Son of Avonar (35 page)

“Excuse me,” I said. “I think my husband is ready to leave. A lovely evening, Countess. Karon is thrilled with the addition of your artifacts to the antiquities collection.”

“Well, I don't see how such a gentleman as your Karon can enjoy mucking about with such refuse, but I told Fenys that I wouldn't have them here any longer. What if there were spells on them? My dogs have been acting most strangely of late. . . .”

 

Within hours of Hesperid's banishment, rumors had begun flying that the Keroteans had orchestrated their victory by means of sorcery. In a matter of days one could not walk down a street without hearing some demagogue ranting that the Kerotean priests were devilish wizards. Survivors of the campaign swore that snow monsters had appeared in the Kerotean mountains to steal their supplies and mesmerize their comrades. Frost wraiths had lured Leirans into blind-ended valleys, and spells of paralysis had overwhelmed the soldiers to make them lie down in the snow until they died. Every misfortune of that winter battle was attributed to diabolical influence.

I was maddened with it. . . . and with Karon, who kept trying to ease my worry. “Come now, I look less like a Kerotean than does Evard himself, and, besides, I hate winter travel.”

I didn't laugh.

“Come here”—he gathered me into his arms—“I
will
take care. I promise.”

On one such occasion, as he tried to placate me with more empty assurances, I told him at last of killing the man at Threadinghall. “I would do it again to protect you,” I said. “But now I can't see who's creeping up on you, and I'm going to go mad with it. How can you live this way? You need to take responsibility for yourself.”

He was not angry at what I had done. Not revolted, as I'd feared for all these weeks. Shocked, yes; he had not seen the man fall. Grieved, yes, that I had done so ponderous a deed and felt I could not tell him, bearing the weight of it alone. But my accusation of irresponsibility cut deep. He stood beside the garden door, its panes garlanded with snow, his face as pale as the flakes still falling so softly. “I can't tell you how to live, Seri,” he said after a long pause. “You are who you are, and I would not change you. Your love, your goodness, and your courage are the joy of my life, and this act tells me nothing about you that I have not known and treasured all these years. But you cannot ask me to make the same choices. My calling, my power, demand different things of me. Stars of night, do you think this is easy?”

I listened only to my own fear, not his. “Sometimes it's easier not to fight. To follow the rules, to let your ancestors make your decisions, to let terrible things happen and claim it is for the greater good.”

“Sometimes fighting destroys the thing you're fighting for.”

I hated this discussion. “Then either way I'll lose you, and I can't bear the thought of it.” And then I was in his arms, and he was stroking my hair and promising again to take care. But nothing had changed.

 

Whether responding to my prompting or his own caution, Karon stayed close to home as the days grew shorter, venturing only to the antiquities workrooms. We no longer practiced mind-speaking. He said such things were better left for easier times.

After several Valloreans were arrested and executed for spying for the Kerotean sorcerers, Karon said he would neither work any sorcery nor speak of it again, not even to me. “Habits,” he said, as he knelt by the hearth and burned his translation of the Writer's journal, along with my transcription and all our notes. “They're the key to safety. If your mouth is trained to say nothing of sorcery, then words cannot betray you. If your mind is trained to forget all you know of it, then you cannot inadvertently slip a reference into a discussion.” He traced a smile on my face with his finger. “I've become too comfortable, relaxed my vigilance, but I can build the wall again. I just need to work at it, and so will you. No one need find out.” When the hunger to use his power came on him, he walked and rode and exhausted himself with work, staying out of my way until he could suppress it.

I wanted to refuse any invitation into society, but Karon reminded me of what I already knew. Such blatant change in one's habits would draw unwanted attention. We had no reason to think any suspicion should be directed Karon's way. But he would never have burned the work on the journal if he were not concerned. I wondered if perhaps we should consider leaving Montevial. Going away . . . somewhere.

