Nightshade (5 page)

Bentley blinked at him. “You’ve just hit the High King’s daughter in the head.”

“She said I could.”

Bentley considered that. “Yes, but she’s drunk.”

“So am I.”

“I am as well, actually, but this is all beside the point.”

Arton frowned in confusion. “You want the hammer?”

“No, now see, this is what gets you into trouble, Arton,” Bentley replied simply, tapping his fingers against the massive knuckles. “Someone tells you to bet all of your money and so you do. Someone tells you to hit a pretty woman in the head and so you do. It’s a terrible pattern I see forming, and I think it might be the root of a more serious problem.”

“What in the seven hells are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure. I was just waiting for Darry to get back up.”

Arton spun about more quickly than Bentley would have thought for a big man in such a drunken state, but Darry was ready for him. Her right boot landed between his legs in a well-placed shot, and a collective groan moved through the crowd as Arton grabbed his crotch, falling forward onto his knees with a boom. Darry swung the empty pewter pitcher and it clanged against the side of his head.

Arton Littleton tipped to the right like a felled tree and slammed into the floor.

Bentley smiled. “Were you taking a walk?”

“I was trying to remember who I was,” Darry said.

“And you are?”

“I haven’t a bloody clue.” She laughed and turned with a start.

Someone’s shoulder hit her in the ribs and she let out a grunt as the body attached to it knocked her into several chairs and a table that skidded and tipped over beneath their combined weight. Bentley was caught up as the crowd surged, taking a fist on his left shoulder and shoved into the fight with a grin.

*

Bentley sat on the cushioned bench behind the round table and stared at the parlor. Darry lounged against his body doing the same. Less than a dozen patrons were left and the mess had been cleaned up quickly, the damaged furniture dispatched for firewood. A fire blazed in the hearth and a lute was playing. The entire room was completely altered from its chaos of several hours earlier.

The windows behind them were closed to the night, though the louvered shutters allowed the ocean breeze to enter. The scent of the sea cut through the pipe smoke and ale, as well as the heady perfume that seemed to occupy every corner. A bar ran along the southern wall, fronting the kitchens and the corridor that led to the private baths.

Of the establishment’s three stories, the upper two were reserved for the courtesans and their patrons. It was a place less rich and opulent than some, but its reputation was of the highest order. Madam Salina’s did not cater to the Bloods of Arravan society, but offered pleasure and respite to its backbone and callused hands.

“How much gold do we have left?” Bentley asked.

“What we won or what we came in with?”

“Either.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do we have enough to pay for this delicious Ravonese gold?” He took up his goblet from beside the empty wine bottle.

“I thought you already paid.”

“You have all the coin.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “I didn’t order it, Bent.”

“Neither did I. I shall be scrubbing plates, I know it,” he mumbled. “We win the biggest roll of the bones all night and it pays for furniture.”

“And a bodhran.”

“A bodhran?”

“Yes. Someone’s head went through the drum.”

“And here you thought your music lessons would never be of use.”

“It was him or me.”

“One would think that a princess would have better manners.”

“And four bottles of Kenton Rose.”

“My favorite vintage.”

Several minutes of companionable silence passed and then, “Do you think it’s safe to go home yet?” she asked.

Bentley noted the touch of melancholy. “We can stay as long as you like. We can even get a room, if you want.”

Darry took a long breath and let it out slowly. “I drank too much.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked. Darry made a good show of drinking and her reputation was such that everyone assumed she favored the grape, but he knew that she was rarely if ever drunk. She was too careful for that despite that she liked her fun.

She had fallen last in line of the royal children, and though that fact should have given her more leeway as the babe of the family, her life had been far from carefree. The eldest, Malcolm, was heir to the throne and a decided presence in Darry’s life. It was no secret that he disapproved of her. As a consequence, Darry had been forced to step carefully, forever glancing over her shoulder for the blow of his condemnation.

The beautiful, red-haired Emmalyn was next behind Malcolm, and her generosity and graceful spirit made her much beloved. Bentley knew that Darry worshipped her sister and loved her terribly, but what she did not appreciate, perhaps, was that the feeling was mutual. Emmalyn was much like their mother, strong and filled with a presence that drew others to her side with little effort. She was also a touch like Darry, though her wild streak was somewhat reserved and showed itself more in her sharp tongue than her behavior.

Jacob was the middle child and a scholar of considerable renown. He was a man of quick wit and deep thinking, a diplomat and a member of the King’s Council, his thirst for knowledge and clever mind having made him a confidant to both his father and Malcolm. He was betrothed to the Lady Alisha Pfinster, and their wedding was set for Solstice Eve but some three months away.

Wyatt was two years older than Darry and her beloved. He was dark-haired and quiet, and he let his sword do the talking. A warrior of uncommon strength and cunning, he had quickly risen in the ranks of their father’s command. When Darry had taken to the sword as a girl, Wyatt had defended and watched over her, and they were thick in their blood and their love. That Wyatt now commanded the Arravan forces along the Greymear border to the east surprised no one.

And then there was Darrius herself, last in line.

Bentley observed her with a tilt of his head, his heart full at the sight of her. She was bolder than he ever dared and more generous and loving than anyone he had ever known. When they had met at the age of eight, it had taken but a minute to know that he loved her.
And not as many think
. He had been under serious attack from four of his eight brothers, and Darry had waded in and started swinging as their mothers had stood on the wide southern terrace of the royal retreat at Lake Aurora. Darry had announced unabashedly that he was not to be harmed. Their mothers laughed as she took his hand and they walked free from the mob, relatively unscathed and heads held high.

