Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) (11 page)

Kerzia, the older girl, finally calmed down enough to notice that her father had not come alone; she stepped back, out of Black's embrace, brushed her pinafore down into position, then essayed a quick curtsy.

Then she glanced at her father, clearly awaiting an introduction.

Black threw a smile over his shoulder at Arlian, then said, "My lord Obsidian, allow me to present my daughters. That young lady is Kerzia, my firstborn, and this squirming nuisance here is Amberdine."

"Daddy!" Amberdine protested, as Kerzia's eyes grew wide.

"Lord Obsidian," she said, curtsying again. "It is a great honor."

"It is a pleasure for me, mistress," Arlian said, with a bow. "We have met before, as you may recall."

"Oh, but it's been years!"

"Indeed it has. You were not much older then than your sister is now."

Amberdine had finally realized the situation and untangled herself to stand beside her sister. "Have we met, my lord?" she asked.

"We last spoke when you were not yet three years old, I believe,"

Arlian replied.

"I don't remember," Amberdine admitted.

Arlian smiled. "I would scarcely expect a person of your charms to remember every man who admired her."

Amberdine had no idea how to reply to that, and glanced at Kerzia, who giggled.

"Time to go home," Black said. "Your mother is waiting for all of us."

"Will you tell us all about slaying dragons?" Amberdine asked.

"I haven't been slaying dragons," Black said, "but Lord Obsidian has. Perhaps he can tell you about it."

"Perhaps I can," Arlian agreed. "If you would, mistress?" He held a hand out to Kerzia.

She accepted it, and together the two of them marched toward the gate, while Black and Amberdine walked at their heels.

9

9

Lady Rime at Home

Lady Rime at Home

Although his duty as warlord required Arlian to call upon the Duke at the first opportunity, Arlian had come to Manfort to rest, to restore himself, and to renew old acquaintances, as much as to report to his superior. At present he found himself not concerned as much with the next step in the campaign against the dragons as he was with what would become of him when the campaign had ended.

The remaining forty-six dragons, or whatever the actual number was, would undoubtedly take several years to find and slay, but there seemed little doubt that they would, in time, perish. The twenty-six lords and ladies of the Dragon Society would also in their turn die or be restored to normalcy.

And what would become of Arlian when that was accomplished? He would have served out the destiny Fate had apparently assigned him; was he to have any life beyond that?

This was not a question to discuss with the Duke of Manfort; instead, Arlian intended to visit Lady Rime, one of the handful of dragonhearts who had been cleansed by the Aritheian magicians and returned to mere humanity. She, more than anyone else in the world, could appreciate his situation, his uncertainty about his future.

He had thought that would need to wait until after he had conducted his official business with the Duke before calling on her; indeed, he had expected to find guardsmen at the Grey House, waiting to escort him to the Citadel, when he and Black arrived. After all. Lord Rolinor had undoubtedly returned to the Citadel and told the Duke that Lord Obsidian was on his way, unescorted by the soldiers he had left in Ethinior.

That no such guards had materialized led Arlian to suspect that the Duke, for one reason or another, was in no great hurry for this appointment. If the Duke saw no great urgency in it, then Arlian was not inclined to argue; he preferred to attend to more personal concerns.

Therefore, on the day after his arrival in the city, rather than going in person, Arlian dispatched a messenger to the Citadel to inform the Duke of his arrival and assure His Grace that Lord Obsidian awaited his pleasure.

That done, and immediate household matters having been dealt

with, he strolled down the street to Lady Rime's estate, leaving Black to deal with any replies that might arrive.

Upon his arrival Arlian found that the interior of Lady Rime's mansion was not as he remembered it. When he had last visited, several years before, the halls and chambers had been lushly furnished, tidv and well kept, as quiet as a cellar, and inhabited only by Rime and half a dozen servants.

Now the servant who admitted him had something purple and

sticky in his hair, and the minute Arlian set foot inside he heard children laughing. The coatrack by the door held a dozen garments in assorted small sizes, and the mirror beside it was freshly cracked.

Arlian looked about, startled, as he handed the footman his hat and coat.

