The Dark Ferryman (42 page)

She found a ledger book from a decade suggested and took it down to flip through it gently, not really seeing the entries, her mind tussling with what she already knew.

“Listen to this,” said Nutmeg quietly. “To my daughter, Lisan, currently the bedslave of a Vaelinar craftsman, if she returns as a free woman, I will my first good set of cooking pots with lids and my set of metal needles and the quilt of my grandmother and feather mattress.” She took a breath. “And we thought slavery ended long ago.”

“It was supposed to have.” Rivergrace rubbed the scar on one arm absently. “We know better.”

Nutmeg looked up at her. Then she put her finger to the entry. “This is from a Dweller family, the Mintleafs.”

“Are you thinking of what people might say about your being a nurse for Jeredon?”

Her rosy cheeks paled. “No.”

“It’s not the same, not at all. And who knows if the woman who wrote that was not mean-spirited and angry, and this was her way of calling her daughter a name which would reach her even from beyond death?”

“Some people are like that.”

“To our sorrow, yes.” She reached over and closed Nutmeg’s ledger carefully. “What we need isn’t in that book. Find a new one?”

They worked quietly for the next candlemark, now and then lifting their chins to read softly to the other some point they’d uncovered, feeling the weight of decades upon them until Rivergrace finally closed her ledger with a sigh.

“We won’t find it in here either.”

“Not without years of searching.”

She ran her hand through her tangle of hair, pushing it back from her face and over her shoulder. “I’ve learned that I have to deal with this on my own.”

“With Farbranch help.”

“Aye, always with the help of my family.” Rivergrace smiled gently at Nutmeg. “It’s time to go back.”

“Good!” Nutmeg bounded to her feet. “I don’t want to be left out of things.”

“That would never happen.”

Nutmeg flashed a grin. “Not if I can help it!”

They left the libraries of Ferstanthe in the morning after a hearty breakfast and a rib-cracking hug from Azel. Their mounts, frisky in the brisk morning air, took to their heels with a squeal as if they could outrun the winter wind with the promise of ice in its sting.

Abayan Diort pored over his maps one last time, and then sent for Tiforan. His third-in-command arrived promptly, his eyes alert despite the faintly puzzled expression on his face. “Warlord?” The tent flaps framing him showed the campfires burning low on the browned hillsides, the thinned evergreens of the region, the closeness of his army to their ultimate destination.

“Scouting reports detail the same amount of force.”

“Smaller than expected, but no doubt their elite and strongest. They think to subdue us in one fell blow.”

“So it seems to me as well.” Abayan clicked his tongue against his teeth in thought before adding, “I am entrusting you with a delicate matter but one of import to me.” He detailed his plan to Tiforan who punctuated with sharp nods to show he understood at various points before standing still. He answered when Diort finally fell silent, “Thank you for giving me this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Fail at any step along the way and it could cost lives. Wander upon the pathways, and you will never be found. I give you passage for this and only this.”

“I will go only the way you’ve given me, and say only the password you’ve revealed to me. I won’t fail you, Diort.”

Diort waved a hand at him as he looked back over his maps. Outside, a horse whinnied in the late night. He stopped, listened, heard nothing more, and returned to his scrutiny.

“We are nearly in place,” Tiforan remarked.

“Yes. Scouts report that Lord Bistel arrived just before sunset to take charge. His presence lends more confirmation that these are their elite forces, their best and bravest. It won’t be long now. Are you ready for war?”

“Ready and eager.”

Diort gave a dry chuckle. He tapped the map with one fingernail. “There is a trap here. Between the Ashenbrook and the Revela Rivers. Queen Lariel perhaps thinks I don’t know of it, and hopes to capitalize on that. She’s forgotten I have Rakka. Or has she? The Vaelinars have fought this battle before. I’m as capable of learning from their history as they are. Or does she count on that? And, if so, what is the real trap?”

“Answers of that sort don’t come until we’re on the battlefield.”

“Yes. And that is why I send you out. If you succeed, I will have an advantage they can’t possibly foresee.”

