Blood in the Water (23 page)

She opened the door to the entrance hall. “Now, make sure that nobody sees us.”

For a panic-stricken moment, Branca couldn’t recall the incantation. Then she reached for Charoleia’s hand, whispering,
“Fae dar ameneul, sar dar redicorlen.”

Fingers laced together, they walked towards the playhouse’s double door. They had to step sideways time and again to avoid maids carrying dishes of sweetmeats and trays heavy with glasses of wine. Noblemen and -women were slipping away from the entertainment for their own illicit purposes, with eyes only for each other. They wouldn’t have noticed a marching legion, Branca thought wryly.

“
Fae dar ameneul, sar dar redicorlen.”

They reached the floridly carved doors opening onto the steps to the street. Branca took a quick breath of the cold night air.

“
Fae dar ameneul, sar dar redicorlen.”

“I hope those shoes are comfortable.” Charoleia cross-tied her shawl like the humblest peasant. “We’ve a fair amount of walking ahead.”

Branca broke off the incantation. “We’re not taking the carriage to Den Souvrian’s house? What about Trissa?”

Charoleia lifted her hem as she went down the steps. “She’s spending her evening off at an alehouse in the shadow of the law courts. We’ll meet her there.”

Branca balked. “But our baggage?”

“Don’t worry. She’ll have everything you wouldn’t want to lose.” Charoleia chuckled. “There was always every chance we’d have to do a flit.”

Branca followed, murmuring the aetheric enchantment.

“
Fae dar ameneul, sar dar redicorlen.”

Though it seemed these women were perfectly adept at making rapid departures without any magical assistance.

Chapter Sixteen

Litasse

Triolle Castle,

8th of Aft-Autumn

“You’d think he was High King, the way he carries himself.”

From the windows of the music room in the Duchess’s Tower, Litasse watched the Carluse ranks passing through Triolle Castle’s gatehouse. Their horses were groomed, their harness polished, their surcoats quartered in dense black and spotless white. A brazen fanfare echoed around the stone walls as the boar’s head banner snarled.

Beneath it, Duke Garnot’s armour was polished to a mirror shine, the brass embellishing his shoulders as bright as the sun, even as the shadows deepened around the bailey.

“When he’s not even cock of his own dunghill any more,” Litasse added with contempt.

Karn was counting. “He’s riding with a hundred and ten men. Three companies of militia are still trailing after him though. They’ll arrive in three or four days, if they don’t think better of it.”

Litasse sincerely hoped they did. “I wonder what he’ll make of that.”

“You won’t see him acknowledge doubts, or even grief.” Pelletria stood at her shoulder. “Even when his bastard Lord Veblen died, no one saw him shed a tear or voice the least regret at sending the lad into battle.”

“He is an arrogant swine.”

All the same, Litasse couldn’t help a treacherous thought. A little heartlessness might have served Sharlac better than her father’s endless mourning for Jaras. Triolle certainly needed Iruvain to start making some tough decisions.

She watched her husband emerge from the Duke’s Tower and extend his hands as Duke Garnot dismounted. Iruvain gestured towards the Oriel Tower. His meaning was plain: Duke Garnot should take his ease after so long in the saddle.

Duke Garnot shook his head, stripping off his gauntlets. He handed them backwards, confident someone would be there to take them. One attendant obliged as two more stepped forward to remove his surcoat and unbuckle his armour. In buff breeches and a grimy padded tunic, Duke Garnot strode towards the Duke’s Tower. Iruvain hesitated then followed.

Litasse took a deep breath and smoothed her sage gown, the precise shade of Triolle’s green grebe up on the yellow flag. “How do I look?”

“Tired,” Pelletria said frankly. “But we can always blame your grief and fear for your family.”

Litasse nodded. Hamare always said the best lies bordered the truth.

“Karn, go and fetch and carry and overhear whatever you can while his men are being settled. Pelletria, let’s make our honoured guest welcome.”

She was careful not to hurry across the bailey to her husband’s door. Haste would be noticed by Duke Garnot’s spies and she certainly didn’t want to draw his attention in her direction.

