Revenge (9 page)

‘Light, Lorys! And you believe all this?’ Alyssa exclaimed, feeling her stomach clench as she recognised the intrusion of Lys once more into their lives.

‘I believe that you and I are meant to be together. I believe that Nyria continued unto death the fine and noble character she possessed in life; she has blessed
our union and I will love her more than ever for that generosity. I believe that Gyl should be groomed for Prime for many reasons and I believe that our army should prepare itself for less peaceful times. Old man Merkhud used to warn me of it but I never really paid enough attention to our defence. We have never been at war during my reign. The modern Tallinese know only peace and prosperity. But Merkhud was a strange, all-knowing old fellow and this dream of Nyria’s…this warning—well, I have never taken any other of her suggestions lightly so this too will be heeded. Now, tell me you love me too, Alyssa. Tell me I am not imagining it.’ His words were tumbling upon each other as he searched her face for his answer.

Alyssa paused, forcing herself to think. But she was too far into her love for him.

‘I have tried not to, my lord. All I wanted was to hate you. But I have failed. I adore you, Lorys. I want you with all my heart, although I feel like a traitor to Nyria.’

His eyes looked misty. ‘Be my Queen. Stand beside me and rule.’

Alyssa took a deep breath; she saw Tor’s face and bade it farewell as she said the words the King ached to hear. ‘I shall be your Queen, my lord, and I will love you for ever.’

He reached for her and pulled her close. They kissed, long and sweetly. All sense of time fled; all sense of the palace around them disappeared. They were one. Their love was sealed.

When they parted, she settled her head against his chest. The sensation of his skin against her cheek made her feel like she was floating. She never wanted this euphoria to end. Then she remembered the archalyt. She sat upright, startled.

‘What is it?’ Lorys asked, stroking the hair he had longed to touch for so many years.

‘I am still Untouchable. I am not permitted to have a lover, let alone take a husband, even though he may be King. You have had people murdered for less, my lord.’

‘Nyria thought of everything, my love. She has been lobbying me for years about the status of Untouchables. I was forced to admit to her that since we disbanded the Inquisitors, the Tallinese people have been much happier. I realised we have been clinging to an ancient law which, in its time, was set for the good of all, but Goth and his band had turned it into a means of persecuting anyone they saw fit.

‘As for the Untouchables, it is much the same thing. We have promoted the fear that every sentient woman will give birth to a demon who will destroy us. It is an archaic belief. Legend has it that centuries ago a madman, a sentient, nearly destroyed the Land. But I think we are all wiser now and we must grow and go forward, not cling to the past and its myths.’

Alyssa welcomed Lorys’s words, but nevertheless felt chilled at his reference to Orlac, whom, she knew from Nanak’s writings, would return one day. He was no legend. He did intend to destroy Tallinor. But she did not want to think on that now.

‘So, what is your plan for the Academie and the Untouchables?’

‘Well, the Academie is very important. It must continue its work and will remain as a haven for young women. However, they will not run there because of persecution. They will choose to enrol there because they are gifted and can contribute something special to our Kingdom.’

‘And the archalyt?’

‘It will no longer be necessary. I realise that those of you who are already marked will never be able to remove it, but no sentient woman will ever be marked in this way again. And those who do carry the mark will be free to live normal lives. We owe you a debt.’

‘Oh, Lorys!’ Alyssa hugged him. ‘This is what your reign will be remembered for. You are releasing those who have been enslaved for too long.’

He was enjoying her praise. ‘And as for their status, the Untouchables will be permitted to take husbands, although we will still keep a register of their children. Old habits die hard.’

‘I am so proud of you. Breaking down these barriers will make you sovereign of an even stronger Kingdom. Embrace the gifted and encourage their talents and it will repay itself, Lorys, I know it.’

They kissed again, more deeply this time, neither wanting to part from the other’s lips.

When they finally did part, Alyssa realised she was exhausted. She yawned. ‘I must go.’

‘Can’t you stay?’

‘No,’ she said grinning. ‘Not until we are married.’

‘Meet me for a kiss at breakfast time then.’

‘Do you feel guilt over this?’ she asked, pulling away from his embrace.

‘I have suffered guilt for years over my feelings for you, but I have never stopped loving Nyria even though I love you so much. No, Nyria has blessed us in this letter; she wanted us to be together after her death and so I feel only joy in this, and relief that I knew her and that she was my Queen for as long as she was.’

