Steal the Dragon Page 4

  He walked around the side of the building to the stable yard where the hold livestock was kept. Rialla hesitated; there were not many reasons that a slave would be wandering through the stable. She was bound to be questioned, and she wasn't sure that it was worth calling attention to herself. Before she made a decision, the servant returned from the stable mounted on a well-bred courser he must have had saddled and waiting.

  Rialla watched him ride at a nonchalant trot to the outer gates. As he passed through, another horse bolted into the courtyard, lathered and blown. To Rialla's surprise its rider pulled it to a skidding halt next to where she stood, just outside the ostentatious door.

  She had little chance for anything other than a brief glimpse of the man's bearded face and the impression that he was big. He swung down, shoved the reins at her and yanked the saddlebags off his mount.

  "Take him to the stables and see that he's cared for," he ordered shortly. Without waiting for a reply, he ran to the door she'd just left.

  She rubbed the sweating gelding's head soothingly to calm him. He was a sturdy enough animal, in good shape—but of no particular breeding; not a horse a noble would ride.

  His rider hadn't been wearing nobleman's clothes either, for all the confidence in his command. Rialla concluded that he must be the healer that Lord Jarroh had sent for; there would have just been enough time for a messenger to make it to the village and back.

  The horse butted her impatiently with his head, and she began walking him toward the stable. Even though the man she'd followed was long gone, she could ask about him in the stables; there was just something about the way the servant had been so casual in the midst of the confusion of Lord Karsten's collapse that made her curious about him.

  The stables were dark and cool and smelled like horses and fresh straw—none of the foul odors that would hint of slovenliness. Rialla felt herself relax in the familiar atmosphere.

  The horse she was leading whinnied piercingly at the scent of the unfamiliar animals. A stable boy appeared from a nearby stall. He tossed Rialla a friendly smile and reached for the reins, saying, "The healer's beastie, eh? Here now, I'll cool him out a bit and find an empty corner to stick him in."

  Rialla handed the horse over to him and then asked, "Did you see the man that just came in here and took out a liver-chestnut mare?" A proper slave would never attempt conversation with anyone other than another slave, but the groom seemed cordial enough.

  The boy glanced around, probably to see if anyone was watching—a stable boy was hired to work, not to chatter with slaves. Satisfied that everyone else was busy, he said, "That was the Lord Winterseine's man, Tamas. He's here a lot. If I were you, I'd try and avoid him if you can."

  "Winterseine or Tamas?" Rialla asked.

  "Tamas. Winterseine's all right. Tamas, though, is awful quick with a whip or a fist." The boy looked at her meaningfully. "He likes it rough, makes him feel powerful. Stay out of his way unless you like it that way too." Without further delay he led the horse down the aisle to begin cooling it off.

  Thoughtfully, Rialla returned to the castle and sneaked back into the room where she'd left Laeth—or at least she tried to sneak back in. Laeth met her at the door and said in furious tones that the whole room could hear, "Where have you been, girl? It couldn't have taken you so long to carry out Lord Jarroh's orders."

  Rialla took in the room at a glance. Her fragmented talent caught the suspicion that was in the air, directed at Laeth. She bowed her head humbly and said in clear tones that would carry, "Master, this morning you told me to see if I could find the pin you were missing. When someone mentioned a groom, I remembered that you were wearing it yesterday afternoon when you went hunting, but I didn't see you wear it to dinner. I thought that maybe when you were in the stall with the servant girl…" She cowered nervously, as if realizing that she shouldn't have said anything about that.

  Someone laughed and made an obscene comment; sleeping with servants was commonplace, but not to be talked about in public. Laeth backhanded her forcefully on her face, knocking her to the ground. It looked more impressive than it was. Laeth's blow was no worse than many a strike they'd exchanged on the practice floor at Sianim. Like any good slave, Rialla cowered and whimpered; all slaves learn quickly that if it looks as if the blow hurt, it isn't as likely to be repeated.

