After seeing Hollem out, Anrel returned to the room above the stable and sat by the little stove, brooding silently as the skies outside the window darkened and the room grew dim.
He had not let it show when speaking to Hollem, had not even allowed himself to feel it, but he found the news that his cousin Saria still intended to marry Lord Allutar profoundly depressing. How could she want to share the bed of the man who had murdered Valin? He knew that she and Valin had bickered constantly, and that she had professed disdain for him, but Anrel had always assumed that to be a sort of sibling rivalry, disguising affection.
Apparently he had misjudged.
When he had first learned that Saria was interested in wedding Allutar he had been surprised, but he had not been greatly upset by the news. He had never liked Allutar, but he knew that did not make the landgrave a monster; good people could disagree, could even find each other intolerable, without either being significantly at fault. Allutar had never bothered to disguise his contempt for the common people of Aulix, but was that not simple honesty? Would it not have been hypocritical to pretend to a respect and compassion he did not feel? And the man had tried his best to keep the province happy and prosperous; no one could deny that. Yes, he practiced black magic, but despite the disapproval of Lord Blackfield and the Lantern Society, the Walasian Empire had always allowed its sorcerous nobles to do so. It was not a crime; in fact, using his talents however might best benefit his subjects was his duty as their ruler, no matter how unpleasant Quandish sorcerers, or those unfortunates whose blood he used, might find it.
If Saria saw the landgrave’s virtues more clearly than Anrel did, and was not troubled by his flaws, then why should she not marry him?
But then Lord Allutar had deliberately baited Valin, and killed him. Yes, it had been legal, but it was wrong, and for Saria to not see that troubled Anrel a great deal. Even if she did not know every detail of how the challenge had been made, and how the contest had played out, she certainly knew that Valin, the young man who had shared her father’s roof for almost a dozen years, was dead at Lord Allutar’s hand.
Had she so little respect for Valin’s memory? Not half a year after his death, she was betrothed to his killer.
For that matter, Anrel realized that he, too, seemed willing to let Valin’s slayer carry on undisturbed by the memory of his crime. It was not Allutar who was a hunted exile, condemned by the Lords Magistrate for Valin’s death; it was Anrel, for daring to speak Valin’s words to the ordinary folk of Naith. He had delivered the speech he thought Valin would have wanted to give, but since then he had done nothing more than survive and tend to his own affairs. He had made no further effort to avenge Valin, or to punish Lord Allutar or Lord Neriam or Lord Lindred for their various roles in his death.
He did not really know what he might have done, but he could not help thinking he should have done something.
And now he learned that Lord Allutar did not particularly care whether he lived or died. His only concern was not for Anrel at all, but for whether his actions might displease Lady Saria. Anrel, as a commoner, was almost beneath his notice.
Not that being a sorcerer would necessarily have helped. After all, Lord Valin had died when he got in Lord Allutar’s way. The Lord Anrel who might have been, had Anrel not failed his trials, would probably have fared no better.
Perhaps Valin had been right in arguing that the system that gave Lord Allutar such authority ought to be changed.
Perhaps the Grand Council would change it.
Anrel, though, did not see any way he could do anything about it. The system was in place, he had lived under it all his life, and he was just one man. The empire was not his concern. His family, his friends—those were his concerns.
Valin was dead, and while revenge would be pleasant, if he could find a way to arrange it, it would do nothing to restore Valin to life. Lord Dorias and Lady Saria did not need Anrel’s help—but Reva did, whether she knew it or not, and he could provide it, not by brooding here in the dark, but by telling Mimmin li-Dargalleis that Lord Allutar was engaged to marry Lady Saria, and therefore unavailable, love spell or no.
He shook his head, then got to his feet, his joints stiff with cold. He closed the dampers on the stove, then marched out of the room.
He found Garras and Tazia in the dining hall, talking quietly; the other three witches were not present.
“Ah, Anrel!” Garras said.
Anrel glanced around hurriedly, and saw no one else paying any attention; he stepped close and said, “Remember, I go by Dyssan Adirane here.”
“Yes, of course,” Garras said. “A man of many names, our Anrel. Dyssan or Alvos or Anrel—are there others? Are you Prince Sharal in disguise, perhaps?”
“No,” Anrel said sharply, not finding this sally even remotely amusing. He could smell wine on Garras’s breath. He seated himself across the table from Garras, around a corner from Tazia, then leaned forward and said, “I have learned something I think Reva should know.”
“Oh?” Garras asked, regarding him owlishly.
“What is it?” Tazia asked.
“It would seem that Lord Allutar is betrothed; he’s to marry Lady Saria Adirane at the end of this coming summer.”
“Adirane?” Tazia asked.
“My cousin,” Anrel said. “But the point is, he’s engaged. A love spell would be most unwise, under the circumstances—Lady Saria is a moderately talented sorceress herself, and would certainly detect such a binding upon her beloved when next she saw him.”
