The Duke's Ballad

V

Their arrival in Kars was uneventful. Keelan went to his own suite in the main palace and Hadrann to the one held in readiness for the lords and ladies of Aranskeep. Aisling went with him, clutching Wind Dancer’s carrysack, and admired the room allocated her. Hadrann grinned.

“Of course it’s the best one. I plan to make a point of complaining about that too. Now, you should really have a chaperone living with us. But if we hire one she could be the sort of person who notices things.” Aisling raised her eyebrows questioningly. Hadrann shrugged. “I say we don’t risk it, but it’s your reputation that might be tarnished.”

Aisling eyed her handsome companion then picked up a hand mirror and surveyed her own appearance. “Dear cousin. Do you really believe that anyone is going to look at you, look at me, and believe we’re having a passionate affair? Just complain about me. Mention my looks, my boring personality, my inability to do needlework. Note in tones of disgust that I can’t darn socks. Don’t complain so much people wonder if your complaints are a sham, but make it clear I’ve been foisted on you and you wish me in Hades.”

Hadrann laughed. “That I can do.” He looked at the nondescript face she showed him. “I have to say that is wonderful. Not ugly, but I turn away and five minutes later even I can’t remember what you look like. I think it’s because there’s nothing outstanding. Hair that’s just a sort of lightish brown. Eyes likewise. Skin neither warmly colored nor divinely fair. Ears: two. Nose: one. Mouth: well, you have one.”

Aisling grinned. “And I dress the same way. Good quality in cloth and cut, but plain and in colors that never catch the attention. My manners are the same. Nothing outlandish but not country cousin, either. Women like me aren’t seen. We can drift about the court in the evening, and you’d be surprised at what we hear. We simply aren’t noticed, and if we are, those talking often assume we are too dull-witted to understand.”

Hadrann’s eyes sharpened. “You sound as if you know.”

“I do. As I said, I took the appearance of a friend. Murna had been a spy in the Dales. Her appearance was carefully crafted over a long time. She was my friend in Escore. She talked to me often about her art and I listened. She was very good. I’m nothing against her, but I do know some of her tricks.”

“Just be careful. Your brother isn’t a fool, and he’s always suspicious.”

Aisling shivered. “I know. Now, tonight you’ll introduce me to the duke. After that we’ll have to see.”

“At least he’s unlikely to take a fancy to you,” Hadrann said thoughtfully. “He likes beauty in male or female, and he doesn’t ride that well. Since that’s to be your only grace he’ll be attracted to you still less. He doesn’t approve of any who can do something better than he can.” He stared about the untidy suite. Baggage was stacked everywhere. “Leave the servants to sort this out. We’ll go for a ride before dinner is served.”

They returned in time to bathe and dress in the elaborate court wear. Aisling had hired a maid on a part-time basis. The girl was to help her dress in the evenings, then go. She could return next day after their noon meal to put away clothing and care for anything that required washing, ironing, or mending. Hadrann had hired a valet _on the same basis. If any asked, he planned to plead poverty and complain about his father’s wasting of good coin on this cousin.

Wind Dancer, in his guise of ordinary-sized but attractively long-haired cat, spent part of his time curled comfortably on Ais-ling’s bed. Among other things, he watched the servants when they were in the rooms and his human and her friend were not. The palace had an excellent stock of well-fed mice. Within days it was Wind Dancer who was well fed and the mice had all moved out—from Aranskeep suite anyhow. It made Wind Dancer popular with the staff, who were often blamed for damage committed by the rodent pests. As for maintaining his true identity, he had only to refuse to be picked up by anyone but his three friends, and he was safe.

Keelan had settled in comfortably. Keep lords each retained a family suite of rooms in the Kars palaces. Kirion had rejected them as soon as he was disinherited. He had seen that if he did not, then he’d find himself sharing with his detested younger brother and sup-planter or, worse still, just possibly his grandfather. Not that he needed the Aranskeep rooms. He had his tower and, a day’s hard riding away, his own estate and the well-guarded tower there.

