She'd just come back to her own quarters when Ro-Karthis emerged, bloody knife in hand, from Rosanda's rooms.
Daphne had damn near killed the bastard, and frankly, Dayme marveled at the self-control she'd shown by sparing Ro-Karthis until his return. Of course, Daphne's idea of self-control had been to hamstring Ro-Karthis and sever the tendons in his elbows. It probably hadn't taken her more than the necessary four quick strokes with her sword, either. Then she'd staunched and cauterized the blood flow to save his life.
Of course, long before Dayrne had gotten home she'd extracted from the stupid fool the reason for his crime-to revenge the PFLS for the damage Chenaya had done to their organization.
"What I can't figure out," Dayrne snapped suddenly, smacking his fist against an open palm, "is why she can't talk! She won't make a sound!" He turned toward Rashan. "You should have seen her last night. She cried and cried, tears enough to put Sabellia to shame, if hers could hang in the sky. But not once did she so much as whimper'" He shook his head as Daphne came to his side. "I tell you, it's weird!" She touched his arm, and he met her gaze worriedly. "It's got me scared," he said, no easy admission for a man like Dayme.
Rashan rose to his feet and he, too, began to pace. "Could it be shock? Maybe you should have told her more gently."
Daphne snickered and shot the priest a scornful look. "Chenaya?" she said with a sneer.
Dayme frowned and shook his head vigorously. "She beat poor Dendur up, rather than tell him her name," he reminded.
Daphne's eyebrow went up in mocking surprise. "Poor Dendur?" she muttered. "He's almost seven feet tall and thicker than the city gates!"
"You're not helping. Princess!" Dayme shouted abruptly, using her title as an insult, as he did on the training field to make her work harder.
But Daphne was having none of it this time. "How can I help?" she answered sharply. She waved the dagger under her trainer's nose. "Chenaya's in one of her moody snits, and that's understandable, if you ask me. Just leave her alone. She'll pull herself together."
Rashan folded his hands into his voluminous sleeves and gazed toward the ground. "Could it be a spelt?" he wondered aloud. "Or some curse? We don't know where she's been the past seven months, or what she's been up to."
"Knowing Chenaya," Daphne offered as she turned away, "only trouble."
"Don't you have a home of your own now?" Dayme said irritably. She gave him the kind of smile an adult loves to give a nasty neighbor child just before knocking it back on its side of the fence. He knew well enough she now owned the southernmost estate next to Land's End. It had been part of her divorce settlement from Kadakithis, that and half his treasury.
"It's full of your gladiators, remember, teacher?" She gave him a pouty look. "You couldn't let good men sleep in those drafty, leaky barracks you made them build, forever. They're gladiators, not carpenters. They'd have turned on you at the first sign of spring rain." She tilted her head playfully and winked at him. "I probably saved your life." "It could be a curse," Rashan mumbled to himself. The peristyle's doors opened, and a tall, blond man, clad in a brief red kilt and a gladiator's broad leather belt stepped across the threshold. He stopped there and called out to Dayrne, beckoning as he nodded greetings to Daphne and Rashan.
Dayrne walked over to him. "What is it, Leyn?" he said quietly.
Leyn kept his voice low. "Molin Torchholder is here," he said with a look of warning. "He heard Chenaya was back. You know what he wants."
Dayme nodded, frowning. Someday he'd drive a sword through that old schemer's gut, even if Molin was Chenaya's uncle. The human weasels of the world just weren't to be tolerated by honorable men, and there were far too many such in Sanctuary. He knew what Torchholder wanted, all right.
"You kept him in the courtyard?" Dayme asked.
Leyn pursed his lips and nodded.
"I'll take care of him," Dayme answered, ushering Leyn out and following him. He paused long enough to close the doors. He'd explain to Daphne and Rashan later. "I'm beginning to get irritated with Lord Molin," he added as he and Leyn walked side by side.
"He is a bit of a pimple in the crotch," Leyn agreed.
Dayrne went out into the courtyard and paused long enough to glance at the steel-colored sky. On such a gray day bad news just had to come calling. And there had been too many gray days, lately.
Molin had come with an escort of three garrison guards. Two stood just behind Molin, while the third remained beyond the gate with their horses. Dismas, Gestus, Ouijen, and Dendur stood on the opposite side of the courtyard and scowled unpleasantly at them. Leyn went to join his four friends and added his scowl to theire.
Dayme went straight up to Molin Torchholder without giving so much as a glance of acknowledgment to the two nervous guards. "This is not a good time, Molin," he said sternly.
Motin Torchholder was unruffled by the use of his first name without the use of his title. "I've come to talk with my niece about Lowan's estate," he said evenly, taking care to maintain his dignity in the face of Dayme's deliberate affront.
Dayme glared into the other man's face, then down at his sternum just under the breastbone, imagining he could see the spot right through Molin's robes. Yes, there he would put his blade cleanly- It would make a soft, squishing sound, steel and flesh, and Molin would give a little moan as he rolled his eyes. Someday.
"She's resting," Dayme finally answered. At least, he hoped she was resting. Chenaya was almost hysterical about not falling asleep. No sleeping, no talking. What was happening to her?
Molin Torchholder regarded Dayrne stimy and lifted the point of his nose a bit higher in the air. "I've come twice now," he reminded Dayme. "We've got to get this business settled."
Dayrne almost reached for his sword then and there. Instead, he clenched his fist. "You pompous bureaucrat!" he hissed, making the effort to keep his voice under control. "Lowan Vigeles wasn't dead a day before you showed up to claim his estate."
A low chuckle came from behind Dayme. "Daphne threw him out on his ass," Ouijen remembered aloud as he idly twisted the long braided lock of dark hair that draped over his shoulder.
Dayrne ignored the interruption. "Now, Chenaya's not back a day, and here you are to press your claim again. What's the matter, Molin? Doesn't Kitty-Kat want you at the palace anymore?"
The insults were beginning to take effect on Molin Torchholder. His cheeks had reddened at Ouijen's remark, and now a second time, Dayrne had addressed him personally, and in such a mocking tone. His eyes burned with suppressed anger. "It is not a claim," he stated starkly. "It is a fact. Land's End is mine. Under Rankan law, daughters do not inherit their fathers' holdings. Lowan was my brother ..."
"Half-brother," corrected Daphne, coming out the door and joining the gladiators behind Dayme. She smiled at Molin and blew him a kiss, all the while tapping the dagger on her palm as she had done in the peristyle.
Molin deigned to acknowledge her. "Princess," he said with a nod. "Nevertheless, I am Lowan's closest surviving male relative. The fact is indisputable, and the law is the law."
Daphne, Dismas, Gestus, Leyn, Ouijen, and Dendur all crept forward until they stood in a semicircle on either side of Dayme. They were all tapping daggers on their palms now, and they were all grinning unpleasant little grins, winking at one another, and giving tiny provocative nods and suggestive tilts of the head to the garrison guards, who began casting nervous glances toward the open gate at their backs.