Then the head of a girl, almost a young woman, a little older than Kerzia, appeared around a doorframe. "Hello," she said, smiling. "Are you here to see Grandmother Rime?" Then the smile vanished, and she stared at him. "I know you, don't I?"

Arlian bowed. "Lord Obsidian, here to see Lady Rime," he said.

"And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Lord Obsidian? Uncle Triv?" Her eyes widened. "Is it really you?"

For a moment neither spoke, as Arlian realized that the girl's face was indeed familiar, and there was only one girl her age who would call him Triv. Still, it was the footman who, having disposed of Arlian's outer garments, broke the silence.

"My lord Obsidian," he said, "allow me to present Lady Rime's adopted granddaughter, Vanniari."

Vanniari stepped through the door and curtsied, and Arlian bowed again in acknowledgment.

"My lord Obsidian," Vanniari said. "It has been a long time."

"Five years, I believe," Arlian agreed. "Pardon me for not recognizing you at once, Vanniari, but you have grown wonderfully—and please, forgive my long absence, and do call me Ari."

"Of course, Uncle Triv," Vanniari said, grinning. "Call me Vanni."

Arlian smiled despite himself. No one had called him Triv since he had last seen Vanniari's mother, Hasty, almost five years before. He glanced at the footman. "Do you know, Vanni, I had forgotten you live here? When last I saw you you were still my guest at the Grey House."

"That was years ago!" She shuddered. "That gloomy place. I didn't mind living there when I was little, but every time I go back to visit Kerzia and Amberdine, or Isein and Lilsinir, it seems darker and colder and nastier."

"It's not a good place," Arlian agreed. "I had intended to sell it when you were a baby ..

" . . . but the dragon burned up your other house. I know, Uncle Triv."

"And since then I've simply been too busy," Arlian agreed.

"You could just tell old Ferrezin to sell it for you, and you could move your things and all the Aritheians to the Citadel. Or here."

"But I prefer not to do that," Arlian said. "It seems wise not to become too dependent on the Duke's goodwill, and I have already imposed on Lady Rime's goodwill far too much. Besides, I have just this morning begun arrangements for Ferrezin to retire—I would need to ask someone else to handle the transaction."

It was at that point that he noticed there were now more faces peering around the doorframe, several of them, all of them younger than Vanni's fifteen years.

"Vanni?" a young boy said, noticing Arlian's gaze.

Vanniari turned, beckoned to the others, then asked Arlian, "Shall I introduce you, my lord?"

"Please," Arlian said with a bow. "I believe I recognize your brother Kuron?"

"Kuron, this is Lord Obsidian."

Kuron, age eleven, the boy who had spoken his sister's name,

stepped through the door and bowed.

"And our brother Bekerin, my lord."

Bekerin nodded an acknowledgment, but stayed where he was.

Arlian did a quick calculation and decided that Bekerin was eight; it seemed very unlikely the boy had any firsthand memories of their previous meetings.

"And this is Rose."

T h e girl named waved shyly from the door, but did not approach.

Arlian had never previously met her; she had not yet been born when he last set foot in Manfort. He had been informed of her arrival four years ago, and at the time he had wondered what her true name was. Knowing her mother, though, he suspected that Rose was her true name, in defiance of all custom—and in honor of a woman murdered by Enziet's men seventeen years ago, a woman both Hasty and Arlian had considered a friend, a woman who happened to have been Lady Rime's several-times-great granddaughter.

"And this is Halori," Vanniari continued, tugging at the arm of a boy of ten or so. Arlian knew this was Musk's son, not one of Hasty's children; Vanniari had completed the roster of her own half-siblings.

Vanniari never mentioned that she did not share both parents with her mother's other children, but Arlian had killed Vanniari's own father in a duel some seven months before her birth, and the girl certainly knew it.

He was grateful that neither Hasty nor Vanniari seemed to hold that against him—and he was unsure exactly who had sired the younger three.

Halori, on the other hand, was clearly Dovliril's child; even had Musk and Dovliril not been happily married these past twelve years, the child's resemblance to his father was unmistakable.

"And that's his brother Selsur—do you remember him?"

Arlian smiled at the boy, who had been taking his first steps when last Arlian saw him. "Of course I do," he said.

"And the little one there is Fanora," Vanniari concluded.

