Master of restless shado.., p.6
Master of Restless Shadows, page 6
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
. . . in that moment, at the height of battle when all seemed lost, the Savior unfurled the Shroud of Stone. Winds died, waters stilled. Armies stood unmoving. All was as stone . . .
If only he could be turned to stone, or better yet be struck dead. But no, he couldn’t abandon Delfia and her children to Hierro. He had no doubt that Hierro’s recent threat hadn’t been idle, nor was his claim on the children unfounded. As their father, Hierro had a legal right to them—regardless of their illegitimate birth. Ariz clenched his teeth in pain and frustration.
“Enough, Hierro,” Clara spoke up, though softly, more entreating than commanding. “Such a loyal servant deserves your mercy, dear brother.”
Hierro’s lips quirked and he cast Ariz an amused look, as though they shared a joke, both of them knowing just how little mercy Hierro possessed.
“If you send him back into Lord Quemanor’s household cut to ribbons, people will ask questions. Oasia will certainly suspect. Too much depends upon Ariz’s proximity to the duke and his friends for us to risk that, don’t you think?”
“She’s right,” Remes said, though his gaze rested on Clara’s bodice.
“Anything for Your Highness.” Hierro lifted his dagger and made a flourish of wiping it clean of Ariz’s blood with a table linen.
And though he did not despise Hierro any less, the desire to murder him faded enough for the brand to ease its torture. Ariz stepped back from the table, but Clara’s hand on his elbow stopped him before he could withdraw as far as he would have liked.
She handed him a kerchief, emblazoned with swans.
“For your injury,” she told him.
“Thank you, my lady.” The silk square was far too small to stop his bleeding, but it was the greatest kindness he was likely to receive here, so he accepted it.
Chapter Six
A rap at his door sent Narsi leaping from his seat and nearly straight into the glowing coals of his fireplace. He staggered back, still only half awake. A second knock sounded, this time much more quietly. Anxiety lingering from his disturbed dreams made Narsi suddenly fear that his first patient in the duke’s household could be dying in the hall—the knock growing weaker as lifeblood drained away.
Narsi bounded to the door and pulled it open, fully prepared to discover some bloodied page boy, a trampled groom or a maid in labor. Instead Lord Vediya stood before him, tousled and looking in perfect health. He held up Narsi’s book.
“I noticed lamplight . . . ,” Lord Vediya began but then drew back a step. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” Narsi replied, if only to keep Lord Vediya from vanishing once again.
“Didn’t I?” Lord Vediya arched his brow as he took Narsi in. “Should I be flattered by your lack of modesty in greeting me, then? Or simply awed in the presence of such magnificent endowment?”
Suddenly it occurred to Narsi that he stood in the doorway stark naked. His towel lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of his chair. He flushed with mortification.
“I meant that I was only napping—”
“I assure you I would be the last man to judge,” Lord Vediya said. “But perhaps I should come in or go away, instead of keeping you here in the open hallway.”
“By all means, come in.” Narsi stepped back, then hurried to the examination table where he’d left his thin, white prayer clothes. “I’m afraid I haven’t any refreshments to offer yet,” he called over his shoulder as he tugged on the cotton pants.
Lord Vediya stepped in and pulled the door closed behind him, all the while looking around the room with an expression of quiet interest.
“I’ve not had time to put everything in order,” Narsi told him. “But in a week or so . . .”
Lord Vediya nodded and then picked up one of Narsi’s two small, framed pictures. He studied it intently.
“This is the Grunito townhouse in Anacleto.”
“Yes.” Narsi couldn’t help but smile at the drawing. Small as it was, he could just make out several of the dogs and the stringy figure of himself as a twelve-year-old boy. “Lady Riossa Grunito drew this one and the other and gifted them to me when I left for my medical studies.” As much as he adored the picture of the grand house, Narsi loved the other drawing far better, because it consisted of quick little studies of nearly all the Grunito family. Sometimes when he looked very closely he imagined that he could recognize his own profile peering out from Father Timoteo’s shadow.
