Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (35 page)

“Lady Jayde,” murmured Serai.

The lady swished to a chair beside the king’s throne and remained standing as a page entered and announced the sovereign. Everyone knelt, including the lady, as King Laetham strode in with a magnanimous smile.

Trevin’s stomach twisted at the thought of what would happen to that smile in only a matter of minutes. He turned to Melaia. “Just do your part.”

She nodded, veiled her face, and squared her shoulders. Serai walked her to the archway.

“The shields,” Catellus whispered over Trevin’s shoulder. “I see it now. We have to get the shields.”

“Which was yours?”

“The white stag.”

Trevin nodded, realizing Catellus had not seen his shield since he sent it away with his son. Viewing it now had surely reminded him of his son’s captivity.

Melaia was halfway to the dais. Lady Jayde leaned seductively toward King Laetham and whispered. The king’s grin broadened. When Melaia reached the front, she bowed to her father, then turned and knelt on one of the white cushions, her eyes on the archway.

Trevin’s heart drummed in his chest. He slipped off the priest’s cloak, handed it to Catellus, and repositioned the harp on his back.

In the great hall the guests shifted uneasily. The king’s smile stiffened. Fornian leaned forward, scowling.

Trevin strode through the doorway.

he great hall sizzled with whispers, and the king’s smile froze. The priest opened and closed his mouth like a frog. Lady Jayde glanced at Fornian, who nodded. She turned her glare to Trevin.

As Trevin strode down the aisle, he felt a twisting pull of power from Lady Jayde, but he did not sense her as a malevolent. Four paces from the dais, he went to one knee.

“Main Trevin!” boomed the king. “Explain yourself. Where is Prince Varic?”

The entire room lay silent. Trevin felt all eyes watching him as he rose. “This afternoon I was welcomed to the temple by Prince Varic’s sword.”

The king narrowed his eyes. Lady Jayde drew her hand delicately to her throat.

“Varic attacked me on the temple roof,” said Trevin. “I ducked, but he couldn’t pull back. He fell over the parapet. His body is at the temple.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fornian slip out of the hall.

Lady Jayde’s face paled. “How do we know
you
didn’t send Varic to his death?” She turned to King Laetham. “Isn’t this the man who murdered the Eldarran prince and brought your personal servant to a cruel end? Now he has killed the prince of the Dregmoors and has the insolence to announce it in front of the bride on her wedding day.”

Trevin wondered if anyone else noticed that the bride did not seem particularly upset. “Sire,” he said, “Varic killed the Eldarran prince, and I have good reason to suspect he murdered Nash
and
arranged for the disappearance of your comains. I’m prepared to give you a full report.”

The king opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Jayde blurted, “We’re here for a wedding, and he wants to make a report! To shift the blame, no doubt.”

Melaia rose from her cushion and folded back her veil. “Trevin is not a murderer. He’s telling the truth. I saw Varic fall.”

Lady Jayde clenched her fists in her lap. “You were there? Perhaps you two conspired to murder the prince and invented this tale to cover your crime.”

King Laetham scowled at Lady Jayde. “I do not believe my daughter is a murderer, and I’ll thank you to let me handle this.” Red-faced, he turned to Melaia. “It’s understandable that Lady Jayde is upset. She and I meant to marry today as well. After your wedding.”

Melaia gaped at her father. “You kept this from me?”

“We didn’t want to eclipse your own anticipation,” said Lady Jayde. “But this! This destroys not only the wedding but the Dregmoorian peace offer as well!”

The king shook a jeweled finger at Melaia. “If it’s true that you’ve wittingly destroyed the hope of peace for Camrithia, I’ll hold you personally responsible for any ensuing hostility by the Dregmoorians.” He glared at Trevin. “As for you,
you
will be held in chains.”

“If I may, Your Grace.” Lord Beker strode to the center of the hall. “We’re all stunned at the news of Varic’s death, having gathered for something far more pleasant.”

Trevin glanced at Melaia. He doubted either of them would have found the wedding ceremony any more pleasant than murder charges.

