Chapter Fifteen

 

Telyn nearly lost the spell in the moment after the confession. Her fingers faltered on the strings of the harp. She recovered herself while Searlas confessed in the flat, unemotional tones evoked by Truthsong,

“I wished to prevent Lord Gilmarion from claiming his inheritance.”

An inarticulate sound rose from Lord Vuldur, who glared at his secretary in disbelief. Prince Keir asked in a rush of words, “Why, Searlas? Why did you wish to prevent him from claiming his inheritance?”

“Because it should be mine.” Searlas’ face twisted in fear and confusion, the words forced from him by the powerful spell.

“What?” Vuldur growled. His face turned an apoplectic shade. “What have you done that I should name you heir to my fortunes?”

“I am your nephew! I have served you faithfully since I was a child and did everything you asked of me. I secured your own inheritance by poisoning the one who stood in the way, more than twenty-five years ago...”

“Silence!” Vuldur hissed. His face went from purple to an unhealthy grey.

Searlas continued to answer Vuldur’s original question. His breathing hitched as he realized the helpless admissions he made before Prince Keir. “After Vaddon’s death, I thought you would name me heir by Sildan tradition if not for the loyalty I have shown you. I sought to ease your grief and employed a bounty hunter to dispense of the bard. I have cared for you in your illness. But then you named Gilmarion your heir!” He stood and swayed as if he would run to escape the unseen power forcing his speech. “If he proved unworthy, I thought I might still gain your favor.”

“You treacherous fool!” Vuldur rose from his chair. “I would never have named you heir to my lands, even so!”

Three things happened almost simultaneously. Searlas appeared to realize his unwilling confession was the product of her magic. He lurched toward Telyn, his teeth bared in a roar of helpless rage. Mithrais came to his feet and cast a reflexive spell that bound Searlas in place. Power flowed from his outstretched hand and created a sparkling net around the enraged man.

Vuldur picked up the small knife Searlas had used to sharpen his pen, and slashed his secretary’s throat.

Marithiel screamed, a high, shrill note of discord that shattered Telyn’s spell. Her fingers faltered in horror upon the jangling strings of her harp. Mithrais vaulted the table and subdued Vuldur forced him back into his chair and wrenched the knife away. Diarmid burst through the door of the solar followed by two figures still cloaked and hooded against the rain.

Searlas shrieked with terror and pain, still bound by the spell, and although the wound did not appear fatal, it bled heavily. The secretary collapsed into Diarmid’s arms when Mithrais dispersed the magic with a gesture. He cast a stricken glance at Telyn and Gwidion as he realized what he’d done in the presence of the delegation.

Emrys Harpmaster appeared from beneath one dripping cloak and shouted for the Prince’s guards to attend them. He held a kerchief against Searlas’ wound until help arrived. Several men removed Searlas from the room, while Gwidion gave Diarmid orders to send for a healer and to keep the secretary under guard.

Telyn, horrified by the scene that unfolded in the wake of her Truthsong, set her harp upon the chair with numb fingers. She pressed her back to the wall, her hands in front of her mouth. Across the room, Gwidion met her eyes and shook his head firmly to reassure her it was not her fault. Marithiel, pale and trembling, cowered in her chair. Gilmarion sought to calm her. The room emptied of attendants, save for two guards who remained at the door.

The last cloaked individual, who stood in silence near the shuttered windows during the tumultuous scene, spoke at last. “It appears I arrived a moment too late.”

Telyn, even though she knew the secret contained in Gwidion’s private letter, was still startled as she recognized the voice. The speaker raised his hands to the hood and pulled it back to reveal golden hair and a storm-drenched but familiar form.

Amorion, King of the Silde, shed the dripping cloak and let it fall to the floor.

“My lord King,” Gwidion greeted him and bowed his head. “Welcome to Cerisild.”

A small moan came from Marithiel. Gilmarion, his eyes wide, would have risen from his chair but stilled by a sharp motion from the King. Even dripping wet, Amorion constituted a formidable presence. Crownless, he exuded an unmistakable air of authority.

Across the table, Mithrais still held the Lord of the East in his chair, although the older man did not fight him. Vuldur, deathly pale and sweating, struggled for breath in the shocked silence of the solar. He finally rasped with a harsh laugh: “Release me. I will not attempt to escape.”

King Amorion instructed Mithrais to do so. He removed his hands from Vuldur but stood behind the chair and maintained his guard.

“I am surprised to see you, my King, but I do not ask for the mercy of the Crown,” the Lord of the East wheezed. “The only mercy I will receive is from the gods, for I will not return to Belthil unless it is upon a bier.” His gaze fixed upon Telyn with a baleful stare. “Searlas’ loose tongue—that’s your doing. I felt your witch’s magic in the room.”

