The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) (32 page)

August asked, “We won’t see each other as
often from here on out, will we?”

“We’ll see each other plenty, don’t you
worry. And we won’t have to be this cautious forever. I wouldn’t put you
through that. It’s only until things get established a bit more.”

“I know,” she said. “I know, Val. Right
now you need to go, or you’ll be late.”

As it happened, Vane did not arrive late,
though he was the last to make his appearance. The king’s office was large
enough that his desk stood abandoned in the corner; he and his nobles had
seated themselves around the circular table of cedar with high-backed,
cushioned chairs to match. The suit of armor that had set Dorane and Ursa to
kidnap Rexson’s sons still hung on the wall, though the table no longer sat
beneath it. Rexson wore his usual robes, as in the library, and the other
nobles were dressed more or less in Vane’s style—including, it surprised
him to see, Hayden Grissner, who sat next to the duke of Podrar. The Chief
Adviser had taken what Vane supposed to be his usual seat on the king’s right.

Mason Greller was around sixty, with a
face marred by pox marks and a full head of silver hair to compete with Ilana
Porteg’s in sheen; it fell past his shoulders and was tied at his neck. Vane
respected Greller, who had seemed genuinely pleased when they first met and
whom Vane knew had sheltered his mother in the days of Zalski’s dictatorship.
The boy was glad to see the only empty chair in the office was one space over
from him, next to Hayden. The other noblemen, ranging in age from forty to
around seventy, took every remaining seat around the table, all the way to the
king’s left-hand side.

The Duke of Yangerton sat there. Vane
could have recognized him without ever having seen the man. Laskenay and
Valkin’s son was sure that not a soul in the room would be confused as to his
identity—he looked too much like his father for that—and the
narrowed, scrutinizing eyes of amber to Rexson’s left were the only such to be
seen. No others achieved that degree of coldness.

The time of day provided better lighting
than the previous occasion Vane had viewed Carson Amison. His face was
unwrinkled, and as Vane had seen before, his tawny hair was graying. He wore a
short beard meticulously groomed, and Vane discerned a powerful build beneath
his tailored coat the color of sepia. To look at him plainly, Vane could
comprehend how the women in the kitchens, even the younger ones, would engage
in the conversation about Yangerton’s attractions he and August once overheard
passing through the servants’ quarters.

The king rose and introduced the Duke of
Ingleton. He spoke for Vane’s loyalty to Herezoth and also to his identity,
specifying that he himself, with the late duchess the boy’s mother, had taken
Vane as an infant to the woman who had raised him, and that he had kept himself
informed of the boy ever since. Such explanations were a mere formality. No
one, not even Amison, could argue Vane’s parentage to be other than it was,
unless he wished to propose the youth were somehow the ghost of his father and
not the man’s long lost son. As for Vane’s similarities to his mother, namely
sorcery, no one dared to ask questions. The new duke took his seat, and the
meeting started.

Amison made a request for greater funding
for Yangerton from the crown. He cited that Yangerton’s population was growing
faster than that of other cities, Podrar in particular, to which Mason Greller
argued, “Taxes are paid by the person. Tax income should adjust for the greater
numbers.”

“The increase is from birthrate, not
immigration. Children are taxed at a third of the rate of adults. We all know
there’s a surplus in the treasury.”

“These arguments will get us nowhere,”
said Rexson, in his typical blunt fashion. “The funds you desire will have to
come from Podrar. How much are you asking, Amison? And for what cause?”

“Ten thousand in gold. The parks need
renovation and the City Hall repairs.”

Everyone present, except for Hayden,
Greller, Vane, and the king, who knew the funds would be needed elsewhere,
agreed the request seemed reasonable.

“I’d grant ten thousand if I could,” the
king told Amison. “Podrar needs renovations itself, and requests have come in
from a number of cities up north. I can grant seven, Yangerton.”

Amison appeared stunned for a moment,
then close to seething. “I need ten.”

“And seven are available. Take care of
City Hall first, then use what’s left for the parks.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,
we’re discussing surplus funds.”

“Your request is not exorbitant, and I’ve
told you I would give ten thousand if I had that amount at my disposal. I’ve
had to earmark funds for other projects.”

The Duke of Yangerton sent Ingleton a
significant glance, which Ingleton returned unblinkingly. “New projects?”
suggested Amison.

“New projects,” the king conceded.

“And what projects are these?” Amison
demanded.

“You’ll learn that along with the rest of
the kingdom, when the time comes. Planning’s only in the early stages.
Obstacles could still appear,” the king lied. Vane knew he was lying; he was
talking about the Magic Council. Amison, however, was not about to surrender
that easily.

“Obstacles like my need of those funds. I
insist….”