Even as he said this, Anrel wondered whether it was true—would Saria notice an enchantment on Lord Allutar? Would it occur to her to look for one, when her intended husband suddenly developed an infatuation for some stranger?
For that matter, was Lord Allutar truly her beloved, or merely her best prospect for marrying well?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Reva must be convinced not to attempt her love spell.
“Marry your cousin?” Garras said. “Did you arrange this, then, to keep my daughter from earning her fifty guilders?”
“What?” The accusation caught Anrel completely off guard. “No, of course not! Why would I do that?”
Garras drew himself up and looked down his rather thick nose at Anrel. “I don’t pretend to know, Master Murau.”
“I wouldn’t!” Anrel exclaimed. “They were engaged . . . I don’t know precisely when they were engaged, but they have been for some time, and I only learned of it today. I had nothing to do with arranging it. Really, Master Lir, why would I want my cousin to marry my worst enemy?”
“To frustrate Mimmin li-Dargalleis, perhaps. To frustrate my daughter. To place a spy in your foe’s household. I can think of any number of reasons.”
“But I desire none of these! Sir, I have only your family’s best interests at heart, I assure you.”
“Really? Because you seem to be costing us fifty guilders.”
“That is not my intent! Perhaps Mistress li-Dargalleis can be persuaded to redirect her interests—surely, there are other worthy bachelors to be found in Beynos?”
“Ah, but would any of these others be worth fifty guilders?”
Anrel’s mouth worked. “Perhaps not, but surely, it cannot help a witch’s reputation to be unaware of something vital to the success of her spell! Your wife and daughters pretend to know the future; what, then, will your customers think of Reva if she proceeds with a love spell that cannot help but produce scandal and unhappiness?”
Garras frowned.
“He has a point, Father,” Tazia said.
“No one expects you girls to know everything,” Garras protested.
“But something like this—it will certainly look better if we do know it, and act accordingly!”
“But we’ll lose the fifty guilders!”
“And perhaps earn it back with fortune-telling.”
“Fifty guilders? I think not.”
Tazia surrendered. “No, not all of it, you’re right. But if we can direct her to another target, we can perhaps make up the difference.”
“Confound it.” Garras glared down at the table for a moment, as if smothering a belch, then at Anrel. “Can’t you talk your cousin into breaking her engagement?”
Anrel sighed. “Sir, I do not dare speak to my cousin at all.”
“Write her a letter!”
“It would avail you nothing, I assure you,” Anrel replied. “Lady Saria has always been headstrong, and accustomed to having her own way.”
“Yet she wants to marry Lord Allutar?” Tazia said.
Anrel’s mouth quirked upward. “Indeed she does,” he said. “I do not think their marriage will be a calm one.”
“May they make each other endlessly miserable, then, for costing us fifty guilders,” Garras said.
“I would not wish that on my cousin,” Anrel said, “but if she contrives to make Lord Allutar suffer, I will not be dismayed.” He looked around. “Where is Reva? I want to warn her about the betrothal.”
“She’s out earning her keep,” Garras snapped. “As Tazia here ought to be.”
“I told you, Father, I just needed a little rest.”
“No one pays you to rest.”
“Master Lir,” Anrel interrupted, before Tazia could respond. “Where can I find Reva?”
“You probably can’t. But if you wait here, she’ll be back for supper.”
“Ah,” Anrel said. He glanced at Tazia. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important just now, when I came in here.”
“No,” Tazia said. “We weren’t discussing anything important.”
Anrel wanted to ask, “Why not?” but he restrained himself. Tazia knew her father far better than he did, so if she thought this was not the time to initiate a discussion of her future, Anrel had to respect that decision. Perhaps Garras’s prodigious consumption of wine had something to do with it.
He thought he could use something to ease his own mind a little; he turned in his chair and raised a hand to signal a servant. When a plump serving wench hurried over, he ordered another bottle of the merlot he had enjoyed so much earlier.
Half the bottle was gone when Nivain and Perynis entered the room, and the last of it had just been poured when Reva finally appeared.
“Ah, there you are!” Garras called. He had consumed another bottle himself. “Come here, girl—Master Adirane has some news for you.”
Reva came, and took a seat next to Anrel, looking at him curiously.
“I thought it might be wise to find out more about Lord Allutar before attempting to enchant him,” Anrel said. “Alas, what I found out is that he is engaged to be wed—he will be marrying Lady Saria Adirane in the fall.”
“Adirane?” Reva asked, in precisely the same tone her sister had used.
“My cousin.”
Reva looked at him for a moment, then said, “You mean he would marry her if I did not intervene.”
Flustered, Anrel said, “Well, I . . . maybe.”
Reva shook her head, tossing back her long hair. “I think I can cast a love spell strong enough to make him break his engagement to this Lady Saria, and wed my client instead,” she said.
“On a sorcerer of his stature?” Anrel protested. “You don’t think he’ll notice something amiss when he abandons a betrothal?”
“I think so,” Reva insisted defiantly.
