A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) (10 page)

Onni stared at her mother. “You think
that’s
the price we pay? No, our price is to be handled, night after night, with no end in sight. How long must I do this?”

“Your contract is a valuable connection to the northern Viljella-Viisi. We can’t afford to dissolve it.”

“There won’t be any child. It’s been six years, and I’ve tried and tried. All for you and the Meran-Viisi. I can’t—”

“Then take a lover,” Aracia interrupted Onni before she could whip her emotions into full gallop again. Mother and daughter faced each other, their profiles identical.

“It’s quite the fashion, and I made sure you have the appropriate clauses,” Aracia continued. “You’ve seen the records. You know how we record parentage, unvarnished and accurate. It doesn’t matter as long as you choose the father carefully.”

Perinon stood in the doorway to the library, unnoticed by the women. His secretary had been standing behind him, but no longer, having fled back to his office at the sound of the women’s raised voices. He wondered if he should have followed as he cautiously cleared his throat.

Both women turned toward him. Onni flushed scarlet.

“Sire,” Onni murmured, bowing her head. After he acknowledged her, she rushed past him to get out of the library.

Perinon sympathized with his cousin, thrust into duties she never wanted, but he said nothing as she left. He and Onni had never spoken to each other about their particular responsibilities to the Meran-Viisi.

Aracia waited, an immovable pillar in the middle of the room. He held up the matriarch’s latest recommendation, penned on vellum stamped at the top with the Meran-Viisi crest.

“You suggest I appoint Muusa to my Council? He hasn’t any experience—” Having no more polite words, Perinon chose bluntness and raised his voice. “He’s an idiot, a hedonistic buffoon of the worst kind. It pains me to call him cousin. What’s wrong with Runos, my first choice?”

“I spoke with Runos,” Aracia said. “She wishes to continue with her business interests, and leave politics to men.”

“Must we hold to tradition so blindly? ‘Men have no mind for business and women don’t dabble in politics,’ at least, until they want something.” He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. They both knew how much matriarchal counsel drove Tyrran political affairs.

“Muusa is only temporary, until a replacement for Reggis is elected.” Aracia’s tone sounded just like it had when she attempted to placate her daughter.

“By the Horn,
Lady
, this is not matchmaking!” Perinon emphasized her matriarchal title. “We’re talking about an appointment to the King’s Council.”

“Yes, we are. Muusa needs experience, as you’ve seen, if he’s ever to rise in politics. He’s still young, pliable, and eager to please, which you can turn to your advantage. If I’m not clear enough,
Sire
, then I suggest you read that book by the Sareenian.”

Aracia turned, her skirts swishing in the silence as she walked over to the bell cord and pulled it. Faint jangling tones sounded down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like mid-morning tea?”

Perinon tried to determine whether he’d been insulted, and failed. Sometimes she could be as obscure as the Phrenii. Despite the widespread adult belief that the creatures were both soulless and heartless, Perinon sometimes felt intense emotion from them through the bond made by the broken Kaskea. In contrast, he’d never felt a whisper of emotion from Aracia. As the only person in Tyrra who could actually perceive the emotions of others—when the Phrenii were near—he knew the true heartless beings in Tyrra were the matriarchs. Was it the training, or Tyrran society, that beat all compassion and empathy out of them?

“I’ll appoint Muusa to the temporary position,” he said. “But if he gives me cause to regret this, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“And morning tea?” She turned toward the steward who was warily entering the room. She was calm and collected, as if their raised voices couldn’t carry outside the library and down the marble halls.

“No, thank you.” Perinon tried to set aside his resentment at being manipulated, as he watched Aracia’s smug smile. He didn’t want to be distracted from the work he had to do this morning. Next on the enormous pile on his desk was a report from Draius. He turned on his heel and left the library, wondering when he would see that same calculating look on Onni’s face.

•••

Lornis’s face lit with a radiant smile when she walked into her office, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Draius smiled back, now uncomfortably aware of his beauty. Inwardly, she cursed Jan, wondering if she’d ever again be able to look at Lornis objectively.

“I see you got some sleep last night,” Lornis said.

“Some,” she allowed. She’d finished the coroner’s report this morning, taking advantage of the quiet garden.

