Moons shadow, p.23
Moon's Shadow, page 23
Gerrick knew it was just his imagination. He’d gone through months of training and etiquette lessons before being allowed out in public as Orthenn’s double. The likeness had been good enough to get him kidnapped in Orthenn’s stead only a few short months ago. Still, he quickened his pace to as brisk a walk as he could manage, eager to leave the castle and its countless prying eyes behind him. Posing as Orthenn was easier outside, even under the watchful gaze of the guards who’d be accompanying him.
A member of the Moonridge delegation rounded a corner ahead of him. Gerrick nearly bowled her over in his haste, catching her by the arms to hold her upright while they both regained their balance.
“I’m sorry. Are you hurt?” he asked, letting go of her arms when she seemed no longer at risk of falling over. His tone sounded too contrite for Orthenn, but he couldn’t help it under the circumstances.
The diplomat looked up at him, hazel eyes widening in recognition. Shorter and more droopy-eared than most elves, she wore a simple shirt and riding skirt instead of the elaborate gowns human ladies of her station favored. “The fault was mine, Prince Orthenn,” she murmured, bowing low in place of the curtsy a Dawn’s Gate noblewoman would have offered. “But I am unharmed. Thank you for your concern.”
Gerrick stepped out of her path, clearing his throat to buy the time he needed to find his “Orthenn voice” again. “Good. I’ll let you be on your way, then.”
The diplomat nodded her thanks, hurrying past him. A few steps down the hall, she stopped and abruptly turned. “Actually…if you have a moment, Highness, I have some…concerns. About a man who was recently recruited as a member of your guard.”
“You may share them.” Gerrick already knew who’d caused her concerns. And who she was if his assumption proved right. He’d managed to walk right into Moranthus’s old apprentice, Nelcaro.
“It’s about Moranthus, the Moonridge exile you recruited. I don’t know how much he’s told you, but he has…history with Moonridge’s royal family. He was improperly involved with our last Patriarch. Some say he was a distraction that weakened Patriarch Ryllorin’s rule in his final years—that their closeness clouded his judgment in matters of military deployment and intelligence gathering. Yet in spite of our former Patriarch’s favoritism, Moranthus stood by and did nothing to prevent his death on the day of our Matriarch’s ascension.”
Gerrick nodded, fighting to keep his expression neutral. It felt wrong, listening to someone drag Moranthus’s name through the dirt without saying a word in his defense. But speaking out would make his portrayal of Orthenn less convincing—or worse, make it look like Orthenn and Moranthus were romantically involved.
“I trust you are above such corrupting influences, Highness, but I wanted to warn you, nonetheless. Moranthus has a taste for men in positions of power and little inclination toward self-sacrifice. Those qualities make me question his fitness as a royal guard. I would hate to see him repay your generosity by using you or your peers in the same way he used Patriarch Ryllorin.”
Gerrick allowed himself a frown. Nelcaro had avoided implying Orthenn was “inappropriately involved” with Moranthus, but only just. There was no rule against Orthenn being with one of his guards, or with another man, but even a rumor along those lines would cause a scandal if the court found out. In a tone that left no room for questions, he replied, “I see. I’ll take the matter under consideration.”
With another bow, Nelcaro continued down the hall, her steps quicker than before. Gerrick hoped that meant she was too nervous to repeat her concerns to anyone else. Moranthus had gone through enough without court gossip forcing him out of a job. Gerrick would still need to tell the king about this conversation later, but he trusted the king to be reasonable. If someone in the Moonridge delegation wanted Moranthus removed from his post this badly, it meant he posed a threat to their goals, whatever those were. That should outweigh the risk of any damaging rumors.
The interaction lingered in Gerrick’s thoughts as he went on his way. If that was what people thought of Moranthus back in Moonridge, it was no wonder he’d been so reluctant to accept any help from Gerrick.
Nelcaro’s accusations were false. A full decade afterward, Moranthus still mourned his Patriarch’s death. And Gerrick had seen enough to know he mourned the man himself, not any special treatment he might have gotten. No matter what anyone else thought, Gerrick knew the truth. He just wished he knew how to convince Moranthus of that.
