Master of restless shado.., p.8
Master of Restless Shadows, page 8
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
The six Haldiim scholars who for years had been fixtures of the royal court and who had designed this very garden were nowhere to be seen. Which of them had fled back to Anacleto and which ones had been abducted to the royal bishop’s inquisition dungeons, no one knew.
No one spoke of it, but it seemed obvious to Fedeles that the royal bishop’s actions were those of a man intent on purging the court of any dissenting voices. His call for Hylanya Radulf’s execution for violation of Cadeleonian holy law—despite the fact that she was not a Cadeleonian citizen—betrayed just how blind he was to the repercussions of rousing Count Radulf’s fury. He hardly seemed to care that his actions put all of their nation’s allies on edge. No foreigners could feel safe now, knowing that they might be prosecuted for failure to subscribe to the dictates of the Cadeleonian church. Nor would any allied kingdoms wish to find themselves pitted against Count Radulf and his army of monstrous beasts.
Loud peals of laughter sounded over the quaint melody some distant musician plucked from a lute.
Seemingly unaware of all worldly turmoil, a group of noble Cadeleonian youths sporting slashed blue sleeves took turns peering through the immense golden mechanism of the royal star-glass. Several beautiful young women posed upon bronze astronomical models, which rose all around the garden like a miniature universe. One lady clung to a planetary sphere and swung with it on the circular track of its orbit over a bed of moonflowers.
The Duke of Gavado’s spies and the royal bishop’s informants numbered among the lovely boys and girls, but then so did several minor nobles in Fedeles’s employment. Young courtiers unwilling to serve a powerful lord rarely won the offices or incomes required to enter the company of so illustrious a man as Prince Sevanyo. Despite their carefree demeanors, every one of the beautiful young people gathered here answered to a master. And if they weren’t in Fedeles’s pay then he had no doubt that they served someone else.
“Cousin!” Prince Sevanyo beckoned Fedeles to him.
He went. Atreau hung back among the astronomical models to keep watch from amidst the quiet figures lurking among the deep shadows that ringed the prince’s resplendent gathering. Atreau possessed a knack for charming information out of even his enemies.
Reaching Sevanyo, Fedeles knelt in a deep bow. The prince gently touched the crown of his head.
“Rise, dear cousin, and sit with me, won’t you?”
“It would be my honor.” Fedeles seated himself on a cushion near the aged prince. An attendant immediately presented a silver platter of spiced cordials and ripe fruit. Fedeles took a glass and a cluster of black grapes, but he neither ate nor drank.
“According to the Yuanese, the stars that mark a man’s birth guide his destiny throughout all his life,” Prince Sevanyo said. Fedeles suspected that comment was directed more toward the winsome youth leaning up against the star-glass than himself.
A pretty young woman settled opposite Fedeles and proffered Prince Sevanyo a dish of candied berries. The prince favored her with a smile and accepted a sweet before going on.
“I’ve been told that I was born under an unlucky star, which has fated me to immense hardship for all of my life.” Sevanyo paused to cast Fedeles a wry smile. “Can you imagine how spoiled a man born under a prosperous star must be?”
Fedeles laughed and Prince Sevanyo grinned.
“Certainly hardship and indulgence do come in a multitude of forms,” Fedeles commented. “But I don’t have it in me to expect the stars to decide either for me, I’m afraid.”
“Nor do I, though I wish I could.” Sevanyo sighed and then stole a grape from the bunch in Fedeles’s hand. “It would offer me some comfort to think I could simply look up into the heavens and see the Lord’s intentions for my sons written across the sky in starlight. Now that you have a child you know what I mean, don’t you, Fedeles?”
“I do.”
He’d wed Oasia and claimed her unborn child as his own for purely pragmatic reasons. He’d needed a wife and heir to strengthen his hold on the duchy of Rauma. He’d never imagined that he would grow to genuinely adore his wife or love the boy he’d called his son. Nor had he imagined how that love would change him.
Sparanzo’s mere existence made him think about a future far beyond his own life and had taught him greater courage than he’d thought himself capable of. When he rode to Crown Hill and fought against his shadow, it was for Sparanzo’s sake more than anyone else’s. He understood Prince Sevanyo’s desire to protect even his most wayward child.
