Dangerous Talents (44 page)

Angrim dropped by after the evening meal. Cele heard her flirting outside with the guards for several minutes before a knock sounded at the door. While Angrim was obviously a woman who enjoyed male attention, she also seemed like the sort who aimed as high as she could. Cele thought the guards would seem a waste of time to someone who had once hoped to catch Dahleven. But Angrim was smiling coyly at them when Cele opened the door.

“Let’s go for a stroll,” Cele proposed before Angrim could enter. She smiled at the guards. “Which one of you gets to come along with us?”

The shorter one bowed. “Both, my lady.”

Angrim hooked an arm through the taller man’s and almost batted her eyelashes. “Come along, then.”

Cele nodded at the other guard but didn’t take his arm. Behind them, Angrim was chatting merrily. Cele couldn’t help wondering if Angrim had come to visit
her
or the guards. She felt awkward walking in silence. “What’s your name?”

“Bergren, my lady.”

Cele smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry I haven’t asked before. And Angrim’s friend?”

The corners of Bergren’s eyes crinkled. “Isolf.”

Cele was quiet for a moment. She directed her steps gradually to the bridge that spanned between the two central towers, but not too directly. She didn’t want to seem as if she had a destination. “Where’s Jeger? I haven’t seen him since…for a couple of days.”

“He’s been scrubbing shi—uh, latrines, my lady.” Bergren’s expression was grimly satisfied. “And grateful for it.”

Cele’s eyes widened. “But it wasn’t his fault!”

Her guard’s expression grew hard as granite. “It’s better than he deserved. He failed in his duty. Another lord might well have exiled him.”

Cele’s heart flinched.
Like Jorund was exiled
? Justice in this world was harsh. If Jorund failed, if her part in stealing the Staff was discovered, what would Neven do to her? What would Dahleven say? She could imagine the look in his eyes. Disgust. Anger. Betrayal.

A niggling doubt suggested that Jorund had been a little too smooth, but she dismissed the worry. Of course he’d do his best to convince her to help. And how else was she going to get home?

They continued strolling through the winding corridors. She guided them indirectly to the other tower, asking questions about how old the castle was and how it was built. Sometimes they stopped and looked out of narrow windows onto the dark. Torch and lantern light twinkled below, but it was nothing like the blanket of diamonds Tucson’s electric lights would have spread across the valley. Bergren told her that Quartzholm was one of the last holdings built, since it was furthest from the sea. Great Talents had carved it out of the mountains four hundred years ago, moving huge blocks of quartz and granite, flowing the stone into seamless perfection. The glass in the embrasures was actually quartz that had been shaped by Talents no longer in existence.

“It would be a much more difficult task today,” Bergren said. “Fortunately, it isn’t necessary.”

Cele smiled, then returned an acknowledgment from a passing noble. The halls were much emptier now that the Althing had ended. Most of the lords and ladies and merchants had departed for home. “So Fanlon stole all the Great Talents, even the useful ones, just because of a few rotten apples.”

“Rotten apples?” Bergren frowned, then his expression cleared. “No, the sagas say there were more than a few misusing their Talents. And while honor may be won in battle, many died in the endless conflicts. Lord Fanlon’s solution had the virtue of being equitable. No one Jarl was left with an advantage over another.”

He has a point
. But that didn’t change what she had to do.

She fell silent, but Angrim kept up a merry chatter, sharing gossip about men and women Cele didn’t know. They’d climbed high in the tower, near where she’d sensed the Staff earlier. It was time to try again. Hoping that the others wouldn’t notice, Cele reached out with her Talent. Instead of the crisp, clear tug she was growing accustomed to, the sensation was muddy and vague, just as it had been that afternoon. She focused her desire, holding the image sharp in her mind. Angrim’s voice faded into the background. It was still above them, but she still couldn’t tell where.

She stumbled, jerking her out of her concentration.

Bergren caught her arm. “My lady!”

I guess I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time
. She smiled up at the guard. “Thanks. That’s what I get for letting my mind wander.”

Bergren released his hold on her, but stayed closer, as if afraid she’d topple over. “Perhaps we should go back now, before you grow more fatigued.”

No
! She was too close to stop now. It would look suspicious if she came back here a second time.

