She sneered at Shireen before turning and shuffling away, slamming the door behind her.
“That’s better!” Jamshir said. “Would you do the honors?”
Shireen poured the wine, handing a glass to the mad ruler of the Greenweald and taking one for herself. The wine was cloudy and smelled sour, and Jamshir drank it with obvious relish.
“Drink! To the reunification of our great Houses!”
Shireen wasn’t sure exactly what it was that Jamshir thought was happening, but she raised her glass to her lips anyway. Taking a small sip, she almost gagged. Sour was an understatement. The wine had turned some time ago.
Jamshir took another long drink, dribbling a good amount down the front of his shirt, then refilled his glass.
“Now, where were we? Ah. Yes. We were going to celebrate our new understanding, were we not? Perhaps in my bedchambers?”
“No, Lord Jamshir, we were not. You were going to tell about what happened to my aide and the Soul Gaunt who attacked him.”
Jamshir moved the wine bottle to the floor and retook his seat. He sat and stared at Shireen sullenly.
“I know nothing of a Soul Gaunt and would thank you not to bring it up again.”
His voice grew cold and for a moment, one brief second, his eyes cleared. Then, he looked past her, and his features slackened as he began muttering to himself again.
Shireen set her glass to the side. There would be no answers coming from Jamshir. She glanced at Bragnold. Whatever had happened to him, the man was almost catatonic. She didn’t understand how he was even moving.
One of her scouts walked into the room, proceeding calmly toward her, keeping his eyes on both Jamshir and Bragnold. He shook his head at her questioning look.
Shireen rose, noting that the rest of her party had quietly entered the room as well.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Jamshir,” she said. “I’m afraid I have to return to my own House now.”
“Of course, dear. Come back soon, we’ll have another date.”
She bowed slightly and turned on her heels. Moments later, she drew a deep breath of clean air. The Glittering Birch compound was still a mess, but compared to the conditions in the tree, it was like a fresh, spring day.
“Let’s go,” she said, mounting her horse.
Her soldiers lined up behind her and they rode at a controlled pace until they left the Glittering Birch compound.
Shireen rode at the head of the column in silence. Jamshir had been showing signs of madness the last time she saw him, before the gates of the Towering Oaks compound. She still wanted him brought to justice for what he had done, but now, he was obviously completely gone, his mind shattered, by what she wasn’t sure. Either by the guilt of what he did, or by his association with the secret House, or… who knew?
For now, though, he was harmless. She didn’t believe he possessed the faculties to send a Soul Gaunt after them again, and certainly not the guile to have it take her aide. No, he could stay there, in his filth and decrepitude, until Solomon returned and decided what to do with him.
Behind her, she heard a voice.
“The whole place smelled like crap.” And then a loud guffaw from another.
She turned, surprised and not a little displeased by this break in discipline.
“Who said that?”
No one answered, but she saw the guilty parties anyway. At the back of column, two of her scouts looked back at her. One staring directly at her, insolence written all over his face. The other with his head down, glancing at her, his face pinched.
Shireen peeled off to the side and motioned the rest to go past. When the final two drew even with her, she moved her horse between theirs.
“Is there a problem, here?” she asked.
“No, Ma’am,” one said.
“Then what’s going on?”
“Sorry, Lady Shireen,” the other said. “It’s just a relief to be out of there. It was…distasteful.”
She couldn’t argue with that, but discipline had to be maintained. “Keep it together!” she snapped. “We’re Towering Oaks, not some lesser House. Act like it!”
Both bowed their heads and sat up straighter in the saddle. With a final glare, she spurred her horse into a trot, moving back up into the lead.
Chapter 37
“Of course, people are talking.”
Jocasta turned from the shelf of books she was pretending to look at. Darius sat at his ease in one of the library’s chairs, legs crossed.
“What do you mean, of course they are?” she said.
“The whole council dies, except for you? Even if there is enough reasonable doubt, some people are still going to suspect you had something to do with it.”
“I want it shut down.”
“No, you don’t. Taking draconian measures like that will reinforce what some are saying. Better to let them whisper. In time, it will die out. In the meantime, treat your new council like they’re wise sages and you’re listening to their advice on all things.”
Jocasta took a seat and regarded Darius. There was something going on with him. How did a mere doorman become so politically savvy?
“Who are you?” She enjoyed the sudden confusion on the man’s face.
“Who am I?” Darius laughed, but to Jocasta it sounded like a stall. “I’m your aide, remember? I don’t think I understand the question.”
“You were a doorman. You opened the door for people going
