Master of restless shado.., p.17
Master of Restless Shadows Book Two, page 17
part #2 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
Atreau scanned these delicate letters. The contents proved childish, sad and devout—not unlike Clara Odalis.
Then his attention caught on a single word: Waarihivu. The sect that Javier’s teacher had once belonged to and who had crafted spells that destroyed whole worlds. Atreau read Clara’s commentary concerning the Summer Doe again, just to be certain he wasn’t mistaken.
Is it possible that she stopped Our Savior’s Waarihivu invocation from cleansing the world?
“The reliquary could contain the horns of Yah-muur—or the Summer Doe, as you Cadeleonians call her,” Narsi clarified. “She’s called Yah-muur, the Fawn Goddess, in Haldiim stories.”
Atreau nodded, but he was only half listening to Narsi. His thoughts still tangled with the idea that Javier’s worst fear was proving true. Had that been what Javier had been attempting to convey when his apparition had floated over the stage? If it was the case, then was this relic a means of stopping the Waarihivu invocation, or unleashing it? Either way, keeping the thing out of the royal bishop’s hands would be paramount. Gaining possession of this relic—whatever it was—might even be a way to convince the Labarans not to invade.
If so, then a victory a hundred men-at-arms couldn’t hope to win might be delivered by a single thief. Atreau’s heartbeat quickened at the thought of the stability and safety of their nation hinging upon Rinza’s light fingers. He was tempted to send up a prayer for her safety and success.
“I can try to get more information about the relic from Master Ariz directly,” Narsi suggested. That brought Atreau back to the moment.
“No,” Ariz snapped. Conversing about forbidden topics with Ariz would put Narsi in too much danger of bloody reprisal. “Just listen to what he has to say, but don’t push him. I already have someone looking into our mystery box.”
“Oh? Yes?” Narsi asked, but Atreau refused to divulge more. The less any single agent knew, the less they could betray if they were taken by Hierro. Narsi waited a moment and Atreau drank more of his barleywater.
“How do you like the applebread?” Atreau asked.
“The flavor is certainly more subtle than your abrupt change of subject,” Narsi replied with an amused smile. “All right, have it your way, my lord. The applebread is quite nice. It matches your choice of cheese very nicely. Though I wouldn’t have been disappointed if there’d been a little lemon juice or hot, sweet pepper added to either one. What do you think of it?”
“I like it and then wish that I didn’t because it makes me miss my mother,” Atreau admitted.
“A family recipe then?” Narsi asked.
Atreau nodded.
“It’s hard to lose someone you love,” Narsi murmured.
“What surprises me is how much it smarts to lose someone I hate,” Atreau replied. “You’d think that the anger and hurt would die along with him, but it doesn’t. His passing just brings it all churning back up like a sour stomach.”
“Your father, you mean?” Narsi cocked his head, studying Atreau with too much concern.
All at once it struck Atreau how self-absorbed he seemed, whining over a long-past hurt, when here was Narsi with his beloved mother only a year dead, his home hundreds of miles away and his life threatened by no less of a Cadeleonian bigot than the royal bishop.
What in the three hells entitled Atreau to feel so self-pitying? Maybe Lliro was right. Maybe he did need to let the past go and move on. He certainly shouldn’t be soliciting Narsi for comfort and sympathy.
The trouble was that the young man gave it all so readily. Part of his physician’s training, no doubt. However, Atreau didn’t particularly want his conversation or company to deteriorate into bedside ministration. He tapped the papers in front of them again.
“What do you think of the second message?” Atreau prompted.
Narsi paused only a moment at yet another change of subject. He turned over Ariz’s note and read the letter Spider’s friend had sent from the Salt Islands. If Atreau hadn’t been watching him so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed the stillness that came over Narsi; for only an instant he seemed to freeze. Tellingly, he pushed both notes back to Atreau, distancing himself from them immediately.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can contribute.” Narsi bit off a hunk of applebread and busied his mouth chewing.
“You can’t or you won’t?” Atreau asked.
Narsi scowled around his mouthful of bread.