“We want such greatness for them and see so much potential in them when they’re young.” Sevanyo scowled. An attendant immediately approached the prince, proffering a silver platter brimming with the dark tar of black poppies and a pipe. Sevanyo waved it away and then gently dismissed the young woman seated beside Fedeles, sending her to join her friends playing on a model of the moon.
“With four sons you’d think I’d have one half as faithful as you, Fedeles.” Sevanyo looked tired and not quite well in the flickering yellow light of the surrounding lamps. “Xalvadar, my heir, can’t be bothered to leave his mistress to visit his wife, much less me. Remes has become my brother’s creature. I can see him fantasizing about my demise every time he offers me one of those God-awful smiles of his. He was the one who encouraged his little brother, Gael, to run off to the navy, I’m sure of it. Now Gael is drowned and lost beneath the waves. I won’t even have his body to bury beside his mother. And then Jacinto . . .” Sevanyo simply made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat then gulped down his drink.
“I should’ve had a daughter,” Sevanyo murmured. “A devoted girl to sit beside me and tell me all about the gossip in the city and what daring affairs are being undertaken by whom. She’d be here to whisper in my ear when my advisers lied to me and she’d chide me when I indulged in too much smoke and wine. She’d make me a better man. And on my deathbed, I’d scandalize the entire kingdom by making her my heir.” Sevanyo laughed and plucked another grape from Fedeles’s handful. “I’d do it too. I would.” The idea of such an immense defiance of Cadeleonian hierarchy and tradition seemed to invigorate Sevanyo. He tossed the grape in the air and caught it in his mouth. “You should have a daughter, Fedeles. It’s not too late for you.”
Fedeles offered the prince a smile but knew better than to promise the man any such thing, even in jest. He would never hear the end of it. He kept quiet and a moment later Sevanyo’s smile faded.
“Is he well?” Sevanyo asked. “My young wastrel?”
“Jacinto is fine, if a little bored with himself. We are doing all we can to ensure that he stays that way,” Fedeles assured him. “The royal bishop has no cause to harm him, I promise you that.”
“The red-haired woman that he’s so taken with . . . ,” the prince whispered.
“Her good work has been destroyed,” Fedeles informed him. “I don’t know that any of us can rebuild it.”
“Then it is in the hands of God.” Sevanyo shrugged.
Fedeles knew Sevanyo wasn’t completely blind to the multitude of spells that cloaked the city. Once when they’d been in private he’d pointed out the light twinkling from love charms dropped in a wishing fountain, and after making an intense study Sevanyo had been delighted to see them as well. But as a rule, Sevanyo made a point of never looking too hard or long; he left that to holy men like his brother the royal bishop. As far as the Shard of Heaven was concerned, Fedeles knew the prince wasn’t entirely convinced of the need for Hylanya’s intervention. After all, the ancient wards had lasted for hundreds of years. If their own priests had no concern over the wards, why should they invite a foreign witch of uncertain motive to meddle?
And the royal bishop had given Sevanyo additional incentive to disregard Hylanya’s warnings.
Two days past the bishop had suggested that he would at last bless Sevanyo’s ascent to the throne, but only so long as Lady Hylanya had been removed from Cadeleon beforehand. Sevanyo had readily agreed. Fedeles hadn’t liked it—particularly not the royal bishop’s implication that Hylanya’s fate should be left to whoever found her first—but he understood how exhausted Sevanyo was of fighting his brother. How badly he needed a little peace, so that he could mourn Gael’s death.
“The issue of her stay will be happily resolved by this time tomorrow.” Fedeles took Sevanyo’s hand in his, offering him the reassurance that he didn’t dare to voice. Sevanyo’s skin felt paper-thin but also comfortingly warm. “A ship already waits to carry her back to her brother. Please leave it in my hands. My agents have some expertise in these matters.”
Sevanyo’s gaze flickered to Atreau, who leaned back against a globe. He sang out a pretty melody, though the words were likely to be filthy. A trio of young men grinned at him appreciatively while seven or eight young women gazed at him with besotted expressions.
Sevanyo nodded, then remarked, “Ladislo Bayezar would say you have too much expertise in spiriting women away. He wants to lay a formal charge of abduction. I’m surprised he’s not here pressing his case now.”
