Anrel’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins at Reva’s words.
“Lord Allutar?” he said.
“That’s right,” Reva said, nodding vigorously. “Mistress li-Dargalleis wants me to make Lord Allutar fall madly in love with her. And she’ll pay fifty guilders!”
There were so many concerns rushing through Anrel’s thoughts at this that he needed a few seconds to decide which to mention. Allutar’s heartless, murderous nature came to mind immediately as a good reason for Mistress li-Dargalleis to stay well clear of him. Anrel also recalled the landgrave’s intention of marrying Lady Saria, but Anrel’s cousin had presumably broken that off after Valin’s death.
But really, there was one single fact that doomed the entire enterprise. “Mistress Reva,” Anrel said slowly, “you do realize that Lord Allutar is a powerful sorcerer?”
“Of course I do!” Reva snapped, her smile vanishing. “So I’ll need to be very careful, I know that.”
“I am not sure it’s possible to be that careful,” Anrel said.
“Of course it is,” Reva said. “I’ve enchanted sorcerers before. I made Lady Fuirel hire that silly Bethuin girl as her lady’s maid, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” Anrel said. “Perhaps you did. But Lady Fuirel is no landgrave, no Lord Allutar.” In truth, he had no idea who Lady Fuirel was, but he was fairly certain she was not half the sorcerer Lord Allutar was. As a landgrave, Allutar was theoretically supposed to be one of the sixteen most powerful magicians in the empire. Making allowances for the political facts he might not actually be among the top sixteen, but he was unquestionably among the top hundred.
“A sorcerer is a sorcerer,” Reva said angrily. “Are you trying to frighten me? Is there some reason you want me to remain poor?”
Anrel would not have minded if he had succeeded in frightening her, but it would hardly do to admit it. “By no means, Mistress Reva!” he said instead. “I merely warn you to be very cautious indeed in this undertaking. I have dealt with Lord Allutar, and he is not a forgiving man. I would not care to see you fall afoul of him.”
In truth, Anrel feared that Reva had signed her own death warrant by accepting this commission, but he could not think of any way to convince her of her folly. He knew that she would not listen to him if he tried to argue further at present.
He was uncomfortably aware that he had fifty guilders of his own hidden away in the lining of his coat; he could perhaps pay Reva not to attempt the spell. Doing so, however, would reveal that he had lied to the Lirs, and would use up a large portion of his funds, and there was nothing to keep her from refusing his money—or worse, taking his money and then attempting the spell anyway, excusing it as fair repayment for Anrel’s lies. After all, refusing the commission from Mistress li-Dargalleis at this point would not be good for Reva’s reputation as a witch.
But he was very much afraid that the spell would utterly fail, that Lord Allutar would sense the attempt and follow the magic back to its source, and that Reva would suffer in consequence.
What’s more, she might not be the only one. Her family was known here at the Boar’s Head, and Lord Allutar might trace her back here and find Anrel. Anrel did not want anything to bring him to Lord Allutar’s attention. Just knowing that the landgrave was within the same city walls was distressing; suppose they encountered each other on the street?
In fact, that might happen, if Anrel ever set foot outside the inn. Even narrow little Cobbler Street was not safe, as Allutar might well decide to have a pair of boots reheeled.
This was going to be severely limiting, perhaps even more limiting than the snow that was falling again. It would also complicate any attempt to woo Tazia, or to gain Garras’s blessing for his interest in her—how much of a man could he look, when he did not dare to walk the streets openly?
That was trivial when Reva’s very life was at risk, but still, he could not help thinking about it.
Perhaps, he thought despairingly, he should give up on Tazia and her family, let Reva destroy herself, then go on to Lume and hide there, as he had originally planned.
But he could not give up on Tazia. And besides, Lord Allutar walked the streets of Lume, as well. He was a member of the Grand Council.
