Covenants (57 page)

"Nervous, Faena?" Wyln asked, doing the same to his fire sphere. He reached over to show me how.

"Yes," Laurel said.

"I suppose I would be a little uneasy too if I had to explain to the Council why what they had ordered wasn't done," Wyln said, standing up, a gentle smile curving his mouth.

"No, you wouldn't." Laurel also rose. "Nor am I, at least about that." He motioned for me to rise too.

"Now, if I had to stand before the elders of my clan or, even worse, my grandam—" Laurel broke off with a chuff, as he gathered his staff. Honor Ash and the unicorn started towards us and he watched them as they moved across the grass. "No, I'm nervous for other reasons.”

Wyln's air of amusement increased. " 'Tis an enigmatic cat we have for a companion, Two Trees'son.”

Captain Javes and the doyen joined us as we made our way back into the castle. When we reached the main stairs, we would've continued on up to our chambers but Wyln stopped us. "No, we shall go and wait upon His Grace's pleasure." He caught my glance at the captain and me doyen. "Oh, your chaperons may come too, Two Trees'-son."

Not waiting for a response from any of us, he turned and headed for the audience hall—so I thought. The Enchanter, however, led us past the hall's closed double doors and around a corner to a smaller staircase. At the top of the stairs were guards, who stepped aside when they saw Wyln. The Enchanter opened the door without knocking and entered, but only Laurel followed him as Javes, Allwyn, the haunts, and I all stopped at the threshold, peering in. As I stared at the heraldic banners on the antechamber walls, I took a step back, Javes and the rest moving with me. We were not about to go into the Fyrst's private rooms without a specific invitation from His Grace himself. Preferably an engraved one presented on a velvet cushion with a flourish of trumpets.

"I-say," Javes said, "why don't we just meet you when you're done. Wouldn't want to intrude upon His Grace when he has important visitors, what? You know, affairs of state and all that.”

"You've brought them," the Fyrst said from behind us and we spun around to see him climbing the stairs, with more guards at his back. "Excellent." The guards joined the ones already stationed at the door, and His Grace moved past us into the foyer. "Come in.”

Encouraged by the guards, we followed the Fyrst through the small chamber into what appeared to be the Fyrst's council room. He led us past shelves filled with books and scrolls, a map table, another table with carved chairs around it, to more chairs set in front of the fireplace. "Tea," he said to a servant who silently appeared, bowed, and just as silently disappeared.

The Fyrst then indicated that we should all sit. As we did so, I noted that there were enough chairs for everyone—except the haunts—and while there were six of us seated around the fire, it didn't feel crowded. Instead of feeling at ease, though, I felt my spine tighten.

"Wyln and Laurel have informed me, Rabbit Two Trees'son, that you are an adept student and your grasp of working the talent is increasing apace," His Grace said lightly as the servant returned with a cart laden with tea and small delicacies.

"Yes, Your Grace," I said.

"That's good." The Fyrst looked at the servant. "Thank you. We will serve ourselves." He turned back to me. "So how is it to be back in the Border after, what? Five years?”

"Yes, Your Grace," I said again. Feeling reckless, I expanded on that. "I do admit that I find Elanwryfindyll to be almost as different as Iversterre, as I've never been to any of the coastal city-states.”

"I see," the Fyrst said. "I understand your family has a farm in Dragoness Moraina's territory, right?”

"Yes, Your Grace," I said once more, then paused as I heard the distant snick of the outer foyer doors closing.

The Fyrst gave a faint smile. "From the farm but not, I think, a provincial.”

"No," Captain Javes said, "Rabbit is neither stupid or naive, Your Grace." His yellow wolf eyes gleamed at the Fyrst. "Neither, I hope, am I. Why have you spirited us here? And why now?”

"I know the prince," His Grace said, "and I know of the vice admiral. I can figure out the vicar, the chancellor and the lordling. But I have no idea how you fit into all this. Yet fit you do." The Fyrst settled back, his hands steepled before him as he rested his elbows on the chair's arms. "Who are you, Captain Javes?”

Javes hesitated, then dared a slight shrug. "There's no mystery, Your Grace. I'm just a merchant's son who's been fortunate enough to make captain in His Majesty's Royal Army.”

"A merchant's son who's privy to a king's confidence," the Fyrst observed, "and a lowly garrison captain who sits at councils and is sent on secret missions." His Grace saw the look Javes cast at Laurel and gave another faint smile. "Blame Chancellor Berle for my information, Javes Merchant'son." His brows rose.

