Not Really the Prisoner of Zenda (24 page)

And, to be fair, he did. She didn’t know
how
he would have taken on that patrol, but even though she hadn’t thought so at the moment, on reflection she had no doubt that if he had thought that fighting rather than hiding was the better way to protect her from the danger that he thought they represented, it would have been only a matter of moments until he was standing over their dead bodies, and while that frightened her, there was also something thrilling about it, in a way that she couldn’t explain, even to herself, and wouldn’t have considered trying to explain to somebody else.

It would be more, well, interesting with Kethol than it would have been with Forinel, although she was sure that, eventually, under her tutelage, he would develop enough of the political skills to handle most things, with her advice.

That was fine with her.

Let the men handle matters of war and politics, and think that they reigned supreme, and she would be happy to take care of the real work in seeing that the barony remained solvent. If she was right about how much every peasant and his cousin were stealing from the baron — and she had seen how thick the fields were with golden, growing grain — the barony would be rather more than simply solvent.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her, and she carefully folded the needlepoint in her lap as Thirien walked up, and took up a stiff brace.

“Governor Treseen is here, and he begs an audience with you,” he said, formally. “Shall I admit him to the garden, my lady?”

Treseen? She forced herself to rise slowly. Did that mean that there was some word of Kethol?

Was he hurt?

No, please,
no
.

She forced herself to seem calm. Showing panic wouldn’t make things any better, and could easily make them worse. Kethol and the others were a full day’s ride away — even if she could do anything — and what could she do? — there was nothing that could be helped by panic.

“Shall I admit him?” Thirien asked again.

When the garden had been Elanee’s, the baroness had used it as a quiet refuge, and absolutely insisted that nobody enter other than on a true emergency. Leria didn’t really need that herself — her mind was always enough of a private refuge — but it made sense and gave her authority to stake out the same territory that the late baroness had, as a way of establishing herself with the staff, and with the governor, and, for that matter, with Forinel.

“No.” She shook her head. “No, please. I’ll see the governor in the great hall — and would you be so kind as to invite Erenor to join us?”

Treseen might have looked stupid — most men did, and most men were — but he hadn’t survived as long as he had and risen to the position that he had by being utterly brainless, and it would be good to have a reliable witness to their conversation, particularly since she didn’t expect that things would go her way.

For now.

Despite that, she found herself walking too quickly into the Residence through the portico, and forced herself to slow her steps as she walked down the hall to the bath room, taking a few moments to wash her face, change her dress, and brush her hair. Anything for an advantage, her father always said, and while he was usually talking about military campaigns, it applied in more areas than that.

She considered, for just a moment, giving a quick spray from the bottle of rose extract to her hair and breasts, but decided that that would seem too calculated, too planned for a lady just coming out of her garden.

The trick was to seem to glide effortlessly through life, and that sort of seeming — as Erenor would have told her was true for most seemings — took much effort.

But … had
he
been hurt?

Please, no.

She hurried down the hall.

Treseen was sitting in the large wooden chair next to the cold hearth, as though he was seeking to bathe in its coolness, as he would on a cold night enjoy the heat.

He rose at her approach. His face was gritty and sweaty from the ride, and he held himself back as he bowed over her hand without her having to give even the tiniest of sniffs to put him on the defensive.

“Good afternoon, Lady,” he said. “Thank you for receiving me on such short notice — without any notice at all, in fact.” He smiled.

She returned the smile as she let her hand fall, and tried not to show her relief.

He
was safe.

If Treseen had been coming to report that Kethol — that Forinel had been hurt, or worse, he wouldn’t have taken such a light tone. He would have painted a somber expression on his face, and not let her see that he was relieved to now have Miron to deal with, rather than Forinel.

“You’re always welcome here, Governor,” she said. “Once the governance of the barony is given to the baron, I hope you’ll know that you’ll always be welcome in our home in Dereneyl, as well.”

“Yes, yes.” He smiled noncommittally. “I would hope that’s always so.”

