Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Read online

  I know she doesn’t love Father; I’ve always known that. She wondered now if that was partly why she’d wanted true love so badly; in everything she had ever read, if you had true love, you were sheltered forever.

  Except that . . . now she knew that true love didn’t protect you from betrayal, if the person didn’t love you back. And how would you know he didn’t love you back if he feigned it as well as Brand had? The first you would know, was the moment you discovered that you had been betrayed.

  And her mother proved that formal contracts didn’t protect you from betrayal either. Nor did vows. What would?

  She looked back at her father. Her father, also in black, nodded encouragingly at her.

  Herald Nikolas cleared his throat and she brought her attention back to the dais, turning to look apprehensively at him. She knew what was coming; they’d told her exactly how this part of the inquest would go, but that still didn’t stop her from being afraid.

  “The King’s Own is about to set the Truth Spell on you, Lady Violetta,” he said, gravely. “Are you prepared?”

  She shivered again, but nodded, and caressed Star inside the muff. “Aye, Herald,” she whispered. It sounded very loud in the silence.

  “Keep your answers very short, no more than a few words. Just answer exactly what you are asked,” Lady Dia had told her, over and over. “No more. No less, but no more. If they want an explanation, they will ask for it. Trust me, girl. The less you say right now, the better.”

  She couldn’t tell any difference when Herald Amily signaled to the King that the spell had been set, but evidently everyone else could, because of the swift intake of breath across the room. Nothing felt different to her. Star didn’t stir or whimper, just nudged her hand with his nose. Nothing looked different to her. She relaxed just the tiniest bit. Perhaps this would not be so bad.

  “When did you first see Lord Brand?” the King asked.

  No, this was going to be bad. Tears welled up in her eyes. If only she had somehow known the kind of terrible person he was! If only she could go back in time, and make other choices!

  “The Royal Midwinter Fete, here, in the Palace, your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head to hide her expression and fight for control.

  “I tell you again, keep your answers short and simple, and try to keep from being too emotional,” Lady Dia had warned. “If they want more, they will ask more questions, and tears won’t do anything except to make it hard for you to answer.”

  “Did he pay any attention to you, ask you to dance, pay court to you?” was the next question. She looked up, a little. The King did not display any particular expression at all; he was sitting straight up in his throne, just looking at her dispassionately. Beside him, the Queen looked grave, but the Princess gave her a little nod, as if to encourage her.

  She shook her head. “No, Majesty,” she said, her voice going a little hoarse with unshed tears. “Not at that time. He danced with many ladies, but not with me. He did not even look at me.”

  Why didn’t I realize what he was, then? The only people he paid court to were the prettiest of the ladies. Anyone who wasn’t beautiful, he ignored. That should have told me what he was!

  “And what did you think of him?” asked the King.

  “I thought—I thought—he was glorious,” she whispered. “I thought—I thought I must be in love with him, just looking at him made me feel so strange, happy and giddy and as if I never wanted to be out of his presence. The passion was so sudden, so sweet—I thought it must be a lifebond. I could not think why I should feel this way, so suddenly, if it were not a lifebond.”

  The questions came, short, carefully phrased. They asked her about her letter, and she cried with humiliation, but told the truth; told how she had taken refuge in the library, used the palimpsest she had found there, and poured out her heart to him, then contrived a way to get it into his hands.

  She didn’t dare look at her parents through that. This was the first they would have heard of the letter. She wasn’t sure how the King had come to hear of it . . . unless Lady Dia had told him.

  Oh, silly goose, of course she did. She’d have to. This is a murder inquest. She would have told the King everything she knew.

  She just wished it hadn’t been that letter.

  And it isn’t as if Lady Dia didn’t warn me then. Oh, why was I so stupid?

  They asked her if he had answered it, and she shook her head. “No, Majesty,” she said. “I was . . . told . . . that he threw it in a fire.”

  They didn’t ask her who had told her that, which confirmed to her that it had either been Lady Dia or Lady Dia’s still-unidentified friend who had told them.

  The only thing that she could think was that, in light of everything else that had happened, and given what Brand had done, her letter was probably a very minor transgression at worst. She hoped, anyway.

  They asked her about the next meeting, at the House Chendlar fete . . .

  “He came with a band of masked young men,” she said. “And he actually looked for me, and sought me out.”

  “And what did he say?” the King persisted.

  “Very flattering and most loving things, that he loved me in return, and had since reading my letter, and that I would see him again,” she faltered.

  “And did you?” came the inevitable question.

  Here it comes. Here is where I ruin myself forever. “Aye, Majesty. I was looking out my window after the fete, and Brand appeared in the garden below my window and called to me.”

  She braced herself for the next questions, dreading what they would lead to—how he had climbed to her window. How she had let him into her room, and let him kiss and caress her. How she had let him into her bed.

  But those questions never came.

  “So, then, he appeared beneath your window,” the King repeated. “We will assume he said the usual lover-like things. Did he make you any promises?”

  She felt stunned. Because, so far as those listening were concerned, Brand had never left the garden. She had remained chastely in her room, and he on the snow below.

