Waterborne Exile (29 page)

“Precisely how I have not yet ascertained. But it seems to me Weaver is not entirely the man he used to be.”

“In what way?”

“As it was with Tresilian. I believe Weaver has been remade to become Durstan’s man.”

Drew frowned. “Durstan?”

“The prelate of the order of who brought about Tresilian’s rebirth at the summer palace.”

Rebirth. Remade to become… “You mean Weaver has undergone the same ritual?”

Marten nodded. “I suspect so. I fear we must assume Weaver is now Durstan’s man, just as Tresilian was before him. And Durstan, it would seem, is now Vasic’s man.”

Drew shivered. Again, Marten’s words had the ring of truth about them. “I find that hard to believe. Weaver would never betray his friends.”

“The man he once was would not.” Marten downed the last of his kopamid. “We can have no such certainty about the man he has become.”

Gulls shrieked outside the windows at Lynesreach. Vasic found the sound oddly uplifting, if only by contrast to the matter he was discussing with high seer Yurgen.

“Highness, the magic you speak of has long been forbidden throughout the Peninsula. I know little of it, save the consequences of its use were deemed so dreadful by our forebears, that every practitioner was put to sword and then flame, lest their work be carried on in secret. Their ashes were divided into three, each portion being buried in a separate kingdom.”

“That is all very well, Yurgen, but I have learned that these dark rites are being practised even now. Their abhorrent creations walk among us. What have you to say to that?”

Yurgen clasped and unclasped his hands. “Highness, I can scarce credit it. The rites are…”

“Forbidden? You already told me.” Vasic paced over to the window. The outlook from Lynesreach was fair. Today, sunlight glinted on the crests of the waves in the bay. Small fishing boats were moving about their business, hurrying in with their day’s catch before the tide turned. Soon enough the lord convenor’s yacht would arrive from the Outer Isles, bearing his new bride. He would see then if she could live up to the promise of the portrait.

Yurgen broke into his reverie cautiously. “Highness, if you would rather discuss this at a later date…?”

“No. This has become a matter of some urgency. Tell me what you know.”

“Very well, your highness.” Yurgen cleared his throat. “My research so far has informed me the rites for rebirth require the sacrifice of an innocent. And if this weren’t enough to condemn the practice, blood rituals commonly take place following the rebirth. Again, if the blood of an innocent can be taken, this is preferred. The blood confers new strength on the reborn. The belief is that if the sacrifices please the Goddess then the one reborn will be blessed with untiring strength, greater than any mortal man. He will be impossible to defeat in combat.”

“This sounds remarkably like an old wives’ tale to me.” But the seer’s words were uncannily similar to those of the prelate, Durstan.

“I understand, your highness, that specially forged blades are used in the rites. The blades draw the strength of the sacrifice along with their blood and they create an unholy bond between the sacrifice and the reborn. The creation of these blades is a lost art, thanks be to the Goddess, and there are no smiths in the land now capable of creating such an abomination.”

Vasic had not mentioned the blade to the seer; not at all. He turned away from the window, away from the sunlight and broad sky. “Do we know how many such blades are at large in the peninsula? What appearance they have?”

Yurgen shook his head. “I fear not, sire. All I know is that the blades are attuned to an ancient force. I do not know if that is the force stirring in the east that I spoke of when last we met. My research continues. I understand there may be books in the library at Vorrahan concerning these dark practices. It is my understanding they were taken there as it was the furthest edge of the Peninsular Kingdoms from their origin in the east.”

“Why would anyone keep such things? Why not destroy them along with all the practitioners of such dark arts?”

“All this was long ago, highness. We have only incomplete records of decisions taken at that time. Perhaps they feared in the future we might have need to understand the forces we appear now to be dealing with. It is my understanding that, save these few sent to Vorrahan, all other works referring to the forbidden rites were destroyed so that none remain within the Peninsular Kingdoms.”

Goddess, if the fellow’s speech grew any more convoluted he’d trip over his own tongue. “Then you must continue to find out what you can. If you cannot present me with any further information before I must leave I shall expect your written report at Highkell as a matter of urgency.”

