Through Wolf's Eyes (62 page)

"It
is
a great honor," she said firmly, "and
your parents will be justified in their pride. King Tedric chooses
widely but never foolishly."

Firekeeper shook her head, as if wondering that this much attention was being paid to a shiny thing with no virtue as a tool.

"Talk does not get us any further with necklaces,"
she reminded them. "Elise must learn the look of the necklace in
perfect. Derian and I will talk to Wain Cutter. Then I will talk to
Doc."

"Why talk with Doc?" Derian asked.

"He has powders to bring sleep. Lady Melina not sleep
alone. Sometime her maid sleep in her tent, sometime her husband, too.
On the night of the change, Elise must give all some powder to sleep."

"I thought," Derian teased, "that no one ever hears you when you go among the tents."

Firekeeper stared at him as if he was an idiot.

"This is important, Fox Hair, like the first hunt in
spring after winter starving. We take no risks just as the One does not
hunt alone when there is a pack."

Elise nodded, suddenly somber, quietly afraid of the role she must play but agreeing with Firekeeper's wisdom.

"She's right. We don't dare take any risk. My
relatives may think the matter of the succession is settled, but we
know how tenuous it is. King Tedric doesn't know what we know. It is
our duty to make certain that a sorceress cannot rule from behind the
throne."

Derian curled his fist tightly as if daring the ring
to slip free. Elise thought she knew what he was thinking. So much
rested on their shoulders. Were they really up to the challenge?

A
LTHOUGH NOT EXPRESSLY PRIVY
to the counsels of his fellow nobles, Prince Newell shared their
indignation and frustrated anger. He'd actually been enjoying that
thrice-cursed ball. The food and drink had been excellent, and many of
the women fair. Since his ambitions reached far higher than marriage
into the family of Allister Seagleam, he hadn't wasted his time dancing
with eleven-year-old girls.

Just for the fun of renewing his acquaintance with
Lady Blysse he had asked her for a dance. She had accepted, but he
could feel her dislike of him in the lightness of her fingers on his
whenever the ritualized motions demanded that they touch. By the end he
was rather sorry he hadn't asked her for a waltz.

Other women, even Lady Zorana after he whispered a
few sympathetic words in her ear, were far less reluctant to dance with
a prince. Unable to continue the flirtation with Zorana in such a
public place, Newell had been in the process of cultivating the
acquaintance of the pretty daughter of a local silversmith. She was
intimating that she was willing to do more than dance when the ripple
of gossip through the room alerted Newell to a new element in the game.
He had turned in time to see Derian Carter, dressed like a gentleman in
an outfit that must have set his patron back a good bit, mounting the
steps of the dais from which King Tedric watched the festivities.

Mindful of his health, the king had taken part only
in the Star Waltz which had opened the entertainment. Appropriately,
his partner had been Pearl Oyster, the plump but still winsome wife of
Allister Seagleam. Inviting everyone to continue on, King Tedric then
had made his way up to the makeshift throne that had been prepared for
him and indulgently surveyed the others at their pleasure. Needless to
say, just about everyone who was anyone made an excuse to
mount the few steps and speak with him, but only young Carter had been invited.

That invitation ended the evening's pleasure for
Newell. The lovely young thing he had been flirting with previously now
held as much interest for him as might a painted doll. When King Tedric
chose to close the evening by dancing with Lady Blysse, any joy Newell
might have salvaged from seeing his Hawk Haven competitors equally
crushed vanished.

Only Allister Seagleam seemed untroubled by this turn
of events and that was quite understandable. The king favoring Lady
Blysse did not mean an end of his hopes. At fifteen or so, she was a
good age to be wed to either of his sons. Newell had noted that both
Shad and Tavis had taken their turns partnering the foundling. Of
course, they had each danced with all of the other eligible contenders
for a polite political marriage and a few tentative friendships seemed
to have begun.

During one of the intermissions, Purcel Archer,
Sapphire Shield, and Shad Oyster got into a heated discussion about the
various merits of combat on land and on sea. Jet flirted shamelessly
with Minnow and Anemone, not precisely forsaking Elise, for the manners
of a grand ball insisted that an engaged couple mingle with everyone
and not remain selfishly absorbed in each other. Tavis Oyster
apparently found an unexpected friend in Nydia Trueheart. When Newell
had drifted near—ostensibly to get a new glass of wine—they had been
discussing the merits of various New Kelvinese poets.

But any hopes the parents of these sprigs might have
entertained had been dashed when King Tedric chose Lady Blysse for his
dance partner.

Newell's fury that next morning was not mediated when
he considered how hopeless his attempts to discover a way to distract
or disable Lady Blysse had been. Her unwarranted dislike of him had
made it impossible for him to chat her up and thereby drop a hint that
she go hither or yon so as to be neatly away while Newell's lackeys
pulverized Jet. Her illiteracy had robbed him of that favorite tool of
conspirators,
the anonymous note. That damned
wolf which shadowed her whenever she was not in company—and often when
she was—made it unlikely that he could simply have her hit over the
head and put out of the way.

As a last resort, Newell had taken advantage of the
crowded ball to slip a tincture of valerian (a preparation known to
encourage drowsiness) into Lady Blysse's fruit juice. Raising the cup
to her lips, she had suddenly wrinkled her nose and dropped the entire
thing—cup and all—into the nearest waste bin.

So the morning following the ball, foiled and
frustrated, Newell sent a note to Lady Zorana asking if he might pay a
call in private. Before going to meet her he summoned Keen and Rook to
him.

Without preamble, Newell growled, "I've been going
about this all wrong. Why should I try to frame Lady Blysse and rely on
others to condemn her? She needs to die."

Keen cocked an eyebrow.

Rook simply said: "Indeed, sir."

"Yes. This afternoon, I'm going to take Lady Zorana for a ride."

