The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (13 page)

Frar Varian gave Sullyan a respectful bow, which she returned, and then left, pulling his cowl over his head as he stepped out into the darkness. Sullyan regarded the door thoughtfully before removing her cloak and hanging it on the peg provided. The two men did the same and then set about brewing fellan and warming a meal, hoping for a good long rest before the Patrio was ready to receive them.

+ + + + +

“Y
ou’ve done
what
? A proclamation? Are you completely mad, woman?”

Sofira’s hand flew to her mouth and her gray eyes widened at the Baron’s furious tone. Yet she held her back straight and tried not to show how his flash of temper had unsettled her. He’d taken pains to constantly impress upon her how frail he was, how the slightest upset could rattle him, and always acted contrite when he finally calmed. All of this was carefully calculated to keep her pliable.

Given her eagerness to please him, Reen often had trouble remembering his own decision not to reveal himself to her too soon. Her announcement had shaken him badly and he had to remind himself why he still needed her. His plans concerning Sofira were not yet ripe.

“Madam,” he said in a calmer tone, “please forgive me. I am still not recovered, but that is no excuse. I should not speak harshly to you when you have been so kind and so caring toward one who has suffered so much.”

Sofira laid her hand on his arm. “Oh, my love, there is nothing to forgive.” She didn’t seem to notice the quiver of the taut muscles beneath her touch. “I should have told you before, but I wanted it to be a surprise. The goodwill of our people means so much to me, and once this proclamation is issued it will pave the way for their acceptance of our marriage.”

Reen went rigid and the tremor of his muscles ceased. “Once it’s issued?” he snapped, not troubling to modulate his tone. “Do you mean you haven’t issued it yet?”

Misconstruing his displeasure, Sofira hastened to reassure him. “Only to the crier, my love, but don’t worry. He has orders to proclaim it at first light tomorrow and throughout the rest of the day.”

Reen grabbed her arm in a painful grip. “Madam, you must rescind the order. Rescind it at once!”

She gasped in pain and tried to twist free. “My love, you’re hurting me.”

“Promise me you’ll rescind the order!”

She stared into his eyes and shivered. He realized his guard was slipping and strove for control. He forced himself to release her arm, seeing the bruising on her flesh, and slumped as if exhausted into the chair. She watched him in hurt puzzlement.

“Oh, Sofira, do you see how beset I am?” He passed a hand over his face. The dim glow from the fire, the windowless room’s only illumination, hid his true condition from her. “You see what they have done to me, how the merest thought of discovery unmans me? And I am shamed, my love. For more than anything I desire to be a man for you, and yet I fail you at every turn.”

As he had intended, his words brought her close to his chair. She cradled his head to her breast and he leaned there, listening to the beat of her heart, feeling her softness surround him.
Soon
, his lusting spirit whispered,
soon you will be strong enough to drop this deception. Soon you will savor your true revenge.

His body stirred at the thought and he brought himself sternly under control.
Not yet, not yet.
There was still one experiment yet to try, one assurance he needed to obtain before unleashing the full potential of what he was and what he had planned.

Until then, he must play this woman very carefully. For if he was discovered before he was ready—if
she
should discover him—he was dead for sure. He knew, with a certainty beyond any doubt, that if what he feared the most should come about, then even the Execution of the Wheel would be more easily borne than the revenge
she
would wreak upon him.

He shuddered, and Sofira mistook his horror for misery. “Oh, my love, you will always be a man to me,” she murmured. “But what can I do to soothe you? How can I help you overcome the terror their cruelty has instilled in you?”

He raised his head and gazed into her face. The fact that he saw only a pale blur signified nothing. He had other senses now with which to confound her.

“You can keep my existence and our intentions secret. Oh, Sofira, I know this is hard for you to understand. You are protected here, safe within the circle of your father’s defenses; none would harm you here. But I am a convicted traitor, no matter how falsely accused. Even here, in your father’s demesne, I am vulnerable. Do you think Elias would scruple at setting spies within your father’s palace? Do you think he does not keep himself informed of your whereabouts or your daily affairs? Do you imagine he is ignorant of your threat to his stability, despite the disgrace he heaped upon you?”