"Again I ask: Who are you?”

Javes stared back a moment. He then gave his own faint smile. "My father trades with the Qarant, Your Grace.”

"So do hundreds, perhaps thousands of others—" the Fyrst began.

"And my mother is Qarant. Of the Damas, a daughter of the line.”

This time the Fyrst stared at Javes. "I see," he finally said. "A prominent Qarant family. Not nobility, then, but very powerful." His brows rose again. "Still, your king accepts you into his inner circle? How egalitarian!”

"No, Your Grace," Javes said, his voice as dry as the Fyrst's. "Just practical. He is on very good terms with all the principal merchant families, and my papa is head of the merchant's guild." He now dared his silly ass smile. "His Majesty knows that a kingdom doesn't run on jousting tourneys, quests, and songs of chivalry, what?”

"Practical?" the Fyrst threw back. "He sends a son of a powerful merchant with strong ties to an even more powerful trade consortium, a Turalian dragon prince and"—the Fyrst turned his head to look at me—"a mageling who's both a son of the Border and his close cousin to argue his case. Your king is as twisty as a serpent's tail.”

I lifted my head to stare at Laurel, knowing that the cat had told the Fyrst about my oath to Jusson, only to have my eyes collide with Wyln, who gave me his amused smile.

"Chancellor Berle—" Javes began.

"No," the Fyrst said over the captain. "Chancellor Berle is a mere formality, a perfunctory gesture to his court—and you cannot tell me that Lord Esclaur wasn't included in her retinue to make sure the honored chancellor does not exceed her king's directives." His faint smile crossed his face once more. "Playing chess with Jusson Iver'son would be very interesting."

"He is elfin," Wyln pointed out.

"Yes," His Grace agreed. Finished with Captain Javes, he shifted in his chair to look at me. "The first of the Council members have arrived and they've already requested to see you, Rabbit Two Trees'son." His sardonic look came over his face as he reached for the teapot. "It seems that Magus Kareste has been busy, but I've put them off for now."

He poured a cup of tea and offered it to me. I hesitated, then carefully took it, waiting for everyone to be served (and take a sip) before drinking. The Fyrst's smile widened as he poured his own cup. "In the meantime, you will join my wife and me for the Midsummer celebration.”

I forgot the tea as I goggled at the Fyrst. "Me? Uh, Your Grace?”

"You are Cyhn to our house, Two Trees'son." He took a sip of tea, his eyes enigmatic over the cup's rim.

"It would be considered remarkable if you don't join us."

Javes frowned and the Fyrst held up his hand.

"Don't worry, I'll speak with Prince Suiden—" The Fyrst broke off and he, Wyln and Laurel all turned in their seats to face the door to the foyer. After a moment I could hear a commotion coming up the stairs and, looking at Captain Javes, pushed my feet under me, ready to rise if necessary. Javes did the same as the door opened and Harbormaster Lin and Uncle Havram walked in, followed by one of the harbor wardens. The Fyrst stood, while motioning the rest of us to remain seated. He said nothing as he watched the faerie walk towards him.

"I beg pardon for the interruption, Your Grace," the harbormaster began, bowing as she reached the Fyrst. "But I must inform you—” There was more commotion and the leopard haunt that was usually Groskin's companion came running into the room, making his way to my side to join Basel, Honor Ash and the unicorn. More haunts appeared at the door.

"Obruesk has escaped," Uncle Havram said.

"A careful watch has been kept on the human ships' crews, honored Fyrst," Harbormaster Lin said.

"Their comings and goings monitored, so as to avoid any incidents. Last night a crew member left the Dauntless and entered the city. When he didn't return we did a thorough search. He's nowhere to be found, which makes us think that he doesn't want to be found—especially since we did find sailor's clothes ditched in a back alley." She nodded and the harbor warden produced the jacket, shirt and breeks that the sailors in His Majesty's Royal Navy commonly wore.

"Who is he, Vice Admiral?" the Fyrst asked after a cursory glance at the clothes.

"A renegade cleric, Your Grace," Doyen Allwyn said before Havram could answer.

"Aye." Uncle Havram agreed. "He must have convinced one of the crew to let him go. With the senior officers being occupied here, there wasn't anyone there to check his foolishness.”

