Blood in the Water (38 page)

Which explained his lowland features and slender build coupled with such fair hair and blue eyes.

“So I understand.” Litasse inclined her head with courteous reserve. In fact she had no notion where the place might be. The man had seen that in her eyes, hadn’t he? She lifted her chin. “You’ve been living in Caladhria of late?”

“Indeed.” Now the wizard withdrew behind courtesy, sweeping a courtly bow. “Your Grace, it is an honour to meet you.”

“What have you been doing in Caladhria?” asked Litasse.

He shrugged with a hint of insolence. “This and that, Your Grace.”

Litasse glanced at Karn, only to see his expression was studiously blank. Very well. He could tell her later.

“Could ‘this’ or ‘that’ have incurred the Archmage’s displeasure?” she demanded of Master Minelas.

“That need not concern you. Let’s discuss what you want me to do.” The wizard smiled as she hesitated. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secrets, just as surely as I keep the secrets of those who retained my services in Caladhria.”

Litasse supposed she would have to accept that. Of course, betraying her would mean he was condemning himself. That should keep his mouth shut.

“You don’t look like a wizard.” She spoke the thought aloud to see how he responded.

“Too young?” He was unperturbed. “No scholar’s stoop beneath a moth-eaten velvet robe? No furrowed brow, eternally creased from pondering elemental mysteries? No soft hands stained with ink and alchemy?” He waggled his fingers, his smile curled with a suggestion of a sneer. Was he mocking her? “You think I should be studying in some windswept tower, far above the mundane appetites of lesser men?”

Scarlet fire flickered suddenly around Minelas’s upraised hand.

“Oh!” Litasse was startled into an involuntary exclamation.

The mage gestured and the licking flames turned to brilliant blue, his fair skin quite unblemished.

“Those content with intellectual rewards are welcome to them. I believe the exceptional skills of the mageborn entitle us to tangible recompense and the bodily comforts they bring. How much do you propose to pay me?”

Litasse rallied. “That depends on what you can do.”

“What do you want?”

He snapped his fingers. Incandescence flew across the room to kindle an unlit lamp. A breeze snatched music from the harpsichord and whirled the sheets around Litasse’s head. Insistent gusts plucked at her skirts till she staggered.

“Would you like your enemies’ tents burned over their heads? Or snatched away by a storm? Would it turn a battle in your favour if their charging horses lost their footing? Or if they were struck by lightning? Would you prefer I merely blinded the beasts?”

The papers fell to the floor in a flash that dazzled Litasse. She rubbed at her eyes but she still couldn’t see. She rubbed harder, to no avail. She turned her panic into fury.

“Enough!”

Litasse’s vision abruptly cleared and she saw Minelas folding his fingers around a sphere of white light.

“I take it that’s eased your doubts.” He smiled contentedly. “Leave me to decide how to secure victory for His Grace of Triolle. I’ll wield something more subtle than fire and lightning as I gather Duke Iruvain has no notion you’ve enlisted me? That suits me very well, and besides, I have no desire to draw the Archmage’s eye this way.” He brushed blue sparks from his hands, ostentatiously fastidious. “You need only concern yourself with paying me. Gold coin,” he added, “none of your lead-tainted silver. Five thousand Tormalin crowns.”

So, unnerving though his magic was, he was as much a mercenary as any of those carrying banners for Triolle. That simplified their dealings.

“That’s a great deal of money,” Litasse observed.

“A fair price for Triolle’s salvation.” He looked at her quizzically. “Would you like me to turn a dish of water into a magic mirror and scry out the enemy’s deployments in advance of your husband’s next battle? Would you like me to lame their lancers’ horses and weaken their archers’ bowstaves?”

“Very well. You’ll be paid when the exiles’ army is finally defeated.”

Smiling serenely, Litasse thought swiftly. Still claiming to be exhausted from his headlong flight back to safety, Iruvain wouldn’t stir outside Triolle’s walls until Parnilesse’s army arrived, and Marlier’s whore with her forces. That gave her a few days to find enough coin to content the wizard for the moment.