But Lume was so much larger than Beynos, and there were undoubtedly places Allutar did not go. Anrel could not imagine him venturing into the treacherous alleys of the Pensioners’ Quarter, or the rowdy taverns behind the court schools, or the stinking fish markets of the Galdin steps—and that was only in the visible and inhabited portions of the capital! The scattered ruins left by the Old Empire were largely shunned by modern-day Walasians, and no one but drunken idiots trying to prove their courage ever ventured into the ancient tunnels beneath the city without a very good reason. There were a thousand places to hide in Lume—more than a thousand. Anrel knew many of them already, where he knew nothing of Beynos except what he had seen riding through, and what he had observed since his arrival a few hours before.
Anrel also knew there were other places besides Beynos and Lume. Perhaps he should head for somewhere in Lithrayn, or even across the border into the Cousins—but he had never been there. He had never been anywhere except Aulix and Lume, and various points in between them.
He glanced at Tazia, who seemed happily oblivious of how much danger her sister was in.
“I’m supposed to meet Mistress li-Dargalleis tomorrow morning,” Reva said. “We’ll work out the details then of when I might best bewitch Lord Allutar.”
“You’ll need to have both of them present,” Nivain said.
“Of course, Mother,” Reva replied. “I have cast love spells before, you know!”
Perynis giggled at that. “Remember that one in Milinkor?” she said. “I thought he was going to pull up her skirt and tup her right there at the ball!”
“Perynis!” Nivain said, scandalized. She glanced around to make sure no one else had heard her daughter’s remark.
“I’m not sure she would have minded,” Garras said.
“That spell did affect both of them,” Reva added. “It wasn’t as one-sided as what Mistress li-Dargalleis seems to want.”
“Well, let us hope that this Lord Allutar will be a little more restrained in his affections,” Nivain replied.
“I’m sure he will,” Anrel said. “He’s a man of strong will.”
Reva seemed irritated by this comment, and glared at Anrel. Tazia tugged gently at his hand, and he looked at her.
“Lord Allutar knows you, doesn’t he?” she whispered.
“Yes, he does.”
“He’s the one who . . . he wants you dead?”
“I believe so, yes. Though I haven’t asked him. It was Lord Neriam, the First Lord Magistrate, who recognized me and set Naith’s city watch upon me, and Neriam is both Allutar’s subordinate and his friend. I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to Lord Allutar since I . . . since the incident in Naith, but I assume Lord Neriam informed the landgrave of the miscreant’s identity.”
He did not mention that once his identity was known his speech had also probably had some effect on Lord Allutar’s courtship of Lady Saria, and that this might contribute to further ill will on Allutar’s part.
Tazia nodded. “He must know, then, if he is Lord Neriam’s superior. And he’s here in Beynos?”
“So says Reva’s client, and I have no reason to doubt it. Lord Allutar did name himself to the Grand Council, and it seems entirely reasonable that he would have a place in Beynos.”
“Then you aren’t safe here.”
Anrel was startled that she had realized this; certainly, the rest of her family did not appear to have come to any such conclusion. He glanced at Tazia’s parents, who were talking to Reva.
“I doubt Lord Allutar would ever set foot in a place like the Boar’s Head,” Anrel said.
“I suppose not—a great noble like him could surely do better. But he mustn’t see you anywhere. You mustn’t go out.”
“That thought had occurred to me,” Anrel conceded.
Tazia threw her father a glance, then returned her gaze to Anrel. “Perhaps you should go on, then,” she said. “To Lume, or wherever you’re going.”
“I had been considering that possibility,” Anrel admitted.
Tazia looked up at him, then at her father once more, then back at Anrel.
“If I were to go,” Anrel whispered, slowly and deliberately, ready to stop at the first sign that he had misread Tazia’s expression, “and I were to ask you to accompany me . . .”
“I would gladly do so,” Tazia answered.
Anrel stared at her for a long moment, resisting the urge to pull her closer, perhaps to kiss her. Then the memory of Perynis’s unfortunate remark came to him, and he smiled crookedly; he suddenly had a great deal of sympathy for that unknown victim of Reva’s witchcraft in Milinkor, whoever he might have been.
And that reminded him that Reva was on the verge of committing unintentional suicide.
“We can’t go yet, though,” he told Tazia.
She once again looked at her father, more meaningfully this time.
“No, it’s not that,” Anrel said. “Though in truth I would prefer an honorable parting, with your parents’ consent given and a wedding announced. I do not insist on it, however, and arranging such a thing here in Beynos might not be practical.”