“Your Grace.” The man-at-arms attending the Duke’s Tower door clearly had his doubts about admitting her.

“Good day.” Litasse smiled sweetly as Pelletria deftly stepped past to open the door.

She could already hear Duke Garnot’s commanding voice in Iruvain’s audience chamber.

“Their commander is a Soluran with a formidable reputation among the mercenaries. For once, that’s not drunken exaggeration. But I have him tied down. When you and I unite all true-born Lescari, we will crush him.”

Iruvain’s reply was lost as Pelletria opened the door.

“My lord husband.” Litasse curtseyed gracefully. “Your Grace.”

Duke Garnot was by the window. Much of a height with Iruvain, he was similarly muscled from long years of riding and practice with sword and bow. Unlike Iruvain he’d used those skills amid the perils of warfare, not merely for the pleasure of hunting. If his dark hair was threaded with silver and his features were weather-beaten, that only emphasised his experience.

Iruvain’s face twisted like a petulant boy’s. “My lady wife—”

“Your Grace, we are so concerned about Duchess Tadira.” Going swiftly to Iruvain, she tucked her arm through his. “Is there news?” Now he couldn’t shake her off without looking a lout.

“My lady wife continues to hold Carluse Castle as resolutely as ever.” Duke Garnot bowed stiffly.

So he was feeling his years, Litasse noted, after riding so far and so fast.

“I expect Triolle’s aid in relieving my duchess of that onerous duty.” Duke Garnot looked pointedly at Iruvain.

“Naturally.”

Litasse wanted to kick Iruvain. If their situations were reversed, Duke Garnot would screw every possible concession out of Triolle, up to annexing land on their common border, before making the least, most evasive promise that he would later disown.

“What have you mustered by way of an army?” Garnot asked impatiently. “Make no mistake—if we don’t put a stop to these invaders, they’ll overthrow every dukedom!”

Was that fear underneath his urgency?

Litasse nodded, all earnest concern. “We have seen their vile threats.”

Pelletria had shown her some of the broadsheets circulating round Carluse’s markets, the night letters nailed to shrine doors. The lurid ones detailed every brutality visited upon Carluse’s commoners by mercenaries in the duke’s pay. Some hinted at debauches involving Garnot’s heir Lord Ricart.

The more sober publications detailed the high-handed way Duke Garnot wielded his power. They sighed over Duchess Tadira’s arrogance. Not that Carluse suffered worse than any other dukedom. They stressed as much, with illustrative detail. All the dukes had broken their compact with their vassals and the commonalty. Though towns across Ensaimin ruled themselves unburdened by fealty’s yoke, they observed. The honest men and women of Lescar should strive for such a future.

Iruvain squared his shoulders. “We have mustered militia from every district.”

After screwing the broadsheets up and throwing them back in her face, saying he had no time for such nonsense.

Litasse wondered when he’d admit he had hired the mercenaries who’d abandoned Duke Garnot, when they’d offered their service in return for Triolle’s coin. As Karn had said, Iruvain had been too fearful of the havoc the disgruntled companies could wreak to refuse.

“It’s been six days since my lord sent word to Relshaz.” Litasse pressed close to Iruvain, every measure the dutiful wife. “There will be mercenary companies ready to march north as soon as we send a courier dove.”

“Send it today,” Duke Garnot ordered.

Iruvain’s furious gaze accused Litasse. “You—”

As Litasse had gambled, he choked on revealing to Duke Garnot that she’d gone behind his back.

“Curse a cat for stealing milk before you scold a woman’s loose tongue,” the Carluse duke growled. “How many companies have you retained? Foot or mounted? How many archers? We need crossbowmen to bring down those cursed Dalasorian lancers.”

Iruvain found his voice. “That depends how much coin you can contribute to this venture.”

“Coin?” Duke Garnot stared at him. “All the gold we need is safe inside Carluse Castle. In the meantime, we have your silver to call on.”

Litasse felt Iruvain stiffen. He had accused her of belittling his dukedom when she warned against boasting that Triolle’s mines were richer than they’d proved in many long years. Now that crow had come back to peck at his eyes.

