Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (36 page)

“
‘Tis a wondrously fragrant wing,” Ailinn marveled, breaking the silence.

“
We near Xenia’s workrooms. She is brilliant at combining scents and has her own perfumery. The scented soaps and oils used in your bath were provided by her factory. Most all the women of the
gynaekeion
busy themselves in some such enterprise.”

The child spoke to Xenia,
apprising her of Ailinn’s comment.

“
Xenia would be pleased for you to visit her workrooms and make a selection from her collection for yourself.”

“
That is very generous.” Ailinn’s gaze slipped to Xenia.

C
uriosity nipped at her, and she wondered what lay behind the look Xenia had given Lyting earlier. Ailinn bit the inside of her cheek, then, against better judgment, decided to question her.

“
Ariana, would you ask Xenia if she knows Lyting Atlison?”

‘
Twas impossible she could, Ailinn knew. Lyting had never visited the city before, but she posed the question nonetheless.

At the noblewoman
’s reply, Ariana interpreted. “Xenia knew his brother, Rurik, when he served among the Varangians.”

This mildly surprised Ailinn. She culled through what Lyting had told her of his brother
’s time here. Aside from Rurik’s station among the Guard and his foiling a palace plot, Lyting had revealed only that his brother once loved the beauty Helena, whose grave they had visited last evening. Rurik had departed the city after her death.

Ailinn sli
d another glance to Xenia. There was a certain aloofness to her manner, perhaps unsurprising for one who personally served the empress. Still, Ailinn’s instincts told her that Rurik’s acquaintance with the woman was not of an amorous nature.

“
Mayhap Xenia also knew Helena Dalassena.” Ailinn ventured and noted how, when the child interpreted her words, the pupils of Xenia’s eyes constricted to dots and her mouth thinned. Nonetheless, she answered in even, controlled tones.

“
Xenia knew her well. Not only were they friends and both lived here in the women’s quarters, but Xenia cared for Helena on her deathbed.”

Ailinn looked to Xenia, finding it difficult to think
of this woman, who seemed so detached, befriending anyone so dearly.

“
How very kind. And how devastating to have a friend die beneath your hands.”

In truth, Ailinn was unsure how Helena did die. Lyting had indicated only that a sickness took her swiftly. Nothing more.

Strangely, Xenia made no response as they continued along the halls. She walked straight-spined, her head held high, a faint curve touching her lips.

»«

Entering the Daphne Palace, Lyting and Thord traversed the resplendent hall. They strode past glittering mosaics depicting emperors and empresses of long past. The marble beneath their feet was inlaid with designs of eagles, their wings outstretched. Chinese scent burners fragranced the halls, and tables encrusted with mother-of-pearl lined the walls.

Lyting gave the luxuries a cursory glance, his thoughts quickening ahead to the prospect of seeing Ailinn.

»«

Emerging from the passageway and entering the main hall of the palace, Ailinn passed in awe of the silver columns and great lengths of purple dye-stuffs draped from ceiling to floor and tied back with gilded cords. The lower portions of the walls gleamed of a marble so pure, they appeared to be made of crystal.

Ailinn’s step slowed, a thrill racing through her as her gaze fixed on Lyting, approaching from ahead. He moved with strength and fluidity, resplendent in Byzantine garments — the fabric midnight blue shot with silver. About his shoulders he wore a scarlet mantle which contrasted with his bright, shining hair and set it off to advantage.

Lyting’s breath grew shallow as he drank in the sight of
Ailinn, she a vision of breathtaking beauty.

As
the distance closed between them, desire fired his veins. He knew without doubt, ‘twas good they were lodged separately, she with a guard barring her door. Saints’ breath, he could give no assurance that his ironclad restraint would not dissolve altogether if he were enclosed in a room with Ailinn one more night.

As Lyting and Thord joined the women in the hallway, Lyting proffered his arm to Ailinn. She accepted, her touch
pure fire.

Ailinn smiled on Lyting, scarce able to breath, heat
sprinting up her arm from where her hand lay atop his. Together, they walked side by side, the splendor of the hall fading to nothingness.

Thord led the party to the Imperial dining chamber. On entering the room, Lyting
quickly discovered that the women were to dine at a table separate from the men’s. Disappointment gnashing, he reluctantly escorted Ailinn to her place.

Not until that moment did he realize that the young girl who accompanied them was blind, so well did she
conduct herself through the hall. He now aided her, and the other women as well, one of whom Ailinn introduced as Xenia, lady-in-waiting to Zoë. The child, she explained, was Ariana her interpreter.

Xenia held Lyting
’s gaze as she sank to her cushioned chair. He paused for a moment, unsure of what he saw glimmering in the depths of her eyes, if indeed he’d seen anything at all. He then excused himself and went to take his place beside Thord at the banqueting table.

As he settled into his chair, he saw how the other men
’s interest lingered over Ailinn. Their wolfish looks touched a raw nerve, not that his was any less so.

At that moment the young emperor and his mother,
Zoë, arrived. Immediately everyone moved to prostrate themselves. Once the empress had joined the women’s table and the emperor the men’s and everyone resettled themselves, the servants brought forth platters of roasted meats — pork stuffed with garlic, game, and poultry — varied sauces, asparagus, salad greens, little round biscuits, and stewed fruits.

As Ailinn began to address the sumptuous fare, she could not help but stop and look twice. Like the doors to the room, the table was made of ivory, inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl. Each place was set with spoons, knives, and small two-pronged forks, all of gleaming silver, as were the plates.

The tiny fork baffled her. She was only familiar with large ones, used in cooking to tend and skewer sizable portions of meat. She glanced about the table to see how the others handled their utensils, especially the little fork, and thought it safest to follow the example of the empress.

