The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (5 page)

“But she obviously did catch your eye, and also your heart,” smiled Rienne. “And now you are to be betrothed! Well, I’m very happy to hear it. May you find the fulfillment you desire. Might I ask the age of your intended bride?”

“Lirina is twenty-eight,” the smiling Prince replied. Deliberately, he added, “Her sister is twenty-three.”

“Jay’el is twenty-three.” Sullyan spoke casually, not looking at Aeyron.

He narrowed his eyes and breathed an exasperated sigh. “How do you
do
that? I was saving that revelation to startle you with.”

Sullyan allowed herself a small grin. “Forgive me, my brother.”

Aeyron frowned in a pretense of irritation. “Well, since you are so clever, perhaps you can tell me the import of the request I have been asked to convey to you?”

Sullyan already had a good idea of what Aeyron was hiding, but she enjoyed stretching out the suspense to amuse her friends.

“Let me see,” she mused. “Let us suppose Jay’el has fallen for the charms of the young Kyrie and is desperate to impress Lord Seyakin as a valid suitor. Ky-shan is understandably keen for him to do so. After all, a link by marriage to the Hierarchy of Andaryon is not something to let slip away. But Jay’el, of course, does not have the status of a Prince of the Realm, and so must look to what talents he does possess in order to convince Seyakin of his suitability. As the winter season in Andaryon often keeps the fleet in port, Ky-shan feels he can manage without his son for a while, and this would leave Jay’el free to learn new skills with which to court the young Kyrie.” Sullyan glanced at her brother. “Am I nearing the mark?”

“You know full well you are, you witch!” Aeyron’s growl brought general laughter.

Sullyan turned to Elias, who watched this intimate byplay with envy and some puzzlement. “Elias, it seems your College will have its first non-human student.”

In the three and a half years since its inauguration, the College had grown slowly but steadily. With the much-publicized exile of the Baron—the Artesan craft’s most outspoken opponent—the populace was being led carefully toward a greater acceptance of those born with the gift. King Elias had undertaken a series of progressions through the main parts of his province, spreading the word of his approval of Artesans and the existence of the College, even going so far as to offer recompense to families who would lose the skills of those keen—or at least willing—to learn how to use their talents. After some time, during which the King despaired of influencing the long-held beliefs of his people, a trickle of candidates began at last to appear at the Manor gates.

Now, while still not at anything approaching full capacity, the College at least had a fair number of trainees. Elias was beginning to feel proud of his innovation and foresight. He grinned at Sullyan.

“I trust you will make him welcome, Brynne. Perhaps it will even be a good excuse for a royal visit.”

Sullyan was aware there were two very compelling reasons why Elias should wish to visit the Manor while she was there. His loneliness and deep-seated need for her was only one of them. The other was currently fast asleep in the nursery, worn out by the excitement and exertions of the day. She gave her sovereign a look full of sympathy, which brought a flush to Elias’s complexion.

“He will be completely safe with us,” she murmured. “You have my sworn word on that. You know I will guard him with my life.”

Elias did know this. She had already laid her own life on the line in his service more than once. He had no doubt she would do so again, despite all she now had to lose. As always, he was humbled by the depths of her love and commitment.

Their eyes met as if there was no one else in the room. “I do know that, Brynne.” Well used to their sovereign’s behavior around Sullyan, the others tactfully looked away or spoke of other things.

It had taken Sullyan some time to convince her monarch Eadan was ready to begin training in the handling of his emerging Artesan talents. Elias had no traces of the gift and neither, as far as either of them knew, did his mother. General Blaine, who had known Elias’s father, thought the talent probably came from his side, but as none of them knew much about Sofira’s family history, this was pure speculation.

