Servant of Dis

Copyright

The Black Dream, Book One:

Servant of Dis

Copyright @ 2016 Celina Summers

Smashword Edition

This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events is coincidental.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

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Dramatis Personae

Asphodel

Prosper de Asphodel—Count of Asphodel, Tamsen’s father

Solange de Spesialle—wife of Prosper, Tamsen’s mother

Tamsen de Asphodel—ruling Countess of Asphodel

The Elven Realm

The House of Ka’antira

Kaldarte—the Elven Seer, wife of Arami, mother of Lamec, Wilden, and Morrote

Arami—Woodlands Lord

Lamec—member of the Elven Council, father of Liliath and Cetenne

Ardenne—Lamec’s wife

Liliath—Tamsen’s foster-sister, Cetenne’s twin

Cetenne—Tamsen’s foster sister, Liliath’s twin

Wilden—Elven Scout, fealty-found to Mariol, Marquis de Beotte and Morrote’s twin

Morrote—Elven Scout, fealty-bound to Mariol, Marquis de Beotte and Wilden’s twin

Antir—last of the Elven Kings, brother to Kaldarte

The House of Ka’breona

Brial—Elven Scout leader

Beron—commander of Elven armies, father of Brial, Balon, and Berond

Balon—Brial’s brother

Berond—Brial’s brother

The House of Ka’charona

Acheros—leader of the Elven Council of Elders

Leither—Acheros’ wife, mind mage, head of Elven Mages

Geochon

Lufaux—King of Ansienne

Mariol—Marquis de Beotte, cousin to the King, member of Privy Council, and warmage

Anton de Ceolliune—Duke de Ceolliune, co-ruler of Callat-Ceolliune, father to Anner

Anner de Ceolliune—heir to the duchy of Ceolliune

Jeshan de Callat—Count of Callat, co-ruler of Callat-Ceolliune

Glaucon de Pamphylia—heir to the duchy of Pamphylia

Mylan de Phoclydies—Earl of Phoclydies

Myrielle—Mariol’s mistress

Gabril de Spesialle—Duke of Spesialle, brother to Solange, member of Privy Council

Hyagrem de Silenos—warmage, tutor of Tamsen

Prologue

The Loresingers of Leselle, Merila, and Sanctuary sing of the Ilian War and the feats of their Queen Tamsen Ka’antira de Asphodel. The Elven Realm listened in awe to the tales of her love for their stern prince, Brial Ka’breona, and their battles against both mortal foes and divine. The Elves speak the name of Anner de Ceolliune with admiration and honor, knowing that this human lord died for love of their Queen. He sacrificed himself in battle to help her reach her goal in safety. All of the companions of the Ka’antira quest are known and revered in the legends and lore of the Elves.

The humans, too, have their own tales. Many of the returned warriors from the great bloodstained plains of ancient Ilia told stories over mugs of ale in taverns all over Ansienne. The duel waged between Anner de Ceolliune and the renegade Duke de Spesialle is related blow by blow, bringing many a strong man to unabashedly shed tears. The spear that felled the young Elven Queen, who was with child and battling with her magic, is related with pride. The rage of Brial Ka’breona upon learning of his wife’s abduction is spoken of only in hushed voices; it is well-known that Elves abhor killing, but all men agreed that none could have withstood the icy fury of the Elven Prince on that day.

As, of course, the treacherous Duke did not.

Time moved on. In ancient Leselle, the capital of the Elven Realm, Tamsen Ka’antira and her consort worked to rebuild the lands of the Elves. Once again, Elven families returned to the small woods and forests of Ansienne, using their bond with nature and with their goddess, the Virgin Huntress, to encourage the wild places to grow. Elves traveled freely and frequently throughout the kingdom of Ansienne and were welcomed guests. Although Leselle remained protected from inimical magic by an invisible but impenetrable barrier, humans were, for the first time, welcomed into the sacred forests of the Elves.

The Queen and the Prince had since produced three children. The eldest, heir to the Elven throne, was Tamarisk, who would be the first ruler of the house of Ka’briala, which was named for her father. She was, by all reports, a disconcerting mix of her parents, and some whispered that the child had been blessed by the gods while she was still beneath her mother’s heart. The other two children were twin boys—Morrote, named for the Queen’s lost Ka’antira uncle, and Brann, who was named in honor of his father and his father’s closest friend, the dead Duke de Ceolliune. Tamarisk was but twelve and the twins eight when events stirred once again in the seven kingdoms. It began on a snowy winter’s night, when an unexpected visitor galloped through the bitterly cold forests toward Leselle.

