The Last Dragonlord (37 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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Having finished the tale explaining
Linden’s absence from the tisrahn five days ago now, Maurynna sat in the back room of Almered’s shop and slouched wearily in her chair. It was the first day she’d felt strong enough to go out.
Or wanted to. She couldn’t go on like this for much longer, both worrying about Linden and angry with him. Had he had any intention of truly going to the
tisrahn
? The remembered scent of woods lily as he lay in her arms nearly turned her stomach. Once more the black mood that had nearly engulfed her the past few days threatened to swallow her. She shook it off.
“So I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but I kept waiting and waiting for Otter to come back. The other Dragonlords had sent orders that I was not to try to see Linden, you see. Otter would send notes back to us but, hang it all, it’s not the same as talking to him. His wretched messages were so brief and guarded that there was really nothing in them. So for nearly a tenday I’ve been sick with worry.
“Otter came back this morning for a little while and we got into a fight. I tried to make him see sense about something and he would have none of it. And when I asked him if the rumors were true—that Linden’s dying—he denied it, but I don’t think he knows for certain either.” She slammed her fists against her thighs. “I don’t know anything and I need to
know,
damn it!”
Almered caught her hands and made soothing noises. “I understand. This is not an easy thing for you; there is something special between you and this Dragonlord. And I wish I could help you, to say the thing that will give you comfort, but I do not have those words,” he said, his accent thicker
than usual with his anxiety. He finished sadly, “All I can do is listen.”
She smiled a little. “Thank you for doing that.”
“Are our Houses not as kin? Whether we share blood or not, you are my cousin, my little sister—I have said so. So I listen. But I also have questions.”
His apprentice entered bearing a tray. Maurynna sat a bit straighter when she saw what was on it. There was a squat ceramic teapot and two cups in the Assantikkan style, the cups low and without handles, meant to be cradled in the hands so that the warmth of the tea comforted the drinker both inside and out. All three were in the pale blue glaze that was so prized in Almered’s country; intricate designs in gold leaf swirled over their graceful curves. She was no expert, but she thought she recognized the style of the artisan whose wares graced the emperor’s own table. Almered had brought out his best, a subtle reassurance that he bore her no ill will over the
tisrahn.
She accepted the steaming cup offered her, sniffed, and smiled. The best tea service to honor her and homely chamomile tea to soothe her. She waited until the apprentice left once more before asking, “And what are these questions?”
“I have heard differing stories as to what happened the night of the
tisrahn,
but all agree that Linden Rathan’s assailants were disturbed by two, maybe three or four men. Men—not young women. Why? One would think the palace and the other Dragonlords would wish to honor you for saving his life.”
“Under other circumstances they would, I think.” She sighed. “But because they don’t know who attacked Linden or why, the other two seem to feel that Maylin and I might be the next victims if it’s nosed about we were involved. At least that’s what one of Otter’s little messages said. And that’s why I’m not allowed to see him; they think someone might put two and two together.”
Almered fingered one of his braids, nodding to himself. “Ah; the truth will go no further than this room, then. And
I am glad they are so cautious. But it must be hard for you, yes?”
“Yes,” Maurynna agreed, her voice shaking. “I want to see him, Almered. I must see him. Why can’t they understand that?”
Suddenly her doubts returned; she slumped in her chair once more. Despite all of Otter’s reassurances to the contrary, had Linden been with Lady Sherrine? If not, where had that trace of perfume come from? Someone else entirely?
Remembering what Maylin had told her her first morning in Casna, she doubted it. No one else at court used that scent. The only other customers for it were some women of the wealthy merchants’ class.
But no merchant, no matter how rich, had an estate on the far side of the river. Therefore Linden had to have been with Lady Sherrine.
Perhaps she shouldn’t be anxious for Linden but hating him instead.
 
Healer Tasha entered the chamber where Otter sat talking quietly with Tarlna and Kief.
“I think he’ll be able to answer some questions now,” she said. “For the first time he was able to really understand what I said to him and reply sensibly. But you won’t be able to stay for long. Also, don’t tell him at this time about Tsan Rhilin. The shock would be very bad for him. He’s still quite ill.”
Kief and Tarlna quickly rose. Otter stood more slowly. “May I,” he asked, “see him as well?”
He held his breath while the two Dragonlords exchanged glances and, no doubt, arguments in mindspeech. At last Kief shrugged.
Tarlna said, “Yes. You know better what the girl said.”
Leading the mystified Healer, they trooped through the halls until they came to Linden’s room. The scarlet-clad soldier before the door—on loan from the palace’s own elite guard at Rann’s tearful insistence—opened the door for them and stepped aside.
