The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (47 page)

“You are cruel, Elias,” she said loudly, her voice quivering with rage or pain. “You must never have loved me if you can come here offering false hope. You can’t deceive me with your soft words and empty promises. You hold out your hand then snatch it back just when I begin to believe you! It’s a dishonorable trick, and unworthy of you, to use my children against me.”

She turned to Lerric. “Father, if you love me at all you’ll withdraw your hospitality from this man. He has degraded me, both as a Queen and a mother. It shames me that you sit there with him, sharing your fireside and the comforts of your house. Well, you may do as you like, but I won’t suffer his torments any longer. I’ve taken as much abuse as I can stomach and I’ll speak with him no more.”

Sofira trembled as she delivered this speech. She half-turned as if to leave, then stopped and raised her head. She glared at Elias, her voice low and full of menace as she said, “You do wrong to dismiss me so lightly, my Lord, and you have shamed me for the last time. I say to you now, for I hope we never meet again: Look to your safety, Elias of Albia, and look to your throne.”

The Princess turned on her heel and strode past Robin, her shoulder striking his as she went. She didn’t acknowledge the contact and Robin chose not to react. He looked in dismay at the King’s rage-reddened face, wondering how on earth he could deliver his report now.

He could see Elias controlling himself with difficulty. The meeting had degenerated as soon as the subject of their children was broached, and far from causing Sofira to lose her temper and let slip information, she had turned on him immediately, accusing him of ill-treating their children, of withholding letters, of poisoning their minds against her. It was all patently untrue, but it had put Elias on the defensive and he’d ignored General Blaine’s attempts to bring him back to the visit’s purpose. As Blaine had feared, Sofira had turned the tables on them, playing on Elias’s wounded emotions as easily as Sullyan played her harp. Robin was forced to watch in discomfort as Blaine eventually despaired of Elias and retired into resignation, nursing his drink and trying to block out Sofira’s harsh, grating voice.

An awkward silence descended. Elias sat unmoving, his breast heaving with the effort of controlling his towering anger, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so hard the knuckles were white. Lerric sat to his left, his eyes on his drink, his face inscrutable. General Blaine was waiting for Lerric to speak, but when it was obvious he wouldn’t, not even to apologize for his daughter’s behavior, Blaine turned to Robin.

“What was it, Major? No trouble, I trust?”

Robin swallowed. He wasn’t going to blurt out what had happened in front of Lerric, although the king would hear of it soon enough. And with Elias in his current state of mind, he didn’t think it politic to add to the High King’s distress. Yet his news couldn’t wait. He took a breath.

“May I speak with you, sir? In private?”

Blaine raised his brows and very nearly broke his own rule by initiating contact with Robin. They had agreed before their arrival that contact through the substrate was to be avoided unless vital. The policy was a hang-over from years before when Sullyan thought the Baron had discovered the means to monitor substrate communication. The thought there might be others who could eavesdrop on supposedly secure conversations was hard to shake off. Blaine controlled himself before he went too far.

He was saved from replying by Lerric, who rose to his feet. “Gentlemen,” he said with false cheer, “it’s been a long evening and you must all be tired. I have had comfortable rooms prepared for you. I suggest we allow our overheated emotions to calm down before we enter into any further discussions.”

He bowed to Elias. “With your leave, my Lord, I’ll bid you goodnight. There is a servant outside who’ll convey you to your rooms when you’re ready. I will see you again at breakfast.”

Elias didn’t react to Lerric’s words or otherwise acknowledge him. It was left to the General and Robin to accept Lerric’s homage and return their own as the subject king left, closing the door behind him.

Robin eyed the King warily as he moved farther into the room. General Blaine gestured for Robin to sit. “Well, Major? What’s wrong?”

Robin took a seat opposite the General and related what had happened in the tavern, keeping his account factual and free of emotion. From the corner of his eye he saw Elias come out of his funk and pay attention. Robin would almost rather he stayed oblivious until the sorry tale was done, but a narrowing of the eyes was the King’s only reaction—that and the paling of his reddened face.

