Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (39 page)

lower, the surer he was that something had to be done. The noose he had imagined was beginning to

choke him.

It was with a great effort that Royce lifted his head as his father stomped up to his table and demanded

him to get up. The numerous ales he had poured down his gullet to blur the sight of that evil eye looking

up at him from the battered face of the Demon Duke had done nothing more than make Royce's head

spin. The evil eye was still there, hovering just over his father's bony shoulder.

“He's gonna tell,” Royce whimpered, feeling his water wanting to come. “What are we gonna do, Pa?"

Jasper reached down and hauled his son to his feet, stumbling with the effort of keeping the lad a'foot.

“Stop your sniveling and listen up!” Kullen demanded. “We've got to go back and make sure he don't tell

nobody nothing understand?” He shook Royce for emphasis.

Royce clamped his lips shut against the nausea threatening to spew forth from the violent shaking his

father was giving him. As drunk as he was, he understood the necessity of getting rid of the man they had

tried to murder. If Hesar wasn't already dead by now, they'd finish the job.

“Do you understand?” Jasper repeated and was satisfied when his son nodded dumbly. He jerked the

boy around and pushed him toward the tavern door. “Then let's be about it!"

It was colder outside than it had been for many a night. Colder even than the dual hearts which were

intent on ending Kaelan Hesar's life. As Jasper and Royce Kullen struggled through the high drifts, each

man's thoughts was on the unfinished business that kept them from hearth and home and the hot meal that

awaited them. Neither one glanced up at the high outcropping of snow that had built along the ledge of

the mountain by which they trod.

So intent were they on what they had set out to do, neither heard the sharp crack of a branch breaking

where a red-tailed hawk had landed upon it high in the oak tree under which they passed.

Nor did they notice what had been set into motion by the sound of the breaking branch.

Neither one heard the silent death racing down toward them as the overhang of snow gave way, built up

speed as it moved unerringly toward the two men.

Neither of them even looked toward the avalanche bearing down on them until it was too late to get out

of its path. The sliding snow washed around their feet and over them, swallowing the two men beneath

tons of suffocating icy death.

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“You don't mind if I stay here when you go on to Serenia, do you, Your Grace?” Rolf de Viennes asked

his king as they sat eating what passed for an evening meal in this seaside slum.

Duncan looked up from his salmon. “Is there some reason you do not wish to go?"

De Viennes shrugged as though the matter were of not real import. “I have never been enamored of that

backward country nor its insipid ruling class,” he replied. He wiped his mouth delicately with the rough

napkin that had been provided for his use, frowned at the coarse feel of it against his lips.

The Viragonian king's eyes narrowed. “You have caused mischief there, haven't you, Rolf?” He laid

down his fork and pierced his Chancellor with a stern glower. “What, pray tell, did you do?"

Rolf took up his wine goblet and drank what was left of the port. He grimaced for there were dregs at

the bottom of the goblet that were bitter and they flooded his mouth with a sharpness he found

disagreeable.

“Rolf?” Duncan pressed. He'd known de Viennes a good long time and there wasn't a country on the

continent where the man was welcomed with open arms. But few places where Rolf was loath to visit.

De Viennes sighed. “There was an innkeeper's daughter in Ciona,” he began, then turned a sheepish

smile to his king. “You know how things are, Your Grace. You are a man of the world."

Duncan sat back in his chair, his appetite gone. “What did you do to her?” He also knew de Viennes’

tastes and the strange, murky addictions to which the man had become enslaved over the years.

For the first time in his life, Rolf de Viennes hesitated to boast of a feminine conquest. There was

something not quite friendly in the king's eye and just a tad of disgust twitching about the royal lips.

“I asked you what you did,” Duncan said, and with the way he said it, he left no room for further

dissembling.

Rolf squirmed in his chair. “It wasn't true what they accused me of, of course."

“Naturally not,” Duncan agreed, knowing that something vile had happened else Rolf would be bragging

of it. Instinctively, he knew he wasn't going to like de Viennes explanation. “Go on."

