the Colonials and withdraw to build a fort at the outflow of the Tillie River, as planned. We prevent du Malphias from forming his own nation and keep him alive as a threat.'
Rivendell nodded. 'I hate that it will appear that I lost the siege.'
Deathridge shook his head. 'You only lose if we allow them to say that in Parliament. And we will not. Yours will be a 'strategic redeployment.' You will be hailed as a genius, and given more troops to destroy him next summer. And all of Mystria will see you as its savior. Tharyngia sends more troops to Mystria, we attack the Continent, and end the Laureate tyranny forever.'
'Yes, yes, of course.' Rivendell's smile shrank a little. 'Why was it you sent Forest's men off to that other place?'
'If you had them at Anvil Lake, you would have been forced to use them. By sending them off to be killed, we make Mystria much more vulnerable. The whispers of independence will die.' Deathridge's eyes half-closed. 'The Prince will be removed as Governor-General. I believe you will be offered that post.'
Rivendell rubbed his hands together. 'I get so much, and you ask so little in return.'
Deathridge shrugged. 'See to it that my nephew dies, and I shall consider us more than even.'
Chapter Fifty-Two
May 24, 1764
Duke Deathridge's Residence, Temperance
Temperance Bay, Mystria
O wen slowly mounted the steps to his uncle's apartments. Duke Deathridge had taken rooms from Zachariah Warren. The shop's location proved convenient to the docks and the garrison armory. The choice made perfect sense and managed to offend Lord Rivendell, since renting from a shopkeeper was hardly suitable for a man of Deathridge's status.
Owen felt as if he were a child again. His father had never been a disciplinarian, so those duties devolved to his grandfather or uncle. Grandfather simply had the help beat him. His uncle greatly relished his role and, it had often seemed to Owen, was intent on bleeding him dry of Mystrian blood.
His uncle had never just inflicted pain. He always threw in humiliation. Owen's cheeks burned at the memory of the time his uncle had appeared at his Academy, had him strip off his breeches in the courtyard, then applied a riding crop to his buttocks and thighs for an imaginary offense. As it turned out, Richard Ventnor had actually committed that particular offense thirty years earlier, and his father had beaten him as he beat Owen.
Owen doubted the invitation to dinner would include a beating. Still, he was willing to bet humiliation and mental torture would be on the menu. Owen knocked at the apartment door, wondering why he had even come.
Harlmont, a wizened prune of a man whose subservient attitude had left him perpetually hunched, opened the door. The servant said nothing by way of greeting. He took Owen's hat, then waved him through to the sitting room.
Richard Ventnor stood before a modest fire, holding a book in his left hand. He snapped it shut and set it on the mantle, then looked Owen up and down. 'I have, I fear, grossly misjudged you.'
Owen hesitated. 'I beg your pardon.'
'Harlmont, two whiskies. My best. Be generous and quick.' Deathridge moved to a chair beside the fire, and nodded Owen toward its mate opposite. 'I read the Prince's report-twice, in fact. The level of detail, the things you learned about these pasmortes, impressed me.'
Owen sat. 'Lord Rivendell believes they are ghosts to frighten children.'
'Rivendell could not find east even if you started him at the dawn.'
'He will get men killed.'
Deathridge accepted a whisky and raised his glass to his nephew. 'To men who see what is.'
Owen took his whisky and sipped. 'Thank you.'
'To you goes the thanks. And an apology.' Deathridge set his glass on a side table. 'Had not your wife so eloquently pled your case, I would never have considered you for this assignment. I had little expectation of success. Certainly nothing on this level. You justified her faith in you, and opened my eyes.'
Owen frowned. 'Did you know du Malphias was on his way when you sent me?'
'It had been rumored, but he sailed after you did. Had I guessed at the depths of his depravity I would have…' His uncle's head came up. 'No. I was going to say I would have informed you, but the truth is, I would have chosen someone else. I never imagined you to be as clever as you are.'
Owen shivered. 'Are you well, Uncle?'
The man laughed, and openly so. It had to have been the first time Owen had heard that sound. 'I deserve that. I treated you poorly, Owen, for reasons that, I guess, you should know.
'My brother, your stepfather, is a drunkard and a horrible gambler. Your maternal grandfather, Earl Featherstone, had lent Francis a great deal of money-more than our father was willing to repay. When your father died, your grandfather purchased Francis' marriage to your mother at the price of his debts. I, and my father, had hoped to use Francis to secure some other alliance. My discomfort at being thwarted was something I took out on you. I convinced myself you were a stupid boy and that if you were dead, it would be the best thing for all involved. I do not, however, stoop to murder.'
Owen gulped a decent slug of the whisky, letting it burn his throat so he would not scream. My existence thwarted his ambition, so that justifies how I was treated?
Deathridge steepled his fingers. 'So I have several things to tell you. The first, which will be made public when you return to Norisle, is that the Queen is going to make you a Knight of the Norillian Empire. With that shall come a modest land grant here. You know what you have seen and what you like; please choose a place. A thousand acres. You might name it after the family estate.'
'A knighthood. Do not tease me.'
'No, it is quite true. Her Majesty recognizes the threat these pasmortes represent. Du Malphias had been rumored to be collecting bodies and looting graves back in the days of Villerupt. We saw no evidence of anything untoward, so suggestions of necromancy had been dismissed.'
Owen raised an eyebrow. 'What about his ability to use magick beyond the realm of touch?'
Deathridge recovered his glass and drank. 'That I find the most disturbing of all. There are always rumors of magick that powerful.'
'The Shedashee can do it, after a fashion.'
'This gives the rumors more credence, certainly.' Deathridge put the glass down again. 'This brings me to one charge I have for you, one that you must reveal to no one else.'
'Yes?'
Deathridge closed his eyes for a moment. 'When you take the fortress, du Malphias will attempt to burn his papers. You must, at all costs, prevent this. We need his documents, to analyze and determine what breakthroughs he has made. The very future of Norisle will depend upon it.'
'That is a very important job, Uncle. I should think you save it for yourself.'
'I would, but I will not be joining you on the expedition.'
Owen frowned. 'But you said your job was to advise…You're not going with Forest's troops, are you?'
'As much as I might like to, no.' His uncle sighed and almost seemed to shrink. 'The packet boat did have the information I informed the Prince of concerning Tharyngian troops. It also contained a letter directing me to return to Launston with all haste. One of my political allies-one of Rivendell's enemies-suffered a public scandal. I will remain here long enough to organize supplies for the expedition, then I will return to Launston to salvage what I can.'
Deathridge covered his face with his hands, then looked up. 'How smart is Prince Vlad? Is he sane? He seemed so, but many fear he has adopted Tharyngian ways.'
'He's very smart, and very sane.'
'Ambitious?'
'Not in any way you might think.' Owen smiled. 'His ambition extends only to his studies. He gave me a list of
