Dark Haven (15 page)

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Eadoin remained a regular at court, maintaining her ties to the ruling nobility with the charms and grace that once made her the belle of all Margolan. Lady Eadoin was a force of nature.

She was waiting for him as the coach pulled up. Her golden white hair and her figure remained alluring. The cut of her fine brocade gown was flattering, and the jewels at her throat might have ransomed a prince.

“Riordan, it is so good to see you,” Eadoin said as Carroway bounded from the carriage and up the steps. Eadoin embraced Carroway and gave him a peck on each cheek, then took his arm and patted his hand.

“So I have finally managed to get you to keep an old lady company for the evening.”

“Of late, the royal wedding preparations take up more of my time than my lute.”

“Well, I shall be a rapt audience for anything you would like to preview,” Eadoin laughed. “Only please, play them first for me!”

Carroway could imagine the effect Eadoin must have had on the young men of her age. Eadoin laughed. “Were I forty years younger, I would be among the girls who clamor for your attention!”

“And were I worthy of your attention, I would duel for your hand,” Carroway returned with a wink. I could probably bed‐any lass in the castle I chose, he thought, except for the one I truly want.

A steward pressed a goblet of brandy into Carroway’s hand. Tonight, he played for an audience 125

of one. “What shall I play for m’lady, and how is it that Brightmoor is quiet tonight?”

“Please play ‘I Shall Dance With Thee at the Ball,’” Eadoin requested. “As for Brightmoor being quiet… Tonight is the anniversary of my husband’s death. I’ve always filled it with activity, so that I wouldn’t feel the emptiness.” She sighed. “Perhaps I can no longer outrun my ghosts.

“Every musician is a Summoner of sorts, did you know that, Riordan? Music brings the past to life.” She plumped the pillows. “So play for me, please. If I close my eyes, I’m only in another time and place.”

He began the ballad she requested, a well‐known favorite of her generation. Eadoin clapped enthusiastically when he finished. “Now please, some of the older dances, if you would.”

Carroway reeled from one sprightly dance tune into another, stopped only by the steward’s announcement of dinner and his own aching fingers. “Bravo, Bravo!” Eadoin cried. “You have been just the tonic I needed. I hope that dinner will repay you for your kindness.”

Candles burned brightly and the torches lit the room as if for a ball. The meal put out for them would have been suitable for the king himself. “My lady, you are too generous.”

“Not at all,” she said. “You’ve played the healer for me tonight, and I am in your debt.” She looked at him for a moment, her head to one side as if remembering. “I see your mother’s eyes when I look at you, Riordan,” she said. “And your father’s build. They would have been so proud.

Margolan’s master bard, king’s confidant—an adventurer and a hero.”

“I’ve had more than enough adventure for a lifetime,” Carroway confessed. “But there are times when I do wish ‐they could have seen what I’ve made of myself.”

“T’was the will of the Lady herself that chose the timing of your fostering, else you’d have been 126

claimed by the plague as well.” ‘A sad smile played at the corners of Eadoin’s lips. “Your memories crowd around you closely for one so young. I wonder, has the king’s confidant ever asked a favor of his friend? Every day the king holds his court of spirits for all the realm.

Wouldn’t he do so for you?”

“I haven’t asked, m’lady.”

Eadoin reached across the table and patted his hand. The paper thin skin wrinkled across bones finer than those of a bird, lined with the veins of age. “Don’t wait until you’re my age to lay your ghosts to rest. Now, eat. For such fine music you should be well fed.”

Eadoin’s servants plied him with food until he waved them away, groaning. Her steward brought out fine sherry and aged port, an offer

Carroway could not refuse. In the fireplace at the end of the great dining hall, logs blazed and crackled.

“Tell me, Riordan,” Eadoin said, leaning back in her chair, a goblet of port balanced in her thin fingers, “how go the preparations for our royal wedding?”

“That depends, m’lady.”

“Kiara has been raised from birth to become Margolan’s queen,” Eadoin observed. “It’s one thing to study a kingdom’s ways—and another to navigate its court.”

The old fox! All this time, I was conspiring to enlist her aid, and she set me up!

“Viata was from Eastmark,” Eadoin said. “Some in Isencroft didn’t like that Donelan took a 127

foreign queen. Donelan was gone for long stretches on hunts or clearing out raiders. Viata surrounded herself with Eastmark courtiers. The Isencroft court never forgave her.” She leaned forward and patted Car‐roway’s hand. “It would help Kiara greatly to have a guide.”

