Ghosts in the Snow (39 page)

I take what opportunities present themselves, and your politics have set me free. For that, I, and my Nella, thank you.

Lars knelt beside his knee, lifting delicate strands from the mess. "Three hairs," he said. "Just like Risley's."

"Bastard thought we missed them last time?" Dien asked.

"Perhaps. There is no telling what the beast may have stolen from Risley's rooms, or when he had taken it." Dubric handed Dien the letter. "'Politics have set me free.' How can he know Risley is no longer in the gaol?"

The crowd erupted outside the door, and something hit the wall. They turned as Dari's voice screeched, "Where is she? Damn you, boy, I know damn well Dubric sent that man to fetch Nella and now she's disappeared. Did he feed her to Risley? Is she dead, too? Answer me!"

The door creaked open and Otlee fell through, landing on his back while Dari pummeled him. "He's not dead, is he? He's killed two of my friends. Tell me where he is."

"I can't say anything," Otlee screeched. "No one tells me anything."

The crowd roared, throwing whatever they could land their hands upon and calling for Risley's immediate execution. A voice rumbled from deep within the bedlam, "I saw strangers enter Dubric's suite. I saw them. Risley's alive, did you hear? Risley's alive and they're taking him back to Haenpar."

Silence filled the hall for a heartbeat of time, then chaos erupted, spread, and thundered away, moving to the main stairs.

Dubric yanked Dari off Otlee and snarled, "Yes, he is alive and Nella remains with him. He is also completely innocent of these crimes, of that there is no doubt." Shoving her away, he added, "But you may have just signed her death warrant. We were keeping her safe, for King's sake, keeping her hidden until we took her to safety."

Giving her a last scathing glare, he pulled Otlee to his feet and staggered toward the door with his ghosts dragging behind him.

* * *

Nella snuggled close, safe and warm in her love's embrace.
Haenpar
, she thought,
we're going to Haenpar and we're going to be married
. They sat together on the divan, a blanket covering them from the winter chill, and they talked and kissed and held hands, discussing the coming days. Every so often when they kissed, Risley's hands would wander forward from her waist and back. His touch on her belly and breasts felt like the gentlest spring breeze, and if he didn't linger she pretended she didn't notice. A touch of more than a brief moment or firmer than the flutter of a butterfly's wing would get his hands brushed away, and he'd smile against her mouth.

He had lingered but three times—and Nella wished he would linger again, just for a moment—oh, Goddess, it felt so nice. Then he stopped trying and became more gentlemanly, more reverent, more awed.

And he smiled more.

Curious, she asked him why he smiled and he said, "Because you pushed me away, love. At first I wasn't certain. I barely felt your touch upon my wrist, so I tried again. I hope I didn't scare you." He kissed her, snuggling her close against him. "We have no reason to hurry. I can wait as long as you need me to."

"I'm not scared, not really."

"I know, but after what had happened to your sister, after what you endured in Pyrinn, I'd rather not take the chance." He kissed her nose. "Perhaps we will wait to make love until our wedding night, perhaps we won't. Only time will tell. But I'm honored to take as much time and care as you need." He kissed her then, slow and lingering. "Because I love you, and because you're not ready for me to touch you like a lover."

"Maybe you could just ask?" she said, gazing into his eyes. "Give me a chance to say 'no,' or to say 'yes'? Like you did when you first kissed me?"

One eyebrow rose and he grinned. "AH right." He kissed her, holding her close, and whispered against her lips, "May I caress your breasts, my love, just for a moment?"

Trembling but not afraid, she nodded, whispering her answer into his mouth. "Just for a moment, yes."

She felt the warmth of his hand through her dress and they sighed one breath as he gently explored her.

Something outside crashed, and Bostra yelped in surprise. Risley pulled his hand away and lifted his head, listening. Another crash slammed against the wall and Nella gasped. Angry voices filled the air, calling for blood, their ire punctuated by destruction and noise. He left her, covering her before he ran to the locked door. "What is it?" he called over the din. "Bostra?"

The door burst open without warning, knocking him back to skid on his backside across the floor. Furious people fell upon him with a vengeance, screeching and clawing and trying to rip him limb from limb.