“You’ll insist nothing. Seven thousand
are available. Accept my regrets that the full ten are not, and be grateful I
can dispense a reasonable percentage of what you asked. Your time to hold the
floor is finished if you’ve no other business.”

The noblemen discussed other matters for
an hour more. Ingleton contributed little, since nothing came up that affected
him directly; he assumed he would do better to listen, observe, and familiarize
himself with how such meetings generally proceeded. Amison continued to seethe,
though he offered no further protestations. Between offhand remarks about the
topic at hand he alternately glared at and studied the newcomer, while Ingleton
stared right back to make plain that he refused to be bullied, youngest person
in the room or no. He meant to imply that, his bloodline what it was, he could
easily match Yangerton’s every move against him. The elder duke’s upturned lip
proved he understood the message.

When the meeting drew to a close, the
noblemen shook hands before they went their separate ways until dinner.
Everyone welcomed Ingleton, offering assistance as he settled into his new
station, including Amison, whose tone was insincere and who gripped Vane’s
fingers so tightly he seemed determined to crush them. As the room’s occupants
filed out, Hayden rustled through some papers to create an excuse for delay.
Greller stayed behind as well, as did Rexson, and Vane observed, “That could
have gone better.”

Greller said, “It went just fine. None of
us expected you’d impress Amison.”

“I certainly never have,” announced
Hayden with a shrug. “Don’t think anyone has.”

Vane massaged his aching hand. “He thinks
I’m the reason he didn’t get his ten thousand. And frankly, he’s right. When he
learns about the new council, he’ll assume I manipulated….”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Hayden.
“He’s just a windbag.”

“A windbag with influence,” Greller
clarified.

Hayden said, “Influence he’d be a fool to
use against Ingleton after the battle of looks they just had. It made me
exhausted just to watch, but Vane, you matched him blow for blow. If he was
testing your resolve, you left him no doubt of it.”

“You handled him well,” Rexson agreed.
“Amison being Amison, I’d say this couldn’t have gone better.”

“Unreal,” said Greller. “Absolutely
unreal. I could swear I was reliving the past, watching your father and his in
their day. They also had their, let’s name them differences of opinion.”

Hayden suggested, “Perhaps you shouldn’t
come to dinner, Vane. You’ve seen enough of Amison for one day.”

“Oh, I’ll be there. I won’t let Yangerton
imagine for a second he got under my skin, are you kidding? If it isn’t any
trouble, Your Majesty, you’ll even seat me next to him. I’m sure he has
questions for me, with accompanying comments. We might as well get everything
in the open as soon as possible.”

“I agree that’s wise,” said Greller.
“Your Majesty?”

“Beside Yangerton it is.”

CHAPTER TWO

Of Elopement and Intrigue

While the nobles were discussing the Duke
of Yangerton, Bennie, with Gratton’s help, was unpacking her last boxes and
putting up final decorations in her new home in Podrar: specifically, in
Crescenton, Hayden’s district. Bennie had been relieved beyond belief when
Hayden wrote her they had caught Dorane’s spy; when she knew, for certain, that
Gratton was in the clear. She did not feel guilt for having doubted him,
exactly—he had given sufficient cause—but she was gladder than she
anticipated to learn he was no traitor, and her delight had nothing to do with
Rexson or his children, or even with Kora’s safety. The guardsman himself was
so horrified by his drunken stupor at that third-class inn he had hardly
touched alcohol since, limiting himself to one glass of ale when he did drink.

Bennie’s cabin, though not large, might
well have been Ursa’s mansion compared to her old room in Yangerton. It stayed
warmer than she expected even now, in the heart of winter. It had a parlor and
small washroom in addition to the bedroom and the kitchen, a narrow entrance
hall, and even two outer doors, one of which led out back to the levees on the
river. Gratton had helped her discover the place, move her few possessions, and
visit antique and furniture shops to procure the things she lacked. Having
lived frugally for a number of years, Bendelof had saved enough to buy mostly
new pieces, though she found a few older ones that spoke to her spirit.

Through Gratton’s connections, she
actually found work at one of the antique shops she patronized, and with the
guardsman’s help, and Hayden’s, settled on an alias to use from that point out.
Hayden advised her that would be wise, considering the stir the Magic Council
would cause and the League’s old enemies it could bring forward, not to mention
her recent infiltration of Arbora Anders’s secret society.

A conspiratorial grin split Gratton’s
face as he said, “There you are, Miss Reesp.” He stepped down from a ladder he
had used to hang a painting of a barn and cornfield above the roaring fire in
the kitchen stove. Bennie had fallen in love with the artwork when she saw it
in a boutique; it reminded her of her grandmother, of her childhood home in the
farmlands out west.

“I’ve told you, call me Hannah.”