“What would you have me do, m’lady?”

“First of all, you can stop pretending that you didn’t have this in mind when you came here.”

Carroway grinned sheepishly. “Done, m’lady,” he confessed. “I came to ask your advice. We’ve heard that some in Isencroft don’t want to blend the kingdoms together at Donelan’s death.

There’s also some jealousy among the girls at court who thought they might wed a king”

“Were there any Jared left unbedded?” Eadoin asked.

“That alone is a good reason for Tris to avoid the ‘ladies’ of Margolan. There’s no question of paternity with Kiara. One royal bastard is enough.”

“What have you heard?”

Eadoin stared into the fire for a moment. “My sources within Isencroft are fewer than they once were. The Isencroft separatists are getting desperate. If they can’t stop the wedding, they may try to make sure no heir will be born.”

“What can we do? Once the wedding’s over, Tris’ll take the army against Curane in the South.

Kiara will be alone at Shekerishet.”

“We must be conspirators, you and I,” she said with a smile that told Carroway she relished the 128

action. “I’ll come back to court for a while, and bring Alyssandra, my niece.”

“Soterius told me that Alyssandra took up arms for the resistance.”

“Jared attacked the bards, trying to keep news from being spread. I hid as many as I dared here.

My brother—Alyssandra’s father— tried to help. But the bards he hid were discovered, and Jared’s troops burned their home and killed his family, all but Alyssandra, who was with me at the time. Alle knew we didn’t dare keep the bards here any longer, and so she volunteered to get them across

Margolan to the Principality border. After she succeeded, she was afraid to come back. That’s how she met your friend. I have no doubt that Alle can hold her own.”

“Have you heard anything else?”

“I’ve heard rumors Lord Guarov is Curane’s spy at court. No one can prove anything, or I’m sure the king would have removed him. But if that’s true, Kiara will be in danger. Guarov has the principles of a gutter rat.”

“It may require more than the guards to keep Kiara safe when Tris leaves for war,” Carroway said.

“I agree. You may yet have a second chance to save your kingdom.”

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CHAPTER NINE

The Isencroft night was cold and moonless. Snow covered the ground, deep as a man’s knees.

Ice crystals hung in the air, and every breath ached. Nearby, one guard lay in a heap. Blood seeped from the gash that slit his throat ear to ear, staining the snow beneath him. Another guard lay dead a few paces away, a crossbow quarrel fletchings‐deep in his chest. Beyond the low stone fence lay a small cluster of thatched‐roofed buildings inside a log stockade. Two more guards stood watch at the gate, warming themselves over a fire.

“Well?” Kiara Sharsequin’s voice was muffled beneath her helm.

Cam of Cairnrach, Champion of King Donelan, nodded. “No worse than I’d expect from bandits.

Not much of a scarp, and our mage can create enough confusion to get us up the slope. Land’s too wet in these parts to have caves beneath it. From what the scouts could see from the treetop, there’s not enough room to house more than a hundred men at arms.” A wisp of Cam’s curly dark hair protruded beneath his helm. He was a big man, and in his armor seemed like a moving mountain. His hand closed around the pommel of his war axe.

“Give the word,” Kiara murmured.

Cam raised his arm, a signal to the line of mounted soldiers still hidden in the shadows of the forest. Devon, one‐ of the king’s battle mages, leaned forward on his mount and raised both hands, pushing outwards as if against an invisible wall. A blast of fire streaked from Devon’s palms, blasting aside the guards at the gate and setting the wooden stockade afire.

“Now!” Cam bellowed. Soldiers burst from concealment, their way made plain by the bright light 130

of the burning stockade.

Kiara dropped her reins and gripped her sword, riding forward with the others. Her battle steed galloped over the heavy snow. The soldiers’ battle cry echoed through the moonless night, momentarily drowning out the alarm raised by the divisionist outpost. Kiara was well aware that the crest on her shield made her a target, even as it also sent the unmistakable message that Isencroft’s heir took this rebellion personally. Goddess! It feels good to do more than train for once. One of the raiders ran at her and she blocked him with her boot, slashing down with her sword and severing his arm cleanly at the shoulder. She reared her war horse, and its iron‐shod hooves discouraged the raiders’ two companions from making a similar assault. Jae, her gyregon, swooped and dived at the raiders with his powerful talons, raking across one man’s face and clawing deeply into another’s back.

