Emel was kind, treating her with pity and, later, open affection. She came to care for him and perhaps even pity him in return. He was married to a cold-blooded noblewoman ten years his senior, and there had never been love between Emel and his wife, Valdyislava. Hedi was called "fourth consort," if referred to at all, though she was truly the only one. Her predecessors had died in questionable ways, and it took little intelligence to turn a suspicious eye toward Valdyislava. So Emel kept Hedi far from his manor in the west of the province. Through him, Hedi learned and assembled all the pieces of what she now knew.
Emel promised to marry her, once he was free to do so. A nobleman could retain as many mistresses as he could afford, but he could have only one wife.
Hedi could not fathom why Darmouth insisted Emel bring her on this evening. Emel had been recalled to Venjetz six days ago. She had been to the keep with him several times, but never at night. No other women were present, so why was she alone here at a time when Darmouth should be looking to his borders?
Darmouth turned his cold eyes toward her again. He seemed fascinated by her hair. Upon her mother's and sister's reported deaths, Hedi slashed it off at chin length in mourning. When it grew back to her shoulders, it was a mass of black waves that pleased Emel, so she kept it this length. Some ladies found it unfashionable, but Hedi did not care. Emel was her only friend.
Her skin was the color of buttermilk, and Darmouth's gaze dropped down to her hands. She kept her eyes on her plate, pretending to be unaware of his inspection. It was not possible that he had serious designs upon her. Darmouth had taken no consort in nearly seven years. It was common knowledge that he saw spies and traitors everywhere, so he trusted no woman within his bedchamber. Even so, she had heard of his brothel visits.
As Darmouth cleared his throat, two slender figures entered the hall with silent steps. Hedi's presence made them pause. She had seen both before but not met either personally, as Emel had warned her away.
Faris and Ventina were from a northern Mondyalitko clan. Slight and tall, Faris had dusky skin, wild black hair, and eyes to match. He wore his hair long, but this did not completely hide the scars on the left side of his head where his ear had been sliced off-Hedi did not know how this had happened. He spoke with deep, quiet tones and wore silver rings in the lobe of his remaining ear. Ventina looked enough like him to be a sister, or perhaps a cousin, rather than his wife. Her eyes shifted back and forth as she drifted in behind her husband. When her gaze passed over Darmouth, her hatred was too thinly masked. She and her mate skulked in their lord's shadow and did his bidding without question.
Darmouth frowned at their presence.
"My lord," Faris breathed. "I beg a word."
"We are at dinner," Darmouth rumbled. "And you enter without announcement."
Hedi expected Faris to back away, but he stepped closer.
"My lord, there was a skirmish at the Stravinan border over some de-serters and their families in Flight. A man crossed the border and engaged your troops."
"Stravinans… breach a treaty?" Darmouth straightened with a glower. "What is this horse piss? Who told you this?"
Faris hesitated, then drew close to whisper in his lord's ear. All the while Darmouth appeared on the edge of striking his servant down. The more he listened, the more attentive he became.
Hedi did not catch much beyond the mention of white hair and strange eyes. She watched a flicker of alarm pass across Darmouth's features before they clouded with the same viciousness he showed when catching an underling in some minor deceit. He stood up.
"Omasta!" he snapped. "Double the keep's watch and the contingent at the city walls. Double the length of shifts, if you have to. Any man with white hair, tan skin, and yellow-brown eyes is to be taken alive if possible, and if not, kill him on sight. Either way, bring him to me."
Hedi's heart slowed as she looked to Emel. He shook his head once in warning. Then his gaze drifted away.
"Forgive me, Hedi, but I must leave you," Darmouth said, but he paused in the open arch of the council hall. "Emel, you and I will speak alone. See your lady back to the inn, and then join me in the Hall of Traitors."
Hedi's fork clicked too sharply against her plate, and Emel turned pale.
Leesil spotted the sign above the two-story inn that read only, BYRD's. The place hadn't changed much. The walls were a bit more weatherworn, and the shutters over the glassless windows were faded. The shake roof's eaves were jagged and crusted with snow, but the place was strangely a welcome sight compared to all else since they'd entered Venjetz.
If only he'd remembered the cats.
Leesil put a hand on Chap's back. "Don't you move!"
Chap growled, then whined, and Leesil felt a shudder run through the dog's taut muscles under rising fur.
"You're a Fay," Leesil said in a low, threatening tone. "Or that's what you've made us believe, so no doggish nonsense. You hear me?"
Chap's panting quickened, and Leesil gripped him by the scruff of the neck.
There were cats everywhere, sitting on window ledges, ducking around corners, or scurrying in and out of the front door left ajar. Large and small ones. Solid, striped, and spotted, they milled about the inn's front as if they were its common patrons.
Magiere stood at his side. "Leesil?"
"I told you Byrd is… a bit odd," he replied.
Leesil kept his hood up and forward, shadowing his face. They'd agreed Magiere and Wynn would do the talking, until he decided whether or not to reveal himself. While Byrd was part of Darmouth's web of spies and informants, he was the only person besides Leesil's mother to whom Gavril had shown any trust. Sometimes the two had sat up talking through a whole night or just played cards.
"Look at all of them,' Wynn said in wonder, and stepped up to the doorway to scratch a slender gray calico behind the ears. "Where did they all come from?"
"Everywhere, miss," a baritone voice called from inside. "And they pass the word along that there's a home to be found here."
Wynn stiffened upright with a quick backstep and bumped into Leesil coming up behind her. Looking through the cracked door, Leesil saw a few felines within, but his attention settled on the man standing near a belly-high bar with no stools before it.
His bright red shirt contrasted oddly with his ruddy complexion. It was impossible to tell the color of his hair beneath the faded yellow scarf tied around his head. He was in his midforties, of medium height and stocky build. He looked the same as Leesil remembered. Well, perhaps a bit paunchier.
"Welcome," he said, smiling openly at Wynn. "Do you need rooms? We've plenty, as business is slow of late."
Leesil ushered Wynn in ahead of himself. Indeed, the cats were the only patrons for the evening. The dimly lit little common room was stuffed with nothing more than empty chairs and tables. Magiere followed, now the one gripping Chap's scruff. The dog shook visibly with restraint, and his silvery coat bristled all over.
Byrd frowned at the sight of Chap. "Sure you want to bring him in here?"
"He'll behave," Magiere answered.
"Ha, it's not him I'm worried about," Byrd added. "He's well outnumbered. "
Leesil glanced down to see two small kittens toddle out through the legs of a rickety chair. The leader was a slender orange tabby, while the follower was a roly-poly brown with a rather dim expression on his round, bushy face. Without a hint of fear, the pair sniffed Chap all over, or as high as their little noses could reach. They proceeded to dance through his legs while rubbing against him.
Chap made a sound like he'd choked on his own yowl, and Wynn leaned down into the dog's face.
"Do not touch them!" she ordered. "They are babies, and they do not know any better."