Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Page 7

  ‘It surely wasn’t your fault,’ she said. ‘But what wasn’t your fault?’

  ‘I’m sure Lord Calderon doesn’t want to hear about it.’

  ‘Nonsense, my lad,’ Lord Calderon put in quickly, choosing to ignore the horror plastered on Steven’s face. ‘If the Knight of Angels has had another adventure, I for one would love to hear about it.’

  Katarina smiled sweetly as Steven squirmed. ‘As would I. Do tell.’

  ‘Someone barged into me on the way to the inn,’ Steven began slowly, his cheeks already colouring. ‘I guess my temper got the better of me, and before I knew it I’d agreed to a duel.’

  ‘A duel?’ Lord Calderon clapped his hands. ‘How marvellous! Did you vanquish the church’s enemies in the shadow of an angel’s wings?’

  ‘Um, not exactly.’

  Katarina suppressed a grin as Lord Calderon visibly deflated, a master manipulator at work, his infectious enthusiasm goading Steven on.

  ‘We met at sundown,’ Steven continued, ‘and we fought in the dark.’ He shook his head, and Katarina hoped he was ruing his stupidity. But perhaps not, she conceded.

  ‘Perhaps I should have thought it strange. He wore the same cloak as I had seen earlier, hood up and covering his face. Fast though,’ he muttered, ‘so damned fast.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Lord Calderon pressed, leaning forward on his elbows now in a most undignified manner.

  ‘The hood slipped back, and I saw his face.’ Steven shook his head. ‘It was a woman, dressed as a man.’

  ‘Ah.’ Calderon leaned back. ‘Suranna dol Carasiddio.’

  ‘You know her?’

  Calderon shrugged. ‘Not personally, but she is well known within the city. For a year now she has been challenging young nobles to duels. I suppose this was to be expected: resorting to deception when none would accept her challenge.’ Calderon smoothed his shirt and smiled. ‘You defeated her, of course?’

  Steven blushed, and Katarina knew the answer before he spoke.

  ‘I was so surprised when her hood fell back I froze for a second,’ Steven said, cheeks turning a most amusing shade of purple. ‘She struck in that moment, nicked my cheek.’

  Lord Calderon was quiet a moment. ‘It might be best not to mention your defeat,’ he said at last. ‘With the legend building of your deeds in Norve, losing a duel to a woman would do you no favours – certainly not in Meracia.’

  A simple, stupid duel of honour, and the wound on his cheek might well make a scar – perhaps even a dashing one – but that didn’t explain the general disarray of Steven’s clothes, nor the twin rents in his shirt. Katarina sighed. ‘But that wasn’t the end of it, was it?’

  ‘No.’ Steven looked up, his eyes boring into Katarina. ‘Three lordlings turned up, and took exception to the duel.’

  Katarina winced at Steven’s language, but Lord Calderon didn’t seem to take the slight to the nobility personally. But then who can tell what a Meracian noble really thinks? Her father claimed their plots and machinations were so complicated that most of the time they probably didn’t even know what they were thinking themselves.

  ‘They insisted on teaching the girl a lesson,’ Steven said. ‘They decided to cut her up and ruin her face.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe they’d have killed her.’

  Katarina sighed. One day without him doing something stupid, is that so much to ask? ‘What did you do?’

  ‘There were three of them,’ he said, anger creeping into his voice. ‘Seemed unfair so I stood with her.’

  ‘If the young men were angry enough to teach the girl a lesson,’ Calderon said, ‘your intervention would not dissuade them. What happened?’

  Steven shrugged. ‘We fought. They died.’

  The room fell silent.

  *

  They were quiet as Lord Calderon’s staff entered and began serving the evening meal. When they had departed, Lord Calderon asked about the dead.

  ‘Do you know their names?’

  ‘Vemarrien,’ Steven said slowly. ‘That was one. Seltar, I think, was the second.’

  ‘Selatare,’ Lord Calderon corrected. ‘I know of his family. And the third?’

  ‘The leader,’ Steven said, ‘his name I remember: Domasor Drayken.’

  ‘And you killed all of them?’

  Steven blushed. ‘Two.’

  ‘Which two?’ Calderon was gripping his cutlery tight, and Katarina wondered what the lord wasn’t telling them.