Duke Garnot’s thoughts had moved on. “Relshaz is a cursed long way from here and we need to move swiftly. Have the mercenaries take ship to the mouth of the Dyal and barges can bring them upriver after that.”

“The cost will beggar us,” Iruvain protested.

No
, Litasse thought,
it will beggar Triolle. We can’t spend Carluse gold when it’s locked up with Duchess Tadira.

“The cost of miserliness now will be more than you or I wish to pay later.” Garnot’s gaze drifted towards the windows. “This Soluran is as fine a commander as I have ever faced. Even Duke Moncan couldn’t stand against him. Saedrin grant him peace,” he added with insincere haste.

Litasse hid her face in the mossy sleeve of Iruvain’s doublet and hoped Duke Garnot took her grimace for sorrow. She would rather spit in his face. Infuriatingly, though, he was right. Triolle had no hope of standing alone against this Soluran’s army.

“We can pay them something on account and promise richer rewards once the campaign is won,” Iruvain said unwillingly.

“Promise whatever you want,” Duke Garnot said impatiently. “Just get them here to march for Carluse before this Greater Moon turns dark.” He scowled ferociously. “I’ll have no one saying I’ve abandoned my dukedom.”

That latest accusation nailed to shrine doors really goaded him, Litasse saw. She hoped her smile didn’t betray her satisfaction.

“We will have coin to spare once we’ve reclaimed all that these scum looted from Sharlac,” she remarked artlessly.

Iruvain had better make sure her claims came first. She wouldn’t wager a copper cut-piece on Duke Garnot ever settling his debts.

He looked at her, sharply curious. “Do you know where Her Grace your mother is being held? Where your sisters may be?”

“Sadly not,” Litasse lied.

She wasn’t going to tell Garnot, so he could concoct some scheme to snatch one of her sisters to wed his damp-handed, lecherous son. Thankfully, she, Pelletria and Karn were the only ones sharing that secret.

Duke Garnot let that go. “What do you know of Draximal’s muster? Or Parnilesse’s?” he asked Iruvain.

“Draximal has mustered at least five thousand men.” Iruvain’s face cleared. “A thousand mercenaries and four thousand resolute militiamen, as of Lord Cassat’s most recent dispatch.”

Duke Garnot snapped his fingers. “Send a courier and have Lord Cassat ride on ahead of his men. We need to take counsel together before relieving Carluse’s siege.”

Indignation coloured Iruvain’s cheekbones. “Might you be a little less peremptory inside my castle, Your Grace?”

Duke Garnot was unimpressed. “Do you want this Soluran’s army camped at your gates and threatening your lovely wife? What of Parnilesse?”

“Duke Orlin is raising militia.” Iruvain betrayed his own doubts. “But he talks of unrest within his own borders.”

Duke Garnot grunted. “He’ll be facing open revolt if we don’t put a stop to this Soluran. I’ll send a courier to Lord Geferin myself. If that pair don’t send aid for Tadira’s sake, she’ll make sure they regret it,” he added ominously.

Could she prove her brothers had murdered their father? Doubtless, since Litasse had always been convinced she’d shared in the plot.

Duke Garnot was pacing back and forth. “What about Marlier?”

“What about Marlier?” Iruvain retorted.

Garnot halted. “You’ve sent no word?”

“I don’t trust Duke Ferdain.” Iruvain was as sullen as a schoolboy.

“Nor do I,” Duke Garnot spat, “but if I’m going to be whipped, I’ll take five strokes from a nettle rather than one from a thorn stick!”

When had he ever been offered that fabled choice, Litasse wondered contemptuously?

“That ageing whore Ridianne commands more than half the mercenaries camped on Ferdain’s land. You tell him to send them north just as fast as he can!” Garnot thumped the table. “We must crush this Soluran while he’s still intent on Carluse. Victory will be ten times harder if we have to meet him in the field again.”

His face turned ugly. “Tell Ferdain if we don’t relieve Carluse, Marlier will be the next domain ransacked. Then tell him if we do break the villain and Marlier hasn’t helped us, we will march on his castle ourselves to take whatever recompense we think fit!”