“I can handle Kirion.”
Hadrann looked at her seriously. “No. You can’t. If he tries I’m sure you could block a mind-scan, but then Kirion would be suspicious at once. If he tries to drain you, then you can block that too, by which time Kirion will have reported to the duke that you’re some sort of very dangerous witch, probably a spy for Estcarp. Shastro panics, has the three of us rounded up, questions everyone who knows us. And what happens to us if Kirion can drain or break you? Or just as bad for us and our plans, what if he can’t?”
Aisling nodded. “He moves against both keeps for a start.”
“He’d kill the three of us,” Keelan said quietly.
“And everything we’re working for is flushed down the Kars gutters,” Hadrann finished for them. “We have to find some way of persuading him that my cousin isn’t worthy of the duke of Kars.”
It didn’t look as if that was going to be any time soon. Shastro was charmed by a girl who made no attempt to catch his eye and who was not convulsed at his ducal wit and jests.
Two nights later he approached her again. “My dear, would you care to converse?”
Aisling smiled. “I’m always happy to talk, my Lord Duke.”
Shastro’s grin was suddenly less courtly and more honest amusement. “Only you, my dear Murna, could say it that way. You should say that you are always delighted to have the attention of your duke and make a play with your fan.”
Aisling grinned back at him. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why the fan?”
Shastro’s smiled widened. “Ah, my dear, you look at me over the top of it, flirt a little, let your eyes be alternately revealed and concealed. Make a mystery of yourself.”
Aisling snorted inelegantly. “There’s little mystery about me, and everyone’s seen my eyes. They’re brown.”
“Ah yes, like forest pools, while your hair is a cascade of shining strands that could entangle my heart.”
Aisling met his languishing gaze and began to giggle. Shastro dropped his affectations and laughed with her. “You have no taste for such compliments?”
“Not when they’re not true.” Her gaze met his frankly. “I’d accept honest compliments on something I do well, but not on my very ordinary hair and eyes.”
“What do you do well then?”
“I ride well and I dance reasonably. Tell me about this new law, Lord Shastro.”
“Which law?”
“The one you enacted last week. As I understand it, it limits the size of an estate within the borders of Kars.”
“Oh, yes. That’s so the city doesn’t outgrow its walls too soon.” He continued to talk on the new law, finding Aisling knowledgeable on that topic and on several others having to do with the problems of government. After that, he sought her out to talk on more than one occasion as the weeks passed. The truth was, that while she did not excite him, he did find her very good company. It wasn’t something that had ever occurred to him before. He still had favorites and a current lover, but increasingly it was “Murna” to whom he talked seriously.
And as someone who was merely interesting to talk to, it did not bother the duke that she was by far the better rider. It would have infuriated him had she been desirable. Since she was not, he offered congratulations on her skill. He rode with her, danced and laughed with her, and the court gossiped with enthusiasm. If it continued, Hadrann, as her supposed kinsman, would soon have to take an official interest.
Aisling might have fallen into the trap of liking the duke. When he chose, Shastro could be witty, charming, and quite intelligent. She was beginning to wonder if he could not be reclaimed once Kirion was dead. That hope died one evening after she’d been at court for seven weeks and the duke came in search of her. He was laughing and flushed with anticipation.
“Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.” Shastro was tugging her hand. Aisling read his emotions swiftly and sensed nothing that signaled danger for her, but what she read she wasn’t sure she liked. There was an undertone of anticipation to it that felt wrong.
“But my Lord, my cousin would not like me to be alone with you. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Aisling was afraid she would. She did and afterward returned to the Aranskeep rooms just as Hadrann found she had vanished. He swung the door open, swept her inside, angrily slammed the door in the faces of those watching, and started to yell at her in a way that could be heard all down the palace corridor.
The door had not completely shut, so the fascinated audience outside was treated to a diatribe that convulsed many of them. Part of it was the speaker living up to their belief. Hadrann had built an impression of how he felt about Murna, and no decent lord would accept what looked like open immorality on the part of a kinswoman.
Aisling knew his anger for the sham it was and yet she knew too he’d been genuinely worried, fearful for her safety. It was too much. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she scrabbled in her sleeve for a handkerchief. Hadrann broke off what he was yelling and looked first stunned, then horrified. He shut the door, sending a glare at the listeners as it closed. Then he returned to Aisling.
“Cup and Flame.” He dropped his voice to a half-whisper. “What did I say? It wasn’t real, you know that.” He looked closer and saw she was green.
In times of great distress other women fainted delicately, developed headaches, which they indicated with one slender hand to the forehead. Occasionally if the distress was real and not posing, a nose might bleed. Aisling had no pretensions; she went green and threw up—copiously.
He recalled how sick she’d been when he’d killed the pair who had murdered Brovar. She’d known he was right to do so and she hadn’t blamed him. That she had made clear. But the death of the two men still had made her violently ill.
He dived for a basin, thrust it under her chin and seized a towel. Then he stood by as she was racked. Wind Dancer appeared and thrust his head against her arm, offering silent comfort. Keelan arrived just as his sister was finishing. Hadrann wiped her chin while Aisling sat back limply and in silence. Keelan was half-leaning against the end of the bed as he stared at them.
“Great comets! What happened to her? The last I saw she was with the duke.” Keelan’s eyes darkened in sudden worry. “He didn’t—Aisling, Shastro didn’t hurt you, did he?”
She swallowed. “Not me.” Her voice was small. “But I don’t think he likes me any more either.”
Keelan fetched a cup of chilled wine. It was unwatered, and he held it to her lips. “All of it, dear.” She gulped half, and he made her continue, watching as the color came back into her cheeks. The green hue receded slowly. Hadrann had brought water; now he wetted the towel and cleaned her face gently. Aisling sat up a little and looked at their concerned faces, knowing they needed to hear of the events that had distressed her so badly.
“Shastro said he wanted me to see something. I knew he wasn’t interested in getting me alone or anything. He really was eager to show me something, so I went. It was along the west corridor and down a long flight of stairs that did a couple of half-turns. We ended up in dungeons.” Hadrann, who knew Kars Palace better than either of them, made a slight sound. He could guess what was to come. He waved her to continue when she glanced at him.
“He left his guards at the top of the stairs. There was just me and the duke and a couple of horrible men, ‘experts’ he called them. They’d taken some poor old woman and said she was a witch.” She looked up. “She wasn’t. She had no power, none of the Old Blood. She was just a poor old woman whom one of her neighbors disliked. Shastro said he had to be sure of that though. He said witches were everywhere, conspiring against him and Karsten.”