Maledicte (27 page)

A day and a half ’s hard travel and distance from Maledicte’s insolent mouth had not eased his temper; firecracker spurts of rage still flared beneath his outward composure.

He heard the hoofbeats first, drumming toward the stable, hooves spattering the fine gravel of the drive, and he frowned. They should have more care for the tender hooves of his livestock. Even as he thought that, he heard a woman’s voice raised and the horses slowed.

Some minutes later, the front doors opened and two sets of footsteps rang against the marble floor of the foyer. He rose and went into the hall. Janus and Amarantha dallied there, shedding gloves. Amarantha’s cheeks were flushed, and Last thought the heat under her skin due to temper and not exertion, judging so from the rigidity of Janus’s smiling countenance, from the slap of her leather gloves striking the hall table.

“Janus, I must speak with you at once,” he said, in lieu of greeting.

“If you must,” Janus said.

“At once,” Last repeated, irritated anew at Janus’s laconic acknowledgment.

Amarantha said, in a remote tone, “Courtesy is owed to one’s elders.”

Janus’s face went brittle; then he recovered his smile. “Father, have you met Lady Amarantha?” Janus said, drawing her forward. “I believe you well acquainted with her parents.”

“It’s been some time since I’ve last had the pleasure,” the earl said, frustrated in his desire to speak his mind at once. He bowed with careful formality.

Lady Amarantha shrugged out of her riding coat, ignored Janus’s waiting hand, and dropped it over her gloves. She curtsied and held her hand toward Last. “I remember you, of course. Father speaks highly of you. I am most grateful for your hospitality, my lord. This is a lovely and well-ordered estate.”

Last took her hand in his and raised her curled fingers to his mouth, thinking that Lovesy’s daughter had grown into an uncommonly pretty woman. “I hope Janus has been making you welcome.”

“He has done his best,” Amarantha said. “If you will excuse me, I will change.” She nodded again in the earl’s direction before ascending the broad stairs.

“She seems a bit short with you,” Last said, bemusement doing what time had not, cooling his temper. “What have you done?”

“Nothing pleasing, according to her,” Janus said, looking after the retreating tail of her riding habit. “However, I have vowed reform.”

“Yes,” Last said, his brows folding downward again. “Come with me.” He led the way into the study, closing the doors behind them.

“I am at your disposal,” Janus said, sketching a bow, darkening the earl’s frown.

“Perhaps she finds your manner flippant. It is remarkable that Lovesy will even consider a match. Were I you, I would not jeopardize my chances with mannerisms borrowed from a scandalous source.” Last closed the windows, and turned the key of the gas lamp up to push away the resultant dimness.

“Maledicte, you mean,” Janus said, sitting opposite Last’s study desk.

“I do,” Last said, his temper flaring like a wick touched by flame. He took his chair, aware of protesting stiffness in his hips and other joints. Once, the journey from the city to Lastrest took him a day, galloping on horseback. Now, a carriage trip left him stiff and sore.

“This marriage of yours is well thought,” he said, testing Janus’s mood, since the calm face revealed nothing. “Despite the story we have put about, you are nothing but a bastard.”

“And Amarantha is no longer virgin. Which is more scorned by the court? Bastard or slut?” Boredom flashed over his face; he stifled a yawn.

“You will not speak of a lady in that fashion.” The earl continued, “I am not as unquestioning as Aris. To truly convince me of your sincerity to the line of Last, you must end your unsuitable alliance with that creature and eradicate the unfortunate influence he has had on your tongue and manners. Or I will take steps of my own.”

Janus smiled. “Every boy sows his wild oats to the distress of his parents. Actresses, whores, dancers, peasants…scandalous courtiers. I daresay Mal’s attraction will pall; for now, I find too much enjoyment in his company to be rid of him so precipitously. But I will endeavor to convince Lady Amarantha and yourself of my sincerity toward the line of Last.”

“Your creature thinks to set up house here,” the earl said, his tone darkening at the memory.

Janus sighed. “Such a wild mouth on him. He says things merely for effect and to watch people rage. You must have pleased him mightily.”

“Until I took the whip to him,” Last said.

The distant amusement in Janus’s face vanished, then reappeared so quickly that if Last had not been studying Janus closely, he would have missed it. The realization chilled him. His son was not only a stranger, but an able liar. Last was forced to recognize that he could not believe anything Janus said. That phantom blaze in the pale eyes, that hot rage, convinced the earl of one thing: Maledicte, wretched creature that he was, spoke truth. More truth than he had from this stranger sitting across from him. Dread seeped into his bones, quenching his anger with caution.