T h e girl, who was perhaps three, ducked out of sight at the sound of her name, but Bekerin caught her and dragged her back to visibility.

"Your servant, Mistress Fanora," Arlian said, bowing again. He hesitated, then admitted, "I do not believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, even by proxy."

Vanniari understood his meaning, and said quickly, "She's Aunt Lily's daughter, Aunt Lily and Uncle Stone."

"Ah," Arlian said. He had known that Lily had married one of the Duke's guardsmen, but had not realized any children had resulted from the union. "Thank you." He glanced at Vanniari. "Did I hear correctly, that you are now Lady Rime's adopted granddaughter?"

Vanniari blinked at him in surprise. "Yes, of course," she said. "She adopted all of us. She adopted Mother and Aunt Cricket and Aunt Lily and Aunt Musk and Aunt Kitten as her daughters, and that makes us all her grandchildren."

And her heirs, Arlian thought. The dozen of them would inherit the estates and companies that Rime had spent four centuries acquiring.

That explained why the offspring of Dovliril, a mere footman, were playing in the front rooms of the house—and it probably meant that one day that footman would be Lord Dovliril. Was he still a footman at all, then?

And it meant that all the survivors of the House of Carnal Society would be provided for. Five of them were now heirs to one of the Duke's advisors—and the sixth, Brook, was married to Black.

That hardly seemed fair to Brook, to be a mere steward's wife rather than the heir of a great noble—but then Arlian remembered that he had named Black as his own heir. If he were to die, Brook would be the wealthiest of all the women.

"My lord," the footman said from behind him, "shall I show you to Lady Rime?"

"By all means," Arlian said.

"Oh, I'll do it, Oril!" Vanniari said.

Oril the footman quite properly ignored her, and told Arlian, "This way, please."

Arlian followed—and so did Vanniari and Kuron, though the other five children suddenly burst into shrieks and giggles as they spun about poking at one another, and then ran off in another direction entirely.

Arlian had expected to be led up to Rime's bedchamber, where she had customarily spent most of her time, but instead the footman marched down the gallery and guided the party into a sunlit room Arlian did not recall from previous visits. He had expected to find Rime alone, perhaps reading, but instead his approach was greeted with happy laughter, and he found her surrounded by women.

"Grandmother!" Vanniari called, as the footman stepped aside.

"Look who's come to visit!"

Four faces turned toward the door—Rime and Cricket and Lily and Musk, all of them seated, all but Rime in wheeled chairs of the sort Black had created for Brook. Like Brook, all Rime's adopted daughters had once been brothel slaves in Westguard, and had had their feet amputated.

Arlian bowed deeply, and when he straightened found all the women exclaiming happily. Rime had found her heavy ebony cane and was rising from her chair, a trifle unsteady on her one foot and wooden leg.

"Ari!" she said, holding out her free hand. "How lovely to see you!"

Arlian took the offered hand in both his own and kissed it. "Your servant, my lady," he said. As he raised his lips from her knuckles he studied her appearance.

Hers was still a strong face, plainly visible, her gray hair—now entirely gray, rather than the blend of black and gray she had maintained for four centuries—pulled back tightly into a waist-length pony-tail. Her skin was weathered and brown, her eyes dark—but not as compelling as they were when Arlian first met her, long before. The larger-than-life glamour, the charisma, the special intensity of the dragonhead she had once been was gone.

As she smiled at him, though, Arlian thought he saw something else there instead, something new. He stared for a moment, and belatedly realized he was behaving rudely—though she seemed untroubled by his gaze.

The excited clamor of the other women died away, and Vanniari was able to interject, "I introduced him to everyone, Grandmother—all the children, I mean."

Rime turned her smile on Vanniari, and at that Arlian realized what was different.

Rime looked happy. Not just amused, or satisfied, or momentarily cheerful, but genuinely, sincerely happy.

And something else was different, something missing—a physical object. He released her hand, and looked swiftly about.

The bone was nowhere in sight.

For as long as Arlian had known her, Rime had carried a polished human shin-bone with her everywhere she went, using it as a gavel, a prod, a toy; Arlian remembered how long it had taken him before he realized that it was her own, the bone from her lost left leg.