“Find Lord Childress,” she told him. “And bring wine. Good wine.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“I must admit, I’m surprised to be in your presence again so soon,” Childress said as Jocasta poured him a glass of wine.
“I didn’t like the way our last meeting ended,” she said. “I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“And I don’t want to be yours. But I cannot condone working with someone as unstable and evil as Jamshir. To say nothing of attacking an ally of so many years.”
“I understand, and it was unfair of me to spring all that on you so suddenly. If I may ask a question, though?”
“Certainly.” He raised the wine to his lips.
“I understand that, for a while, there was a rift between Lords Florian and Jediah. How did you feel about that? About your age-old alliance then?”
Childress chuckled. “I hated it, of course. But I understood as well. Florian had just lost his daughter and blamed it on Solomon. And he wasn’t wrong. Solomon did disobey orders.”
He took a drink and considered the wine in his glass. “Very nice, by the way. I always believed the rift between them would heal. Jediah did as he was ordered by Jamshir and allowed Solomon to be exiled without a fight from either of them. Florian would have come around to see that, even if the Soul Gaunts hadn’t shown up.”
Jocasta nodded. “Then you weren’t worried because it was a temporary thing.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, so is my plan. I mean, yes, it will lead to a permanent restructuring of power, but Towering Oaks will accept it, and we’ll be allies again. And the threat from Jamshir will be gone.”
“At great cost to Towering Oaks. Which is something I can’t countenance.”
“We’ll allow them to recover their strength. We’ll help them even. After we’re in a better position.”
Childress set his wine aside and leaned forward. “I don’t understand you, dear. Why are you so convinced that our House is in such an untenable position?”
“We’ve been used, time and again, for our information.”
“We’ve been paid for it, in one way or another.”
“You mean we’ve paid.”
Childress sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever see it your way. When Celia returns—"
“If she returns,” Jocasta interrupted.
“When she returns, the council will decide who should be Head of House. In the meantime, I urge you not to make any drastic moves. Please, be patient. Provide guidance, continue to grow our House, continue with your training of our troops if you wish.”
“I’ve already done more,” she said. This was the moment of truth.
Childress stared at her for a moment. “What have you done?”
Jocasta told him about sending Darius to House Towering Oaks, to get information and to spread discontent and chaos if he could.
“To what end?” Childress asked, his voice cold and measured.
“To weaken them further. Before Solomon returns. Even if you won’t condone joining forces with Glittering Birch, if we weaken them we can attack on our own and—"
“Enough.” Childress held up his hand. He sat silent for a few seconds, then picked up his wine and drained the glass. “I’ve heard enough.”
He stood. “I’ll be going to the council. I will not wait until Celia returns. You’ve proven to be a grave disappointment, dear, and I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain as Head of this House any longer.”
Without another word, he walked from the library, leaving her staring after him.
She had hoped that he would have understood. She had the best interests of House Whispering Pines in mind. The House was destined to rule over the Greenweald, she saw that clearly now. In all their conversations, Darius had helped bring it into focus.
It wasn’t about today, or tomorrow. It was about future generations. Her children, should she decide to have any, and others. Those who would no longer have to bow and scrape before anyone. Not Towering Oaks, not Glittering Birch.
And if Childress couldn’t see that, he was a problem.
He would remove her? Perhaps it was time to look at removing him first.
Chapter 24
Solomon had never seen such a decrepit, dispirited place. He came through the gates unchallenged by anyone. Once he was inside, the people walking the streets paid him no attention, even though he towered over the tallest of them by a good foot and a half. There was no curiosity about this obvious stranger in their midst, and certainly no welcome.
He could see why Gan-Rowe said that the Mar-trollid would no longer come here.
“Excuse me.” He tried to get the attention of an elderly woman shuffling along, her head covered by a threadbare scarf.
She barely glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, shrank away and crossed the street.
The same happened when he approached a younger man, a group of three women, and an old man. No responses were given, only furtive glances and turned backs.
Pressing his lips together in frustration, Solomon approached one who would be forced to talk to him. A surly looking man with a swollen nose and fat lip was approaching, pushing a cart with a few wrinkly apples in it.
“Excuse me,” Solomon tried again.
“Bugger off,” the man growled and kept walking.
Solomon stepped in front of the cart and put his hands on it, stopping it in its tracks. The apple vendor jerked to a halt behind it, his hands slipping on the handles.
“Get off! You’ve got no right!”
“I don’t want any trouble, friend. I’m just looking for someone.”
“Well, I ain’t seen her.”
Solomon smiled at him. “How do you know I’m looking for a ‘her’?”
The vendor glared at him, refusing to answer.
Solomon reached into the cart and took an apple, still smiling at the man despite his rudeness and the mushy feel of the fruit in his hand.
