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Authors: S. L. Farrell

BOOK: A Magic of Dawn
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“You never slept, then?” Jan asked. “You watched her all night?”
Emerin’s blush matched Rhianna’s. “Yes, I slept, my Hïrzg. But I sleep very lightly. Everyone knows that—ask Rhianna. Or better, ask my fellow gardai at the barracks. The slightest noise wakes me, and I never woke last night. Rhianna went to sleep before I did, and she was still asleep this morning when you summoned us here.”
“Indeed,” Jan said. “Then neither of you know anything of this?”
They both shook their heads simultaneously.
“You don’t know anyone who would have wanted Rance dead?”
Again, he received the same response. Jan pursed his lips, staring at Rhianna.
So like her . . .
She would not look at him; she kept her face down, gazing at the floor. Her hands were coupled together as if she were praying, and Emerin’s arm never left her shoulder. “All right, then,” he said. “We will be questioning all the palais staff. Someone must know something. If anything occurs to either of you, no matter how minor, you will immediately tell Commandant cu’Bloch. Is that understood? Paulus, you also.”
Rhianna curtsied again; Emerin gave a salute; Paulus rose slowly from his chair. “You may all go,” he told them. Rhianna and Emerin hurried away; Paulus followed more slowly. Jan glanced back at cu’Bloch.
“Do you know something I don’t, my Hïrzg?” the Commandant asked.
“No,” Jan answered. “It’s just that Rhianna . . . She’s new to the staff, and frankly, Brie doesn’t like her for some reason.” He saw cu’Bloch’s chin lift slightly at that, and his eyes seemed to nearly smile. Jan ignored that. “You know this garda she’s involved with?” Jan asked the man.
“Emerin? Yes. He’s someone I’ve been watching for promotion—a good young man who seems trustworthy. And he’s right, my Hïrzg; he has a reputation as an extremely light sleeper. I believe him. Besides, if the girl was somehow the assassin—and she seems rather young to have that kind of skill—I doubt she would have stayed.”
Elissa didn’t stay. She fled . . .
Jan grunted assent. He looked again at poor Rance’s covered body. “I leave this to you then, Commandant. Interrogate the staff; see if anyone has seen or heard anything that could lead us to the White Stone or the person who hired her—and if that path seems to lead back to Nessantico, tell me immediately. No one here in the palais can rest easily now. We will proceed with our plans to leave for Stag Fall tomorrow; I’ll have Paulus take over Rance’s position for the time being.”
The Commandant saluted as Jan left the bedchamber with a last glance at the bloodstained bed. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Rhianna’s uncanny resemblance to Elissa was more in his head than reality; after all, it had been a decade and a half since he’d last seen Elissa. Would he even recognize her if her saw her now? Did he truly remember what she’d looked like or was he romanticizing the memory he had of her? Perhaps he was only seeing what he wished to see.
Down the corridor, Emerin was talking to Rhianna. She glanced at Jan as he exited Rance’s chambers, looking quickly away when she noticed his attention. It was difficult to tell in the dimness of the servants’ corridor, but the look on her face as she turned . . . it wasn’t the fearful respect he usually saw in his staff’s faces; it was something else, something more wistful and possessive, and he wondered at that as he made his way back to his own apartments, trying to decide how he was going to tell Brie and the children what had happened.
 