Chapter One

Your Majesty?

I looked up from the pile of parchment that had been baffling me for hours. Bryse hovered in the doorway.

Yes? What is it?

The scouts have sent word that a visitor is approaching Leselle, she said.

Who is it?

They didn’t say. They said that whoever it is, he is human and riding his horse hard for the city.

That can’t be good. I sighed. Are the children in bed?

Barely, she replied, her eyes twinkling.

I grimaced. Although the twins were reasonably obedient for eight-year-old boys, Tamarisk was a handful.

I’d best go down and see who it is. I stood from my mother’s writing desk and reaching for my cloak.

Of course. Bryse curtseyed.

I pulled the hood over my head as I descended the stairs from my little study to the warm central room of our house. As I donned my gloves, I passed the nursery where our children slept, the telltale sounds of regular breathing reassured me that they were truly asleep. I laid a hand on the guardians who warded our home. Instantly, they slid aside, rearranging the disguising trunk of the colossal tree, and I ducked outside into the swirling whiteness of the storm.

The streets of Leselle were silent and empty, due not only to the lateness of the hour but also to the bitter wind that accompanied this early winter storm. I kept my head low as I negotiated the broad snow-covered branches that served as streets in this ancient city. Only in the Elven forest could trees grow to such a size as to support an entire city.

Leselle was built within the protective limbs of six towering oaks, trees so ancient their origins were lost in the dim beginnings of myth. Once, this lovely city had been leveled—razed by Elven mages to prevent its despoiling by my so-not-mourned uncle, the Duke de Spesialle. At my crowning, the Virgin Huntress had resurrected Leselle to stand as the jewel of the Elven Realm once more.

The only bad thing about it was trying to descend icy tree branches at night.

I slid the final few feet to the city gates where Malvern, one of our most experienced scouts, saluted. Behind him, a shadowed form stood next to a steaming horse whose head was lowered.

What is it? A tingle of premonition suddenly raced across my mouth.

The cloaked man lifted his head. I looked into the tired face of Mylan de Phoclydies. Although we were nearly the same age, his face had aged. He wasn’t much older than thirty-five, but deep creases lined his stern face, creases, I knew, that were placed there by the death of Anner de Ceolliune on the Ilian flood plain over a decade earlier.

Mylan! I rushed forward to embrace my old friend. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him hard. He was smiling when I pulled back, but shadows lingered behind his eyes.

We’ll go up to the house, I said quietly. Malvern, find Prince Ka’breona and my uncle. I think they’re down here somewhere. Send them up immediately.

At once, your Majesty.

I linked my arm through Mylan’s, and we began the climb through the thoroughfares of Leselle. It’s good to see you, old friend, I said.

The young scouts behind us led Mylan’s exhausted horse to the stables Brial had built on the lower outskirts of the city.

What in the world possessed you to come to Leselle in this weather, and nearly riding a horse to death in the process?

We’ll wait, he said.

His voice was much deeper and more resonant than I remembered. I hadn’t seen Mylan for three years, not since the funeral of Hyagrem de Silenos in Geochon.

We hurried through the snowy streets, and I opened the guardians to escort my guest into the warmth of our home.

We preferred to live simply in Leselle. Nothing really indicated that this home was the residence of the royal family, save perhaps the shelves full of books that few Elves would own. I removed Mylan’s heavy fur cloak and pushed him onto a couch before the heaped Elfstones glowing on the hearth. I added cinnamon and nutmeg to a tankard of wine and heated it with a thought. One of our servitors appeared with a tray of cheese, bread, and fruit as I handed the hot drink to him. I dismissed her for the evening and served the Earl myself.

His green eyes were dulled with fatigue as he thanked me. I sat on the couch opposite after pouring myself a glass of wine. The guardians slid aside, and Brial strode into the room. A wide grin split his face as he walked toward his friend, arms outstretched. Mylan rose and the two men embraced, Brial almost dwarfed by the greater bulk of the human knight. Behind them, Wilden Ka’antira, my uncle and the last male of the Ka’antira line, smiled. When Brial pulled away with a hearty slap on Mylan’s back, Wilden stepped in and clapped Mylan’s shoulder.

