The Shadow Within (19 page)

Abramm kept his own responses to a polite minimum, neither admitting nor denying much. He was considering how he might end the conversation when his brother moved on to more recent events.

“I understand you took our young prize Warbanner out for a turn this afternoon. What did you think of him?”

No mention of the ambush, though by now Gillard certainly knew he was one of the prime suspects as its originator. That he would bring it up at all, even obliquely, could only be meant as a challenge.
Yes, brother, I
was
behind
it. So what are you going to do about it?

It was a well-used ploy, the old sword of intimidation that had never let him down where Abramm was concerned. Except now Abramm held that ice-blue gaze unflinchingly and found, as he had found at the Table last night, not fear in his heart, but a deep and fierce desire to challenge Gillard openly, sword to sword, in the ways of their ancestors. For a moment he almost did it. Then sanity reclaimed his thinking, and he recognized his arrogance for what it was. Unless it ended with one of them dead, such a contest would resolve nothing, and Abramm would just as soon leave Gillard in ignorance of his true skills with a blade as long as possible. Besides, Eidon had charged him with offering his brother the hand of peace, not the end of his sword.

Still he had to force himself to smile and play along. “He’s a fine and willing animal.”

Amusement glinted in Gillard’s eyes. “They say he took you on quite a ride, from which it appears you did not escape unscathed.” With cocked brow, he touched his own cheekbone on the same spot where a branch had cut into Abramm’s.

There were times Abramm was convinced his brother could read his mind, so effortlessly did he hone in on the sore spots. That story—started by his own men, which made it even worse—still made him want to howl in frustration. Despite Channon’s praise for how well Abramm sat a horse, the man clearly still believed him inept, still saw him as a scribe and a former Mataian scholastic, not a true horseman, and certainly not a warrior. It would never occur to him Abramm might have run Warbanner at his attackers on purpose. And he probably thought Blackwell had killed all those feyna.

The grooms had indeed smirked upon Abramm’s return, though only when they thought he wasn’t looking, and Blackwell could hardly come to his defense, since any elaboration on what had happened would do far worse than bruise his ego. Thus, he’d had to grit his teeth and bear it. As he did now, glancing as if unconcerned across the gallery. “He runs like the wind, and his gait is smooth as butter.”
And his mouth is more responsive than that of
any horse I’ve ever ridden
.

“He’s fast, all right.” Gillard glanced across the gallery, as well. “A bit too mellow for me, though.”

“You won’t mind, then, that I’ve taken him for my own.”

Of course Gillard minded very much, which became obvious the moment Abramm’s words registered. His nostrils flared, his brows drew down, and immediately he changed the subject. “That was quite a surprise last night, old Rhiad accusing you before us all of wearing a shield. Why do you suppose he did such a thing?” The pale eyes fixed on Abramm closely.

“From what I’ve been told,” said Abramm, “he felt
he
should have been the one to deliver us from the kraggin and so seeks to discredit me. I also understand he is insane.”

“He said you used Terstan power to kill the thing.”

“Well, he was nowhere near us at the time, so I can’t imagine how he’d know, one way or the other.”

“Perhaps he sensed it.”

Abramm cocked a brow. “Because of his deep awareness of things spiritual? Doubtless that was it. That would also explain why none of the other Mataians noticed anything.” He knew Gillard did not believe any such thing and was only trying to rattle him.

His brother shrugged. “I am intrigued that, save for one man now on your payroll, all the others who were on the water with you—the only eyewitnesses— have disappeared.”

Abramm smiled at him and decided he’d had enough. “I’m flattered you find the minutia of my affairs worthy of contemplation. However, I must warn you—” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “If you keep talking to me so pleasantly, everyone will think you’ve become a supporter.”

A slight recoil, a blink of surprise, and the white-blond brows drew down in a frown. But just as Gillard opened his mouth to speak, Abramm said mildly, “Watch your tongue, brother. You must know that I would like nothing better than to lock you in the Chancellor’s Tower for the rest of your life.”

And again Gillard was brought up short, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. He glared at Abramm a moment, then leaned in himself and said in a low voice, “Fortunately Kiriathan law requires
two
witnesses to reach a conviction. Even for the king.”