“Whyever would you leave Anacleto for the capital?” Lord Vediya asked.
“Father Timoteo requested that I come, and—” Narsi thought better of mentioning the promise he’d made eleven years before. It embarrassed him to even think of it, much less discuss it. “And where else could I have hoped to encounter so many fascinating new people?”
“A great number of whom will treat you poorly on sight,” Lord Vediya commented.
“Then that’s their loss,” Narsi replied as lightly as he could. “But it seems unkind not to even allow them the opportunity to meet me.”
Lord Vediya laughed and then set the framed picture aside. He held up Narsi’s book.
“Speaking of opportunities,” he said. “I was hoping you would give me your full name again. I pray you won’t be too offended if I confess to being a little distracted when you first introduced yourself.”
“Because a man was attempting to murder you, you mean?” Narsi replied. “I’m not offended; in fact I’m a little surprised that you didn’t drop my book when you made your escape.”
“Actually the marigold blossoms in your hair fascinated me far more than Ladislo’s sad attempt.”
Narsi felt his cheeks warming but didn’t mistake Lord Vediya’s offhanded flirting for anything of substance. The man had confessed in more than one publication to flirting compulsively when uneasy—also when bored, maudlin, drunk or hungry.
“I’m Narsi Lif-Tahm.” Narsi pulled back a chair for Lord Vediya.
“Atreau,” Lord Vediya supplied before flopping into the chair. “Just call me Atreau. Everyone does.”
Narsi scowled at that. He couldn’t help himself and Lord Vediya arched a black brow questioningly.
“Are you opposed to such familiarity?”
“Myself, no. There are few titles among Haldiim and nothing like Cadeleonian nobility.” Narsi sat down across from Lord Vediya. “But once, years ago, I met a young nobleman—a fourth son of a minor lord—who confessed to insisting that everyone around him call him by his given name so that those who wished to insult him in their address would have nothing to take from him.”
Lord Vediya’s smile looked almost frozen on his face. For a moment he stared hard at Narsi and Narsi felt certain that he would remember their night together. But if he did he gave nothing away and only offered a light—if slightly forced—laugh.
“That sounds like the thinking of a sensitive young fool.”
“I didn’t think so, but I admit that at the time of the conversation I was hardly at the height of intellect myself.” Narsi shrugged. “Still, his words did make me think quite a bit about the respect implied in addressing a Cadeleonian by his title and how it should not be stripped from him.”
“I suppose I can see your point.” Lord Vediya opened the book but then let it fall closed again. He studied Narsi, then leaned forward. “But here in the capital there are so many petty bullies who throw minor titles around that it grows tiresome and ridiculous. Particularly when all one desires is to engage in an honest conversation. Men known to each other by their given names can say what they like and tell one another when their thinking is right and when it’s utter bullshit. But give one of the two the title of prince and the other the rank of footman and all that is lost.”
“Yours is an interesting argument, Lord Vediya, but one inherently flawed by your lordly perspective. In the case of your footman and his prince I would suspect that honest conversation would be whatever the prince decided it is, regardless of how the footman addresses him. It’s a conceit of the prince’s that his footman would be so easily fooled into forgetting which of the two of them can have the other hanged for his familiarity.”
Lord Vediya’s expression turned playful and he leaned even closer in toward Narsi. The very faint perfume of rose oil drifted from him.
“I will concede that point. But let us suppose,” Lord Vediya suggested, “that the prince has arrived disguised as a common man and struck up a conversation with a footman in a tavern.”
“Then the prince has already engaged in deceit and once again there is not an honest exchange by both parties.” Narsi leaned in as well.
“What then if the prince has lived in exile as a common man for a decade?”
“Then I would say that he’s gone to a great deal of trouble just to chat up a footman,” Narsi replied.
