Cethe (27 page)

“I suppose it depends upon to whom one owes one’s greatest loyalty. Mine is to Loth and to his champion and prophet, St.

Aramis Lothlain. When I see their words being twisted into something unrecognizable where does my duty lie?”

Michael’s pulse quickened. It was a dangerous moment and he wasn’t sure what he should do, what Severyn would want him

to do.

“Have you any idea how many Hunter units are currently stationed in the West?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. Stefn spoke up hesitantly. “A dozen or so, is it not, Your Excel ency?”

“Three hundred ful units with another twenty planned by next year — whether they have Arami’s approval or not.”

Michael was stunned. Three hundred? “At fifty men per unit that’s… ”

“A great many,” agreed Storm. “ You are no doubt aware of a unit of Hunters recently deployed near Blackmarsh?”

Michael’s jaw tightened. He nodded.

“Did you think they were deployed there because of your family? If so, kindly recal who else has an estate in that vicinity.”

Michael’s mind raced. “What exactly do you offer us, Your Excel ency, and more importantly, what is it you expect in return?”

“Should Severyn decide Tanyrin has suffered enough under his brother’s weak governance, Withwil ow wil stand with him.

Jason and I swear it.” He looked to the baron, who nodded grimly. “In the meantime, I wil be your eyes and ears on the Council. As

for my reward… ” Storm looked down at the charred notebook. “The truth must be known. St. Aramis’ words must be freed from the

chains of lies and injustice that have corrupted them. Tanyrin must be set back upon the path Loth and St. Aramis set for us.”

“You don’t hope for the post of Archbishop?”

“Especial y not that.”

Michael heard nothing but sincerity in the bishop’s quiet voice, but he knew the true reason Severyn had chosen him to

interview Storm. When the man looked back out into the gardens, Michael opened his naragi senses wide, his incantation little more

than a breath.

What do you really think, my lord?

A faint glimmer appeared around the bishop, as clear as the sunlight streaming through the glass around him. If he lied, he did

it with the guileless confidence of a child — or a madman.

Curiosity made Michael turn that inner vision onto Stefn, who poured raptly over the notebook, paying no attention to either of

them. He was enveloped in an ever-shifting borealis of blues and greens pierced by streaks of gold, like bits of sunlight dancing on

the surface of a restless sea.

“I’m sure His Highness would appreciate a chance to examine the book for himself,” Michael said, wrenching his eyes away.

“May I take it?”

“No. I’m sorry, my lord, but it’s too valuable to al ow beyond the safety of this place. His Highness is welcome to come and

examine it here at his leisure. I hope you understand.” Gently, he removed the manuscript from Stefn’s hands. The earl looked after

it, clearly disappointed.

“You have given me much to think about,” Michael said. “If Severyn decides, as I have, that you would be a welcome al y, we

wil talk again.”

Storm smiled, inclining his head. “It is al I ask,” he said.

Stefn’s head spun from Bishop Storm’s explosive revelations. Was it true? Was the manuscript real y an original? He’d read

both Chronicles many times, of course. They were the foundation of Tanyrin’s early history, be it secular or seminarian, and

because they were the life’s work of St. Aramis himself, nearly as sacred as Loth’s Covenant. Two volumes had been written and

third rumored to be in progress when the great fire had destroyed the Royal Library. Al of the original manuscripts had been lost. At

least, that was the accepted story.

He cast a covert glance at Michael. The h’nar stared out the carriage window, gaze distant, his thoughts unreadable. If the

Church had done what Storm claimed, then everything he knew about the h’nara could be lies. It was a disquieting notion.

At the Bayview, Stefn fol owed Michael up the broad steps and across the lobby to the stairs. As he prepared to go into his

room, however, Arranz said, “Not yet. I want to talk to you.” He opened his own door and waited impatiently for Stefn to go in, then

closed and locked it after him.

Unsure of why he was here, Stefn went to the chair indicated and sat nervously on the edge. Michael paced to the window

and, as he had in the carriage, stared out for a long time in silence. “What do you think?” he asked final y.

“I don’t know. It looked authentic. We have some documents in Shia of great age that look very similar, but… The content is so

different from the accepted books that… ”

“If it could be proved?”

“If it’s genuine, then of course the truth should be made known. Laws should be changed and restitutions made to those who

were wronged.”

“The Church would never permit this to become common knowledge. Not only do they have the wil to prevent it, they have

the means, if Storm is right about the number of Hunter units.”

“Don’t ask their permission. Print the manuscript yourself and disperse it secretly throughout Tanyrin. If one of their own is

dismayed by the behavior of the Council, imagine how many others among the rank and file clergy may agree.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, he shook his head. “There are only a handful of printing presses in Tanyrin, and al

of them registered with Lothmont and the Church. Besides, most ordinary folk can’t read, a state the clerics have been eager to

preserve. Don’t forget, Eldering, you’ve been locked up in a provincial fortress al your life, learning only the lies of your murderous

family and whatever is kept in Shia’s decaying library. What do you know of the world?”

Stefn had no answer to that; it was the truth, bitter though it may be to admit. He rose from his chair, stomach churning. “Is it

worth al the death and destruction you know wil be unleashed when you overthrow the king? I may have only read “decaying”

books in our library, but many of those were devoted to accounts of the war and its aftermath, accounts written by men who had

lived it! It doesn’t matter what justification you use or whether Severyn wil be a good king or bad; the results of a coup wil be the

same!”