The entire sum was out of the question. Iruvain didn’t have that much ready coin in the entire castle. But she could promise the wizard ten thousand crowns from Sharlac’s coffers, to be paid just as soon as he helped reclaim her family’s dominions. And promise that in good faith. She’d pay him, if he did all he claimed he could. What could he do in the meantime? Unravel whatever sorcery defeated the rebels? That bell could hardly be unrung.

Gasping, she clutched at her throat. She was choking. A strangling hand wrapped around her neck. Her fingernails dug into her skin. There was nothing there. Her vision blurred. Blood pounded in her head.

“No.”

She heard Minelas’s warning as Karn took a step towards him. Then the awful pressure yielded and she could breathe again. As she stumbled to the harpsichord stool, blinking away tears, she saw Karn looking warily at the wizard.

“I expect a thousand crowns on account before I lift a finger to help you,” Minelas said calmly.

Litasse nodded, still nauseated.

There were a thousand crowns in Triolle’s coffers. She knew Iruvain had promised the coin to his mercenary captains but she could still show it to the wizard. Getting the coffers away from the castle was his problem. Which he’d doubtless solve with magic. She had to stifle a hysterical giggle. What would Iruvain do, if he unlocked his strongroom to find all his treasure chests empty?

She saw Minelas was waiting for her answer, his expression irritatingly superior.

“Agreed,” she said hoarsely.

Karn would have spoken but an urgent hand rapped on the door.

“Your Grace?” Pelletria hurried in. “Duke Iruvain is on his way.”

“What does he want?” Litasse sprang to her feet.

“To discuss Lord Geferin’s accommodations, supposedly.” Pelletria gestured towards Minelas. “He must not find him here.”

“I’ll hardly betray myself, woman,” Minelas said, scornful.

Pelletria ignored him. “He’s young and handsome and you’ve had no chaperone.”

The wizard was good-looking. That simply hadn’t occurred to Litasse, not when she still ached for Hamare’s loss.

Minelas laughed. “So that’s how the land lies.”

“You know nothing of it.” Litasse turned to Karn. “Take him to the guest chambers in the White Tower.” The White Tower was largely given over to favoured servants and apartments for visitors requiring minimal courtesies but the wizard wouldn’t know that.

“You’ve brought letters for Her Grace from Lord Leysen in Sharlac, if anyone asks,” Pelletria told Minelas. “You don’t know what’s in them. You merely await a reply.”

“Do I indeed?” The wizard looked inclined to argue. Then he nodded. “I’ll be a scholar from Col, returning from Toremal where I’ve enquired into Aldabreshin alchemy.”

His secretive smile irritated Litasse but there was no time for that. She clapped her hands. “Quickly!”

“This way.” Karn led Minelas from the room.

Litasse watched him go. “Did some sneak tell Iruvain he was here?”

Did her husband really think she was some harlot who’d spread her thighs for any handsome stranger?

“He’s no notion you’ve had any visitors but let’s not take risks we don’t have to.” Pelletria began gathering up the fallen sheets of music.

Litasse knelt to help. “Lord Geferin’s not expected for another five days. What does Iruvain really want?”

“I don’t know.” Stiffly, Pelletria stood up. “But there’s something you have to tell him. I’ve had word from some of Master Hamare’s enquiry agents back in Vanam. One of the chief instigators of this exiles’ plot is Duke Secaris of Draximal’s son.”

Litasse didn’t understand. “But Lord Cassat’s dead.”

“There was an elder son, a cripple,” Pelletria said testily, putting the music back on the harpsichord. “We thought he was dead long since. It seems not. He’s been living in Vanam all this while. No one thought him more than some lesser son of a minor noble sent away to die in comfort. But now he’s been stirring up trouble, a few folk have been asking questions. Our man caught wind of it.”

“He started this war? To pursue his claim on the dukedom? Or just for revenge?” Litasse was suddenly furious. “So all these high-minded proclamations about seeking peace and prosperity for Lescar, they’re all lies!”

Her father, her brothers, they had died for
this
?

“He’s one among a handful who set this in motion. Some may truly believe their path leads to a better future.” Pelletria shrugged. “But now Lord Cassat’s dead, Duke Iruvain and Duke Orlin should offer this unknown son his birthright as Draximal’s heir.”

