Dark Jenny

SEVENTEEN

I assumed Elliot Spears, the greatest knight in the world, would have a palace to rival that of his best friend, Marcus Drake. When I saw it, though, I realized I was off the mark about the house, and possibly the man.

Blithe Ward was a palace, but it was nothing like a castle. There were no outer defensive walls, no moat, no drawbridge or watchtowers. There was just a big stone manor house on a hill, surrounded by gardens and orchards, apparently unguarded. I guess when you have Spears’s reputation, you don’t need a lot of peacetime security.

I arrived as the sun hung low in the sky behind me, illuminating Blithe Ward with a palette of vivid colors. A pair of servants lowered the flag bearing Spears’s crest, and one of the chimneys smoked as cooks prepared the evening’s dinner. A feminine figure stood at the rail on the widow’s walk, but I could make out no details. She had gone by the time I passed through the stone archway at the gate.

I rode up the sweeping drive and dismounted the fifth and last of my messenger horses. I hadn’t spent an entire day in the saddle in a long time. My back had passed through pain to numb acceptance, but I knew as soon as I stopped moving, it would express its displeasure. I was starving; except for some apples bought off a passing wagon (and, yes, I checked them for poison), I’d eaten nothing all day. Encountering Ted Medraft had made me want to keep moving.

A breathless stableboy ran up to me and said something in a language I didn’t know. He tied a small tile marked 3 to one of the stirrups, then pressed a matching one into my palm. He took my horse’s reins and led her toward the stables.

I faced the big double door. Both halves bore Spears’s standard, a shield with three red stripes, above huge metal rings. I lifted one and let it slam down under its own considerable weight. It made a sound like a distant clap of thunder.

After a moment a rough-looking man in formal attire opened one side of the door. Although I knew he wasn’t, I asked, “Spears?”

He scowled harder. “You said what?”

“Spears, Elliot Spears, the fellow with the shining armor.”

“I don’t know anybody by that name.”

“You’re standing in his house, and you don’t know him. That’s pretty funny.”

“So you’ve got a funny sense of humor. Take it away and play on it somewhere else.”

He tried to close the door but I blocked him. I produced the message from Drake and waved the official seal under his nose. “You know where to find Spears, and I’ve got a message from the king for him. Don’t you think we should at least talk about it?”

He looked at the seal, at me, then shrugged as if it were a mere inconvenience. “Sure, if you think you’ve got something.”

He stepped aside and I entered. When he closed the door, he produced a small, light sword of the kind designed for use indoors. He gestured that I should raise my hands. “Do you mind?” he asked, masking his sarcasm behind a bland smile.

I was too tired to take offense. “No, I’m used to it.”

I let him take my sword and pat me down, turning and spreading my feet to accommodate him. He missed the knife in my boot; was I the only one who used that trick? Then as he was about to speak, a woman’s voice called, “Clove? Who was at the door?”

“A messenger from the king for Lord Elliot. It’s all under control, milady, just… go back to your quarters.”

The voice sounded familiar. I tried to peer around him to see who had spoken, but he deliberately moved to block me. A door closed somewhere in the voice’s direction.

“Clove? Your name is Clove?”

He returned my sword and sighed. “It’s pronounced Clah — vay, but I’m under strict orders not to make an issue of it. Follow me, please.”

The long, narrow foyer led to two big doors that, I assumed, opened onto the main hall. Smaller doors were along the walls. Clove gestured to a large upholstered bench. “Wait here while I inform the master.”

Alone now, I looked at the artwork decorating the walls to distract me from my protesting stomach. The odor of cooking taunted me. Surely a man such as Spears would have a spare place for an unexpected guest.

A lot of the paintings depicted the same scenes as in Nodlon: great battles won by Marcus Drake, with Elliot Spears always by his side. But the largest painting held my attention. It showed Jennifer Drake, not in her capacity as queen, but simply as a woman seated at her dresser, brushing her hair. She brazenly displayed one bare shoulder, and her expression was suitably faraway and longing.

Now this was a surprise. Not that Spears would own such a painting so much as that he would display it here, so all his guests would have to pass it. For a man rumored to be linked romantically with the queen, it was both confirmation and provocation. It could’ve been a gift, I supposed, or a simple sign of Spears’s status as queen’s champion. The informal nature of it seemed to work against that.

I stepped close and studied Jennifer Drake’s expression. The artist had captured it, all right. There was the same strength, the same intelligence, even the wary quality that lurked under everything else. I raised my hand and risked a touch of the fine brushstrokes that composed her face.

I heard a soft, feminine gasp and turned in time to see a door close behind me. I rushed to it and found it locked. Someone had been there watching me, though.