Brial came to my side, and his smile faded as he looked into my face. "What is it, cariad?"

I’m waiting for Mylan to tell us. I turned my attention back to the man who had fallen back into the cushions of the couch.

I came to fetch you two, Mylan said gruffly. You are needed in Geochon.

Why? What’s going on?

There’s trouble over the Spesialle succession.

Why didn’t Mariol come to tell us, then? I asked, puzzled.

Mariol sent me to you. Dantel de Tizand is doing everything he possibly can, but— Mylan spread his hands. There are complications. If Dantel knew I was here, he’d probably throw me into a dungeon. The Council is divided. Mylan’s voice hoarsened. I have come, not for the Elven Queen, but for the Countess of Asphodel. Dantel needs friends, and you are probably the only two that can help.

Naturally, we’ll come, I said. But what could be the problem with the Spesialle succession? Rontil has held the duchy for over ten years.

Rontil has finally chosen a wife. Mylan spoke carefully, as he always had when he was concerned about my reaction.

Of all the dear friends I’d made while on the Huntress’s game, he was the one whose good humor and high spirits had remained intact. Whatever he’d come to tell me, he was worried about how I’d take it.

Well, that’s good isn’t it?

Not necessarily, he said. The wife he’s chosen is Alcmene, the sister of Queen Antiope.

I sat back in my seat, thinking quickly. Thirteen years ago, Alcmene and her sister, Admete, had been sweet-faced little girls. They would be fully-grown warriors now who stood in line to the Hippolyte crown behind their older sister, Antiope. Antiope was still without an heir; the only child she’d borne was the posthumous son of Anner de Ceolliune who could not inherit the throne of a fabled race of female warriors. The political ramifications were obvious—and threatening to those who didn’t understand the terms of the Geochon accords as well as I did.

Brial let out a long whistle. That’s an awfully big army for an Ansienne Prince to lay claim to. At least, that’s what the courtiers probably think, isn’t it?

You’ve got it, Mylan said. It doesn’t matter how many times we tell them that men are just a convenience to Hippolytes, the stupid Council doesn’t listen. All they can think of is Rontil sitting in Spesialle and his wife’s sister controlling the legendary legions of Hippolytos and what a huge military power that alliance forges.

How did they meet? I asked.

They met when Antiope paid a visit to her son, Mylan wrapped his big hands around the tankard, as if he was trying to warm himself. She and Mariol agreed to meet in Spesialle, so Mariol took Anteros down to Rontil’s palace. Antiope brought her sisters along and, well, you know Rontil. One thing led to another, and the two became betrothed.

How did Antiope take it? Brial asked.

She seemed to be all for it at first, but when word of the Council’s uproar reached her, I guess she forbade the whole thing. As a result, the girl took off and now is lodged firmly in Geochon while the whole thing plays out.

That premonition was back again. I rubbed the back of my newly tense neck. Where?

I was afraid I already knew the answer.

Alcmene is staying with your cousin, Mylan said blandly. For some reason, Cetenne thinks this whole thing is funny.

So without my knowledge, Cetenne has involved the Elven Realm. No wonder Mylan is being so cautious.

I rolled my eyes to the heavens and let out a long-drawn sigh. By the gods! Why didn’t Mariol come to tell us sooner? We could have headed this whole thing off weeks ago.

Mylan’s expression darkened. Mariol couldn’t come, Tamsen. He’s dying.

…

Welcome, Your Majesty. Our butler Colan opened the doors to the main corridor of my house in Geochon and bowed. I thought you might be arriving today or tomorrow. I have your rooms aired and ready. Would you care for a light meal, or shall I summon your carriage to take you to the Marquis de Beotte’s manor?

No matter what we did, we were never able to fluster the man. His coolness was daunting, even to Elves.

The carriage, Colan, if you please. Also, send word to His Majesty that we are arrived in Geochon and will wait upon him tomorrow, at his pleasure. Have you opened up the nursery?

Colan’s face fell. No, Your Majesty, I have not.

I smiled, pleased that we’d managed, in some small way, to succeed in startling him. The children will be joining us in the morning. Get the nursery ready and prepare a private chamber in the conservatoire for their tutor.

In the conservatoire, Your Majesty? The butler glanced at the thriving indoor garden, his brows curving together above the bridge of his nose.

Alydara is a centaur. I flipped the hood of my cloak over my braided hair. Even as I smoothed the long gloves over my hands, I heard the rattle at the door that indicated our carriage was pulling up the drive. I turned to my foster mother.