  To Rialla's astonishment, a large, gentle hand touched her shoulder and the healer helped her to her feet. "She was near the stables and took my horse when I arrived. You shouldn't give orders unless you want them followed, my lord."

  Rialla barely restrained a gasp at the healer's tones. No commoner talked to a noble in that tone of voice—not if he wanted to live to face the morning.

  Mercenary or not, Laeth's upbringing as a Darranian noble caused his eyes to flash with outrage. The healer didn't give Laeth a chance to reply before turning to Lord Jarroh. "I have managed to counteract the poison in Lord Karsten's system. He'll be weak, but should be well enough in an hour or so. I'll leave my bill with the clerk as usual." He swept out of the room with as much presence as any of the nobles.

  Deliberately Laeth reacted to his frustrated anger as most of his peers would have under the circumstance. He knocked Rialla to the ground again, hitting her open-handed on her cheek with a blow that was more flash than substance.

  "Wait for me in my room," he snarled.

  Rialla scurried gratefully out, and holding a hand to her face, she headed to the bedroom while Laeth complained loudly about poorly trained slaves.

  As she turned the first corner of the hallway, Rialla was stopped by a hand on her arm. Startled, she looked up to see the healer. Before she could draw away, he touched her untattooed cheek with his hand. Raising an eyebrow, he tilted her head so he could see the side of her face clearly in the torchlight.

  "There is no mark where he hit you." His comment was in a mild tone, but firmly spoken. Clearly he would have answers before he left her alone.

  Rialla looked around frantically and saw with relief that there was no one in the vicinity. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the nearest room. From the glimpse she had while the door was open, it seemed to be an unused study in the midst of remodeling. There were no windows to allow light in, and it was as dark as a cave in the small room after she pulled the door closed. Rialla made a frustrated sound.

  "Hold on," she said, falling out of character. "I'll find a flint…" There was a crash as she fell over an object left in the middle of the floor and cracked her head on something hard.

  "Perhaps I might be of some assistance." A light flared as the healer spoke, a candle flickering in his hand. His voice was carefully void of humor, but there was something in his face that hinted at it, and Rialla glared balefully at him from her position on the floor before she remembered that she was supposed to be a slave.

  It was the first time that she'd had a chance to look closely at him, and she realized what had troubled her before: the healer was no more Darranian than she was. It wasn't just that he was taller and bigger boned, but his coloring was wrong. His hair was almost blond, though the short-trimmed beard was darker. His eyes were hazel, but they weren't as green as hers; his had flecks of light blue that seemed to come and go in the candlelight.

  Ignoring her glare, the healer said, "Now, you will please explain to me how you got hit hard enough to knock you to the ground without even so much as a red mark on your face."

  Rialla jumped lithely to her feet, with the grace of the dancer she was, and dusted herself off to gain some time to think. Finally she said, "Lord Laeth needs to keep up appearances, but he doesn't want to damage me. The blow was a warning more than a punishment. He disciplines me in other ways." It was the best that she could come up with on short notice, and it wasn't very good.

  "That was Lord Laeth," the healer's voice took on an odd tone, "visiting from Sianim?"

  Wary of the interest in his voice, Rialla nodded.

  The healer raised an eyebrow and reached out
unexpectedly to touch her face, muttering a few words under his breath as he did so. He jerked his hand away, as if from something hot, and an intense expression that she couldn't interpret crossed his face.

  "Who would have thought it?" he said obscurely, and smiled. "I thought that Sianim frowned on slavery."

  Rialla felt as if she'd missed half of the conversation, and groped for an answer. "My master told them I was his servant and they pretended to believe him." It was the explanation that she and Laeth had chosen, but it sounded threadbare to her ears.

  He shook his head, but shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I suppose, what your story is. My name is Tris. When you need me, anyone in Tallonwood can tell you where to find me." With that odd statement he blew out the candle and left the room.

  Rialla stared stupidly after him. Healers, she supposed, ought to be a bit eccentric, but this one seemed to push it to an extreme.