Elias had always been a supporter of Artesans. Growing up in his father’s court and listening to the intrigue that went on as a matter of course, Elias, who had a lively mind and never suffered from prejudicial thinking, was quick to see the advantages of surrounding himself with loyal servants who possessed valuable talents. The fact they were reviled and mistrusted by most of the populace and, more seriously, a large portion of the ministers at his father’s court did nothing to dissuade the young Elias. The civil war that resulted in the death of King Kandaran left the new High King with a clearer field in which to practice his beliefs. The fact there were still those who plainly disapproved moved Elias not one whit, nor dampened his fascination with Artesans. It came as a complete shock to him when Sullyan blithely announced his baby son would one day exhibit the gifts that so impressed him.

That was three years ago. Since then she had kept a close eye on the little boy and his embryo talent, and Taran’s move to the capital a year ago meant the Adept-elite could also report to her on Eadan’s progress. It had become clear over her recent tour of duty that Eadan would now benefit from a good grounding in the basics of the Artesan craft.

She had felt guilty about mentioning it to the King. She was well aware how close Elias and Eadan were. Since the boy’s abduction at the hands of Reen, Elias had become understandably more protective of his son and Heir. Sullyan knew how desolate Elias would be to lose his son’s company, even though he knew he would be as safe—if not safer—at the Manor.

And then there was Eadan himself. The boy was full of life, full of fun, and very fond of his father. Although she was not to blame for Sofira’s actions, Sullyan felt responsible for Eadan losing his mother. She was an orphan herself and understood only too well how the loss of parents could affect a child. Yet it was Sullyan’s actions that saw Sofira impeached for her treacherous activities, and her subsequent exile from Port Loxton.

Once their marriage was dissolved, Elias imprisoned Sofira within the castle, placing strict limits and conditions on her access to her children. It was never his wish to deprive his children of their mother, but Sofira, always vocal in her opinions, railed constantly against the strictures placed upon her, making a misery of her children’s visits.

It was Seline who felt it most. The young Princess had been close to her mother and was very like her in temperament. She was spoiled and haughty and guarded her privileges and status fiercely, permitting no liberties. She had been brought up with certain expectations and was wholly convinced of her mother’s innocence. Despite the guards and carefully selected ladies who accompanied the children every time they visited their mother, Sofira managed to instill in Seline the conviction that the King had treated her harshly, and that she was the victim of a sly and invidious plot. Seline had been heard on numerous occasions berating her father bitterly for her mother’s plight.

Seline’s character and demeanor worsened, and soon Elias could ignore it no longer. He put a stop to the children’s visits, and when this only deepened Seline’s resentment and anger, he banished Sofira from court. Having obtained her signed affidavit that she would never again rebel against him on pain of death for both her and her father, Elias had Sofira transported back to Bordenn, there to live her life in obscurity.

Seline reacted very badly to her mother’s absence.

Although Elias had never felt the depth of affection for Seline that he did for Eadan, he nevertheless recognized the girl’s pain, realizing she was too young to understand all that had happened. In an effort to placate the girl and show her he wasn’t completely heartless, Elias permitted the letters Sofira sent her daughter to reach their intended recipient. He did, of course, read them first.

Eadan had been too young for Sofira to influence as she had Seline. She had attempted to bond the little boy ever more firmly to her by giving him treats and permitting him whatever he wanted while trying to poison his mind. It hadn’t worked, for Eadan seemed to intuit what she was doing and gave no credence to her malicious lies. Sullyan privately believed that Eadan, even then, was able to sense both his father’s integrity and his mother’s duplicity, and was only confused and upset by Sofira’s spite. But the fact remained Eadan had lost his mother’s love, and now Sullyan proposed he be removed from his father also.

So she smiled her understanding at Elias, and the High King ducked his head and flushed again at the depth of commitment in her eyes.

The party broke up shortly after. There was much to organize for the morning and Sullyan wanted to inspect the barracks and check on the men before going to her rest. Colonel Vassa would arrive sometime in the morning, granted access through the substrate by Lord-General Anjer in Andaryon, and she needed to ensure all was in readiness. She left the King and his other guests to their after-dinner liquor and moved through the castle toward the outer doors.

Loxton Castle had undergone some structural changes since those dreadful events three years ago. The Queen’s apartments were in the east wing, and Elias had caused these to be walled off from the main castle after her impeachment. Her private rooms had remained untouched, but there was now only one access door to the entire wing.