True, the lands were neither rich nor wide. That suited Kirion; he had less work running an estate and fewer eyes to watch, noses to snoop into his business, and mouths to chatter about it. That stupid Ruart had gotten himself killed, but Kirion had benefited. He’d ridden straight back and quietly entered Ruart’s keep.

As a friend of Ruart’s he’d been able to convince the servants to allow him access, and Kirion had known where the man kept his wealth and how to open the main hiding place. He successfully distributed the best of that into places in his clothing before he departed, grumbling about friends who were always out.

He’d hidden an unpleasant smile as he did so. It was fortunate he was the only sorcerer in Karsten. It took time and an aptitude to be what he was, and Kirion kept an ear to the ground as well. If rumor suggested any other person was attempting to develop the same gift, then he or she died. Kirion saw to that.

After his single visit his spies had watched Ruart’s keep. The servants had finally realized that their master might be gone for good. They’d appealed to Kirion as the only one they knew who might be able to discover Ruart’s whereabouts, and he’d spoken to the duke.

It had taken time, months of it, but at last, when Shastro had been convinced Ruart must be dead, his keep had been given to a wealthy member of the court, for which transfer Shastro had wrung coin from the man. Kirion had suggested that. The man was an un-noticing idiot, and the coin would please Shastro: two birds with one stone from Kirion’s sling.

Aisling was introduced to Shastro, duke of Kars, who condescended to speak briefly before turning away. She studied him thoughtfully while appearing to be listening to Hadrann. The duke was a man of medium height, slender, without real muscle showing in bulk or movement. He was fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a slightly gingery mustache.

He was overdressed, foppish, and as she watched he said something in a languid voice and tittered. Aisling smothered a snort of amused contempt. Hadrann half-turned to point out one of the tapestries—and to see what was amusing her. Shastro was recounting the tale of a recent hunt, making great play with his hands and expressions. Hadrann moved farther away, drawing his supposed cousin with him.

“Don’t let him fool you. A lot of that is merely Shastro amusing himself. Under that fancy dress is a very good swordsman, not much stamina but excellent technique. He’s clever and ruthless.”

“And my brother leads him by the nose.”

Her companion hastily glanced around. “Don’t say that sort of thing without looking behind you; in this court almost anyone could be listening. And you are both right and wrong in what you say. Kirion leads by using Shastro’s fears. But he’s in somewhat the same position as a man with a tame bear: fine as long as he can keep the brute distracted, but should he just fail once, he risks teeth and claws turned against him. Shastro is weak in some ways certainly. But he can also be deadly.”

He checked about them with a sweeping unobtrusive glance. “Circulate a little without me. Try to get a feel for the court. Chatter to some of the ladies. I’ll be dropping hints about you elsewhere. Let me know when you wish to leave.” They split casually and drifted away in opposite directions.

Keelan spent his first dinner at court listening. Later he circulated and dropped a quiet question here and there. All of the events were recounted little by little, and he went in search of his sister when the evening was nearing a close. He brushed past her, hissed a few words, and strolled on. Aisling went in search of Hadrann.

“Cousin, I grow weary. I’m for my bed. Will you escort me or see that one of your guards does so?”

Hadrann half-turned. “Oh, a guard. Yes.” He snapped his fingers at one of his men. “See the Lady Murna to Aranskeep rooms. Stand outside the door on guard until I arrive.” He nodded at her polite thanks and went back to his conversation. When she was out of earshot he sighed.

“These whims of old men. The girl’s mother was my grandfather’s leman in his old age. Somehow he managed to produce a daughter. Of course, her mother inherited little after my grandsire’s death, but I suppose the girl is half of our blood, and the liaison was recorded. My esteemed sire feels guilty over how my grandfather treated the girl’s mother; yet it is I who pay the price.”

“How so?” A listener was mildly interested.

“Why, I must share Aranskeep rooms, put up with her foolish talk over a morning meal when I wish only to be silent, and obey endless minor demands.” He sighed again. “But duty to one’s father, you know. It isn’t even as if she’s pretty.”

That last provoked a number of teasing remarks. Hadrann tolerated them, keeping his face set in an expression of mild irritation. Good, they believed every word. Now if he could only keep from overdoing this, Aisling would be all but invisible as she went her own way.

