Shadow Over Kiriath (62 page)

Seeing the open panel, Abramm had raised the alarm and a search had been instituted. It was then he realized why the man had seemed so familiar. The small stature had put him off, but the white-blond hair and pale blue eyes were definitely those of his brother Gillard.

Maddie wasn’t so sure. “Do you really think
Gillard
would scramble away like that when all you’d done was knock the blade from his hand?”

“I don’t know. He seemed hurt. . . .”

Although how Abramm could have hurt him that badly was another unanswered question. And when the search turned up empty, he wondered if he’d only imagined the similarities. He’d seen the man for less than a heartbeat, after all, his attention focused more on the blade and hands than the face.

In any case, the panel had been boarded back up and remained securely closed. There had been no repeat of that bizarre attack tonight. Only his own jittery nerves, uneasy with the prospect of having his small sons paraded through a crowd in which it was far too easy for his enemies to hide.

Because Maddie was in the room, the doors to the bedchamber were all closed, signaling Haldon and the others that it was not all right to come in. Thus Abramm dressed himself in the riding breeches, shirt, and leather jerkin Haldon had set out last night. He’d just pulled on his boots and was swirling his cloak around his shoulders when Maddie spoke to him from the bed:

“You going out riding?”

“Yes, love.”

“And you’ll stop by the nursery before?”

“I’m on my way there now.” The boys always wakened at the crack of dawn, and if he didn’t see them now they would be napping by the time he returned. “I’ll tell Pansy to bring them down to the stables once they’ve eaten. I know Simon will want to try out his new steed before he has to get ready for the parade.”

Maddie smiled at him from her nest of pillows and comforters, her fawncolored hair spread out around her in a most becoming way. “Maybe I’ll come down later, then, too.”

He stepped to the bed and bent down to give her a lingering kiss, during which he seriously reconsidered his plans for the morning—until she broke it off. Sliding her hand from the back of his neck to the front of his chest, she pushed him away. “Go see your horse and your sons, sir, or we’ll be here all day. Then what would people say?”

“I thought we didn’t care what people said.”

“I’ll see you down at the stables later,” she replied, turning onto her side and pulling the covers up over her shoulder.

Grinning to think of what had happened the
last
time they’d agreed to meet at the stables later, he picked up his gloves from the sideboard and left.

Byron Blackwell intercepted him on the way to the nursery, already up and energized to face the day. It would be a full one for him with the parade and the other festivities associated with the opening of the Spring Fair. His biggest concern, though, was the Terstans, who in Springerlan outnumbered Mataians two to one and had little toleration for their heretical ways. “The group over in Middlerise is complaining bitterly about it all, especially this consecration ceremony coming up,” he said as they walked together down the long west-wing hall. “There’s talk of staging a protest.”

Abramm sighed resignedly. “Middlerise is Nott’s group, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I’m going to have to talk to him about that. Maybe I can get Carissa to do it . . . he’d take it better from her than me.”

“I don’t think the princess would be a wise choice for that, sir.”

“Why’s that?”

Byron looked uncomfortable. “That was another thing I was going to tell you . . . but I’m struggling to find the words, frankly. Plus I know how much you hate gossip.”

Abramm frowned at him.

“Forget it, sir. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Then why did you?”

“The tale’s been pervasive, especially after her not showing up yesterday. I thought you ought to know.”

“Well, I plan to visit her in the next day or so and find out for myself.”

“Of course, sir.” He paused, then took off on a new tack. “A dispatch rider came in early this morning from Simon. He’s confirmed the reports of those raids and added a new one. At least four settlements have been razed so far, three in Amberton, the fourth at Archer’s Vale. That’s a small settlement on—”

“On the border of Amberton and Northille. Yes, I’m familiar with the area.”

“That’s right. You served your Mataian novitiate up there. Anyway, that’s the farthest south they’ve come so far. . . . Simon’s out rounding up the perpetrators. He seems to think Rennalf may be personally involved—I guess there were some survivors at Archer’s Vale—but if that’s true, he could be back in Balmark already. Assuming they’re making use of the corridors.”

“Just so long as it’s not an army yet.”

“You might want to go up there before too long, sir.”

