Chapter 12
A quick search of my suite revealed no sign of Ivinius anywhere. No blood had been spilled, so no tell-tale stains remained. Only the tray with the razors and towels told me he had actually been here… and the ink stain beneath the small carpet, but that could have been spilled any time. It spoke of a clumsy scribe more than of an assassin.
I had no proof now that I’d been attacked, or that he’d been a hell-creature impersonating a servant. Without his body, I’d lost my one clue… and my one slight advantage. Since no alarm had been raised, I assumed either another hell-creature or a traitor in Juniper had come searching for him, discovered his body, and spirited it off.
I frowned. I hadn’t seen a single empty hallway or corridor all the way back to my rooms from dinner. Someone could have snuck into my rooms by normal means—it only took a moment of turned backs to slip through my unlocked door. But anyone smuggling out a body would have encountered witnesses. Clearly the body had been removed by other, perhaps even magical means. A Trump? It seemed likely.
And a Trump meant one of us… one of my half-brothers or half-sisters…
But which one?
Puzzled, annoyed, and more than slightly frightened by the implications, I carefully bolted my doors, checked the windows (there didn’t seem to be any way short of flying to get to my balcony from the balconies to either side), and I moved my sword to within easy reach of the bed.
Only then did I undress and crawl between the sheets.
Exhaustion surged like an ocean tide. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.
Polite knocking has never been the way to rouse me in the morning, nor softly called invitations to breakfast. As with all soldiers, I liked to sleep the same way as I ate, fought, and bedded my women—heartily, fully, deeply. Trumpets sounding a call to arms, or the clash of swords, are the only things that stir my blood in the early hours. Otherwise, as my men had found out over the years, it’s best to let me be.
It should have surprised no one, then, that I scarcely heard the knocking, or the politely incessant “Lord? Lord Oberon?” that followed from the hallway when I refused to be awakened.
When someone threw back the curtains and bright sunlight flooded the room, I half opened one eye, saw it was only Aber, rolled over, and continued to snore.
“Oberon!” he called. “Wakee wakee!”
I opened my eyes to slits and glared at him. Hands on his hips, my half brother gazed down at me with a bemused expression. Behind him, in the doorway to my bedchamber, stood a clump of anxious servants in castle livery.
“I thought I bolted the door!” I said.
“Dad wants to see you. The servants have been trying to rouse you for half an hour. Finally they came and got me.”
“Why didn’t they say something?”
Growling a little, I threw back the covers and sat up, naked. A couple of the women hurried from the doorway, blushing. Anari hurried forward with a robe which turned out to be several sizes too large—but it would do, I shrugged it on.
Then I noticed a Trump in Aber’s hand… and plucked it from his grasp before he could object.
“Aha!” I said. A miniature portrait of my antechamber, done just like the one I had confiscated yesterday. “I knew I locked the door last night!”
He laughed. “Well, how else do you think I’d get in?”
“You told me you didn’t have any more Trumps of my rooms!”
“No,” he said with a grin, “I didn’t. I told you I didn’t have any more of your
“A fine distinction,” I grumbled. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Served me right for not being specific enough, though I didn’t appreciate the service. Clearly I needed to do a better job of watching out for my own interests. “I’ll hang onto this one, too. Do you have any other Trumps of my rooms?
“Hundreds!” He tapped his head. “I keep them up here.”
I snorted. “Make sure they stay there. I don’t like people sneaking up on me!”
“Oh, all right.” He sighed. “You’re no fun.”
Yawning, I stretched the kinks from my muscles. “Now what were you saying? Dad wants to see me?”
“Yes.” Aber folded his arms. “You’ll find things run much more smoothly when you stick to his schedule. Rise early in the morning, stay up late at night, and try to catch a nap in the afternoon if time allows.”
“Lord,” said Anari, “I have found you a valet and taken the liberty of preparing your schedule for today.”
Schedule? I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Go on,” I said.
Anari motioned toward the doorway, and a young man of perhaps thirteen or so dashed forward and bowed to me.
“This is my great-grandson, Horace,” Anari said. “He will serve you well.”
“I’m sure,” I said. I gave Horace a brief nod. He had Anari’s features, but black hair to the old man’s white. “Pleased to have you, Horace.”
“Thank you, Lord!” He looked relieved.
“Call me Oberon,” I told him.
“Yes, Lord Oberon!”
“No, just Oberon. Or Lord.”
“Yes… Oberon… Lord.” He seemed hesitant at such familiarity. Well, he would get used to it soon enough. I needed a valet, not a toady.
Anari said, “The castle tailors will be here after breakfast. They will prepare clothing to your tastes. After that, lunch. You will be fitted for armor in the afternoon… and Lord Davin wishes to accompany you to the stables. He says you need a horse.”
“A peace offering?” I asked Aber.
“Who understands them?” he said with a shrug. “I don’t.”
I didn’t care; I did need a horse.
“It sounds fine,” I said to Anari. “But all must wait until after I see my father.”
“Of course.”
Horace was already making himself useful, laying out clothes for me—a beautiful white shirt with a stylized lion’s head stitched on the chest in gold thread and dark wine-colored pants that shimmered slightly in the bright morning light. They looked about my size, too… certainly closer than the robe.
“These were Mattus’s,” Aber said. “I don’t think he’d mind if you took them.”
“They’re beautiful.” I ran my hand over the fabric, wondering at the incredible softness and the silky texture, unlike anything I’d ever seen in Ilerium. No one there, not even King Elnar himself, had garments such as these.
“They were made in the Courts of Chaos,” Aber said.
“What’s the secret? Magic?”
“Spider-silk, I believe.”
“Incredible!”
Horace had continued his work while we talked, setting out a wide belt, cape, and gloves in colors to match the pants, plus clean socks and undergarments.
“You know where to find me,” Aber said, starting for the door. “I’ll walk down with you when you’re ready. Don’t dawdle… Dad’s still waiting!”