“Ha! As witty as you are winsome, aren’t you?” Lord Vediya eyed him with a much too overt expression of appreciation. And Narsi knew at once that no desire lay behind it, only the wish to fluster him.
“Befuddling me with flattery still won’t win you the argument, my lord.”
Lord Vediya laughed again, but this time it wasn’t the practiced display of a courtier. A genuine snort escaped Lord Vediya. Narsi felt relieved knowing at least that had not been stripped from Lord Vediya over the years.
“Very well, I concede the debate. However, I still insist that you call me Atreau.” Lord Vediya raised a finger, cutting off Narsi’s protest. “If only because there are four other Vediya lords at court and if I’m the one who you are calling out a warning to, I’d prefer to know at once.”
“A warning?” Narsi asked and he thought of Ladislo.
“Atreau, watch out for that falling chamber pot. Atreau, your creditors are on their way to seize your belongings. Atreau, that dog is a wolf.” Lord Vediya shrugged. “You know, the common sorts of things a man of my character must be wary of.”
“But surely the dog is simply poor-mannered and maligned, not a wolf.” Narsi felt certain that Lord Vediya was having a private joke about the current Cadeleonian terror of Count Radulf, the “Scarlet Wolf.” “As anyone would know if they’d read your latest book instead of burning it.”
This brought a genuine grin to Lord Vediya’s handsome face.
“I’m heartened to know that at least one person has managed to read and understand it.” Lord Vediya opened the book again, and this time he drew a slim graphite stylus from his pocket and wrote quickly on the title page. Narsi thought he recognized the flourish of a signature but couldn’t read the rest of the faint gray words.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve made a number of notes on many of the pages.” Lord Vediya flipped through until he came to a section where the margins were filled with Narsi’s Haldiim script. “Corrections of the translations, or are these arguments against the ideas I’ve published?”
“They’re notes,” Narsi admitted, though he had to speak around a yawn. “Information about Labaran laws and customs. My thoughts about the medicine they practice and their surgical tools. I was fascinated by your description of treating the wounded during the night battle.”
In fact Narsi had wept while reading the graphic, heartbreaking descriptions of the struggle to save overwhelming numbers of wounded men while surrounded by the chaos of a raging battle. Lord Vediya’s expression sobered as he frowned down at the page of notes. Narsi realized that the horror of that night remained with the man and decided to quickly shift the subject.
“And of course I’ve made all kinds of guesses about what exactly it is that the Labaran sister-physicians do to make their condoms so much better than any others you’ve encountered.”
That won him a smile.
“And what have you surmised?” Lord Vediya inquired.
“Well, they are fantastically thin, so obviously not sewn from balm-soaked linen like those you find in common night markets. And since the Labarans are famous for both their sausages and leatherwork, I’d bet that their condoms are made of animal skin or intestine, but that still doesn’t explain how they keep them as supple as you describe.”
“I do have a precious box of six still in my possession,” Lord Vediya commented. “Perhaps when you’re more rested we might try a few?”
“I . . .”
“There’s a pretty woman of my acquaintance,” Lord Vediya added. “She’d be happy to accommodate us—”
Lord Vediya went silent and looked to the door. Narsi wasn’t certain if he was relieved or disappointed by Lord Vediya’s sudden cessation of speech.
An instant later Narsi, too, heard voices in the hall. A woman and a man argued in whispers as they drew closer. Narsi thought he heard the woman say, “ . . . see the physician . . . ,” but he wasn’t certain of the man’s low reply.
Lord Vediya stood and started for the garden doors.
“It will not do your reputation any good if it’s known that I was here with you at this hour,” he said.
He was correct, Narsi knew that, but he also had no intention of joining the great number of men and women who privately enjoyed Lord Vediya’s company while publicly disavowing him. Far too many of the fair-skinned Cadeleonians whom Narsi had grown up with in the Grunito household had done the same to him out on the city streets and in public taverns.
“Stay,” Narsi said firmly. “I wouldn’t deserve a good reputation if I turned my guests out into the dark night like unwanted cats. Anyway I might need a man who’s seen the worst of surgery and kept his stomach.”