Reen raised himself higher and faced Sofira, warming to his theme. This was always the way to her heart—flattery and guile under a mask of devoted service.

“Elias fears you, my love. You may have been dethroned and cast aside, but you still command power and respect. There are many at Port Loxton who would welcome your return, but there are also those who would crow to see you cast further into disgrace. This, my love, is why we can’t afford to give them even the slightest opportunity to guess what we are about. I know you care passionately about the acclaim of your people and you wish them to know how ardently you strive for their well-being and prosperity. You can best serve those ends by giving up all thoughts of a public announcement. Not only is it far too dangerous for either of us—think what Elias’s spies would make of it!—but it would also show our enemies our hand far too soon. You do see, don’t you? You understand why I ask this of you?”

The passion in his speech brought tears to the Princess’s eyes. She was so transparent to him he could almost hear her thoughts. He was so wise, so careful of her, and so fervent for the restoration of what she had lost! How could she have jeopardized what he had suffered for, how could she have risked his intricate plans? She was shamed and her face grew hot at the thought of how careless she’d been. Tears spilled down her cheek and she bowed her head.

“I understand, my love. I hope you can forgive me. I wasn’t thinking. It was only my joyful anticipation of our union that made me forget the torments you have suffered. I promise you, it will never happen again.”

Mention of their forthcoming marriage set Reen’s teeth on edge. He must accomplish his final experiment before that important day. He would have to send out his servants again very soon.

“Madam, it grieves me sorely that our nuptial day must, of necessity, be held in darkness and secrecy. But I will make you this promise. Our wedding night will be an occasion such as you have never experienced. Sensations the likes of which you have only dreamed will be yours for the savoring. And afterward you will have all that you deserve in this world. This is my word and my pledge.”

“Oh, Hezra!” murmured the Princess.

Reen dampened his ardor lest the sullen ruby glow of his eyes frighten her. “But for now, my love, although it pains me to say it, I am tired beyond belief. Leave me to rest. I will be stronger on the morrow. And, Sofira,” he added sharply as she turned to go, “don’t forget to rescind your order to the crier.”

“I won’t forget, my love. You have my word on that.”

He leaned back in the chair with a sigh of exhaustion, muttering furiously at the woman’s inconceivable stupidity. He believed she would send word to the crier, but the man could have read the proclamation already, and so he sent out the call that would put his own seal of assurance on the man’s silence. The strength he now needed so badly had to come from somewhere, after all.

+ + + + +

T
he door to the guest cottage opened to admit Frar Varian and a gust of snow-laden air. Varian shook the white dust from his robes as he cast back his cowl and came to stand by the fire. His aging hands sought the warmth of the flames.

“Would you care for some fellan, Frar?” offered Sullyan. “It is freshly made.”

“I would, thank you.” Varian accepted the steaming mug handed him by Tad. “The winds are freshening and there will be significant snowfall overnight. You should offer up thanks that your voyage was blessed by that vagrant breeze this afternoon. This is not a night for novice sailors to be abroad.”

Sullyan smiled gently. “Indeed. It was a truly fortunate breeze.”

She noted Tad and Cal watching this byplay, trying to decide whether the Frar knew Sullyan had called the wind for her own convenience. Something in the cleric’s eyes indicated he did, but as he made no comment, they couldn’t be sure. All they could be clear on was that Sullyan and Varian had put aside the slight tension between them.

Varian looked up from the steaming mug. “Our Patrio bids me inform you he will be able to speak with you shortly. I am to convey you to his private rooms at the hour of the eighth bell. He thought you would be more comfortable there than in his study, which is not appointed for receiving visitors.”

Sullyan inclined her head. “Your Patrio is most kind. We will not trouble him long. I have been asked to clarify the facts contained in his letter to the King, but it is a formality only. The Baron’s treachery wrought much damage to King Elias’s policies, not to mention the physical threats to himself and his son, and he needs some reassurance as to the final fate of such a dangerous man.”

Varian nodded. “I imagine the abduction of his son affected him deeply.”