Tiforan touched his forefingers to his brow in respect. “Thank you for the honor. When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow at noon. Any sooner, since armies crawl, and my hand will be tipped.” Abayan saluted him in return before turning his attention back to his map. Was the Warrior Queen brilliant or young, untried, and naïve? And would either lead to the death of his plans?

THE KNOCK, SOFT AS IT WAS, still awakened her. Lariel rolled out of bed and onto her feet in one movement and in the next was in full stride, grabbing her dagger as she crossed her rooms. She opened it with caution, using the door itself as a partial shield, thinking to see her guard lean quietly in to speak with her, but Daravan stood framed by soft moonlight and tapers burning down to fragrant pools of wax in the hallway. He took her hand, dagger and all, and drew himself inward as he closed his fingers about hers. His other hand went to her lips, fingers upon her mouth to silence her.

“Do not scold your guard. I sent him off for a pitcher of mulled wine.”

He needed it, from the icy coldness in his hands. Lara toed the door nearly shut as she felt her mouth curve into a smile under his touch. He dropped his hand as she did, his thumb brushing along her jaw.

“Your devotion to your duty is remarkable.”

“You,” he breathed softly, “are not my duty.” He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck.

“You presume much.”

He chuckled, a warm gust of breath against her skin. “I presume nothing but fond memories of the past. We were like this once, you and I, and I’m asking for nothing more than reminiscence. Send me away if you wish.”

She held still in his arms a moment, deciding, and when she couldn’t find a protest, he drew her closer. She managed a coherent thought finally. “Then you have no urgent news which brings you so late to my side?”

“I always have news.” He kept his mouth to her neck, nibbling, inhaling her scent, his words a tickling whisper upon her skin.

“What if I do not wish to entertain your . . . news?”

Daravan laughed softly. “No news at all until you entertain
this
.” With that, he drew her close, sinking his teeth into a bite and molding her body to his, leaving little doubt as to his intentions. He released his bite and kissed away the sting, working now across the shoulder he bared while he brought his hand up along her ribs to firmly circle her breast.

She felt heat surge from the center of her being and turned her face to meet his mouth, pressing upward to him, tasting him in answer, until they broke off when neither seemed able to breathe.

A muted voice at the door said, “Wine, as ordered, m’lord, m’lady,” and a booted foot slid a tray inward before the door fully closed and shut them away.

“Will you have me tonight?” Daravan asked of her, before bending to her mouth again, taking her answer in other ways than words until she put her hand up in protest between them.

“Of the few I trust, you’re the only one I desire,” Lara told him. He buried his free hand in her hair, and his other hand stayed upon her breast, thumb circling her nipple through her thin gown until she thought she would cry out with the aching sensation he brought to her.

“Excellent.” He cupped the back of her head to bring her to his kisses again, hot and hungry and devouring until her senses swam and all curiosity about his news fled, and she was only Lara with no thought of the Warrior Queen.

A very long time later, she awoke to his breathing in the bed beside her, blankets fragrant with the musk of their lovemaking, her body spooned against Daravan’s, her nipples still tender and rosy, and she wondered what had brought him to Larandaril. She let out a lingering sigh to have such thoughts pushing insistently back into her mind. She had not been a lover to Daravan for a very long time, and even then it had been brief when she was still a young and uncertain Warrior Queen. This evening had been sweeter than she remembered, but she could not forget herself forever. She put her hand on his shoulder. Like the wary man he was, it awakened him immediately. He stirred in the covers.

“Again?” he asked softly, a laugh in his voice.

“Again? What ego you have!”

He turned on his back to pull her against his shoulder. “And what appetite you have.”

She dodged his kiss but could not avoid the hand that reached for her still so tender breast. Her breath hissed inward involuntarily as he evoked sensations through her. Finally she put her hand over his to stay him. “Not now, not yet.”

“No?”

“No.” Lara let out a shaky exhale. “We have business.”

He clucked his tongue but relaxed under her hand, his still upon her warm flesh but no longer exciting her. “And if I don’t obey you, you’ll set Jeredon upon me in the morning?”