Narsi turned away quickly to open the door, though he didn’t miss the odd expression that flickered across Lord Vediya’s face.
As he stepped out into the dim hall, Narsi caught sight of a tall, chestnut-haired woman, clothed in a yellow silk dressing gown and tugging at the belt of a man who leaned back into the shadows as if trying to melt away.
“Can I be of assistance?” Narsi asked.
The woman looked to Narsi with an expression of flattering and profound relief.
“Master Physician! My brother is injured and I think that he needs your attention.” Then she scowled at the lank-haired, plain-faced man with her and hissed, “Just let him look at your arm. Or so help me I will start wailing to wake the entire household.”
The man relented at once and sloped behind his sister while gripping a wad of blood-soaked cloth to his right forearm.
As Narsi turned and closed the door behind the siblings, he saw that Lord Vediya had left his seat by the fire and settled on the farther of the exam tables.
“Master Ariz, Mistress Delfia, greetings.” Lord Vediya offered them both a half bow from the exam table and then made a little show of fastening his belt buckle. “I pray that it’s not too much to ask that I and my merrypox visiting the physician not be shared with the entire household.”
“Your discretion ensures ours, Lord Vediya,” Delfia said. “Certainly my brother does not want it known that he tripped while showing off a sword dance to me and gashed his own arm open.”
Mistress Delfia—Narsi remembered that she was the woman who had captured Berto’s interest and who had also sent a warm meal. That would make her brother the sword and dance instructor whom Berto had described as plain as a clod of dirt. And perhaps he was to Berto’s eye, but Narsi found him fascinatingly difficult to read.
Master Ariz allowed Narsi to lead him to a chair beside the examination table. He sat and Narsi frowned at the massive wad of cloth that Master Ariz held against his right forearm. Blood had soaked most of it through and seemed to still be pouring out. Yet he betrayed neither pain nor alarm.
“Can you raise your right arm above your head?” Narsi asked.
Master Ariz wordlessly complied.
“Help him keep his arm lifted, will you?” Narsi asked Delfia. She reached out and supported her brother’s elbow while Narsi went to his medical satchel and then took a bottle of distilled coinflower from the cabinet shelf. He glanced over his shoulder to Lord Vediya.
“I could use those bandages from the shelf behind you.”
“I live to serve.” Lord Vediya swung off the exam table and gathered up the rolls of bandages. Narsi hoped they would be enough. If they weren’t he’d have to strip the sheets from his fresh bed and use those.
Narsi directed Master Ariz to lower his arm just enough that it rested on the table. Then he carefully pulled away the wad of kerchiefs and rags covering the wound. He knew at once that these deep gashes had not resulted from a mere accident. The strokes were too clean and perfectly spaced. They also overlaid three shallow but much more ragged gouges.
Narsi noted that although Master Ariz said nothing and gave no sign of pain, the man was watching him from beneath his dark lashes. Narsi pulled the last of the cloth free and poured the coinflower distillate into the open wounds. Normally reflex at least made a person tense when the stinging fluid washed over a cut, but Master Ariz didn’t flinch—didn’t even blink.
He reminded Narsi of a fresh corpse that he’d dissected during his studies.
“You’ll need stitches,” Narsi told him. “Remove your doublet and shirt—”
“No.” Master Ariz’s voice was deep and chillingly emotionless.
“You can let your sister help you remove them or I can cut them off you with surgical scissors,” Narsi told him. “But they’re filthy and they must come off.”
Master Ariz started to rise and Narsi realized that the man meant to walk out. Lord Vediya stepped forward to block him but Mistress Delfia caught him first.
“Ariz.” She only said his name, but her expression was that of a strict mother commanding a rebellious child—an expression Narsi knew well. Master Ariz returned his sister’s stare with his own dead-eyed gaze, then with the slightest sigh relented and dropped back down into his seat.