In her room Aisling had told the guard to wait outside as ordered, opened the small inner door within the suite, and allowed Keelan to slip in from where he’d been waiting. He talked at length, describing the events after Ruart’s disappearance, Kirion’s continuing influence, and the gossip on it all. Some was guesswork, but both knew Kirion, which helped them guess ways in which he might act.

“I haven’t been to court since you left, so this is the first I’ve heard of most of it. No,” he answered her questioning look. “I didn’t go because I couldn’t bear to see Kirion, and he was furious about losing Aiskeep too. I thought I’d give him time to simmer down, and time went by. There’s always so much to do at home, and I’d rather be there than at Kars.”

Aisling nodded. She agreed but inwardly she was marveling at the continuing change in her brother. She recalled what he’d been like when he first began to visit Aiskeep again. It had been years after their mother had taken Kirion and Keelan, abandoned her baby daughter, and gone to live in her family’s keep near Kars. Aisling had grown up with her grandparents. Her brothers had been raised by their mother, with Kirion in particular, spoiled and indulged in almost every way. Aisha had never seen, or perhaps never wished to see, what her adored older son had become.

As for her other brother, it had not been until Keelan came first to visit then to live at Aiskeep that he had discovered a true home and that his small sister could be a real companion. They’d become friends, and when Aisling had to leave Karsten it had been Keelan who had gone part of the way to guard her.

She smiled at him, her eyes glinting in amusement. “That’s one thing about Aiskeep: Kirion and Mother left us alone.”

“And Mother isn’t with us any longer.” He’d not missed her in the several years at the keep. When Aisha had died a year earlier Keelan had felt only a dull sadness. He hadn’t hated her but he hadn’t loved her either.

It had been receiving a tiny half-dead kitten of his own at Aiskeep that had begun to turn his life around. He had worked to save her and had won. Shosho loved him unconditionally, trusted him, taught him to laugh and play, and finally to see that his young sister too could be a companion and friend. Aisling gradually had started to return his trust. Now they were friends, and in some ways this business delighted him. He liked Hadrann and being with them. The plotting, scheming, and pretending was an adventure.

Close to him as she was and with her abilities sharpened by Hi-larion’s patient training, Aisling read much of his feelings. They worried her a little. She would have to watch him for his own sake. Kirion bore no grudge against Hadrann or Hadrann’s so-called cousin. He did hate Keelan, who was now the heir to Aiskeep and whom he saw as having cheated him out of his inheritance. If they were forced to draw Kirion out, then Keelan would be bait for their plan, but bait could be consumed.

She worried silently over that for some time as Keelan talked. Once he’d left her again she returned to her bedroom to think hard. She must watch out for her brother and convince Hadrann to do the same. Above all, she should watch any interaction between Kirion and Keelan that might threaten her younger brother. She would grieve all the days of her life if the demands of her own geas caused Keelan injury. She said as much to Hadrann when he returned late that night.

“Yes, but we will watch over him. I have friends at court; I’ll make it my business to hear if Kirion ever speaks to Keelan. You’re right, he is the most vulnerable of us all. Kirion has no conscience.” He turned to look at her. “It has seemed odd to me ever since I met you and Keelan. How is it that two of you are worthy, honest people and Kirion is not?”

“Kirion was born a bully, I think. He has a desire for power, perhaps even a need for power, for the ability to direct events about him to his own advantage,” Aisling said slowly. “The lords of Aiskeep are an old line as is your bloodline at Aranskeep, but we’re of minor nobility as the world counts it. Kirion always wanted more power, wealth, and influence, and he’s learned how to take those at the expense of anyone who crosses his path. He won’t turn back now he believes he has everything he has ever desired.”

Hadrann nodded. “So you think he’s beyond redemption?”

Her expression was one of regret mixed with sadness. “Yes, Rann, I think he once might have been redeemed, perhaps while he was still a child, but now he’s a man, and he’s gone too far down the path he has chosen. He will never turn back.”

He said no more on the subject. Instead, he too worried what could happen if any part of their growing plans went wrong. However for the next few weeks things went as intended.

