Wolfsbane (27 page)

He sent a caress through the tie the death goddess had placed between them, and Aralorn sighed, shifting against him.

He could sever it when he needed to. He’d tell her that after she managed to confess her deed—he couldn’t resist the urge to tease her a little and teach her a lesson about trying to manipulate him as she did the rest of the world.

“If you had known how to find me, you would have come to me when you were told your father had died,” he said softly, and, remembering her face when he’d shown up at Lambshold, he knew it was true. How odd that someone loved
him
. That
Aralorn
loved him.

He pulled her closer and relished the light feeling that had come over him, softening the edge of the inner core of rage that was always with him. He was happy, he thought with some surprise.

If she thought so much of him, it might be worth the risk of the potential for disaster that clung to him through his magic. Maybe—he kissed the top of her head—maybe they could discover a way to control his magic rather than destroy it with his death.

Aralorn awoke early and began planning what was best to do. She didn’t know if Kisrah would take his nighttime visitor’s information at face value or if he could tell that Wolf was Cain by some arcane human magic. Wolf said that he needed Kisrah’s help. There was a chance that Kisrah would attack Wolf the first time he saw him. She couldn’t risk it. She needed to talk to the Archmage first.

She liked Kisrah, but if he reacted badly, she would kill him before he got a chance at Wolf—if she could. She certainly would hate to do something like that in front of witnesses. So she needed a meeting without Wolf and outside of Lambshold.

Aralorn sat up and waited for Wolf to awaken. She wiggled a little. Nothing. She stared at him. Nothing. She reached her hands toward his side.

He rolled over and caught them. “If you tickle me this early in the morning, I’ll see to it that you regret it.”

She laughed. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough,” he growled, completing his roll.

Sometime later, he said, “Now, what was so important that you woke your husband up before the birds?”

He liked that word, she’d noticed, liked being her husband and the formalization of their bonds to each other. Given how hard he’d tried to keep a distance from her from the beginning of their association, she found it unexpectedly touching.

“Wasn’t this enough?” she asked, trying for a sultry tone. It wasn’t a role that she’d ever tried as a spy.

He bit one of her fingers gently. “Yes. So let us go back to sleep.”

She bit him back, harder.

“Ouch,” he said obligingly, but without any real emphasis, so she didn’t feel that she had to apologize.

“That’s what you get for trying to be funny. We need to go talk to Kisrah.”

Wolf grunted, then said, “So, what have you plotted for the poor man?”

Aralorn decided to overlook his attitude. “We’ll need to be careful—don’t you snort at me; I can be cautious when I have to be. I think I will take him on a ride along the trail to Ridane’s temple. Whoever visited him last night told him that you were Cain. I think that until I get a chance to talk to Kisrah, you need to stay out of sight.”

“Ah,” he said. “You meant
I
need to be cautious.”

She grinned. “You’re the one under the death sentence. Is Kisrah still under the influence of Geoffrey’s charisma spell?”

“Probably,” he replied. “If I were my father, I certainly would take no chances as far as Kisrah or any other high-ranking mage was concerned.”

“Can you break it?”

She felt him shrug. “I don’t know, but that was my thought as well.
If
my father is truly dead and can work no more magic, and if he chose to ensure that Kisrah never be a problem as I believe he would have—I might be able to.”

“It would be easier to get his cooperation if he didn’t attack me every time I said something nasty about his predecessor—and I don’t know how else to proceed.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

Aralorn finally found Kisrah in the bier room with her father. He’d arisen earlier than she’d expected, and she’d missed him at breakfast. A few questions to scattered servants had sent her to her father’s bier.

He looked up at the sound the curtain made as she entered and watched her with a hooded glance from his seat on one of the tables meant for gifts and flowers. He looked a bit like a gaudy bouquet in a combination of mauve and emerald that offended even Aralorn’s indifferent sense of style, but the bright array made the little room less somber.

“Lady Aralorn,” he said, acknowledging her entrance after he’d returned her stare for several seconds.

She bent and kissed her father’s slack face, taking a moment to reassure herself that he still lived, before turning back to the Archmage. “I visited the death goddess’s temple yesterday,” she said without preamble.

“I know,” said Kisrah. “Correy told me.”

