Dark Lady's Chosen (13 page)

“Just a glimpse. Please help me do this. I have to see how Tris is doing.”

Cerise sighed. “I know that tone in your voice. It hasn’t changed since you were a little girl.

You’re going to do this, whether we like it or not. Very well then. I’ll help.”

Alle and Macaria nodded their assent. Kiara withdrew a light blue scrying ball from deep within a trunk and set it carefully in its holder on the table.

“That’s Viata’s ball. I’d know the color anywhere.”

Kiara nodded. “I brought it from Isencroft. Mine was… lost… on the journey.”

Cerise fixed Kiara with a glare that made it clear the healer was skeptical about the circumstances under which the last scrying ball disappeared. “Viata never could scry well on her own, but she had some gifted seers who helped her watch over your father whenever he left on campaign.”

“Then why discourage me from trying?”

Cerise looked away. “What the ball shows us isn’t always true. The future is always changing. We might see what has been—or what might be, but never with certainty what
is.

Viata learned that the hard way. One night, when Donelan had been on campaign for a long time against the Western raiders, Viata scryed for him. She saw images from a battle, and saw Donelan hit in the chest by an arrow. It was just a few seconds, but long enough to see him fall from his horse.” Cerise’s voice shook. “Viata was inconsolable. Nothing Malae or I could say

helped. In her grief, she almost threw herself from the window.” A sad smile crossed Cerise’s face. “Goddess forgive me—but if I hadn’t brought her to her knees with a blinding headache, we might not have been able to keep her safe. She was as fine a warrior in the Eastmark ways as you are, my dear.”

“And father?”

“When he returned, we learned that he narrowly avoided an arrow, but that it missed him—

his horse shied just as the arrow came his way. So the ball showed what might have been, but not what was.”

“I understand. And I promise that I won’t try to throw myself out the window. But I have to try.”

“Very well.”

The four women took their places around the ball, holding hands. Kiara drew on a small measure of regent magic to ward their working and bring the power of the scrying ball to life.

“Powers that be, hear me! Goddess of Light, attend!” Kiara began, her eyes closed in concentration. “We gather to invoke the ancient Powers. Spirits of the Land, hear me!” she recited. “Winds of the North, obey! Waters of the Southlands, bend your course. Fires of the Eastern Sun, be bound by my command. Land of our fathers under the sun of the West, I compel you by the right of the heirs of Isencroft to reveal what is hidden and find what is dear. Let it be so!”

Alle and Macaria were holding their breath. Kiara opened her eyes as the scrying ball flared and from within, a mist began to swirl. Still holding hands, they stepped closer as Kiara peered at the image. Hazy, as if seen from a distance, an image grew more solid. Kiara could make out the outline of a large stone fortress. Fire lit up the night sky. She glimpsed two figures on horseback and recognized one immediately as Tris.

“There he is!”

The scene shifted without warning, to another night view. The battle for the keep raged, but there was panic in the soldiers’ movements, and at the edge of the vision, Kiara glimpsed a gray-skinned beast like she and Tris had fought on the road to Westmarch. “Look there!”

The night opened as if split like a curtain, and Kiara watched in horror as a man’s body tumbled out of thin air. Blond hair matted with blood, cloak torn and burned, the body landed in the snow and lay still. The image flickered and disappeared.

“Break the warding!” Cerise whispered as Kiara stood unmoving, staring in horror at the now-dark scrying ball. “Kiara, break the warding!”

Kiara mumbled the words to dispel the magic and the wardings around them fell. Cerise guided her to a chair as Kiara wavered on her feet, and Macaria and Alle clustered around her. “You can’t be certain that what you saw really happened,” Alle said, taking the cup of tea Macaria poured and pressing it into Kiara’s shaking hands. “We never saw the man’s face. We don’t know for certain who it was.”

Macaria slipped away, only to return with her flute. Wordlessly, she began to play a calming melody, but it took several minutes before its magic quieted Kiara enough for her to speak.

“You were right, Cerise. I shouldn’t have scryed. We know nothing more than we did before—nothing certain—but I’m more worried now than ever.”

Cerise laid a hand on Kiara’s shoulder. “Tris is a powerful Summoner. You made a ritual vow to each other. If anything were to happen to him, he would come to you. He has that power. Barring that, you know that he’s alive. And from your own stories of his training and the battle against the Obsidian King, he’s withstood the worst that battle can do. Take comfort in that, and trust the Lady.”