“I heard that a horse kicked him. He may not be able to attend court for a week at least.” Fedeles tried not to let a note of guilt creep into his tone. It wasn’t his fault that Ladislo mistook himself for a cuckold. “In any case, Suelita Estaban was not abducted. Not by Atreau or anyone else.”
“But you do know where she is?” Sevanyo asked.
“I know she’s happy and well. And I know we still need her. She has a gift for puzzles.”
Sevanyo gave another thoughtful nod. “The Bayezars are firm supporters of mine. If Ladislo lays a charge against Atreau, he will have to appear for trial.”
“I’ll do all I can to ensure that it doesn’t come to that,” Fedeles assured him.
“I suppose I can’t ask for more.” Sevanyo smiled and Fedeles laughed, because they both knew he could ask for anything he desired and generally expect to see it delivered to him. He took another of Fedeles’s grapes and bowed his head nearer to Fedeles. “Now that we’ve struck our bargain, is my brother still perturbed?”
“I’m hardly privy to his private thoughts, but he seems more convinced than ever that there’s a plot to overthrow the church and that the Grunito brothers have forged an alliance between Anacleto and Radulf County to return us to an age of Old Gods.” Fedeles lowered his voice. “Letters we’ve intercepted make it very clear that his agents in the north are actively searching for a means to destroy Count Radulf, while in the south he’s attempting to wrest control of Anacleto from the Grunitos and suppress the growing Bahiim religion.”
“God. How unoriginal he is.” Prince Sevanyo rolled his eyes. “He’s not made any inroads, has he? In the north or the south?”
“Javier assures me that he has removed all three of Nugalo’s assassins in Labara and destroyed their orders before Count Radulf’s men could trace them back to the Cadeleonian royal family.” Fedeles felt his agitation growing, as it always did when he spoke of his exiled cousin to Sevanyo.
Javier’s audacity—so much like Hylanya’s—continued to make him an outcast. If only Javier could manage to live quietly, allowing memories of his transgressions to fade, then Fedeles could secure a reprieve for him and bring him home. But instead Javier proudly proclaimed himself a member the holy order of Bahiim; he charged through Labara dressed in flowing orange robes, with his hair hanging to his waist, battling monsters, banishing ghosts and destroying curses. He was becoming famous, which hardly allowed the Holy Cadeleonian Church to overlook his heresy.
Twice now Fedeles had been forced to bring all the wealth and military might of Rauma to bear just to block the royal bishop from issuing a warrant for Javier’s death. Every year the possibility of bringing him home seemed to grow more and more remote.
Atreau hardly spoke of him anymore, and even Sevanyo’s deep affection seemed to have waned.
“He remains loyal to you and only awaits your permission to return and serve you as he has always wished to.” Fedeles squeezed Sevanyo’s hands in his own. “You know that his conversion does not make him a traitor regardless—”
“Calm yourself, Fedeles. I know you want your cousin home.” He offered Fedeles a doting smile that radiated all the affection that Fedeles had never known from his own parents. “I miss him too. After my coronation I should be able to grant you this favor—though you understand that he will never be a nobleman again. You must remain the Duke of Rauma.”
“I know.” Fedeles stared down at his own shadow. The edge roiled in the flickering firelight of the surrounding torches. No one comparing Javier’s radiant brilliance to Fedeles’s failings would have chosen him, but he knew better than to argue the point now. After Javier returned, the better man would be obvious. “So long as I’m needed, I won’t abandon my responsibilities to Rauma or to you.”
“I don’t doubt it. Of all my daring favorites, you have proven the most steadfast.” Sevanyo gazed at him as if realizing for the first time how very much older Fedeles had grown in the twelve years since he’d become duke of Rauma. “More loyal to me than even my own sons.”
Fedeles felt a flush rising across his cheeks.
Prince Sevanyo laughed, though not unkindly; then he whispered, “Now tell me, what of Nugalo’s actions in the south?”
“The royal bishop’s spies in Anacleto suspect Nestor Grunito of converting to the Bahiim faith, but they haven’t yet obtained conclusive proof—”
“Yet?” Sevanyo asked in a whisper.