“I think you should discuss it with your client,” Tazia said.
Reva glared at her, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll discuss it with her.”
“Had you made any plans as to when you would be enchanting him?” Anrel asked.
“Tomorrow night,” Reva said. “There’s to be a reception at his house.”
“A good choice,” Anrel said.
“I’m so thrilled that you approve!” Reva said icily.
“Please, Mistress Lir, there is no need for sarcasm.”
Now it was Anrel’s turn to be a recipient of Reva’s glare. “It worked, didn’t it?” she demanded.
“That depends on how you define ‘work.’ ”
“It let you know that I’ve had my fill of your condescending aid.”
“Well, yes,” Anrel conceded.
“He’s just trying to help,” Tazia said.
“I didn’t ask for his help!”
“Reva, we’re just worried about you. Lord Allutar is a dangerous man!”
“And one Anrel might have in his own family soon, if I don’t meddle,” Reva retorted. “Do you think a pardon might be available then? Oh, but if he marries someone who isn’t Anrel’s cousin, then by the Father and the Mother, why would he lift that death sentence? Really, Tazia, how stupid do you think I am, not to see what you two are up to?”
Tazia blinked, astonished, then said, “Apparently not as stupid as I am, since I hadn’t seen what we were up to.”
“Oh, really? Well, ask your lover, then!” She turned to Anrel.
“There will be no pardon,” Anrel said coldly, “but it’s true that if my cousin marries Lord Allutar, he won’t press for my apprehension and execution.”
“You admit it?”
“Of course I do, since it’s true. But that did not prompt me to speak to you. I don’t expect to be captured in any case, and really, I would almost prefer my family not be allied to the likes of Allutar Hezir. No, I was merely providing a bit of information I thought you should know. I had assumed that you would not continue with your spell, knowing that Lord Allutar was betrothed, but if you are so certain of yourself, and of your client’s determination, then so be it. I will make no attempt to dissuade you.” He tried not to let his voice reveal the bitterness he felt at her assumptions about his motives.
“But, Anrel!” Tazia said.
“Hush,” he replied, raising a hand. “She has made her decision.”
“Anrel!” She leaned over and whispered, “What are you saying? She’ll be killed!”
“One cannot save a fool from his folly.”
“One can try, when the fool is my sister! I know she offended you, I know she’s been rude, but I don’t want her dead, and neither do you!”
Anrel met Tazia’s eyes, and after a moment he relented. “What would you have me do, then?”
“Just . . . be quiet, all right?”
“As you please.” He settled back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.
He had more reason than ever to offer to give her fifty guilders not to attempt her spell, since now not only would she be risking death if she failed, but if she succeeded it might involve Lady Saria in a scandal, and might well result in an end to Lord Allutar’s tolerance of Anrel’s survival.
But he also had more reason than ever to not make the offer, given her behavior. He was beginning to think she wanted to cast her spell, no matter how dangerous it might be, regardless of the money, to prove her skill to herself, to Anrel, and to her family.
And he certainly wasn’t going to reveal in front of the entire family that he had been hiding a significant sum of money from them.
Tazia turned back to her sister. “Reva, please, talk it over with your client before you do anything dangerous.”
“I have said that I will.”
“And give her a fair chance to change her mind. I know you feel as if your pride demands you try to make Lord Allutar break off his engagement, but really, it doesn’t. See what she wants to do.”
Reva glared for a moment, then yielded. “I will.”
“Good,” their father remarked. “The customer knows his own mind better than anyone, as the saying has it.”
“Her mind, in this case,” Reva said.
“And Reva, take Anrel with you,” Tazia said.
“What?” Both Reva and Anrel turned to stare at Tazia.
“Take him with you when you talk to your client,” Tazia insisted. “He knows Lady Saria. He can answer any questions you might have about her.”
Reva looked distastefully at Anrel. “I don’t want any interruptions.”
Anrel did not reply immediately. He had not yet agreed to accompany her at all—but then he saw the pleading expression on Tazia’s face, and gave in. “I won’t make any,” he said. “I will be quiet, and speak only when spoken to.”
“You won’t contradict me?”
“No.” He had no intention of doing anything to further anger Reva; he knew now that the more he argued, the more stubborn she would become.
But this might give him a chance to speak to her in private, and perhaps then he could offer to pay her not to risk the spell. He thought she might be more willing to listen when her parents were not present.
In particular, he thought she might be more willing to take his money and keep quiet regarding the arrangement if her father knew nothing about it. If she accepted the commission, and earned the fifty guilders that way, her father would undoubtedly demand a share; if she declined the commission and was paid secretly by Anrel instead, then Garras need never know, and she would be that much closer to striking out on her own.
Reva considered him thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Very well,” she said. “Come on, we might as well do it right now.”
“Now?” Anrel glanced at Tazia.
“She’s in the front room, talking to Master Kabrig.”
“Oh.” Anrel had not expected that, but he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Then, now it is.”