Kirion was seldom at court but he liked to hear all the gossip. Varnar brought back all he could, eager to please his master. Kirion- Intrigued was a master whose servant was not in pain. Varnar’s memories—he believed—had grown a little clearer of late. He did his best to hide that, as he dreamed eagerly at night. He could see the face of his wife, the sweet blue eyes of his beloved tiny daughter. He could not quite recall how he’d come to be in Kirion’s hands or what had happened to his family. Perhaps as the weeks went by he would remember. He waited impatiently, only partly consoled by his dreams.

In court Aisling was developing a problem. Shastro, duke of Kars, had taken a liking to her. It had not been planned, and they’d been sure that he would be mildly averse to her if she was even noticed at all.

“It was your own fault,” Keelan scolded when they convened a meeting in the Aiskeep suite. “You made that clever remark; he laughed and decided you were a wit, a possible ornament to his court.”

“I didn’t know he was there,” his sister protested. “Maybe I can be rude to him?”

Hadrann scowled. “Shastro doesn’t always jump the way you’d expect. He’d either toss you out of Kars or, being him, decide that he adored someone who wasn’t afraid to be rude to him and spend more time with you. If you’re out of Kars we lose a third of our force and possibly the most effective one. If he becomes really interested in you, he’s likely to have Kirion look you over. And if that happens we could all have a problem.”

“I can handle Kirion.”

Hadrann looked at her seriously. “No. You can’t. If he tries I’m sure you could block a mind-scan, but then Kirion would be suspicious at once. If he tries to drain you, then you can block that too, by which time Kirion will have reported to the duke that you’re some sort of very dangerous witch, probably a spy for Estcarp. Shastro panics, has the three of us rounded up, questions everyone who knows us. And what happens to us if Kirion can drain or break you? Or just as bad for us and our plans, what if he can’t?”

Aisling nodded. “He moves against both keeps for a start.”

“He’d kill the three of us,” Keelan said quietly.

“And everything we’re working for is flushed down the Kars gutters,” Hadrann finished for them. “We have to find some way of persuading him that my cousin isn’t worthy of the duke of Kars.”

It didn’t look as if that was going to be any time soon. Shastro was charmed by a girl who made no attempt to catch his eye and who was not convulsed at his ducal wit and jests.

Two nights later he approached her again. “My dear, would you care to converse?”

Aisling smiled. “I’m always happy to talk, my Lord Duke.”

Shastro’s grin was suddenly less courtly and more honest amusement. “Only you, my dear Murna, could say it that way. You should say that you are always delighted to have the attention of your duke and make a play with your fan.”

Aisling grinned back at him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the fan?”

Shastro’s smiled widened. “Ah, my dear, you look at me over the top of it, flirt a little, let your eyes be alternately revealed and concealed. Make a mystery of yourself.”

Aisling snorted inelegantly. “There’s little mystery about me, and everyone’s seen my eyes. They’re brown.”

“Ah yes, like forest pools, while your hair is a cascade of shining strands that could entangle my heart.”

Aisling met his languishing gaze and began to giggle. Shastro dropped his affectations and laughed with her. “You have no taste for such compliments?”

“Not when they’re not true.” Her gaze met his frankly. “I’d accept honest compliments on something I do well, but not on my very ordinary hair and eyes.”

“What do you do well then?”

“I ride well and I dance reasonably. Tell me about this new law, Lord Shastro.”

“Which law?”

“The one you enacted last week. As I understand it, it limits the size of an estate within the borders of Kars.”

“Oh, yes. That’s so the city doesn’t outgrow its walls too soon.” He continued to talk on the new law, finding Aisling knowledgeable on that topic and on several others having to do with the problems of government. After that, he sought her out to talk on more than one occasion as the weeks passed. The truth was, that while she did not excite him, he did find her very good company. It wasn’t something that had ever occurred to him before. He still had favorites and a current lover, but increasingly it was “Murna” to whom he talked seriously.

And as someone who was merely interesting to talk to, it did not bother the duke that she was by far the better rider. It would have infuriated him had she been desirable. Since she was not, he offered congratulations on her skill. He rode with her, danced and laughed with her, and the court gossiped with enthusiasm. If it continued, Hadrann, as her supposed kinsman, would soon have to take an official interest.

