The Element of Fire - Martha Wells (best android ereader .txt) 📗

Falaise’s lifelong training to tell a man he had made a mistake. No, she would try to delicately manage him, which would make it all the more difficult to get the truth out of her. Yet that tactic had worked well with Denzil. She must have made a good job of stringing him along, if she had kept it up for several days without the young Duke losing his patience. Thomas could easily imagine Falaise swooning, gracefully weeping, and doing everything a woman about to give in did except actually give in. He looked up. “And he didn’t give you any hint of how he was going to accomplish this?”

“No. If he had, would that make things any better?”

“Probably not.”

Falaise was knotting the ribbons on the sleeve of her coat. “It is very bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes. If we ever get the evidence against him to bring a formal charge of treason, then he can take you to the gallows with him. You could bring the charge yourself, but I doubt Roland would take your word over Denzil’s. There are plenty of others who know Denzil and probably would take your word before his, but their opinions won’t count.” Thomas shook his head wearily. “We’ll just have to make sure it won’t come to that.”

“How?”

It was just one more reason for Denzil to die a hero’s death at the earliest opportunity. It might not stop Grandier now, but it would clear up a number of miscellaneous side issues and relieve the feelings of several people, among them Kade, Ravenna, Falaise, and himself. But it didn’t make it any easier. They were not under Roland’s nervous eye anymore, but with the knights and High Minister Aviler as biased witnesses, it was still a difficult problem. “The less you know now, the better,” he told her.

“Wait.” She hesitated. “I wanted to tell you that my patronage is yours, whatever happens. I know that Roland is against you, but if the Duke of Alsene is gone he would be so much easier to deal with and if things get back to the way they were… When Ravenna isn’t here anymore, when I’m patron of the Queen’s Guard, I want you to stay as Captain.” Her eyes lifted to meet his for the first time. “My patronage, and my very sincere…regard.”

Oh, fine, Thomas thought in annoyance. In the language of the court, her meaning was clear. Regard equaled favor, and favor meant access to her bed in return for his support. He looked at her a long moment, keeping his expression neutral. “I’ll remember that, my lady.”

*

Listening in the anteroom, Kade knocked her head ungently against the wall and thought, And that is the tale of my life. She slipped out, unnoticed.

*

When Thomas went out into the anteroom, Lucas was telling Gideon, “—and when he heard about it he went absolutely mad and you’re lucky if you’re not—”

They both looked up when he shut the door. Thomas said to Gideon, “When this is over we’re going to have a talk, but until then we won’t refer to it. Now stay here and make sure no one walks off with her.”

The young lieutenant winced. “Yes, Sir.”

Thomas went out, Martin and Lucas following him. A servant wearing a steward’s chain approached them, somewhat warily. “Lord Aviler would like to see you, Captain.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow and casually adjusted one of the pistols in his sash, but Thomas shook his head. He followed the man through a small gallery hung with family portraits and to a door at the far end, the others trailing along. As Aviler’s man knocked on the door, Lucas dropped into one of the armchairs and Martin leaned on the wall. The servant eyed them nervously, but didn’t voice any objections.

Inside was a study warmed by a fire in a pink marble hearth and lit by gray late-afternoon light from two windows in the far wall. The floor was covered with bright eastern carpets probably brought back from the trading voyages Aviler the Elder had made his fortune on. Through chance or careful planning, they managed not to clash with the striped red silk covering the walls. The High Minister was standing with his back to the fire as Thomas stepped in. He motioned for the steward to withdraw, then said, “Lord Denzil’s preparing to leave. I thought you might be interested.”

Thomas limped to one of the windows. The snow had stopped and the view gave onto the street below where they had fought that morning. The wrecked coaches were still there, though the city troop must have brought in the bodies. The carriage doors below were just opening. Night would fall in an hour or so; it was a nearly suicidal time to be venturing out.

Aviler said, “For a house under siege, there’s a great number of people coming and going. I know what you’re planning.”

Thomas watched Denzil emerge on horseback with his men grouped behind him. They began to pick their way down the snow-choked street before he turned back to the High Minister. “Do you?”

“You’re going to take the good Duke of Alsene down. If I hadn’t been there, your lieutenant would have killed him in my dining room.” Aviler crossed to a long draw table piled with books and papers and sat on one corner, watching him. “I don’t mind what you do to each other, and he did put the Queen in unpardonable danger by keeping her from leaving the city.” He leaned forward. “But don’t do it here.”

Thomas watched him thoughtfully. “I don’t have that choice anymore, it seems. And he’s done more than put the Queen in danger.”

“I can hardly believe anything you tell me at this point.”

