Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (23 page)

“I’ve watched her. She has a way about her. The servants adore her. She showers them with kindnesses. She is distrustful of most of your guards, but she treats us with respect. She and Cormac get along well, even when she vexes him.” He shrugged. “She is complicated.”

She’s Eiryan.
The country was as well-known for its progressive ideas as for its brutal military strategies, for its humble beginnings as for its current wealth.
She’s as much a paradox as her own country.
“I need to walk,” Braedan said, and they walked the rest of the way to the guard quarters in silence.

***

Emrys hovered just inside the guardhouse, waiting. A tall, blond guard entered as the last of the other guards left, and Emrys hovered above the guard’s shoulder while he removed his sword and boots and took off his livery. At his ankle, a leather strap stretched tight through a murky gray stone. He sat down, crossed his ankle over his knee, and studied the stone.

Emrys shook off the protections of the elements and appeared next to Matthias. “You’ve done well, Matthias.”

Matthias startled and turned to Emrys, hand on his dagger. When he saw the familiar face, he relaxed. “You. I looked for you after you showed me his majesty’s camp, but I could never find you.”

“I always planned to return when it was time. Now, it’s time.”

When Emrys had directed Matthias to Braedan’s camp from the tumble-down public house where the young man worked, he hadn’t been certain his plan would work. He’d been sure his mistress would find this creature before Emrys could gain his allegiance. Now, Matthias was his, and his mistress had no idea of his existence.
As long as he doesn’t shift yet, she won’t know he’s here.
“Do you still wear the talisman I gave you?”

Matthias pulled it from under his shirt. “Always, as you instructed. What does it do?”

“It protects you from harmful magic.”

Matthias frowned. “What harmful magic?”

“There are wards around Taura. The talisman keeps them from harming you.” He paused. “The woman Igraine—you find her bewitching.”

Matthias’ eyes grew hungry. “Any man with breath in his body would find Igraine bewitching. Have you seen her?”

Emrys suppressed a grimace. “She does not appeal to me. She has dangerous magic that threatens your king. I want you to kill her.”

Matthias’ face paled, but under it was the bloodlust of his kind—the longing to shred skin and break bone and tear organs. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You ask me to betray my king. He doesn’t want to risk war with Eirya.”

Beneath the loyal words, Emrys heard desire. “If you want the woman, that’s no concern of mine. As long as she ends up dead, I don’t care what you do with her first.”

Matthias’ fingers twitched and curved into a claw-like form, and his voice turned hoarse with need. “What do you suggest?”

Chapter Fifteen

May Alshada give you a gentle path, a light heart, and a boon companion.

— Eiryan blessing

Igraine fidgeted before the mirror, fussing with the neckline of her blue silk gown. It revealed a fair amount of skin, and she wondered if she should risk so much for her first formal banquet in Torlach. She picked up the sheer Eiryan lace her mysterious admirer had left and covered her shoulders.
It helps. A bit.

Attending Braedan’s banquet as his companion wasn’t only a favor to him, though she was happy to let him believe so. If Duncan Guinness could see that she had influence over the Taurin throne, he might be inclined to speak favorably of her position to her father. Sitting next to Braedan, laughing at his jokes, and playing the noble lady for a night was a small price to pay for continued freedom.
Besides, it’s not a painful price. I can think of worse men to spend an evening with.

Gwyn opened Igraine’s bedchamber door and gave a quick curtsy. “Your highness, it’s time. Commander Mac Kendrick is waiting to escort you to the banquet.”

Igraine smoothed her dress once more and went to the door. Logan’s usually stoic expression softened. “My lady,” he said, offering his arm. “Forgive me for being forward, but the king will be proud to have you next to him on the dais tonight.”

“Thank you, Logan.” She took his arm. “Who has arrived so far?”

He curved her hand around his arm in a familiar gesture that would have earned any other guard a scolding. “The lords and ladies here in the castle are drifting in. Duke Mac Rian and his daughter haven’t yet arrived, but they are staying in an inn near the castle.”

She nodded and sighed.

“Heavy heart, your highness?”

She laughed. “No. I simply don’t care for these functions.”

“While there are common folk at the gates who would trade everything they own for a glance from you or the king,” he said.

“D’ye think I don’t know my role well enough, then?” She scoffed. “’Tis one I’ve been groomed to play, or couldn’t you tell?”

“You play it admirably, my lady.” Logan was silent for a moment. “Igraine,” he said, quiet. “May I ask why you are doing this?”

“Have we grown so close that you use my familiar name?”

“Haven’t we?”

She hid a grin. “Perhaps. What is it you’re concerned about?”

“You are letting his majesty believe that you might have more in mind than just working as his ambassador.”

She turned to him. “The king is no innocent in these games. He refuses to choose or deny the Lady Olwyn or the Lady Aislinn. He lets them believe they have opportunity to become the next queen of Taura.”