Alyssa realised he was right, but she made him promise not to make their love public until a suitable mourning period had passed. Lorys agreed.

‘That means no holding of hands or looking at me dewy-eyed, Lorys. We still have to work together as King and secretary for a few moons yet.’ She wagged her finger at him.

‘I promise,’ he said, touching his heart. Her spot.

‘Before I go, please tell me what you know of Gyl—I beg you.’

Lorys looked deeply into her eyes and felt safe. With Alyssa, soon to be his Queen, no secrets were necessary.

‘He is my son. He is the heir to Tallinor.’

When Tor arrived at Caradoon neither Goth and Xantia nor Janus Quist were still in town. He found lodgings at a run-down inn. His stuffy room was dirty and contained nothing more than a pallet and rough sheets still unchanged from the previous guest. Still, it gave him the anonymity he needed. He had entered town wearing a glamour to avoid being recognised, but having established that Goth had seemingly fled, he was able to rid himself of the disguise. No one knew of Goth’s whereabouts; or if they did, they certainly were not telling a stranger.

So be it. Goth was no longer his first priority; that enemy would have to wait. Tor hoped that Saxon had returned immediately to Tal to ensure Alyssa’s safety. He could count on Saxon. For now, Cloot had to be found. Tor needed to track down Janus Quist and he knew he would have to be very careful in how he
approached his questioning. The Caradoons were suspicious by nature, mistrustful of everyone; they trusted southerners even less, particularly those from the capital.

Tor decided that although the best and perhaps quickest source of information would be the docks, his chances would probably be better in the local whorehouse. Grease a few palms, ply a few drinks, play up to a woman’s charms and who knew what could be learned.

Quist was certainly not a good-looking man but there was a dignity about him. The mere fact that he had showed his face was testimony to a sense of fairness, not to mention sparing Saxon’s life. Yes, Quist definitely had a certain charisma, a powerful one. And where there was power, there were women. Tor had no doubt that Quist would avail himself of the ladies of the town each time he returned from a prosperous journey and so he made his way to the brothel.

Falcons could not be Quist’s only trade, Tor reasoned, as he sat watching the comings and goings at the brothel. Quist had admitted as much when he had commented how much Cloot alone would fetch. He recalled what Cloot had told him about the trade through Caradoon: he had mentioned slaves. Human treasure must fetch a heady price so perhaps that was Quist’s stock in trade. He had all the arrogance of a successful man. Tor knew he would have to tread carefully.

As he strolled towards the brothel entrance, he wondered what sort of a man would be accepted
more readily. A confident one for sure. Any sign of weakness would be pounced on. He knew he was imposing enough in stature, with looks to turn heads, but that was not sufficient. A handsome man won initial interest, but he needed more than that. As he considered this, pausing on the porch, he remembered something Yargo had said to him once. ‘You are a most mysterious person, Tor.’

That was it: mystery. Nothing piques a woman’s imagination more than a man who is shrouded. Who had told him this? The most mysterious man he had known in his life so far: Prime Cyrus. Now there was a man whom women fawned over yet they knew so little about him.

‘Women are the most curious creatures. The more you hide, the more determined they become to know your secrets. Keep your secrets and you keep the woman.’

Tor smiled to himself as he recalled the Prime’s words of wisdom. He pushed open the door and stepped into a surprisingly well kept interior. Considering this was reputedly a town of lowlifes, the last bastion of humanity before the Kingdom stretched into a rocky wilderness, their brothel was better cared for than most. A trio of songsters entertained guests with excellent music, men chatted casually to one another at the bar, pretty women plied their trade and there was an air of brisk business being done. It made Tor think of Miss Vylet’s, which was the best run brothel he had ever encountered.

His welcome at the bar was a little frosty initially. He ordered a sorvino: a cloudy yellow liquor which was expensive but smooth on the way down and the quickest way to warm the insides on a chilly evening. He was not especially partial to it—since living in Tal he had become something of a wine connoisseur, favouring the finest drops from the south—however, his choice was double edged: sorvino was made in the north and its expense marked him as a man of means.

Only women served, even behind the bar, which was refreshing. After his third nip of the sorvino, he felt the serving woman’s attitude towards him thaw. She even winked as she took his coin. ‘What’s a good-looking stranger like you doing in these parts?’

‘Oh, just wandering,’ he said.