“Go away,” Last said, rising from his seat. To make too much of the conversation would be to reveal his shock, so he resorted to a simpler anger. “Repair your tongue before you speak with Amarantha again. We will discuss your influences when you are in more of a humor to take this seriously.”

“Sir.” Janus bowed and left the room.

Last sat alone in his study, thinking. Perhaps Maledicte, with his open enmity, was the lesser danger. Resolve tightened his mouth, shook the last trepidation from his mind. Janus would not find his way to the title so easy. Last would insure that.

A folded letter caught his attention; discarded a week ago, now it beckoned him. Dantalion bemoaned that his agent had disappeared and asked counsel. Last had further advice for him now.

Looking up from his work with quill and parchment, he saw Lady Amarantha descend the stairs in a wash of buttery yellow that set off her pale beauty like a diamond set in gold. Rising, Last went to the window, broke off the first scarlet blossom to hand, and met her in the hall.

· 24 ·

W
HAT SAYS
J
ANUS?”
G
ILLY ASKED,
twisting in his seat, testing the sting and pull of healing scabs. He glanced over the emptied plates and soiled silverware to Maledicte, lounging in his chair, boots on the table, letter in hand.

“Stop squirming, you’ll have them open again. And as you were such a baby about their bandaging, I’d prefer not to do it again,” Maledicte said without looking up. His booted feet knocked over his wineglass as he shifted; his brows furrowed as he squinted at the letter, a little beyond the range of candlelight.

“Janus says that all is well, save that Last and Amarantha are trying to drown him in examples of proper etiquette. He asks if I am well, after Last’s assault with the whip—hmm, some misunderstanding there, I see, though perhaps Last has rewritten his memories.”

“I don’t wonder at it,” Gilly said. “There seems to be a good deal of that in the court.” Maledicte shrugged, leaving Gilly to his own dark memories, that he had not gone within ten feet of Mirabile, fearing her nails, her temper, and yet, they all believed her when she spoke against him. He fisted his hands, wishing it were only that her words had the weight of aristocracy behind them, and fearing it was more.

Maledicte continued reading. “He writes that Amarantha is a difficult woman but that Last seems inclined to make the match work, spending time with Amarantha when Janus cannot.” Maledicte reached for his glass, chuffed in disgust when he found it tipped and his fingers wet. He rose and went to the sideboard to pour himself another glassful.

“I don’t like that,” Gilly said.

“No,” Maledicte agreed, concern pinching his features. “Are you going out tonight?”

“I meant to. I’ll stay if you want me.” Gilly reconsidered his visit to Lizette’s. He felt as if he were back in the country, watching his family race to protect their crops from a looming storm.

“And deprive you of your fun? No, if I do that, you’ll make do with Livia, and I’m running low on Harlot’s Friend. I swear you are a worse rake than Vornatti.”

“Quantity makes up for quality,” Gilly said, startled as the words came out of his mouth, unsure of his own meaning. Belated awareness dawned red and hot on his face and neck. He pulled his glass back to him and drank, avoiding Maledicte’s eyes, trying not to let Maledicte see his hunger. Quality, he thought, letting his eyes rest on Maledicte’s pale hands.

Maledicte laughed. “And they think my tongue vicious. If that is the case, by all means, go to your girl.”

“I can stay,” Gilly said.

“Don’t be foolish,” Maledicte said. “Go on, then. She’ll be disappointed, otherwise.”

“Only at the lack of coin,” Gilly said, conscious that he wronged Lizette, but torn between her softness and the odd coziness of being alone with Maledicte.

“You sell yourself short,” Maledicte said. “Those shoulders, that sweet face.”

His gaze raked Gilly from head to toe in a speculative, appreciative fashion and a second flush of embarrassment rushed Gilly’s skin.

Gilly remembered Maledicte bandaging the whip’s stripe, bent so close that his hair had brushed Gilly’s bared chest. It had been that touch that set him squirming. He stood, half-naked, with Maledicte’s light fingers on him, and yet Gilly had never so much as seen the white lines of Maledicte’s shoulders or the sinews of his back or thigh.

Gilly had shifted from foot to foot until Maledicte laughed. “If you’re that agile, you can’t be much hurt,” he had said, “But really, Gilly, did no one ever teach you to step away from the whip?” He stroked the last plaster into place; it tugged the skin taut over his ribs. Gilly winced, desire and embarrassment forgotten.

“This hurts out of all reason,” he said.

“It’s the hatred behind it that festers,” Maledicte said. “Be glad you were not born a sailor on one of your beloved ships, or you would have felt the whip long ago.”

“Not I,” Gilly said, “I would have been a perfect sailor. They would have made me first mate by now.”