Vasic turned to the window again. A new sail had appeared on the horizon. Could it be the lord convenor’s vessel, bearing his bride-to-be? He remained oddly unmoved by the prospect: it was better to keep expectations low in such matters.

Peveril had learned Jervin had spent some considerable time on the street where the goldsmiths had premises, browsing in each of the shops where Peveril might have hoped to sell the necklace, if only it hadn’t been so distinctive. Discreet enquiries had revealed this Jervin was a wealthy collector. And Peveril was not one to waste an opportunity. The
Crown
was an establishment which had a very high opinion of itself, as did the staff, so Peveril had elected to wear his uniform for this visit. Sure enough, it had opened doors which might have been barred to him otherwise.

Peveril had little time or inclination for the niceties of small-talk. “I understand you have an interest in antiquities.”

Jervin’s expression remained non-committal. “I have an interest in many things.”

Did he think Peveril could not recognise quality when he saw it? “Certain pieces come my way in the course of my duties at the citadel. Quality pieces that might be of interest to the discerning collector.”

“Am I to understand you have many such pieces?”

“At present I have one in particular – it is of rare quality, and believed to have had royal connections in the past.”

“Royal connections?” Jervin’s mouth twisted in a moue of disapproval. “Are they in such dire straits they’re selling off their heirlooms now?”

“This was found abandoned in the ruins after the collapse of the tower. It has not been possible to trace the previous owner – indeed, many believe her to have perished right there in the rubble.” Easy now, he mustn’t push too hard.

“A piece with a tragic tale attached, then. A royal tragedy?”

Jervin worked on his level. Peveril had been sure of it all along. “That would be a fair description. It is exquisite: a necklace of the finest craftsmanship.”

“And it is yours to sell?”

“Only, as I said, to a discerning collector.”

Jervin’s mouth tightened in a cold smile. “Do you have the piece with you?”

“Not today, no. But if you wish to see it, I could bring it to show you at a time convenient to yourself.”

“I am curious enough to see it. Bring it this time tomorrow.”

“Very good.” Peveril bowed and turned to the door, just as it was opened and a young man entered the room. His hair flopped over his eyes, in contrast to his beard which was neatly trimmed. The youth stepped aside sharply as he took in Peveril’s appearance, his eyes widening in something like alarm.

“I beg your pardon. I did not know you had a visitor.”

“Captain Peveril was just leaving.” Jervin looked pointedly to the door.

Peveril bowed again, with utmost politeness, glancing again at the youth. He never forgot a face; it was a point of pride. “Good day, gentlemen.” He knew that face, but from where? Right now he couldn’t recall, but it would come to him; it always did.

Drew watched the door as it closed behind Peveril, as if he could still see the man retreating through it. “Captain Peveril, you say?” Of all the questions he could have asked, that was the one for which he didn’t need an answer. “What was he…?”

“He’s an enterprising fellow. Seems to think he has some piece of jewellery I’d be interested in.”

How had that come about? Had Peveril recognised Drew already in town somehow, and was using that as a pretext to find where he was staying? “The thing is…”

“What?” Jervin looked up. “Are you about to tell me how to run my business again? Spit it out.”

“No! Nothing like that.” Drew fidgeted. “You remember when I told you how the Lady Alwenna and I were captured after we left Vorrahan?”

Jervin shrugged. “What of it?”

“Peveril was in charge of those soldiers. If he’s recognised me…” Drew took a turn about the room. “I can’t risk staying here any longer. Not now.”

“Why would he recognise you? You look nothing like that novice.”

“But what if he saw us in town and followed me here?”

Jervin considered. “I know his kind. He’s ambitious, and that means he can be bought. Depend upon it.”

“I can’t go into town again. Not now.”

“Don’t be so foolish, Drew. Act as if you have something to hide and people will look all the more closely. Act as if you’re above suspicion and they will believe it.”

Drew clenched his fists. He was not being foolish. He knew all too well what it was not to be insulated by wealth, even if Jervin himself had forgotten. “My concerns are real, Jervin. I wish you would not dismiss them so lightly.”