He must have seen the refusal on her face. “We can’t go much further in any case, my lady. This corridor leads only to Father Wirmund’s chambers.”

Wirmund
! Cele nodded. She’d get no closer than this. She couldn’t visit Wirmund; his sharp eyes saw too much. She’d never fool him about what she was doing. Not with as much concentration as it had taken earlier to Find the Staff. Bergren might not have noticed, but the
Overprest
would spot her using her Talent and suspect something, without a doubt.

She’d have to try again. Here. Now.

She wavered a little. “I think you must be right. The day is catching up with me. Is there a bench nearby?” She didn’t have to fake the trembling of her fingers as she reached for Bergren’s arm, though it was from nerves rather than fatigue.

Her escort looked faintly alarmed. “Up ahead. There’s an antechamber where those seeking Father Wirmund’s aid may wait. I believe there may be seating there.” They made their way slowly down the hall, then turned a corner into a small chamber. Two doors and another staircase broke three of the walls. A pair of guards bracketed the stair, dressed not in the Kon’s ubiquitous green, but in priestly gray, though they wore no purple bags around their necks.

“Have you come to see the
Overprest
, my lady?” One of the men asked.

“Lady Celia needs to rest,” Bergren said. “Is there somewhere she may sit?”

“She’s in Emergence,” Angrim offered as she fluttered to Cele’s side. “We shouldn’t have let you tire yourself.”

“Only in the
Overprest’s
chambers. I’ll inquire if he’s accepting visitors.”

Damn
! “No! Don’t trouble him. I’m just a little tired. Could I just sit here on the steps for a bit?”

The two gray-garbed guards looked at each other and shrugged. Bergren frowned, but held her elbow as she turned her back on the guards and sat on the second step.

Angrim sat beside her and put her arm around Cele’s shoulders. “Just lean against me, Lady Celia.”

“Isolf, get some
sterkkidrikk
,” Bergren ordered the other guard. “Go.”

Cele shuddered at the thought of the vilely sweet drink. Angrim patted her hand. Bergren hovered in front of them with the other guards.

It’s now or never
.

Cele closed her eyes and pictured the Staff as Jorund had described it: a carved wooden shaft surmounted by a purple gemstone as big as her palm. Again, instead of a clean solid tugging, the answering sensation was dull and indistinct. It wavered in and out of focus as if a barrier stood between her and what she sought. The sensation made her stomach dizzy, and she was glad she was sitting down. She forced herself to hold on. Then, for a moment, the mists cleared. The Staff was above and off to her left. She lifted her head, turning to face that direction. The focus blurred again and the room tilted.

“Are you all right?” Angrim patted Cele’s shoulder and sounded genuinely concerned.

Cele straightened and pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d try again, as soon as her head stopped spinning.

“Lady Celia?” The
Overprest
spoke from behind.

Cele lifted her head and turned to find Father Wirmund standing a few steps above her. Adrenaline jumped through her veins. How much had he seen? Did he know she’d been trying to Find something?

The
Overprest
finished descending the wide stairs and stopped in front of Cele. Angrim rose and curtsied to him, but he barely acknowledged her.

“Are you unwell? Shall I summon a Healer?”

Cele forced a smile and pushed herself to her feet, then curtsied awkwardly. “No, thanks. I’m fine. Just a little tired. I wanted some exercise, but I guess I overdid it.”

Wirmund frowned. “That was rather foolish of you, after your recent difficulties. Your escort should have known better than to indulge you.” He speared Bergren with a sharp glance. “Won’t you come into my chambers where you can rest in greater comfort?”

Where you can interrogate me
?
No thank you
. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense.” He took her arm as he considered his guards coldly. “You should have sent for me rather than allowing a Lady to crouch here on the steps.”

“But you—” The first man started to protest, but the other cut him off.

“Yes, my lord.”

Angrim nodded. “I was getting rather tired of sitting on this cold stone step.”

Isolf barreled around the corner, skidding to an abrupt stop when he saw Father Wirmund. He bowed, breathing hard.

“Is that the
sterkkidrikk
?” Bergren pointed to the flask the other man clutched, forgotten.

Isolf nodded and held it out.