Maledicte laughed. “With your hair bleached white, and your skin burned brown, running around in torn breeches—” He smiled at Gilly with a considering light in his eyes and Gilly felt warmth bloom deep within his body. Maledicte stepped closer, stroked Gilly’s cheek, and Gilly’s ardor cooled. He moved away from the touch, from Maledicte’s hand.

Shadows chased themselves across Maledicte’s eyes.

“Your hand,” Gilly said. “Where you caught the whip—your injury’s gone without a mark. I still bleed.”

Gilly remembered that now, as he dithered between leaving and staying, the storm-cloud feel of fate in the air, and the lingering presence of Ani in Maledicte’s eyes.

“What, a compliment renders you dumb?” Maledicte said.

Gilly flickered a smile, and nodded. “I will go out.”

He shrugged on his coat against the evening’s coolness and opened the front door, startling a young messenger, hand upraised to knock. Gilly closed his eyes in acknowledgment. The storm, he thought, had come.

“Message?” the boy squeaked, still nervous.

“Yes,” Gilly said, “I’ll take it.” He handed the boy a coin, and went back in, holding the sheet sealed with blue wax as if the weight of the world hung from it.

“Not gone?” Maledicte said.

“Janus sent this,” Gilly said. He dropped it before Maledicte, on the white tablecloth marred with spilled wine.

Maledicte broke the seal. He let the note fall to the table, his face white, his fingers clenching on open air as if he would do battle if he only had the blade at his side.

Gilly recognized Janus’s black scrawl at once. There was only one line on the note.

Father wed Amarantha Lovesy last night.

“I should have killed him the moment he first stepped within my reach and damned the consequences,” Maledicte said, surging to his feet.

“Only a setback,” Gilly said, trying to keep the bloody light in Maledicte’s eyes from flooding outward.

Maledicte hurled first his plate against the door, then Gilly’s; at the shattering china, a maid poked her head in and as quickly withdrew it. “Setback? Last has wed. Had he ever intended Janus to follow him, he would never have married. It is more than a counter, Gilly, it’s Last’s declaration that he will stymie us any fashion he can. I’ve waited too long, too lulled by your talk of consequences and Janus’s mercenary considerations and caution.”

“And how will you kill Last? His murder will be treason, Mal. Janus might well inherit by murder, it’s happened before, but you…you would be forced to flee. Alone. Or do you think Janus would give up a title for—”

“Get out, Gilly,” Maledicte said, voice thinned to a thread. The sword bloomed in his hand and the black light rose in his eyes.

Gilly edged away from the blade that tracked him, from the insane anger in dark eyes, until he reached the door.

In the center of the room, Maledicte sparred with shadows that crawled out from the walls to meet him. Maledicte shivered as if in a fit, the shadows ripping at the touch of the blade, spilling slow darkness. Kritos’s dark shape, last seen lunging toward them in an alley, rose up behind Maledicte, and Gilly gasped. But Maledicte turned like a somnambulist and struck him down once more. Remembered triumph lit his face and he slowed his swordplay, tension in his eyes slackening, his lips parting. He shuddered all over, and he pressed the sword into the floor, skewering Kritos’s corpse. He slumped. The shadows hovered.

Gilly returned in a rush, bearing Maledicte away from the blade, grabbing the slender shoulders hard enough that he knew Maledicte would bear bruises tomorrow, if Ani allowed it. Maledicte emitted a wordless shriek of rage, a vibration in the ravaged throat, and then Gilly was holding a madman.

Gilly yowled as Maledicte’s teeth bloodied his knuckles, as Maledicte’s elbows found his sore ribs. But he held on, like trying to cage a raptor, pinning it without damaging the fragile bones, all the time aware of the beak and the talons and the snapping edges of wings pulled taut.

“You cannot give in to this,” Gilly said, his mouth near choked with Maledicte’s hair. “Now, more than ever, you need reason and patience, not blind rage. You must be cunning, must be clever, must be careful.” His breath was rapid, his words mere pants of air and sound, and he wondered if they still contained meaning. He pinned Maledicte’s arms behind his back, unnerved at the bowstring tension in them. If he let go, what would happen?

“Ani loves blood for blood alone. Vengeance begets death and nothing more. You tell me She does not rule you—make me believe it. Or you’ll end as others have, mad or dead.” In a desperate hope, he whispered one of the little paeans to Baxit, god of indolence and reason. Either aspect would aid Gilly now.

Maledicte went limp in his hands, slumping forward like a puppet freed from its strings. Gilly, taking the sudden weight in his arms, found his pulse hammering with more anxiety. Was this a feint? If he let go, would he find Maledicte coming back at him and with the sword in his hand? Beneath him, Maledicte grumbled.

“Mal?”

“Get off me,” Maledicte said. “What are you doing? Trying to wrench my arms out of true over a few broken plates?”

