeks straight, my dear sister, and we are near to our wits’ end here. The entire crop is ruined, the

wheat flattened, and grain rotting from the wet. Never have I seen such foul weather! Our tenants will hardly have the means to

feed themselves through the winter, never mind pay their rents and taxes! If they cannot pay, rest assured, we will be hard-

pressed to come up with our taxes and tithes.

The Church says the endless storms are Loth’s judgment for tolerating the heathen nara in our midst. I am beginning to

think they are right. We did not have such vile luck before they arrived in our midst! There are five such tenants and several of

that ilk in service on the estate. I am seriously considering evicting them all in hopes of reversing this ill-fortune!

Excerpt from a letter from Lord Langston of Belmont

to his sister, Lady Colford of Withwillow,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1228

Severyn wasted no time in seeking an audience with his brother. The answer to his polite request came back at once: refusal.

Arami was “too busy” this week. Would he kindly come back later?

No, he would not. Severyn immediately strode through the palace to the royal wing where his brother and sister-in-law had

their lavish, private apartments. The guards made only a half-hearted attempt to stop him. Such was the low esteem in which they

held his wretched brother. Severyn knew he should be encouraged by the fact that they were more than wil ing to take his orders,

but for some reason, it only made him sad.

On his way up the stairs, however, he met the Queen coming down. With a shock, he recognized the man accompanying her.

“Good afternoon, Eleanor,” he said, stepping aside on the landing.

“Severyn!” she exclaimed, looking none too pleased to see him. “I didn’t expect to see you here! Weren’t you going to

Tantagrel?”

“Soon.” Severyn bowed and looked to her companion. “Good afternoon, Your Eminence. It’s been quite a while since you’ve

graced Lothlain Palace with a visit.”

Mazril Locke, Archbishop of Tanyrin, and Severyn’s brother-in-law, smiled, extending a lean, white hand. Severyn kissed the

air above the large signet ring.

“Since the Conclave was in Lothmont, how could I miss the opportunity to visit my dear sister and brother?” the cleric asked.

Locke and his sister did not bear much resemblance. While she was smal and thin, with wispy brown hair, he was tal and

wel -built, his hair black as midnight and eyes just as dark. They both shared strong, regular features, but where it gave her a sharp,

unpleasant appearance, it imparted upon the archbishop a look of strength and erudition.

“And how do you find Arami?” asked Severyn, hair rising on the back of his neck.

Mazril Locke was a Dragon of Loth, a knightmage reputed to have enormous lothrian power. There were those who said he

commanded the forces of fire, air and water with the same strength as the vanished naragi, but Severyn had personal y never seen

a demonstration of such magic.

Brother and sister exchanged glances. Eleanor’s lips thinned. “As you would expect,” she said tartly. “I don’t know why you’re

going up there, Severyn. He’l likely be in no condition to speak to you!”

“I find my brother’s vice as unfortunate as you do,” replied Severyn honestly. “It might be in the best interest not only of Arami,

but of us al , should he be deprived of the foul stuff.”

Eleanor looked surprised. She opened her mouth, but it was her brother who spoke. “An admirable suggestion, Your

Highness. How would you propose to accomplish it?”

“Finding his source would be a good start,” replied Severyn. “The stuff is il egal, after al .”

“An interesting suggestion,” said Locke. “Have you any ideas? Do you know where he’s getting it?”

“No,” admitted Severyn. “What of you, Eleanor? Has he ever confided that to you?”

“Of course not!” she sniffed. “He knows very wel what I think of his dreadful habit!”

“By the way,” Locke said, “I understand congratulations are in order!”

“You’ve heard then? Miss Eldering has graciously consented to be my wife.”

“Whatever possessed you to choose her?” Eleanor demanded. “Amanda Sheldrake is imminently eligible and wealthy

besides.”

“And a woman of great generosity to the Church, as wel ,” added the Archbishop. “Her brother is Bishop of Aganlough, a

cousin and a man wel -positioned on the Celestial Council.”

“Have you seen Miss Eldering?” asked Severyn.

Eleanor sniffed, but Locke grinned rueful y. “I have, indeed. The Earl was Sworn to the Church, so natural y, I presided over

Miss Stefanie’s Confirmation when she turned eighteen. A charming girl, absolutely delightful.”

“I agree. I have nothing against Mrs. Sheldrake, of course, but being merely Crown Prince, the matter of my wife is,

fortunately, left to me.”

“Real y?” Eleanor replied tartly.

“That is not to disparage the choice of the Church in their selection of Arami’s wife,” Severyn hastened to add, bowing. “How

could I find fault with such a paragon of beauty and wifely loyalty as you, Your Majesty?”

Her eyes snapped, but Severyn kept his expression as sincere as he could manage.

“Bah,” she said final y. “Come along, Mazril! I have several appointments yet this morning. Severyn, my dear, if you wil excuse

us?”

“Until we meet again, Your Highness?” Locke bowed, smiling apologetical y.

Severyn watched him fol ow his irate sister down the remainder of the stairs to vanish through the door into her quarters. Then

he headed on up to his brother’s apartment.

Arami wasn’t any happier to see him than the Queen had been. Severyn found him stil abed, clutching a snifter in his shaking

hand.

“Dammit! I said no visitors!” he snarled when Severyn came in.

“I need to talk to you before I return to Tantagrel,” replied Severyn, ignoring him. “Loth, Arami! Can’t you put that damned thing

down long enough to talk to me?”

“The hel with you!” was his brother’s loving reply. “I haven’t had any for three days! Say your piece and get the hel out!”