Fedeles shrugged.
“I see.” Sevanyo fell silent. He gazed out at the garden maze. “Nugalo’s up to something . . . He wouldn’t have agreed to give me the throne or allow Papa to have his respite if it didn’t serve him somehow. Nugalo is always up to something.”
“True,” Fedeles agreed. As long as Fedeles had been alive, the royal bishop had been engaged in a power struggle against Sevanyo. “But it’s difficult to know what. Recently, he’s appointed several unusual nuns and priests to his personal staff. They all share an expertise in the history of the Shard of Heaven. And letters have surfaced which seem to indicate that he might be tampering with the same wards that he condemned Lady Hylanya for tinkering with.”
“He’s not harmed the Hallowed Kings though?” Just a hint of alarm crept into Sevanyo’s expression. Not only did Sevanyo’s ascent to the throne require that his father take the place of the eldest of the Hallowed Kings, but ultimately, Sevanyo too would join their trinity. Fedeles found the thought disturbing; the sight of the immense rings of spells that held the old kings’ souls captive had terrified him when, as a child, he’d been taken to the Shard of Heaven for a New Year vigil. And he still found the sight distressing. Sevanyo, however, looked upon the Hallowed Kings in a much more joyous and protective manner. It seemed to comfort him to think that in death, he would join with his father and grandfather to protect the nation that each of them had ruled in their lives.
“I can’t say with certainty. However, it’s clear from his letters that he is investigating how the wards and the Hallowed Kings could be weakened—even destroyed. But to what end, we don’t know. Right now all we have are implications. Not proof. A third letter is being deciphered even as we speak. Chances are good that it will reveal a great deal more.”
“And Remes?” Sevanyo looked almost afraid to hear Fedeles’s response.
“As far as my agents have been able to discover, your son is not directly involved in the royal bishop’s actions.”
“Thank God. I know it’s weak of me, but I don’t have it in my heart to harm the boy. Not even now,” Sevanyo whispered.
Fedeles nodded, thinking of his own son, Sparanzo; he’d rather be struck dead than hurt his child. And yet Remes was no wide-eyed five-year-old.
“After the coronation, I’ll reach out to him. We should be a family.” Sevanyo’s gaze drifted from Fedeles out to the young people all around him. Two jocular young men drew the aged prince’s attention. They resembled each other in the way of siblings and seemed delighted in their own company. In that, they reminded Fedeles of the affectionate, boisterous Grunitos, though neither of these two possessed the powerful statures that marked the Grunito bloodline. Prince Sevanyo studied them wistfully. Perhaps he wondered why his own sons could not enjoy one another as these two did.
Fedeles, however, turned his attention to a trio of figures hunching beneath a rose bower. Amid so many tipsy, languid courtiers, these three stood out to Fedeles for their quiet, poised intensity. He didn’t recognize either of the two young men, but seeing how easily their hands rested on the hilts of their dueling swords, he suspected them of being professional swordsmen. The woman with them handed over a coin purse and then turned and slipped back into the dark maze surrounding them.
“How do brothers come to this?” Prince Sevanyo wondered. “We should love each other, but our tradition of sacrificing second-born sons to the church only estranges them from their families. Worse, it rouses jealousy in those thousands of second sons that have been disinherited from their family titles and wealth and who feel no calling to serve the Lord. Can they help but resent their elder brothers, or covet their good fortunes?”
“Not all brothers are bitter rivals,” Fedeles replied, but without much certainty. His own older brother had tried to have him declared insane and unfit. The accusation had cost him his life.
However, the Grunito brothers seemed to be shining exceptions. When the heir, Isandro died, Timoteo had refused to leave the church and instead undertaken a pilgrimage of prayer for his brother’s safe passage into paradise. Elezar, the next in line, possessed both the physical courage and tactical brilliance of a natural leader, and yet he, too, had chosen to abdicate his title so that he could become the consort of Count Radulf. The fourth son, Nestor, also seemed to dismiss ambition in favor of devotion, in that he not only failed to denounce Elezar but also refused to have his simpleminded father declared unfit. Instead, Nestor and his mother protected and supported the damaged old earl when most other nobles would’ve seized power.