Abramm frowned, surprised by the degree of aversion he felt to that notion. To have to leave his boys again—and Maddie!—so soon after he’d arrived . . . The thought just about killed him. “Maybe in a couple months,” he said. “I know Simon’s taken account of the corridors’ existence—we discussed it at length before I left for Elpis. And he’s got Ethan with him, who’s gotten as good at destroying the things as I am. I’ll give them the chance to put their plans into action before I go running up there.”

“Very good, sir.”

“But you’d better let Trap know. It’s on his holding, after all.”

“I’ll see it’s done, sir.”

They walked in silence for a few steps, slowing as they reached the mouth of the corridor leading to the princes’ nursery. There Abramm stopped and turned to his secretary. “Tell me the rumor.”

“What?”

“This rumor regarding Carissa you thought I should know about.”

Light flashed off Blackwell’s spectacles. He seemed startled and, for a moment, strangely pleased. “Well, sir, they’re saying she’s lying in.”

Abramm blinked. “Lying in? You mean . . . like with child?”

“Yes, sir.”

And now Abramm snorted.
Why does the gossip always go in that direction? I should have guessed
. “Ridiculous! She’s probably just put on a bit of weight. And you know how she keeps having those paranoid, melancholic spells.”

“Yes, sir. My thoughts, as well. I just thought you should know the gossip so you wouldn’t be too surprised when you heard it. As you’re bound to sooner or later.”

“Who do they say is the father?”

Byron hesitated, looked down at the folio in his hand. “They’re saying it’s the Duke of Northille, sir.”

“Trap?!” Abramm laughed outright. “Now I know the tale’s untrue. If there’s one man I can trust, it’s Trap.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m going now to spend a few minutes with the boys. Summon the members of my privy council to meet at eight this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Abramm left him then, still chuckling at the absurdity of the idea that Carissa could possibly be pregnant and Trap be the father. . . .

But then, you didn’t suspect Arik Foxton, either.

This is different. I know Trap. I didn’t know Foxton. At least they’re not saying it’s Oswain Nott, though in some ways that would be even more impossible to believe
.

He definitely had to pay his sister a visit as soon as possible. She probably had no idea what her reclusiveness was breeding.

After sending a messenger to summon Trap, he spent a happy half hour with his sons in their nursery—though he was a little dismayed by Ian’s continued clinginess—and was just leaving for the stable when a servant came to tell him that Duke Eltrap was not at his residence and no one knew where he was.

“Some say he’s been staying at the Princess Carissa’s home, though, sir. Would you like me to try there?”

Abramm scowled. “No. I’ll go myself. And put an end to all this. Have Warbanner brought up to the front entrance.”

Carissa’s house—fenced in iron and brick with a grand circular drive to the front door—stood on a large parcel of wooded land at the upper end of the Middlerise section. The servants saw Abramm coming, and by the time he’d dismounted, the door was already open. As he stepped into the spacious foyer beyond, and the doorman took his cloak and gloves, Trap strode in from the kitchen, dressed in breeches, blouse, and sleeveless jerkin, an apple in his hand. He stopped at the sight of Abramm, his face white beneath its freckles and the trim red beard. For a moment they stood there, staring at one another.

Then Abramm said, “What are you doing here, Trap?”

The Duke of Northille swallowed the bite of apple he had been chewing, handed the half-eaten fruit to one of the servants, and strode forward, indicating Abramm should precede him into the drawing room.

“Have you already eaten, sir? Would you like some tea?”

“I ate with my boys, and I would like some answers right about now.”

“Of course.” Trap shut the drawing-room doors, having excluded all the servants save Cooper, then turned to Abramm with a grim look. “Rennalf’s come back,” he said without preamble. “More than once. She asked me to stay the nights here after you left in case he visits again.”

Abramm glanced at Felmen Cooper, tall and gray near the door. Cooper nodded.

“Well, I doubt he will,” Abramm said. “He’s busy leading raids up at Archer’s Vale just now. Or at least he was four days ago.”

Trap gave a start of surprise. “Archer’s Vale?”

“A rider came in early this morning. I sent someone to your place with the news and to summon you to a council meeting, but . . . you weren’t there. No wonder the gossip’s been what it has.”