 

Midwinter brought the usual round of Seille entertainments. In lengthy and elaborate temple services held to appease and flatter holy Jerrat, whose storms had so tested our troops, priests had reminded us of the first Long Night, when Arot lay sorely wounded. The gifts of music and food and human companionship had raised the god from his winter of despair and prepared him to resume his battle with the beasts of chaos at the coming of the new year. Thus, Evard commanded his courtiers to celebrate lavishly, reassuring the common folk that the Leiran spirit was not darkened by the unnatural deviltry of our enemies. And so, at night after night of entertainments, noblewomen dressed in elaborate finery and laughed in shrill gaiety at jokes devoid of humor. Men played the buffoon, drank too much, and spoke too loudly of the glories of war.

A fortnight before Long Night, Karon and I were invited to a musical entertainment at the home of Sir Geoffrey Larreo, the administrator who had engaged Karon to develop the antiquities collection. I saw no way to avoid the occasion. Evard was to make an appearance as a favor to Sir Geoffrey—or rather as flattery to Sir Geoffrey's relatives—and anyone with a court posting would be expected to attend.

Sir Geoffrey was a distant cousin of the late King Gevron, but had no landed titles of his own. He was a kind man, a bachelor much given to birdwatching and other gentle pursuits. Evard ridiculed him publicly and would have ignored him altogether if Sir Geoffrey were not regarded so fondly by Gevron's family.

“Would I had given Sir Geoffrey our regrets,” said Karon as he waited for me at the bottom of the stairs that night.

I'd had a new gown made for the season, not to follow the frivolous fashion of society, but to accommodate my changing shape—not too noticeable as yet except to me. The gown was dark green silk cut low at the neck, falling loosely to the floor from a high waist. The narrow wedge of underskirt in front showed a darker green brocade. My hair was caught in a loose braid that fell halfway down my back, and my only other adornment was the gold locket engraved with a rose.

“Am I too awkward to be seen in public already? You'll want to avert your eyes in a few weeks more!”

He took my hand as I descended the last steps. “On the contrary. I'm only reluctant to share such loveliness with the rest of society.”

“I wonder if you'll still say such charming things when we pass two years married this month, or will flattery run its course as quickly as the time has done?”

“There is only truth between us.” That, at least, was one good thing that had come from our argument. The killing at Threadinghall had burdened me more than I had been willing to admit.

“Not only truth,” I said, wrapping my arms about him. “Young Connor Martin Gervaise is rapidly taking up a most prominent position between us.”

Karon threw back his head and laughed. “I shall begrudge him every moment!”

“You know, my love, you look quite fine yourself,” I said, as Joubert announced the hired carriage, and Karon helped me with my cloak. He was dressed simply in a loose white shirt of the finest cambric, full-sleeved and buttoned high at the neck in the Vallorean fashion. No puffed satin breeches, fluted neck ruffs, or slashed brocade sleeves, as Evard's courtiers wore, but simple, well-fitted black breeches and black velvet doublet, embroidered in silver. His dark hair was pulled back from his face, setting off his deep-set eyes and high cheekbones. I loved it that he remained adamantly clean-shaven, defying Evard's fashion of close-trimmed beards and narrow mustaches.

Joubert opened the door, and Karon threw on his own cloak that buttoned high on one shoulder. “I care for nothing but that it please you, my lady.” After a gallant, sweeping bow, he kissed my hand and led me into the winter darkness.

 

Sir Geoffrey often had musical evenings at his townhouse, inviting small groups of selected acquaintances to hear a singer, instrumentalist, or ensemble. He had a good ear, and it was a considerable benefit to an artist's reputation to be invited to play for him. Music and theatrical performances were a new fashion in Leire—Martin joked that it was all his doing—and few people knew quite how to judge talent for themselves. On that night carriage after carriage emptied its elegant occupants at Sir Geoffrey's front door.

“He must have invited half the court,” I said, dreading the heat and the crowd.

“Everyone's heard the king is to be here.”

“I wonder if he's come to make sure we're all celebrating joyfully as he's commanded.”

When Karon and I were announced and directed into the music room, we found over two hundred guests already seated on red velvet and gold-leaf chairs. Intermingled with the scent of expensive perfumes were traces of the pine, laurel, and balsam boughs that were stuffed into great jars and vases and set in every corner, crack, and crevice. The house blazed with candlelight. While gold-liveried servants scurried about with wine and extra chairs, the ladies' diamonds and the gentlemen's swords scattered glittering reflections.