Bennie was stacking the last of the empty
crates in the corner. She had borrowed them from Hayden, and Gratton had a
horse and cart to return them the next day.

“All right, then, Hannah, what do you
think? Straight enough?”

She left her work to join him before the
fire and take his hand. “It’s perfect,” she said. “The entire place is
perfect.”

“I don’t know about that,” he protested.
“It’s livable, sure enough, and I’m glad you let Hayden and me get you
situated, because I’ll be honest, damned if I thought you would. Everything
just seems bloody big for one person, that’s the problem. You have space in the
living room for more shelves and another chair or two, if you want them, and
plenty of room for another wardrobe.”

Bendelof’s eyes twinkled. “Is that so?”

“You’ve made a grand mess of this, woman,
and there’s only one way to fix it that I can see. I’ll have to marry you and
move in here myself.”

Bennie’s mouth fell open. He dropped to
one knee and pulled a gold band from his pocket.

“It was my grandmother’s. Hopefully it’ll
fit, but I’ll get it sized if it doesn’t. I tried to compare it to a ring of
yours.”

“What ring of mine?” she asked. “I never
bought…. I don’t have….”

“That’s what I figured out. So what do
you say? Bendelof Esper, will you marry me?”

“I will,” she whispered. She pulled him
to his feet and kissed him, kissed him until the sound of the barn painting
crashing to the floor jarred them apart. Gratton had not hung the thing as
securely as he should have, but no damage was obvious from where they stood,
and neither one of them cared the artwork had fallen.

“How am I this lucky you didn’t marry
someone else?” he asked. “In all seriousness, you’re too good a catch to be
waiting around. Someone should have snatched you years ago.”

“I never let anyone close enough to throw
a hook. I lost a lot of people with the Crimson League, people I cared about:
Ranler and Kansten, and Sedder. I worked with him here in Podrar before that
ambush when he died. And that last day, when Laskenay…. And Neslan. Good God,
Neslan.” Bennie wiped her face with the back of her hand; she was starting to
tear up. “I’m sorry, Gratton. I’ve told you these stories, some of them more
than once. I guess my point is that to risk that kind of loss a second time,
risk losing someone I loved even more deeply than those others, I just…. I
couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. The very thought terrified me, and the only way to
avoid the chance was to keep any kind of romance out the picture. It wasn’t
difficult. I’ve always been comfortable on my own. Life and the League taught
me to fend for myself, and I wasn’t unhappy continuing down that path. It was
familiar. Safe. I did have friends, and a livelihood, and even if I hadn’t,
just to be alive seemed such a miracle I could have been content.”

“And now?” he asked.

“I don’t look at life anymore the way I
did last year. I could make it on my own if I had to, that’s still the way it
was, but I wouldn’t choose that. It seems incredible to think I ever would.
I’ve been a coward my whole life, that’s what it comes down to.”

He kissed her forehead. “If you’re a
coward,” he said, “then I’m a crow. A bloody black crow flying away from
stickmen in cornfields and vegetable gardens. That’s a fact, Bennie, and I say
it with no shame.”

She kissed him on one cheek while she
stroked his other. “I love you,” she told him.

“I love you more.”

“To think I once imagined you were
Dorane’s spy.”

Gratton’s face turned gray. “You did
not!”

“Can you blame me? I hardly knew you, and
after you let the Fist escape from that awful inn that night…. I’d have been
remiss not to suspect you. Why did you drink like that?”

Gratton turned defensive. “That’s the
only time alcohol’s affected my career. I’d drink, and heavily, there’s no
point denying that, but not on the job. I had too much self-respect. And I
never once found myself incapacitated at work, not from a binge the night before.”

“So why did you drink that evening?”

“I thought I’d ruined any chance I had
with you, asking those questions about the League. I knew you preferred to
avoid the topic, and I not only brought it up, I took it too far. When you
mentioned a hostage, and I figured out you meant yourself, and you felt so damn
uncomfortable as to drink from that glass of ale you’d been staring at like it
was poison ever since they brought it to you…. I figured I was finished, and
for good, so I drank when you had to leave. It was a stupid choice.”

“It was,” Bennie agreed. “But I did need
to discuss the League with someone, I see that now. You’ve listened to me go on
and on, and…. I’m grateful, Gratton. You didn’t ruin things that night after
all, did you?”

“Made them a hell of a lot more
difficult. Wouldn’t have bothered trying, in fact, but I’d offered to help you
get settled in Podrar, so I had to do that much.”

Bennie smiled at him, grabbing his hand
with all the excitement of a child skipping down the road to the local fair for
the first time. “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you,”
she said. “I’m not really sure how to fathom that, where to start.”

“We should start with dinner in a bit, I
think. One of those fancy places off the Great Square, so go put on something
nicer. I have a change of clothes in the carriage I rented. I’ll run and get
it.”