“However,” said Lord Beker, “since we are gathered, I request that we hear more. It seems to me that if Main Trevin were truly guilty of murder, he wouldn’t be fool enough to walk in here before us all. I suggest we consider his report. As for the princess, though it’s no secret that she felt less than elated about this match, I do not consider her a liar.”

Lady Jayde placed her hand on the king’s shoulder. “Laetham, this is not the time to discuss these distressing matters. Our guests came to see a wedding. The priest is here. Send this murderer to a cell, and
we
can be wed. You’ll have time later to consider your next steps.”

“Our next steps are to prepare to defend our borders,” growled King Laetham. “The Dregmoorians send their prince with a peace offer; we return him in a shroud.”

“Please, Father, you need to hear Main Trevin’s report,” said Melaia. “He gained an alliance with Eldarra.”

Trevin slipped the harp from his back. “I bring greetings from King Kedemeth and Queen Ambria, I found one of your comains alive and well, and you can see that I have one of the harps Melaia wanted.” He handed the harp to Melaia. “I’ve completed my tasks, and I return in peace.” He raised his empty hands to indicate that he held no malice.

Lady Jayde’s eyes narrowed. Trevin sensed something festering beneath the surface of this woman. He wished he could draw his sword and glimpse her character in the reflection, but he had declared peaceful intentions.

“Liar!” Fornian stormed through the doorway. “Varic didn’t fall. He was run through with a sword.” He drew his dagger and headed for Trevin.

Half of the guests on the north side of the hall rose. Swords hissed from their scabbards, echoed by blades drawn along the south wall. Catellus entered, his dagger in hand.

Ollena stepped in front of Trevin, her sword poised. “I ended Varic’s life,” she told Fornian. “I’ll do the same for you if you insist, hmm? Varic fell from the roof of the temple. His neck broke, and he would have died slowly. I spared him the pain.”

Fornian glared at her, fuming, and Ollena stared back, both daring each other to strike first.

Trevin turned to King Laetham, an idea taking hold. “I swear you’ve heard the truth. I come in peace. As proof, I lay down my sword.”

Slowly he drew Arelin’s sword and lowered it to the floor, tilting the blade to catch Lady Jayde’s reflection. But when he saw her image, he could hardly make sense of it. An ancient, shriveled face lined with fear, recklessness, and desperation sat atop a child’s body.

Then, over the child’s shoulder, he glimpsed the reflection of one of the shields on the wall. He caught his breath. The shield bore not the image of an animal but the likeness of a man.

That’s what Catellus was trying to say
, thought Trevin. Varic had reduced the comains to images, trapped them within their own shields.

He set the sword on the floor, his mind racing. Who was Lady Jayde?

King Laetham paced the dais. “Perhaps, Main Trevin, if you are such an envoy of peace, you should take the true murderer, this warrior woman, into
the Dregmoors to stand trial for the death of the prince. She confessed murder. You could be witness.” He turned to Lord Beker. “Might that appease the Dregmoorians?”

“Possibly,” said Lord Beker.

Lady Jayde huffed. “Even if the Dregmoorians exact justice for the prince’s death, they will have no marriage ties, no incentive to guarantee further peace. I suggest you send the harps as a substitute for the princess.”

“Impossible,” said Melaia.

King Laetham looked askance at Lady Jayde. “Why would the Dregmoorians accept these harps? Are they truly that valuable?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” said Lady Jayde.

“The harps stay here with me,” said Melaia.

Lady Jayde and Melaia began arguing the matter. Trevin was aware of their voices, but his mind had turned to the image of the ancient child. Only two other people would appear that old in the eye of the sword. Benasin and Rejius.

This lady was the immortal girl. Benasin’s niece. Rejius’s daughter. Stalia. Queen of the Dregmoors and—wedding be cursed!—Varic’s mother, here to make certain the Camrithian throne was transferred to the Dregmoors through Varic or herself or both. She would love to return to Lord Rejius with both harps.

Melaia and Lady Jayde fell silent and glared at each other. King Laetham sank to his throne, rubbing his forehead.

“Will there be a wedding or not?” the priest asked sheepishly, his round face white as the moon.