"But why?" I asked and caught looks at me. "Sirs, honored folk. Why jump ship? There's nothing for him here— the exact opposite, in fact.”

"Probably for the same reason most people jump ship, lad," Havram said. "He doesn't want to return."

"All his supporters, though, are back in Iversterre—"

The Fyrst held up his hand and I shut up.

"Why are you telling me this, harbormaster?" the Fyrst asked. "Why aren't you telling Commander Pellan?”

"We can't find Eorl Pellan, Your Grace," Lin said. "Nor can we find his lieutenant or his sergeant. We tried to tell the City Watch commander or his second, but they're missing too." She frowned, her feathery brows pulling together. "I felt that we needed to tell someone as I am concerned that this vicar could pose a danger, especially with the High Council meeting here shortly."

"Is he a danger, Vice Admiral?" the Fyrst asked.

"I don't know, Your Grace," Havram said. "I don't think so, but who knows what mischief His Reverence would get up to in a Border city where there's everything he's made a career preaching against.”

"So we should be concerned," His Grace said, "if only for fear this human will create a tumult in the city."

He beckoned a castle guard to him. "Organize a search. Distribute the vicar's description—" He raised a brow at the harbormaster. "You did get a description?"

Harbormaster Lin bowed again. "Yes, Your Grace."

The Fyrst's brow came down. "Very good. See to it.” The harbormaster bowed once more and withdrew, followed by the harbor warden and the castle guard.

"That was interesting," Wyln murmured as the door shut. "I wonder where Pellan has gotten himself to?”

The Fyrst shook his head, silencing the Enchanter, and this time, looking at Doyen Allwyn, asked once more, "Who is this vicar?"

"As I said before, Your Grace, a renegade—”

"No, that's not true." The Fyrst frowned and glanced at the haunts still coming into the room despite the shut door, sliding between the door and jamb. "Or at least not all of it. Try again.”

Doyen Allwyn frowned back, then looked down, sighing heavily. "He's our archdoyen, Your Grace.”

"The archdoyen is second only to the patriarch, correct?" the Fyrst asked.

Allwyn nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

"A very powerful elder in your church, then. Yet, if I understand correctly, he was serving on your ship as a—chaplain? Isn't that an army posting?"

Allwyn nodded again. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Why?”

"The patriarch assigned him, Your Grace," Allwyn said. "As a penance to learn obedience."

"So to learn obedience he was placed under guard?”

The doyen shook his head, looking miserable. "No, Your Grace. It was for something else.”

"What?" Uncle Havram opened his mouth, but the Fyrst held up his hand. "Let the vicar answer.”

Doyen Allwyn met the Fyrst's gaze, his face ashamed. "He declared Lord Rabbit apostate after his lordship saved us from the djinn storm, and said it was God's will that the world be, uh, cleansed of his presence.”

"Seeing someone become the wind seems to have that effect on some people," Javes murmured.

Wyln looked at Javes and then at me, but the Fyrst ignored the captain and turned to Laurel. "Why didn't you tell me this, Faena? Didn't you think I should know what's in my harbor?”

"I informed Commander Pellan, Your Grace," Laurel replied. He held up his paw with the truth rune shining on it and my own rune warmed. "On our way to the castle the day we arrived I told him." He shook his head, his beads rattling. "It never occurred to me that he hadn't passed it on.”

Wyln jumped up immediately from his chair and walked swiftly to the door, dodging haunts as he went.

"What else haven't I been told?" the Fyrst asked. "What other information has been withheld?" He sat back down and propped his chin up on his fist, once more looking like King Jusson. "Why don't you start with what transgression a high elder in your church committed that was so heinous that he was in essence exiled.”

"There was a rebellion, Your Grace," Suiden said from the doorway, Groskin with him, "and the archdoyen sided with the wrong, ah, side."

Wyln, returning to his seat, spun around and the guard with them bowed.

"They were already coming up the stairs, honored Fyrst, Enchanter. Guardsman Dercha has gone on to look for Commander Pellan.”

Lieutenant Groskin scanned the room until he found the leopard—and me—and his frown eased. "There he is, sir. With Rabbit, as I thought.”

The Fyrst's gaze was fixed on Captain Suiden. "A rebellion?”

"Yes, Your Grace." Suiden wove through the haunts, followed by Groskin. "The House of Flavan rose up against King Jusson."

"Why?" the Fyrst asked.