Trap grimaced and looked at the floor, pallor turned to the flush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have told you about this when you first returned.”

“I presume he’s using the corridor again?”

“Yes, but not out of Graymeer’s, so far as we can tell. We’ve searched for three months without success. I suspect it’s somewhere closer, probably in the city.”

“Well, at least he didn’t get her.”

But if he expected Trap’s expression to soften a bit in agreement, he was disappointed. If anything, the stern look hardened. “Actually, he did get her.” He paused, then added in a voice that was no longer steady, “He raped her, Abramm. At least three times, over a period of several years. She doesn’t like to speak of it. Even that much was a chore to drag out of her. I didn’t find out about any of this until right before you left for Elpis.”

His words pummeled Abramm with an almost physical force, shocking him beyond the ability to think, and still they kept coming.

“She made me promise not to tell you. And what could you do? You were all set to leave, the passes would be locked up for months. . . .” He shook his head. “Though believe me I thought many times of trying to find a way up there so I could kill him myself.”

Abramm’s shock gave way to guilt and dismay for all the evil things he’d thought about her. Who wouldn’t have been melancholy after such a visitation? He had no doubt she’d told no one because she’d have been too ashamed.
Ah, Eidon, how could I have failed her so badly?
Too caught up in his own pleasures, reveling in his happy little family while his own sister was being raped by the monster who had once been her husband!

His anger was just beginning to rise when the drawing-room door opened and Carissa stepped in. She wore a dark blue gown of fluid silk whose full skirt draped revealingly over the substantial swelling of her belly. Abramm stared at the bulge numbly, suddenly unable to breathe. Finally he tore his eyes from it and fixed them on her face, where her misery and fear tore at his heart and stoked the anger into a dark, hot current of rage.

“Rennalf did this?” he asked her impassively, surprised at the even tenor of his voice.

She looked at Trap, horrified apparently that he’d already revealed who the father was, though why this should disturb her, Abramm could not guess. Surely she wasn’t happy to be carrying the child of the man she’d begged to be divorced from. A man who’d beaten and scorned her when she was his lawful wife, then sought to drag her back to his fortress as if she were a breeding mare when she’d finally fled him. Who, in the end, had resorted to rape to get his way. While she was living in Springerlan, under her brother’s care. . . .

He pressed the anger and dismay down deep, knowing he could not afford to indulge either. He must remain clearheaded so he could figure his next move.

Carissa had not answered him, still staring fearfully at Trap, and for one awful moment Abramm’s anguish nearly spiraled into the unthinkable.
“They will all betray you. . . .” But not Trap. Not this way
.

“Is the child Rennalf’s?” Abramm asked again, and this time the edge in his voice moved her to speak.

“Yes. But he only did this to provoke you, Abramm. He wants you to go up there and take your vengeance face-to-face.”

“Well, he’s certainly going to get what he wants. Though I would call it something other than vengeance.”

“It’s a trap, Abramm. He is angry about the stone, and about you granting me my freedom from him. . . . He’s planned this for years.”

“Then I suppose we’ll see how good of a planner he is.”

He started past her, then stopped and touched a hand to her face. “It’ll be all right.”

“Abramm, please don’t do this.”

“I have to. And this is not your fault. He promised me he would repay me for taking you back from him. I just didn’t think he would be this . . . cruel.”

The tears that had flooded her eyes now broke at the corners and trailed down her cheeks.

“Go to the palace,” he said. “I want you to stay with Maddie.”

“Oh, Abramm, I’ve pushed her away. She won’t—”

“She’ll understand. And she knows about this.” He touched the hard, round surface of her belly. “More than that, she is strong in the Light. She can help you in ways you won’t begin to guess. And there are others there, as well. Bring Elayne and Cooper with you, and be up there by dusk tonight.”

And when she drew breath to protest, he cut her off, laying his fingers again on her swollen womb. “I don’t know why Eidon has allowed this to befall you, but I do know he is just and wise and has good reason, even if we cannot see it now. I also know that whatever else may be claimed, this child is yours. That makes him a Kalladorne. And he will be raised as such.”