Blaine, however, was another matter. “Idiots!” he burst out, thoroughly disgusted. “How could they do this to us? Especially now, when we need their utter obedience! I thought you’d brought men you could trust, Major? Or is it your judgment that’s failed here?”

Robin tried to ignore the General’s comment. A couple of years ago he would have reacted hotly. Now he knew better. He knew the General was only letting off steam. He told Blaine what Dexter had said about the two miscreants, and of the Captain’s suspicion there had been foul play.

The General narrowed his eyes. “How likely do you think that is?”

Robin shrugged. “From what I’ve seen of Lerric’s men, I wouldn’t discount it. I’ve told Captain Dexter I’ll withhold judgment on the two men until they’re capable of being questioned. I’ll soon be able to spot whether they’re covering up a lapse of conduct. If they are, they deserve to be punished and dismissed. But, sir, isn’t this exactly the sort of thing we thought might happen? Didn’t we discuss the possibility of someone pulling such a stunt to put us off the scent? What better way to prevent us from snooping than by causing trouble among our own troops? And we have made it rather easy for them. It was putting a lot of responsibility on the men, allowing them to go off with Lerric’s lot. I’d say they held up remarkably well under the circumstances. From what Dex has told me, Lerric’s men tried every trick in the book to distract our lads and lead them astray. They even trotted out a particularly nasty brand of inhaled narcotic and flooded the tavern with it.”

“And what effect did it have?” The General’s manner had calmed in the light of Robin’s words.

“None of our lads succumbed, sir, unless that was what finally got to Col and Pengar. We’ll know more after I speak with them.”

“How are the rest of the men, Major?”

Robin started at Elias’s voice and turned to the King, noting the febrile glitter in the man’s eyes. His temper might be under control, but its effects were still apparent.

“They’re subdued but fit to serve, your Majesty. They were all distressed by what’s happened. They fear they’ve let you down. They fear your anger.”

Elias shook his head. “If this was some kind of attack I’d say they handled it well if only two of them were affected. I agree with you, Major. We’ll save our censure until we know the facts. Mathias?”

General Blaine nodded and Robin sighed in relief. Elias was prepared to be reasonable and, disaster though this was, it might actually have helped restore the King’s common sense, which had deserted him during Sofira’s spiteful tirade. If this incident had been calculated to embarrass and discommode their party, it had failed—at least in part.

“Major,” said Blaine, “will you contact Taran for his report from the city? We might was well do this now, before we retire.”

Robin cleared his mind and drew deeply on the power of his psyche, allowing his metaforce to flood along the lines and spirals, helixes and twists, reaching for the familiar pattern of Taran’s personal imprint. He tried twice before casting anxious eyes at the waiting General.

“Sir, I can’t get a response from him. Something’s happened to him. He’s either unconscious or drugged, I can’t be sure which. But whatever is causing his insensibility isn’t good news.”

+ + + + +

K
ing Lerric staggered into his daughter’s bedchamber, looking haggard and worn. She turned from her mirror to regard him, laying down the gold-backed hairbrush. She watched him in silence as he sagged to the great bed and sat there, breathing heavily and staring at the floor.

Lerric raised his head to look at his daughter, her figure softened by a wine-red satin night robe and the unbound cloud of her long hair. He wished she would leave it loose more often. It suited her face.

Sofira’s mouth thinned. She turned her back and continued brushing, watching him in her silver mirror. He gradually recovered his composure and straightened his posture.

“Gods, I’m glad that’s over. How did I do, Sofira? Do you think he’s satisfied with our performance?”

Sofira’s spine stiffened, a sure sign she was angry. “And why wouldn’t he be? You were your usual whining self. Why should he have any suspicions you harbor his greatest enemy beneath your roof?”

Lerric’s blood froze in panic. “Sofira! Keep your voice down. Any of his escort could be sneaking around the place, listening at doors. What if they heard you? What if they search the lower floor and find the stairs to his cell? We’d be carted off for summary execution. We might even suffer the fate decreed for Reen!”

