The Element of Fire by Martha Wells (top novels TXT) 📕

rocks off a wall. It had taken the Preceptor of the Albon Knights off on a two-month quest that was notable for its pointlessness and not much else. Presumably the fay sorceress had watched from a distance, laughing her own head off. When violent, Kade was about as subtle as a thrown hammer; when devious, she still preferred to sign her name to the deed. As an enemy Thomas would have preferred Kade over Urbain Grandier; she, at least, was a known danger. “Could she be coming to see you?” he asked Dubell.

The sorcerer got to his feet and went toward one of the windows that looked out on the Rose Court five stories below. Thomas followed him.

The stone paths below formed gray rivers among islands of small red and white fall roses. On one of those shaded rivers were a gallant and a court lady, standing close together in conversation. There was something furtive in the turn of the woman’s head that spoke of an assignation. They couldn’t know they were being watched by the Captain of the Queen’s Guard and the man who would probably be made Court Sorcerer sometime in the next few months, but in the palace someone was always watching.

After a moment Dubell said, “Kade could have seen me more easily at Lodun. Why should she wait until now?”

“I can’t answer that, Doctor. She’s only half human and I don’t understand why she does anything.” No one had been able to answer the question “why” when Kade’s mother appeared at court twenty-five years ago to captivate the old king Fulstan. No one had known she was Moire, a great queen in her own right from one of the multitude of fayre kingdoms that hid under ancient barrows, deceptively deep lakes, or the disappearing islands that lay off the southern coast. She had held Fulstan’s attention constantly, day and night, for one year before departing and leaving behind her a baby daughter like a forgotten piece of baggage and a man who was far worse a king than he had ever been before.

Dubell had a way of seeming to pick up on someone else’s train of thought. He said, “I remember her mother. I was a young man then. The King’s Company was performing The Fortunate Lands and suddenly she was there, dressed in black and her jewels like stars. The Queen of Air and Darkness.” He picked up a book from the window ledge and absently added it to a stack on a nearby chair. “A wiser man might have seen a potential danger in Kade. The fay who appear the most human are often more changeable and vindictive than their monstrous brethren. But I saw only an isolated child with the first stirrings of real power and the wit and the will to use it. I admit I have never felt guilty, Captain. I gave her only an elementary tutoring in the craft. If I hadn’t, she would have found someone else. I’m sorry for what she has done with the knowledge since then, but I assume no responsibility for it.” He looked back at Thomas seriously. “I suspect that may be lese-majeste.”

“Perhaps, but it’s a mild form of it.” Compared to most of what goes on here. “And we do need your help.” He was sure Dubell realized that until another court sorcerer could arrive he had them over a barrel, and Thomas was curious to see if the old scholar would come out and admit it.

Dubell shook his head. “I took a vow of fealty when I first came here years ago. Whatever differences of opinion have arisen since then can have no bearing on it.”

The old sorcerer stood there watching the garden below, his stooped shoulders revealing his bone-weary exhaustion. Galen Dubell spoke so freely it made suspicion difficult, even for someone in whom suspicion was a deeply ingrained habit. And how many times does a man have to swear undying loyalty before you have to give him the benefit of the doubt? Thomas thought. At least until events prove otherwise.

The couple in the court below had moved somewhere out of sight. Dubell asked, “Has anything been heard of Grandier?”

“No, not so far. He’s not going to be so easy to find again. You haven’t remembered anything else you heard that might hint of his plans?” Thomas asked without much hope. They had gone over all this exhaustively last night on the way back to the palace.

“No, I saw and heard very little of anyone.” Dubell spread his hands. “A thing to be glad of, since I expect that is why they allowed me to live.”

“I don’t know. This is a very complex game he’s playing.”

Dubell nodded. “So it is,” he agreed. “So it is.”

*

With winter on the way, the days were growing shorter, but as night dropped over the city on this particular day, Thomas felt he had done a great deal and gotten absolutely no results for any of it. As he leaned on the balustrade of the Queen’s loggia and repeated to his young lieutenant Gideon the last message from the King’s Watch commander, he was even more convinced of it.

One of the roofed terrace’s walls was open to the night and to a view of the park and the river canal where it ran for a time within the towering bulk of the palace’s outer curtain wall. Paintings on oiled silk hung from the edge of the roof, rippling slightly in the sharp coolness of the evening breeze.

“They’ve lost Grandier’s trail completely,” Thomas told Gideon. Both were dressed in dark brocades for court, with lace at collars and cuffs and overlapping their top boots. Thomas wore Ravenna’s signature color of red in the ribbons on his sleeves and his sword knot. “Which isn’t surprising at this point. He was here secretly long enough to establish that house; he could have bolt holes all over the city by now.”

“That’s not very encouraging,” the lieutenant said with a rueful expression. One of Gideon’s duties was the command of the group of Queen’s guards that formed Queen Falaise’s escort, and he had been attending to her most of the day instead of participating in the more exciting search for Grandier.