Since Sofira’s departure a year ago, the east wing remained deserted. The children’s nursery had been moved into the main castle, nearer Elias’s apartments, and the door to the Queen’s wing remained securely locked. Sullyan would pass this door as she made her way outside.

As she came abreast of the stout iron-bound door, she halted mid-stride, arrested by the strangest feeling of foreboding. Prescience was not considered an Artesan talent, nor was it even widely accepted as existing, and Sullyan herself, for all her mighty powers, was skeptical. Yet she couldn’t deny there had been times in her life when momentous events seemed to affect her psyche, and she had even acted upon such feelings. They had rarely let her down.

She searched her mind for what had caught at her senses, trying to pin down this vague sensation of wrong. As so often happened, the more she chased it, the more elusive it became. She had no patience with this. Her other talents were there for the asking. Her training, her knowledge, and her power allowed her access to her metaforce and psyche at will. Her gifts were as readily accessible as the senses of sight, touch, or smell. So she wasted no time in fruitless wonder, merely tucked the feeling away within her mind, to bring out and examine at a later date should she feel the need. She walked on, ignoring the faint, natural sound of wood as it settled.

W
ithin the cheerless cell deep beneath the palace, the scarecrow grew weaker. He lay helpless on the uncomfortable bed, staring angrily at the leprous growths covering the slimy rock walls. He viciously cursed the ache gnawing at his body, the lassitude dragging at his limbs.

Damn the boy!
Surely he had possessed more strength than this? Surely Reen hadn’t used it all in the desperate escape from his island prison? But there was no denying the facts. His physical strength was waning fast and he would be forced to do something about it. He might as well do it now, and he blessed the foresight that had prompted him to take the action that would ensure he could renew his fading strength without revealing his true nature too soon.

Reen was well aware that his host was suspicious. He clearly felt the waves of fear and revulsion given off by the older man and wondered briefly whether he ought to have expended more of his unsuspected powers to bind Lerric to him as he had Sofira. But his resources were finite, and he must spend them wisely.

Soon, this would change. Once he had Sofira completely under his control he could act as he wished, and he would have both her backing and her authority to bolster him. Already she had unwittingly provided him with the means to implement a very important aspect of his plans. He could afford to relax once the next phase had borne its intended fruit, but for the moment he needed Lerric, and it would cost him more than he was prepared to pay to control the client-king’s will.

Physical strength, though, was a priority. Angrily, gripping the livid wood of his cane, Reen exerted his will.

Within minutes two of the men Lerric had sent to accomplish Reen’s rescue descended the winding stair to the cell of their new master. Reen’s hollow, hawk-like face broke into a sneer as he heard their reluctant progress. The door to the cell opened slowly with no courtesy, but the scarecrow expected none. He stared into the terrified eyes of the two men before him, an evil leer on his face. The tremble of their limbs was plain to see, and the abject fear they exuded fed him like an elixir. He breathed the scent of their horror deeply.

“Come here.”

The man he had addressed, the younger of the two, hesitated fractionally. Reen, mightily displeased by this unexpected display of resistance, lashed the man with his hatred; though he could ill afford the effort it cost him. The youthful face contorted with pain and tendons stood out in the strong neck as the man strove to scream. Sweat broke out over his body and his companion moaned in terror.

“I said, come
here
!”

The man obeyed, all sense of self smothered by the Baron’s controlling will.

“Help me up.”

Reen gleefully absorbed the rank miasma of the man’s terror, even this slight power lending him strength as the muscled arm reached out, pulling the feeble wastrel to his feet. The dreadful, wheezing voice came again.

“Remove your shirt.”

Hands fumbled with the fastenings of the sweat-dampened cloth, the man’s eyes bulging with fear. As the fabric came away and fell to the filthy floor, an angry circle of skin in the center of the man’s chest was revealed. Swollen and crusted with old blood and unwashed dirt, the affected area glowed with a sullen ruby light.