Bennie’s mouth fell open again. “You
rented a carriage?”

“It’s waiting around the block.”

“Gratton,” she said, “let’s elope. Let’s
do it tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“If we’re going by the Square anyway….
The Temple’s not far, and there’s always a priest on hand, at least until seven
or eight. And someone will be working late in the license office at Town Hall.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to wait?”

“Wait for what? A wedding I can’t afford,
I don’t have time to plan, and that isn’t safe for me to have anyway? Gratton,
I’ve waited long enough to live. Let’s elope.”

He slipped his grandmother’s band on her
finger. It was a perfect fit, which he could only consider a positive sign.
“Let’s elope,” he agreed. Speechless in her gratitude, she wrapped her arms
around him in a tight squeeze, pressed her lips to his, and tugged him out to
the entrance hall. Both ignored the painting lying facedown on the floor.

* * *

Vane enjoyed dinner that night far less
than Bendelof and Gratton. The food at the Palace was excellent—tender
steaks smothered with onions and mushrooms in the richest gravy he had ever
tried; warm bread and fresh vegetables; a dark, aromatic wine perfectly aged—but
he hardly tasted a thing. He was too busy trying to hold his own in
conversation with Carson Amison, who, as Vane expected, started fishing for
information almost as soon as they were seated. His first question was where
Vane had grown up.

“East of Partsvale, for the most part.” A
good ways east, two hundred miles and on the Podra River. “Later I moved to
Yangerton.” That last was a pure lie. His Aunt Teena had brought him to Podrar,
though the two had traveled to Yangerton many times. The younger duke judged it
wise not to mention his time in Traigland.

“So you know Yangerton, do you?”

“I’ve always preferred the north,” said
Vane.

“Indeed. You’ll forgive my prying,
Ingleton, but your history is so… unique. The king said this morning an inn
worker raised you. How were you educated?”

“The king saw to my education.”

“General or magical?”

The question was so direct it took Vane
aback—but then, that was why Rexson and the queen were at the other end
of the dining hall, to allow the two nobles to speak as plainly as they might
desire.

“General, obviously. Let’s get this in
the open, since you’re all but demanding the information: I
am
a sorcerer. The fact’s unsurprising,
considering my lineage, but what magic I might or might not know is none of
your concern. Unless I’ve given cause to assume I’m somehow plotting against
the throne, my sorcery is my private affair.”

Amison’s face stretched in a satisfied
smirk. “Rest assured, you’ve given no such implication. You’ve been at court a
mere number of hours. But if I may offer some advice, as your elder and someone
more experienced with politics….”

“I’m listening.”

“You’ll want to be cautious. It’s
imperative you avoid any word or deed that could give the wrong impression of
you and your intentions. Considering, as you say, your lineage.”

The thinly veiled threat was precisely
what Vane anticipated. “I’ve had little time to establish myself as yet,” he
agreed, “so let me make one thing clear. In terms of loyalty to the king and
his family, I intend to prove myself my parents’ son. My father and grandfather
gave their lives for the king in this very building the day Zalski wrested
command. I understand your father was present as well. How did he respond to
the treachery? He didn’t kowtow, surely?”

Amison’s cheeks, already flushed from
drink, turned darker still. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw muscles moved barely
a centimeter as he replied, “You’re new to the court, so I won’t take offense
at your gaffe. You should know, Ingleton, the days of the sorcerer are an unwelcome
topic here. They are not discussed, barring the rare event that official
business in a meeting makes reference unavoidable.”

“Forgive me.”

“The slight was unintentional, I’m sure.”

Both men were aware the slight was as
deliberate as could be. Vane meant to show that Zalski was no point of shame to
be used to manipulate or bully him, and he cut into his steak with such force
he thought he would split the china on which it sat. Yangerton sipped his wine
and nearly shattered his crystal glass, he gripped it so tightly. He decided to
change the topic.

“I’d heard someone was renovating your
father’s estate. I meant to go down to see if that were true, but arrived in
Podrar later than I planned.”

“I settled in a week ago. The repairs
were fortunately minor, as His Majesty saw to upkeep through the years.”

“Using your father’s fortune, of course.
I remember Oakdowns. The rooms are airy and the grounds well shaded in the
summer months.”

The evening passed with a series of such
pleasantries. Vane and Amison discussed subject after subject of small
importance, sizing each other up all the while: their homes in Podrar and
Yangerton; the theater in the kingdom’s two largest cities; how a good many
nobles with their manors in one of those cities possessed less expansive
grounds and houses in the other, Amison included. Vane’s parents had been a
rare exception, and Amison suggested Vane look into procuring a bit of land in
Yangerton.