She quite deliberately furrowed her brow. “You seem uncomfortable — I hope you won’t embarrass me by telling me you’ve not been offered refreshment.” She was already reaching for the bell rope when a maid appeared bearing a large flagon of beer from the cellar.

“Thirien was kind enough to see that my needs were seen to.” Treseen guzzled it greedily, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I thank you,” he said. “It’s a hot day for riding.”

“Which makes it all the kinder of you to come out and visit me today,” she said.

Where
was
Erenor? She could hardly hold off discussing serious matters forever.

Best to start with the obvious diversion. Besides, an empty headed little noble girl shouldn’t have been bright enough to work things out for herself. “Is there word of the baron? Has he been hurt?” She let the concern that she felt — the silly concern; surely, he was fine — show in her face and voice.

Treseen set down the beer and shook his head. “No, of course not,” he said.

She sighed in relief, and was only a little surprised to find that the relief was genuine.

“You worried me — your sudden appearance, Governor. It made me think that something might have happened to the baron.”

“Then I must apologize for that, as well,” Treseen said. “I’ve not received any word from him, other than a quick message from Baron Nerahan that came along with the Imperial post, complaining about him … borrowing a couple of Nerahan’s engineers.”

“‘Borrowing’?”

“Well,” Treseen said, smiling, “Baron Nerahan was a trifle more blunt about it — he’s gotten awfully testy since occupation was lifted there. I believe the precise phrase he used was ‘something just short of kidnapping,’ although I’m more inclined to attribute problems to that Pirojil, myself. I know that all is well with Baron Keranahan — or, at least, I can swear on my sword that all
was
well with him two days ago. Word of any problem before then would have reached us by now — and Tarnell, at least, would have sent immediate word. No, it’s not that.”

“Then you’ve come out on a hot day to show me the baronial account books?” She smiled. “How nice of you.”

Treseen’s lips made a thin line. “Lady, with respect, I haven’t, and I don’t think that I can or should. The baronial account books are Imperial property. It would be a close matter as to whether the baron himself has any right to see them at this point, and I’ve sent a message to the Imperial proctor asking for guidance on that.

“Beyond that, my former aide left the accounts in a dreadful state, and with Tarnell gone — and let me remind you he went at your and the baron’s insistence, and over my objections — I’m working night and day without any reliable help to try to bring them in order, so that I can at least send the Emperor an honest approximation as to what is owed, and to whom.”

Working night and day to try to hide various thefts and perhaps to replace some stolen money, more likely.

The trick was to keep the pressure on, to let Treseen think that he would have the time to restore what he had stolen, before either the Emperor demanded an accounting — which was always possible — or lifted the occupation, giving Forinel an indisputable right to the accounts.

He would either have to put the money back, or flee. Treseen was too fat, too old, and too used to a comfortable life to run, not if he didn’t have to. Let him squeeze the noble landholders’ estates for the extra, and they would welcome the return of baronial rule as much as they would the lifting of the occupation itself, and —

A breeze blew in from the open door, and swirled dust around the great hall so hard that she had to close her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Erenor stood before her in his gray robes, his hood back, lying over his bony shoulders, his thin, gray hair tied behind him, withered hands clasped in front of him.

“You sent for me, Lady?” he asked.

Erenor could never resist a dramatic entrance, particularly when it suggested that he was more than he was. She knew — and she was sure that Treseen knew — enough about magic to know that changing oneself into a whirlwind was well beyond the scope of a wizard of Erenor’s abilities, and probably beyond the abilities of any wizard in the Eren regions. It was possible, of course, that he had conjured up a small, tame whirlwind, and let it carry him about, and that should have been possible for a wizard who called himself “the Great,” but that also seemed less than likely.

What he had probably done was as simple as generating a seeming of a small whirlwind, and then walking in through the door when their eyes were closed. The lack of grit on her face and clothing suggested that had, indeed, been the case.

“No,” she said. “I don’t recall sending for you.” It would be better if it seemed as though Erenor had barged in on the two of them.