  Cautiously Rialla opened the door and checked the hall. Seeing no one, she continued up the stairs to the suite of rooms that she shared with Laeth.

  * * * *

  It was late when Laeth returned to his rooms. He was pale and seemed shaken by the attempt on his brother's life.

  Without a word, Rialla helped him take off the formal, close-fitting dining jacket. She hung it up and silently offered him a cup of warmed brandy, then perched on a fragile table, ignoring the knickknacks that sat on either side of her, and waited for him to speak.

  Just as he opened his mouth, the door shook with a series of impassioned knocks. Rialla slipped back off the table and stood near a wall looking discreet, like a good slave—not that the woman who entered when Laeth opened the door had any interest in Rialla.

  "Laeth, you must leave. They think that you were the one who attempted to kill Karsten. They say that you'd have the most to gain from his death." Marri was very much a Darranian lady. She reminded Rialla of a frantic butterfly: beautiful and useless.

  Laeth looked at Marri, and not even Rialla could read his face. He shook his head slowly. "There are many people that stand to gain by Karsten's death, lady. He is threatening to unite Darran with a country full of abominations. The Eastern miners are worried that he's going to cede mining territory back to Reth; the slavers are worried because he's threatening their livelihood. Indeed, unless someone saw you come in here, there is no reason to believe that my motive for killing my brother is stronger than anyone else's."

  Marri shook her head at him with apparent exasperation, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "Plague it, Laeth. Don't give me that lordly sneer, it doesn't suit you. No one saw me come here."

  Laeth bowed his head and said politely, "Accept my apologies, madam. Pray feel free to leave if my sneer offends you."

  Marri closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There were white lines of anger along her aristocratic cheekbones. "Will you listen to me, you mule?" Rialla bit back a smile, and decided that she might like Marri after all.

  "Do you think I'd risk coming here if I weren't certain you were in danger?" continued Marri sharply. "Don't be any stupider than you must. There is someone here who is deliberately setting you up to be Karsten's murderer—there is no reason suspicion of you would be that strong otherwise."

  Her voice softened. "Karsten knows that someone is trying to kill him, and we have taken every precaution against his assassination. You are not needed here. He may think that you are here for his birthday, but I know you better. Nothing less than the attempt on his life last month would have induced you to return."

  Laeth raised an eyebrow and sauntered back to his bed, where he sat down and began to tug off his boots. "Every precaution? It didn't seem to help him much tonight, did it?"

  "Neither did you!" she replied hotly. Rialla noticed a hint of moisture in her eyes. "I can't stand worrying about both of you."

  "Tears, Marri?" asked Laeth in a biting voice.

  "Yes, plague take you." Marri wiped her eyes quickly. "I'm sorry for what happened before, but it wasn't solely my fault. You left me for a year without any word of how to reach you. My parents were in debt and losing the manor, and your brother proposed marriage to me. I have a younger brother and three younger sisters; do you think I should have let them be reduced to poverty when I could stop it? You hadn't even made a firm offer to me, let alone my parents. Should I have told them not to accept Karsten's offer because his brother had flirted with me?"

  Midway through her speech Laeth had lost his cold manner. Instead he clenched his fists and stared at the floor. When he spoke, it was in a voice very close to a whisper. "It was more than flirtation, Marri."

  Her anger left her abruptly, and there was only sadness in her face. "I know that, but how could I have explained it to my father? I'm not sure that I believed it all the time myself. When you left, you didn't tell me where you were going or what you were going to do."

  "You knew that I'd be back."

  "Did I?" she questioned, and then sighed. "I suppose that I did, but you didn't say so."

  She paced the room, ignoring Rialla's presence. After a while Marri said, "I really do care for him, you know. The chances that he'll survive until the princess marries King Myr are not very good. He explained it to me, as if I were a child, and then patted me on the head and said that you'd look after me." She bowed her head and clenched her arms around her midriff. "Gods," she said bleakly.