"No!" Nella screamed. She flew from the divan, tripping over the blanket, and she struggled to stand. She had not yet regained her footing when a lady hit her across the face with a broken bit of board. She fell again, gasping and spitting blood, and she reached for Risley's struggling arm. "Don't go!" she wailed, crawling forward. "Don't take him from me."

Their hands locked, his flailing from beneath the pummeling assault, hers shuddering from the board's staggering blows on her back, and she collapsed, falling face first to the floor.

As if her grip had held him there, he slipped away, gone with the screaming mob, and the lady stood over her, sneering. "This is all your fault, bitch," she snarled, slamming the board against Nella's head.

Risley disappeared from Nella's sight and everything fell black.

* * *

Dien, Lars, and Otlee ran well ahead, while Dubric struggled to keep up. The ghosts tugged at him, making him stumble in his fatigue and pain, but he remained near enough to see his men try in vain to halt the riotous spread.

Destruction and madness surged through the halls and charged up the main stairs. Dubric gasped and grunted, following the noise toward his suite. A screaming woman fell down the stairs with her right arm cut off and spurting blood. He let her fall. Staggering, he dragged his aching body to the third floor, only to witness the crowd surging back toward him.

"Hang him, hang him!" they chanted, knocking Dubric aside as they passed. He glimpsed Risley in the midst of the crowd, carried limp and battered. He saw Bostra fighting at the rear of the crazed group with his forehead split open. Bostra struggled to reach Risley, but the crowd heaved him back again and again like a bad potato. Dien, Lars, and Otlee were nowhere to be seen.

The ghosts laughed and Elli threw Rianne's severed arm into the frenzy. Dragging Risley with them, the crowd thundered down the stairs, growing ever louder with each passing moment.

Dubric staggered to his feet, using the wall as leverage, and he tottered for a moment before taking a step toward the retreating crowd.
Where is Nella
? he thought, his vision darkening for a moment.
Surely she would follow Risley
…

He stopped. The rioters knew Risley was in his suite. Someone had told them. The killer knew Risley had been released, and the killer had written of politics, hinting he knew about the threat from Haenpar.

"But no one knew Bostra was here," he said aloud in the empty hallway. "None but us four, Risley, and Nella." He tried to remember the faces of the patrons of the Dancing Sheep, but, dammit, Bostra had remained covered, he never showed his face. No one knew, not a single soul outside his little circle. Even the note had been delivered sealed.

He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out the rumpled bit of parchment, wincing at the flecks of green wax that crumbled, falling to dust his boots. Green wax.
Faldorrahn-green
. Not Haenparan-blue.

All his ghosts stopped their cavorting to stare at him.

Beckwith had delivered the note from Bostra. Beckwith, the herald, always ready with a stub of wax to seal—or reseal—a message. He read the note; he knew where to find Risley. Small things, things Dubric had not noticed at the time, suddenly came back to him. Beckwith had heard him argue with Risley the day the package arrived, and had heard Risley's exact phraseology. He could have known what to put in the letter to sound like Risley. Beckwith's wife held the key to the china cabinet and he had free access to Brushgar's papers. Dubric shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Risley had denied that he had been given a razor, but Dubric had believed Beckwith's account of the delivery. What if it had been Beckwith who was lying? He hated Risley. Dubric suddenly remembered Lars's report of the scuffle between the two men. Beckwith had had the opportunity to kill Meiks and Nansy, yet had neatly eliminated himself as a suspect with the presence of a head wound, one just like Nella's. But the wound had been in back while Nansy was attacked from the front.

Why did I not see the connections before? How could I have been so blind? Beckwith's own wife testified about him desiring young, pretty women, but I dismissed the connection, seeing only his foppish demeanor and mincing attitudes.

His throat went dry as he thought of the common thread that had led him to Risley. Nella. She cleaned for the Beckwiths; he had often seen the herald tittering over her, wanting her to scrub doilies and polish trinkets or asking about Risley… "No!" Dubric howled, staggering toward his suite. "Nella!"

No more ghosts
, he pleaded with himself.
Please get there in time, so there will be no more ghosts
.