A knock at the door interrupted anything else Cerise might have said. Alle went to answer it, and found a courier standing in the hallway. “M’lady. A message for you, from Lady Eadoin.”

Alle thanked him and closed the door, then ripped the envelope open. She scanned down the lines of Eadoin’s spidery handwriting, then looked up at the others, who were watching expectantly. “Aunt Eadoin says that there’s been an outbreak of fever among the servants.

She’s got her hands full with the manor, and she’s not feeling well herself. She begs your pardon,” Alle said with a nod toward Kiara, “but she thinks it best if she stays at Brightmoor until she’s well, so as not to put you and the baby at risk.” She paused. “That answers our question about taking you to stay there,” she said and glanced at the paper once more, then frowned. “That’s odd. She also said to thank the queen for the lovely gift of linens. They arrived last week and she had the servants put them out on the beds.”

Alle read on, and frowned deeply. “This worries me. Aunt Eadoin enclosed a second sheet.

It’s very formal. She’s made me her proxy, to act in her stead as if I were she.”

“Lady Eadoin is up in years,” Macaria said gently. “Perhaps it’s just a precaution.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe she’s sicker with the fever than she’s letting on.” Alle lowered the letter with a sigh. “I was counting on her help to deal with the rumors about you and Carroway.

Aunt Eadoin’s always been a voice of reason in the Margolan court—even the troublemakers listen to her. I’m afraid we’ll have to wait.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Eadoin’s not well,” Kiara replied. “And I’m completely at a loss about the gift. I didn’t send anything. Perhaps Crevan sent something in my name out of protocol.”

Urgent knocking cut off anything more she might have said. The dogs jumped to their feet at the noise, and even Jae raised his head from where he slept on the hearth. Alle opened the door again, to find Crevan framed in the doorway. The little man looked exhausted and disheveled, as if he had been up all night. He bowed low and stepped inside at Kiara’s gesture, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“Crevan, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to bear this news, Your Majesty. Please understand, I had nothing to do with it.”

“What happened, Crevan?”

Crevan twisted his thin hands. “The Council of Nobles has convened, at the request of Lord Guarov. Not even so much as a by-your-leave, mind you, except that they ordered me to find them a room where they wouldn’t be disturbed, and send up their meals with plenty of warmed wine.” He looked plaintively at Kiara. “A thousand pardons, m’lady, but they’ve sent me with a summons to request your testimony. They meet to discuss the rumors that allege you and Master Bard Carroway have committed adultery and betrayed King Martris. It’s in their power, in the absence of the king, to find you both guilty of high treason.”

Kiara caught her breath. “But the rumors are lies! Nothing improper in the slightest has ever happened. Neither of us would ever betray Tris.”

“I believe you, m’lady. But it was for your sake that I sent Carroway away from court. I had hoped to stop the rumors before the talk reached this stage. Now—” Crevan turned his hands palms-up and shrugged.

“Can they do this?” Kiara asked, looking to Crevan and Alle. “Summon the queen? Is it within their power?”

After a moment’s thought, both nodded. “In extreme measures, yes,” Crevan replied.

“I’m afraid so,” Alle said.

“They’ve sent for you at first bells,” Crevan added. “Please, m’lady, I urge you to be prompt.

The nobles do not like to be kept waiting, even by the king. It sours their mood.”

“Thank you, Crevan. That will be all.” Kiara watched the door close behind the seneschal in silence.

“This is bad,” Alle said, beginning to pace. “If Aunt Eadoin were here, she could sway the Council. Even Lord Guarov treats her with respect. Before the coup, the Lord of Huntwood—Ban Soterius’s father—was also on the Council. He was one of Bricen’s staunchest supporters. Some of the others we could have counted on for support died under the Usurper’s rule—Lord Alton, Lord Montbane, Lord Theiroth—all dead.”

“Who’s left?” Kiara asked, forcing down her own panic and willing herself into the coolness that came in preparation for battle.

“Lord Guarov—we know he’s trouble,” Alle replied. “Lord Acton—he’s the elderly gent you met at the wedding. Don’t count him out—he’s a spitfire for his age. King Martris brought some of the
vayash moru
lords into the gathering, but they left court when the king did—I think they’re afraid.”