“Healer,” Kief began.
“Dragonlord, I will wait out here. I trust that you will not upset my patient, but be warned that if you do, I will order you to leave. And please don’t stay too long and tire him. He’s weak.”
He’s weak.
The words chilled Otter. He followed the Dragonlords into Linden’s room.
Boyo—how could anyone as big as you be “weak”? You must have been as strong as the farm bull even before you Changed. I can’t believe—Oh, dear gods.
Linden sat propped up by pillows. From the way he sagged into them, Otter doubted Linden capable of sitting up without their support. His color still wasn’t good and he’d lost a great deal of weight. Cheekbones, nose, and jaw pushed against the skin drawn tight over them. Somehow his condition hadn’t seemed so bad when he was sleeping.
But worse yet was the dullness in his sunken eyes. All the sparkling liveliness that made him Linden was gone. Only the merest shadow was left.
Both Kief and Tarlna stopped short and cursed softly at the sight of him. Gathering his courage, Otter passed them and sat on the edge of the bed. Linden regarded him with no sign of interest. Otter felt the bed behind him sink as the soultwins took places at the foot of the bed.
“Boyo,” the bard said. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”
Linden hesitated long enough before answering that Otter wondered if he’d understood. Then, “No.”
Just “No,” as if Linden had no interest in what had been done to him.
Kief tried next. “Do you remember the two men? Were they attacking you?”
Linden blinked a few times. “Two men? I don’t know,” he said, his voice falling.
Time for a gamble. Otter leaned forward. “Maurynna said that when she and Maylin found you, there were two men bending over you. You seemed to be unconscious.”
A tiny spark appeared in the grey eyes at the mention of
Maurynna’s name. Otter nodded encouragement, and then nearly pulled his beard out as it disappeared the next moment. Linden sighed and began smoothing the sheet tucked around his waist.
“I don’t remember anything, and I’m sorry, but I don’t really care. I just want to … sleep.”
Otter didn’t care for the sound of that. Not at all. He slewed around to exchange desperate glances with the other Dragonlords.
Go on,
Kief said.
Tarlna said,
Mention Maurynna’s name as much as possible; it seems to be the only thing that catches his attention
.
Otter licked his lips and began, “You were at Lord Sevrynel’s, do you remember? And you had to leave to meet Maurynna.”
Linden stopped picking at the sheet and frowned. “I left there,” he said slowly. “Yes. I do remember that. I was angry because, because—”
The brief moment of animation was failing. Otter hurriedly filled in, “The
tisrahn
. You were late for the
tisrahn
. Don’t you remember that? Maurynna had invited you. It was for Maurynna’s friend Almered’s nephew.” He wondered how many times he could work Maurynna’s name in without Linden noticing the ploy and ceasing to react.
The spark of interest was back. “That’s right—the
tisrahn.
I didn’t want Maurynna to be any angrier than she was, so I hurried.”
The words tumbled out one after the other now. Linden pushed himself to sit up straighter; Otter winced at the sight of the Dragonlord’s powerful arms shaking with the effort of supporting his weight even this little bit.
“The ferry was on the other side. I remember that. I had to wait for it.”
Now to introduce Maurynna’s mad idea. Otter shook his head a little, remembering their conversation—hells, their fight—earlier.
“What do you mean he was poisoned?” Maurynna had demanded.
“We don’t know that. That’s only speculation on Healer Tasha’s part. His symptoms seem to suggest—,” Otter tried to explain but was cut off.
“Then she did it, that bitch.”
At first he’d thought she’d meant the Healer. “Tasha?”
“Of course not! I mean Lady Sherrine. She was with Linden at some point; I smelled her perfume.”
“I just told you she was! She appeared at Lord Sevrynel’s that night.”
“Then that’s when she did it. Somehow she slipped something into that blasted farewell cup,” Maurynna insisted.
“In front of half a hundred people? And then drank that same poison herself? Give over, Rynna,” he’d retorted in exasperation. “The girl’s too bloody fond of herself to be suicidal.”
“Then she met him somewhere else and tricked him into taking it,” said Maurynna.
He’d ridiculed the idea. It wasn’t long before they were yelling at each other, followed by Elenna threatening to throw them both out of the house. Since he’d had to return here anyway, Otter exited in a grand huff, but Maurynna had not relented. Indeed, up until the last moment she had insisted she was right, screaming down the stairs after him, “You mark my words, you stubborn wretch—she did it to him!” as he’d walked out the door.