“Seen the news?” Lornis tossed an
H&H
onto her desk.

“Yes, and I want some words with Andreas.”

“I hope to see that. It should be entertaining.”

She glanced up to see if he was being facetious, catching his gaze. He lounged in a chair beside her desk, where he’d laid out some records. He’d brought in another chair and had his feet up on it. His hair was bound in a silver clasp and his finely chiseled face radiated intensity. She looked away, breaking eye contact.

“You look comfortable.” Her tone was dry. “Did Ponteva and Miina find out anything interesting yesterday?”

Lornis motioned at the stacks beside him. “We’re collecting backgrounds and interviewing forty people, men and women, who have some reason to be upset with the councilman’s recent exploits—mostly sexual.”

“My, he was a busy man.”

“Yes,” Lornis said, musing. He looked at a list in his hand. “Reggis seemed able to move in all circles, from barmaid to Lady of three-star, even four-star lineages. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know.” Draius moved around her deck to sit. “I never understood his appeal.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I mean his murder doesn’t feel related to his womanizing.”

She smiled. “Your instinct is right. This murder doesn’t have the signature of a personal vendetta or sexual jealousy. In those cases, there is often disfigurement of the face or genitals. Remember, this is no crime of passion and that’s why you can’t read the emotion or motives.”

“You’ve said that before. So why do Ponteva and Miina have to grind through all these interviews?”

“Because one thing I learned from Rhaffus was to be thorough. No lead should be left to dangle, because there’s always the chance that the unlikely person may be your culprit. And we might learn something useful from these interviews that helps us close this case.”

“But you’re not bothering to follow these leads yourself.”

“No. I trust Ponteva’s determination to close them out for me, and I can follow the more interesting, unconventional leads.”

“Speaking of which, I reviewed the files regarding the robbery at the Royal Library.” Lornis spoke in a neutral tone. If he questioned her actions yesterday, then he was keeping his doubts to himself. But, if he started gossiping about her treatment of the librarian, and talk of her
sidestepping
the magistrates to go straight to the King came to the captain’s ears…

Draius suddenly realized how tenuous her position really was. She wondered how savvy Lornis could be; would he take advantage of her mistakes and ruin her? He was different from Jan, not as politic or ambitious. Certainly, he’d not yet showed the ruthlessness she’d seen in her husband. She watched his bright, alert face as he talked, looking for secondary motives.

“Erik took statements from librarians, clerks, and students that had visited the Royal Archives for an eight-day before the robbery was discovered. Unfortunately, no one knows when the materials were stolen, only when the theft was discovered.” He appeared to be totally immersed in this case, and nothing else. How did such a political innocent jump to the rank of lieutenant, and gain the captain’s trust?

“Can you tell why the case was closed? Did Usko say anything?” She kept her voice low.

“There were no suspects. Usko says Erik closed the case as ‘unsolvable’ after two erins, over his objections.”

Something in his face made her ask, “But you don’t believe him?”

He looked uneasy. She stepped to the door and looked into the outer office, which was empty. After she nodded, he said, “I just can’t put my finger on it, but something doesn’t feel right. Granted, Erik ran this office with an iron hand and Usko couldn’t complain to you or anyone else.”

She didn’t know Usko very well, either, since the clerk had been attached to the Office of Investigation after Erik took over. However, she was beginning to trust Lornis’s perception and intuition; perhaps this was his talent, and the reason the captain had assigned him as her deputy.

“Keep an unobtrusive eye on our clerk, when you can,” she said. “And I’ll need your help to go through all the pub’s rooms today.”

Lornis smiled, jumping to his feet with sinuous grace. “It’s close enough, the weather’s nice, so I assume we’ll walk?”

“Yes, it’s a beautiful day for a quiet stroll.”

Lornis took the hint. He was silent as she took the lead, setting a stiff pace with her long legs. Without any unnecessary chatter, they dodged carriages and made their way to the pub in less than half an hour.

They sat in the common room, exactly where they’d been sitting the evening of the murder. About half the other tables had customers who were ordering and consuming the modest mid-day meal offered by the tavern.