  It was too much for Laeth. Without his temper to protect him, he couldn't resist her misery. He left the bed and, with one boot on, strode to Marri and wrapped his arms around her. "Nothing is going to happen to me, and I'll do my best to see that nothing happens to Karsten either. You'll have to be satisfied with that."

  Laeth hugged her and rested his chin on the top of her head, staring blindly at a wall. Marri leaned against him a moment and then whispered, "I'd better go, before my maid starts to worry. She wouldn't say anything, but it's better not to tempt fate."

  Laeth allowed her to draw away and then said, "I'm sorry, Marri. I'm sorry that I didn't talk to your father. I'm sorry that you're worried." He slanted a faint grin at her and lightened his tone. "I'm even sorry that I'm a stupid mule. Karsten is a good man, even if he is my brother."

  He took Marri's arm in a formal hold and escorted her to the door. "Thank you for your warning, lady. I'll keep it in mind. If you find out who started the rumor that I'm behind the assassination attempt, I would like to know his name—but send a servant with a message."

  He put a hand on the door to open it, and Rialla casually attempted to use the remnants of her talent to scan for someone lurking in the hall. She suspected that even if there were someone there, she wouldn't be able to tell— so she was astounded when she found something.

  "Laeth, stop," she hissed urgently, abandoning her post against the wall to sprint to the door and hold it shut. "There's someone out there. Wait." Taking a deep breath, she pressed her forehead against the smooth wood of the door. The person outside the room was in a consuming rage; only the force of his emotions allowed her contact at all. Sweating, she tried to find out more.

  The anger she felt was directed at… the cat. The miserable, sharp-toed, speedy tabby who'd left with the tasty scrap of meat he was saving for a snack… Rialla could feel the flush of embarrassment that crept up her fair skin. It was one of the castle dogs. The hunting dogs were allowed full run of the keep—one of Karsten's little eccentricities.

  Animal thoughts had always been easier to pick up than human ones—their thoughts were simpler and more tightly connected to their emotions. She could pick up their thoughts almost as easily as she could touch their emotions.

  She was just about to turn and try to explain why she'd stopped Marri from going out when she caught the last edge of a thought… a whisper of resentment at the leash that kept him from the cat. She tried again, without success, to touch the person on the other side of the door, but only the dog came in clear.

  Her head was starting to ache with the effort of stretching the old scars that limited he
r empathy, but she ignored it. Unable to reach the person, she touched the animal a different way. Clearly audible on the other side of the door, the guard dog began barking.

  Laeth narrowed his eyes at her, but waving Marri out of sight of the door, he called out in a loud voice, "Girl! Go see what is wrong with that plaguing dog, and shut it up!" He strode to the bed and sat down on it, beginning to struggle with the remaining close-fitting, knee-high boot.

  "Yes, Master," Rialla replied demurely and yanked at the ties that held her hair up. She bit her lips to make them look kissed and opened the ties at the top of her tunic.

  She cracked the door and slipped out, but not before she gave the man outside a clear view of Laeth tugging at his boot. She didn't recognize the man holding the dog, but that wasn't surprising. He wore the uniform of the guards—they kept mostly to the grounds and away from the keep; she only knew the indoor servants.

  He took a good look at her and lost a few more inches of leather to the straining dog. She bit her bottom lip and leaned back against the door with all the sultriness a dance-trained slave was capable of displaying.

  "What's wrong with him?" she asked in a husky voice.

  The man's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  Laeth's voice carried clearly through the door. "Shut that beast up now!"

  Rialla gave a squeak of fright and ran to the dog, crooning, "Shh, puppy, that's a good boy."

  That pulled the guard's attention from the shadows of her cleavage. "Don't. He's a trained guard dog… He'll kill you." He said the last in a small voice as the dog rolled over in ecstasy onto the slave's lap while she rubbed his belly.

  She turned her big emerald eyes at the guard and said inanely, "I've always had a way with dogs. Do you think that he'll start barking again, if I quit petting him? My master has an awful temper: if he hears the dog bark again, he's liable to kill it." She watched the guard closely and whispered, "And probably you as well."