Damn good lungs on that girl,
he thought to himself now.
Too bad she can’t carry a tune.
Aloud, Otter said, “Did you meet Sherrine again after you left the dinner?”
“No. No, I waited alone at the ferry.” Linden fell back among the pillows once more. “Oh, gods—I’m so tired. Please …”
Kief said, “If you wish to rest now—”
“Wait.” Otter held up a hand, remembering something.
“Just one more thing. Linden, while we were with you in the field, Maurynna told me you’d spoken once, but that she couldn’t understand what you meant. It was something about asking questions. Could those two men have been questioning you?”
“Gods help us,” Kief muttered. “I never even thought of that. I thought they were only after—” He broke off.
Linden struggled upright once more, the lethargy replaced by horror. “I don’t know! What if they did? And if so,
what did I tell them?
” he shouted, fighting to get out of bed.
Otter caught Linden’s shoulders and pushed him back against the pillows. That he could do it told Otter just how weak Linden was.
The door burst open; Healer Tasha hurled herself into the room, flask in hand, apprentice close behind. “I knew this would happen,” she said grimly. “Get out, all of you. Now!”
They retreated before her wrath. Otter paused in the doorway to watch as Healer and apprentice expertly subdued their patient and forced whatever potion they had down him.
Tasha looked over one shoulder and snarled, “I said ‘get out,’ curse it, and I meant it. Do you want to kill him?”
Almost lost behind her tirade, Otter heard Linden whispering in despair, “Dear gods—what did I say? What did I betray about us?”
Otter shut the door, unable to bear any more.
Sherrine ambled through the garden
of her family’s country estate. As she walked, now and again she would select some unlucky flower and pluck it from its stem, only to shred it in her fingers and cast the fragrant remains upon the ground moments later.
She had never been so bored in her life.
“And all because of that stupid little bitch,” she told her latest victim, a tall spire of foxglove, as she tore the blossoms from its stem. “How dare he take her part.”
And I don’t care that it was best to play out the charade of “retiring” to the country. I shall go mad if I have to stay here much longer.
Even as a child she’d hated coming here. She much preferred the excitement that was Casna. She threw down the foxglove.
“My lady! Where are you?” a voice called from the other end of the gardens.
“Here, Tandavi,” she called. “Beyond the lilacs. What is it now?”
“Your lady mother,” Tandavi called as she ran through the garden. She stopped before her mistress and finished with a gasp, “She wishes to see you—immediately!”
Sherrine clenched her fists. What right had her mother to sneer at her now? She’d done what was needed—and done it well. Indeed, she was the only person who could have played the part.
She was about to send Tandavi back with a blistering message when a thought struck her and she stopped short.
Her mother thought this country retreat as boring as she did. Not even for the pleasure of deriding her would her
mother journey all this way from Casna; not even if she had a thousand reasons and a pocketful of gold for the task.
So why? …
Sherrine caught up her skirts and ran. Tandavi gave a startled yelp as her mistress passed her and hurried to catch up.
Sherrine found her mother waiting in the front room of the house. She entered, and after a pause to catch her breath, deliberately made a hurried, ungraceful courtesy. “My lady mother?” she said, waiting.
Her mother said not one word about her clumsiness. That alerted Sherrine as nothing else would have.
That, and the queer look in her mother’s eyes.
“You are well these days?” her mother asked, an odd note in her voice.
“Indeed, madam, I am quite well—if somewhat bored,” Sherrine replied cautiously.
“You have taken no ill effects from—”
Her mother did not finish the sentence, but Sherrine knew what she meant.
Puzzled, she said, “No. None at all, I assure you.” For the first time she noticed that her mother still wore riding garb, and that the garb was filthy; her mother hadn’t even bothered to bathe and change clothes before summoning her. Add to that the lines of fatigue in her mother’s face, as if the other woman had ridden hard to get here, and one had a mystery indeed.
The next words came hard; Sherrine vowed long ago to never ask her mother for anything, and she’d kept that vow. But she had to know … .
“Mother—what is this all about?”
Moments passed in silence. When the baroness spoke at last, the words came in a bleak monotone. “Linden Rathan may be dying. And I … feared that …”
The room spun. Sherrine put out a hand; her mother caught it and led her to a chair. Half-swooning, Sherrine sank down into it.
“Dear gods,” she whispered. This was no plan of hers.
Make Linden suffer, yes—but to kill him? No. No and no and no.
A surge of anger cleared her head. Had that bastard of a mage known this might happen? She bit her lip. If Linden died, Althume would pay.

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