“At my request.” Prince Keir offered the King his seat at the head of the table. “Although, I must say it wasn’t Searlas whom we expected to confess.”

“You thought I did it.” Vuldur’s eyes glinted with vicious humor. “I admit Searlas is too stupid to have thought of it himself. I toyed with suggesting Vaddon as a suitor to the Queen of the Southern Realm at one time. I made no overtures myself.”

“But the death of your predecessor?” Keir asked.

“Searlas saw to it a rich meal disagreed with him.” Vuldur’s breathing became more ragged. “It no longer matters if you know the truth. I think I will be dead before nightfall. If there is anything more you want to know, I suggest you ask it now.”

Amorion glanced at Telyn and back to the Lord of the East. “Were you responsible for the assassins sent after Telyn Songmaker?”

“The hired blade, yes. I did not know of the bounty hunter, although had I not been ill, I would have thought of it myself.” He turned his eyes to Telyn once more. “You robbed me of my son, girl. My Vaddon—the only son I could claim.” His gaze flickered over Gilmarion and away. “He was my pride, and my immortality.”

“Your pride allowed you to overlook his brutality.” Telyn’s voice trembled despite her best efforts to control it. “I meant only to defend myself against him. I never meant to kill him.”

“It matters not. Even your own father knows you were to blame.” Vuldur’s face twisted in a vindictive smile. “Taliesin has declared you dead to him. Did you know?”

Hateful words brought the sting of shame to Telyn’s eyes, and she could not respond. Tears made slow, hot tracks down her cheeks. King Amorion spoke instead.

“Neither Taliesin’s shortcomings, nor your own excuse, justify disobeying my command. I told you not to seek vengeance against her.”

“I no longer care. I will be with Vaddon very soon, and death will render all my transgressions null and void.” He closed his eyes briefly and smiled at Marithiel with eerie tenderness. “I am sorry if I have distressed you, my dearest. I wished only to be with you one last time before I die. Our relationship was never peaceful, even at its height.”

The King motioned to the two guards, who entered the solar. “See Lord Vuldur to his room,” he instructed them. “He is not to leave it.” He cast a lingering glance at the Lord of the East, whose labored breathing worsened even as he spoke. “Make certain the healer comes to him after he has seen to Searlas’ injuries.”

Vuldur rasped, “I am beyond healers, and I welcome the inevitable. I would only have one person beside me when the end comes.” He looked again at Marithiel, whose eyes were downcast. His face tightened when she would not meet his gaze. “Perhaps even that is lost to me now. If so, death cannot come too soon.”

The guards half-carried the failing Lord of the East from the room. Mithrais went to Telyn’s side and gripped her hand. The gloves she wore prevented a full connection of their heartspeaking bond, but a glance was enough to communicate his concern. He’d cast a spell in front of the delegation, and it was possible the King had seen it too.

“Lord Gilmarion.” Prince Keir removed the King’s seal from his neck and placed it on the table. “You are cleared of the charges set against you by Amorion, King of the Silde.”

Gilmarion’s body relaxed. He breathed out in relief and closed his eyes.

“Marithiel.” Amorion would not continue until his sister looked up and met his regard. “You have endangered my alliance with Gwidion by your actions against him. Strangely enough, Searlas first alerted me you were preparing to live in exile, unbeknownst to your husband. It seems your courier is indiscreet when he is in his cups and after a trade council boasted of the large sum of money he guards in your name.”

“Searlas certainly covered all sides to ensure he received the stronghold of the East,” Keir muttered. “He attempted to frame Gilmarion and betrayed not only Marithiel, but Vuldur, in his bid for power.”

Marithiel covered her eyes, silent, but Gwidion leaned forward.

“With your permission, my lord King.” Amorion nodded at him, and Gwidion continued. “The alliance between Cerisild and Belthil is not in jeopardy. My sons and I are loyal to you regardless of the status of the marriage contract.”

Amorion weighed this statement with a serious countenance. He turned his searching gaze back to Marithiel, still unconvinced. “So Emrys has told me, but I feel I cannot leave it alone. I do not know what your intentions were in making this ill-advised leap into exile. I understand you were to be joined by Lord Vuldur until his illness prevented it. I cannot imagine you intended to live a quiet life in the country, when it seems to have disagreed with you thus far.”

“We had no plans to disturb you, only to be together. We could not return to Belthil,” Marithiel said bitterly. “Even if you allowed me to do so, we would not have been welcomed at court. I would have returned in disgrace.”

“But now you will most certainly return in disgrace, or you remain here in disgrace. A harlot who has stolen from her husband’s treasury,” Amorion retorted.

Marithiel’s head shot up at the insult, her eyes glittering.