  “Aye, Majesty,” she stammered.

  The King asked her in detail about the promises Brand had made to her—but not where those promises had been given.

  “And did you believe him?” This time it was Herald Nikolas asking the question. She turned toward him.

  “Oh yes. I wanted to, so much, I think I would have believed him no matter what,” she sighed. Star nudged her hand again, and she caressed him. At least she still had Star.

  “Would you have believed him even if he’d had a reputation as a rake?” Nikolas persisted.

  “Aye,” she said mournfully. “But—he didn’t.”

  “That is true, Majesty,” the Prince put in. “Brand’s reputation was no worse than any other young man of the Court’s. It is true he was known to frequent certain—establishments—but he had no reputation for great debauchery. In my opinion, there is no reason why the lady should have doubted him when he made promises of love and marriage.”

  Gravely, the King thanked his son.

  And the questions moved on, past that point of terrible exposure. They asked her how she had felt when the Prince had decreed Brand should wed her older sister. They asked about Brand’s plan for the two of them to flee together and be married. Once again, they did not ask where or under what circumstances he had made those promises. She realized with a sense of shock that these questions were deliberately setting the impression that she and Brand had never really so much as touched—that all their contact and talking had been as he stood below her window, in the snow-covered garden.

  She could scarcely believe this. It seemed a miracle. How had they managed to avoid—

  And then, she looked up into the King’s eyes. He held her gaze for a very long time, then slowly, gravely, nodded.


  She felt herself going hot all over. He knew! He knew! Herald Amily must have told him!

  Well, of course she did. He is the King. And she is the King’s Own. She had to tell him everything.

  And yet . . . yet he was deliberately trying to keep her tattered reputation as safe as he could.

  In that moment . . . she decided that she would do anything for her King. Anything. He must have seen the sudden devotion in her eyes, because he smiled, very briefly, and very faintly, before going on with his questions.

  Finally, the King dismissed her, and she curtsied, and backed away, turning at the last moment to leave by the door she had come in. The page closed the door behind her, shutting her off from the sight of all those people, and every bit of energy that had sustained her drained out of her in a single moment.

  Lady Dia and her nurse were waiting there, much to her relief. Lady Dia took her muff and Star, and the nurse let her weep out her nerves and grief on her ample shoulder, patting her back and murmuring comfort. She could scarcely believe she had escaped disgrace so easily. . . .

  And yet . . . there was still the terrible betrayal. She would never forget those cruel words that Brand had spoken when compelled by the Truth Spell. She would have them scorched into her memory for the rest of her life.

  There was still the moment Brand had been killed before her very eyes, a sight that came between her and sleep any time she closed her eyes.

  There was still knowing how easily she had been led. I have escaped disgrace. But I can never escape what I know. I can never escape myself . . .

  “Come along, sweeting,” the nurse murmured. “Come and sit down. You’ve done all you need to do now.”

  She nodded, wearily, and let them take her off to another room, knowing that nothing was ever going to be the same ever again.

  —

  Amily was mortally glad to have the inquest over. Not that she was concerned about how it was going to go—Brand’s guilt was sealed. There was no question of it. Even Brand’s mother accepted it the moment that the thug Mags had captured identified Brand as the man who had hired him to burn the tent and everyone in it. It was confirmed when no less than two dozen apothecaries from within Haven and the Fair came forward to show records of Brand’s purchasing a very specific sleeping potion from them. Not even the most fervent believer would have doubted.

  No, the case was probably the most conclusive she had ever seen. She was just tired to death of all of this.

  “We find,” the King said, gravely, when Amily finished giving her own testimony, “That Brand Kaltar of the House Raeylen did willfully and with malice aforethought contrive to bring about the murders of all the members of Houses Chendlar and Raeylen excepting only himself and Lady Violetta. We find that the Lady Violetta is to be held blameless in this, and that she had no knowledge of his plot.” He bent his gaze to the Raeylen side of the Court.

  Lord Kaltar’s widow braced herself. It was entirely possible that the King could declare their lands and holdings forfeit, and she knew it.

  But Amily knew her King, and knew that was not what he had in mind.

  “We declare that the head of House Raeylen is to be Lady Porthia, widow of the late Lord Kaltar, on condition that she declare the feud between the two houses to be at an end for all time, and make an effort to negotiate marriages between the two houses. I do not say that you must accomplish these weddings, only that you at least try. How say you, my lady?”

  For a moment, Lady Porthia closed her eyes, as if she could hardly believe what she had heard. Then the lady stood up, dressed in deep mourning, her face full of grief. “I say that this foolishness has claimed enough blood, Majesty. And that when son turns against his own father . . .” She faltered for a moment. “When son turns against his own father, that hate has become a disease that must be cut out. If any man, woman, or child of this House attempts to foster this feud, I shall banish him to the Pelagirs and drive him there myself. And to foster ties between our houses is precisely the way to end this madness.”

  She sat down. The King nodded. “Well said, my lady.” He turned to the House Chendlar side. “And you, House Chendlar. I have some words for you. First, I command you to follow the same edicts regarding this feud. How say you?”

