Irons in the Fire (59 page)

"Help me!" she screamed.

"Your Grace?" Startled, the servant outside tried to enter, only to find the door locked against him.

Litasse ran to turn the key. Her fingers slipped, slick with Hamare's blood.

"Your Grace?" The man stood there, astounded.

"Murder." Litasse felt her heart pounding, her chest heaving. She hardly had breath to speak.

The man gaped as he took in the scene. "Saedrin save us, fire!"

He grabbed her hands and hauled her out of the room. Litasse tried to pull away, but dizziness assailed her and she sank to the floor. The servant let her go and ran away down the stairs. She tried to call him back but could manage no more than a feeble gasp. Sprawled gracelessly, she tried desperately not to faint. Footsteps thudded up the stairs amid a confusion of shouts.

"Litasse?" It was Iruvain.

She managed to raise herself up, horribly light-headed. "Hamare, he--"

"Hush." Iruvain swept her into his arms, as he had done when he'd carried her over the shrine's threshold on their wedding day. "Not a word!"

She looked up to see no solicitude in her husband's face, just cold anger.

A handful of men rushed past to beat out the flames threatening to take hold of Hamare's room. As soon as the stairs were clear, Iruvain carried her down to the courtyard and across to his own apartments. His steward hesitated on the threshold of the tower's audience chamber.

"Out," Iruvain barked. "Close the door." He dropped Litasse hard onto a chair.

The courtyard's cooler air had helped clear her head. She pressed her hands to her chest and concentrated on breathing calmly enough to speak.

Iruvain spoke first. "You couldn't manage to end your affair without stabbing the man? At such a time? When I'm about to broker peace between Draximal and Parnilesse? How am I to do that when you've cut Hamare's throat, you stupid bitch?"

Litasse stared up at him. She didn't know what shocked her most--that Iruvain knew of her adultery or that he thought she had killed Hamare.

"I didn't," she protested.

"His blood's on your skirts, my lady," Iruvain said, scathing.

"They put the knife in my hand." Litasse protested. "There were two men--"

Iruvain's brutal slap cut her short. "Entering a room unseen when a man was guarding the door?" he snarled. "What manner of fool do you take me for? More of a fool than you've already made me with your faithlessness?"

How had he found out? How long had he known? Her head ringing and her cheek stinging, Litasse rejected such questions. She had to convince Iruvain she was telling the truth. "They were Mountain Men, and wizards besides. At least, one of them was. They used magic to come here."

"Why don't you just say they were Eldritch Kin and have done with it?" Iruvain threw up his hands.

She recoiled, fearing another blow. He turned away instead and dropped heavily into a chair.

"Since we'll be telling lies for the sake of your threadbare honour and my tarnished dignity, let's at least make the falsehood believable. All anyone need know is that Master Hamare tried to force his attentions on you and paid the price. I can only thank whatever goddess looks kindly on adultery that you were at least discreet," he added contemptuously, "because there's no chance I'm setting you aside, not now."

What did he mean? Litasse pushed that thought away as another meaningless question. "Master Hamare has news from Sharlac." She corrected herself with a spasm of grief. "He'd had news."

"Yes, he would have." Iruvain surprised her with a heavy sigh. "Though why that should provoke a quarrel between you, I don't know." He shook his head. "Believe me, my lady wife, I am sorry for your losses, but how we're to find a way through all this with Hamare dead, I really don't know," he said with renewed wrath.

Now Litasse was puzzled. "My losses?"

"We may at least hope your lady mother is safe, and those of your sisters who were travelling with her." Iruvain sprang up and began pacing around the room. "As for Lord Kerlin, Saedrin only knows."

Litasse's perplexity turned to alarm. "Why should my mother not be safe? What about Kerlin?"

"You said Hamare had told you the news from Sharlac." Iruvain glared at her. "I suppose we might be able to convince people you struck out at him, distraught with grief."

"What news?" cried Litasse. "What grief?"