Aisling might have fallen into the trap of liking the duke. When he chose, Shastro could be witty, charming, and quite intelligent. She was beginning to wonder if he could not be reclaimed once Kirion was dead. That hope died one evening after she’d been at court for seven weeks and the duke came in search of her. He was laughing and flushed with anticipation.

“Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.” Shastro was tugging her hand. Aisling read his emotions swiftly and sensed nothing that signaled danger for her, but what she read she wasn’t sure she liked. There was an undertone of anticipation to it that felt wrong.

“But my Lord, my cousin would not like me to be alone with you. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Aisling was afraid she would. She did and afterward returned to the Aranskeep rooms just as Hadrann found she had vanished. He swung the door open, swept her inside, angrily slammed the door in the faces of those watching, and started to yell at her in a way that could be heard all down the palace corridor.

The door had not completely shut, so the fascinated audience outside was treated to a diatribe that convulsed many of them. Part of it was the speaker living up to their belief. Hadrann had built an impression of how he felt about Murna, and no decent lord would accept what looked like open immorality on the part of a kinswoman.

Aisling knew his anger for the sham it was and yet she knew too he’d been genuinely worried, fearful for her safety. It was too much. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she scrabbled in her sleeve for a handkerchief. Hadrann broke off what he was yelling and looked first stunned, then horrified. He shut the door, sending a glare at the listeners as it closed. Then he returned to Aisling.

“Cup and Flame.” He dropped his voice to a half-whisper. “What did I say? It wasn’t real, you know that.” He looked closer and saw she was green.

In times of great distress other women fainted delicately, developed headaches, which they indicated with one slender hand to the forehead. Occasionally if the distress was real and not posing, a nose might bleed. Aisling had no pretensions; she went green and threw up—copiously.

He recalled how sick she’d been when he’d killed the pair who had murdered Brovar. She’d known he was right to do so and she hadn’t blamed him. That she had made clear. But the death of the two men still had made her violently ill.

He dived for a basin, thrust it under her chin and seized a towel. Then he stood by as she was racked. Wind Dancer appeared and thrust his head against her arm, offering silent comfort. Keelan arrived just as his sister was finishing. Hadrann wiped her chin while Aisling sat back limply and in silence. Keelan was half-leaning against the end of the bed as he stared at them.

“Great comets! What happened to her? The last I saw she was with the duke.” Keelan’s eyes darkened in sudden worry. “He didn’t—Aisling, Shastro didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She swallowed. “Not me.” Her voice was small. “But I don’t think he likes me any more either.”

Keelan fetched a cup of chilled wine. It was unwatered, and he held it to her lips. “All of it, dear.” She gulped half, and he made her continue, watching as the color came back into her cheeks. The green hue receded slowly. Hadrann had brought water; now he wetted the towel and cleaned her face gently. Aisling sat up a little and looked at their concerned faces, knowing they needed to hear of the events that had distressed her so badly.

“Shastro said he wanted me to see something. I knew he wasn’t interested in getting me alone or anything. He really was eager to show me something, so I went. It was along the west corridor and down a long flight of stairs that did a couple of half-turns. We ended up in dungeons.” Hadrann, who knew Kars Palace better than either of them, made a slight sound. He could guess what was to come. He waved her to continue when she glanced at him.

“He left his guards at the top of the stairs. There was just me and the duke and a couple of horrible men, ‘experts’ he called them. They’d taken some poor old woman and said she was a witch.” She looked up. “She wasn’t. She had no power, none of the Old Blood. She was just a poor old woman whom one of her neighbors disliked. Shastro said he had to be sure of that though. He said witches were everywhere, conspiring against him and Karsten.”

“You can leave out the rest,” Hadrann said grimly. “I know what comes next and so does Keelan. But why doesn’t the duke like you any more? Oh!” He started to smile.