Arami looked terrible. Pasty-white, sweating, he nonetheless had wrapped himself in several heavy quilts and blankets. He

fumbled with his matches, final y succeeding in lighting one.

“What did Locke want?”

“Eh? Ask him.”

“He won’t tel me.”

Severyn waited impatiently for Arami to heat the pelthe. The king took a deep drag of the vapors, then fel back against his

pil ows, eyes half-closed. He sighed gustily.

“He wants to deploy Hunter units at al the abbeys.”

“Did you agree?”

“Of course. Why should I fund more troops to protect his damned Churches?”

“There’s no need for more troops, Arami! You know the Council wil only levy more tithes against the people!”

Arami gave him a sul en scowl.

“You know the situation in the East. He can’t afford to maintain his armies there and he’s trying to foist them off on us! You

haven’t already signed their Petition, have you?”

“No, it ain’t been written up yet.”

“Don’t.”

“I said I would.”

“I’l lend you two thousand gold.”

Arami’s eyes flew open. A crafty look appeared on his sal ow features. “Three,” he said.

“Fine. Three. But no more, damn it!”

“Eleanor wil bitch at me.”

“So?”

Arami frowned and reached for another match.

“Direct the Petition to me at Tantagrel,” urged Severyn. “I’m commander of the Royal Guard, after al . Suggest they negotiate

directly with me for more troops.”

“Oh, that wil go over wel ,” Arami said sarcastical y.

“So? What do you care?”

Arami thought about it. A tiny, unpleasant smile appeared on his face. “Three thousand? They couldn’t very wel hold funds

over me.”

“Exactly.”

“Three thousand won’t last very long, though.”

“It would if you stopped using that stuff.”

“Mind your own business,” sneered Arami. “If you don’t want me to sign their Petition, then give me the money and leave me

alone.”

“Where do you get it, anyway?”

A crafty look appeared on his brother’s face. “As if I’d tel you,” he jeered. “Don’t forget, little brother. I’m the king! Now —

since you’re here, you might as wel write me out the cheque.”

Severyn, three thousand gold poorer, had hoped to leave straightaway for Tantagrel and his long-postponed duties. Alas,

infected by pelthe and buoyant goodwil , the next day, Arami announced a bal to be given in his honor. At first, the king insisted it be

in celebration of his betrothal. Reminded of Miss Eldering’s recent loss, however, he quickly declared it a birthday bal , never mind

Severyn’s birthday was stil two months away.

While there was no question but that Severyn would attend, his friends cravenly begged off, claiming the need to visit their

respective parishes.

“My brother has been in charge, unsupervised, for the past three months,” Eric pointed out. “Loth alone knows how much

damage he’s done in that time. We’l meet you back in Tantagrel in a week or two. Oh, yes, happy birthday.”

“Cowards,” he fired back, but he could not begrudge them the time when he asked so much of them already.

The bal was as lavish and excessive as he’d feared. Arami had probably spent at least a thousand of Severyn’s money on the

decorations and food. As he and his brother stood in the receiving line, it appeared as if every nobleman and court official in the

West had come.

“You are prodigiously popular, brother,” muttered Arami after an hour.

“You invited them, did you not?” Severyn smiled and nodded to a smal , plump woman introduced as the Lady Leonie Mortimer

and her husband, Sir Charles of Van.

“I didn’t expect them al to come, and at such short notice, too. There are more people here than at my last birthday fete!”

Peeved, the king greeted a couple more guests, then abruptly disappeared.

Severyn smiled apologetical y at the dismayed old gentleman left bowing to an empty spot. “His Majesty is indisposed. So

good to see you again, Lord Climer.”

Most of these people knew exactly what was wrong with Arami. Most had ended up in Severyn’s Little Court at one time or

another, their Petitions shoved aside by the king.

When the receiving line disbanded, Severyn made no effort to hunt down his brother. He intended to make good use of this

unasked-for bal to test the waters of discontent. Although not as adept at court-speak as some, he was soon listening to the

frankest conversation yet from Tanyrin’s aristocracy: the disgust with Arami’s vices, the worry over high taxes, and a growing unease

at the ambitions of the Church.

“Hunters,” said a lord of a southeastern parish. “Two units, nearly a hundred men! They’re building the barracks right outside

the church. When I asked the abbot, he said it was for the protection of the parish. I ask you! What is my militia? A dance troupe?

Why should I pay a copper to support soldiers over whom I have no authority?”

Locke was damned confident, thought Severyn, displeased. He hadn’t even waited for royal permission!

“Protection against what?” he asked.

“Against h’nara!” The nobleman was disgusted. “Four hundred years they have been living among us and suddenly they are a

threat? There are h’nara who’ve served my house for generations! I doubt they’ve more than a drop of the damned blood in them

anymore, but stil they must be registered in the parish census? And the Church wants to raise my tithes so they may put men onto

my land to guard against them? I’l be damned if I pay a penny!”

“The Church’s fear of h’nara does seem greatly overwrought,” Severyn al owed.

The man laughed shortly. “Loth knows, the taints can make a body uneasy with their unnatural coloring and witch spel s, but

what of it? Hel , my wife’s maid saved my son’s life when he was an infant with one of her healing charms. Yet the Church would

have me turn her in as dangerous and… ” He suddenly reddened, breaking off. With a mumbled apology, the lord hastily withdrew.

Severyn turned and immediately saw why. His own heart sank. Had it been possible, he would have disappeared, as wel , but