“And is that what you want? A crown?”

“Be careful, Commander. Your words have an edge.”

“That’s my job—keeping the king safe behind sharp edges.”

She inclined her head. “The crown I already have is heavy enough. I have no need for another.” She put her hand on his arm again. “Take me to the banquet.”

The low murmur of voices greeted Igraine as they approached the banquet hall. Guards opened the door, and Logan stood aside as the steward announced her. “Igraine Mac Roy, Princess Royale of Eirya and Taurin Ambassador to the Great Kirok in Aliom.”

Logan led her down the steps of the banquet hall to the echoes of light applause from the lords and ladies. Her eyes fell on a familiar face already at the long table on the dais. “Duncan!”

Duncan Guinness stood, his smile creasing his weathered face under black hair salted at the sides with gray. “Grainy.” He took her hands and kissed her cheek. “’Tis a relief to see you well and whole.”

She squeezed his hands and returned the kiss. “I’m far too cagey to die in some silly political wranglings. Where is Cara?”

“She stayed on Eirya. She grows heavy with child, and she didn’t want to risk giving birth at sea. She’ll join me after the child comes.”

“How does she fare?”

“Well. Very well. She’s beautiful when she’s with child.” He lowered his voice. “I was not meant to be a widower. Give me the joy of a young woman’s touch in my home and the sound of children laughing, and I’m a happy man.”

She smiled. “It shows.”

Logan had retreated to escort more noble ladies, so Duncan seated Igraine and sat at her right hand. “Tell me what this ambassadorship is about, Grainy.” He picked up his goblet. “Your father is not happy.”

She avoided his eyes and sipped the heavy wine. “Your letter was quite clear about my father’s opinions of my choice. We can discuss it tomorrow with the king.”

“I’d like to hear more about it without the king present.”

She nodded a greeting to a lady who passed by the dais. “I wanted more than the kirok. You know that.”

“And you thought squirming your way into an ambassadorship would do that, then?” His voice was edged with an odd mixture of reproach and pride.

The accent of home felt familiar and comforting to Igraine. She took a long drink of wine, set down her goblet, and turned to him. “What would you have me do, Duncan?”

“I would have married you. You know that.” His voice was tight.

“You loved Cara.”

“I would have put that aside.”

She put a hand on his arm. “I care too much for you to see you bound to me when you love another.”

“Igraine—”

They were interrupted by the steward announcing another guest. “Ronan Kerry, Duke of Stone Coast.”

Ronan Kerry strode to the dais and approached Igraine. “Your highness, what a vision you are tonight.” He took her hand and bowed.

She forced a proper smile.
Time to play royal games.
“My lord is kind.”

“Just honest. Will you take a turn with me around the room, my lady?”

She tensed. To greet her and offer his hand was entirely proper and appropriate, but to ask for a turn implied he wished for more than a proper greeting.
Still, with eyes on me, I can’t refuse. What will the gossips think?
“Of course, my lord.” She stood and put one hand on his arm.

He led her off the dais and toward the edges of the hall where only the servants walked. “I was impressed by your eloquence this afternoon, highness. I had no idea you were so well-read in Taurin law,” he said, inclining his head toward her ear.

She took a half-step to the side to put more space between them. “I’ve had little else to do while I wait for the kirok to send ambassadors. I read, I visit the kirons and sayas, and I wait. I like the law.”

“That’s clear.” He lowered his voice and kept his eyes straight ahead. “Be careful though, highness. Don’t reach too high.”

She stopped. “Too high? I don’t know what you mean.”

He turned to her and put one hand on the hilt of the dress sword at his side. “You suggested helping Cormac govern while the king is away. A foreign princess has no right to sit on the Raven Throne unchecked.”

She lifted her chin. “I have no desire to sit on the Raven Throne at all.”

“I would not have thought you would reach as high as ambassador, either, yet here you are. What do you want, Igraine?”

She straightened her shoulders. “I think that’s for me to discuss with Braedan. You have no business—”

“He’s my nephew, my king, and my heir,” he said, his voice turning into a low hiss. “I will make it my business.” He paused. “What do you want?”

A purpose. A mission.
She gave him a cool gaze. “I wish to return to my seat, my lord, rather than listen to the thinly veiled insults of a man who didn’t have the fire to take the throne for himself.”

His mouth turned grim. “I had no right. He had the better claim.”

“In a coup, swords matter, not claims. Return me to my seat or I will walk there myself and propriety be damned.”

A sneer curled one corner of his mouth, and he put a hand on her arm, fingers tightening enough for her to understand the unspoken threat. “You are a fiery one, aren’t you? Is that pretty mouth useful for anything besides speaking out of turn?”

For one moment, she considered slapping him. Instead, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You have just ensured you will never find out.”