“I understand that you’re close with Tim. He’s like family to you—”
“He is family to me,” Narsi responded. “He took my mother and me in, despite the fact that he knew what people would whisper behind his back. He had nothing to gain from advocating for us, but he championed us anyway, because he felt it was the right thing to do. He’s encouraged me and supported me—”
“I recognize all that.” Atreau cut him off before he could go on enumerating the long, long list of Timoteo’s virtues. “I’m not implying that Tim isn’t a good man. He’s as upright and compassionate as they come. I’m also sure that he had good reason for what he did. But whatever his reason for hiding Mistress Kir-Khu—whatever secret he’s attempting to bury on the Salt Islands—it’s going to come back and bite his ass. The royal bishop’s agents are already there and they’re already finding things.”
“What do you mean? What have they discovered?” Narsi looked almost as uneasy as he had when Atreau had first seen him at the palace this morning.
Narsi knew exactly what Timoteo had hidden away, Atreau suddenly realized.
“If I knew all of what they’ve uncovered then I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” Atreau met Narsi’s troubled gaze and held it. “I certainly wouldn’t be wasting time having this conversation if I could get ahead of the matter and make sure that Tim and the rest of the Grunito family are shielded.”
Narsi lowered his gaze to his own hands.
“You should tell Father Timoteo what you know and let him decide,” Narsi said.
“You’re really going to make me waste what little time I have riding Tim down and trying to pry this out of him? All the while your friend Berto will be shoving me away with a broom and half a dozen acolytes will be glowering at me and pelting me with spitballs?” Atreau responded.
Narsi’s mouth quirked up slightly at the absurd scene. Thought Berto going after him with a broom wasn’t really much of a stretch.
“What if I assured you that it’s nothing to do with any of this going on right now? It’s not a matter of reliquaries or spells or assassins.” Narsi bowed his head further down so that Atreau could only see the curls of his dark hair. “It’s a family matter and not even—nothing is going to come of it.”
“The royal bishop’s agents aren’t acting as if it’s nothing,” Atreau replied. “They seem to believe that this family matter is quite valuable to them. Possibly the key to bringing Timoteo to heel, or even destroying the entire Grunito clan.”
“They’re wrong,” Narsi said, and he at last lifted his face.
“How can you be sure?” Atreau asked.
“Because it’s . . .” Narsi sighed, then went on. “It’s to do with my mother and my father, the fact that they were legally married.”
“Your mother and father?” How in the three hells could that be a concern to the royal bishop?
Unless Tim hadn’t merely bedded Narsi’s mother. Could he have been so foolish as to actually marry her and thereby document the violation of his holy vows? That could cost him his new-won post as bishop and likely get him excommunicated.
“Timoteo legally wed your mother?” Atreau asked in a whisper.
“What?” Narsi looked authentically surprised. Then he rolled his eyes. “Holy Father Timoteo isn’t my father. He took my mother and me in after my father was killed. To protect us.”
That had been Timoteo’s claim decades before, but few people had believed him. Elezar certainly hadn’t. Atreau had never cared either way, not until now.
“Can’t we just leave it at that? For now?” Narsi’s expression entreated him to relent. “I swear to you on my honor, this has nothing to do with the threat to the Hallowed Kings or any ancient magical war or the Brand of Obedience. All Timoteo did was to help the physician who witnessed my birth relocate to the Salt Islands.”
“Because she witnessed your birth?” Atreau asked.
Again Narsi’s gaze dropped to his hands. Atreau noted that Narsi was far more used to holding his nerve in the face of a threat than he was practiced at bald-faced lying.
“He says that she wanted to move . . .” Narsi shrugged. “I think he was telling the truth.”
Atreau nodded. His concern ran in a different direction. The royal bishop had thrown far too much effort into locating that physician for it to be a matter of mere impulse or whim. He studied Narsi’s face—not to read the intent behind his expressions nor to enjoy the pleasing quality of his features—considering only angles and planes. He recalled how when he’d first laid eyes upon him, Narsi had reminded him of Elezar. Narsi’s father was obviously a Grunito.
