Mercedes Lackey - Castle of Deception

Miserable all over again, Kevin turned over, and buried his face in the pillow.

Count Volmar, tall, lean and graying of brown hair and beard, sat seemingly at ease in his private solar before a blazing fireplace, a wine-filled goblet of precious glass in his hand. He looked across the small room at the woman who sat there, and raised the goblet in appreciation. She nodded at the courtesy, her dark green eyes flickering with cold amusement in the firelight.

Carlotta, princess, half-sister to King Amber himself, could not, Volmar knew, be much younger than his own mid-forties, and yet she could easily have passed for a far younger woman. Not the slightest trace of age marred the pale, flawless skin or the glorious masses of deep red hair turned to bright flame by the firelight.

Sorcery, he thought, and then snickered at his own vapid musings so that he nearly choked on his own wine. Of course it was sorcery! Carlotta was an accomplished sorceress, and about as safe. for all her beauty, as a snake.

About as honorable, too.

Not that he was one to worry overmuch about honor.

“The boy is safely ensconced, I take it?” Carlotta’s smile was as chill as her lovely eyes.

“Yes. He has a place among the squires. Who, I might add, have been given to understand that he’s so far beneath them they needn’t bother even to acknowledge his presence—that to do so, in fact, would demean their own status. By now, the boy is surely thoroughly disillusioned about nobility and questioning his own worth.”

“He suspects nothing, then? Good. We don’t want him showing any awkward sparks of initiative.” Carlotta sipped delicately from her goblet. “We don’t want him copying his Master.”

Volmar’s mouth tightened. Oh, yes, the Bard, that cursed Bard. He could remember so clearly, even though it was over thirty years ago, how it had been, himself just barely an adult and Carlotta only ... how old? Only thirteen? Maybe so, but she had already been as ambitious as he—More so. Already mistress of the Dark Arts despite her youth, the princess had attempted to seize the throne from her half-brother.

And almost made it, Volmar thought, then corrected that to: We almost made it.

Amber had been only a prince back then, on the verge of the succession. His father had been old, and there hadn’t been any other legal heir; Carlotta, as the court had been so eager to gossip, was only Amber’s half-sister, her mother quite unknown.

But there were always ways around such awkward little facts. Once Amber had been declared dead—or so it had been believed—in heroic battle (when actually, Volmar thought wryly, Carlotta’s magics had turned him to stone), the poor old king would surely have ... pined away. Volmar grinned sharply. Why, the shock alone would have finished him; Carlotta wouldn’t have needed to waste a spell. The people, even if they had, by some bizarre chance, come to suspect her of wrongdoing, would have had no choice but to accept Carlotta, with her half-share of the Blood Royal, as queen.

Ambitious little girl ... Volmar thought with approval. What a pity she didn’t succeed. Sorceress or no, she would have been too wise to try riding alone. She would have taken a consort.

And who better than one of her loyal supporters? Even one whose role in the attempted usurpation had never become public.

Volmar suddenly realized he was grimacing, and forced himself to relax. His late father had been an avid supporter of the old king, and if he had ever found out his own son was a traitor ...

But he hadn’t. And of course if only Carlotta had safely become queen, it wouldn’t have mattered. The only traitors then would have been those who failed to acknowledge her!

If only ... Bah!

Carlotta would have become queen if it hadn’t been for the boy's Master, chat accursed Bard and his allies ....

“Forget the past, Volmar.”

The count started, thrown abruptly back into the present “You—.. have learned to read minds ... ?” If the sorceress suspected he planned to use her to place a crown on his own head, he was dead. Worse than dead.

“You must learn to guard your expressions, my lord. Your thoughts were there for anyone with half an eye to read.”

Not all my thoughts, the count thought, giddy with relief.

Carlotta got restlessly to her feet, dark green gown swinging about her elegant form. Volmar, since she was, after all, a princess and he only a count, stood as well:

politic courtesy.

She never noticed. “Enough of the past,” the sorceress repeated, staring into the flames. “We must think of what can be done now.”

Volmar moved warily to stand beside her, and caught a flicker of alien movement in the flames. Faces ... ah. Carlotta was absently creating images of the boy, the bardling. “Why do you suppose he sent the boy here?” the princess murmured—”And why just now? What purpose could the old man possibly have? You’ve convinced me the manuscript is merely a treatise on lute music.” She glanced sharply at Volmar. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Volmar said easily, hiding the fact that he wasn’t really sure which of the many manuscripts stored in the library it might be; his father had been the scholar, not he. “My father collected such things.”

“Yes, yes, but why send the boy now? Why is it suddenly so urgent that the thing be copied?”

“Ah ... it could be merely coincidence.”

“No, it couldn’t!” The flames roared up as Carlotta whirled, eyes blazing. Volmar shrank back from her unexpected surge of rage, half expecting a sorcerous attack, but the princess ignored him, returning to her chair and dropping into it with an angry flounce. “You’re the only one who knows how I’ve been in hiding all these years, lulling suspicions, making everyone think I was dead.”

“Of course.” Though Volmar never had puzzled out why Carlotta had hidden for quite so many years. Oh. granted, she had been totally drained after the breaking other stone-spell on Amber, but even so ...

“Maybe that’s it.” Carlotta’s musings broke into Volmar’s wonderings. “Maybe now that I’ve come out of hiding, begun moving again, the Bard has somehow sensed I’m still around. He is a Master of that ridiculous Bardic Magic, after all.”

Volmar was too wise to remind her it was the Bardic Magic she so despised that had blocked her path so far. “Eh, well, the bardling is safe among the squires,” he soothed. “I’ve been debating simply telling him the manuscript isn’t here and sending him away.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Sorcery crackled in the air around Carlotta, her hair stirring where there was no breeze. “The boy was sent here for a purpose, and we will both be better off when we find out just what that purpose might be.”

“But how can we learn the truth? If the boy becomes suspicious, he’ll never say a thing. And I can hardly order the imprisonment or torment of an innocent bardling. My people,” Volmar added with a touch of contempt, “wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. The boy is already quite miserable, you say. No one will talk to him, no one will treat him kindly, and he’s faced with a long, boring, lonely task.” Carlotta smiled slowly. “Just think how delighted he would be if someone was race to him! How eager he would be to confide in that someone!”

“I don’t understand. An adult—”

“No, you idiot! Don’t you remember what it’s like being that young? The boy is only going to confide in someone his own age.”

As usual, Volmar forced down his rage at her casual insults. Ah, Carlotta, you superior little witch, if ever I gain the throne beside you, you had better guard your back! As innocuously as he could, he asked, “Who are you suggesting? One of the squires?”