* * *

Nella blinked away the black haze of pain and tried to raise her throbbing head. She tasted blood, and spat, which made her head swim alarmingly, but she grimaced and opened her eyes anyway. J
have to get to Risley
, she thought, struggling to get her legs beneath her.
I have to save him
.

Someone else was in the room with her; she could sense them, hear their breathing and a low delighted chuckle. A man.

"Dubric?" she asked, crawling forward, still unable to see clearly. The world shimmied and spun, flapping like a flag in a strong wind.

"Not Dubric," the voice rasped. A terrifyingly familiar metallic
click
filled her ears. "Are you ripe yet, little girl? Have I let you marinate long enough? Are you ready for me?"

Squealing, she scuttled away, slamming against the divan and trying desperately to see, to make sense of the wavering view.

No one was there. The room settled to a slow ripple and she rubbed her eyes. The chairs, the bookshelves, the etched glass lamp shattered on the floor. Curtains brightened by a daytime sky. The same room she had spent the last few bells in. Cluttered, ransacked, and perhaps broken, but the same room, and she was alone in it. And yet she wasn't.

"Are you going to answer me, little girl?" he asked, closer this time.

She drew her feet beneath her hips and pressed herself against the divan. "Where are you? Who are you?" She smelled blood, but saw nothing, nothing but the room.

"What's this?" the voice said, and someone grasped her arm and wrenched her to her feet. The bracelet spun on her wrist, turned by his scalding touch. "What a lovely little trinket."

"Risley made it for me," she said, her voice faltering.

He hit her across the mouth and sent her reeling onto the divan. "We shall not speak of him again, little girl. It has taken me many days and much planning, but your Lord Romlin is finally dead."

Cold stinking metal slid across her throat and she shied away. "Why?" she whispered, shoving her voice through her trembling throat. "Why blame all this on him? Why do this to me?"

The thing she could not see hissed and said, "The moment I saw you I wanted you for my own, but Risley already had your heart in his hand when he brought you here. You couldn't see, could you? How I longed for the briefest words, the most innocent touch. All you saw, all you wanted, was that beast who would tire of you and toss you aside like last week's moldy soup. He didn't deserve you, and any man who would leave his rooms open and unlocked was just begging to take the blame for my cleansing."

His blade traced meandering patterns across her throat. "I could remove two obstacles at once, give Dubric a handy and plausible suspect and free you for the taking, all the while preparing myself for our union.

"They were no more than a pox upon the land, with their tainted flesh and lewd ways. But you! Perfect, pristine, and lovely. Risley didn't deserve you."

He laughed and pulled her upright, sitting her on the divan while keeping the blade at her throat. "But I do. I want you. I love you. I made myself virginal again, just for you!"

Her chest heaved and she clenched her fists against the divan cushions. "You killed those innocent women!"

"They were not 'innocent'!" he snarled, the blade moving downward to slice the flesh along her collarbone. "They were vile and filthy whores. All but the last, but I needed her gift to make me ready for you. Can't you see? And you and I, we are meant to be together."

She whimpered, scrunching her eyes closed. "No, please. Don't hurt me."

Lander Beckwith appeared from nowhere, pulling back the hood of his cloak and easing from the empty air like a wraith. Nella screamed, trying to scramble away from the apparition, but she had nowhere to go. Wildly, she searched the room, looking for something to use as a weapon against him, and she noticed Risley's sword leaning in the corner, right where he'd left it. Struggling to control her terror, she swallowed and returned her attention to the ghostly image of Beckwith.

"Shh, my darling. I'm not going to harm you." He knelt before her, grinning and becoming solid as he completely pulled back his hood. Blood smeared his teeth and chin, and had dried upon his hands, turning the edges of his fingernails nearly black. She saw a bit of dark meat between two of his teeth and her stomach roiled. He leered at her and traced the blunt edge of his razor up her thigh. "I've aged you to perfection and you're mine now."

She stifled a scream and stared at him, panting and struggling to remain calm as the razor dragged across her belly.

He pulled the blade away, slowly, and she saw layers upon layers of dried and blackened blood on the blade and the handle, coating but not obscuring Risley's gilded name. The razor looked and smelled like death and damnation. "That's my girl," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you, not if you cooperate."