The Court Chancellor let out a long breath. “She told her brother I raped her."

Duncan had no use for a man who would force himself on a woman, even his own wife should she deny

him his conjugal rights. His distaste for Rolf's words shown clearly on his face.

Rolf looked down at the table. “As I've said, it wasn't true, of course. The brazen hussy came to my

room and threw herself at me."

“How old?” Duncan interrupted, already beginning to suspect that this was, indeed, one of those murky

addictions to which de Viennes had allied himself.

De Viennes’ head snapped up. “Beg pardon?” he asked, playing for time.

“How old?” came the stony question. Duncan's hands tightened into fists. “How old was the girl?"

Rolf threw out a negligent hand, refusing to believe his old friend would condemn him for a moment's

rare pleasure. “They say she was twelve or thereabouts, but she told me she was sixteen."

Duncan was stunned. He stared openmouthed at Rolf. No wonder Kaelan felt such hatred for the man.

How many other children had de Viennes debauched?

“You do something like that again and you will forfeit not only the title of Court Chancellor, but your

worthless hide as well, do I make myself clear to you, Rolf de Viennes?”

Rolf's head bobbed. “Aye, Majesty, you do!"

With a snort of disgust, Duncan pushed his chair back and stood up. “I think,” he said, flinging his napkin

to the table, “you should head back to Virago the same way we got here. I will have Utley lead you

back."

“Through this snow, Your Grace?” de Viennes gasped.

“Aye, through this snow!” Duncan mimicked. “Perhaps the cold will cool the heat of your unnatural

lusts!!"

“But what of my bride?” Rolf protested. He had been looking forward to chastising Gillian de Viennes

for whoring with Kaelan Hesar. A belt to that fine young rump should teach the chit a thing or two. If not,

a good beating, like the one he'd given her lover, would!

Duncan shook his head. “Much as it pains me to do so, I will have to annul the Joining, now,” he

snapped.

“But why?” Rolf gasped.

A sharp frown cut across the king's handsome face. “Do you actually think Cree will not hear of what

you did in Ciona once we reach there?” he snapped. “Think you the Duke will allow me to give his

daughter to you when he finds you stand accused of molesting a twelve year old child?"

“He is merely a Duke! What does it matter what he thinks?” Rolf wheedled. “You are the king. Your

word is law. If you tell him I am to have his precious daughter, then I will have her!"

“I would not give any decent man's daughter to you, now, de Viennes no matter how much I hated her

father!” the king shouted.

It was then Rolf made a mistake that nearly cost him his political career. With a sneer on his face, he

looked down his nose at his king. “You think,” he grumbled, “to give the whore to your brother, is that

why you are annulling my Joining to her? Because you feel guilty for the beating I gave him?"

De Viennes’ eyes widened as the hard fist came shooting toward his face.

He had his lackeys remove the unconscious Duke of Galeforce. Slumping into his chair, the king stared

moodily across the room, grinding his teeth as he pondered the consequences of the annulment.

At first, having to sever the ties between the House of Cree and the De Viennes’ clan, Duncan was more

annoyed than angry; but the more he thought of it, the more righteous became the decision, in his mind.

To allow Kaelan to have his heart's desire might well reinstate Duncan into the good graces of his men,

who had been mumbling darkly ever since leaving Holy Dale. With that in mind, he glanced over at Utley.

“Lars?"

Utley looked up from his tankard of mead. “Aye, Your Grace?"

“What think you of me annulling the contract between Rolf and the Lady Gillian in favor of allowing the

Joining between her and Kaelan to stand?"

The tracker smiled. “I believe it would be a most righteous decision all things considered, Majesty."

Duncan nodded sagely. “I believe so, too, Lars.” He sighed. “Then I believe that is exactly what I shall

do.” He took up his goblet and swallowed the last of his wine. “I didn't want to go to Ciona anyway."

* * * *

The thin man entered the tavern with his entourage just after midnight and motioned the tavern maid

forward. “Ale for my men, and your very best wine for me."