  ‘Vemarrien, I think – the redhead?’ Calderon confirmed it with a nod. ‘And Drayken, too,’ Steven added.

  But there was something in his voice that made Katarina look up sharply. It’s not the full story, she realised. There’s more he isn’t saying. She switched her attention to Lord Calderon. His expression didn’t waver, but he carefully laid down his cutlery and began tapping his bottom lip.

  ‘You know of their families?’ Katarina asked.

  ‘The first two are from minor families, low in influence and power. The Drayken family, though,’ Calderon’s head twitched in a shake, ‘you have made a powerful enemy there.’

  Steven grunted. ‘Shouldn’t have started what he couldn’t finish,’ he said.

  Katarina winced, but Calderon offered a hesitant smile. ‘I suppose not,’ he said, ‘but I suspect his father may not share your view on the death of his only son.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Katarina added, ‘he might think his son’s death entirely your fault.’ She locked gazes with Steven. ‘When he learns the truth of what transpired he might even wonder why a knight of such great renown let himself get drawn into a duel with a poorly disguised woman.’

  ‘Well, there is nothing to be done, I suppose,’ Lord Calderon said, before Steven could embarrass Katarina further. ‘I am sure he will soon learn of what happened from the City Watch.’ Calderon picked up his cutlery and started delicately slicing a veal chop. ‘I am surprised they let you go on your word alone, even with the girl to verify what happened.’

  A fairly smooth deception, Katarina thought, asking a question without really asking it. And Steven, of course, answered, oblivious to how the puppet master pulled his strings.

  ‘A passing knight witnessed the fight,’ he said. ‘He confirmed what happened.’ He glanced at Katarina. ‘A dubious looking fellow,’ he said. ‘I could half-imagine him sporting around a castle in a lady’s cloak, thinking himself on some great adventure.’

  Kartane.

  ‘A knight with imagination – now there’s a rare thing!’ Lord Calderon boomed, slapping the table as he burst into laughter. ‘A fighter and a thinker, good qualities for a knight who represents the angels, I should imagine.’ Calderon chuckled again. ‘One should not, I would hazard, disparage a witness too greatly if that witness spares them the jail,’ he continued with a tone of mild reproach.

  What was Kartane doing there? Katarina wondered. He was supposed to be going to the Spur along with the rest of the Reve. And there are few enough ships with the Reve’s pennant still in harbour, so why is he still here? And—

  ‘It was fortuitous indeed that a knight happened by,’ Lord Calderon continued, ‘in such a remote part of the city. There is nothing but the wall beyond the duelling ground. The luck of angels seems to be with you, Sir Tol.’

  —why was he in that part of the city?

  Steven shrugged. ‘Maybe he had heard about the duel.’

  Or perhaps, Katarina thought, he was following you. And that was troubling indeed. She knew enough of Kartane’s deeds to know that anyone he took an interest rarely lived very long. The knight had hunted people across the frozen north in his younger days, and he always, always caught them. But is his appearance the work of the Reve, or some agenda of his own? Either way, Steven was looking to have a short, and probably bloody future. If that lord doesn’t get him, then the demons’ agents will. And if they don’t kill him, a knight of his own order might. She looked across at him, tucking into his veal with feral abandon, seemingly without a care in the world. A
nd the fool doesn’t even know the danger he is in.

  10.

  Lately, it seemed that dinners were always an awkward situation. Tol had suffered the baleful glares of Katarina throughout the meal, her tiny head directly opposite him, perching half a foot above the table’s edge like a child seated at the grown-ups’ table for the first time. Lord Calderon seemed nice enough, but even he had been less than impressed with Tol’s latest disastrous adventure. At least, though, he hadn’t glowered at him like a scolded child convinced of their innocence. A fine meal of rich food had lessened the hurt, but Tol couldn’t shake the feeling that events were spiralling out of control. Dinner with Katarina’s family had been unpleasant, and before that there had been cold meals next to an unfeeling angel. It seemed a long time ago, but tonight’s discomfort had reminded Tol of his earlier dining perils. Maybe I shouldn’t accept dinner invitations, he thought as Lord Calderon led them from the dining room to a small study at the rear of the mansion, Katarina bristling like a feral dog at his side. Whatever I do, she will think me a fool.

