In the aethereal, in her other sight, she watched as he plucked a ray of sunshine from the gold and her own breath from the green and bound them into an amulet. He handed her a little Herakles knot of rose stems.
She accepted it.
It burst-a little explosion of rose petals and incense.
“I have my own plans. They do not include you.” Gabriel bowed. “I admit I do want the griffon.”
Ghause bent her head. She backed away a step, in defeat. “As you will, my puissant son,” she said, and with the ease of years of practice, kept the ring of triumph from her voice.
My son! Together, we will rule everything. After I take you back.
An hour later, Gavin found his brother alone in his own outer solar. He’d been warned by Nell.
He found Gabriel feeding a dead chicken, feathers and all, to a griffon that seemed to grow before his very eyes. The very air was tainted with the thing’s smell, like a musky eroticism flavoured with blood.
“You alive?” Gavin asked. “What the hell is that?”
Gabriel sighed. “Very much alive. That is, sorry, hurting, anxious, and in a black mood. It’s like being fucking fifteen all over again.” He smiled bleakly. “But she gave me a griffon! He’s lovely, ain’t he?”
Gavin laughed and poured wine. “I’d like a griffon, too. I see I don’t rate one.” He shook his head. “Is my sudden desire to rut with any servant girl I find willing-”
Gabriel winced. “That may just be me. No, it’s the griffon. He can’t help it. They all emit love, and drink love, and… think love.”
Gavin laughed. “Blessed Virgin, it’s like being fifteen. Make it stop!”
“You mean the sudden peaks of desire, or the effect Mother has on us? Just like being fifteen,” Gabriel said. He tossed the chicken’s head into the air, and a great talon caught it and the eagle-beak crunched it. Gabriel stepped away, and Gavin, as if engaged in wrestling, tricked his weight and forced him into an embrace.
“No,” Gavin said. “We’re not children, and we won’t take sides. When we were young, she divided us and conquered us.”
Gabriel hugged him a moment and then stepped back. “She used Amicia against me.”
Gavin laughed bitterly. “You should have heard her advice about Lady Mary!” He blushed even to think of it. “I don’t feel I can just wander off to Lissen Carak and leave you.” He shrugged. “You know she has Aneas with her.”
“I know,” Gabriel said. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You know-sometimes, you really are the best brother,” he said. “Go and be with your lady love. I’ll stay home with our mother.” He sighed. “And Aneas.”
“And your lover, the nun,” Gavin said.
Gabriel sat down and put his head in his hands. “Exactly.”
“No one can say we aren’t an entertaining family.” Gavin sat opposite his brother. “Why the nun, brother? She’s pretty enough, I admit. I rather fancied her myself.” He shrugged. “But…”
Gabriel sat back. “How very often I’ve wondered, brother. I think I’m a bear-hunter caught helplessly in my own bear trap.”
“You worked something on her?” Gavin asked.
“Something like that,” Gabriel answered. He smiled wryly. “Whenever you think you are very clever, that’s when you are getting ready to be awesomely stupid.”
“Based on your own experience?” Gavin asked. “I should stop drinking if you’re serious about letting me go.”
“The fewer witnesses the better,” Gabriel said.
“And her notion of making Pater the King of the North?” Gavin asked, his hand on the door latch.
Gabriel smiled grimly. “The frosting on the bun, dear brother. She thinks I made myself Duke of Thrake to secure her borders.”
Ser Gavin turned, hand still on the door. “Did you?” he asked.
The silence stretched.
Ser Gabriel came and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Gavin, once upon a time, I had plans. Now, they have changed.” He looked away. “So the answer is not simple.”
Gavin nodded. Then gave up on annoyance and embraced his brother again. “You are the king of ambiguity,” he said.
“Send Lady Mary my best regards,” Ser Gabriel said.
The Council of the North started with little fanfare and less ceremony than anyone expected. The next morning, all the principals gathered in the great hall of the citadel. No trumpets sounded, and even the duchess seemed subdued.
Ser John Crayford sat at the head of the table. He was wearing a good green pourpoint and matching hose, and his businesslike attire was reflected on every participant except the duchess. She faced him down the length of the table, enthroned in a tall wooden chair her people had brought and surrounded by her maids. She wore figured velvet shot with gold thread-embroidered griffons.
On the right side of the table sat Amicia, for the abbey at Lissen Carak, and Lord Wayland-hardly a famous name, but Gregario, Lord Wayland, was the chief of the small lords of the northern Brogat, the Hills, and the lands just south of Albinkirk. He was himself a famous swordsman, and he wore the latest Harndoner fashions. By his side was his ally and lifelong friend, the Grand Squire, a dapper, handsome man of fifty in a green pourpoint cunningly embroidered-another of the north country’s famous swordsmen, and one of the north’s richest landowners. Closest to the duchess sat the Keeper of Dorling’s son. He was a tall, hard-faced youth, called Allan. In the Keeper’s own country, they called him Master of Dorling.
Across the table from them sat Ser Gabriel in his person as the Duke of Thrake, and Ser Thomas as the Drover, and Ser Alcaeus, representing the Emperor as Ser John represented the King. By courtesy-there had been other Councils of the North-a seat was left empty for the Wyrm. There were no Orleys left to take the seat by Lord Wayland. Instead, Lord Matteo Corner sat with Peter Falconer-the first the chief of the Etruscan merchants then in the north, and the other an officer of Ser Gerald Random. Between them, they knew, and might speak for, the mercantile interests. Across from them, the council was balanced by the interests of the Church in the person of Albinkirk’s bishop. It was an august gathering, and aside from the duchess’s ladies, Ser Gregario’s wife Natalia in the most fashionable dress in the hall, and Toby and Jamie, the squire of Ser John, the hall was empty of servants-and moths.
No one was late. When everyone was seated, Ser John rose.
“My lady duchess-my lord Duke of Thrake, my lord bishop, Master, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I am a mere soldier. But I have summoned this council in the name of the king, and I’m most grateful-in his name-that the king’s own sister and the rest of you have found time and means to come.
“My intention is simple. I want to create a unified plan to defend the north country this summer-yes, and for many summers to come. Thanks to your efforts, we have already put a small army in the field at no cost to the people of this district and, if God will grace our efforts, that’s a fine opening to our discussions.”
He looked over the table. “My scouts, and those of the Emperor and the duke, have provided us with reports that the bishop’s scribes have copied for all of you,” he said. “In brief, Plangere is coming. He has an army of the Wild and another of Outwallers, and he has new allies-Galles, who have a flood of reinforcements from home.” Ser John looked around.
Ghause looked bored. “So?” she asked.
“So, my lady duchess, he has the force to take Albinkirk. Or Ticondaga. Or Middleburg. Or Lissen Carak. Or even Lonika. But not any of them, if we all field an army together.” He was going to go on, but Ghause interrupted.
“Fiddlesticks,” she said. “Poppycock. I can see straight through him and he’s as impotent as-” She gave a wicked smile. “Never mind. He failed to defeat Ser Gabriel the other day-and he failed to take Lissen Carak a year ago.”
Ser Gabriel pursed his lips. “I don’t agree,” he said.
Ghause looked at him as if he was a mythical being. “I’m sorry, my child. Did I mishear you?”