Gerrick’s thoughts were no clearer when he met with Lord Edmun. They sat across from each other in a private sitting room at the Burnished Oak, the same tavern he and Moranthus had followed Therindal to. The connection was too weak to prove anything by itself. But it was enough to make Gerrick wonder if he’d been too dismissive of Moranthus’s worries earlier.
He didn’t want to think Lord Edmun would betray his own family—especially not Orthenn. They always got along at court functions, and Gerrick couldn’t remember Lord Edmun ever visiting Kingstone without going on at least one hunt with Orthenn. How could he turn on Orthenn after they’d been so close for so long? Or plot a kidnapping that had put his son’s life at risk? Liam could’ve met his end as easily as any other man with them if both Moranthus and the goblins who’d taken Orthenn’s company hostage hadn’t gone out of their way to avoid spilling human blood.
But Gerrick’s own father had cut off contact with him for choosing a soldier’s life over inheriting the family farm. He’d sent Gerrick’s letter, informing him he had a granddaughter, back without even opening it. Maybe that experience was more common than he thought. Gerrick supposed he’d find out soon enough.
He tried to look comfortable in his overstuffed chair as he considered the tray of refreshments laid out on the table before him. If King Raeburn’s suspicions were right, they could be drugged or poisoned. But if Lord Edmun tried to harm Orthenn here, everyone would know he’d done it. And the wine was one of Orthenn’s favorites. It would be suspicious and rude if he didn’t drink it—not that Orthenn usually cared much for manners.
Lord Edmun plucked a goblet from the tray and swirled it in his hand. Expression hidden by his thick, salt-and-pepper beard, he raised the goblet and said, “Perhaps it is early in the day for such indulgences, but visiting with family is cause for celebration, is it not? To your health,” before taking a long drink of wine.
It was an odd toast to make when Orthenn was so young and active, but understandable after Orthenn’s recent kidnapping. Gerrick lifted the other goblet and repeated the toast, though he only sipped his drink. He needed to keep his wits about him.
“It’s a shame the delegation arrived at such a dismal time of year for hunting. I expect the stags will have all shed their antlers by now and be in poor condition after the winter.” Lord Edmun drained and refilled his goblet. “Not to mention, any hinds will be heavy with fawn.”
Gerrick nodded. He’d never cared much for hunting as a pastime. He understood it as a necessity and did his part with pride when Orthenn’s company was on the road and needed provisions. The nobility hunting for sport had never sat right with him though. Why kill animals for amusement when they had so many other ways to occupy themselves?
But he was speaking to Lord Edmun as Orthenn, not Gerrick, so he replied, “Maybe a boar, then. They should be active and fearsome as always.”
“If your father allows it, certainly.”
“He’s already confined me to Kingstone and its surrounding lands. The least he can do is let me hunt on them while I’m here.”
“It was done out of love and worry, I’m sure. Were he still living under my roof, I’d have half a mind to do the same with Liam.” Lord Edmun reached across the table to clap Gerrick on the shoulder. “But you’ll be in good hands. Your father knows that. Who better to watch over his son than his own cousin?”
Gerrick responded with a dismissive shrug. “We’ll see what he says.”
“I’m impressed to see you so eager to ride out into the world again after your ordeal.” Lord Edmun let go of his shoulder. With a shudder, he returned to his wine. “It must have been a harrowing experience, being held prisoner by goblins.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Gerrick replied, drawing from his memories of Orthenn brushing off any concern his company showed on their journey home.
Lord Edmun laughed. “Still playing the stoic, I see? You remind me of myself in my younger days.”
Gerrick took another drink of his wine in response. Orthenn hated being laughed at, but he didn’t trust himself to mimic Orthenn’s anger well enough to convince his family. Acting so casually around the nobility was uncomfortable enough already.