‘Caradoon is not a place to wander,’ she warned, still smiling.

‘I like it here. It makes me feel,’ he looked away as if trying to choose just the right word, ‘anonymous.’

‘Oh?’ She arched her eyebrows with amusement. ‘Then you’ve certainly come to the right place.’

‘I think so,’ he said, sliding onto a stool with his back to the wall so he could look around.

‘And do you have a name? You know we don’t like strangers here.’

He said the first name which came to mind, ‘Petersyn,’ then raised his glass. ‘To anonymity,’ he said.

She smiled her acknowledgement and moved on to serve another customer.

Tor realised the place was quite crowded now that he had the leisure to observe. He guessed there must
be a dress requirement. All the men looked decidedly tidy for pirates, thieves, cut-throats, murderers and slavers. Whoever owned this place must run it with a firm hand, he decided. Certainly all the ladies were dressed exceptionally well—just as Miss Vylet’s girls had been.

A delectable creature strolled up and leaned over him to put some cups down on the bar. The movement showed off her breasts at their best. He grinned inwardly; an old trick but effective, he had to admit.

‘Good evening, sir,’ she said politely, ‘forgive me for reaching past you.’

‘Nothing to forgive. I enjoyed it.’

‘Can I do anything for you, sir?’

‘You can fetch me a plate of food…whatever’s going.’

‘Everything we cook here is excellent, Mr, er…?’

‘Petersyn,’ Tor replied.

‘Fish, roasted meat, a superb jugged hare?’ she enquired.

‘The fish would be most enjoyable, er…?’

‘Celya is my name. If you fancy anything else, please ask for me. I can assure you, Mr Petersyn, I am far more enjoyable than the fish,’ she flirted, before disappearing into the back of the room, where he presumed the kitchens must be.

Tor took a deep breath. She was lovely and quick-witted. The woman behind the bar came back to offer a top up of his sorvino.

‘Who is the proprietor here, may I enquire?’

‘Madame Eryna, sir,’ the girl responded and she cast a glance towards a small flight of stairs that led to a landing overlooking the main room.

Tor followed her gaze and saw a beautiful woman who cut a striking figure in a deep sea-green gown. She stood with poise and surveyed her brothel with a practised eye. Tor marvelled at how like Miss Vylet this woman was; not in looks but certainly in the way she carried herself.

Her red hair was a shock of colour against pale skin and contrasted magnificently with her green satin gown. She was a beauty all right…and young. Tor could tell her youth even at this distance; she wore heavy make-up—perhaps to make herself appear older—and yet her own loveliness still shone through.

As if she sensed him watching her, she suddenly turned and fixed a clear gaze on him. She gestured to one of her girls, who made her way up the stairs. They spoke quietly and the girl looked over at Tor and nodded. Madame turned her gaze towards him again and dipped her head in acknowledgement. He raised his glass to her.

This was obviously the woman he needed to speak with, but how?

As his meal arrived, so did the girl from the stairs. ‘My apologies to interrupt you, sir,’ she said gently, ‘but Madame Eryna wishes to meet with you this evening.’

‘How lovely. I would be delighted,’ Tor said, marvelling at this luck. ‘However, I wish to eat first.’

‘But, sir, I’m wondering if we could provide you with a fresh plate after your talk with Madame.’

‘And you are…?’ he said, looking directly into her eyes.

‘Aymee, sir, at your service.’

‘Well, Aymee, I am hungry for food rather than conversation at this moment. If Madame Eryna wishes to meet with me, it will be my pleasure after I have taken my supper. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he said, beginning to eat. Raising a hope for Cyrus’s creed, he counted on his attitude intriguing the madam, even if it also irritated her.

The girl was flummoxed. She stammered another apology and departed. He felt sorry for her and hoped the proprietor would not take her annoyance out on her. If he got the information he needed, then he would buy Aymee for the night. At the very least, it meant she would sleep in a comfortable bed. When he looked back at the landing, the statuesque figure was no longer there. He hoped he had not missed his chance.

Finishing his fish, which was, as Celya had promised, delicious, he settled back with a mug of ale, this time to await Madame Eryna. Several women approached him during the course of the evening which stretched into night. He turned down their advances, always politely, always offering them a drink and always hoping for some titbit of information which might lead him to Janus Quist. He achieved nothing and one girl even became suspicious and left without finishing her drink. Things were not
going at all well and just as he began to curse his luck, Aymee reappeared.

