Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (5 page)

frankness was disarming, but I had lived too long to ignore the consequences of unbridled speech. Any

door or window could conceal an informer. Only sorcerers were burned alive, but those who

countenanced sorcery, even by speech, likewise paid a mortal price: beheading or hanging, according to

their rank. So Leiran law had stipulated for four hundred and fifty years.

“Yes . . . well . . . there are those among us who listen and think somewhat more independently than

we have the courage to display. But in the interests of timeliness as well as safety, I will concede. Truly

your nephew is of more immediate concern. You say you’ve met him?”

“He’s the reason I’m here....” I told Ren Wesley of my promise to Tomas and the message he had

sent to his son.

“They did not get on, you know,” mused the physician. He leaned back in his chair and took out a

pipe, proceeding through the rituals of filling and tamping. “Gerick clearly admired his father a great deal,

yet from the time the child left the nursery, he would scarcely open his mouth in his father’s presence. The

duke was quite concerned. Knowing I had sired six sons of my own, he consulted me several times, even

asking me to examine the boy for any sign of disorder.”

“And what did you find?”

“Never had the opportunity to discover anything. Twice I attempted an examination, and twice the

child went into a fit, almost making himself ill.”

Just as he had in Philomena’s room.

The physician tapped the unlit pipe in his large hand. “Many children throw tantrums, especially

children who are wealthy and indulged and permitted to be willful. But what’s so worrisome is that the

boy is not at all prone to such behavior. Your brother was a good father, and unless I attempt to examine

him, Gerick is invariably polite and respectful to me, just as he was to Duke Tomas. He is very much in

control of himself. Too much so for a child of ten.”

“I noted the same. That’s why I was so surprised at his outburst.” I told the physician about the boy’s

terror when I revealed my identity. “I assumed that the tales he’s been told of sorcery and my

connections with it were just too frightening for one so young.”

“For any other child you might be correct, but Gerick is not subject to foolish frights. No. The boy

has built a wall about himself and will let no one beyond it. When anyone attempts to breach his defenses,

he throws himself into this morbid frenzy. It’s not healthy. He needs someone to take him in hand,

someone who cares for him.”

I sat on a cushioned stool beside the standing harp and began brushing cobwebs off the tarnished

strings. “Why are you telling me this? I’ve just met the child. Though I grieve to hear of his trouble, surely

there are better ears to hear of them.” Someone who did not begrudge the boy’s life. “His mother—”

Ren Wesley harrumphed like a volcano belching fire before its eruption. “I wouldn’t trust his mother

with the training of my dogs. But the woman isn’t stupid, either. Where it comes to her abiding interests,

she’s been known to listen to reason. When I spoke with her just now, I took a great liberty. The

duchess was complaining of a problem with the tenants and the rents. . . .”

“I heard it. I hope she can be made to understand the importance of the Comigor Covenant.”

“What she understands, madam, is how painful is her lack of silver and how her own position

depends on the security and prosperity of her son’s inheritance. I told her that it was important to her

health to ease these worries ... certainly true. And I told her that I could see only one solution to her

problems.”

“What was that?” A blindly innocent question.

“I told her that
you
must collect the rents.” His great eyebrows leaped skyward.

“You’re mad! Philomena would never consent to such a thing.”

“On the contrary, my lady; once her eyes were opened, she began to think it her own idea.”

“Then
she’s
mad.”

“Not at all. Consider. The boy is not of age. The traditions of this house require that an adult, a

member of the family or a guardian appointed by the king, carry out this covenant. His mother sees

dealing with the rents as tedious and common and would as soon hang the tenants as shake their hands.

But by persuading you to stay, she can have money in her pocket at the turn of the year without putting

herself out in the least. I told her that your familiarity with the castle could perhaps relieve her of a number

of burdens and allow her to concentrate on her health.”

I was not sure whether to laugh hysterically or throw the harp at the monstrous eyebrows that

waggled in delight at my discomfiture.

“I apologize for failing to take into account whatever it is that currently occupies your days, but the

opportunity presented itself. I cannot but think the boy would flourish in your care.”

The only thing that kept me from laughing at his foolish presumption was the way my heart warmed,

even as I accused him of madness. I fingered the rose-colored, thumb-sized stone that hung around my

neck. At some time in the coming months, so I’d been told, the stone would glow of its own light, and its

unnatural chill grow warm. The next morning Dassine would bring Karon to visit me in hopes I might

provide some small help as the sorcerer restored Karon’s memory.

I had no good plan for what to do with myself while I waited. I could not bear to return to the

primitive life I had lived for ten years in Dunfarrie, nor, even if I had the means, could I resume the life of

aristocratic dabbling that had been interrupted by Karon’s arrest. For the past few months I had been

caught up in events that shaped the universe, and now neither sphere felt like home. I hadn’t believed that

I belonged at Comigor either. But if I could do some good with the time, shore up Comigor’s neglected

future, then staying here might be a decent way to spend my time. As for the boy . . .

“If I allow myself be talked into this foolishness, whatever would I do about my nephew?” I said. “He

was trembling at the sight of me.” And to think that I, of all people, could break down the boy’s unnatural

reticence .. . I could scarcely endure looking at him.

The furrows in the physician’s broad forehead deepened. “A gamble, to be sure. If he cannot come

to tolerate you, we’ll have to reconsider. I told the duchess that I would speak to him.” His last words

were phrased as a question. He cocked his massive head, waiting for my answer.