She toyed with the front of the Lyon’s shirt, straightening it carefully where it had been pulled askew. Finished, she turned to the Archmage. “I owe you my apologies, sir. I have been rude. I know that you have come to help my father, and I’m sorry to be so secretive. My only excuse is that the last few days have been nerve-racking at best, and I’ve been a spy for long enough that questions make me nervous.”

“You sought me out to apologize?” asked the Archmage with a touch of wariness.

Although she noted that he hadn’t accepted her apology, Aralorn smiled and shook her head. “Not primarily, though it needed to be done. There are things that we should speak of, but outside of the keep walls. Would you ride with me?”

Kisrah gazed at the stone floor. “Where is your wolf? I was under the impression that he went everywhere with you.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and added a little bait. “That’s one of the things I need to speak with you about.”

The Archmage leaned back against the wall. When he spoke, it seemed off the topic of discussion. “I fought a campaign against the Darranians with your father once, did you know?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Battles are odd things,” he said in musing tones. “Sometimes it seems as if you do nothing but hack and slash; at other times it seems as if you do nothing at all for weeks at a time. During the former, you learn a lot about your comrades by their actions; during the latter, you learn about them from their speech.”

His gaze rested on the Lyon’s quiet figure. “Your father is ferocious, tireless, and absolutely honorable. But more than that, he is cunning, always thinking—especially in the thick of battle, when everyone else is lost in bloodlust. He taught me a lot about how to judge men, to choose leaders and followers. He knew every man in our group and used them according to their strengths, and he tried to know as much about the men we fought as he did our own.” He reached out and touched the Lyon’s still face. “I learned to love him as much as I ever did my own father—as I expect every man to fight under him felt.”

While he spoke, Aralorn half sat, half leaned against the bier. When he paused to make sure she was listening, she nodded.

“While we waited for battle, we talked, your father and I. He told me something of you. He told me you’d fought with him against brigands here at Lambshold and said he’d rather have had you beside him than any three men. He’d have brought you to fight by his side as he did Falhart if it hadn’t been for his lady wife. He said you were clever, devious, and deadly—said you could outthink and outride any man he had with him, including himself.”

“You have a reason for all this praise, I trust,” said Aralorn.

Kisrah nodded, and a sudden grin lit his face. “Absolutely. First, let me say that I do not accept your apology, as I’m certain that you intended every frustrating minute of our last meeting—and enjoyed it as well. Devious and manipulative, your father said.”

He sobered, and Aralorn thought it might be sadness that crossed his face. “But—despite what I have been told, having the father you do, you could not be without honor and decency. I hope that a productive talk might shed some light on a few things. I think that I, too, have some things to tell you that it were better to talk of outside these walls.” He paused, and continued softly. “You might bring your wolf.”

Aralorn nodded. “I’m sure Wolf will join us at some point in our journey. Father’s got enough animals around here that you shouldn’t have a problem finding a mount: I assume by the speed of your arrival that you chose to translocate yourself—”

She didn’t know why she’d brought that up until she realized she was watching his face for guilt. There was none, of course; he hadn’t realized what Geoffrey had done to her after Kisrah had used his magic to transport her into the ae’Magi’s care.

Instead, Kisrah nodded, with a faint grimace of distaste. “Not my favorite spell, but it was important that I get here as soon as possible.

“You’re a braver man than I am,” murmured Aralorn. “I’ll meet you in the stables. Ask Falhart if you need help finding warm clothing.”

Aralorn had intended to take him only a short distance before stopping to talk, but she hadn’t counted on the wind. It kicked up when they were just out of sight of the keep.

The voices screamed through her ears: screams that brought visions of Geoffrey’s dungeons and dying children, the cries of the Uriah—shambling, rotting things that had once been human but now only hungered. Sheen picked up on her agitation and began snorting and dancing in the snow, mouthing his bit uncertainly as he waited for an ambush to leap from the nearest bush.

Hoping that the wind would settle down, she kept going. At this rate, they’d be at the temple before she could talk. She tried to ignore the wind for as long as she could, but at last she tucked the reins under her knees and tugged a woolen scarf from around her neck and wrapped it tightly around her ears.

“Are you all right?” asked Kisrah.