Fate's Edge (42 page)

She leaned over to Audrey and whispered, her voice furious. “What are you doing?”

“Sneaking in,” Audrey whispered back.

“Shhh,” the woman said. “Not you.”

The barrette in Audrey’s hair buzzed softly.
“My job,”
Kaldar’s voice whispered.

“Why are the children here?”

“Long story.”

“You dragged the boys into de Braose’s castle. Are you insane?”

“Yes,” Audrey told her. “He is.”

“Such lack of faith,”
Kaldar murmured.

“If anything happens to the children, I’m going to kill you. If I don’t kill you, William will.”

“Empty threats, cousin. You wouldn’t want to make the lovely woman next to you a widow, would you?”

Oh, my God. He did not just say that.

The woman’s eyes got even wider. “You married him?”

“No!”

“Not yet,”
Kaldar murmured.
“Got to go.”

The buzzing died.

The woman stared at her.

“He’s joking,” Audrey said.

The woman nodded with a patient smile. “Kaldar’s like my brother. I’ve known him all my life. I’m twenty-eight, and I’ve never heard him say that he would marry a woman. He views marriage the same way religious men view sacrilege.”

“I’m not marrying him.” Maybe if she grabbed the dark-haired woman and shook her, she’d get her point across. “He’s insane.”

“Wait until Memaw hears of this. She will have an aneurysm from the shock.”

“I’m not marrying Kaldar!”

“Shhh! This dampener only works on quiet voices. How long have you known him?”

“Nine days.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“No!” What kind of a question was that?

The woman slapped her hand to her face. “Oh Gods. He
is
going to marry you.”

“Are all of your family insane?” Audrey told her. “Or just the two of you?”

The woman sighed. “My name is Cerise.”

Cerise, Kaldar’s cousin, Cerise? The cut-a-steel-beam-like-butter Cerise? The Cerise with the husband who was a changeling like Jack? What was his name . . .

“Call me Candra, Lady of In,” Cerise said. “And here comes my husband.”

The dark-haired man with the predatory stare walked through the doors. His eyes flared with the same lethal fire she had seen in Jack’s irises just before he had lost his mind in the church.

Audrey took a step back.

The man closed the distance between them. His face was terrible with fury. He looked like he was about to lose it.

“I know, darling,” Cerise said. “I know. I’m sure he has a reason for bringing the children into this.”

“No, he doesn’t,” the man growled.

William! That was his name.

“He usually—”

“No. I don’t care. I’ll kill him, and we can write his excuse on his tombstone.”

“You can’t,” Cerise said. “He’s getting married.”

The man turned to Audrey. “To you? You don’t look stupid . . .”

“I’m not marrying him,” she said.

“See?” William turned to Cerise. “She doesn’t care.”

“I care,” Cerise said. “This isn’t the time or the place for this. For now we’re going to be civil. This is . . . What’s your name?”

“Audrey.”

“Nice to meet you, Audrey. For now, Audrey will be Lisetta, and she is my friend. She was sick when we disembarked. We don’t know Kaldar, and we don’t know the boys.”

William growled.

“Your eyes are on fire.” Cerise swiped the flower dampener off the rail. It snapped shut.

William pulled a small box out of his pocket and put contact lenses into his eyes. “This changes nothing. Come nightfall, I’ll have his guts.”

“If we live that long.” Cerise smiled and put one hand on his elbow. “Please, William. For me?”

William’s face softened. He took Cerise’s hand and kissed her fingers. He looked at Cerise as if the entire world didn’t exist. That look set off a gnawing ache inside Audrey, an ache that she realized was envy.

Cerise smiled at him and put her other hand on Audrey’s forearm. “And we’re on.”

They headed back to the doors.

“Are you familiar with the Weird at all?” Cerise asked.

“Not enough.”

“That’s all right,” Cerise said. “Just stay close to us. If we get in trouble, we’ll kill everything.”

Somehow, Audrey didn’t find that reassuring.

THE children were natural and relaxed. They chatted with the younger men, George being polite, Jack dropping a laconic “yes” or “no” here and there with that arrogantly bored expression.

He had been incredibly lucky, Kaldar realized. After kicking him in the gut, Fortune had finally presented him with a gift. And in the nick of time, too. Getting into this gathering without the boys would’ve been very difficult, if not impossible.

The ornate double doors swung open, and Morell de Braose entered, shadowed by the butler. Gnome’s photograph didn’t lie. The man was trim, with a cultivated tan and a body honed by constant targeted exercise, and he wore a Weird doublet, a deceptively streamlined but elaborate affair of pale blue, as if he were born to it. A precise blond beard framed his jaw. He walked in with a wide smile, a tiger who was everyone’s best friend. Until he got hungry, that is.

“My lords, my ladies. Welcome! Welcome to my humble abode. I and my staff are at your service. They tell me there are refreshments in the other room. Personally, I think we should take advantage of this beneficial fact before they disappear.”

A few polite laughs fluttered through the gathering, and people began to move through the doors. Morell nodded and smiled as they passed. Kaldar drifted closer, and Morell’s gaze fixed on him. “Master Brossard. A moment?”

“Of course.”

Kaldar lingered.

George glanced in his direction. Kaldar nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the brothers moved with the flow. Morell had noticed it and no doubt filed it away.

A moment later, Cerise and Audrey fluttered by, engaged in some sort of deep conversation. Audrey looked delectable. William brought up the rear, his face dark, looking like he wanted to strangle something. Or rather someone.

“A menacing fellow,” Kaldar murmured.

“He’s a saltlicker,” Morell said. “Born and bred in southern Louisiana. You know what they say about the families on the south coast of the Dukedom.”