Kaldarte had changed little over the past ten years, still possessing the otherworldly beauty of the Elves. She was a true Ka’antira, with auburn hair and amber eyes—attributes I once would have cheerfully killed to possess myself. She carried her bulging medical bag. The men wandered off in the direction of the study, where I assumed they’d find the brandy years of association with Mariol had taught them to enjoy. Wilden, who had once sworn his blade to Mariol de Beotte’s service, followed us to the carriage. Since the battle at Asphodel and the death of his brothers, Wilden had served as my custos, the hereditary guard that no Elven ruler or heir moves without.

My husband and foster father knew they’d be in the way when we were at Mariol’s bedside but Wilden would never have remained behind. The three of us climbed into the chilly carriage and settled into the seats as it rolled through the snow-covered cobbled streets of Geochon.

Myrielle, the Marquise de Beotte, greeted us at the foot of the gracious marble stairs that curved to the second story. She embraced us, but as she pulled away her face was tired and pale.

What’s wrong with Mariol? Kaldarte asked, keeping her arm around the little Marquise’s shoulders.

I don’t know, Kaldarte. Myrielle wrung her hands. At first it seemed like a regular cold, but now it’s in his chest. He has trouble breathing, he can’t hold down his food, and he has no energy. He’s so lethargic, it—I’m glad you’re here.

What about Cetenne? I asked with a frown. She could have easily come to Leselle for us.

Myrielle flushed. The Duchess seems to be rather busy these days. I didn’t want to bother her.

Bother her? I narrowed my eyes in puzzled anger.

Wilden deliberately jabbed me in the ribs at the threshold of Mariol’s chambers. I rearranged my face as we followed the Marquis’s worried little wife into the room.

I sucked in my breath as I caught sight of the wasted figure on the bed. This wasn’t Mariol. It couldn’t be! His face was thin and gray, his hands gnarled as they clutched at the coverlet. I hurried to his side, taking those emaciated fingers in my hand. Dear Mariol, I murmured with a smile. How good it is to see you!

Should have expected that from you, he wheezed without even opening his eyes. Never could let an insult pass you by, Tamsen.

His eyes were still Mariol’s; they were wise with a small twinkle in them that told me he still thought he was funny. A horrendous coughing fit came over him, and he bent over double, curling in upon himself under the furred coverlet.

Tamsen, Kaldarte said briskly. I want you to take a look at something.

I turned to her. The Seer had already sent her questing senses into the mage’s thin chest, so I sent my own whispering after her. My magic sank through Mariol’s frail skin and into the lungs. I caught a whiff of something unusual and disturbing. The faintest lingering scent of putrescence hovered through the laboring lungs. Frowning, I sent my power into the bloodstream.

Poison.

Myrielle, when he first was sick, was he nauseated and in a lot of pain?

Well, yes, she replied. I thought it was just part of his cold.

Kaldarte met my gaze over Mariol’s bed.

Can you burn it out? I asked.

Yes, she replied. But it will weaken him more.

What is it? Wilden demanded.

Arsenic. Unless I miss my guess, someone has been poisoning him systematically for quite some time.

It might be better if we just take him straight to your house, Tamsen. Kaldarte rose to stand by the great bed. Wilden, go with Myrielle and fetch Maron and Anteros. Take them to Tamsen’s house in the carriage. We can send someone for clothes in the morning, but no servant, no matter how trusted, is to accompany them.

Wilden nodded and turned to Myrielle, who was so pale I thought she would faint. He took her by the arm and led her away toward the nursery and her sleeping son. I looked at Kaldarte with cold anger burning in my stomach.

Someone wants Mariol dead, I said flatly. "Combined with the trouble Dantel is having and the tight lips of my dear cousin, I’m starting to think it is high time for the Elven royal family to pay a little visit to Geochon, matris."

I agree, she said, and in her voice was an unaccustomed note of anger. Let’s get Mariol back to your house and get him comfortable before we purge his system of this poison.

Fair enough. But when we are done, the Duchess de Pamphylia will be ordered to pay her respects to the Elven Queen.