Bobbing a nervous curtsy, the tavern maid hurried away, casting a fearful look over her shoulder at the

Tribunal guards who had taken a seat near the door.

“He be the one,” Titus Niels whispered nodding toward the tall man who had seated himself alone at the

table closest to the hearth fire. “The Inquisitor, they call him."

“Him what's come to arrest the Demon Duke?” Josie, the tavern maid, whispered back.

“I reckon,” Titus agreed. He cast a look over the fierce-looking Tribunal guards and shuddered.

“Wouldn't want them a'coming after me!” He poured five ales for the guards and told the girl he was

going after the wine he kept for wealthy visitors.

“Girl?” the tall man called out, beckoning Josie with a crook of a long, thin finger.

“Aye, Your Worship!” the girl was quick to reply, scurrying as close to the man as she dared.

“You've guests upstairs,” the tall man remarked. “Royal visitors from Tempest Keep."

Josie nodded vigorously, cast a quick look toward the stairs, then lowered her voice. “The king, himself,

is here!” she bragged.

Occultus Noire's long face did not alter, but a dark gleam entered his black eyes. His thin lips twisted

into an unmistakable sneer. “I did not mean him. There is another. An older man."

Josie's brows came together over her darkly-pain'ted eyebrows, then she grinned. “Oh, the Chalean

fellow?"

The future Arch-Prelate of the Brotherhood of the Domination inclined his head. “I wish for you to take

him a message."

The tavern maid began to twist her hands in front of her. The Duke had asked not to be disturbed. It

was late of the clock and the Chalean had already retired. Would he strike her if she dared awaken him?

“I will slit your throat if you do not,” the thin man said softly and his eyes held the truth of what he

threatened.

Josie's heart thudded once very hard in her chest, then she bobbed a hasty curtsy of submission.

“Whatever you wish, Your Worship."

Occultus smiled and the look on his long face was awful to behold. “Tell him I will meet with him at the

Temple within the hour.” Before Josie could turn away and hurry to do the priest's bidding, he had

snagged out a bony hand and grabbed her wrist, drawing her to her knees before him. “And tell him,” the

tall man said in a low voice, “that it is to Kaelan Hesar's advantage that he come alone. Is that clear?"

“Aye, Your Worship,” the girl said, shivering.

“And you will tell no one of my request."

“Nay, Your Worship,” Josie agreed, shaking her head violently.

When her wrist was released and she was given permission to be about her business, she could feel the

coldness of the priest's grip on her hand long after.

Dakin Cree came awake with a start at the soft, furtive scratching at his door. He sat up, confused about

where he was for a moment, then turned his head toward the sound coming from his door. With a fierce

grunt of anger at being aroused from a much-needed sleep in a warm bed, he got up and padded heavily

to the door. When he flung the portal open to find the tavern maid standing there, her mouth trembling

with a hesitant smile, he felt like shouting.

“I have no need for your services!” he snapped, thinking Duncan had dared send the slovenly tart to

entertain him, and made to close the door.

“He sent me to fetch you, Your Grace!” Josie blurted out. “He wants to see you!"

Dakin forced out a vulgarity then fixed the girl with a brutal scowl. “Who sent you to fetch me at the

ungodly hour, woman?"

Josie bit her lip. She had no idea what the man's name was. “The priest,” she managed to answer. “The

one from the Tribunal Court."

Exasperation filled Dakin with the urge to throttle the bitch. “What are you babbling about?” he

demanded.

“The one who came here to arrest His Grace, Prince Kaelan,” Josie said in a rush of words.

Nothing the girl could have said would have garnered the Duke's attention quicker than those nine

words. He reached out, grabbed her upper arm, propelled her into the room, thrust his head out into the

hallway to assure himself no one was lurking about, then shut the door quietly, but firmly. All without

letting go of Josie's arm.

“All right,” he stated, shaking her, “what is this about?"

“He came to arrest Prince Kaelan,” the girl said. “That's why he be here."

Dakin's eyes narrowed. “Arrest him for what?” Surely the matter of Marie Sinclair's death was not just