“What will that achieve?” Litasse rose to her feet, brushing angrily at her gown. “Duke Secaris already set him aside, and if he’s crippled, Draximal’s vassals will never accept him.”

“I don’t suppose they will, any more than Duke Secaris would countenance it,” Pelletria agreed. “We need only convince this poor fool he could reclaim the rank he was born to. How will his allies trust him then? How long could such dissent delay the Soluran’s next attack?”

Litasse nodded slowly. “Long enough to see Parnilesse arrive here, and Marlier’s woman and her troops.”

Pelletria’s head turned, quick as a bird. “That’s Duke Iruvain’s step.”

Litasse sat at the harpsichord. Her fingers stumbled over the keys and she tried again, more harmoniously this time. Then Iruvain’s lackey opened the door and she struck another discord.

“You won’t entertain Lord Geferin with that mockery.” The duke scowled. “How long have you been idling up here?”

He wanted to turn every conversation into a quarrel, ever since he’d returned from Tyrle.

“Everything is in hand,” Litasse said meekly. “Lord Geferin will be suitably accommodated in the Oriel Tower. Duke Garnot’s remaining retinue—”

“I want them out of my castle by sunset,” Iruvain said crossly. “Let them go cap in hand to whatever vassal lords care to claim their fealty.”

“I will see to it, my lord.” Litasse folded her hands in her lap. Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened between the two dukes in Tyrle. Iruvain refused to discuss it, only insisting it was the rebels who’d been Garnot’s death.

Karn had said nothing at all, resolutely evading her questions, just as he refused to tell her what she wanted to know about Minelas. Litasse was getting a trifle tired of all this manly secrecy.

Iruvain was crossing the room to look out of the window. “I’ve sent word to Lord Geferin insisting he travel ahead of the main strength. He and I have urgent matters to discuss so he should be here within a day or so. Make ready but don’t waste our time with some tedious banquet.”

He wasn’t just angry, Litasse saw, he was apprehensive, no matter how he tried to hide it.

“Is it the news from Carluse that concerns you?” she ventured.

He rounded on her. “What news?”

“About Duke Secaris’s son?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

He took a step forwards, fists clenching. “There was nothing I could do to save Lord Cassat.”

His face twisted with anguish. Disconcerted, Litasse hastened to explain.

“No, Duke Secaris had another son, a cripple who was sent away to Vanam. He’s one of the men who enlisted this army to attack us.”

“What nonsense is this?” Iruvain stared at her, his colour fading.

Litasse swiftly sought a plausible explanation. “There are serving women in Carluse Castle—”

“Servants’ tittle-tattle,” Iruvain spat with renewed wrath. “Just what Hamare would have me believe? How well has his so-called intelligence served Triolle? When we have exiles and mercenaries overrunning two dukedoms, their heirs and rulers dead!”

“Forgive me, my lord.” Litasse studied the harpsichord’s keys so he couldn’t see the anger in her eyes. How dared Iruvain scorn Hamare, when he’d been the first to suspect the Vanam plot?

“Any number of liars and frauds will lay claim to Sharlac and Carluse.” Iruvain dismissed them all with a gesture. “Doubtless to Draximal as well. It means nothing. When Parnilesse comes, we’ll have the regiments we need to crush this Soluran’s army.” He nodded vehemently. “We’ll see Sharlac and Carluse avenged, and Lord Cassat too. Then we’ll hang these exiles like the felons they are, whoever they may claim to be. They’ll rue the day they ever imagined they could throw down Lescar’s dukes.”

Iruvain’s rhetoric was for his own benefit, not hers. He was afraid. He’d already been beaten once and he feared another whipping. And there was something more, Litasse could hear it in his voice. What might that be? Was it finding himself overruled by Lord Geferin, indebted to Ferdain of Marlier, as he had to turn to them to save his dukedom? His feebleness as Duke of Triolle would be laid bare for all the world to see.

She closed her eyes on stinging tears, of grief for Hamare and of dread she couldn’t explain. She let the teardrops spill down her cheeks. She’d soon realised seeing her cry satisfied Iruvain’s spiteful need to relieve his anxieties.