Sullyan caught and held his gaze before replying. “Indeed it did. Elias’s Heir is most precious to him. He felt the lad’s ordeal like a wound to his heart.”

The cleric turned his head at the faint sound of a striking bell. He held out his open hand. “It is the hour of the eighth bell. If you would accompany me?”

They rose and swung their heavy cloaks about their shoulders. Varian led the way into the biting cold, where swirling flakes of snow were already settling on the ground. It was pitch dark; only the soft glow from the guest cottage windows illuminated their way. And soon even that small light was gone. There was no sound except the sough of wind across jagged rocks and the soft footfalls of their guide.

They followed Frar Varian along a pathway worn smooth by countless feet, walls of rock on either side. These provided some shelter from the strength and chill of the wind, but also cut them off from any light there might have been from dwellings up ahead.

They rounded an outcropping and the cleric’s quarters came into view. Like the guest cottage, they were all hewn into the rock itself, doors and windows cut into the rock face with wooden shutters to hold out the cold. Only a faint glimmer of lamplight could be seen around the door frames.

Varian halted outside the farthest dwelling and raised his hand to tap at the door. They waited in silence and heard the latch lift, and then the door was pushed open, flooding the night with firelight.

A man stood silhouetted by the leaping light. “Welcome, my guests. Will you step inside? There is warmth and good food awaiting you on this cold and snowy night.”

Cleric Patrio Ruvar was a complete surprise and Sullyan understood why Tad stood gawping and Cal failed to suppress a small gasp. Their reactions twisted the Patrio’s mouth into a smile.

Dressed casually in a dark linen shirt, overtunic, and breeches, not only was Ruvar as dark-skinned as Cal, but he was also young. Doubtless, Cal and Tad had expected a robed and venerable elder like Varian, who had silently made his departure, not this impishly-grinning young fellow in everyday clothing. They struggled visibly with their misconceptions, and the Patrio’s grin widened. It seemed he was no stranger to such reactions.

Sullyan made the introductions and the Patrio shook each hand in turn. He turned laughing eyes on Cal as he took his hand last.

“I take it I am not quite what you expected, Captain Tyler? I’ll wager you thought I’d be some wrinkled old grandfather with a long beard and fading eyesight. Am I right?”

“Well …” managed Cal, looking sheepish.

Ruvar chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t suppose it’ll be long before that’s exactly how I’ll be. That’s how the last Patrio ended up, anyway.”

He drew them with him along a short passage which emerged into a cheerful and comfortable living space.

Cal looked around with interest. “How long have you held this … office?” he asked, unsure of the correct term.

Ruvar smiled. “It is now five winters since Cleric Patrio Damas passed along the Wheel.” He waved them to seats before the roaring fire. Taking one of the upholstered chairs, he poured fellan from the large jug on the hearth. There was food laid out on a low table between the chairs and he indicated they help themselves.

Sullyan relaxed back into her chair, savoring a mug of hot, bitter fellan. She regarded Ruvar over the rim.

“Frar Varian has already told me something of the Baron’s demeanor and behavior prior to his death, but I would hear the tale in its entirety from you, if it is not too much trouble.”

Ruvar waved away her concern. “I assure you, it’s no trouble. I anticipated a visit from someone at Elias’s court when we were unable to find the body to prove the man’s death. I must admit, though, I’m surprised the King sent
you
.”

She cocked her head. “And why is that?”

Ruvar regarded her steadily. “Did the Baron not cause you much harm, Lady?” His tone had become gentler, more intimate. “I’d have thought the King would have spared you any more involvement with this affair after what you suffered.”

Sullyan stared at him for some moments before she answered, and the timbre of the atmosphere between them subtly changed.

“I serve King Elias in whatever capacity he requires. He requires me to satisfy him as to the truth of the Baron’s death, and it is my pleasure to fulfill that duty.”

Ruvar held her gaze, assessing her. Whatever private thoughts or doubts the Patrio might have harbored, the answer he found in her open gaze seemed to satisfy him. He broke the hiatus with a bow of his head.