The Dragon of Despair (22 page)

“No one?”

“No one,” Grand Duchess Rosene repeated with savage satisfaction. “And this is the woman to whom I am to entrust the honor of the House I helped to found.”

“The story was more current,” Lady Aurella went on as if the interruption had not occurred, “years ago when Norvin and Eirene were seeking to wed. When Eirene wed Prince Barden, well, that was both the height of the fury and its end. Most people felt that if King Tedric didn’t care who the father of his future daughter-in-law had been, then the rest of us didn’t have any reason to bother either.”

“Nor do I bother,” Rosene replied haughtily, “except where there is the matter of considering such a scandalous woman as a guardian for my granddaughter. I fought back my doubts last year when you decided to let Elise make a winter visit to House Kestrel, but what happened then…”

She let the words trail off, quite satisfied.

Elise straightened in her chair.

“Well, Grandmother, this is interesting, but old gossip does not alter the obligation I have to His Royal Majesty. Nor,” she hurried on before Rosene could interrupt, “does it alter the obligation I have to my House. I suppose you have told my parents of your thoughts regarding my cousin Deste?”

Grand Duchess Rosene nodded, for once too surprised, or perhaps merely too upset, to reply.

Elise turned to her parents, leaving Rosene out of the matter.

“The grand duchess does have a point,” she said seriously. “I am the sole heir to the Archer Barony. If something happened to me, there would be chaos and scrambling for position. We all saw how that upset the kingdom last year when the issue was who would inherit from King Tedric. I think we owe our tenants the assurance that they will not suffer similar unrest on our account.”

Baron Archer’s nod seemed casual, but he was clearly interested. Elise noticed that the brandy had stopped its restless swirling.

“My hope and dream is to inherit our land and to administer it as I have been trained to do since birth,” Elise went on. “The same sense of responsibility, however, makes me realize how foolish it is to leave me without an heir. I dearly hope the ancestors can do without you, Father, for a long time to come, and I hope that even if they should call you, Mother would continue in her place aiding me as I adjust to my new role.”

This last was a less than subtle jab at Grand Duchess Rosene herself. Rosene had relinquished to her son all practical administrative work within the Archer Grant almost the moment Purcel had died. Rosene had claimed that her grief made her unfit, that her son was more able than she, but Elise had always felt that Rosene’s real reason was that she preferred to be thought of as the king’s sister rather than the baron’s widow.

Baron Archer gave a wry smile.

“I am glad to hear you are not eager to have me join the ancestors,” he said. “I have felt myself dead and buried at times during today’s discussion.”

Grand Duchess Rosene was not enjoying this turn of the conversation at all. Elise had a sudden insight why. All her childhood, Rosene had been an heir in waiting to the royal throne. True, she had been at the end of a long line, but the sense that she was somehow special had been there. As her actions the summer before had shown, any means, no matter how tenuous, to get her blood on the throne was to be seized.

Now here was Elise offering, in effect, to weaken her own claim to her own—admittedly lesser—inheritance. For all the grand duchess’s threats, she clearly had never expected this response. Elise seized hold of her grandmother’s temporary confusion to keep control of the conversation.

“Of course, Aunt Zorana may not like this plan at all,” she said. “If something happened to both you and me, Father, the law would make her Baroness Archer and her children would follow after in turn.”

Ivon nodded.

“However,” he said, “Zorana would be less than perfectly trained for the position. Deste is young enough to be malleable—I hope.”

He grinned at his daughter. “I understand she’s pretty good with a bow, at least.”

Elise answered his grin with one of her own.

“We could promise that no matter what happened, we would dower Deste. Aunt Zorana’s resources are stretched rather thin—even with Purcel’s death.”

“What do you think about Kenre?” Ivon asked.

“From the point of view of teaching him his new duties and responsibilities,” Elise said, “Kenre would be even better than Deste, since he is quite a bit younger, but Aunt Zorana has lost one son. It would be too much to expect her to give up the other.”

“Still,” Ivon said, glancing over at Aurella to gage her reaction, “I believe I will offer Zorana the choice of either child. She may have thoughts we have not considered. After all, she is their mother and knows them best.”

Aurella nodded her agreement. Interestingly, given that she had initiated this discussion, it was Rosene who raised a protest.

“And if Zorana will not agree at all?” she asked, her voice a bit shrill.

“Well,” Ivon replied, “we will have time to discuss the matter, to bring her to our way of seeing things. However, if Zorana cannot be convinced, I am certain I could get the Crown’s permission to adopt from another family. I would simply prefer to keep the land within the blood descendants of Purcel Archer. However, Mother, you have been wise in pointing out how tenuous that line is, especially with both Elise and myself devoted to the service of our monarchs, no matter how dangerous that service may prove to be.”

Rosene sputtered something wordless, but Elise ignored her, rising and embracing each of her parents in turn.

“In any case, Father, Mother, I hope that this safeguard will be unnecessary. No matter what some may think,” and she could not keep her gaze from straying to Rosene, “I will not behave in any fashion that will make the question of my reputation a matter for the gossips. If the scandalmongers talk, well, at least you will have the assurance that there is no truth to the scandal.”

Baron Archer managed to look both stiff and pleased. Lady Aurella reached up and touched Elise lightly on one cheek.

“We knew that already, dear,” she said.

DERIAN WONDERED
at Firekeeper’s silence and evident unhappiness as they journeyed back east. At first he thought she was suffering from homesickness—after all, her visit had been cut short and distorted by the need to deal with the colonists.

When Firekeeper’s moodiness persisted beyond a few days, Derian wondered if she was worried about the colonists. Surely, she couldn’t care so much about the fate of a group of humans. He knew that Firekeeper thought of herself as a wolf so completely that there were times when
he
thought of her as a wolf.