Aisling mustered a small grin to match. “Yes, I was sick all over him. He said I was disgusting. He started to march me away. He was calling up the stairs for one of his guards there to take me back to my room. I was two stairs in front of the duke when I was sick on the stairs too.” She produced a tiny giggle. “Shastro stepped in it and skidded. He didn’t fall down the stairs, but he went to one knee and had to put his hand down for balance. He… um… he put his hand…”

Hadrann was already snickering. Her brother stared at her, envisioning the scene. “He put his hand…” he said blankly before comprehension dawned. He gave a shuddering indrawn snort then grabbed for a pillow. For a long agonizing time the three of them howled silently into muffling items. At length Keelan lifted his head. Tears of laughter had run down his face, and his hair was sticking up in tufts.

“Yes,” he informed his sister. “I can see why the duke doesn’t like you any more. I’m not sure that if it had been me, I’d like you either.”

Hadrann surfaced to look at them. “And Shastro always so fussy about his dignity. Then he slips in sick and puts his hand in it, right in front of a couple of guards.” That set them off again.

Wind Dancer, looking dignified, was sitting by Aisling. Humans did the oddest things, said his pose. Hadrann glanced at the cat, caught the eyes of his friends, and they too looked. Something about the cat’s dignity reminded them of Shastro again, and they laughed until tears ran down their faces. Wind Dancer ignored it all firmly. You had to make allowances for humans.

Aisling sobered first. “Shastro doesn’t have to worry about me. He knows no noblewoman would tell a story about herself like that. It’s bad luck for the guards though. Unless they’ve cleared out pretty quickly he’ll have them quietly removed. He’d know no guard would be able to keep a tale like that to himself for long.”

Hadrann stood and reached for a purse on the small table. “I’ll see if they’ve gone yet, maybe a few coins would give them a better chance to get clear.” He smiled unpleasantly. “And it would be useful if they do get clear and can tell that tale all over the south of Karsten. It won’t improve the duke’s reputation with most keeps.”

Keelan waved him to stop. “And what if they also spread the name of the girl across half of Karsten. Someone might start asking who this cousin is and why they don’t know of her.” Hadrann had halted and was listening.

“That isn’t all, Rann. If the tale gets about and folk start laughing, the duke will think of some way to take it out on Aisling. I don’t like it and I’m sorry for the guards, but they’ll have to manage alone.”

Hadrann turned back and very slowly and gently replaced the purse where it had been. His every controlled movement spoke of rage held under tight rein. “I don’t like it either, but you’re right.” He went to the door and called an order before turning back to speak to his friends.

“We’ll eat here tonight. I think it best Shastro doesn’t see any of us about for a day or two. Let him get over it and believe Aisling has said nothing.”

They stayed in the Aranskeep rooms the next day, all day. After that, they went hunting. They took food, water, a flask of wine, and had a wonderful time. No duke to placate, no courtiers to gossip, just the three of them and Wind Dancer, who’d been smuggled out in his carrysack. They came back after a second day of hunting with a deer, which Hadrann presented to the duke. It was a young buck and excellent eating for the ducal table. Shastro was graciously pleased. It appeared the girl had said nothing to anyone. He was pleased with that too.

As for the guards, he’d had them taken before they could flee. Oh, they had intended to run, to blacken his name all over Karsten, to make a laughingstock of their duke. There’d been no doubt of it; they’d been found packing, and one had already saddled his horse. It was well they’d been caught in time.

Probably they were witches themselves or in the pay of Estcarp. Kirion had warned him about all that. A good friend, Kirion. It was only his sorcerer who really looked after the duke of Karsten. Kirion was the only man Shastro could trust. So when his sorcerer had asked for the guards, he’d given them to him. He’d seen the bodies later, and Kirion had told him how right the duke had been and how clever to move so quickly. They had been spies from Estcarp.

Estcarp, he mused. One day he must clean out that witches’ nest. If it wasn’t spies it was assassins. He suspected that Lord Ru-art’s disappearance was due to some Estcarp plot. Kirion thought so too. Well, here were two spies who would not be reporting. They’d not be talking to anyone of the duke’s loss of dignity. Estcarp would have to find something else to laugh about. Shastro’s satisfied smile was a compound of smug approval and satisfaction—with an underlying hint of madness.