More guests streamed through the side doors. A young woman in a white gown took her place in an island of red carpet at one end of the music room, twisting her fingers and glancing anxiously toward the opposite end of the room where the wide main doors remained closed. As we were seated, she was joined by a hollow-eyed young man with a harp and an enormously large man with a flute, who settled his bulk on a precariously fragile chair. The ensemble did not look promising.

The entertainment could not proceed until the king arrived. Sir Geoffrey circulated among the guests, joking about the wait. “Worth it, as you'll hear,” he said. “I picked up this one in Valleor. Such a find! She was the favorite of a Vallorean merchant until his palace fell in on him in the earthquake last summer.”

Karon shifted in his chair, peering between the heads in front of us. I felt his arm stiffen, but before I could question him, the double doors were thrown open and a royal herald stepped into the room. Everyone rose.

“His Most Gracious Majesty Evard, King of Leire and Valleor, and Protector of Kerotea.”

Evard strode into the room. An ermine-lined red velvet short cloak was removed by one of his attendants to reveal a tight, gold-encrusted doublet, its exaggerated point dipping all the way to his groin over puffed breeches of gold brocade. A shirt of red and gold patterned silk poked out at his wrists and at his neck in great ruffles, above a wide, flat collar studded with sapphires and rubies. As did the rest of the ladies, I dipped my head and curtsied as he passed. Karon and the other gentlemen bowed. Evard's fair hair drooped rakishly across his brow as always, but the hard gray eyes underneath peered about uneasily, as a fluttering Sir Geoffrey guided him to a seat on the front row.

The queen did not accompany him. Tomas and Darzid followed just behind him, however, as did at least twenty aides and serving gentlemen.

I had not seen Tomas since Evard's wedding, though I'd heard the news of his marriage to the seventeen-year-old daughter of Evard's chancellor. Though as stiff and wary as his royal master, he looked well, apparently none the worse for the Kerotean disaster.

Darzid alone seemed relaxed. He strolled through the aisles greeting every high-ranking noble as if he were himself a duke, whispering in ladies' ears, sharing a laugh or a word with the gentlemen. His behavior brought to mind a recent comment of Martin's. “It seems as if, nowadays, when you turn over any slime-covered stone in Leiran society, Darzid slithers away. And I don't believe it's your brother that sets him to it.” I wished we had not come.

The performance began, and, for a while, royalty, politics, Darzid, and the unnerving reference to the Vallorean earthquake were easily forgotten. The music was glorious. A find, indeed. The girl's fidgeting evaporated with the first silvery note of the flute, and when she answered the ringing note with her own clear tone, I thought it might be difficult to tell which was which. But as she began to weave her voice about the music, it became clear that the instrument could not rival the purity of her voice. She wrapped this loveliness about a song of love undying, a song not out of the ordinary way, but when she was done, few eyes in the room were dry. For the next hour the anxieties of the past weeks were forgotten, as if the noble assembly had heaved a great sigh. As Karon's mentor had taught him, nature bestowed many gifts that magic could not surpass.

Karon was entranced, his rapt expression telling me that he was storing up the beauty against the day when he could use his power again. But when the music ended, and the guests rose and began to crowd their way toward the supper rooms, he whispered in my ear. “The girl will know me.”

Dread wrapped cold arms about my heart. “Then we must go,” I said.

Karon nodded. His face was calm, but his grip on my arm was tight as he guided me against the flow of the crowd toward the outer doors. Acquaintances attempted to turn our course, but I pleaded an unsettled stomach as the reason for an early departure. A quarter of an hour and we were almost clear, but just as we reached the doors that led to the foyer, Sir Geoffrey waved his hand above the crowd and called after us with a hearty voice. “Karon, my lad, where are you going? His Majesty has asked for you.” The old gentleman forged through his milling guests and clamped his hand on Karon's shoulder. “I inquired how he liked the Dorian monolith standing at the entrance to the Crown Vault, and he asked was it the new commissioner's choice? I said it was either his or his lady's, and he said he would like an opportunity to express his appreciation.”