Turning his back on the h’nar, he strode blindly from the room. He thought he heard his name cal ed, but ignored it, brushing

past an open-mouthed Marin, down the corridor to the stairs. In the lobby he stood a moment, stomach churning, then continued

across the sea of marble to high glass doors opening onto a terrace. Walking to the balustrade, he stood gripping the carved stone

rail and taking deep, shaking breaths.

Someone approached from behind. Stefn turned, expecting to see Marin, come to take him back to his room. Instead, a

woman smiled at him. She was richly dressed and beautiful; older than he, but not much, perhaps the same age as Lord Arranz. Her

shining hair was piled high atop her head, the same rich, dark hue as the satin gown clinging to her curvaceous figure. The

waterstones that flashed and sparkled against her throat and earlobes were surely worth a fortune! Stefn openly stared, only

belatedly remembering his few, long-ago lessons in etiquette. He bowed.

“G-good evening.”

“Good evening to you.” She looked him up and down with a boldness that brought heat to his face. “I’m sorry to be so forward,

but you look terribly familiar. Have we met?”

“I… I don’t think so, my lady.” He floundered. “My name is Stefn Eldering. Perhaps you’ve met my brother or father.”

“Eldering?” She seemed taken aback. “The Shia Elderings?”

“Yes, my lady.”

She laughed a little, lifting her jewel ed fan. “Alas, my lord, I do believe you are correct. Sadly, we’ve never been introduced.

My apologies.”

“No. N-not at al .” He bowed again.

Her laughter was soft and pleasing. “But listen to me, compounding my rudeness! I am Lady Wenscott… ”

“Chari!”

At one of the tables at the other end of the terrace, a group of lords and ladies were being seated by attentive waiters. One of

their numbers, a dashing gentleman, waved impatiently.

She waved back. “Would you care to join us? I’m sure my companions would love to meet you.”

Stefn shook his head. “N-no thank you, my lady. I have plans already, alas.”

“What a pity.” She leaned close and he was unable to keep his eyes from fal ing to the low-cut bodice of her gown and al it

revealed. Her voice was breathy, stirring his hair. “Perhaps another time.”

She swept away, a dark sylph floating graceful y between the white linen-covered tables. Stefn gaped after her, wondering if

he’d just dreamed the encounter. Confusion turned him around and sent him back into the hotel. He was immediately confronted by

Marin. The servant grinned broadly. “Enjoying yourself, my lord?”

“S-she accosted me!”

“I’l wager she did. Milady looked like a knowing one.” Marin’s grin widened. “Lord Arranz had better pay attention if he’s going

to be parading you around like this.”

Stefn’s face grew hot. He opened and closed his mouth, speechless. Marin started to laugh. Swearing under his breath, Stefn

headed for the staircase. To his further misfortune, who should he meet coming down but Lord Arranz. He watched the man’s gaze

move down to the laughing servant. Face positively burning, Stefn ran past him, up the wide stairway, and back to the dubious

shelter of his room.

Michael heard Marin’s tale with amusement. “A lady of quality? Poor Stefn. I’m sure he was hopelessly out of his depth.”

“Didn’t you see his face? Redder than a beet, m’lord!” Marin shook his head. “I’l wager that boy has never exchanged two

words with someone like her before.”

“You’l have to show me this paragon,” Michael said, looking around the lobby. It was crowded with hopeful diners, coming to

enjoy the Bayview’s legendary cuisine.

“She’s out there,” Marin chuckled. He drew Michael to the long row of glass doors. “There in the corner. The lady done up in

black.”

Michael looked. Spotting her, he turned cold. “Are you sure?”

Marin’s smile died. “Yes, my lord. Why? Do you know her?”

Michael’s response was a harsh laugh. Leaving Marin staring after him, he turned and went back upstairs, taking them two at

a time. Reaching Stefn’s door, he tried the handle. Locked. The hel with that! A smal spel unlocked it. He threw it open.

“Eldering?”

Stefn sat on the edge of his bed, his deformed foot in hand, eyes raised to Michael in alarm. Michael slammed the door behind

him and locked it again. Scrambling to his feet, Stefn demanded, “What is it? What do you want?”

“Your lady friend. I want to know everything that passed between you!” He strode across the room. Stefn stumbled backwards,

coming up against the wal .

“N-nothing!”

Seizing the slim shoulders, Michael spun him away from the wal and threw him to the floor. “Tel me!”

Stefn rol ed out of the way, looked up at Michael as if he’d gone mad. “
NOTHING
! She mistook me for someone she knew,

that’s al ! She was mistaken! She introduced herself and invited me to dinner, but I said no! It’s what you would have wanted, right?

Right
?”

Pure panic shook Stefn’s voice. Michael took a deep breath and he stepped back from the brink. “She introduced herself?”

“L-Lady Westcott. Her friends cal ed her C-Chari.”

Michael sat heavily onto the edge of the bed. After a moment, wary, Stefn got up. Even so, he stayed out of Michael’s reach.

“Why? Jealous?” he added with the inevitable, and rather endearing, spark of defiance.