A Man Betrayed (71 page)

As he made his way
across the room, he tried to catch Melli's eye, but she purposely avoided him.
He wondered if she realized how much the duke underestimated her.

The second the
door was closed, Melli turned to the duke. "So you are hoping to marry me
quickly?" She strode into the middle of the room, centering herself on the
green and scarlet rug that rested idly against the stone. As always when she
was nervous, her instincts were to go on the attack. The duke put his glass
down and stepped toward her. Melli had turned the rug into her own territory
and she did not want him intruding upon it. She raised her hand. "Come no
further, Your Grace. Lest you bring the truth in your wake."

He did not seem
pleased, but he stayed where he was. "Do not let what Tawl spoke of
concern you," he said, his voice edged with impatience. "I had
planned to marry you quickly before today." His gray eyes met hers without
blinking. He stood straight, his sword ran gleaming along his side. His deep
blue cloak cast a cold hue upon a face already lacking in blood. "I see no
reason to change my design."

Melli felt afraid.
For the first time since she had met him, she realized how powerful he was. On
his word armies would move. All along she had known what he was, but until now
she had not seen the force behind the man. She got the distinct feeling he
would marry her now, even if he had to drag her unwilling and unconscious body
to the altar.

It was time to
tell him who she was. For too long she had put it off: this was the fifth day
she had spent in the palace since returning from the lodge, and now,
perversely, when she felt at her weakest, it seemed the right moment to do it.
Determined to be in control of the situation, Melli made the duke wait whilst
she retrieved her wine from the chest. With slowness just short of insolence,
she made her way back to the center of the rug. Curbing her desire to down the
wine in one swallow, she took a single, taunting sip. "What would give you
reason to change your design?"

The duke's face
was unreadable. His hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. "When you
come to know me better, Melliandra, you will learn that I am not the sort of
man who enjoys playing games. Now speak your piece before I lose my
temper."

This was not the
cue Melli was hoping for, but she had a lifetime of experience dealing with
people quick to angerthat was the one defining trait of the Maybor men-and she
refused to let him intimidate her. "Very well," she said. "Let
me tell you this: I am not who you think I am."

Was that a smile
that flitted across the duke's face? Just as quickly it was gone. "Go
on," he said.

"My father is
not Lord Luff, and I am nobody's illegitimate daughter." As she spoke,
Melli was aware of a measure of pride entering into her voice. "My family
holds power in the kingdoms second only to Kylock. My father is Maybor, Lord of
the Eastlands."

She didn't know
what reaction to expect from the duke disbelief, disappointment, rage-but she
had expected
something.
However, the duke remained composed, even to the
point of pausing to take a drink from his glass. Wiping his lips with his fist,
he said, "And how did you end up here?"

Melli had already
prepared her story.-"I had an argument with my father and I ran away from
home. I had just seen the error of my ways, and was about to return to the
court, when I was kidnapped by Fiscel the flesh-trader." Her words sounded
a little stilted, so she added with venom, "What does it matter to you,
anyway? You are not my keeper."

"But I am the
man you agreed to marry."

The duke turned
his back on her. Melli seized the opportunity to take a hearty gulp of wine.
She was amazed the duke was taking the news so calmly.

Spinning round to
face her, he said, "I cannot say that what you have disclosed surprises
me. All the time I have known you, I have never once seen a sign of the humility
that is so often the birthright of the illegitimate. Instead, I see a woman who
is used to wealth and power. I do not doubt that you are Maybor's
daughter."

"And does it
affect your opinion of me?"

"No. I asked
you to marry me-not your family."

"Are you
angry?"

"No. You lied
to protect your family's good name, and later you were trapped by that lie. I
hope one day to inspire such magnificent devotion:"

Melli could hardly
believe what she was hearing. The duke was actually making excuses for her! And
noble ones, at that. There was only one possible explanation: he must truly
love her.