“My mistake, and my apologies, as well.” He arched an eyebrow.

“Then I’ll beg your pardon, and take my leave,” he said, bowing.

“Please, no,” she said. “As long as you’re here, please join us.”

“I would never reject a lady’s invitation,” he said. “I’ll be more than happy to.”

He pulled the bell rope once, then twice, then once again, in the signal for beer for one to be brought to the great hall — and she found herself more than vaguely annoyed that Erenor had already discovered such things — then seated himself next to Treseen and tucked the skirts of his robe around his knees.

“And what shall we talk about on such a lovely afternoon?” he asked.

“Governor Treseen rode out from Dereneyl to tell me that he’s denying me access to the baronial accounts.”

“It’s only for the time being,” Treseen said. “I’m sure I’ll get word from the capital, sooner than later. I’ve sent your … request to the attention of the Emperor himself, and I’ve no doubt that I’ll get a response. If he thinks it’s as important as I’ve told him that you seem to, it will be a fast response — perhaps even by telegraph to Nerahan, and rider from there.”

She doubted that. Why would Treseen make the request sound so urgent that they would use the telegraph? And, besides, doing that meant that the message would have to go through many hands, and it was unlikely that anybody in the capital would want the barony’s financial matters discussed in every town with a telegraph shack between Biemestren and Nerahan.

“No,” he said. “That’s not why I’ve come.” He reached into his tunic and produced a folded paper from his pocket. “I’ve received a request from the Dowager Empress, asking me to convey to you her best regards, and then to convey you to Biemestren, immediately — to attend her, she says, and discuss your wedding.”

Erenor raised an eyebrow. “Discuss? What is there to discuss?”

“She doesn’t say,” Treseen said, flatly. “But the wedding of a baron isn’t an everyday occurrence — I’m sure she wants to be sure that the preparations are in accord with Lady Leria’s preferences, and such.”

Leria was sure that it was nothing of the sort. The most obvious explanation was that Beralyn was going to try to throw her and Thomen together, again. Not that she had anything against the Emperor. He was a good man, charming in his own way, and had a more than gentle way with both horses and people. Too gentle, perhaps, but that didn’t bother her.

Nor was it that she would necessarily prefer to be Baroness Keranahan, rather than Empress Furnael.

But abandoning Kethol and Keranahan? No. That would be disloyal, and Leria set a high stock on loyalty.

It wasn’t just that, and she couldn’t pretend to herself that her motivations were utterly noble. Kethol would never become terribly interested in the details of ruling a barony, and he would leave those to her. She would, in many ways, get to be the baron, something that the lack of a stick between her legs would otherwise have denied her.

But it wasn’t just loyalty, and it wasn’t just greed, either.

There was something about the way that he held her in the night that was more than simply endearing. It wasn’t the mad passion that she had had for the young Forinel, and even that passion had been mixed in her ever-practical mind with the fact that he would become the baron.

Until Elanee had driven him off.

Perhaps she had more in common with Pirojil and Kethol than she had thought. She hated the idea of losing.

So she would not lose, and she had long ago set her mind on marrying Forinel and becoming the baroness of Keranahan, and so she would.

The way that Kethol looked at her with adoring eyes, a look that had nothing to do with her station or her lands, had nothing at all to do with it.

It was important to be practical. And never mind that his arms held her, warm and safe, in the night. Such things shouldn’t be important.

“I hope you won’t mind my company on your journey,” Erenor said.

“I’m sure she won’t,” Treseen said. “Since she won’t have it.”

Erenor blinked. “I think I have to — the baron was quite clear —”

“Clear or not, the Empress has all the wizards she needs, and she has not sent for you. As to the Lady Leria’s safety, I’m sending a full company as her escort, led by my best captain, and they shall travel on interior roads via Barony Adahan. I wouldn’t, after all, want to have the lady have to witness the scene of my men cutting down any bandits that might wish to interfere with her.