Could it be that memories from her childhood were reawakening? Firekeeper had always claimed to remember nothing other than living as a wolf. Sometimes Derian suspected she remembered more than she even realized. She had acquired a command of Pellish, the language of both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, rather more quickly than even her talent for mimicry could account for. Occasionally, an odd word or gesture hinted at memories buried beneath what she admitted to knowing.

Yet Derian didn’t think the wolf-woman a liar. He didn’t remember much from when he was small, so why should she? If she chose to deny that those memories were there, then what harm did she cause?

Two days after they had crossed the gap through the Iron Mountains and successfully negotiated the worst of the descent, Derian learned that neither homesickness nor concern for the colonists was behind Firekeeper’s bleak mood.

Daylight was fading into evening when she melted out of the brush. Derian had been expecting this. It had become the wolf-woman’s usual custom to arrive and inform him that she had selected a place for him to camp. She often brought something she had caught for his dinner at the same time, or told him that she had already built a sheltered fire and that his meal was cooking under Blind Seer’s watchful gaze. It was a luxury that Derian knew he would miss when he went back to traveling with humans—almost as good as having an inn waiting.

On this evening, Firekeeper walked along with him, chivying the tired mountain horses into new energy, and annoying Roanne. When they arrived at the designated spot, she helped him pitch his tent—an unusual gesture. Usually she sprawled comfortably on the ground, teasing him about his dependence on such things. This evening, however, Derian had the impression that she wanted him quickly settled.

Tonight, his meal was a duck wrapped in clay and baked in the fire. Race Forester had taught Firekeeper the trick—one that eliminated the need for removing the feathers before cooking. She liked things that saved time and effort, and if she was a bit forgetful about spices and tended to ignore flourishes like side dishes Derian wasn’t about to complain. He’d taken to foraging along the trail, filling a small canvas sack with greens or mushrooms that cooked quickly when he made his camp.

Tonight, as always, Firekeeper refused to eat with him. Derian tried not to think about what she did eat and just how long she bothered to cook it. She’d survived for ten years without his nursemaiding. He’d just have to trust her to continue now.

Derian’s impression that something was up increased when Firekeeper hunkered down at the edge of his camp where the firelight would not ruin her night vision, her arm flung around Blind Seer. The wolf’s remaining, despite the nervousness he created among the horses, said louder than words that Firekeeper was tense and needed his support.

Derian didn’t press her, going about the routine of cooking his mushrooms, checking the duck for doneness, heating a few potatoes he’d roasted in last night’s fire, and waiting for her to get around to whatever was troubling her. He’d cracked the mud from around the duck and found the meat well cooked when she finally spoke.

“Fox Hair,” Firekeeper said, and her voice was hoarse, as if she was feeling her way into the words, “I need to tell you something.”

Derian pulled a bit of meat from the duck, sucked on his fingers when he burnt them, and nodded encouragement.

“You don’t mind if I eat while I listen, do you?”

Firekeeper seemed startled by the routine courtesy. Derian had gotten the impression that wolves let very little get in the way of their meals. It was an indication of how very much a wolf she was this evening that she had apparently forgotten that humans were different.

“No, go, eat,” she replied.

She was silent for so long that Derian wondered if she was waiting until he finished before continuing with whatever was so obviously bothering her. Then she spoke:

“Fox Hair, I tell you part of why I need to go from my wolves. Is true part,” she hastened to add, “but only part. Part I not tell you then for I not want you tell Ewen and his people.”

“But you’re telling me now?” Derian clarified.

“Yes.”

He saw her nod, a motion of dark against gathering darkness. It wouldn’t be long before, to his fire-blinded eyes, she and Blind Seer would be nearly invisible. Firekeeper had a way of sitting that hid her bare arms so they didn’t catch the light and her face, of course, was averted.

Firekeeper went on. “I not want you to tell anyone, but I need tell you. If I not make it to king, someone should know.”

“Is it likely,” Derian asked, feeling a sudden thrill of fear, “that you won’t make it back to the capital?”

He sensed her shrug.

“I think I make, but…” She paused as if listening, then went on. “There are those who are not happy with humans and these are less happy with me. The road to Eagle’s Nest is long and I might not come back.”

“And I would?” Derian blurted out.

“Maybe not,” Firekeeper admitted. “But they not angry with you.”

“I think,” Derian said, the greasy savor of the duck suddenly less tasty than it had been a moment before, “that you’d better start at the beginning. Right now, I’m only confused—and scared.”

“Yes,” Firekeeper said with a deep sigh. “I try. Words are so slow and need to march in a narrow line.”

This was not the first indication she’d given that the manner in which the wolves—maybe all the Beasts—spoke was different from human style. Normally, Derian would have probed for more, but this time he remained silent, unwilling to distract Firekeeper from the subject she was circling around, as deliberate yet hesitant as a wolf pack selecting which member of a herd to pursue.

“I tell you,” Firekeeper began again, “that the Beasts are not happy with Ewen and his people, that if Ewen and his not leave, then the Beasts may kill them. What I not tell you is that…”

She stopped again and Derian nearly threw a duck bone at her.

“I not tell you then, but I tell you now and I go to tell King Tedric,” she went on, “that the Beasts maybe not stop with killing Ewen. Some Beasts think that killing all the humans is a good thing, a thing to be done now, that this was a thing that should have been done when the Fire Plague started the hunt, but was not.”

Derian took advantage of her pause to sort through this. He’d heard her refer to the Fire Plague once or twice before and the reference had stayed with him. In both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, the illness that had devastated all the colonies and had sent the Old Country rulers back to their homelands was referred to simply as the Plague. The New Kelvinese, he had learned, called the same event by a phrase that translated roughly as “the Burning Times.”