They had sat by the lake for hours and built a fortress of sticks and mud, and Darry had let him decide everything, asking what he thought and if he felt they should have a moat. No one had ever asked what he thought, and when they shook hands at the completion of their magnificent structure, he knew that he would always love her. It was the most wonderful summer of his life.

He had known that she was backwards before she did, perhaps, and had waited patiently for her to sort through her feelings as they had both tried to understand them. And he had never once wished her to be other than she was, for to him, she was his match in life, not love. “Are you drunk?” he asked again.

“A little, I think,” she said. “But not much. I feel rather good, actually, aside from the dent in my head…and the teeth marks in my finger.”

Bentley chuckled. “Much more entertaining than a formal dinner of tight collars to welcome your brother’s Lyonese treasure.”

That Malcolm had agreed to meet with the only daughter of King Bharjah of Lyoness to explore a proposal of marriage still stunned Darry. Arranged marriages had fallen out of favor over two hundred years ago, when her own ancestor had taken the daughter of a sea captain for his bride and made her a queen. Marriages of convenience and unions for political and social gain still existed but were no longer preferred.

Lyoness
. The flames in the hearth across the parlor held Darry’s attention.
What do you want with Bharjah’s daughter, Malcolm?

Early that morning Darry had stood in one of the far guard towers and watched the Lyonese caravan arrive, careful not to be seen as the covered coaches rolled into the courtyard. She had seen the Arravan flags raised and the banners had caught in the sun, blue and black and silver. Her family had stood in wait, dressed in their finest to greet Bharjah’s children and their small entourage.

Armistad had first introduced the Prince Trey-Jak Joaquin and a tall man dressed in black that Darry assumed was his councilor. She had heard Jacob comment that he was a Lord of the Fakir and he looked the part, pale and lean and cold, even from a distance. The Fakir were extinct in Arravan, but the cult members had never been known for their warmth no matter where they hailed from.

The Princess Jessa-Sirrah had stepped from her coach with the help of her brother’s hand and Darry had leaned close against the stones of the window ledge, trying to see her properly. All that Darry could determine, though, was that her hair was black and lustrous and the sari she wore was a blood crimson that caught fire in the sun upon her shapely figure. She had been followed by a servant, a small woman dressed in blacks and fringe, holding the silk drape that trailed behind her mistress.

The Princess Jessa-Sirrah had been introduced then, bowing low in proper etiquette and only touching hands with the women. Darry’s mother and her sister Emmalyn broke from the greeting line to flank her, taking possession of her almost at once, and Prince Joaquin looked somewhat startled as she was led away from his authority.

Darry had not stayed to watch the men in the courtyard. Instead she drifted down the shadowed stairs, then moved through several back corridors and a secret tunnel that led to the eastern arch. She and Bentley were supposed to be in the city of Kenton, having claimed an assignment to avoid the formal greeting and the fanfare of the welcoming banquet that would begin when the sun set. She would catch all seven hells for her absence, but she preferred that to being trapped beneath the insufferable weight of courtly etiquette.

She and Bentley had finished their duty quickly and returned at once, determined to hide in Lokey until the furor died down at the arrival of the royal guests from Lyoness. It was a good trick and they knew it well, stealing their liberty from under the nose of their Commander, Grissom Longshanks, one of the most hardened veterans the Kingsmen had ever known.

“Do you think he’ll marry her?” Bentley asked.

“Arravan and Lyoness have been enemies for almost three hundred years,” Darry said, thinking aloud. “When we last went to war over the Lowlands, King Bharjah himself killed my uncle, or so it’s said. He killed the future King of Arravan. Thousands of men died and nothing was gained, and the throne went to my father.

“A skirmish here and there, a minor advance to test the strength of our defenses at the Gap, but nothing to indicate more. So why the overture toward Malcolm when Bharjah knows that my father will make any final decision? He extended the proposal to Malcolm for a reason. To put the idea out there and let Mal stew upon the repercussions, to let him wonder and spin his own webs. I have no doubt that Mal has known of this for half a year or more.”

“Without telling your father?”

“To have direct contact with Bharjah or his envoy without my father’s interference? Malcolm would be drooling at the prospect. Though my father knew nothing about it until after Mal sent his response. He pissed on his boots with that, but Mal’s always had a good aim, yes?”

“Because your father would’ve knocked him in the head otherwise.”

Darry smiled. “Maybe. Yet the past month has been spent preparing for their arrival. A few council meetings after the fact and my father gives his consent to the visit?” She still did not understand. “He might’ve ordered the Western Army to turn them back. What harm would that have done? My father hates Bharjah and Bharjah hates him. If that gave insult what would it matter? Would Bharjah ride to war for that?”

“Would he?”

“No,” Darry said. “No doubt he was shocked in the first place that his offer was even considered, much less accepted.”

“And they were not turned back.”

“Precisely. There’s something much deeper going on here. Jacob and my father have been behind closed doors for hours.”

Bentley knew that Jacob was considered an expert on Lyoness, and it was rumored that he controlled a network of spies it had taken him years to install across the unfriendly border to the west, the information they supplied second to none.

“Jacob knows something, and that knowledge somehow intrigues my father. It’s all I can think of that would make him willing to even consider this entire thing. And whatever Jacob knows you can be sure that Malcolm knows it as well, and perhaps even before Jacob did. It’s what spurred him into accepting Bharjah’s proposal.

“Obviously Malcolm thinks this gamble with Bharjah’s daughter is a good one. She’ll stay here for weeks before they’re allowed to be alone together, and months before the word
marriage
is officially spoken. He’s buying time.”