TWENTY-THREE
When his transformation was complete, no one from Pirie would have recognized Arman as the peasant boy whose body had been lost to the swift waters of the Arvid River. His ruddy face was gaunt; his dancing blue eyes had become cold and distant. With his hair cut and his thin beard neatly trimmed, he wore the blue-and-gold livery of the Obours as if he had always been a part of their guard.
Though he had a place of honor in their ranks, the other guards avoided him, first because they found his sudden arrival odd and his intensity disturbing, later because it was clear that he was Ilsabet's most cunning spy. Anything critical said about her in his presence, even in jest, got back to her. Men were disciplined and drummed out of the guards. One was even beheaded for making what the baroness saw as seditious remarks. Arman's ears were so keen, people did not even whisper in his presence.
Arman's coldness had an unusual affect on women. Most of the serving girls stayed away from him, but a few of the boldest found his aloof demeanor a challenge. He ignored them all, and the girl who accepted a dare and stole into his room one evening was never seen again. After that even the women left him alone.
The only person unaffected by him was the baroness.
She had him with her every day, standing behind her during the afternoons when she received guests and petitioners, during the evenings when she ate. At night he remained outside her door while she slept. When he was relieved at midnight, he often didn't return to his room. No one knew where he went.
Had he been some other man, people might have thought that he had some private access to his lady's bed, but the kind of devotion he showed to Baroness Ilsabet was not that of a lover but of a slave.
Besides, the baroness was certainly pregnant, with a child due in the spring. Though she had never looked so beautiful, flattery seemed to have uttle effect on her. During state dinners and fetes, she often wore a remote expression as if her mind were occupied elsewhere.
In truth, her thoughts were often on the night and Arman.
His brother had reported back to her as she'd instructed. After getting information on the temperament of the people who lived around Pirie, she asked him the important questions:
Food gave Emory some nourishment once a week; more often, he would lie awake with hunger gnawing at his insides until everyone slept. Then he would sneak out of the house and travel into the hills. If he were lucky, he would catch some wild animal to kill. If not, a sheep or dog would suffice. Once when the need was on him, he stumbled on a sleeping beggar. He'd done his best to subdue the man, drink the blood he needed, and let the victim go. The beggar'd had other ideas, and Emory had been forced to kill him.
He readily admitted that the human blood gave the greatest satisfaction, and he hadn't had to leave his house for ten days after.
Arman had less control. He could eat nothing at all and had to seek out blood every other night. Sometimes he roamed the hills as his brother did. Whenever soldiers captured a group of outlaws, Ilsabet would keep them in separate dungeons. After a few days with the damp and the rats, they could always find a prisoner desperate to escape. Arman would offer to show a way out in exchange for gold or information. The man would follow and find himself in the little room where Kashi had died.
With her fear of ghosts kept at bay by the presence of her undead slave, Ilsabet would sit on the bed and watch Arman play with his victim as she had requested, subduing, drinking, letting the man recover, then attacking again. The game would go on night after night until, weakened by the loss of blood, the victim died and was thrown into the river after dark to float downstream.
One of the prisoners, more emotional than the others Arman killed, went insane. They kept him for a week before Ilsabet tired of his screams, decided she needed the room for other things, and ordered Arman to kill him.
Fear was her nourishment, as blood was Arman's. People dismissed her sudden radiance as natural, attributing it to the fact that she was expecting a child. "Brides and future mothers," they would say and comment that once Peto saw her again, he would never leave her side.
With access to Jorani's hidden room, and all that it contained, Ilsabet was working to assure that as well.
With only Arman to guard her, she would sit for hours in the dank guardhouse. The prisoners she'd chosen would be brought one by one to her presence. They'd be offered ale or cider, and food of a quality rarely seen in Kislova, let alone in the dungeons. The questions were vague, about their towns and people.
Many of the prisoners grew to welcome her visits, fawning over her, hoping to be released. But there seemed to be a price for her favor, for her favorites stayed in the dungeons the longest and seemed to adjust most poorly to the darkness and the damp. She wrote in her journaclass="underline"
Before each visit, I note the dosage of web poison I administer and the vehicle chosen for it. Ingestion gives the quickest and most lethal results, though anyone would know that the victim was murdered through poisoning. Besides, whoever is tasting Peto's food will undoubtedly fall over before Peto ever gets his fork to his mouth.
Breathing in the strands creates a somewhat slower death, but death nonetheless. Though the victim does not die at his supper table, he dies soon after, and the method is noticed. My victim, a burly sheep rustler from Tygelt, sneezed, realized what I had done, screamed some gibberish about his family, and attacked. Arman subdued him and held him tightly while I watched him sicken. When it became clear death was inevitable, I gave him to Arman. Even my mistakes serve their purpose.
On the other hand, touching a minute piece of the web causes illness. Repeated contact makes the victim sicker, but the malaise is so general it can be mistaken for any number of things. The victims fortunate enough to survive these poisonings are released. In the land, my subjects speak of my mercy. I find it amusing.
It has been five months since I conceived. I think of the child, Jorani's child, growing within me, and I take great precautions in my work. Arman is most helpful in this. Since I determined soon after his rebirth that poisons no longer affect him, I don't even get close to my lethal concoc-tions. Instead, Arman mixes them and conducts experiments under my direction. I know he despises this work, but he has no choice. Soon, Peto will come to me. I'll be ready.
Baron Peto, accompanied by Lord Jorani, left for Nimbus Castle a week before the child was due. He deliberately spent some hours dining with the merchants and minor gentry in Pirie so that he would arrive at the castle late at night, when Ilsabet and the household were sleeping.
As soon as he'd settled into the same rooms he'd occupied for so long, he sent for his lieutenant.
Shaul had been awakened as soon as the baron had arrived. Washed and dressed in the black-and-gold livery, he appeared shortly after being summoned, standing at attention until Peto asked him to sit down.
"Your letters were as informative as I'd hoped," Peto commented. "I do need to ask a question, however. In your opinion, how did my wife govern in my absence?"
Shaul's eyes had been fixed on his master's. Now they shifted uneasily to focus on a crystal vase above the mantle. "I hardly know how to answer."
"Look at me and answer honestly. That's all I demand, and I expect you to obey."
Harsh words, gently spoken. Shaul tried to meet the baron's eyes, but failed again, not because he intended to lie but because he did not want to see the baron's expression when he told the truth.
"She governs by extremes, Baron. You will see dramatic changes in the castle. There are oil lamps in all the halls, a mosaic floor and crystal chandeliers in the great hall. There is also a bathing room in your chambers as there are in hers and Lord Jorani's with the hot water pumped from the kitchen as it is at home. She managed the changes in record time."