  ‘Please,’ Lord Calderon said with an expansive sweep of his hand, ‘make yourselves comfortable. Briggan will be here shortly with refreshments.’

  Calderon crossed the little room, flopping elegantly down into a green leather chair beside the small fire in the rear wall. Katarina ghosted across to the chair’s twin on the other side of the fire, and Tol reluctantly made his way across the overlapping rugs to a third chair that faced the fire, the three seats forming the points of a perfect triangle.

  ‘An uneventful journey, I trust?’ Lord Calderon said, turning to face Katarina.

  ‘We survived,’ Katarina replied, the fire’s long shadows making her look more intractable than usual. ‘A voyage that ends at dry land is as much as I ask for.’

  Calderon chuckled. ‘Not a lover of the sea?’

  ‘Short journeys,’ Katarina admitted, ‘but I get uneasy once I can no longer see the land.’ She shrugged. ‘It continually amuses my father: he raised a daughter on the coast only to find she mislikes sailing.’

  ‘And how is the duke? Well, I trust?’

  Tol turned at a faint knock outside, the butler entering a moment later with a tray laden with brandy, sweetcakes, and three glasses.

  ‘He seemed so when I left,’ Katarina said as the butler crossed the room and deposited the tray on a knee-high table at the triangle’s centre, ‘but who can tell? He asked me to convey his warmest regards to you.’ The butler dutifully swaggered back towards the door, and Tol noticed Katarina watching him thoughtfully. ‘My father thinks very highly of you,’ she told Lord Calderon. The door snicked shut. ‘You have been a good friend to our people.’

  Calderon shrugged it off with a deprecating sweep of his hand. ‘A few snippets of information, and the occasional deed in the dark? A small price for the hand of your father’s cousin.’ The duke leaned forward and filled each of the glasses from the decanter, passing one to Katarina and another to Tol.

  ‘I am curious, however, what business of Sudalra brings you here, my lady,’ Calderon said, offering the plate of cakes to Katarina and Tol in turn. ‘Especially as your sister is already within High Mera’s walls.’

  ‘You have seen her?’ Katarina asked.

  Tol noticed Katarina didn’t seem surprised. She already knew, he realised.

  Calderon shook his head. ‘No, though I hear she has found an admirer in Prince Julien.’ He said no more, waiting. As the silence stretched, Tol began to feel uncomfortable, shifting in the creaking leather seat as the smoke tickled his nostrils.

  ‘Yes,’ Katarina said, ‘I can see how that might appear; the duke’s daughters arriving in the same city.’ She took a bite out of a cake, and somehow not so much as a crumb went astray. ‘There is no cause for alarm, let me reassure you. I do not know what has brought Victoria to Meracia, but for myself it is a simple errand for the family.’ She smiled. ‘And how could I refuse an opportunity to visit such a beautiful city and see my aunt and uncle?’

  ‘Whatever the reason for your visit, I am pleased to see you. But what of your young knight?’ Calderon finally turned his attention to Tol. About time, Tol thought. I was starting to wonder if they even remembered I’m here.

  ‘Most of the Reve have already sailed,’ Calderon said. ‘I would have thought you would be on your way east to join them upon the Spur.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘You know, inspire the troops and such.’

  Tol grimaced as Katarina’s face darkened. She’s not going to forget that in a hurry. Maybe I should have told her I’m a knight now. ‘Soon,’ he said, ‘but first there’s something I have to do here.’

  ‘Ah. So not just passing through? An errand for your angel, perhaps?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he muttered.

  ‘The angel believes that the Meracian army is ill-prepared for the coming war,’ Katarina said, snatching the conversation by the throat. ‘Apparently, Meracian forces are too spread-out, and as things stand there will not be enough men on the Spur to stand against the Gurdal.’

  Lord Calderon digested this, slowly swirling the brandy around his glass and peering into it as though it might hold the answer. ‘There has been resistance to the army’s deployment,’ he said. ‘More than I would expect, but with the king demanding men, materials, and gold from his lords there would always be some who resisted the call.’ He nodded, as though convincing himself. ‘They may leave it late, but the lords will rally behind the king and his army, of this I am sure.’

  ‘Do you know where the Gurdal are?’

  Calderon favoured Tol with a supercilious smile. ‘Somewhere in the desert, I should imagine.’