“But come now, you’re among family. I’ve seen firsthand the damage those raiding parties can do. And to be captured in the midst of a change in clan leadership—surely, you must have worried what the new Stoneheart warlord planned to do with his predecessor’s prisoners. It’s marvelous luck he sent you and your soldiers home unharmed.”
Gerrick nearly choked on his wine. Orthenn being kidnapped was no secret. With his lands bordering both Moonridge and the goblin territories, Lord Edmun knew more than most about goblin politics, even in their northernmost clans. But as far as Gerrick knew, neither Orthenn nor his father had told the court which clan had kidnapped him or mentioned the change in leadership. Lord Edmun couldn’t have known those details unless someone with firsthand knowledge of the incident had told him. Even if he hadn’t been directly involved, he had ties to someone who was.
“Is something wrong?” Lord Edmun asked, brow furrowed.
Gerrick shook his head. Thankfully, his coughing fit gave him an excuse to keep silent while he thought of a response that didn’t sound distrustful. He didn’t want Lord Edmun to notice his suspicions before he could share them with the king.
Before he could recover, Lord Edmun did his work for him. “My apologies. I admire your resilience, but the memory of those days can’t be a happy one. I’m sure you’d rather discuss more pleasant topics.”
Gerrick nodded. He set his goblet on the table, and in a wheezing voice, replied, “I prefer not to speak of it.” The short time he’d spent as Moranthus’s prisoner was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine what Orthenn and the others must have gone through.
“Back to hunting, then. You still prefer doing so on horseback, yes? I recently purchased the most magnificent—”
An urgent knock on the door drowned out Lord Edmun’s words.
With an exaggerated sigh, he rested his forehead on the palm of his hand. “Servants these days. Pardon the insolence—I assume this is important.” Lord Edmun cleared his throat and barked out, “You may enter!” as though he were a general dressing down an unruly soldier.
A boy of no more than sixteen staggered into the room, gasping for air as he bowed low. He must’ve run all the way from the castle. “Message for you, my lord. One of the elves with the delegation wants to see you—he said it couldn’t wait. He’s sitting in your rooms now. Wouldn’t let us send him away. What should we do with him?”
Lord Edmun’s glare softened. “Did he give you his name?”
“Therindal, my lord.”
Gerrick gripped the arms of his chair and fought to keep his breathing even. Lord Edmun’s rooms were supposed to be empty. Moranthus was in them now, expecting to be alone. He’d seemed afraid of Therindal the first time they saw him. Now they were both in Lord Edmun’s rooms, uninvited, with no one to step in if they ran into each other.
The timing was coincidence—it had to be. And Moranthus knew what he was doing. He would’ve heard Therindal come in and found some way to avoid him. But if he hadn’t, if something had gone wrong…
Lord Edmun gave the boy an approving nod and rose from his chair. “My apologies, Prince Orthenn, but I’m afraid I must cut our meeting short. This Therindal is a close acquaintance, and I trust he would not impose on my time in such a way without proper cause.”
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.” Gerrick dismissed him with a wave. He hoped the strain in his voice made him sound disappointed instead of worried.
“Thank you for understanding. I’ll have to introduce the two of you sometime. Therindal has quite an interest in hunting as well, you know. Perhaps he could join us on our excursion?”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
Gerrick slumped forward when the door shut behind Lord Edmun and his servant, burying his face in his hands. He counted the moments until he could leave the tavern without them realizing he’d followed them so soon. The wine soured on his tongue when he took a sip to settle his nerves.
Moranthus had probably finished his task and reported back to the king already. Gerrick would find him sitting in the foyer, as worried over him as he was over Moranthus, and they’d both laugh over how unnecessary it was in the end.
But until Gerrick saw it with his own eyes, he’d never trust that Moranthus was safe.
Twenty-One
As the equinox drew nearer, Ilendra’s days were filled by endless preparations for the impending celebration. Such frivolities had never been her strength. Matters of state and law, economics, military concerns…anything based in facts and logic, her mind readily lent itself to. But when it came time to plaster on a smile and mingle among the nobility, for no purpose beyond reassuring them of their importance, all semblance of regal poise and dignity escaped her. Instead of a shrewd and competent Matriarch, she felt as though she were still a child parading about in her father’s clothes. Her father’s legacy of impeccable grace, tact, and charm only worsened the feeling.
