I passed one of the guard rooms Aber had pointed out earlier that afternoon. Through the open door, it looked like any of a hundred guard rooms I’d seen over the years—a rack of swords against the far wall, armor and shields on wooden pegs, a table and plenty of sturdy chairs.
At the moment, three guards sat at the table throwing dice. Unfortunately, the one facing the door recognized me—the moment he saw my face, he leaped to his feet.
“Lord!” he cried. He saluted, and the other two shoved back their chairs and did the same.
“Please, continue with your game.” I gave a polite wave, then strolled on. No need to involve them; they were probably off duty and unwinding from a long day’s work.
Kitchens… servants’ quarters… the still-guarded corridor by Dad’s workshop… the main hall… everywhere I went, I found people. Lots of people. And all seemed to recognize me. Clearly, I thought with some frustration, getting Ivinius out of Juniper would not be as easy as I’d hoped.
Then I remembered Aber’s gift—my own set of Trumps. I could make them work on my own—after all, I had been able to contact my brother earlier from Dworkin’s horseless carriage. Perhaps I could use one now to get rid of Ivinius’s body. Frowning, I tried to recall all their pictures. I had barely glanced at them—but hadn’t one showed a forest glade with Juniper in the distance? That would be perfect, I thought.
Excited now, I hurried back up to my rooms. The hinges squeaked when I entered. Servants had lit an oil lamp on the writing table, but everything else looked just as I had left it: my sword across the back of one of the chairs, the stand and washbasin beside the now-dark windows, the desk shoved up against the wall, its paper, ink, and blotters all in slight disarray.
The carved wooden box containing my set of Trumps sat atop the stack of unused towels on the tray atop the washstand.
Feeling a growing sense of elation, I opened the little box and pulled out my stack of Trumps. They felt cool and hard as ivory in my hands. Slowly, one by one, I leafed through them. Portraits came first: Aber… Locke… Pella… Blaise… Freda…
Yes—there was the one I needed! With a trembling hand, I drew forth the card I had half remembered. It showed a dark forest glade, lush grass underfoot, trees all around, with Juniper’s towers just visible in the distance. This seemed an ideal place to dump a body… far enough from Juniper to be safe from any immediate discovery. Let Ivinius’s masters try to figure out what had happened to him!
Card in hand, I started for the sitting room. Then I stopped myself. How would I get back after I’d disposed of the body? I gave a chuckle. I was catching on to this game of Trumps—I would need one to bring me safely home.
I returned to my set of cards, selected the one that I had confiscated from Aber, which showed my bedroom, and only then headed for the sitting room. This would be a fast and simple job using magic, I thought. I would go to the glade, dump the body, and come straight home.
Hurrying now, I swept back the tapestry.
My elation died. I had come back too late.
The body had disappeared.
Chapter 12
A quick search of my suite revealed no sign of Ivinius anywhere. No blood had been spilled, so no tell-tale stains remained. Only the tray with the razors and towels told me he had actually been here… and the ink stain beneath the small carpet, but that could have been spilled any time. It spoke of a clumsy scribe more than of an assassin.
I had no proof now that I’d been attacked, or that he’d been a hell-creature impersonating a servant. Without his body, I’d lost my one clue… and my one slight advantage. Since no alarm had been raised, I assumed either another hell-creature or a traitor in Juniper had come searching for him, discovered his body, and spirited it off.
I frowned. I hadn’t seen a single empty hallway or corridor all the way back to my rooms from dinner. Someone could have snuck into my rooms by normal means—it only took a moment of turned backs to slip through my unlocked door. But anyone smuggling out a body would have encountered witnesses. Clearly the body had been removed by other, perhaps even magical means. A Trump? It seemed likely.
And a Trump meant one of us… one of my half-brothers or half-sisters…
But which one?
Puzzled, annoyed, and more than slightly frightened by the implications, I carefully bolted my doors, checked the windows (there didn’t seem to be any way short of flying to get to my balcony from the balconies to either side), and I moved my sword to within easy reach of the bed.
Only then did I undress and crawl between the sheets.
Exhaustion surged like an ocean tide. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.
Polite knocking has never been the way to rouse me in the morning, nor softly called invitations to breakfast. As with all soldiers, I liked to sleep the same way as I ate, fought, and bedded my women—heartily, fully, deeply. Trumpets sounding a call to arms, or the clash of swords, are the only things that stir my blood in the early hours. Otherwise, as my men had found out over the years, it’s best to let me be.
It should have surprised no one, then, that I scarcely heard the knocking, or the politely incessant “Lord? Lord Oberon?” that followed from the hallway when I refused to be awakened.
When someone threw back the curtains and bright sunlight flooded the room, I half opened one eye, saw it was only Aber, rolled over, and continued to snore.
“Oberon!” he called. “Wakee wakee!”
I opened my eyes to slits and glared at him. Hands on his hips, my half brother gazed down at me with a bemused expression. Behind him, in the doorway to my bedchamber, stood a clump of anxious servants in castle livery.
“I thought I bolted the door!” I said.
“Dad wants to see you. The servants have been trying to rouse you for half an hour. Finally they came and got me.”
“Why didn’t they say something?”
Growling a little, I threw back the covers and sat up, naked. A couple of the women hurried from the doorway, blushing. Anari hurried forward with a robe which turned out to be several sizes too large—but it would do, I shrugged it on.
Then I noticed a Trump in Aber’s hand… and plucked it from his grasp before he could object.
“Aha!” I said. A miniature portrait of my antechamber, done just like the one I had confiscated yesterday. “I knew I locked the door last night!”
He laughed. “Well, how else do you think I’d get in?”
“You told me you didn’t have any more Trumps of my rooms!”
“No,” he said with a grin, “I didn’t. I told you I didn’t have any more of your bedroom. This one isn’t of your bedroom, is it?”
“A fine distinction,” I grumbled. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Served me right for not being specific enough, though I didn’t appreciate the service. Clearly I needed to do a better job of watching out for my own interests. “I’ll hang onto this one, too. Do you have any other Trumps of my rooms? Any of them?”
“Hundreds!” He tapped his head. “I keep them up here.”
I snorted. “Make sure they stay there. I don’t like people sneaking up on me!”
“Oh, all right.” He sighed. “You’re no fun.”
Yawning, I stretched the kinks from my muscles. “Now what were you saying? Dad wants to see me?”
“Yes.” Aber folded his arms. “You’ll find things run much more smoothly when you stick to his schedule. Rise early in the morning, stay up late at night, and try to catch a nap in the afternoon if time allows.”
“Lord,” said Anari, “I have found you a valet and taken the liberty of preparing your schedule for today.”