I couldn’t seem to think of another argument. “You’re a wicked man, Ren Wesley. You remind me of

another I met just recently, a healer, too, who with his conceits sets himself up to order the fate of men

and women and worlds. I don’t think either Philomena or her son will thank you for this. Nor will I.”

The physician burst into thunderous laughter. “It should be a match of historic proportions. I might

have to set myself a regular schedule of visits just to make sure you’ve not murdered each other.”

So it was that the Duchess of Comigor sent me an urgent message, requesting me to delay my

departure so she could set me a proposition. While I stood in the window of a second floor sitting room,

waiting for my interview and wondering at the change a few hours could make, I watched Ren Wesley

stroll about the inner ward. Hands clasped at his back, he examined the crumbling sundial that marked

the exact center of the castle. He was just moving toward the curved border of the well when he spun on

his heel. My nephew hurried across the courtyard, bowed politely to the physician, and joined him on his

walk. Gerick stopped after a moment and seemed to be making a point, shaking his head vigorously. But

he displayed no hysteria, no screaming or other irrational behavior, and soon the two resumed their stroll,

disappearing through the arched gate into the fencing yard. A short time later, a maid brought the

physician to me.

“Your nephew is greatly disturbed by your presence, my lady,” said a bemused Ren Wesley, “and he

repeated his accusations that you are—pardon my frankness—condemned and wicked. He says that his

father banished you, and that you have no right to be at Comigor.”

“That’s that, then. He’s absolutely correct. I’ll go at—”

“But when I told him that your stay was in the best interests of Comigor and his mother’s health, he

accepted the decision quite reasonably. Unquestionably something about you disturbs him, but I don’t

believe he is half so terrified as he acts.”

A bit later, when I was invited to Philomena’s room, my sister-in-law sweetly begged my pardon,

claiming that her lack of welcome earlier was due to her anxieties over her health. Her husband had

obviously trusted and forgiven me, for she had received word of the royal pardon granted at Tomas’s

behest. Truthfully, said the duchess, in blushing humility, she had been quite taken by my words to Gerick

about the honor and responsibilities of the family. When the physician had given her the dire news that

she must abandon all serious thoughts and occupations such as the running of the household, the only

thing that prevented abject despair was the realization that the Holy Twins had sent me to be the salvation

of the family’s honor and my nephew’s heritage. After an hour of Philomena’s wheedling and an hour of

serious negotiations touching on my rights, duties, and privileges while in her house—the woman indeed

knew her business where it came to matters of inheritance and ambition—we agreed that I would stay.

By nightfall Ren Wesley had departed, and my driver had been dispatched with letters to my friends

in Dunfarrie, informing them of my change in plans. I had no need to send for my things. The few articles

of clothing that I had acquired on my return to city life had traveled with me. By midnight, I lay again in

the little room in the north wing where I had slept from the day I left the nursery until the day my brother

had forbidden me ever to come home again.

CHAPTER 3

The autumn days quickly fell into a routine. I breakfasted with Nellia in the housekeeper’s room, and

then spent the morning either with the steward, going over the accounts or inspecting those parts of the

castle in need of repair, or with Nellia, poking into the storerooms, guest rooms, linen rooms, or pantries.

I had agreed with Philomena that in exchange for my help in collecting the rents, I would be allowed to

put right what was needed with the house and estate, setting it in good order for my nephew.

Though the servants were universally shy of me—the infamous, corrupted conspirator of sorcerers,

allowed to live only by the king’s grace—my respectful manner to Giorge and his clerks quickly soothed

the anxious steward. After a few awkward sessions in which I demonstrated both my understanding of

the estate’s complex finances and my regard for the unique arrangements between the lord’s family and

the tenants, the steward became my most ardent defender save for Nellia. With delight he dispatched his

assistants to every tenant, notifying them that the world was in order once again. Covenant Day was set

for the first day of the new year.

Afternoons I reserved for myself, walking out every day to enjoy the northern autumn, a luxury I had

sorely missed in my impoverished exile, when autumn labors might be the only thing to stave off starvation

in a hard winter. I returned from my walks to write letters on estate business or work on some household

project: taking inventory of the linen, or showing the maids how my father’s maps and books should be

cared for.

I had agreed to spend an hour with my sister-in-law every evening after dinner. At first, Philomena

required me to expound upon the most minute details of my activities and investigations, from how many

napkins I had found in the dining-room cupboards to the state of the hay supplies in the stables. After a

few days of verifying every item with Giorge or Lady Verally, her sour aunt, she must have satisfied

herself that I was dealing with her honestly. I never again got beyond, “Here is what transpired today. . .

.” without her saying, “Good enough, good enough. Let’s talk of more interesting matters.”

As I knew no court gossip and had no insight into current fashion, her “more interesting matters”

seemed to be the private details of my life with a sorcerer. She wheedled and teased, calling me boorish,

stupid, and cruel for refusing to amuse a poor bedridden woman, but I was not at all inclined to provide

anecdotes to titillate Philomena’s friends when the duchess returned to society. One night, in exasperation

at our abortive attempts at conversation, I asked Philomena if she would like me to read to her.

“Anything that will pass this interminable time,” she said. I suppose she thought that to dismiss me

early would grant me some mysterious advantage in our contract.

After rejecting the first ten titles I brought as too serious or complicated, she allowed me to begin one

of the books of romantic adventure that had been my mother’s. Soon she was wheedling me to read

beyond our hour’s time. I always shut the book firmly; one hour of my life a day was all I was going to

give her. But reading made these interludes more than tolerable and set our relationship on a reasonable,

if not intimate, course.

Which left me to the matter of my nephew. An uncomfortable and unclear responsibility. My love for