Cele took it, glad of an excuse to withdraw her arm from Wirmund’s. “Thank you.” She took a couple sips of the intensely sweet liquid and grimaced. She’d never liked the energy drinks back in Midgard, either.

Wirmund urged the flask upward again with a firm touch. “All of it, my lady. We don’t want you falling victim to Exhaustion again.”

Cele suppressed a grimace and drank. When she’d finished, she said, “I’d like to go back to my room now.”

Bergren nodded.

“Do you feel well enough?” Wirmund asked. “You may rest in my rooms.”

“That would be lovely,” Angrim chirped.

Cele fought the urge to clap her hand over Angrim’s mouth.
I’m not going to get a second try at the Staff. Not with Wirmund watching
. “No. Thank you. I’m fine now. Let’s go back.”

*

The next day Aenid was with Master Sevond when Cele arrived, and the three of them spent a companionable morning together.

Cele and Aenid left at the same time, Cele’s guard trailing along a little distance behind. “Is that something you wear in mourning for Lord Jon?” Cele asked, indicating the gray veil that Aenid wore.

“Yes. The women of the family wear these for six months. Then we’ll burn them to symbolize the passing of our grief.” Aenid smiled sadly. “I wear one for Sorn, too, beneath my clothes. But six months won’t bring an end to my sorrow.”

Cele nodded, not commenting on the difference of sentiment Aenid had for her father and Sorn. “How’re you feeling?” she asked in a confidential tone. “Are you still fainting and getting sick?”

“No, it was only those few times. I feel quite well, actually.”

“You haven’t told Sevond yet.”

“No. I will soon. When I tell him, I’ll have to tell everyone. I want to be sure before I share it.”

Cele nodded. “Don’t wait too long. Better you tell them before they guess.”

Aenid put her hand to her middle and spoke softly. “Do you think my belly is rounding?”

Cele looked at the younger woman critically. “Maybe, but no one will notice it in that loose gown.” She cocked an eyebrow at Angrim. “Unless you keep walking around with your hand on your tummy.”

Aenid colored and dropped her hand.

Cele laughed and changed the subject. “How’s Ari?”

“He’s well. Baldur smiled upon you that day. One would never know he came so close to Niflheim.” Aenid grew more sober. “He’s too young to really understand about Father, though he knows something’s wrong and keeps asking for him. Ljot and Solvin feel it more.”

“And your mother?”

Aenid shook her head. “She wept for a day afterward. But now she almost seems happy.”

That Ingirid might feel some relief at Jon’s death didn’t surprise Cele, but she couldn’t say that to Aenid. “Grief is different for everybody.”

Aenid nodded. “We say, ‘Grief travels a twisted road.’ Aunt Kaidlin is staying with Mother and helping with the boys. I don’t think she would follow Nanna’s Path, but we’re not leaving her alone for a while.”

“Nanna’s path?”

“Baldur’s wife,” Aenid’s tone became instructional. “She killed herself rather than live without him. There’s an old tradition of women joining their husbands in death. It’s not much done anymore.”

“Thank goodness!”

“Come visit soon,” Aenid said as they parted ways at the top of the stairs. “Ari would like to thank his rescuer.”

Cele doubted Ari remembered her, but she said, “I will.”

Dahleven and a covered tray awaited her in her room.

“You look well recovered from your jaunt of last evening.” His voice was tight.

Of course the guards would tell him
. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “Emergence Exhaustion is nothing to flirt with, Celia! Surely Ghav has told you that.”

“I wasn’t that tired!”

“That’s not what I heard. You collapsed on the stair for nearly half a candlemark!”

Cele frowned. Had she spent that much time trying to Find the Staff? “I was just resting.”

“You needed
sterkkidrikk
!”

“Only to make the guards feel better! Isolf ran halfway across the castle for it. I had to drink it!”

Dahleven shook his head and pressed his lips together. When he spoke, it was in a softer voice. “I’m sorry. I should have thought to show you Quartzholm myself.”

She would have liked seeing Quartzholm through his eyes, even if it completely prevented her from Finding the Staff. The tension sizzling between them transformed into something else. It surged, fluttering in her breasts and lower.

“I would have taken care that you didn’t tire yourself.” The heat in his gaze suggested he would have made sure she’d saved her energy for other activities.