“I would, but he’s already gone to Ashenbrook with Tressandre.”

“I thought you meant to keep him here?” He turned his head to look at her face. “Is that wise?”

“I’m not sure, but the ild Fallyn Talent is keeping him on his feet, and that is all he wants for the moment.”

“Tressandre will exact a price for that.”

“I think he knows, although I’m not sure he really understands the extent of it.”

“Better that he had stayed with the little Dweller lass taking care of him. She would not have plotted slitting throats in the dark if she grew weary.”

Lara turned a little in the hollow of the bed to face him and rest her head more securely on his shoulder. “I think danger lies even in that path for him.”

“Really? Interesting.” Daravan lay still a moment before murmuring, “You have no heir.”

“No.”

“If both of you fall, we Vaelinars may turn on each other.”

“No. That is part of my deal with Bistel, to have him step into Osten’s place. Bistane will hold the reins until an Anderieon warrior is found. If not . . .” she pressed her cheek against his warmth. “Then he will hold both lands.”

“The ild Fallyns won’t take kindly to it, but there’s not much you can do if you’ve documents.”

“I’ve documents.” She pushed her thumb into his rib cage. “Now tell me what it is you came to tell me.”

“So impatient. The Anderieon blood runs strong in you. Is there none of your mother to balance it? I remember her as a sweet-tempered woman of hidden but indomitable will, rather like robes woven of the most gossamer spidersilk only to be ribbed with steel stays.”

“Don’t speak of my mother to me.”

“Still? You still deny her? That isn’t wise or good for you, Lara.”

She answered fiercely, “Not a word of her.”

He kissed her temple in gentle admonishment. “That isn’t right. Blood is blood, my young queen, even if you fight against it. She did what she thought was right, after marrying wrong twice.”

“Eladar was a good man. My brother proves it.”

“But not the man he needed to be, and he died before he could prove it upon her body with a second, more Anderieon child, true? As for her second husband, he found the grave before you had even quickened in her womb.”

“Stop it,” said Lara, softly and urgently. “No more.”

“If it can’t be said here, then where? It’s never been proved that your mother seduced your grandfather for a child. He might well have seduced her. She was always his most loving daughter. He wanted Anderieon blood and Talent in his line. Had to have it. Who is to say that it isn’t him you should hate instead of her?”

“He raised me!” she answered fiercely. “She bled herself out instead of facing life, and it was he who raised me! If not from guilt, then why? If not from shame, why?”

“Perhaps, my dear,” he told her, and kissed her brow again, “because he told her to, even as he told her to carry you. You can’t know. I can’t know, and she is too long dead to tell us.”

“No one knows. Don’t speak of it again. Not to me, not to anyone.” His large hand framed her face a moment, his skin warm and smelling of her essence, his touch was both rough and tender. “You know I’ve kept my word these many years.”

“Then why talk about it now!” She would have turned her face away, but he held her close.

“Because I need to remind you of the confidence you have in me. The news I have is that someone has carried a pact to Abayan Diort. My spies tell me that it will be said I did so. You cannot believe that. What you can believe is that m’lady Rivergrace has offered herself in marriage to Diort, for terms to be negotiated.”

“What? She has no House or Fortress, no standing—why would he even consider it?”

“Because, as we’ve discussed, she does have magic within her veins, even if we’re not sure of her bloodlines and her Talents. He desires that. She or her advisers have shrewdly guessed you won’t willingly offer an alliance with him, so they put her out there. And, it seems, he is interested.”

Lara grew very still for long moments. “Would he negotiate peace?”

“My spies weren’t in the tent with Diort and the man who brought a deal to his table, but he has marched to Ashenbrook and will arrive there in a handful of days, so it doesn’t seem likely. She has power, my dear, power that he thinks he can use.”

Lara’s lip curled briefly. “
She
can hardly use it.”

“Perhaps.” Daravan paused. “Have you ever considered that she might carry the long missing heritage of the Mageborn in her? That she is both of us and them?”