'You're a mercenary; signed, or looking for work?' Her manner was open, almost welcoming; clearly Ilumene had succeeded in his attempts to impress her.
He shrugged. 'Was working for some merchant, escorted him to the city. Supposed to be meeting him later to talk about more, your Grace.
'Good work, is it?'
Ilumene shrugged again and lowered his eyes, waiting for her to speak again. Good work, hah! You should have seen the flames of my last work!
'You look like you've seen your fair share of fighting,' the duchess said, looking at the rough scar on his cheek that ran to his mutilated ear.
Ilumene raised a hand to his ear and touched the scar. There were too many injuries on his forearms, even for a mercenary, but they were concealed by the long leather vambraces backed with steel links he wore – though in a moment of caprice he had wrapped twine haphazardly around the vambraces to remind him of the scars.
He shrugged, wearing a pained expression as he replied, 'Been on the wrong side of a few fights, your Grace. I'm in no hurry to see many more, but I reckon I'm big enough to frighten off thieves still'
'Are you a deserter?'
Ilumene shook his head and looked at the ground as he feigned shame. 'No regiment left to desert, Ma'am.'
'And yet you didn't fear to step in when you saw a child in danger – one I presume you don't know, from the way you're both dressed.' She looked at him musingly.
Ilumene gave a bob of the head; that was all most rulers needed in response to their questions.
The duchess turned to Haipar and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. A rumble of disapproval came from the soldier behind her, but she waved his concerns away. 'Fohl, you're such an old woman sometimes! It's perfectly obvious she's barely strong enough to stay standing by herself.' Gently she urged Haipar up and onto her feet again. 'Are you hurt?' she asked.
Haipar looked bewildered for a moment, her eyes darting between the duchess and Ilumene, then she shook her head.
'And your child?' Carefully, the duchess pushed aside the fold of cloth obscuring the baby's face. Ilumene felt his breath catch at the cherubic features of Azaer's mortal form. He looked up at the duchess and twisted his mouth into an enchanting smile. Ilumene, even a few feet away, could feel the arresting power of Azaer's gaze as the duchess looked deep into his shadow-clad eyes. He shivered as he remembered the first time he had done the same thing.
'I-' The duchess sounded stunned. 'Your child is beautiful.'
'He's a prince,' Haipar whispered. From her dull tone it was unclear if she even knew what the word meant. The sentence had been learned by rote until she could not forget it, even if everything else had drained away from her mind.
The duchess nodded dumbly. After another-second or two, the baby blinked and the spell was broken.
'A prince indeed. I have never seen a more beautiful child. What is his name? How old is he, six months?' the Duchess of Escral continued in a soft voice, sounding completely smitten.
Haipar shook her head and Ilumene had to restrain the urge to reach out and cuff her around the head.
'A month,' she whispered. 'He is called Ruhen.'
'A month only?' The duchess turned with a sceptical look towards Ilumene who just shrugged again. T think you have lost track of time a little, my dear. Your child is older than a month.'
Haipar started to shake her head again, but as she did so she caught sight of Ilumene staring at her and she faltered, frowning.
'Are you certain?' the duchess continued gently. 'Well, no matter, a little confusion affects us all as we get older, I find. Come, let's get you up into my carriage, for I would not sleep myself if I left a child as beautiful as this to go hungry tonight. The streets are too cold and cruel for one so young.' She forced a small laugh. 'And we must not forget that one cry from his lips was enough to inspire a jaded soldier to take on an army. Just think what greatness may await Ruhen when he learns to speak!'
More than you know, bitch, Ilumene thought. You'll regret saying that so carelessly. Once you've served your purpose, the only thing your future holds is the pleasure of me fucking you over your throne while that sap of a duke watches, bleeding out his last minutes at our feet. And then you will join him-
'Captain Fohl, perhaps you might find a space in the guard for one who fights as well as Master Kayel? I'm sure we could offer a better wage than most merchants. He's proved his skill already.' She waved a careless hand towards the fallen soldiers. One was clearly dead; the other two were still unconscious.
The captain looked less than impressed with the idea of having an unknown mercenary admitted to his troop, but he knew better than to argue with his mistress. When she had made up her mind about something, that was the end of the discussion.
'Dare say we could find a uniform to fit him,' Fohl growled. He was a slim man, past forty winters, with greying blond hair and a milkiness dulling the yellow of his left eye.
'What do you say, Master Kayel?' the duchess asked. 'The Ruby Tower needs more guards than most merchants, and looking scary enough to ward off thieves will serve you just as well there.'
Ilumene looked at the ground and did his best to look uncomfortable. 'Suppose I could manage that,' he said at last, earning a scornful look from Fohl, who clearly thought his victory over the guards had been down to luck and surprise rather than skill.
Proper Litse stock, this one, Ilumene thought as he took the reins one of the cavalrymen offered him. Yellow hair, yellow eyes and arrogant as shit. Dare say you could find a uniform to fit me, but I think I'll take yours. Even if you had both eyes working you'd never see me coming.
One squad of infantry was left behind to see to the injured. Ilumene kept his eyes on the road ahead, glancing only once at the crowd, where he picked out a face easily enough, a man with pinched features and scarred cheeks that spoke of childhood disease. As they trotted past, Ilumene caught a snatch of the man's voice on the wind, too faint to make out properly, but he knew the words anyway.
The cries of a child: enough to make a coward become a hero.
Legana leaned out over the polished wooden balcony and looked down at the streets. The winter wind didn't bother her; that was a small hardship when one had such luxurious lodgings. Raising her glass, she offered a general salute to the district and knocked back the last of the warmed wine.
'If only every assignment could be so comfortable,' the Farlan agent sighed, brushing a rogue strand of hair from her face. 'I doubt Chief Steward Lesarl would approve of me lazing about just waiting for Zhia to turn up, but there's really not a lot he can do about it, is there? So balls to him!'
She straightened up and tugged at her sleeves. Even after several months under Zhia Vukotic's determined tutelage Legana was still far from what Zhia considered a noblewoman to be; she preferred her plain leather tunic and breeches any day. Dresses were for women – not what Legana considered herself – but the sharp-eyed vampire would have noted an improvement in the cut of Legana's clothes all the same. The knife in her boot and short-swords on her belt remained, of course.
'But what are you doing with your time while you wait?' The woman's voice came from the room behind her…
Legana cursed; the room had been empty and she'd locked the door herself. She moved quietly to one side, grimacing as she knocked her glass off the balcony. She had her swords drawn as she turned to face the newcomer in one smooth movement.
'A little unnecessary,' the woman continued, sounding amused. She took a step forward, motioning for Legana to lower her weapons. Legana felt a shiver down her arms, and they went numb. Unbidden, the weapons fell to the floor. As the woman moved closer, the weak daylight illuminated her long copper hair and her startling emerald eyes.