Keen, always one for a double entendre, grinned slightly.

Ignoring the other man's smirk, Newell continued,
"Once I have Zorana deep in the woods, one of you—Keen, I think, since
no one knows he works for me—is going to kidnap her.

"Keen, when you attack, I will appear to defend
Zorana. I'm afraid I'll have to take a split lip or black eye or my
defense won't look convincing. Just don't hurt me so much that I can't
join in the battle if the Stoneholders come through. That's more
important than any little mischief we may do here."

Keen nodded.

"After a bit, I'll feign to be knocked out," Newell went on. "You take the lady. I'll go for her help."

His henchmen knew better than to interrupt, so Newell surged on.

"I'll go directly to King Tedric, suggest that we keep the incident quiet. If he doesn't suggest that we enlist Lady
Blysse,
I will. She is certain to go tearing off without any more backup than
her damned wolf. When they reach wherever you're holding Zorana, shoot
Blysse with an arrow or two. Don't let her or that beast get close.
Then flee in apparent panic, leaving your prisoner behind. I'll come
later with a rescue party. Questions?"

"Where should I take Lady Zorana?" Keen asked.

"There must be a woodsman's hut or something. If
there isn't, tie her to a tree. Knock her out if you want. At least gag
her to keep her from screaming. Just give her to understand that you
have someone delivering a ransom note and she'll be freed when you get
your money."

Keen nodded again, his eyes shining.

"Wouldn't it be better," Rook asked, more willing to
question, secure in his position as senior aide, "to kidnap someone
like Lady Elise? Lady Blysse likes her. I don't think Lady Blysse cares
for Lady Zorana one way or another."

"Who she cares for hardly matters," Newell snapped.
"She'll do the king's bidding. Besides, I don't know if I could get
Elise to go with me. She's been a stuck-up little bitch since she was
just a snip, never could take even a tease. Even if Elise would go with
me, it would look suspicious. Zorana, however . . . We go a long way
back."

Keen chuckled. "It'll even give you a good excuse for
losing the fight. Right, boss? I mean, caught with your pants down and
all."

Newell glowered at this joke at his expense, but he had to admit that Keen had a point.

"Good thought," he agreed reluctantly. "I had wondered how to justify my being defeated by one man."

Keen laughed. "Don't worry, boss. I'll be implying that there are two or three more around."

"Disguise yourself," Newell ordered. "I don't want
Zorana killed, only roughed up a little so this threat will seem
convincing. Rook, you stay completely out of sight. Both of you bring
bows, swords, and knives. When Lady Blysse comes to the rescue, I want
her very dead."

Rook nodded. "I had appropriate tools laid by against our proposed assault on Jet Shield. Since you have yet to invite
Lady
Zorana, we have some time to prepare. I'll go ahead secretly and find a
defensible place to hide the lady. I don't think we'll need to tell you
where in advance."

"No. I'm trusting that Lady Blysse's nose—or at least her wolf's nose—will lead her there."

"Then, unless you have further orders, I am gone."

"Go. I will send Keen after you if for some reason Lady Zorana is unable to join me."

That lady, however, proved more than amendable to a
ride in the countryside and dismissed her personal attendant to mind
young Nydia. Zorana fussed a bit, making up a basket with light
refreshments, and Newell was content to wait, knowing that this would
give his men the time they needed to prepare.

"I had thought," Zorana said when they were safely
away from listening ears, "that the day Elise became engaged to Jet was
the worst in my life."

"Last night must have been terrible," Newell said,
soothing his own anger by pouring salt on Zorana's wounds, "seeing the
king so publicly favoring someone other than one of your own."

"You don't know a mother's grief and frustration!"
Zorana replied dramatically. "I do everything I can for them. I even
nursed hopes that tonight would be the realization of my dreams. Purcel
was visiting quite nicely with one of Duke Allister's sons. I thought
such decorous behavior far better than the opportunistic flirtation in
which Jet Shield was indulging. Certainly, Duke Allister would be more
interested in a proven warrior who can maturely discuss men's business
than in a young rogue."

"Certainly," Newell murmured, allowing his spirited
red roan to match the brisk pace of Lady Zorana's dapple grey. The
dapple grey seemed to have caught some of her rider's feisty mood and
had to be discouraged from breaking into a trot.

"And then just as I was allowing myself to feel
hopeful— and encouraging Nydia in her friendship with young Tavis— then
that Derian Carter was summoned to the dais."

Newell listened with half an ear as Zorana recounted the
events
of the night before, noticing her difference in emphasis. Again he was
struck by how her ambition overwhelmed her good sense. How deeply had
she embraced his little fantasy that the mere age of her children made
them the most suitable matches for those of Allister Seagleam! How
eager had she been to ignore how many political matches these days were
being made without due consideration for the relative ages of bride and
groom.

King Tedric had indicated his disapproval of such
matches but not expressly forbidden them, so dukes and duchesses paired
up their available children like toy soldiers ranked on the nursery
hearth rug.

Thinking of deep embraces and matches stirred brutal
excitement both in Newell's groin and within the darkest reaches of his
mind. They were well away from both camp and town now. Even while
gabbling away, Zorana accepted his lead toward the forests maintained
as a game preserve on the fringes of Hope. Once they were deep within
its shelter, privacy was virtually guaranteed.

Virtually. Zorana had been too interested both in her
woes and in her desire for privacy to notice the figure that had been
shadowing them all along. A man on foot could easily pace a walking
horse, especially if he didn't wish to get too close. As requested by
his master before they departed, Keen had remained near.

Seeing a sheltered glen near an attractively babbling
brook, Newell suggested to Zorana that they "let the horses have a
drink and a rest." Their easy pace hadn't even sweated the animals, but
Zorana agreed with a coy smile.