Mainos, the manager of the Sea Serpent, hurried over to their table. “Officer Draius, you’re hurting my business. Keeping those rooms closed is costing me in gold every day!” He wrung his hands melodramatically.

“I have a hard time believing you count your daily earnings in tyr.” She looked about. The interior of the pub looked significantly shabbier in the mid-day sunlight.

Mainos offered them a meal at a discount, and while Draius refused both the discount and the meal, Lornis bought a bowl of stew and put it down in record time. He ordered a second bowl while she talked with Mainos, who tried to convince her of the hardships he suffered.

“I rent those rooms out hourly—not for what you think,” he added hastily, seeing her expression. “I rent them for private card games and meetings. For instance, Andreas and his Society for the Restoration of Sorcery were supposed to meet here this afternoon, but now I’ll lose that rent.”

“Do they meet here often? How many people?” Draius was intrigued.

“These are only the top members, usually five or six of them.” Mainos leaned forward and added in a low voice, “Andreas says it’s business for the society, but I think all they really do is play cards.”

“Well, we only need to examine the last two rooms, so I’ll let you open the others if we can use one of those rooms for our interviews.”

“Anything to help the Guard.” Mainos brightened at the prospect of having at least a few rooms to let.

Two rooms were opened and Draius used one to take a second statement from Mainos. Although it was much too late to get accurate information, she hoped something new might present itself. He recounted everything he remembered from the night of the murder, but his memory was already blurring. She heard nothing remarkable in his account of Fairday night, so she moved on to the subject of Tellina, hoping to find some connection between the murders.

“Yes, I met Tellina on the day Reggis was murdered,” Mainos said. “He came in for a meal.”

“Do you remember where Tellina was when the body was discovered?” Lornis asked, eagerly jumping into the interview.

“Oh, he was long gone by then. Tellina left right after taking the mid-day meal.”

“Did you rent the third room again that day, before the councilman took it?” Draius asked.

“Twice.” Mainos provided the names of the clients.

She continued her questions while Lornis made notes. Had Mainos ever seen Reggis and Tellina together? No. Did he know if they had a business, or personal, relationship? No. Had he seen Tellina after Councilman Reggis was murdered? No. Draius sighed. So far there was no connection between the victims, aside from their patronage of the Sea Serpent.

“Can you send the barmaid up to speak with us?” she asked.

“Certainly, Raivata’s just come on shift.”

“Have her bring me some tea,” called Draius as Mainos left the room. Thinking over her small collection of clues, Draius got up and went to the window. She stared down at the alley between the buildings.

“My, my. What pretty hair.” The voice was sultry. Draius unconsciously touched her long braids as she turned, then realized the compliment wasn’t meant for her.

Raivata stood in the doorway, holding a cup of tea. She bore little resemblance to the weeping, screeching ball of misery that Draius threw toward Lornis on the night of the murder. She seemed taller, more statuesque. Right now, she ogled Lornis with frank appreciation.

Lornis looked up from his seat at the table and smiled back. He sat sideways to the door, and his hair divided across his shoulder in shining cascades. Raivata threw back her shoulders, causing her breasts to mound higher, and sashayed smoothly across the room to flounce into the chair facing Lornis. She didn’t spill a drop of tea, which she set down in front of him.

Draius cleared her throat. “The tea is for me,” she said, getting barely a glance from the barmaid.

“You look like ‘The Hunter Chieftain,’” Raivata said. She leaned close to Lornis and her breasts threatened to fall out of her bodice.

Draius’s eyebrows rose so high she felt her eyelids stretch. Looking at Lornis in a new light, she suddenly saw his resemblance to the mosaic the barmaid referred to. It ran across one wall of the Palace of Stars, and its source was older than the building itself. When the Palace had been built, an artist created the mosaic from an ancient tapestry woven by one of the original Tyrran tribes. The faded and frayed tapestry pre-dated the arrival of the Phrenii and the Meran blood introduced into their ancestry.

On the wall, the artist used chips of stone to form a hunter galloping on his horse over the Tyrran plains, carrying a spear. The hunter had brown hair streaming behind him, his angular face narrowed to a sharp chin, and his eyes were a warm brown. If Lornis put a silver circlet on his brow, he would have been the exact image of the Hunter Chieftain.