‘Madame Eryna asks whether you are ready now to share a glass with her, Master Petersyn.’

‘I have been ready for hours, Aymee. Thank you. And perhaps later we can share some time?’ he offered.

She just smiled and gestured for him to follow. He was taken to a suite where a merry fire burned in the grate and the furniture was expensive, soft and inviting. He marvelled at a pair of superb tapestries which adorned the walls, their richness of colour and quality of work testifying that they had been crafted by the finest Ildagarthian artisans. This was not the chamber of a madam of a backwater brothel; this room belonged to someone with excellent taste and the experience of city life. Tor knew he was going to enjoy learning more about this woman. He made himself comfortable in an armchair and took the liberty of pouring himself a glass of wine from the exquisite carafe which sat on a table next to it.

Madame was not long in arriving, entering through a back door to the chamber. She took him by surprise. ‘Torkyn Gynt, how dare you make me wait!’

Tor nearly spilled the wine on his breeches as he jumped to his feet and circled around to clap eyes on a familiar face. Gone was the heavy make-up and crimson lips, the velvet gown had been cast away in favour of a soft and shimmery shift and her hair was no longer red and curly. It hung straight, dark and thick to her shoulders.

‘Well, say something,’ she said, hugely amused.

‘Eryn!’

She clapped her hands. ‘One and the same.’

‘Your…your hair,’ he said, feeling quite the fool.

‘A wig. I have many of them.’ She laughed, full throated, and walked across the room to take his hands. ‘No kiss for an old friend?’

Tor could not stop staring. It
was
Eryn. A few years older, yes, but still that sparkling, lovely girl he could have fallen in love with if not for Alyssa.

He laughed out loud with her. ‘What in Light’s name are you doing in this town?’

‘I own this brothel, Tor. You should be proud of me,’ she said, sounding a little disappointed, and moved to pour herself a glass of wine.

He snatched her hand back. ‘No, wait! You are utterly breathtaking and I am so proud of you I’m almost speechless.’

She beamed then, that familiar giggle surfacing. He bent and kissed her cheek. They looked long at each other and he kissed her again, properly this time.

‘I always hoped I’d taste your lips again, Tor.’

He hugged her hard. ‘I want to know everything,’ he pronounced, pulling her to a sofa. ‘Sit here and tell me of your life.’

‘Tor, I will tell you but first I have to know something.’ She hesitated.

‘Ask,’ he said, still grinning from the discovery of his old friend.

‘Why are you here and asking questions about Janus Quist?’

His grin faded. So word had spread quickly.

‘Because I have an interest to meet him.’

‘How do you know of him?’ she said, sitting down opposite in the armchair.

This was tricky. He could not tell the full truth. Who would believe that the last time he was at Caradoon he had been in the body of a falcon?

‘A friend of mine met him once and told me of him.’

‘I see. And your friend’s name is?’

‘Saxon. Saxon Fox.’

‘I don’t know him, Tor.’

‘Nor would you, Eryn. He is a Kloek. What is your interest in Quist?’

‘Well, he’s a regular. He’s also a local.’

‘Do you trust him more than me?’

She sipped her wine. ‘I did not say that. But I know Janus Quist. He does not like strangers…he likes them even less if they nose around in his business.’

Tor looked her directly in the eyes and sensed she was choosing her words with great care. It puzzled him.

‘All right, Eryn. Would it make any difference to you if I told you that he has stolen something which belongs to me?’

At this she laughed. ‘But, Tor, that’s his profession. He is a pirate. He thieves and trades.’

Tor was serious now. ‘That may be, but he took something which is exceptionally precious to me, something which I want returned.’

‘If you have not met Quist, Tor, how could you know it was he who took this special item of yours?’ she said, twirling her glass and not looking at him.

‘Saxon was looking after it at the time. The pirate clubbed him over the head and stole what was mine.’

Eryn looked very uncomfortable, he decided; gorgeous but uncomfortable. She pretended to sip again at her wine.

‘Could I replace this item for you? Would that help?’

Tor put his glass down and spoke softly. ‘It is irreplaceable.’

‘But, Tor,’ she said, sitting forward so she was almost touching him, ‘Janus would have sold whatever it is. He never hangs on to stolen goods for more than a day.’

‘Which is why I am in a hurry to see him…Eryn, what is your interest in this man? How do you know so much about him?’