“And you were ever good at concealing your misdeeds, weren’t you?” Feeling his anger rising, Abramm deliberately caught the eye of Blackwell, who had been watching for just such a sign. As the count started toward them, Gillard scowled, but he managed to restrain himself from making a comeback, and Abramm stepped away, dismissing him. His brother had no choice but to sketch a stiff bow, again no lower than he could get away with, and depart. He stayed half an hour longer, mingling with the guests to prove he was completely at ease, then left for good around ten o’clock, early as these things went, but not early enough for Abramm’s taste.

He was given little time to dwell on the interchange, however, for Blackwell, despite knowing Abramm’s willingness to marry for the sake of the foreign allies he was pursuing, had set himself the mission of introducing the king to every unmarried woman of standing in the court, including the count’s own sister, Leona. All of whom smiled and simpered and batted their eyes in unpleasant reminder that, if not for the treaty considerations, Abramm would be the most sought-after bachelor in the kingdom.

Ironically, the only woman who didn’t make eyes at him turned out to be the Second Daughter of the very king Abramm most wished to ally with. Lady Madeleine, noting his surprise and even alarm when she introduced herself, quickly assured him that as
Second
Daughter she was dedicated to Eidon and would never have to marry for politics. “Or at all, if I choose not to,” she announced prissily. “Certainly I’d not choose a Kiriathan and
never
a king.”

Which was welcome news, indeed, seeing as she was not only the plainest woman in court, but also the most outspoken. She’d proceeded to grill him on his reaction to the song, which by then had become a source of great irritation to him. Irritation he’d expressed freely, unfortunately, right before discovering she was, in addition to being Second Daughter, the official balladeer of her father’s court and the one who’d penned the thing. Worse, she was in Kiriath not as part of the Chesedhan negotiating party but to research and write a ballad of the White Pretender. Seeing as Abramm had recently returned from Esurh and had admitted just today he’d seen the Games, she was certain he would be an excellent source of information. Her eyes were sharp upon him as she said this, and he could only pray Eidon had somehow blinded her to the shock her words produced in him.

Thankfully, Blackwell intervened then, ushering in another young lady for him to meet. Not long after that, when it finally dawned on him that, as king, he could leave whenever he wished, Abramm decided he had had enough.

Somehow Blackwell contrived to be among his escort back to the royal apartments—as he had contrived all night to be the man most often at hand to answer Abramm’s questions or direct him in the next move of his social debut. Now as Captain Channon led them through the palace’s blessedly deserted back corridors, Abramm asked why he’d brought all those ladies by. “You know, I’ll probably marry the Chesedhan princess.”

Blackwell gave him a glance and a slight smile as they turned into a long, darkened corridor. “Don’t worry about that, my lord. The Chesedhans are no more likely to approve your taking their First Daughter to wife than your court would approve her. Treaty or not, that is one thing that
won’t
happen.”

“Then why did they propose it at all?”

“Actually, I believe we did. As a sign of goodwill. You have to be amenable, after all. Offer the right things. No one expects you to go through with them, though.” He flashed Abramm another smile. “Besides, I thought you’d enjoy their company. And there’s no harm in playing the field before the vows are taken.” He snorted softly. “Nor afterward for that matter.”

“The Words forbid such things, Blackwell.”

“Aye. The Words forbid a lot of things that people do all the time. And what would the court be without its romantic liaisons and passionate affairs?”

Abramm frowned at the gleaming marble floor stretched out before him, feeling put off. What he had known with Shettai was something precious and private, even sacred. He couldn’t imagine flinging himself around like a dog with anyone who caught his fancy.

“In any case,” Blackwell went on, “I did have a legitimate reason for my actions. The Harvest Ball is coming up in only three weeks. You’ll need to choose one of those young ladies to escort.”

“But I said just today that I was canceling all that nonsense.”

“No, you said such affairs would be reduced in frequency and lavishness. And, sir, I strongly advise against moving too swiftly on that. You’ll need the peers’ goodwill if you hope to fund the military improvements you envision. The lesser amusements can go for a time, but we’ve been looking forward to the Harvest Ball all year. After what we’ve suffered this summer, taking it away will only make people angry and bitter.” He paused, a sly smile spreading across his sallow features. “And think of all those young ladies who worked so hard to catch your eye tonight. Each hoping desperately to be the one who’ll be dancing the Autumn Suite.”