Chapter Two

It took us the remainder of the night, moving section by section over Mariol’s debilitated body, to burn out the vestiges of arsenic in his system. The systematic poisoning of the Marquis had almost fatally weakened his system. He was severely anemic, and his kidneys were almost non-functioning. Once the poison was gone, we could concentrate on healing him. Kaldarte prescribed a strict diet for him and declared that she would prepare his meals herself. I left Mariol’s bedside a little after dawn, exhausted and foul-tempered. When I opened the door to our bedchamber, Brial looked up from the papers he was reading.

Even after well over a decade of marriage, a thrill ran through me at the sight of his face. Among a race of beautiful people, Brial Ka’breona still stood out. His father, Beron, was massively built for the normally slender Elves, and as my husband aged, he’d added some of that hereditary breadth to his chest and shoulders. But he was still lean with the lissome grace of the Elven race, with golden hair and wicked black eyes that could change from humor to rage without warning.

Usually at me.

On this morning, his black eyes were velveted over with concern for our old friend. How is he?

He’s all right, but it was difficult. I threw myself into the chair opposite him and poured a cup of tea. If he survives this, it will be entirely due to Kaldarte’s skill. How’s Myrielle?

Borderline hysterical, but calming, Brial replied. She can’t seem to fathom that there are people in the world who’d want to see Mariol dead.

I snorted. I can think of about twenty-five right off the top of my head.

So can I, Brial agreed. They probably aren’t the same twenty-five, either.

Someone tapped at the door. At Brial’s call, Colan entered the room.

Your Majesty, the Duke and Duchess de Pamphylia have arrived.

Really? I glanced at Brial. Take Cetenne to the formal drawing room and tell her that I’ll be down in a moment. I need to freshen up before I see my cousin.

Glaucon and I will hide in the stable, my stalwart husband said dryly. I have no desire to be set on fire when one of you loses your temper.

Shall I take in refreshments? our butler asked.

No, I got to my feet. If we want any later, I’ll ring.

The butler bowed, closing the door softly.

Brial shook his head. What are you up to?

Cetenne and I are about to have an unpleasant conversation.

He held my eyes with a level gaze. Tamsen, don’t get into too big of a fight; the children will be here soon.

Trust me. A glacial smile twitched at the corners of my lips.

Twenty minutes later, I sailed down the steps with my hair piled high upon my head and wearing a long slim-lined black gown. The Ka’antira emerald, which I rarely wore any more save for formal occasions, glistened on my chest.

Colan opened both doors into the drawing room, bowing low. Her Majesty, the Elven Queen!

I glided past him without a glance, waving my hand to indicate that he could close the doors. As soon as we were alone, I took a good, long look at my cousin.

Cetenne was as lovely as ever, garbed in a stunning morning gown of spring green, her fiery hair coiled atop her elegant head. Our eyes met across the room. I paused, lifting my brows, and waited.

Quick anger sparked in her eyes at my wordless demand, but she repressed it and sank into a graceful curtsey. I waited until she was standing once more, then I sat down. I didn’t give her permission to do the same.

Let her understand that the Elven throne was displeased with her.

I suppose, Your Grace, I said with pointed emphasis, that you would like to explain to your Queen why it is that Mariol has been seriously ill and you did not bother to let her know?

It didn’t seem that important. She shrugged.

"Then, I suppose you don’t think it important that Mylan nearly killed his horse to get to us in Leselle through a blizzard to beg for the Seer’s aid to save Mariol’s life? It probably also isn’t important that when Kaldarte and I examined Mariol, we determined that he wasn’t just ill but was being methodically poisoned? Therefore, I would venture to guess that, since we removed Mariol, his wife, and the children from their home to avoid them all being murdered, none of these facts are important as well. Tell me, Your Grace, what exactly is important enough for a Ka’antira heir to inform her Queen?"

Cetenne, who had paled at the beginning of my lecture, flushed. No one told me he was that ill.

Perhaps that is because—I have it on best authority—they didn’t want to ‘bother you,’ I said severely. "Although we have agreed between us that you would be my line of information into Geochon, you have decided that the welfare and concerns of those who are my closest friends are not important enough to report. Tell me, did you ever bother to ask how Mariol was? Did you ever examine him yourself? If you had, would you have recognized the effects of arsenic poisoning on his system?"

You’re starting to get repetitive, she said acidly.

Really? I asked in a pleasant voice. "I’m sorry; I see now that this isn’t important enough to trouble you with!"

Cetenne flinched.