Duncan leaned over to her as she reached her seat amid the whispers and covert glances of nobles in the hall. “Are you well, Grainy?”

She smiled at Duncan, picked up her goblet, and sipped her wine. “I’m fine, Duncan. Please, tell me all the news from the Citadel.”

When Braedan arrived a few moments later, Igraine stood with the rest of the room as he walked the long banquet hall and approached his seat on the dais. His easy smile and sharp blue eyes greeted the lords and ladies around him. Igraine’s stomach fluttered at the sight of him.
By the gods, he’s easy to look at.

When he arrived at his seat, Braedan lifted Igraine’s hand and bowed as she curtsied. “My lady. I confess part of me regrets insisting on your presence tonight.”

“Have I displeased, sire?”

“On the contrary—I fear I won’t be able to concentrate on any matters of state with your beauty to distract me.” He swept one hand toward the crowd. “And I confess I do feel a twinge of guilt for the sake of all these ladies. You shame their beauty.”

She couldn’t resist a smile.
I shouldn’t let sweet words go to my head.
She inclined her head. “You are too kind, majesty.”

Duncan stood and bowed to Braedan. “Majesty. I thank you for the honor of an invitation.”

Braedan inclined his head. “Lord Guinness. I’m pleased you chose to attend tonight, and I’m sure our royal lady is happy to hear news from Eirya.”

Duke Mac Rian entered the room, his daughter on his arm, and Braedan’s eyes widened. The duke’s daughter was a beauty, Igraine thought. Her raven-black hair fell to her waist. Her eyes were heavy and dark, and her skin had the faint coppery sheen that spoke of Esparan blood. She was tall and lithe and walked with a gliding gait. Igraine felt a stab of envy at the woman’s tiny waist and perfect proportions.

Mac Rian walked up the dais and bowed to Braedan. “My lord, may I present my daughter, Lady Olwyn Mac Rian.”

Braedan took her hand and bowed. “My lady. We have met before, I believe, but we were both much younger.”

The lady curtsied. “I do remember, your majesty.” She had a low purr to her voice that distracted even loyal Duncan’s ear, Igraine saw. “It has been too long. The years have blessed you.”

“And you, lady. Every promise in that youthful face I recall is fulfilled in the beauty I see before me.” He gestured to Igraine. “I have the honor to introduce you to my companion for tonight, Igraine Mac Roy, Princess Royale of Eirya.”

Olwyn turned to Igraine, and Igraine waited for her to curtsy first. Olwyn’s mouth twitched into a forced smile, and after one long moment, she offered a curtsy. “Your highness.”

Igraine merely inclined her head.
Make me wait, will you? You should learn your place.
“Lady. Welcome.”

Olwyn straightened and lifted her chin. She gestured to the food. “Such a lovely meal, your majesty. I do wish I had a larger appetite. I fear I won’t be able to enjoy everything here as much as some of your guests.” Her eyes flickered over Igraine’s body.

Braedan turned his head, but not before Igraine saw his grin. “Please, my lord and lady—be seated.” He picked up a goblet and hid his mouth.

Igraine saw the twinkle in his eyes.
Ass. Does he think to play me against Olwyn?
“Something funny, my lord?” she whispered when he sat.

“Not at all,” he said.

The steward tapped the floor again, and Cormac entered the hall. He walked toward the dais as his name and titles were called, but when he saw Olwyn, he paled. His breath quickened, and his eyes flickered away from Olwyn. He approached Braedan and bent down to whisper something. Braedan frowned. “Are you well?”

“I-I’m well,” he said, loud enough that Igraine could hear. “I just have work. Will you excuse me, sire?”

“Of course, Cormac. We will speak on the morrow.” Cormac offered a quick bow and ducked his eyes before scurrying from the hall.

Braedan frowned, but then turned to the assembled guests and announced the feast begun. He sat and leaned toward Igraine. “Do you know what that was about?” he asked behind his wine goblet.

She also hid her mouth when she replied. “No, sire. When I spoke with him earlier, he still had plans to attend the banquet. Perhaps something new has arisen that requires his attention?”

“He didn’t mention anything.”

She lifted her goblet and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “It began when he saw the Lady Olwyn.”

Braedan turned to her, his eyes twinkling. He gave her a crooked grin. “Jealous that he had no such reaction for you, my lady?”

“I have no desire to drive fear into men’s hearts.”

“No?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’m sure he’s all right. He usually eats in his chambers and doesn’t much care for these kinds of events.”

“Neither do I, but I’m here, aren’t I?” The servants came with the first course then—a rich beef broth seasoned with leeks. She lifted her bowl and raised her voice again. “Your majesty, in Eirya, it is custom for lords and ladies to share the bowl with those to either side. The bowl offers the warmth of friendship and hospitality and protection. May I?”