“I don’t think Father would give his consent,” Tazia whispered.
Anrel frowned at that; now it was his turn to glance at Garras.
“I don’t think he’ll ever willingly part with any of us, despite his complaints,” Tazia said. “As long as we all bring in more than we cost, he’ll want us to stay. That money Reva is collecting? It will never be enough to buy her freedom.”
Anrel considered that for a moment, then decided it could wait. “We can discuss that further another time,” he said. “Right now, there’s something more urgent.”
“What could be more urgent?”
“Your sister’s life. I honestly do not believe she can safely enchant Lord Allutar, and if she is caught attempting it, she’ll be hanged—or worse. Allutar sacrificed a young man’s lifeblood to power one of his own spells at the autumnal equinox; I would rather not see him spend your sister’s life in similar fashion at the vernal, or perhaps use her to enhance his sorcery in other ways.”
Tazia glanced at Reva, who was huddled with their mother. “You’re sure he is that dangerous? That he would do that, if he caught her?”
“How can I be sure?” Anrel asked. “But I have seen Lord Allutar kill a man with nothing but raw magic; he is the most powerful sorcerer I have ever met. I know that I can detect the wards your family casts, and I felt the binding Reva and your mother attempted on me the day we met—felt it, and resisted it. And I’m not a tenth the sorcerer Lord Allutar is.”
“You think she should refuse the job?”
“I do.”
Tazia frowned. “But fifty guilders! She’ll never agree to forgo so much. She wants so badly to strike out on her own.”
“Did you not just tell me that no amount of money would ever be enough for her father to release her?”
“I believe that, but she doesn’t.”
Anrel bit his lip. He knew Tazia was right.
Twice, though, he had failed to intervene when someone faced death at Lord Allutar’s hands. He had done nothing at all to save Urunar Kazien, even when he had his hands on another criminal whose life might perhaps have been substituted for the baker’s son. He had done nothing remotely effective for Lord Valin; his efforts to keep Valin and Allutar apart, or to talk sense into Valin, had been worse than useless. He had let an acquaintance and his best friend die, and he did not want to let yet a third life be needlessly snuffed out—particularly not the life of a sister of the woman he was coming to love. This time he would do something. He recalled the gold in his own coat again, and schemes began stirring in his brain.
“Let me see what I can do,” he said at last. “There may be a way.”
“How could there be?”
“I will concede that we may be unable to sway your sister, but there are other parties to this transaction,” Anrel said. “If Mistress li-Dargalleis should change her mind, perhaps set her cap for someone other than Lord Allutar, then Reva will be safe enough.”
“But why would she . . . ?”
“Let me see what I can do,” he repeated.
Tazia looked unconvinced, but did not argue further. “And when this matter is resolved, and my sister has finished with Lord Allutar, in one way or another—then what do you intend?”
“Then I intend to travel,” Anrel said lightly. “Eastward, I think—perhaps a stay in Lume, but then on to the eastern provinces, perhaps even a tour of the Cousins.”
“Ah. Would you be traveling alone?”
“I sincerely hope not,” Anrel said, looking her in the eye.
She smiled, threw her father a glance, then said, “I think I will have a few words with my parents while you see what you can do about Mistress li-Dargalleis.”
“And just how direct will these words be?”
“Oh, I will be most circumspect initially, and judge the weather carefully before risking any blunt questions. There will be no demands or threats, I promise you—nothing that might provoke open antagonism.”
“While you undoubtedly know your parents far better than I do, is anyone capable of such fine judgments?”
“Well—perhaps my promise is a trifle ambitious. Let us say rather that I will do my very best to avoid any unfortunate confrontations.”
He smiled at her. “I can ask no more.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Perynis demanded. She had been shut out of Reva’s conversation with their parents, and had therefore turned her attention elsewhere.
“None of your concern, ninny!” Tazia replied.
“Plotting to assassinate the emperor and invade Ermetia, of course,” Anrel told her.
“Ha! Telling each other romantic little lies, more likely.”
“If you knew, then why did you ask?” Tazia retorted.