Elezar would have been far too young to father Narsi. If he ruled out Timoteo, then who did that leave? A multitude of candidates in the vast extended family, however very few of the boisterous clan would interest the royal bishop, much less inspire agents to investigate their offspring.
This was a matter of an heir, of an inheritance, likely.
Lord Grunito himself was too old to have secretly wed Narsi’s mother before he joyfully took Lady Grunito as his bride. Nestor, too young.
Then Atreau remembered the morning six years ago when Elezar had haltingly confessed the secret of his eldest brother’s brutal murder. Isandro Grunito had been tortured and killed by a group of his own school friends. At the time it had sounded like an act of senseless sadism. Atreau had seen enough of such things to accept that, without question. But now he reconsidered. Isandro hadn’t been the sort of young man who made for an easy target for bullies.
Quite the opposite; he’d inspired imitators and attracted admirers.
But what if Isandro’s classmates hadn’t attacked him because they deemed him weak or helpless but because he’d transgressed their values—perhaps he betrayed their belief in what he should have been?
If those worshipful classmates discovered that their ideal Cadeleonian hero had legally wed a Haldiim woman and fathered a son, wouldn’t they feel outraged? He would have elevated his Haldiim wife to the status of a noblewoman and passed the entire Grunito earldom to his half-Haldiim son.
Such a revelation would have enraged many of those petty young noblemen just as it would now infuriate the royal bishop. Nugalo would probably shit himself when Narsi claimed his rightful inheritance. And then there were the Grunitos themselves to consider.
As the implications dawned on Atreau, he took in Narsi’s expression. His uncertainty and anxiety. This wasn’t a secret he was used to keeping. Nor had he been holding on to it to use as blackmail; this was a revelation he could hardly accept himself. As much as the royal bishop or the Grunito family wouldn’t welcome the news that Isandro had sired an heir to the earldom, Narsi wasn’t happy about it either.
“You didn’t come to the capital to claim your inheritance, did you?” Atreau asked.
Narsi seemed surprised by the suggestion, as if it was wildly outlandish. He shook his head. “I had no idea of the truth a month ago. Tim only told me after I was poisoned. He feared that it might have been the reason I was poisoned.”
They both knew that wasn’t the case, but Atreau could see how Father Timoteo might suspect it was. Why hadn’t he instantly sent Narsi away to somewhere safer? Did he hope to protect Narsi’s anonymity by keeping him close, just as he’d apparently done decades earlier? Or did he want Narsi within his control to ensure that he never challenged Nestor’s claim to the earldom?
“So Tim just told you that you’re Isandro’s son and left it at that?” Atreau couldn’t imagine such a thing, but there had been a lot of what he couldn’t imagine going on lately.
“Well, it wasn’t . . .” Narsi pulled a face like the entire matter was too embarrassing to retell. “My mother’s last letter to him requested that he do right by me or something along those lines. She enclosed proof of my legitimate birth and her own marriage. But it’s not so simple a matter as me just tacking the name Grunito onto my signatures. And it’s not as if I want to throw the Grunito family into disarray.”
Atreau nodded. Narsi was correct. If the truth of his paternity came to light, that would put the Grunito family in nasty position. Either they would need to act quickly to do away with Narsi and eradicate Isandro’s only child, or they would have to recognize him as their rightful heir, which would mean handing Anacleto over to a Haldiim stranger, stripping Nestor of his title and placing their entire earldom at odds with the royal bishop.
If it had been any noble family other than the Grunitos, Atreau would have put sure money on Narsi’s swift and sudden disappearance.
But Lady Grunito had already defied expectations by accepting a common girl as her daughter-in-law, then refusing to disown Elezar for becoming the champion of a Labaran witch and finally declining to submit Nestor to the Cadeleonian church for trial on charges of heresy. There was just the sliver of a chance that she would make Narsi the first Haldiim to hold a noble Cadeleonian title. That would be a kick in the teeth to the Cadeleonian church and crown alike, wouldn’t it?