“Hot food, hot women, hot temper.” Kaldar permitted himself a narrow smile.

“Indeed.”

The last of the guests passed through the door.

“Will you walk with me?” Morell asked.

“It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

They strolled through the doors and down another hallway. Arches punctured the left wall, showcasing the ground and castle battlements far below. A pair of veeking warriors emerged from the doors behind them and followed, maintaining a short distance.

“So you are employed by Duke Camarine?” Morell asked. The robber baron’s demeanor was perfectly pleasant. And if the conversation stumbled, Kaldar had no doubt Morell’s demeanor would remain pleasant as the two veekings hacked him to small bits at the baron’s feet.

Obvious subterfuge wouldn’t work. The invitation they took from Magdalene had been numbered; he had to operate on the assumption that Morell had checked the invitation and knew it belonged to Magdalene Moonflower. Trying to project an air of innocence would get them killed.

Underneath all that good cheer and polish, Morell was a ruthless sonovabitch. He understood calculated cruelty and consummate professionalism. He would reject innocence, but he would accept a kindred soul.

“I’m employed by the duke’s son,” Kaldar corrected.

“Ah! I see. The Marshal of the Adrianglian Southern Provinces. And the children are his wards?”

“Yes.”

“And you are on a holiday, you say?”

“Indeed, my young lords wished to tour the ‘other’ coast.”

Morell chuckled. “I recall being their age. The world was full of adventure! California holds such excitement for a young man: there are corsairs on the coast, highwaymen on the roads, great magic beasts in the mountains. There are even reports of serpents in our modest lakes. So what are you doing visiting an old bore like me?”

Speak softly . . .
“I must confess to mixing business with pleasure, my lord. As much as I seek to entertain and enrich the minds of my charges, I must heed the commands of their guardians. News of your auctions has spread widely, even to southern Adrianglia.”

Morell frowned. “I had no idea the Marshal was interested in art.”

“The Marshal displays only a passing interest, my lord. His wife, however, is most intrigued by the stories of your magnificent collections.”

Morell’s eyebrows crept up. “Mhm.”

“A man of the Marshal’s stature may not always find it prudent to admit curiosity in acquiring art outside his realm.” Translation: the Marshal can’t be seen buying stolen property on the black market. “Yet he dotes on his wife, who is a woman of a refined taste.”

“I see. And you assist him.”

Kaldar bowed lightly. “I simply do as my master bids. What kind of servant would I be if I couldn’t accomplish a task my lord set before me?”

Morell nodded. “I commend you on your devotion. The invitation you presented to me was issued to Magdalene Moonflower. She hates me. I had sent it in jest to aggravate her.”

And the conversation moved to a narrow bridge over the river of molten lava. “How shortsighted of her,” Kaldar said.

“I’ve made some inquiries. It appears Magdalene had some mishaps and chose to, shall we say, retire instead of being run out of town.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Indeed.” Morell grinned. “Apparently her offices had been broken into in a very quick manner. Her guards were incapacitated, and she herself has been shot. A clean shot too, very professional. No major damage, but shocking to the system, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You are a very efficient man, Master Brossard.”

“I’m simply a tutor.”

“I’m sure you are. The kind of tutor one sends out with two children into the wilderness of California, where most travel in a company of a dozen armed men.”

“Our party does contain a groom,” Kaldar said.

Morell laughed. “I believe we’ll get on splendidly, Master Brossard. Please enjoy the refreshments.”

FOURTEEN

THE refreshments consisted of tiny pieces of things on toast. As they walked to their seats, Audrey stole one from the nearest platter and nibbled on it. Some sort of fish? She and Cerise sat on the chairs. William positioned himself behind them like some grim sentry.

The square room spread before them. Elaborate carvings decorated the walls, cut out of soft, pale stone and sealed with some sort of finish that made them shine. A large silk rug sheathed the floor of brown tile. Three enormous chandeliers dripped crystals in complex cascades, but instead of bulbs, the crystals themselves glowed with gentle radiance. Chairs set against the walls, in groupings of three or four together. A mahogany table in the middle, carved with the Weird’s swirls and flourishes, supported a multitude of trays. Servants in pastel turquoise uniforms circulated through the room, carrying additional platters. Armed men stood by the doorways: the giant veekings, all over seven feet in height, all muscled like bulls, all watching the crowd like wolves looking for an injured sheep. Not one cracked a smile. It was as if Morell had kidnapped the University of Nebraska’s defensive line, put them through Marine Corps boot camp, and given them huge knives to hack people to bits with. To make matters worse, the Texas sharpshooters with their musketeer hats occupied a balcony above. One stray movement, and she’d be down with a bullet in her brain. On the plus side, she would probably never feel death coming.

Cerise leaned toward her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.”

Morell de Braose drifted over to them. He held himself straight, not arrogant, perhaps even friendly, but firm, like a magnanimous king of all he surveyed. The eyes didn’t lie, though. In unguarded moments, his irises were cold. He would kill in an instant with no remorse.

“How is your traveling companion?” Morell asked.

“I’m afraid she’s putting on a brave front for my sake.” Cerise reached over and affectionately squeezed her hand. William gave de Braose an ugly stare. Morell smiled. “Let me know if there is anything I can do to ease your stay. My staff are at your disposal.”

“You are too kind.” Cerise smiled at him.

A servant appeared in the doorway, carrying an ornate box, and made a beeline for Morell.

Morell moved on. His stride tightened. He was walking somewhere with a purpose.

Both she and Cerise watched him.

Morell stopped before George, who nursed a cup of weak wine. “My lord.”

“Baron.”

They both bowed.