Gilly slackened his vise-grip on Maledicte’s wrists, feeling like a bullyboy, aware of how Maledicte’s slender bones ground beneath his hands.

Gilly released him and Maledicte turned, his face filled with simple irritation. “Rats take it, Gilly. If you’re not even going to let me throw a tantrum in my own house, there’ll be no fun left at all in being wealthy.”

“A tantrum,” Gilly said. “Is that what you call it?”

“Two broken plates. And you knock me down,” Maledicte said. “And my sword? Were you trying to break it, wedging it in the floor like that? You’ve bloodied your knuckles on it and serve you right. I need it to kill Last.”

Maledicte stepped over and put his hand on the hilt, tugging it free. Gilly flinched, but Maledicte only complained, “I’ve lost the sheath again.”

“It’s probably still abovestairs in your room,” Gilly said, his lips numb with shock. Did Maledicte remember nothing of the moments between broken crockery and Gilly’s hold?

“I don’t carry the blade unsheathed. I am not the callow boy I once was.” Maledicte sat at the table, laid the blade out before him, ran his fingers down the steel, sheeting blood from the blade as if the shadows had been flesh enough to bleed.

“Gilly?” Maledicte said. “Did you hurt yourself badly on it?” A faint tremor touched his fingers.

Gilly touched his own hands, scraped and bloodied, hands that had never touched the blade at all. “You came down without the blade,” Gilly said. “It came down later.”

“Ridiculous,” Maledicte said, his tone so uninflected that Gilly had no way of telling if Maledicte believed him or not. “It’s only as word. But think how useful it would be to have one that heeled like a dog.” Maledicte’s lips lifted in a movement too faint to be smile or snarl, though it held something of both, and more, the death’s-head rictus of a gallows corpse. Gilly, picking up the largest pieces of shattered china, flinched at his expression, and watched his blood roll over the porcelain. For the first time in a long, long while, Gilly found himself frightened of Maledicte and the violence that eddied around him like storm winds, merciless to friend or foe alike.

J
ANUS ARRIVED JUST AFTER TWILIGHT.
Gilly opened the door to him silently, still listening to the quiet voice within himself warning that Ani was gaining Her ascendancy with each passing day.

“Where is Maledicte?”

“In his rooms.”

Janus hesitated on the stair. “Angry?”

“Possessed,” Gilly said. The ugly word hung between them.

“Rats eat your nonsense.” Janus turned. “Maledicte is no one’s creature; there is no god of love and vengeance anymore.”

“Maledicte made his vow to Her. He’s bound to Her as surely as he’s bound to you.”

Janus’s face flushed, quick temper rising in his cheeks, then fading. “You know so little of him. Maledicte has an odd and morbid sense of humor, prone to elaborate charades.”

“I know him well enough to declare that humor, like perspective, is something Maledicte lacks,” Gilly said.

“Perspective?” Janus said, eyes paling further yet, until Gilly was minded of distant lightning.

“He is determined to see you earl, even at the cost of his own life, while you sit back and allow him the risk—”

Gilly didn’t see Janus move as much as felt the rush. Then his back slammed against the flocked wallpaper with enough force to set little motes of color floating free. His head and ears rang with the impact. Like an insect pinned, he struggled until Janus’s gloved fingers closed on his throat. Janus pinched the pulse on either side of Gilly’s neck with delicate inquiry, his face placid, his eyes mad.

“I could choke your life away and Maledicte would forgive me. He would forgive me anything. Remember that before you speak so. You know nothing of me if you think I would endanger Maledicte. Do you not listen? I’ve told you time and time again. He’s mine.” Janus released Gilly, ghosted past him and up the stairs.

Gilly shuddered, left to himself in the empty hall. Again the
Virga
crept into his mind, the siren song of sea and sail.

M
ALEDICTE HEARD THE DOOR
open and close, unheralded, and knew, without looking away from the window, that Janus had entered. Only he made himself so free in Maledicte’s home. But numbed with rage, Maledicte waited for Janus to come to him. Janus’s hands rested on his shoulders, turning him, drawing him close. “Janus,” Maledicte whispered.

Janus buried his face in Maledicte’s neck. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice roughed with exhaustion. “Sorry I did not win her hand. Sorry I made mincemeat of my duty. Though by the gods, I am not sorry to see her tongue hitched to another.”

“Will you loose me on him now?” Maledicte said, raising his eyes to Janus’s. “He plots against us, Janus. He’ll have you prisoner, soon enough, confined to Lastrest or the town house, watched and spied upon.”

“He already does that,” Janus said. “Haven’t I crept away from their wedding reception? But kill him? Not without a plan.”