House of Shadows (44 page)
“I was not. We had hardly conversed five minutes altogether,” Leilis said firmly.
“She’s lying—she’s a deceitful, treacherous creature—she’s—” Lily began to protest. Then she stopped, collected herself, and said much more smoothly, “I assure you, eminence, Leilis would have done anything and betrayed anyone for a promise to remove her curse. I know Mother—” she slid a sideways glance at Narienneh “—always trusted her, but truly that only shows the smooth manners Leilis learned. Mimicking her betters, never knowing her place—”
“Lily,” Narienneh said. Only that, but it stopped the deisa in midsentence, almost in midword.
The king lifted an ironic eyebrow at Leilis. “So?”
Leilis drew a slow breath, and let it out again. Then she said, “You were in the dragon’s cavern, eminence. What can I add to what you saw there?”
“You see!” Lily said triumphantly.
“Yes,” said the king. “Thank you, deisa. You may go. Jeres—”
The prince’s guard, professionally bland, escorted Lily from the room and then returned to resume his place next to Neriodd, behind the king’s chair.
“Well?” said the king.
Leilis bent her head to the king, but she spoke first to Narienneh. “I’m sorry.”
The Mother of Cloisonné House shook her head, looking tired. “Leilis, you were not the only one of my many children to try to tell me about my one child.”
Leilis touched Narienneh’s hand in sympathy. To the king, she said, “What shall I tell you, eminence?”
Again, a pale eyebrow rose above an eye as cold as the gray winter sky. “Everything,” said the king.
Leilis had both dreaded and expected precisely this. She had hoped that if—when—this moment came, she would suddenly know what to say. But the moment had arrived, and still she did not know. Next to the king’s cool command, Lily’s viciousness shrank to something obviously childish and petty.
She could tell the king nothing but truth and yet leave out any hint that she had ever known—before the cavern—that Lord Chontas Taudde ser Omientes was Kalchesene. She knew she could tell a smooth tale to cover her encounter with Taudde and then Jeres Geliadde in the Laodd. She dismissed without even consciously thinking of it any fear that Taudde would give her away when he himself was questioned. Without any clear reason for her confidence, she simply knew that he would not.
Yes, Leilis could reach for her own safety. She doubted the king would question her story very closely. Lily’s accusations were nothing, or close to nothing. The girl’s vindictiveness was too obvious to be a threat. With his son infatuated with Karah, the king would wish to maintain a good relationship with Cloisonné House.
But only if she told the king
everything
could she tell him also the things Taudde had said to her.
I think now I was wrong. I was
glad to find I had done less than I meant to do.
And,
I swear to you, I did not come here to strike at your prince. Indeed, I swore to my grandfather I would not attempt personal vengeance. But then there was Miennes. So I was a fool, after all.
Leilis believed the Kalchesene. Now she wanted to make Geriodde Nerenne ken Seriantes believe him as well. But she had no faith in her ability to persuade the king of anything.
But in the end, she tried. Narienneh and Jeres Geliadde and the king’s own bodyguard and the king himself all listened to Leilis’s careful attempt to explain what she had thought and guessed and seen and surmised of the Kalchesene’s heart. All four listened with nearly identical neutrality, yet she knew she must at best sound like an impressionable girl, and at worst like exactly what Lily had accused her of being: a treacherous fool concerned with nothing but her own advantage.
At last, finding herself at the end of her ability to express herself, Leilis simply stopped. There was a pause that seemed to scroll out for a long time.
Then the king leaned his chin on his fist and said, taking Leilis utterly aback, “Do you know, young woman, you resemble your father amazingly.”
Leilis simply stared, for once utterly forgetful of elegant keiso manners.
“He was a close, mmm. Not friend. A close ally of my father, and then of mine. He, too, could see through all duplicity to the indwelling truth at the heart of a man.” This did nothing to resolve Leilis’s amazement, but Narienneh seemed enlightened. “Oh,” she murmured. “Yes. That was Nasedres Perenedde. Yes. He was a faithful client of Cloisonné House, and so fond of Coralberry.”
“And a fine mage,” murmured the king. He continued to gaze at Leilis, his chilly eyes thoughtful. “As you noted earlier, young woman, I was indeed present in the dragon’s chamber.”
T
audde woke into silence.
At first he thought he had been made mute. Then, as he realized that more than his own voice had been silenced, that there was no sound anywhere, he thought he had been made deaf. The horror of these thoughts was so great that when it finally dawned on him that he was merely imprisoned in a soundless prison, the realization came as a relief. He traced the lacy edges of the muting spellwork with sideways glances—the spellwork could not be seen straight on—traced them again and again, compulsively, not because he hoped to break the spell, but simply as evidence that sound still existed in the world, that only his own prison was soundless.
Aside from its silence, the prison was not terrible. It was the sort of apartment a guest of rank might be given. The bedchamber where Taudde had awoken was small, but it boasted a bed that, though narrow, was well supplied with good blankets and coverlets. There were two other rooms. The first of these was a private bath, where the basin possessed six taps that ran with fresh water. One of them offered hot water, one cold, and the other four warm water that had been perfumed with musk or floral scents. Clothing had been laid out on a chest. His own clothing, Taudde observed with a tremor of disquiet. This was the gray outfit he had purchased himself… how many days ago? That trip to the Paliante seemed far in the past.