Thyrsana’s continued absence from Ilendra’s life did nothing to improve the situation. They’d had worse quarrels and spent more time apart afterward in the nearly two centuries they’d known each other. That in itself was the problem—those past absences had always been preceded by an argument. And with Thyrsana, no argument that didn’t devolve into a shouting match could rightly be referred to as such.
Ilendra had grown comfortable with that direct simplicity over the years. Once both their tempers had had time to cool, reconciliation was a simple matter when they’d already clearly and loudly aired their respective grievances. But this time, Thyrsana had given her precious little to base an apology on, even if Ilendra were inclined to offer one, and Thyrsana had been present to hear it. In spite of her apparent disdain for proper etiquette, Thyrsana knew public mockery of Ilendra was a step too far, and still, Ilendra had shown her more lenience than was wise or appropriate. Whatever had caused this change in her usual behavior, there had to be more to it. At present, Ilendra could scarce afford to waste time puzzling the matter out.
And so, for the first time in her decade as Matriarch, Ilendra had no outlet for her frustrations as the days—and her list of responsibilities—grew ever longer. After an evening spent tasting so many saccharine pastries, she feared her teeth would fall out, Ilendra retired to her chambers early instead of attending the night’s dinner. Better the court gossip about her absence than assume her disinterest in the food stemmed from a failure of her kitchen staff or a poorly concealed poisoning attempt.
She had just settled herself on a sofa, Avalanche making an excellent footrest as he lounged on the rug in front of the hearth, when low voices sounded in the hall outside, followed by a knock on her door. A strange occurrence—recent exceptions notwithstanding, she rarely received unexpected visitors, and even more rarely did her guards deem such visits worthy of disturbing her rest.
Soon after, a voice with the distinct metallic echo common to her frostguards called out, “Matriarch?”
Hope fluttered in Ilendra’s chest, but logic won out before it could take flight. If Thyrsana waited outside her door, she wouldn’t have waited for the frostguard to announce her.
Unaware of her irrational disappointment, the frostguard continued, “Your brother wishes to speak with you. Is this an appropriate time?”
Ilendra pondered the door for a moment. This wasn’t typical of Corendin either. What could be so important that he’d gone from attempting to flee her presence in the gardens to disturbing her in her chambers?
“He may enter,” she replied, curiosity winning out over suspicion. Whatever her brother so urgently wanted to speak about, she had little to gain by delaying it.
Ilendra smoothed the day’s creases from her doublet as the door opened but otherwise remained as she was. If Corendin thought her slovenly, he was in no position to offer commentary. Avalanche lifted his head and eyed the door with interest but seemed equally loath to leave his comfortable position.
Corendin was markedly more at ease in her presence tonight, posture straight and expression calm as he entered the room. Apart from a subtle tension in his shoulders when the frostguard shut the door behind him, Ilendra could almost have mistaken him for the Corendin of ten years ago.
“Ilendra.” Corendin bowed low, mother-of-pearl buttons glinting in the firelight. “I had thought to accept your invitation to dine with you, but I seem to have chosen a poor night for it.”
“And you came here just to tell me this?”
“No—I’m not quite so politically inept as all that. I happened to observe an…incident among some of your guests I thought might pique your interest.”
“What manner of incident?” Ilendra motioned for Corendin to be seated.
Corendin circled around the sofa where Ilendra sat, giving Avalanche a wide berth, and settled himself on the armchair beside it—their father’s favored seat when he still lived. Like Ryllorin’s ghost come to haunt her. Hands folded in his lap, he replied, “A disagreement between the head of a southern noble house and his ward. Something about the line of succession and an official investigation into his claim to his title. The guards separated them before the exchange became too heated, but accusations were made regarding the investigation’s timing. And your impartiality in the matter.”