I returned to the light, pleasant voice that masked my worst temper. "At first, I thought I would talk with you as if you were my well-beloved cousin. But then, when we nearly lost Mariol for the second time last night, I decided diplomacy was a waste of time. You will be forced to listen to your Queen. Allow me to make myself clear, Cetenne. You are a Ka’antira heir and therefore directly subject to me. You and I agreed after you married Glaucon that you would represent the Elven Realm in Geochon. I entrusted you with this task, and you, my dear cousin, have bungled it."

Don’t talk to me like I’m your child!

If you were my daughter, I would spank your hind end off, I retorted coolly. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Tamarisk about it in a little while.

Her green eyes welled with tears. I sighed. Ever since we’d been children, Cetenne had always resorted to tears when she was losing an argument.

Give me one reason why I shouldn’t blame you entirely for this mess, I said, hoping to forestall the screaming, weeping fit that was her trick of last resort.

Because, she said in a small voice, Glaucon doesn’t love me anymore.

What?

She looked down at her wedding rings while tears streamed down her cheeks. Glaucon doesn’t love me anymore.

That isn’t possible. What on earth could make you think something so ridiculous, Cetenne?

Her eyes met mine. Because he told me.

An hour later, having sent a chastened and humbled Duchess to sit at Mariol’s bedside, I sprawled in a chair by the hearth in our bedchamber with a raging headache. Brial entered the room, frowning.

How was Glaucon?

Odd, Brial replied. He wasn’t very talkative and didn’t seem exactly overjoyed to see me.

Interesting. His wife just informed me that he doesn’t love her any more.

What?

"Cetenne said that Glaucon told her so." I placed a damp cloth across my forehead.

"Cariad, what is going on around here?"

I have no idea, I replied, draping the cold cloth across my eyes. "All I know is my head is splitting wide open, I haven’t had any sleep or food, and I’ve still got to prepare to pay a state visit to Dantel’s court. How could this morning possibly get any worse?"

Before Brial could answer, swift footsteps sped down the corridor toward our bedchamber. I lifted the cloth from one eye as the door flew open. Framed in the doorway stood a little Elfmaiden, her golden hair curling around her delicate pointed ears. Her black eyes were snapping with anger, and I groaned.

Why do I have to stay in the nursery? Tamarisk shouted, stamping one tiny foot. I’m the oldest! I should get my own room.

Her father rose to his feet. Come here, daughter.

Tamarisk trotted to stand in front of Brial, an angelic smile already curving her lips. Our daughter knew her father adored her and was always prepared to take advantage of that. She was not prepared, therefore, when he turned her around and gave her a hard swat to the backside. Her mouth fell open as she stared up at Brial with the trembling lips and wide eyes of one who had been utterly betrayed.

When you are old enough to enter a room like a young lady, her father growled, leading her to the door, "then you may just be old enough to merit your own room. As long as you act like a spoiled brat, you will remain in the nurseries. The way you’re going, daughter, you may well be sixty before I consider you old enough to move away from your brothers. Now, out! Oh, and if you decide you need to talk with us, knock on the door first. That is why there are doors in human houses."

Brial frowned down at his daughter who scowled back up at him with the exact same expression. She opened her mouth, and he shut the door in her face.

You know, Brial, I said, dropping the cloth back over my eye. Once, I prayed that child would take after you. Now, I’m not so sure.

"If you honestly think that part of her nature comes from me, alanna, go right ahead. I recollect numerous occasions where you and I had almost the same conversation."

Despite myself, I laughed. A few seconds later, his deep chuckle joined in.

Two hours later, Brial handed me from the carriage onto the elegant steps of the royal palace of Ansienne. I looked up at the pristine marble facade of the building, overwhelmed with sudden memories. I’d come here as a young woman, under Mariol’s guidance, to ferret out information of my uncle’s plans. Under the roof of this building, I had flirted with Anner de Ceolliune in my guise as Celestis de Beotte.

Upon these very steps, I’d watched in horror as Anner, Mylan, and Glaucon brutally cut a path through rioting soldiers after Lufaux had been murdered upon his throne. The memory of blood wavered before my eyes but vanished as Brial squeezed my hand. I looked up and smiled. Dantel waited for us on the top step.

Dantel had aged significantly. His hair was white now but his blue eyes were still alight with the wisdom and scholarly demeanor that first had led me to consider him the proper choice for the new King of Ansienne.