Still, sacrificing her own son’s inheritance as well as endangering the peace of Anacleto just for the sake of a long-lost Haldiim grandson? He didn’t know if even Lady Grunito could be that upright or stubborn.
“I assured Tim that I didn’t want to take anything away from Nestor,” Narsi whispered. “I just wanted to know who my father was. I didn’t want . . . it shouldn’t change anything.”
Unless the royal bishop or, frankly, anyone else found out about it. The potential for blackmail alone would prove far too tempting for many people. The situation was a mess. No wonder Narsi looked so uneasy.
“Knowledge can’t be unlearned. This won’t simply go away,” Atreau said. Narsi looked miserable and Atreau decided against voicing more of his concerns. “Though first and foremost, I feel I should point out that it’s a bit rich you going on calling me Lord Vediya all the damn time.”
Narsi laughed and a little of his natural assurance seemed to return to him.
“You are Lord Vediya,” Narsi replied.
“I’m the fourth son of a pissant baron and the last in line to inherit a decrepit manor built atop a mountain of debt and dead horses. You, on the other hand . . .” Atreau paused a moment as the enormity of all the prosperity and power Narsi stood to inherit filled his thoughts. Anacleto wasn’t just the wealthiest port in the nation, but her earls famously commanded an army strong enough to challenge both a king and his royal bishop.
God’s tits, if Atreau found himself the successor to even a fraction of such a fortune, he would have been bellowing his claim through the halls of the palace and dragging witnesses before the king himself.
“I, on the other hand, am merely a physician descended from a Haldiim family of papermakers,” Narsi stated firmly.
He wasn’t merely anything, Atreau thought, but for the moment he decided to forgo that argument. Perhaps later, after Sevanyo’s rule was secured and Hierro Fueres was dealt with, then they might need to push the matter of Narsi’s inheritance a bit further. But now they had more practical matters to consider. He lowered his voice.
“This could go a good way to explaining why the royal bishop sent armed guards to hunt you in particular down. If he knows, then it may be wisest if you departed for—”
“But I don’t think he does know,” Narsi cut in, and he pointed to the date scrawled in the top corner of Spider’s letter. “According to this, he’s been searching for Mistress Kir-Khu for a month and his agents are still looking. But why would they bother if they already knew who I was? And why wait all this time? That doesn’t make sense.” Narsi took another slow, purposeful drink of his barleywater. “Considering this morning, I think it’s far more likely that the guardsmen came for me because Clara Odalis has been whispering accusations to the royal bishop. Her insinuations would appeal to him. So he’s dispatched men out to find the physician who attended the king.”
“Even if you’re right—and I’m not convinced that you are—that still puts you in a precarious position,” Atreau replied.
Narsi’s expression turned momentarily grim. He hid it well, Atreau realized, but he wasn’t unafraid. Then Narsi drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, and he appeared to relax.
“For now at least, it’s worth the risk for me to stay and keep working,” Narsi decided. “If you and the duke are right, then Prince—King Sevanyo—is now positioned to curtail the royal bishop’s excesses.” Narsi’s hand absently curled over Dommian’s charm-book. “Anyway, I can’t abandon Master Ariz.”
“You certainly could.”
“Not in good conscience,” Narsi answered. “And he’s not the only one who may need me. Particularly right now.”
Atreau nodded, because they both knew that if Hierro Fueres was going to make his move to seize the throne, it would have to be very soon. Certainly before Sevanyo had established himself as king.
“The royal bishop’s men will be waiting for you to return to Fedeles’s house,” Atreau warned him.
“Hopefully in a day or two he will have other matters to concern him, and Clara Odalis’s gossip will have been proven to be absurd.”
And if none of that comes to pass, Narsi, then what?
Atreau decided not to argue. As wretched as he felt about endangering him, Atreau had no one to replace Narsi. He did need him to stay and continue working.
“Considering Jacinto’s influence in this district and his newfound fascination with your shared fate, I suppose you would be best off staying in the capital, near him,” Atreau said at last.