  Lord Leverance stood up. “I say aye.” He looked across the space between the two banks of seats to Lady Kaltar. “I say that I am deeply sorry that it came to this. I say that should the Lady Kaltar find herself in need of advice and not like what she finds in her own House, I will gladly send her my Steward, my Seneschal, or hire for her any other man—or woman—she is in need of.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I cannot imagine how terrible it must be to lose your spouse and your only child in the same moment, and know that the one conspired to slay the other. And . . . I say I wish that it had been true, what my poor, silly daughter dreamed. That she and Brand had been in love, and lifebonded, and were only fleeing to wed. I wish this feud had been drowned in love, and not blood.”

  He sat down abruptly, and with a look of surprise and shock on her face, his wife impulsively embraced him.

  Amily felt a shock of surprise, herself. Well . . . perhaps Cousin Talbot’s position in the House is not as secure as he had thought . . .

  The King nodded. “Then hear the rest of my edict. Your daughter Violetta has behaved poorly. She certainly did things she should not have done. She lied to you, her parents, by omission if not commission. She went behind your back to consort with a young man, and she is fortunate that she came to no harm from it. She was, in short, a besotted little fool.”

  Lord Leverance nodded. “You will hear no dissent from me on that score, Majesty. What would you have me do with her? Send her into the country? Send her to a Temple? Find her an older and wiser husband?”

  The King shook his head. “None of those. It may have been the promise of an older and wiser husband that sent her into the arms of a young and headstrong man in the first place. I do believe she needs a seasoned and practiced hand on her, someone who can give her experience of the world and common sense without indulging her. But I do not believe that sort of schooling will be found in the country, in a Temple, or at the hands of any man. It is my experience that overly romantic young people are best cured with an immersion into the work of the world.”

  Lord Leverance looked puzzled. “I shall do whatever you propose, Majesty, since I am at a loss as to a solution for what you suggest.”

  King Kyril nodded. “I do have a proposition. Lady Dia has offered to take her in fosterage, and I decree that she should remain here, in Haven, for a year. Lady Dia will take her on her works of charity, see to it that she has work to occupy her hands, and otherwise school her in the ways of the world. After that, we will see how she has matured.”

  Violetta’s parents bowed their acceptance of this. This had been Amily’s idea. Violetta was going to get exactly the sort of education Dia and Lydia had. She’d get lessons in practical matters, and in weapons-work as well. No more excessive daydreaming. . . .

  Not that she’s likely to be longing after that, now.

  But also, this would be getting her out from under the eye of her parents and older sisters, the former of whom might be inclined to indulge her even more after this, and the latter of whom would certainly do their best to persecute her for nearly ruining their own plans.

  “And with that, we declare this inquest is at an end,” the King said. And he and the rest on the dais filed out through the little door behind them, leaving the courtiers to sort themselves out and leave.

  On the other side of the little door was a sort of lounge. And once the door was closed, all six of them flung themselves down into comfortable chairs. The Royals cast off the heavy fur-lined cloaks that came with their regalia, and set aside their crowns.

  “I saw no reason to bring up the fact that Brand had seduced that child,” the King
said, once they were all comfortably disposed, and Lydia had poured them all wine. “It wasn’t relevant to the inquest. She’s going to be in enough trouble for sending him that idiotic letter as it is, let’s not add shaming to the mix.”

  “There’s still going to be shaming,” Lydia pointed out. “People will speculate. There will be a period where everyone will feel sorry for her, but it is inevitable that people will wonder about all those midnight meetings, and some people will assume the worst.”

  Amily sighed, and nodded. “But we can’t stop people from talking,” she pointed out. “No matter where she goes, there are going to be people speculating, and making up their own minds.”

  “Which is why I want her here,” Kyril said firmly. “If we stand behind her, the speculations will die for lack of being fed. Dia can certainly teach her how to hold her head high and shame the devil.”

  There was a tap at the door, and Mags entered. The King smiled. “And here is the hero of the hour.”

  Mags blushed. “Me an’ everybody else that come runnin’,” he replied. “Not like I was alone down there.”

  He entered, and sat down on the arm of Amily’s chair. “You ask me, this’un’s the hero. Made all the right moves. And went chargin’ after Brand ’xactly the right way—made sure we all knew where she was, stayed on Rolan where she was safest, an—glory!—hit ’im with the coercive Truth Spell! She ain’t never done that fer real afore, an’ how many times did ye practice on me? Three?”

  “Four,” she corrected. “All in the last sennight. I just had the feeling I was going to need to know how to do it.”

  Lydia went around, refreshing everyone’s wine, and sat down with Sedric again as the King cleared his throat.

  “Well, I want you two to know, that although I was concerned when we nearly lost Nikolas, I am concerned no longer. Amily, Mags was right. You acted in every way possible exactly as the King’s Own should. You and Rolan properly understood that Brand had to be stopped, and you acted when no one else could. And while I was dubious as to how useful your Gift was for the King’s Own, it’s turned out to be surprisingly handy.” He paused for a moment. “I am curious, however, about two things. The first—what were you going to do if that poor horse hadn’t broken its neck and sent them down?”