Lyting brought his eyes from Ailinn as Thord began to make his introduction and those who collected at the emperor
’s table. Young Constantine sat directly across from him, and to his left, the High Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, the Drungarius, Romanus Lecapenus.

Lyting recalled
Arnór’s words when they first entered the Golden Horn and saw his flagship. This, then, would be the Armenian peasant, who had worked his way up through the ranks and secured the exalted position of Drungarius by appointment of Alexander. Lyting studied him closely. Thord had forewarned him that the Drungarius was a hard man, though not cruel. At the moment, Thord was retelling a story of Romanus’s youth, that of his killing a lion single-handedly.

Next, Thord presented the Domesticus of the Scholae, Leo Phocas, Supreme Commander of the Empire
’s land forces. Leo, Thord informed, was the son of the great general Nicephorus. Thord also praised Leo as a great military leader in his own right.

Leo was a favorable-looking man, with golden brown hair, obviously aristocratic by his appearance and bearing. Lyting remembered the wager
Arnór wished to make and wondered himself whether the aristocratic general or the peasant admiral would win over the other in time to come.

Thord continued, presenting the Logothete, Leonites Byrennius, Counselor to the Emperor and Director of Imperial Policy.

Next came the Eparch, Sergius Bardanes, Governor of Byzantium and overseer of trade.

And finally, and perhaps most interestingly, Andronicus Styliane, famed and heroic general, one of the
strategos
of the land forces, freshly returned from Dyrrachium. ‘Twas under his man that Askel the Red had served. And died.

Many questions crouched in Lyting
’s mind, but he held his peace. Zoë had delivered the suspected men with those of her own choice as she said she would. Possibly, one of the men at table was the one they sought. Mayhap, two.

As the courses were taken away and bowls of dates, figs, and almonds brought,
Zoë came to sit between her son and Leo Phocas. An indication of the empress’s favor? Lyting couldn’t help but wonder. Though the men continued to eat, she did not partake of anything.

Lyting
’s gaze strayed to Ailinn, inhaling her beauty, then he reined in his wayward lust as he knew he must. He saw that the men present were no less immune to Ailinn.

When the Eparch
’s thin, nasal voice rose above the others, questioning Lyting of his presence in Constantinople, Lyting briefly appraised those gathered of his mission in Rurik’s stead — that a conspiracy existed close to the throne. One which he hoped to expose for he brought new information to the throne.

Lyting drew on his wine, waiting for a reaction. After a measured moment, he settled his interest on Andronicus Styliane.

“Mayhap you can help me. I understand that you have just returned from Dyrrachium.” Lyting confronted the issue that so taxed him. “Would you know of the death of a Varangian named Askel the Red, or of a man named Stephanites Cerularius, head of one of the units of spearmen?”

Andronicus shook his head.
“I remember the incident of the Varangian’s death. He was found in the desert, dead, the morning after his watch. But I have no one serving under me by the name of Cerularius. I can have the roles checked, if you like, but I can assure you that I know each of my men who lead the infantry units, the
skutatos
. There is no Stephanites Cerularius serving me. The man does not exist.”

Lyting sat back in his chair, trying to keep the surprise from his face. More Byzantine duplicity? he wondered. Who then sent the parchment from Dyrrachium?

“Do you remember anything of significance concerning Askel?” Lyting pressed.

Andronicus pondered the question. Again he shook his head.

“A symbol perhaps? One he might have scratched out on the desert floor or had marked upon his person?”

“
What kind of symbol?”

“
A small scorpion, made with two letters of the Cyrillic alphabet — the
omega
and the
I
.”

The
Strategos’s eyes narrowed slightly. Did anyone else’s? Lyting wondered, his gaze still fixed on Andronicus.

“
Best take care, Atlison,” the Strategos warned, easing back in his chair. “If those behind the plot believe you to be your brother, or that you have the full knowledge that he does about the matter, your hours could be numbered. They could be plotting your demise even as we sup.”

Andronicus
’s gaze moved to Ailinn, and he skimmed her closely, sending a burr up Lyting’s back.

“
They might have their eyes on the spoils as well. Best move with care, Atlison.”

“
I intend to.” Lyting’s gaze did not waver.

Disliking the new bent to the conversation that encompassed Ailinn, Lyting decided to seize it straight forth and pull it back.

“Be assured, my brother kept nothing from me. And since my arrival, I’ve gained further information to refine his suspicions.”

He stretched forth his arm on the table, revealing the wide, silver band of Askel the Red.

“Those names are engraved on the underside of this arm cuff. Now I only await the answers to several questions, which I have already put forth,” he fabricated. “Then will we know the name of the ‘scorpion’
and
the ‘spider’ who serves him in the `palace of the Caesars.’ “

Lyting
’s gaze moved around the table, from man to man. He’d baited the trap, making himself the prey. Now he would now wait for someone to strike.

»«

The Norseman moved along the darkening Mesê, stopping at one of the open air establishments that offered ale and wine and skewers of braised meat.

The streetside, immediately before it, was jammed with tables where customers drank, relaxed in good humor, and exchanged the day
’s gossip. The owner stood behind a waist-high marble counter, serving from huge jars sunken into its surface.

The Norseman thrust his fingers through his dark gold hair, shoving it back, as he stepped to the counter. Slapping down a small coin, he ordered a goblet of ale, speaking in heavily accented Greek.

Relieving the vendor of the vessel, he took a quenching draft, wiped his mouth with the back of hand, then eyed the people crowding the counter and those sitting at the small tables on the walk. He turned once more to the merchant, speaking loud enough for all to hear.