“That’s an understatement.” Thomas watched the breeze ripple the surface of the canal. Gideon had been Falaise’s lover for the past month, and he wondered if the younger man realized that he knew it. Thomas hoped it didn’t become awkward. I’ve known him since he was a boy, he thought. I’d hate to have to kill him. Muted music and laughter drifted up the graceful staircase to the loggia. The open doors in the archway below led into the entrance hall of the Grand Gallery where the night’s entertainment for the court was being staged. Thomas said, “Grandier’s playing with us. I think he wanted us to find him the first time, and the question of why isn’t an easy one.” He shook his head. “I’ll have to talk to the King’s Watch commander again tonight.”

“Yes. Well, there’s one other thing.” Gideon lowered his voice. “My lady Falaise wants to see you. I know what you’ve said about that, Captain, and I have put her off, but…”

“I’ll take care of it.” You’d think the woman didn’t have any sense of self-preservation, he thought. Thomas was trying to avoid giving Queen Falaise an opportunity to make him any offers he would be honor-bound to tell her motherin-law Ravenna about. “Who is she with at the moment?”

“Aristofan, he calls himself.” Gideon grinned. “His real name is Semuel Porter.”

“Which one is he?”

“The pimply one.”

Thomas sighed. “They’re all pimply, Gideon.”

“The pimply one with the red hair.” He hesitated. “Braun’s coming this way.”

Thomas glanced around. Dr. Braun, dressed for court in a black velvet scholar’s gown, was gesturing erratically at them from the landing below the loggia. “He seems to have something on his mind,” Thomas said.

Gideon looked down at the young sorcerer with thinly veiled contempt. “He nearly got Gaspard killed fumbling around with the wards at that wizard-house.”

“Then perhaps it will offset all the times that Gaspard has nearly gotten himself killed,” Thomas said, his voice dry. “Go on back to Falaise. See if you can tactfully encourage her to show up for court.”

“Sir.” Gideon saluted and headed for the stairway leading to the upper levels and Thomas went down to meet Dr. Braun.

“I have something I need to discuss with you,” the sorcerer said hurriedly as Thomas reached him.

Dr. Braun was worried, and his normal hangdog expression had given way to a look of frightened intelligence. Thomas found himself asking seriously, “What is it?”

“Captain!” The voice hailed him from the arched entrance to the Grand Gallery.

Hell, it’s Denzil, Thomas thought. He told Braun, “If it can’t wait, tell me quickly.”

Braun hesitated, his nervous eyes on the approaching Denzil. “It can wait,” he said. “I’ll come to the Grand Gallery later.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” The young man began to sidle uneasily away.

“Very well.”

Braun nodded and all but bolted out of the entrance hall.

Thomas went to join Denzil.

The Duke of Alsene’s father had been a wastrel and little better than a border bandit who managed to lose most of the family properties by the time of his death. Denzil had inherited the Duchy of Alsene at age eight, surrounded by a large family of grasping and impoverished noble relatives. Seven years later when he had come to court and captured Roland’s favor, all those properties had been restored, and he had been made generous gifts of land, court offices, and the incomes that came with them. Now he had his own cadre of debauched and worthless young nobles, and he encouraged them to plot and spread rumors and otherwise annoy Ravenna, even though two of his foolish friends had gone too far, and died for it on the Traitor’s Block outside the city. Ravenna was continually balked by his influence over Roland, and if Denzil’s family had deliberately trained him for the part he played now, they couldn’t have done better.

“I’ve heard some unpleasant rumors about the crown’s intentions toward my manor at Bel Garde, Captain,” Denzil said, adjusting the set of his gloves and deliberately not looking at Thomas. The King’s cousin was the mirror of the perfect courtier. His blond hair was curled to perfection, his beard perfectly trimmed, his handsome features unscarred by the ravages of battle, work, or time, his amber doublet trimmed with aglets and his gold-embroidered breeches the height of fashion. That might be part of the attraction Denzil had for Roland; the King had always been an awkward boy. “Perhaps you can put me right on it.”

“I would be happy to put you right, my lord,” Thomas said easily.

At that the Duke’s eyes lifted to meet his, cold blue and opaque, and very much at odds with the pettiness he was affecting. After a moment he smiled ingenuously. “I’ve heard that a cavalry officer thinks my manor there is some sort of threat.”

That was enough to tell Thomas that Denzil already knew all and was only trying to bait him. Bel Garde was built around a fortified tower overlooking the city. In the last century it had withstood a two-year siege and it would make an ideal staging area for an attack on the city wall. That Denzil should be owner of such a valuable and potentially dangerous property was a sore point with the older nobility and particularly Ravenna. Thomas silently damned whoever had let slip their plans to the young Duke and said, “It isn’t a manor, Sir. It’s a fortress, and in violation of the edict against private fortifications.” The