The duke came
toward her and this time Melli let him set foot on her rug. He took the glass
from her hand and threw it toward the grate, where it smashed loudly, sending
wine and splinters spilling onto the stone. Clasping hold of her hand, he bent
down on one knee. "Listen to me, Melliandra," he said. "I want
you, and only you. I make no decisions lightly and it would take more than a
few falsehoods to make me change my mind. My first wife and I were betrothed at
birth, so you are the only woman I have ever asked to marry me. And now that
you have agreed, I am anxious that the wedding be soon." He looked her
straight in the eye. "I may be a forgiving man, but I am not a patient
one."

Melli was
experiencing a confusion of emotions: pleasure, pride, astonishment. Nothing
the duke had done impressed her more than the casual way he dismissed her
family as unimportant. It made no difference to him whether she was rich or
poor, highborn or illegitimate. This man, who wielded power as casually as
others wielded blades, wanted her for his wife. She came and knelt beside him.
Raising his hand to her lips, she said, "I will marry you as soon as you
wish."

Taking her in his
arms, he kissed her full on the mouth. His lips were devoid of softness, and
she found herself pressing against the hardness of his teeth. Abruptly, he
pulled away.

"I must go.
Arrangements need to be made. I think we will announce our marriage at the
Feast of First Sowing." Standing up, he began to pace the room. "Then
with the Church's blessing we can be married within a month."

Melli stayed where
she was, his saliva slowly drying on her lips. She was disappointed that he had
left her side. Something inside of her had been stirred by his nearness and she
felt cheated by his withdrawal.

"I will send
Bailor to you," he said. "You and he can make whatever arrangement
you wish-clothes, jewels, settlements. I will leave that all to you."

"Can I inform
my family?"

Again, another
smile. "I don't think that's necessary just yet."

"Am I now
free to move about the palace as I please?"

"No. Until
the announcement has been made you will see only Bailor, Tawl, your maid, and
myself." Perhaps realizing he had spoken harshly, he added, "You must
be patient a little longer, my love. Things will be different after First
Sowing."

Melli ran her
fingers along the weft of the rug. From a distance the design had looked like
flowers, yet now, looking closely, she saw that they weren't flowers at all,
rather cleverly woven chains.

"Keep me
locked up here too long," she said, "and you run the risk that I
might escape." There was little jest in her words. Somehow, from a moment
of pure elation, things had rapidly slid backward into doubt. Why did he insist
on keeping her away from his court? And why did he want to marry her so
quickly? She believed that he loved her, but he seemed too calculating a man to
be swept away by adolescent eagerness. Indeed, the manner in which he was
pacing around the room whilst thinking out loud gave the impression he was
planning a military campaign, not a wedding.

"I promise
you won't have to wait much longer," he said, coming toward her for what
she knew would be a farewell kiss.

"Tell me
something before you go," she said. "Will the fact that Fm from the
kingdoms have any effect on the marriage between your daughter and
Kylock?"

The duke gave her
a long, appraising look. "The marriage will go ahead as planned."

That was not what
she asked, and he knew it. Before she could challenge him further, he was
opening the door. "I must go. I have a meeting to attend. Tomorrow I will
arrange to have Bailor take you to the treasury and you can choose a
ring." He bowed formally and then left the room.

Melli fell
backward onto the rug. The meeting had left her dissatisfied. She suspected
that she had been expertly manipulated, yet she couldn't put her finger on
exactly how.

After all, the
duke had forgiven her for all her lies and obviously did not care whether she
was a noblewoman or a bastard. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. She was
probably reading too much into everything. The duke loved her, he wanted to
marry her, and if he had to wed her sooner for political reasons, then that was
hardly an unforgivable sin. She could not blame him for acting like the leader
he was.

Crossing over to
the bed, she felt something warm and sticky trickle down the back of her arm.
Reaching up to touch it, she knew what it was before she saw it: blood. She had
cut herself on a sliver of glass.