Brie ca’Ostheim
 
S
HE FOUND RANCE’S MURDER difficult to process, and even more terrifying when she considered the import: an assassin loose in the palais, a skilled and relentless killer able to find her way into a closed and locked room and kill Jan’s trusted aide and councillor in his sleep.
If the White Stone could do that, then none of them were truly safe. After Jan had told her, Brie had gone immediately to the playroom to make certain the children were unharmed. They’d seen the concern on her face, the tears in her eyes, and she’d explained to them that Rance was dead and that they’d be leaving the palais tomorrow for Stag Fall. She wasn’t certain they really understood.
She hugged Elissa, Kriege, and Caelor fiercely, then gestured to the wet nurse to bring Eria to her. “Matarh, it’s all right,” Kriege told her. “I’ll protect you. Why, if I had Vatarh’s dagger . . . I’ve learned so much already from the arms captain. More than Elissa.”
“Have not,” Elissa retorted. “Why, I know ever so much more, Matarh. The captain says I’m a natural, and he doesn’t say that to Kriege.” She stuck her tongue out in Kriege’s direction.
Brie knew then that they really didn’t understand, that they wouldn’t until Rance’s absence became apparent to them. Brie smiled wanly at them, feeling the dried tears pull at the skin of her face. “Commandant cu’Bloch has put his gardai all around the palais,” she told him. “I think we’re safe enough for now.”
She wasn’t certain she believed that. She knew she would be less certain tonight: in the darkness. She didn’t want to sleep alone. Not tonight. She would ask Jan if he would spend the night with her, and the children also . . .
“Matarh, what’s wrong?” Eria tugged at her tashta, and Brie crouched down next to her, cradling her in her arms, smiling into her inquisitive face.
“You’ll be safe, little one,” she crooned. “I promise.”
There was a knock on the servants’ door and Brie stood up, sucking in her breath. She nodded to the nursemaid, setting Eria down on the floor and reaching under the sash of her tashta for the knife she had there, curling her fingers around the hilt. The nursemaid opened the door; Rhianna entered, carrying a tray. The garda in the corridor outside glanced in, then closed the door again.
“Rhianna,” she said. “It must have been terrible, this morning.”
Rhianna nodded before she answered, almost furtively. “It was, Hïrzgin,” the young woman answered. There were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well, and her manner was distracted and nervous. She placed the tray on the table near Brie’s chair. She wiped her hands on the apron over her plain tashta. “It just doesn’t seem possible. Aide ci’Lawli gave me my chance here and I worked with him so closely, even though I didn’t know him for as long as other people on the staff. I’m shocked and I still expect to hear him calling for me . . .” She took in a long, slow breath. “The Hïrzg said to send wine up for you, and some fruit for the children . . .”
“The Hïrzg?” A quick flash of jealousy surged through Brie, burning for a moment through the grief. Rhianna seemed to sense it. She took a step back and lowered her head, and that made Brie wonder even more.
“Yes, Hïrzgin,” the girl was saying. “I mean, the Hïrzg told Paulus, and Paulus told me . . .”
“Ah.” Brie sniffed. “I see.” The jealousy subsided, allowing the sadness and fear to return with a shiver. “The White Stone . . . Here, in this palais. I simply can’t believe it. The last time . . .”
She stopped. The last time, the White Stone had killed the Hïrzg. She couldn’t say that, afraid that saying it might cause history to repeat itself.
“Please don’t worry, Hïrzgin,” Rhianna said. “You’ve nothing to fear.”
Brie looked at the young woman. The words had sounded so firm, so certain, her face lifting, though now she flushed again, lowering her gaze once more. “I mean,” she continued, “that with all the gardai on alert . . . The White Stone is surely gone by now . . . Paulus thinks she was most likely hired by somebody with a personal grudge . . . The White Stone wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t . . .”
Brie continued to stare at her as Rhianna’s voice faded and went silent. “You should leave the staff gossip and speculations at the door, Rhianna,” she said to her. “It’s been a stressful day, but that doesn’t excuse spreading rumors.”
Rhianna flushed furiously, curtsying at the rebuke. “I apologize, Hïrzgin. I’m sorry.”
Brie waved her silent. “Don’t let it happen again,” she said.
“I won’t, Hïrzgin. Ma’am, Paulus also told me to have your domestiques de chambre and those of the Hïrzg start packing for Stag Fall. With your leave, Hïrzgin, I should go find them and tell them.”
“Yes, certainly,” Brie said. “Go on with you, then.”
Rhianna curtsied again. She turned and hurried away. Brie stared at the door for several breaths after it closed behind her. Then she sighed. “Come, children. Your vatarh has sent up some fruit. Let’s eat, and then perhaps we can have a game of chevaritt . . .”
 
Allesandra ca’Vörl
 
E
RIK ROLLED AWAY FROM HER, leaving her body momentarily chilled. Allesandra reached down and pulled the blanket up over herself. She glanced over at Erik, panting next to her. “Satisfied?” she asked. His body, in the candlelight, was heavy and dark, the light glimmering from the polished flesh of his skull and glinting from the white hairs snagged in his midnight beard.
From above the fireplace at the foot of the bed, Kraljica Marguerite stared down at the lovers from her painting, her expression severe.
Erik groaned and nodded. “By Cénzi, woman, you’re a tigress. A danger to all men. You’ve destroyed me entirely.” His voice was a purr, a low growl, and his eyes regarded her possessively.
She smiled at that. But he didn’t ask her the same question she’d asked him; he never did. She wondered if that would begin to do more than annoy her one day. She wondered if he looked at her, saw her age and the way her breasts sagged and her stomach rounded, and whether he wished he were with someone younger, someone who could give him children. She would never give him that, even if she wanted it; her monthly flow had ended a few years ago. The seed that filled her belly now could do nothing.
But she could offer him things that no younger woman could, that no other woman in the world could. She wondered again if she would make that offer to him.
“Perhaps.”
“Hmm?”
Allesandra laughed, not realizing she’d said the word aloud. “Perhaps you would like some refreshment, my love? I could ring for the servants . . .”
“No, not unless you want something for yourself.” There was silence for a moment; she wondered whether he was falling asleep. “Allesandra?”
“Yes, love?”
“This offer to the Hïrzg. If he accepts it. What then happens with me?”
He was staring at her; she could feel his gaze. She held it in the darkness. “I’ve already told you that when the Holdings are one again, I will make certain that a true Gyula sits on West Magyaria’s throne. You shouldn’t worry yourself.”
“Yet I do. When the Holdings are one again, the Kraljica might not want to cause yet more dissent.”
“You talk of this Kraljica as if she were some other woman.”
His hand stroked her side. “My family has been involved in the politics of the Holdings all my life, by necessity. Forgive me for saying this, but one thing my vatarh always told me was that the promise of a Kralji could not buy a beer in the tavern: even a barkeep knows that the Kralji might decide that the folia is better spent somewhere else, and leave you with the tab.”
“You believe I’m that cold?” she asked, and she knew he could hear the warning in her voice. “You think you mean that little to me?” His hand stroked her arm and found her hand, but she didn’t return the pressure of his fingers. He hurried to answer.

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