Clove emerged from the main hall. His boots rang out on the stone floor as he approached, and he did not speak until he reached me. “Lord Elliot will see you now, sir.”

“Is Lady Elliot with him?”

“There is no Lady Elliot, sir.”

“I saw a woman watching as I rode up.”

“Perhaps one of the maids, sir.”

“Then who did you call ‘milady’ before?”

He ignored the question. “If you will follow me?”

He pushed open the double doors to reveal a standard great hall, much like the one at Nodlon but smaller. The main table had place settings for two. The lord of the manor rose from his seat and strode toward us.

In person Elliot Spears looked exactly as he should: taller than me, slender but not skinny, with a clean-shaven, square-jawed face. He wore loose, simple clothes that belied his status. His hair was short and unruly, adding to his boyishness, but the touch of gray at his temples implied maturity. He had the same stillness as Ted Medraft, but without the accompanying aura of incipient violence. You sensed he could kill you a dozen different ways if he chose to, but unlike Medraft he wouldn’t enjoy it. If you had to dream up the image of the perfect knight, it would look just like him.

“Welcome to Blithe Ward.” His accent was slight, betraying his origins from outside Grand Bruan.

I bowed but did not kneel. “Lord Elliot.”

“And you are?”

“Edward LaCrosse. No particular rank.”

“I’ve found rank only useful for placing blame, anyway. Clove, you may return to your duties.”

“Yes, my lord,” the servant said, although a look passed between them I couldn’t interpret; maybe it was just Clove’s gratitude that Spears pronounced his name correctly. I almost asked Spears if we could talk over dinner, but it would’ve been gauche. Then again, who was the second place setting for, if not me?

“You seem to have an injury,” Spears noted.

I shrugged. “I’m accident-prone.”

He looked me over with a slow, sweeping gaze that told him everything he needed to know about me. Then he gave me a friendly, lopsided smile. “I’ve had the same sort of accidents in the past. Who tended you?”

“Iris Gladstone at Nodlon Castle.”

“Ah. I have scars that would be far worse had she not been there. Of course, that was many years ago when she was a mere girl. I have not seen her in some time.”

“She’s grown up.” Then I produced the message. “King Marcus wanted me to give this to you personally.”

Elliot took it casually and broke the seal. As he read, though, his entire countenance changed; his muscles drew taut and he seemed to stand taller, taking up more space and becoming more solid. When he looked up from the note, his expression actually scared me a little.

“Is this true?” he said with no inflection.

“I haven’t read it.”

“It says Queen Jennifer is suspected of murder, and that the situation is so serious that her champion is needed to defend her.”

“That much is true.”

“What’s not?”

“I don’t think she killed anyone.”

He took a step toward me. In this mood he had the presence of a shifting glacier, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to back away. He said, “You seem to enjoy the back-and-forth of questions and answers, but I must say I don’t. I’d much prefer that you tell me everything you know.”

“Sure.” I did, leaving out the personal bits with Iris, of course. But I made sure to include that Gillian would track me down and kill me if Spears didn’t show.

When I finished, he said, “There’s a hand behind all this. Pulling strings, nudging pieces across the board.”

“Ted Medraft.”

He frowned. “Medraft?”

“He’s pulling Agravaine’s strings, apparently. And he’s not where he’s supposed to be. I saw him in Astolat on my way here.”

Spears tapped a corner of the note against his chin as he thought about this. “No. Medraft is clever, and his interest in Jennifer is no secret, but he’s not devious to this degree. There’s a deeper power at work.”

“Who?”

He smiled, with the kind of humor a man has when he’s about to pull the spear from his own belly. “I don’t wish to say. Not because I believe I’m wrong, but because I don’t wish to give it reality should I be mistaken.”

I felt the sense of being watched again. The hall was big enough it could be from any of a dozen places, and I took a quick scan around the room with just my eyes, without turning my head. I saw nothing, which meant the watcher was behind me. “So you’re going to Nodlon?” I said to keep the conversation going.

“Of course. I’m the queen’s champion. This is my job. My only job, in peacetime. I…”

As he spoke, I turned slowly, feigning nonchalance as I searched for a sign of movement. I spotted it behind a tapestry, where the fabric bulged out just enough to give away the person hiding between it and the wall.

With no warning I rushed over and reached behind the cloth. My fingers closed around a slender feminine arm, and I yanked the watcher into the open, saying, “All right, what’s the big idea-”

My words cut off like a cask spigot. I held the wrist of no serving girl or minor noblewoman, but of the queen of Grand Bruan herself, Jennifer Drake.