With that, the conversation became general once again, and a moment later Anrel made an excuse to slip away for a moment. He did not head for the privy, though; instead he made his way to the front room, where he found Dorrin Kabrig dozing by the door.
He started at the sound of Anrel’s footsteps and sat up. “Master Adirane,” he said. “Going out?”
“No,” Anrel said. “But I would appreciate a word with you, Master Kabrig.”
The doorkeeper looked puzzled. “Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am at your disposal, Master Adirane. How can I be of service?”
Anrel hesitated, trying to phrase his request well. “You are familiar with the town, I take it?”
“I have lived here all my life,” Dorrin replied. “I think I know it tolerably well.”
“I’m sure you do, then,” Anrel said. “I have heard that several of the delegates to the Grand Council have made themselves at home here, when their presence is not required in Lume; is that true?”
“Oh, yes. There are several fine homes in Beynos, maintained by various great families for themselves and their friends, and I believe that virtually all of them are currently let to councillors. Why do you ask?”
“It is a delicate matter; bear with me.”
“Of course.”
“Is one of those councillors Lord Allutar, the landgrave of Aulix?”
“So I have heard,” Dorrin answered, his eyes narrowing.
“Please, Master Kabrig, do not look so concerned! I assure you, I intend the landgrave no harm.” That phrasing was deliberate; Anrel most certainly wished that harm might befall Lord Allutar, but he did not at present intend any. “As a citizen of Aulix, I merely want to know something of his present situation. I have heard some most peculiar rumors of late.”
“Rumors?”
“Indeed.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“Well—I told you it was a delicate matter.”
“You did.”
“I have heard rumors as to why Lord Allutar has not yet married and sired an heir. I would prefer to be no more specific.”
A slow, crooked smile spread across Dorrin’s face; apparently he found something very appealing in the rumors he now imagined. “I see,” he said.
“Now, these may well be the most scurrilous sort of lies,” Anrel said hastily. “I do not for a moment present them as fact. But I do admit that my curiosity has gotten the better of me—is there some foundation for these tales?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dorrin said. “I hadn’t heard anything of the sort.”
“But you know, perhaps, which house Lord Allutar is residing in?”
“Oh, yes—it’s his own, in fact, built by his grandfather, Faurien Hezir. It’s up on Bridge Street Hill.”
“Perhaps, when you have a moment, you might stop by, and have a word with a member or two of the landgrave’s staff? I’m sure it would be a great relief to everyone if we could put these rumors to rest.”
“I’m sure it would.” He glanced at the front door, then back at Anrel. “You could go yourself, you know. I could give you directions; it’s not hard to find.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid that won’t be practical—Master Lir has hired me for certain duties that require me to remain close at hand at all times.”
“Chaperoning his daughters, I suppose. That youngest one, Perynis, is a little heartbreaker, isn’t she? But I believe you said you had your eye on the middle one.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t say,” Anrel said with a smile and a wink.
“Of course.” Dorrin glanced at the door again. “I can’t go just now, but I’m sure I’ll find a chance to stroll up Bridge Street in the next day or two, and a word or two with a coachman or footman would be a pleasant diversion.”
“That would please me very much,” Anrel said. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m sure you know how troublesome a rumor can be, even if it’s no more than a malicious lie. Best to put it to rest immediately.”
“Indeed,” Dorrin agreed. “Lord Allutar—who would have thought it?”
“Who, indeed?” He bowed to the doorkeeper. “Thank you, good sir; now, if you’ll forgive me, duty calls.”
“Of course.”
As Anrel headed back toward the Lir family gathering in the back room, he allowed himself a smile.
He had no idea whether there were really any rumors circulating about Lord Allutar—but he was certain that now there would be, even if Master Kabrig was far more discreet than Anrel thought he would be. That would provide a petty irritant for the landgrave, and anything that discomfited Valin’s killer would please Anrel.
More important, if there was any actual impediment to Lord Allutar marrying Mistress li-Dargalleis and siring children on her, the landgrave’s staff would almost certainly know about it, and Master Kabrig would report it back to Anrel.
If there was no such impediment—well, that would be unfortunate, and Anrel would need to create one. He had not yet devised a means to do so, but he was sure something would occur to him in time.