“I don’t dismiss them lightly. Why do you think I insist Rekhart accompanies you everywhere you go?”

“I– I never thought.”

“Never underestimate the importance of outward appearances. He’s of an age to be a friend of yours and that makes him perfect to be your bodyguard. Don’t ever doubt I shall look after my own.”

It would have been churlish of Drew to object, but at that moment he found Jervin’s words more chilling than reassuring.

Drelena glowered out of the window at the sun-drenched scene. Figures were hurrying about their business at the harbour, loading or unloading vessels, carrying bundles to and fro. Beyond them sunlight danced on a sea that had taken on a benevolent air of calm. The view was idyllic, and not so unlike home. Or rather, the place she had once called home. Her notion of home was now shaped by the bustling streets of Sylhaven, where there was nothing to be seen but streets and alleyways and rooftops unless one ventured out to the quay, where the sea waited, sometimes holding itself aloof, sometimes pressing close to the top of the harbour wall as it had been the day Bleaklow had come to reclaim her.

She twisted the latch and opened the casement. Cool air flooded in, laden with the scent of the sea and the sharp keening of gulls. Perhaps it would be better to be at Highkell, where there would be no sea to taunt her with reminders of her time at Sylhaven. Try as she might to put thoughts of that brief freedom behind her, she could not. Every sight and every sound brought it back to her with an intensity she could not have thought possible. Perhaps time would blunt the edge of her pain.

There was a knock at the door to her chamber.

“Enter.”

“My lady.”

Bleaklow’s voice was apprehensive. When she turned to face him, his expression was even more so. Good. It was unfair of her to blame him for this situation, she knew it was. But he was the one who’d found her and brought her back.

“Bleaky. I’m glad you are able to spare me a few moments of your time.”

A muscle in the side of his face twitched. He bowed hastily. “I was at the far side of the palace when your summons arrived, my lady. What is it you require of me?”

An apology, she thought. A grovelling, abject apology. Tears and begging forgiveness for ruining her life. That would do for a start. She turned her back on him, reached out and closed the window, shutting out the sound of the gulls.

“My lady?”

She took her time before turning to face him again. “It is simple enough. I have a letter here, which I wish to have conveyed to the merchant Nils Darnell in Sylhaven.” Her voice held steady.

His mouth tightened. “My lady, I’m not sure I ought–”

“You damned well will, Bleaky. Or shall I tell my father how you manhandled me the night I left?”

“I– It was not my intention… I did not…” His face reddened.

“What? Did not mean it? That would reassure my father greatly, I have no doubt.”

He licked his lips nervously. “My lady, I am sure we can–”

She silenced him with a sharp gesture of her hand. “It does not matter to me what you think, or what you have to say. I doubt I will ever forgive you for what you have done.”

He lowered his head, fixing his gaze on a point on the floor.

For a moment she felt almost guilty. But only for a moment. “I wish this letter to be carried to Nils Darnell. You scarcely gave me time for more than a few words of explanation, and you owe me this much. You will ensure this letter reaches him. And if he replies, you will ensure likewise that his letter reaches me. I am not seeking to establish a permanent correspondence, but I feel he deserves a fuller explanation of what really happened that day.”

He nodded tightly. “I understand, my lady.”

“Do you? I wonder.”

His shoulders tensed as if the barbed comment had torn his skin. “I do understand, my lady.” He looked up then, his gaze suddenly intense. “More than you can ever guess.”

“What? Must you also marry a stranger this afternoon?”

He lowered his eyes. “I will ensure your letter is delivered safely, my lady.”

“Very well. It is on the table there.”

He crossed to the table and picked it up, glancing her way. “I– I am sorry for the part I have played in this. It was my duty. I hope one day you will forgive me.”

She raised an eyebrow in scorn. “Your duty, Bleaky, that I can understand. But threatening Nils Darnell to ensure I complied? That was no part of your duty and I doubt I shall ever forgive that.”

“No, my lady. I can see that.” He made for the door. “If I may be so bold, my lady, I wish you all that is good for your future.” He looked up as he took the door handle in his hand.