Dantel came toward us, both of his hands outstretched. My dear friends, welcome back to Geochon. Tamsen, you are lovelier than ever; Brial, you lucky dog. He hugged us both, forgetful of etiquette. His face was serious again in seconds. I hoped that you would come when you heard of Mariol’s illness. How is the old goat?

Better, I hedged. Kaldarte is with him now.

Good. There isn’t a physician in the kingdom who could compete with Elven healing, and if the Seer is with him, I know he’ll be all right. Come inside, both of you. Delah is anxious to greet you.

He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and led us into the broad corridors of the palace, talking all the while of his family. Queen Delah greeted us with loving courtesy, embracing us and leading us to a table set before a crackling fire. She dismissed the servants and poured wine for us herself, urging light sandwiches and cakes upon my notoriously finicky husband with a smile. Siddon joined us after a time. I was again surprised at the tracks of time upon the Prince’s face. He had matured into a grave solidity, and the years had etched fine lines around his eyes. He looked much as his father had when I’d manipulated him onto the throne of Ansienne.

Dantel set his plate down and looked at us shrewdly. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?

"Why don’t you tell me why we’re here?" I countered with a small smile.

He sighed. You would have come for Mariol, I know, but I have a feeling that you’re staying because of the situation involving Rontil.

I nodded and put down my glass. Mylan nearly killed his horse getting to me, and he seems to think you are in need of strong supporters in Council. Mariol thinks so as well; he was the one who told Mylan to fetch us. When we arrived last night, however, some new dimensions were added to this situation.

Such as?

Such as the fact that someone has been poisoning Mariol, Brial said quietly.

"Poison?"

Mylan had the right of it when he thought you might need strong supporters in Council, I said. Someone has certainly tried very hard to rid you of one at least.

Is he going to be all right?

He can do no better than to have Kaldarte at his side. I removed him to my house last night, along with Myrielle and the boys, and they will be well-protected there. These coincidences are too suspicious for my taste. Cetenne’s distraction, the attack on Mariol, and the opposition to Rontil and Alcmene’s marriage all undermine the alliances we formed before Ilia. Brial and I will stay in Geochon for a time to see what we can ferret out.

Where do you think this stems from? Siddon asked.

This could come from several sources. Brial’s black eyes glittered sharply. Tartarus would be my first guess.

I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. Brial had neither forgotten nor forgiven Lian of Tartarus’s interference in our lives or his often stated hatred of the Queen of the Elves. He’d been itching to put his sword through Lian’s throat for ten years at least.

We can’t rule Tartarus out, I agreed. But there are numerous other enemies who would be more than happy to see the Ilian Accords shattered or the Marquis de Beotte dead. We must keep our eyes and our minds open. I hesitated. "Just out of curiosity, Dantel, how do you feel about Rontil’s determination to marry Alcmene?"

She is a lovely girl. It is obvious that she loves my son. She is also proud, much as her mother was, and she refuses to marry Rontil unless the Council agrees without reservation. Her sister is justifiably angered by these events and has ordered Alcmene to return to Hippolytos, but the girl has refused.

So, in other words, she is hot-headed and stubborn, Brial said, not quite looking at me.

Go ahead and say it; you won’t be happy unless you do, I said acidly.

I have no idea what you’re talking about. My husband’s mouth was twitching at the corners.

Well, I had a little chat with the Duchess de Pamphylia this morning. I gave Brial a hard stare. Alcmene will be moving to my house this afternoon and will remain under my direct supervision until this is sorted out. Once I’ve spoken to the girl, I’ll try to determine what will be best to do with her. If nothing else, I can always zap her back to Hippolytos without her consent. I’d prefer to find some way to reconcile this situation. It’s highly unlikely that Antiope would send out her army on Rontil’s call, but it’s possible that if she feels insulted enough she might just bring the Hippolyte legions to Ansienne and stomp all over the kingdom.

That’s what I’m afraid of, Dantel agreed. So you talked with Cetenne, did you?

Yes, I did. What exactly is going on between her and Glaucon? How did their marriage get into such a sorry state?

I don’t know, he said. Rumor has it that he is none too pleased with his wife’s frivolity.

Frivolous? Cetenne? She might be somewhat thoughtless upon occasion, but frivolity isn’t really in her nature. I frowned.

Your cousin is an extremely beautiful young woman, Delah said quietly. Many of the young men at Court vie for her favor. The Duke takes exception to that.