The water ran soundlessly from the tap and splashed equally soundlessly into the basin. When Taudde tapped his fingernails against the porcelain, there was no resulting sound. He bathed and dressed in total silence. His clothing did not rustle, his soft boots did not whisper against the floor. Taudde set his teeth against a desire to shout, to scream: He could not have borne proof of his own voicelessness. He went out into the final room with deliberate calm.
This room was the largest of the three. It held two small tables, a desk, and several chairs, all of polished wood inlaid with lapis and pearl. It was also the only room with a window. The window, of course, was barred—but the iron bars were chased with silver. Or no—he saw on closer examination that what he had first taken for silver decoration was the lacework of the muting spell. So outside that window, sound existed: voices and music, the simple calls of birds and the whisper of the breeze… Taudde went to the window and stood looking out at the world beyond. Rugged cliffs and a glimpse of the city, and beyond both, the endless sea. Below him, waves climbed the shore and broke into froth, but he heard nothing.
The bars were too closely spaced for him to reach a hand through to the outside air. Though that would avail him nothing, even if he could. This was a good prison. It might easily hold a bardic sorcerer for a hundred years, Taudde concluded. Exactly as he had been warned. He put a hand on the windowsill and leaned his forehead against the cold bars, closing his eyes. If Geriodde Nerenne ken Seriantes left him in this prison for so long as a hundred days, he knew he would go mad.
Geriodde Nerenne ken Seriantes left him there for three. They were the longest days Taudde had ever known. Well-prepared food was delivered at intervals, but he had no appetite for it. Clean clothing—his own, mostly—was delivered as well, and Taudde kept himself neat out of habit and pride and the hope that eventually he would find his respectable appearance useful in persuading someone that dramatic measures were not necessary to keep him
imprisoned. But he also slept as much as he could, trying to drown the silence of the world that surrounded him with the remembered sound and music of his dreams. By the third day he found, to his despair, that sound was leaching out even from his memory, leaving his dreams as silent as his days.
On the third day, he was again standing by the window, gazing out at the soundless world. When a hand landed on his shoulder, Taudde leaped and whirled, his heart pounding. He had, of course, heard nothing of the man’s approach. Three black-clad men had entered his prison. Two stood near the door, and the other, of course, had come to get his attention with a touch, since a word could hardly do so.
This one was, he saw, the same senior officer of the King’s Own guard who had been with the king in the dragon’s cavern. The man didn’t look amused by Taudde’s startlement. The man’s hard face did not lend itself to expressions of amusement, but even accounting for this, he looked grim. He looked like he thought Taudde was dangerous. Taudde had never felt less dangerous in his life. He bowed his head, trying to show that he intended only to cooperate.
From the ironic crook of his mouth, the officer was not convinced. He stepped back and gave a jerk of his head, and one of his subordinates came forward, drew a sword, and stepped behind Taudde. A hard hand came down on Taudde’s shoulder, pressing him to his knees, and the sword was laid against his throat. For one dizzying moment, Taudde thought that despite the elaborate prison, he was simply going to be killed out of hand. But then the door of his prison opened again.
This time Geriodde Nerenne ken Seriantes himself entered, with his son at his side. Another man, a thick-bodied older man with the black overrobe and long white underrobe of a mage, trailed a step behind.
The king. The Dragon of Lirionne… The king was thinner than he had been before the caverns. The bones stood out starkly in his harsh-featured face. His ivory-pale hair was streaked with pure
white. That, too, was new. But the king’s eyes were still cold and opaque, and he still wore expressionlessness like a mask.
Prince Tepres was very like his father, if not so hard to read. His gaze flickered to Taudde’s face and then away—and then, as if unwillingly, back again. The prince looked fine drawn and strained. His dark eyes had become, Taudde thought, a shade darker, as though the memory of shadows had crept into them and remained. And yet there was a sense of ease between the prince and his father that to Taudde seemed new.
The king glanced at his officer and gave a small nod, then glanced in command at the mage who had accompanied him.
The mage took a short wooden rod out of a pocket in his robe and broke it. The spell of silence surrounding the prison relaxed.
The return of sound—the
proof
that sound still existed in the world—was a relief so shattering that Taudde nearly cried out. The rustle of cloth, even the sound of men breathing, seemed loud; the creak of leather as one of the guards adjusted the sheath of his sword was a sharp counterpoint. Taudde drew a hard breath, suppressing an exclamation that might have been nearly a sob. At his throat, the sword shifted.
Taudde bowed his head again and held very still, certain that the mage could restore the muting spell as quickly as it had been eased. Even if that was not true, he would hardly be allowed to sing a note, or whistle, or tap out a rhythm. He waited to see if he would be allowed to speak.
Then the king made a small gesture. The sword lifted away from Taudde’s throat as the black-clad guards eased back a reluctant step.
Taudde promptly used this new freedom to cast himself prone at the king’s feet. It was a dramatic gesture, one Taudde hoped might incline the king toward clemency. He was glad the prince had come with his father; possibly in his son’s presence, the king would be less inclined toward ferocity than if he had been on his own. Taudde pressed his face against the floor and waited.
The king broke the pause. His voice was quiet, overlain by harsh
tones that called to mind the powerful tones of the sea. “Do you plead for pardon, Kalchesene? Do you believe you deserve pardon of me?”
Taudde rose as far as kneeling, lifting his gaze to the king’s face. He might have reminded the king,
I saved your life, and your son’s life, and your dragon as well
. But of course Geriodde Nerenne ken Seriantes knew that, and Taudde did not need to be told that the gratitude of kings was not merely fickle, but on occasion actually dangerous. He said instead, “I have permitted myself to hope for generosity, eminence.”