The Autumn Suite? As king he’d be the one dancing that, wouldn’t he? Right out there in the middle of the ballroom floor, alone with his partner, and all the court watching.
Fire and Torment!
He’d never given thought to this aspect of wearing the crown of Kiriath, and the prospect made him quail. Worse, he’d have to choose among all those desperately hopeful young ladies. He grimaced again. “And my choice, of course, will furnish an abundance of grist for the gossip mill.”

“Unavoidable, I fear. But you
are
expected to go a-courting, sir. Chesedhan or not, you must take a bride soon, for the Crown needs an heir. Unless you want Gillard nipping at your heels for the rest of your life.”

Was
that
why Eidon had told him to work with his brother?

But courting? Siring an heir? Khrell’s Fire! The thought made his stomach sour. He still wasn’t over Shettai, and not one of these women could even come close to replacing her. “Perhaps I’ll choose Lady Madeleine and shock everyone.”

“Lady Madeleine?” Blackwell’s head swiveled sharply, his expression one of incipient alarm. “The Chesedhan Second Daughter? That wouldn’t shock, sir; it would give the whole court apoplexy.”

“Precisely why the notion appeals.”

Blackwell fell silent, clearly trying to discern if Abramm was jesting. After a few steps, Abramm took pity on him. “I meant for the Autumn Suite, Blackwell.”

“Ah.” The count flashed a wan smile, and Abramm recalled that the man’s sister had been among the contenders for his notice this evening.

They had reached the corridor’s end and turned into a new one, shorter and brighter and hung with dark tapestries depicting the conquest of Kiriath. As their footsteps echoed around them, Blackwell said, “Be careful about the Second Daughter, sir. She is . . . quite the busybody and utterly without respect for propriety.”

“I noticed.”

“Or privacy for that matter. More than that . . . she’s frighteningly quickwitted. They say her sister got the beauty and she got the brains. From what I can tell, it’s no understatement. And you know Chesedhans cannot be trusted. She’ll promise you discretion one day and the very next be trumpeting the matter to the world. If you have a secret you want to keep, best stay as far from her as you can.”

“I assure you, Blackwell, it will be my pleasure to do so.”

Blackwell studied him a moment more, then, apparently satisfied of his sincerity, launched into a new subject. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it seems a rift has developed between your uncle and your brother.”

A rift? Between Gillard and Uncle Simon?
“I did see that they came separately tonight.”

“And strictly avoided one another for the duration. Your uncle’s been at Gillard for months to go after the kraggin, but Gillard put him off, saying he’d only get men killed and ships sunk.” Blackwell eyed him thoughtfully.

“Perhaps he was right, if you killed that thing the way I suspect you did.”

Abramm frowned at him and he went on. “In any case, your uncle spent the day checking out your story. And everyone agrees your speech to the Table today echoed things he’s said for years. Many think he favors you now.”

Abramm thought back to his earlier meetings with the man. “He sure didn’t seem disposed toward me that
I
could tell.”

“He’s a Kalladorne. You’re all notoriously hard to read. But he definitely had his eye on you tonight. Of course he’s paranoid about the Mataio taking control of the realm and still isn’t convinced you’re not one of them. If you could persuade him beyond all doubt that you’re not . . . I believe he might be won.”

Uncle Simon? Won this soon?
“But I’ve already done everything I can think of to show people the truth. What else is there?”

Blackwell glanced over his shoulder at the men trailing them, close enough to protect, far enough they couldn’t hear if the words were spoken softly. “There is one other thing.”

At first Abramm could not imagine what he meant. Then it hit him—as obvious as it was unthinkable—and he shook his head. “He’d find
that
truth even more repellent than his Mataian suspicions.”

“There is that risk, of course, though the political advantages, should you succeed, would be profound.” They reached the back stair to the royal apartments then, and Abramm paused as Channon started up. Blackwell glanced again at the trailing armsmen—who’d stopped when the king had—then shrugged. “I simply offer it as something to consider.”