Glaucon should know better. When I first came to Court, he was one of the best players in the chivalric game. Cetenne isn’t being unfaithful to him, so he should have no problem with it.

The silence in the room was profound. I stared at them in amazement and shook my head. "No, that’s impossible. They are lifebound, and the vialigatis is a ceremony more binding than marriage upon the Elves. Cetenne can’t cheat on Glaucon. If he thinks that she is, for some strange reason, this can also be added to our series of unexplainable things. Someone wanted to insure that the Elven throne was kept ignorant of the goings-on in Geochon."

But why? Brial asked.

That’s what we have to find out, I replied grimly.

Once we were back at our house, I sat before the fire in my study, which was tucked into the octagonal tower on the third floor past the nurseries, and sent for the two boys we’d brought from Mariol’s house the night before.

They came together and stood shoulder to shoulder in front of me, regarding me just as curiously as I regarded them. Even if I had first met these boys on the street, I should have immediately known them for who they were. Maron de Beotte, Mariol’s son and heir, was tall and thin with merry blue eyes peeping from under tousled sandy hair. An air of mischief hovered around the boy, from his dimpled cheeks to his innocent expression. His hands were Mariol’s hands, long and slender and clever, and around him I could already sense the faint aura of magic beginning to grow. This youngster was mage-born, as was his father.

Next to him, Anteros de Ceolliune watched me gravely. Although he was some six months younger than the other boy, he was of a height with him and his shoulders were already broadening into adolescence. His quiet gray eyes were the eyes of Anner de Ceolliune, staring out from his father’s face framed with his mother’s riotous brown curls. My heart flipped when he smiled shyly up at me.

Behind them, Brial came to the doorway, and our eyes met over their heads. He sensed my distress and saved me by strolling in front of the boys. Here are the two gentlemen I’ve been waiting to meet.

Both boys’ eyes widened at the sight of the tall Elf.

Maron elbowed Anteros in the ribs and asked, You’re Prince Ka’breona, aren’t you?

I am, lad, Brial said. And you are Maron de Beotte, are you not?

That’s me, Maron replied. This is Anteros.

Hello, Anteros. My husband smiled gently at them. My wife and I welcome you both into our home.

Thank you, sir, the young Duke de Ceolliune said. He hesitated and then blurted out, Uncle Mariol says you knew my father.

Brial laid a sword-callused hand on the boy’s shoulder. Yes, lad. I knew your father very well. Anner de Ceolliune was the best friend I ever had. He was my swordbrother. He was the sworn protector of my wife and a mighty warrior.

Anteros’s eyes brightened.

I cleared my throat hastily, willing the lump to ease from my throat. I have something for you, Anteros.

The boy looked at me, and I opened a small coffer that had been in my study since our return from Ilia. Inside the box, a great signet ring gleamed, the star sapphire winking in the sudden light.

Your father entrusted this to me so that I could give it to you. I slipped the ring over his middle finger. You are the Duke de Ceolliune now, so it is your right and obligation to wear the signet of your house. When you are older, if you wish, you will come to Leselle to learn the arts of warfare from the Ka’breona. Then I will give you your father’s sword, and my husband will teach you to wield it with the skill and honor Anner possessed when he bore it. You will sit in the gardens of Leselle, and you will hear the songs that our Loremasters sing of the greatness and honor of Anner de Ceolliune.

I thank you, your Majesty. Anteros closed his fist tightly around the ring.

It is a little too big for you right now, son, so I’d get Myrielle to wind some yarn around it to hold it on your finger, Brial advised. As for you, young Beotte, there is a place for you in Leselle as well, if your father permits it.

Is my father going to be all right? the youngster asked, the merriment vanishing from his face as his lower lip trembled.

Kaldarte is the greatest healer of our time, I assured him. Your father will be well enough for you to see him soon, maybe even tonight. You will be staying with us for a time, so you’ll share lessons with my own children as long as you are here. In the afternoons, my uncle Wilden will teach you archery. He’ll come to see you later, so he can start to make your bows. How does that sound?

They both grinned, and at that moment a flurry of running feet announced the arrival of my daughter.

Tamarisk skidded to a stop, and the three children eyed each other for a moment. A sudden wave of precognition rushed through me. I clutched at the corner of my desk to ward against the dizziness. Tamarisk smiled at the boys and then turned her huge black eyes up to her father.

Papa, Alydara sent me to bring our guests down to the conservatoire,