Thomas started for the door. “Then I won’t tell you. But if you think he’s going to join Roland, you’re laughably wrong. Send someone to follow him and you’ll find he’s taking the street back to the palace. Then ask yourself why.”

He went out. Lucas looked up as he shut the door behind him and said, “Well?”

Thomas told him, “We’re getting the Queen out of here tomorrow, whatever it takes.”

*

The court had ridden into Bel Garde in the late afternoon, and now in the gateyard Ravenna sat her horse amid the turmoil of servants, courtiers, Albons, Cisternans, and her own men, watching as Renier ordered guard placements. The late Dr. Braun’s apprentices already stood before the closed outer gates, working with books, incense burners, and other odd tools to temporarily ward those fragile barriers of metal and wood against the fay. They had been attacked again passing through the city gates, and several parties had been scattered or killed, but the fay had not followed them out. Satisfied with the arrangements being made here, Ravenna let her guards urge her further into the fortress.

Once through the inner gate and the portcullis, Bel Garde’s celebrated interior court with its fountains and miniature gardens was visible, though smothered now under a heavy blanket of snow. The stonework on the newer bastion looming over them was as ornate as gilded filigree, with curves, curls, and the faces of classical luck sprites worked into the carving. A gem of a fortress, someone had called this place. Yes, Ravenna thought, but because a sword is jeweled does not mean the blade is no longer deadly. “Find Lieutenant Gideon and tell him to bring Falaise to me at once,” she told the nearest guard.

As he rode off she looked down to see Elaine trotting beside her horse and tugging urgently on her riding skirt. “My lady, if you don’t come out of this wind you’ll get your sickness again.”

Ravenna leaned down to remonstrate with her and found herself coughing helplessly into her sleeve.

Acknowledging physical weakness was not something she did gracefully. Once she could speak again, she cursed Elaine, the guards who came to help her down, and, rather unjustly, her horse, who stood rock steady with well-trained patience throughout the whole episode.

They led her through a wide door into a large, beautifully appointed entry hall. It was too cold to remove her cloak, but Ravenna had to admit the relief from the wind was welcome. She gestured Elaine away impatiently and paced, knotting her fingers together, noting the servants who worked to build up the fire were her own and not those of the fortress. “I want this place searched top to bottom.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The guard she had sent after Falaise came through the door, letting in a blast of cold air. His eyes were worried and Ravenna tensed. “My lady,” he said, “Lieutenant Gideon and the other men who rode escort to the Queen aren’t anywhere to be found.”

Ravenna stopped, staring at the carved paneling in front of her. “And Falaise?”

“Not with the Albons or His Majesty’s party.”

Ravenna nodded to herself. “Denzil.”

*

Later, Thomas sat in front of the fireplace in the parlor of the suite they had commandeered for a headquarters. Gideon and most of the others were guarding Falaise, and Lucas had led an expeditionary force consisting of himself, Martin, and the two Cisternans down into the kitchens after food. Berham and Phaistus were sitting at a table across the room making bullets, the older man holding the leather-wrapped bullet mold and the younger carefully pouring hot lead from the small crucible.

The most badly wounded guard had died a short while ago. With men Thomas had led and fought beside for years dying and in constant danger, it was foolish to grieve over the death of someone he had in actuality never really known, but he found his thoughts turning to Galen Dubell.

He had never been so completely taken in by anyone, Thomas decided, and that was what disturbed him the most. He had first come to court younger than Roland was now, and had made his way through all the traps and pitfalls alone. Never allowing himself to trust anyone, he had escaped machinations that had ruined others and had learned how to deceive with the best of them. Perhaps he had believed Grandier because the old sorcerer had never asked for anything.

Thomas wondered how Dubell had felt when he had realized the trusted friend or servant that Grandier must have pretended to be had been watching, learning, gathering information for an impersonation that would kill its victim. If the old man had even been allowed to realize that, if he hadn’t died in complete ignorance of what was happening to him.

Kade wandered into the room with the air of someone waiting for a public coach and settled into the other chair, and he was glad of the distraction. Thomas had not asked her why she hadn’t left the city. They had all assumed she had the means to do so, though they had never had any proof of it.

It had occurred to him that he was taking her for granted, like taking gunpowder for granted when one carried pistols much of the time.

And now she was staring at him. He said, “Yes?”

She said, “What do you think Roland will do when he finds out about Denzil and Falaise?”

He had the feeling this wasn’t really what was on her mind, but he wasn’t willing to pursue that suspicion. He said, “I don’t know.” At the moment he was too tired to care about a possible outburst from Roland, though he supposed later he would have to manage it. Interesting to think how it was possible to grow out of the need for power, and to desire freedom from the constant wrangling of those who still wanted it. “Roland, Denzil, and Falaise make an interesting triangle. It’s a pity