“The harps stay with Melaia,” said Trevin. “The warrior woman and I stay as well, Queen Stalia.”

Lady Jayde stiffened. “You play a fool’s game, young man,” she growled.

“I believe the fool’s game is carved in stone before Lord Rejius’s throne,” he said. “He called for you but was told you had already left on your mission, so I played the game in your stead.”

King Laetham leaned forward. “What are you saying, Main Trevin?”

Lady Jayde paled but held her chin high. “He’s babbling nonsense to avoid being sent to the Dregmoors,” she said. “He’s afraid they’ll find him as guilty as his warrior friend.”

Trevin glanced back at Ollena, who still held Fornian at bay. Verbal sparring
was akin to sword fighting.
Cut to the inside
. “Maybe the lady will tell us how to release our comains,” he said. “They’re here, imaged in their own shields.”

Lady Jayde snorted. “Madness! Have you ever heard of such, Laetham?”

Look for an advantage
. “Your father said he had you in a double bind.”

Stalia’s expression hardened. For a moment she looked around the room, opening and closing her hands. Then in one swift move, she leaped at the king and pressed a needle-like knife to his throat.

Two guards had started across the dais, but they halted halfway as the entire room froze.

Trevin stepped back, horrified. He had meant to make Lady Jayde admit her true identity but not like this. Crimson-faced, King Laetham gripped the arms of his throne.

Stalia nodded at Melaia. “Bring me the harp. Have your maid fetch the other.”

Melaia motioned to Serai, who hesitated for only a moment before slipping out. But Trevin could see Melaia wrestling with herself. She would do anything to keep Stalia from taking the last two harps to the hawkman. Anything but watch her father die.

Trevin sensed malevolents arriving at the entrance and the doorway behind the dais. As Melaia started toward Stalia with the harp, he made the only move he saw that might shift the advantage.

“Play the harp,” he told Melaia.

“Bring the harp to me,” ordered Stalia, pressing her knife to the king’s throat.

Melaia winced with the king, but she had already positioned the harp, and by the time Stalia made her third demand, a tune was in the air.

The floor shivered. Hanging lamps swayed. Guests shared uneasy glances. The priest grabbed the two white cushions and scuttled away.

“No music!” shouted Stalia.

One of the malevolent couples Trevin had seen earlier approached the dais. The king’s guards stepped closer.

Melaia shot Trevin a questioning look.

He flexed his fingers, tense and unsure, but nodded, and she kept playing. The floor lurched, and the king’s chair slid back, throwing Stalia off balance.

Trevin snatched Arelin’s sword and rushed Stalia as the king’s guards and Lord Beker engaged the two malevolents. But the dais cracked, throwing Trevin to his knees, and Stalia swept past him, nimbly edging the fissure, headed for Melaia.

Trevin scrambled to his feet, yelling, “Melaia! Stop playing!”

But she had stopped. Wide-eyed, she hugged the harp, retreating from Stalia, her bodyguards shielding her.

Still the floor shook. Cracks widened. The entire hall erupted in a confusion of fighting and fleeing. Angelaeon, malevolents, guards, guests—everyone scrambled for balance as the floor bucked. Catellus engaged Fornian. Ollena lunged at one malevolent, and Jarrod took on another. Pym was swiping with his dagger and dodging. Dwin held a menacing stance as he guarded Hanni and her girls, who had fled into a corner.

“Main Trevin!” King Laetham called. His throne had tilted to one side, pinning him against the wall. He struggled to escape his chair as, one after another, the king’s guards fell to the two malevolents.

Lord Beker reached the king first and tried to fend off the malevolents. Trevin drove one of them back, ducked falling plaster, and grabbed King Laetham’s arm.

Ollena’s fierce yell cut through the mayhem as she sprinted to the dais. Her sword cut down one malevolent. The other retreated as Ollena laid into her.

Trevin helped Lord Beker haul the king out from under his throne.

“Cursed witch!” snarled King Laetham, grabbing one of his guards’ swords. He stumbled after Stalia with Lord Beker at his heels.