“If she chooses to remain, it would not be in dishonor,” Gwidion countered gently. “No one outside this room save my steward knows what has happened, and it will remain so. If she wishes to stay, she may continue to live in the manor as Lady of Cerisild, or I have offered to prepare a new residence for her within the city.”

Amorion regarded Gwidion a moment and agreed. “It will be as you say. Marithiel, do you intend to remain in Cerisild?”

“I am...considering it,” Marithiel told him.

“Consider well,” the King advised in a clipped tone. “If you choose not to remain here, you will return with me to Belthil, where I will decide how you shall best spend your days.”

“Yes, my lord King.” A touch of her usual royal pride returned. Marithiel rose from her seat and gave a low curtsy. “I ask permission to retire.” Her glance flickered to the blood-spattered floor and she shuddered, her lips trembling. “It has been a disturbing morning, and I wish to rest.”

“You may go.” Amorion beckoned to the one remaining guard lingering in the doorway. “Please escort my sister to her chambers.”

They departed even as Emrys returned, rolling back sleeves bloodstained by his efforts to aid the wounded secretary.

“My lords, a healer is with Searlas now,” he announced with a cursory bow. “The wound is deep but missed his vital arteries. He will recover.”

“In time for him to stand trial in Belthil,” Prince Keir muttered.

“I must hear the details of his confession, but I am stunned to learn he is behind it all.” The King looked at Telyn. “Thank you for your assistance here, Lady Bard. I know it must have been difficult for you.”

She knew her face still bore the marks of tears and the strain of what unfolded with her magic, but she pulled herself up and offered a shallow bow. “I’m always at your service, Sire,” she answered. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I am relieved you are well. Emrys has told me what you have been through.” He noted that Mithrais still held her hand. A warm smile broke over his features, so like Gilmarion’s, but with the added lines age and responsibility etched irrevocably beside his eyes and mouth. “I could not have been more surprised to hear you were in Cerisild.”

“I believe I saw you a few days ago, Sire,” Mithrais said. “I walked by the inn outside the marketplace and thought I saw Gilmarion in one of the upstairs rooms. But at the same moment, he was speaking with Telyn here in the manor.”

“Perhaps you did,” the King admitted. “The delegation was delayed in their journey due to Lord Vuldur’s illness. My escort and I mistakenly arrived ahead of them.” He smiled at Gilmarion. “I fear the resemblance you hold to me is a bit troublesome. I have been sequestered there for nigh on a week, unable to show my face without someone hailing me by your name.”

“Emrys is half-dead from running back and forth between the inn and the manor with details.” Keir saluted the older bard, who feigned exhaustion, passing his hand over his brow as he claimed a seat near the hearth. “We were wrongly convinced Lord Vuldur orchestrated this scheme. We had to know without question if anyone in Cerisild abetted the conspiracy. Only Emrys and I knew the King would be present to pass judgment himself.”

“Until Gwidion received my letter, at least.” The King regarded Gwidion with a half-smile. “So, you have resumed your rightful place.”

“Yes, my King, I have. I should have done so long ago. Your letter took me to task, to be sure, but I had already made the decision,” Gwidion answered. “It is best I resume my duties. Especially now, when Gilmarion’s new title and lands will require his attention.”

“Ah, yes. In regard to the stronghold of the East...” Amorion looked toward the door, his mouth a solemn line. “It would appear it will be vacated far earlier than anyone could have predicted, and I must return to Belthil as soon as possible. I would have assurances the trade city is minded while the South Kingdom is so unstable. Although I pray the Fates will grant Lord Gwidion a long life, I wish to know how you propose to oversee both holdings when the time comes.”

“I have made a decision on that aspect.” Gilmarion looked at his brother. “I have not had the opportunity to discuss it with Mithrais, and it is he whom it concerns most. May I speak with him privately before we continue?”

Mithrais straightened. He shared a glance with Telyn, his expression resigned. They both knew what was about to happen.

“Rejoin us in an hour, then. I would relish an opportunity to nurse a cup of mulled wine and perhaps find some dry clothing.” Amorion’s eyes rested on Mithrais with interest. “Later, I believe there is more we should discuss. I am not certain what I observed when I arrived. I would welcome an explanation.”

“Yes, my lord King. We have a great deal to tell you.” Mithrais pressed Telyn’s hand between his own and kissed it. She knew he reassured himself with the gesture. She smiled at him, trying to convey without words her faith in his ability to rise to this challenge. Gilmarion met him at the door with his usual ironic half-grin and pushed open the heavy portal.

Telyn moved to help Emrys pass goblets of the warmed wine as the sons of the Lord of Cerisild left the room. After the King and Gwidion were served, she claimed a cup for herself and sat beside Emrys to await her lifemate’s return.

The conversation about to take place would change Mithrais’ status forever.

The King had seen him cast a spell on Searlas.

Things were set in motion that could not be undone.