She tossed him a withering look. “Oh,
please
! Stop thinking just of yourself. Didn’t I tell you Elias had come to see
me
? Didn’t I tell you he has no reason to suspect you? No reason at all, unless your spineless gibbering gives him one. You did well enough tonight. Stick to your usual complaining ways and Elias will dismiss you from his mind, as he always does. Go to bed, Father, and leave me to mine. I must write a message to Hezra and inform him of what passed between us. He has forbidden me to see him tonight, so I am denied comfort until this charade is over. If we are fortunate, I’ve managed to so enrage our noble High King he’ll be unable to stomach any more and will leave early. I certainly hope so—I have a wedding to arrange. Now go. Leave me alone.”

Stung by her tone, Lerric stood. She was growing ever more waspish, more independent of him, more caught up in that dreadful scarecrow lurking like the specter of a tortured death beneath the palace. The thought of those two finally being wed, joined by hand and by body, almost made Lerric physically sick. For one pivotal moment, he considered fleeing back to the High King and confessing all—throwing himself on Elias’s mercy and begging him to rid them of that sinister parasite.

Later, he would wish that he had, with all the strength of his soul.

M
athias Blaine and Robin meshed psyches, flinging out their combined strength and taking hold of Taran’s unresponsive pattern. No matter how hard they tried, how strongly they called, they couldn’t make Taran hear them. They returned to themselves, the General cursing freely.

“What the hell’s the matter with him? Why can’t anything go right for once? We’re only away two days. You’d think things could remain in working order for two days.”

“What do you think has happened, Mathias?” the King demanded. “Is there anything wrong in the city?”

The General heard the worry in Elias’s tone, but couldn’t completely bite back his irritation. That was the problem with relying on a specialty, he thought. Sooner or later it would let you down. Although he had surrounded himself with others of his kind for as long as he could remember—first Hal Bullen and then the deceased Major Anton before Sullyan and Robin joined the Manor—their scarcity of numbers always persuaded him it was safer to use conventional means of communication. He was well aware how fragile Artesan-led logistics could be. The advent of the College and Taran’s acceptance of the posting to Port Loxton had accustomed him to instant communication. This occurrence, long feared by the General, only served to show how wrong he’d been.

“I don’t know, Elias. We can’t raise Taran so we have no way of knowing. Major, bespeak Sullyan, will you? Although I doubt she knows anything either. She’d have told us by now if she did.”

+ + + + +

S
ullyan was relaxing with Bull in the suite she and Robin shared on the Manor’s top floor. It was adjacent to General Blaine’s rooms and was much larger than her previous chambers. Although they’d occupied it for three years now, she was only just becoming used to it. It was more suitable for their needs, as it had an extra room for Morgan, but she still didn’t feel as comfortable here as in her old rooms. Too much had happened there for her to easily forget.

She was thinking over those old times, a mug of Bull’s strong fellan by her elbow and her old friend by her side. She gazed at him as he sprawled in her comfortable chair, legs stretched out, eyes closed. She frowned. He wearied easily these days, and his hair was more gray than brown. When had that happened? She couldn’t recall. He was, of course, nearly sixty years old, and teaching Apprentices in the study of Earth while trying to control Prince Eadan’s talent for pranks must take its toll, but she thought it was more than that. She really ought to speak to him about slowing down. He still trained with her every morning and his physique was as impressive as ever. But within that barrel chest beat a weakened heart that no amount of healing could repair. He’d already had one near-fatal heart seizure. She couldn’t bear to think he might have another.

She was about to broach the subject when Robin’s psyche impinged on her mind. She caught his tone of anxiety and became instantly alert. Prodding Bull, she included him in her mind as she acknowledged Robin.

What is it, my love? Is something wrong?

Her eyes widened as she heard Robin’s news. He ran through all that had happened at the palace, and she didn’t need his telling to feel the impatience and concern that flooded her psyche, emanations coming from the General and Elias. But it was her life mate’s news about Taran that worried her most of all.

I last heard from him yesterday,
she said,
when he reported the attack on one of the King’s junior ministers. I have heard nothing since. Does Elias wish me to go to the city?