V
Their arrival in Kars was uneventful. Keelan went to his own suite in the main palace and Hadrann to the one held in readiness for the lords and ladies of Aranskeep. Aisling went with him, clutching Wind Dancer’s carrysack, and admired the room allocated her. Hadrann grinned.
“Of course it’s the best one. I plan to make a point of complaining about that too. Now, you should really have a chaperone living with us. But if we hire one she could be the sort of person who notices things.” Aisling raised her eyebrows questioningly. Hadrann shrugged. “I say we don’t risk it, but it’s your reputation that might be tarnished.”
Aisling eyed her handsome companion then picked up a hand mirror and surveyed her own appearance. “Dear cousin. Do you really believe that anyone is going to look at you, look at me, and believe we’re having a passionate affair? Just complain about me. Mention my looks, my boring personality, my inability to do needlework. Note in tones of disgust that I can’t darn socks. Don’t complain so much people wonder if your complaints are a sham, but make it clear I’ve been foisted on you and you wish me in Hades.”
Hadrann laughed. “That I can do.” He looked at the nondescript face she showed him. “I have to say that is wonderful. Not ugly, but I turn away and five minutes later even I can’t remember what you look like. I think it’s because there’s nothing outstanding. Hair that’s just a sort of lightish brown. Eyes likewise. Skin neither warmly colored nor divinely fair. Ears: two. Nose: one. Mouth: well, you have one.”
Aisling grinned. “And I dress the same way. Good quality in cloth and cut, but plain and in colors that never catch the attention. My manners are the same. Nothing outlandish but not country cousin, either. Women like me aren’t seen. We can drift about the court in the evening, and you’d be surprised at what we hear. We simply aren’t noticed, and if we are, those talking often assume we are too dull-witted to understand.”
Hadrann’s eyes sharpened. “You sound as if you know.”
“I do. As I said, I took the appearance of a friend. Murna had been a spy in the Dales. Her appearance was carefully crafted over a long time. She was my friend in Escore. She talked to me often about her art and I listened. She was very good. I’m nothing against her, but I do know some of her tricks.”
“Just be careful. Your brother isn’t a fool, and he’s always suspicious.”
Aisling shivered. “I know. Now, tonight you’ll introduce me to the duke. After that we’ll have to see.”
“At least he’s unlikely to take a fancy to you,” Hadrann said thoughtfully. “He likes beauty in male or female, and he doesn’t ride that well. Since that’s to be your only grace he’ll be attracted to you still less. He doesn’t approve of any who can do something better than he can.” He stared about the untidy suite. Baggage was stacked everywhere. “Leave the servants to sort this out. We’ll go for a ride before dinner is served.”
They returned in time to bathe and dress in the elaborate court wear. Aisling had hired a maid on a part-time basis. The girl was to help her dress in the evenings, then go. She could return next day after their noon meal to put away clothing and care for anything that required washing, ironing, or mending. Hadrann had hired a valet on the same basis. If any asked, he planned to plead poverty and complain about his father’s wasting of good coin on this cousin.
Wind Dancer, in his guise of ordinary-sized but attractively long-haired cat, spent part of his time curled comfortably on Ais-ling’s bed. Among other things, he watched the servants when they were in the rooms and his human and her friend were not. The palace had an excellent stock of well-fed mice. Within days it was Wind Dancer who was well fed and the mice had all moved out—from Aranskeep suite anyhow. It made Wind Dancer popular with the staff, who were often blamed for damage committed by the rodent pests. As for maintaining his true identity, he had only to refuse to be picked up by anyone but his three friends, and he was safe.
Keelan had settled in comfortably. Keep lords each retained a family suite of rooms in the Kars palaces. Kirion had rejected them as soon as he was disinherited. He had seen that if he did not, then he’d find himself sharing with his detested younger brother and sup-planter or, worse still, just possibly his grandfather. Not that he needed the Aranskeep rooms. He had his tower and, a day’s hard riding away, his own estate and the well-guarded tower there.
True, the lands were neither rich nor wide. That suited Kirion; he had less work running an estate and fewer eyes to watch, noses to snoop into his business, and mouths to chatter about it. That stupid Ruart had gotten himself killed, but Kirion had benefited. He’d ridden straight back and quietly entered Ruart’s keep.
As a friend of Ruart’s he’d been able to convince the servants to allow him access, and Kirion had known where the man kept his wealth and how to open the main hiding place. He successfully distributed the best of that into places in his clothing before he departed, grumbling about friends who were always out.
He’d hidden an unpleasant smile as he did so. It was fortunate he was the only sorcerer in Karsten. It took time and an aptitude to be what he was, and Kirion kept an ear to the ground as well. If rumor suggested any other person was attempting to develop the same gift, then he or she died. Kirion saw to that.
After his single visit his spies had watched Ruart’s keep. The servants had finally realized that their master might be gone for good. They’d appealed to Kirion as the only one they knew who might be able to discover Ruart’s whereabouts, and he’d spoken to the duke.
It had taken time, months of it, but at last, when Shastro had been convinced Ruart must be dead, his keep had been given to a wealthy member of the court, for which transfer Shastro had wrung coin from the man. Kirion had suggested that. The man was an un-noticing idiot, and the coin would please Shastro: two birds with one stone from Kirion’s sling.
Aisling was introduced to Shastro, duke of Kars, who condescended to speak briefly before turning away. She studied him thoughtfully while appearing to be listening to Hadrann. The duke was a man of medium height, slender, without real muscle showing in bulk or movement. He was fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a slightly gingery mustache.
He was overdressed, foppish, and as she watched he said something in a languid voice and tittered. Aisling smothered a snort of amused contempt. Hadrann half-turned to point out one of the tapestries—and to see what was amusing her. Shastro was recounting the tale of a recent hunt, making great play with his hands and expressions. Hadrann moved farther away, drawing his supposed cousin with him.
“Don’t let him fool you. A lot of that is merely Shastro amusing himself. Under that fancy dress is a very good swordsman, not much stamina but excellent technique. He’s clever and ruthless.”
“And my brother leads him by the nose.”
Her companion hastily glanced around. “Don’t say that sort of thing without looking behind you; in this court almost anyone could be listening. And you are both right and wrong in what you say. Kirion leads by using Shastro’s fears. But he’s in somewhat the same position as a man with a tame bear: fine as long as he can keep the brute distracted, but should he just fail once, he risks teeth and claws turned against him. Shastro is weak in some ways certainly. But he can also be deadly.”
He checked about them with a sweeping unobtrusive glance. “Circulate a little without me. Try to get a feel for the court. Chatter to some of the ladies. I’ll be dropping hints about you elsewhere. Let me know when you wish to leave.” They split casually and drifted away in opposite directions.