“As long as he remains within the walls,” Althorn said with a wry smile, “we will be happy to pretend he doesn’t exist.”
Emily smiled at Hedrick’s expression, then sobered. It wasn’t going to be easy to secure the house. The original wards appeared to be gone. Lady Barb and she could cast dozens of wards, but the house was too large to protect without a wardstone and weeks of work. They simply didn’t have the time. And that meant... she sighed. She had the feeling the house had been chosen with malice aforethought.
And there’s nothing you can do about it, she thought. You’ll just have to go with the flow.
Chapter Twelve
Emily HAD EXPECTED TO FEEL SOMETHING upon stepping into Councilor Triune’s house.
She’d heard of him. He’d been mentioned extensively in the briefing notes, although none one had been precisely clear on what Councilor Triune did for the king. Emily rather suspected he was an older, wiser and possibly more cunning version of Viscount Sejanus Nightingale, who’d handled the dirty work for King Randor. Nightingale had vanished shortly after the civil war had begun and never resurfaced. Alassa had blamed him for a great many things and put a price on his head. So far, no one had claimed it.
She stood in the hallway and reached out with her senses. The house was surprisingly devoid of magic. There was no sense anyone had ever erected wards to protect the owner. Even the background magic was oddly reduced. She closed her eyes and reached further, sensing the anti-spying wards that blanketed the city. Councilor Triune’s wards were gone. She couldn’t believe he’d lived without them. Someone would have poked a spying spell into his defenses a long time ago.
“Interesting,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Was Councilor Triune a magician?”
“No,” Prince Hedrick said, curtly.
Emily frowned as she opened her eyes and led the way down the corridor. The magic levels were just too low. And yet, what did it mean? Had someone carefully demagicked the house? That would have taken weeks. She’d never seen anything quite like it, not in a private home. Councilor Triune had either cared little for his privacy or he’d had a defense that wasn’t reliant on magic. It made no sense at all.
Althorn caught her eye. “My comrades and I invite you, Emily, to a dinner this evening in your honor,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”
“I should attend,” Prince Hedrick said. “We, too, have a lot to discuss...”
“You’re not invited,” Althorn said, sweetly. “Emily is invited.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “I shall attend,” she said. “Will you send an escort?”
“I shall.” Althorn nodded to her. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to settle in.”
He turned and strode out the door. Emily watched him go, then glanced at Lady Barb. “You’re being very quiet.”
“I feel like we’ve stuck our heads in a noose,” Lady Barb said, curtly. “And I think we should check out the rest of the house before we get settled in.”
Emily nodded. “Silent, wait here,” she ordered. “The rest of us will inspect the house.”
Silent dropped a curtsey and stepped back. Emily nodded to Prince Hedrick, who looked irked, and led the way down the corridor. She didn’t think Hedrick would be very helpful - it was starting to look as though he was going to be a problem - but she didn’t want to leave him alone with Silent. He was the type of person who would try to take advantage of a helpless servant and, worse, would be only encouraged by warnings and threats. She knew the type all too well. Hedrick couldn’t be trusted. She made a mental note to ask Lady Barb to keep an eye on him. They could teleport him back to Dragon’s Den if he became a real problem.
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as they made their way through the house. It was surprisingly clean, but it was clear the building had been searched and looted. Paintings had been torn from the walls, leaving pale spots behind; drawers and cupboards had been opened, their contents stolen or dumped on the floors. There were a dozen bookshelves in one room, without a single book. She hoped they’d been stolen, rather than burned. It was impossible to be sure. The rebels might not be able to read them if they’d been written in Old Script.
Although they could probably sell them on, she thought. There’d be people in the city who could make use of them.
The bedrooms looked bare and barren, although the beds and mattresses themselves hadn’t been looted. The files had stated the councilor hadn’t been married and there’d been no hint of a mistress... why did he have so many bedrooms? Perhaps he’d wanted a family or... Emily smiled as she realized the truth. The councilor had probably provided accommodation for visitors to the city, letting them stay in his home for free. It would give him a chance to ingratiate himself with them before they met the king. It wasn’t something she would do, but she understood the logic. She knew aristocrats who’d kill for the chance to learn something before it became common knowledge.
She grimaced as she glanced into the bathrooms - the toilets looked primitive and there was no running water - then checked the remaining rooms. The kitchen was large enough to feed an entire household. The cabinets beyond had been stripped bare of everything, save for a handful of moldy crusts of bread. Emily suspected that was a taunt, although she was unsure who was being taunted. The former servants might have assumed their master would be expecting them to keep his house in readiness, awaiting his return. Or whoever had stripped the kitchen might simply have left the bread behind. The thought of eating it was enough to