"Maewelin's tits, you don't know?" Iruvain was momentarily disconcerted. "I'm sorry, my lady wife, but His Grace your father is dead. Which at least saves him the grief of learning his daughter's a whore," he added spitefully.

Litasse had no time for his petty malice. "My father's dead? Has he been ill?"

"He's been killed in a treacherous attack on Sharlac Castle." Iruvain overrode her urgent questions. "An assault was launched in the dead of night by mercenaries who've been hiding out in the hills above the border."

Litasse stared at Iruvain. "His guardsmen didn't save him?"

"His guardsmen have been getting fat and lazy, confident their lord and master had no need to call on them." Iruvain shook his head.

Litasse pressed shaking hands to her face, heedless of Hamare's blood on them. "My brother Kerlin?"

"He may have fled south." Iruvain looked a little sympathetic. "Of course, if Carluse men capture him, we'll see him married to one of Garnot's daughters before the end of the Autumn Festival. If he's dead, believe me or not as you choose, I'll be sorry for it and not just because we will have to come to some accommodation with His Grace of Carluse."

He began pacing again. "It seems you were right to mistrust Duke Garnot. Whichever of your sisters he manages to catch and marry off to his own heir, you're still Duke Moncan's eldest daughter. With both your brothers dead, that makes your claim on Sharlac the strongest. I'm sure Duke Secaris of Draximal will support your claim." He scowled. "It would be easier if we had a common border with Sharlac."

"This attack has nothing to do with Carluse." Litasse clenched her fists so hard that her fingernails dug into her palms. The pain helped ward off the anguish threatening to engulf her. "That's what Hamare was telling me. That the army poised in those hills threatens Carluse, too. It all stems from the plot he was pursuing in Vanam!"

She sprang to her feet. "You wouldn't listen. Whoever's behind this, they're in Vanam. They're the ones who set Draximal and Parnilesse at each other's throats. They have wizards doing their bidding and that's who came here and killed Hamare because he had learned too much. They were Mountain Men, Iruvain, same as half this army." Grief clawed at her heart but her anger burned too hot for tears. "Did whoever brought you this news tell you that? Wasn't it Mountain Men and Dalasorians who killed my father?"

"That's the rumour, but I wasn't sure if such reports were true." Iruvain looked searchingly at her. "What do Mountain Men and Dalasorians hope to gain by attacking Sharlac and Carluse?"

"They killed Hamare before he could tell me and they burned all his papers," Litasse said, despairing. "You saw the fire destroying all his records, all his ciphers. Why would I do something so ruinous to Triolle?" she demanded with new fury. "Have your men bring you the knife that killed Hamare. You won't know it, my lord, and you'll find no one in this castle who owns it. It's not mine. It's not Hamare's. It belonged to the Mountain-born wizard who killed him!"

"So you're a slut but not a murderess," Iruvain sneered. "I have rather more urgent concerns. Sit down!"

Litasse subsided onto the chair again. She looked at the stinging crescents her nails had made in her palms. Fresh blood mingled with the clotted stains of Hamare's murder. There would be time enough to weep for him later, she told herself fiercely. Just as there would be time to grieve for her father. She would mourn her mother and sisters, her brothers, dead or alive, when she had firm news of them, for good or ill. In the meantime, Iruvain was her only means of avenging any of them. She looked up to meet her husband's eyes.

"I know the names of some of Hamare's enquiry agents and he told me something of their current quests. Give me a little time, and peace and quiet, my lord, and I'll write down all I can remember. They will know who the others might be, and where we can learn more of what Hamare had discovered." She tried to curb her tears. "That's how we first grew close, because he trusted me with Triolle's secrets. I found precious little companionship or tenderness in my marriage, my lord, to draw me closer to you."

"Don't excuse your faithlessness, my lady." Iruvain's lip curled. "Or I'll send you back to Sharlac in disgrace. You can take your chances with whatever mercenaries are plundering your father's castle."

Litasse saw that he meant every merciless word. She looked down at the floor.