“Mikhail could represent Lord Gabriel—if he weren’t locked up in the dungeon,” Macaria added darkly. “And Carroway is heir to his family’s title—but he’s not going to be much help either.”

“It’s not impossible,” Alle said, pursing her lips as she thought. “If they’re convening at Guarov’s request, it doesn’t mean they all agree. There are four others on the Council. Lord Dravan, Lady Casset, Count Suphie and Dame Nuray. Nuray is trouble—there’ve been rumors for years that she’s a spy for Trevath. The others are wild cards. It’s been said that they all have ties to other kingdoms. Dravan’s reputed to have ties in Dhasson—which might not be a bad thing, since King Harrol is Tris’s uncle.”

“We’d heard that Lady Casset feeds information to King Staden,” Macaria put in. “And that Suphie is Eastmark’s puppet.”

“Suphie is a troubling man,” Alle said. “He’s not of Eastmark, but he does a lot of business there, supplying weapons and mercenaries. They say he’s not a forgiving person.”

“And we still don’t know who father’s spy is,” Kiara added. “Or whether he or she could be of any help. Goddess! The last thing we need is word of the rumors getting back to Isencroft.”

“One problem at a time,” Cerise counseled. “First bells isn’t far away. You need to eat, my dear, to replenish your strength. Then you must dress for high court, and remind them that not only are you Margolan’s queen and mother to its heir, but heir to the Isencroft crown as well.” She

laid a hand on Kiara’s arm comfortingly. “I have no doubt that you can face down this enemy as confidently as you’ve ridden into battle—although perhaps it might be best to leave your sword behind this time!”

The time to meet with the Council of Nobles came far too quickly. Alle accompanied her.

Cerise followed, resolute that she must be in attendance as a precaution, although Kiara suspected it was to make certain that the Council never forgot that the queen they sought to judge also carried the heir to the throne. Crevan led them through the narrow hallways of Shekerishet. Ammond and Hothan, Kiara’s regular guards, followed and two new guardsmen, the men who had accompanied Crevan, joined them.

Kiara drew herself up to her full height. Though she hated the discomfort of formal court regalia, she understood its power. Her dress was heavy with brocade and velvet, sewn with pearls and gold thread. Its high bodice accentuated her gently swelling belly. The neckline was modest—almost matronly by court fashion. At her throat hung a pendant nearly the size of her palm, the four-headed dragon seal of the heir to the Isencroft throne. The crown of the queen of Margolan glittered in Kiara’s auburn hair. She said a silent prayer to the Lady, as she did before going into battle, and found herself wishing for the clean demarcations of a war fought with weapons instead of words.

Six nobles stood as Crevan opened the door to the meeting chamber. They made perfunctory bows in greeting as a servant ran to pull out a chair for Kiara, which she refused.

“Why have you summoned me?” Kiara’s voice had an edge to it, the same tone she had often heard King Donelan use when he wished to remind an errant noble of his station. A glance around the table confirmed Alle’s guess at the nobles in attendance. White-haired Lord Acton Kiara recalled from the wedding, and Lord Guarov, with his features coldly impassive, was equally memorable. Dame Nuray’s looks hinted at Trevath blood, making her easy to identify.

A blond woman sat stiffly to Nuray’s right, with an expression that might have been impatience or boredom; Kiara guessed her to be Lady Casset. Of the remaining two men, one had a rough manner, as if he were more at home on the front lines of a battle than with the pleasantries of court.
Count Suphie?
If so, Kiara’s hopes of persuading him on the basis of her kinship to King Kalcen died. Suphie was an older man, easily Donelan’s age, meaning that he would have been a supporter of her grandfather, King Radomar, and likely to have shared his disdain for Viata’s outland marriage. The last man, Lord Dravan, looked old enough to be her

grandfather, but his light blue eyes were sharp and his angular features bespoke intelligence. Wild cards all of them.

“There is no way to put this delicately,” Lord Guarov said, although nothing in his manner suggested he was prone to doing so, regardless. Guarov was a slim man with hawk-like features and long-fingered, soft hands that made it clear he had never toiled. He had dark eyes that seemed to constantly scan the horizon for potential threats, and the punctiliousness of a bookkeeper. “Credible rumors allege great impropriety, Your Majesty. It is said widely at court that you and Master Bard Carroway have betrayed the king’s trust, and your wedding vows. To do so is treason.”