  ‘They can see the whole world from up there on Ammerlac.’ Tol raised a finger skyward. ‘And an angel is saying that the Gurdal are already nearly at Shade. She is also saying that they are many, a vast horde that can be seen even from that great height.’ He dropped the glass loudly on the tiny table. ‘If the lords don’t send their men in the next few days they’ll arrive too late. The lords will realise,’ he growled, ‘when they see the fires getting closer as the Gurdal burn their way across your homeland.’

  Lord Calderon retreated back into his chair, scarlet cheeks paling. ‘Is this true?’ he asked Katarina, his voice barely a whisper.

  Her eyes darted towards Tol, and for a moment he thought she might deny it.

  ‘I believe so,’ she said finally.

  The fire crackled, and Calderon’s head bobbed slowly up and down, puffy cheeks wobbling. ‘I thought we had more time.’

  Tol snorted, but held his tongue at a sharp stare from Katarina. ‘It seems not,’ she told Lord Calderon. ‘The war is upon us.’

  ‘And Sudalra? Will your nation’s troops stand with us?’

  ‘It is not our war.’

  Calderon sighed heavily. ‘Then Meracia stands alone.’

  ‘Hardly alone,’ Tol snapped, finally losing patience. ‘The whole Reve is massing, and devout lords and their men from Norve, Havak, and Vrond will come – maybe others, too. The only people not taking the advance of the Gurdal army seriously are your own.’

  ‘Enough!’ Katarina snapped.

  ‘No,’ Lord Calderon said, left arm flapping in front of her to still further conversation. ‘The knight is correct, and with such dire news it is best the message kept plain, its meaning clear.’ Calderon drained the rest of his brandy, staring into the pale smear remaining. ‘You have seen an angel,’ he said to Katarina. ‘Surely Sudalra will come to our aid? You know they are not a myth.’

  ‘No,’ Katarina repeated gently. ‘My people do not believe in those creatures and their religion. It is not the same as denying their existence; we simply do not concern ourselves with them and those who follow your church’s teachings. There will be no aid from Sudalra.’

  Calderon reached for the decanter, his hand shaking slightly. He exhaled slowly. ‘Then it falls to us to motivate the lords.’ He refilled his own glass and topped up Tol’s and Kata
rina’s, his face now more relaxed. ‘That is why your young friend has come, is it not?’ he asked Katarina, Tol once again forgotten. ‘The angel sent her knight here.’

  Katarina leaned forward, covering the gap between the chairs, her body a shapely silhouette in front of the fire’s bright warmth. Tol swallowed as the shadows snuggling to her cleavage deepened and a delicate hand reached out to rest on Lord Calderon’s knee.

  ‘It is not too late,’ she said, her voice a tantalising whisper. I wish I was that knee, Tol thought. Even if it is covered in frilled fabric. Katarina patted the blessed knee. ‘There is still time.’

  Lord Calderon gathered himself, eyes flicking to Katarina as he smiled briefly, some colour returning to his cheeks. The eyes swung to Tol. ‘That is why you are here,’ Calderon said. ‘A last gamble.’

  Tol opened his mouth, but Katarina spoke first, ‘Perhaps if the lords opposing the army’s march are made to understand the full extent of their actions then they could see the necessity behind the war.’

  Not quite what I had in mind, Tol thought, but he decided to keep his plan to himself for a while.

  Calderon was quiet for several seconds, his mind churning through possibilities as he caressed his brandy. ‘It may not be that simple,’ he said, his tone ponderous. ‘With the king’s demands for coin and supplies, there are many lords who are beginning to think that the war effort is no more than a pretext to fatten the king’s coffers.’ He shook his head. ‘Even the king’s youngest son, Prince Julien, speaks out against the war preparations.’

  ‘Preparations?’ Tol lowered his voice. ‘The time for preparations is over, man. The war is on your doorstep, and if the Gurdal aren’t stopped you can kiss this city goodbye.’

  Katarina’s hand cut a sharp horizontal path, and Tol scowled, but leaned back in his chair and tried to rein his anger in. They are nearly across the desert, nearly at the Spur and the Desolate Cities. There’s no time for half-measures, no time for preparations. He bit his tongue, distracting himself with brandy while Katarina spoke.