Baralis knew it
was unwise to take even a half measure of his painkilling drug, but he took it
all the same. He had a meeting with the duke-his first in several weeks-and he
needed to be clear-headed. Of late the scar ringing his chest had troubled him
greatly, and he had now reached the point where pain clouded judgment every bit
as much as drugs.

The bitter taste
suited both his palate and his mood, and he swallowed the powder dry. Things
were not going well. The duke had been avoiding him for too long, canceling
meetings, running off to his hunting lodge in the mountains, and declining all
requests for an audience. Delay tactics. The man did not want to be pinned down
on a date for the wedding of Kylock and Catherine. Now, with events coming to a
head in Halcus, and Kylock busy striking side deals with the knighthood, it
looked likely that the duke might back out of the match altogether. Or at least
try to.

Baralis idly
stroked the fur of Maybor's dog. She was his creature now. She lay by his feet
luxuriating in the warmth of the fire, snoring faintly and smelling of her last
meal. Crope liked to spoil her, giving her the tenderest sweetmeats and the
bloodiest livers, warming them first between his hands until they were the
temperature of living flesh. Baralis smiled to himself. He might control the
dog's will, but her heart and her stomach belonged to Crope.

He knew it was
time to leave-the duke would not like to be kept waiting-but he felt
disinclined to rush to His Grace's summons like a paid lackey, or an
overzealous merchant. It was time the duke realized that the king's chancellor
was not a man to be toyed with. Besides, he felt weary to the bone. He had just
come from talking to the duke's handler, and at first the man had been
unwilling to admit that he had read the message which came tied to the bird.
The compulsion which followed, whilst successfully loosening the handler's
tongue, had drained Baralis of all his strength.

It was worth it,
though. He now knew exactly what Kylock was up to with Tyren. The only problem
was that so did the duke. That was what made Baralis nervous: the summons to
the meeting had come only hours after the eagle had landed.

An ensorcelled
bird was like a woman who wore too much fragrance: her arrival could be sensed
before she was seen, and her presence lingered long after she was gone. Baralis
knew the moment the eagle touched down in the palace dovecote. He waited an
hour to allow time for the message to be passed on, and then he paid the
handler a visit. Normally he wouldn't bother with such petty investigations,
but ever since the day in the courtyard, when he had experienced an extreme
sensation of foreboding, he was reluctant to let even the smallest incident go
unquestioned.

Something was not
going to plan. Every stretch of scarred flesh on his body pulled and tingled a
warning. The only thing he knew for certain was that a girl was involved.

Lam had told him
that much. His own vision had confirmed who it was. Baralis began to massage
his pained hands. He could think of no reason why the dark and lovely
Melliandra would be a threat to him. She was a disgraced runaway, nothing more.
It made no sense.

Even without a
prophecy on his back, he knew that events did not bode well. Kylock was
bringing the Halcus to their knees. That one simple fact was sending shock
waves to the four corners of the Known Lands. All eyes were turned to the north
and there was now no mistaking what they saw: an empire in the making. There
was little doubt in Baralis' mind that the duke was currently planning ways to
limit Bren's involvement. After reading Kylock's letter of this morning, his
need was more pressing than ever.

Baralis stood up.
The dog went to follow him, but he waved her back down. Things would have been
different if only Kylock had waited to show his teeth. The boy was turning out
to be a military genius-winning a war that had long gone stagnant-but he had
acted too soon. The marriage should have been consummated before as much as a
single soldier crossed the River Nestor. If
he
had been in the kingdoms,
not stuck here in Bren waiting upon a duke conspicuous by his absence, he could
have controlled the pace and order of events. The new king might have talent on
the battlefield, but he was too young and inexperienced for the subtleties of
politics.

As Baralis made
his way along the tall stone corridors to the duke's chambers, his step was
heavy. He could not guess why the Hawk had called the meeting, but he was
shrewd enough to know that the man was up to no good.

He was greeted by
a guard who was expecting him. Shown through to a private staircase, he climbed
up the short flight of stairs toward a heavy bronze door.