All around her, the king’s men were making short work of the outpost. Though the heavy war horses were hardly race steeds, they moved fast enough to pursue the fleeing raiders. Cam was fighting a huge man, and on foot, the two might have been equally matched. The raider lunged forward, slicing into Cam’s thigh, but Cam’s sword thrust downward, penetrating the raider’s cuirass and running him through.

“Behind you!”

Kiara turned her horse. The buildings of the outpost were all burning, painting the snow in red and orange. Behind the stone watering trough, she caught a glimpse of leather helmets an instant before the twang of crossbow’s firing sent a rain of quarrels through the night air. One of them embedded itself in her shield with a force that made her hand go numb. Kiara gave a cry and rode straight for the bowmen, knowing it would take them a moment to reload. Behind her, she could hear her own bowmen returning fire.

Two raiders ran at her horse, one wielding a war axe and the other a scythe. Before they could reach striking range, the axe man stopped, taken in the throat by an arrow. His eyes widened, blood frothed at his lips, and he fell, face‐forward, into the trampled snow. The remaining raider advanced with madness in his eyes. Kiara’s war horse sidestepped, broadening the gap. The scythe made up in.reach what it lacked in power; Kiara knew that if it was brought against her 131

horse’s legs she would have no chance, jae dived for the attacker, but his scythe kept even the gyregon at bay.

“Death to traitors!” the scythe‐man shouted, swinging the long‐handled blade in a deadly arc.

Kiara jerked her horse back, but in the tight quarters of the burning stockade there was little room to maneuver. The horse kicked its heavy hooves at the raider’s head, but the wiry man dodged the strike, intent on ripping out the belly of the horse with his sharp blade. Kiara slashed with her sword, but the scythe’s long handle kept her assailant out of range.

A low whirr and the glint of firelight on metal were the only warning as Cam’s battle axe spun through the air, catching the raider full in the back of the head. One side of his skull exploded as the body fell twitching to the ground. Kiara brought her horse down onto the raider’s back, grimacing at the sound of cracking bones and pulping flesh.

“Surrender and face trial,” Cam shouted above the din to the raiders. “Fight and you’ll die.”

“No surrender!” shouted a raider as arrows flew. Dozens of raiders burst from their cover, wildly swinging whatever weapons they possessed, counting on their furious attack to make up for their shrinking numbers.

“Take the leaders alive!” Kiara yelled, hearing Cam relay the order down the line. Within a few more moments of fierce fighting, the stockade had been subdued, its buildings leveled by fire and its raider garrison dead or captured.

Cam dragged a bound raider toward her and shoved the man to his knees, snatching away his helm so that Kiara could look at his face. Soot‐streaked and bloodied, the raider glared up at her.

“Came to do the dirty work yourself, your highness?”

“You’re charged with high treason, with the crimes of waylaying the king’s supply wagons, ambushing his messengers, and planning to overthrow King Donelan. You’ll be taken to the 132

palace for your trial.”

“I don’t need a trial,” the raider said. “Guilty as charged, Your Highness. I’d put my knife through your chest in a heartbeat if it would keep you from betraying your people with the Margolan alliance.”

“Take him away.”

Cam pulled the raider to his feet. “Isencroft won’t recognize a foreign king or a traitor queen,” the raider shouted as Cam dragged him toward the wagons. “No peace until Isen‐croft’s throne remains free!”

Around her, the king’s guards were making short work of securing what was left of the outpost.

Kiara watched, hoping that if the others saw her shiver, they’d assume it was with cold. How many times have we argued this? No one wants an independent Isencroft more than father and me. The’ betrothal contract wasn’t originally supposed to create a joint throne. But there aren’t any other heirs, and Isencroft is impoverished. We’ll need Mar‐golan’s help just to feed our people, let alone keep away the brigands from the Western border or the raiders from across the sea. Perhaps we can split the crown again when my children are grown, a generation from now. But it’s fools’ pride to turn aside Margolan’s help only to fall to invaders.

The ride back to the Isencroft palace was quiet. One wagon carried a dozen prisoners who shouted curses and baited the soldiers until Cam threatened to gag them. The other wagon carried back the dead, five men out of seventy‐five. Three riderless horses followed the wagon; the other two remained where they had died.