Iruvain walked over to the far side of the room. "White brandy?" Glass chinked. "So, is our castle ready to receive the dukes of Parnilesse and Draximal and all their retinues?"

"Very nearly." She took the golden-stemmed glass he offered, disconcerted by this sudden courtesy.

Iruvain downed a generous measure of the clear liquid in a single swallow. "If Sharlac and Carluse are both under attack, we must make common cause with Parnilesse and Draximal. They must surely abandon their quarrel over that cursed bridge."

"That's what Hamare said," Litasse said hesitantly.

"You will not muddy the waters with this tale of Mountain-born wizards killing Hamare. You will take the blame for his death and perhaps Saedrin will weigh it in the scales against all your other guilt." Iruvain shot Litasse a dark glance. "But if these villains are fool enough to use magic in Sharlac, I might be convinced that you're telling the truth. That you're a trollop, not a murderess."

"I will admit to whatever you see fit, my lord." Litasse sipped her brandy and felt the liquid fire strengthen her resolve.

"What of Marlier? Did Hamare say anything about Duke Ferdain?"

To Litasse's relief, her husband sounded more curious than suspicious.

"Only that he was certain Marlier was not involved," she said.

Iruvain sniffed. "He'll be fast enough to take advantage of the situation."

"Then take the initiative," Litasse suggested quickly. "Invite Duke Ferdain of Marlier to discuss this crisis as well as Secaris of Draximal and Orlin of Parnilesse."

"Putting Triolle at the centre of all councils?" Iruvain looked at her before returning to the side table and refilling his glass. "Whoever these attackers are, whatever they intend, they cannot push much further south before winter ends their campaign." He drank thoughtfully. "If Carluse's militias are as formidable as Duke Garnot likes to boast, he may even force this first assault back. So we have until the turn of For-Spring to plan a counter-attack."

Could they plan such a thing without Hamare? Litasse looked at the bloodstains on her gown and a shudder wracked her. "How can we counter magic, if they have wizards on their side?"

"We demand that Archmage Planir strikes them down." Iruvain slammed his glass down so hard he snapped the narrow stem. He stared at the remnant still in his hand before hurling it into the fireplace. "Write down everything you can remember Hamare telling you. There's paper and pens in the cabinet. Don't talk to anyone until I come back, not even the servants."

With that, he strode from the room. As the door opened, Litasse heard Valesti's voice rising hysterically. Iruvain dismissed her with curt finality, slamming the door behind him. Litasse heard the key turn in the lock. She sat quietly, finishing her white brandy.

Would these attackers be foolish enough to use their magic as they plundered Sharlac? Whether or not they did, whether or not Iruvain believed her, she knew the truth. Whoever these unknown assailants were, they were defying all custom by bringing magic into Lescari affairs. Waiting for them to use wizardry again and relying on Archmage Planir's retaliation was foolishness. Whatever they did next might win them victory in one fell swoop. Hadn't Iruvain thought of that?

What could curb them before they could launch some new attack? She frowned. What had Hamare said, when he was telling her there was nothing to rumours of wizardry loose in Draximal and Parnilesse? That he knew every mage who might be bought or coerced? Could she find out who they were? If she were ever to have her revenge on that Mountain-born wizard, a mage in her own service would surely be essential.

Would Iruvain ever agree to retain such a renegade? Litasse doubted it. No matter. Who could help her find one? Who could help her keep such a secret? Who had Hamare trusted most? Karn, but he was dead. Which left Pelletria. Though she was a hundred leagues or more away in Carluse, the last Litasse had heard.

She walked slowly over to the correspondence cabinet and found pen, paper and ink. Could she persuade Valesti to smuggle a letter out for her without letting Iruvain know? Would Valesti be able to find anyone to carry it north and west, when news of this attack on Sharlac would be throwing everything into such disarray? What would Iruvain do if he found her deceiving him again? Was it worth the risk?

Litasse sat at the table and began writing down as many of Hamare's secrets as she could recall. That at least was a first step towards avenging his death.

Chapter Thirty-Six