Dave Duncan - When the Saints

The Church was the problem. Cardinal Zdenek wouldn’t care who married the countess now that his frontier was safe again, but the Church would not part a couple whom God had joined together.

Anton drained his glass. “Bishop Ugne keeps dropping hints that his palace is too small.”

Annulment? Choirs of angels! He was offering to have the handfasting annulled? Of course a count might manage that. Ugne would take a bribe if it was big enough, and Anton was a hugely wealthy man now. He might need a couple of years’ work to repair the Silver Road before he could collect any tolls on it, but he wouldn’t have thought of that yet, being Anton, and Otto could not have mentioned it to him.

“You’re serious? You think he’ll give you an annulment?”

“Of course he will,” Otto said. “And if he balks, we’ll get Zdenek to beat on him. He knows who saved his bacon, or soon will know, and it won’t cost him anything to reward you this way.” He grinned. “She may be all you get, of course.”

“She is all I could possibly want. How soon…?”

“I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” Anton spoke more firmly than before, now that he was committed. “Starting tonight, I suppose.”

He meant it, bless him, but it was still too late. Wulf sighed. “I love you, Brother, and even more for this, but I have no future. The Church will never forgive me. You may buy a bishop, but you can’t buy the-”

A newcomer entered the room through a wall and the men leaped to their feet with cries of alarm. She was lovely, as blond as Madlenka and certainly no older, but shorter and… Buxom. Bosomy. Voluptuous. Her dress was a miracle of spreading azure satin, and the lace bodice advertised gorgeous things such as Wulf had not seen since he was weaned. She glittered all over with gems, but her nimbus was brighter than sunlight. She dropped a full curtsey-to Wulf. Of course she could see his nimbus as well as he could see hers.

“Lord Wulfgang! I am honored to meet the hero of Jorgary’s deliverance.”

He tore his eyes away from the lace long enough to manage a courtly bow. “Lady Umbral, I presume?” Who else could she be? “M-m-may I present my brothers. Count Anton…”

“Marquessa!” Anton said, stepping forward to bow with more grace than Wulf would ever achieve. “It is indeed a joy and an honor to welcome such beauty to Castle Gallant.”

The newcomer’s smile faded a tone or two. “Count Magnus? The lancer who bollixed the crown prince’s hunt last week!”

“Marquessa Darina.” He kissed her fingers. “You were pointed out to me at the St. Matous’s Day ball. May I present my brother Ottokar, Baron Magnus of Dobkov? Marquessa Darina is a friend of His Highness Crown Prince Konrad.” As she and Otto exchanged bow and curtsey, Anton twirled up his mustache and shot Wulf a pregnant look of warning-so pregnant that it ought to drop triplets instantly, but Wulf had no idea what species they would belong to.

What could the man be hinting at? That the crown prince was friends with a Speaker? Was he the marquessa’s cadger or her client? Anton could know nothing of that, and Wulf was still not certain what the difference was anyway. No, more likely Anton was just reminding him that the old king was likely to die any day now. His son would succeed and all bets would be off: the crown prince was known to be no friend of Cardinal Zdenek. The stench of court politics had come to Cardice.

The marquessa declined both a chair and a glass of wine.

“I cannot stay. I came to fetch Lord Wulfgang. His Highness is waiting.”

“My lady…” Was that how one addressed a marquessa? “I fear you are misinformed. I am merely an esquire, no lord.”

Her smile could have melted snow all the way to Pomerania. “But that is why I came! His Highness is very anxious to meet the man who saved his, er… future, of course… his future kingdom from a disastrous invasion. Public recognition must wait until the public announcement, but he wants to discuss suitable rewards.”

Anton was goggle-eyed, Otto frowning. And Marquessa Darina… lace… Oh, angels give me strength… Wulf did not feel as tired as he had a few moments ago. He could no more refuse such a lady than he could refuse the crown prince.

“I am hardly dressed to meet my future king, ma’am.” He had mud on his shoes and pine needles all over him. He badly needed a bath and a shave. And he was a lot more scared of her and what she might represent than he had been of the Wends.

Her steel-blue eyes scanned him in leisurely fashion from top to toe and back again. “Dress is very superficial. The man inside is what counts, and you look quite perfect th e way you are, my lord, fresh from the battlefield. Come!” She held out a hand as a gateway opened beside her.

Wulf shot a terrified glance at his brothers, inserted his forearm under the marquessa’s delicate white fingers, and accompanied her through to a dim corridor, which became even dimmer as the opening closed behind them. The air was warm, muggy, and heavily scented. The carpets swallowed his feet.

“This is the royal palace in Mauvnik,” she said, not moving.

They were facing a wide door, gilt-trimmed and paneled, and Wulf had missed his cue. He reached out with his free arm and turned the handle for her.

A thousand miles to the south, in Elysium, Justina dithered. Her first instinct was to break in on that charade in the Castle Gallant solar and boot the “Darina” trollop right back where she came from, or at least scare her away with the three’s dangerous situation. Then she realized that Wulfgang, not knowing the stakes, would probably stay out if it came to a brawl. Also, if Justina was too old for fieldwork, she was certainly too old for roughhousing. The years were taking their toll and it must be three decades since she had used raw power to settle an argument. That “Darina” hussy might very well make pike bait out of her single-handedly, even if she did not have a backup Speaker watching over her, ready to join in if she ran into trouble.

Fires of hell!

How in Heaven’s name had the crown prince learned about Wulfgang’s victory over the Wends already? The news could not officially arrive for at least a week, or longer. The old king, a very devout man, had probably never heard a whisper about Satanism or Speaking in his realm; and if he had, he had always been happy to leave such shady proceedings to the Scarlet Spider. His grandson was a first-rate dolt, not one of the Wise. Zdenek would never even tell him what day of the week it was, let alone entrust him with the secrets of talent and Speakers.

“Darina”-her real name was Hedwig Schlutz-was well known as the crown prince’s mistress and a she-rat from the wrong side of the gutter, the sort of vindictive pervert who gave Satanism a bad name. Many Saints would be frightened to tangle with her. But need must when the devil drove. She opened a gate and stepped through into the solar, just in time to glimpse Wulfgang leaving with the hellcat on his arm. Hell’s britches!

Anton and Otto were still on their feet, and swung around openmouthed to meet this latest invasion.

“Good evening, my lords.” Justina sighed. “Pardon my barging in like this. I was hoping to prevent a rape.”

“Rape?” Otto repeated furiously.

“Probably not literally, although with that Darina woman you can never be sure.” Justina would invade the palace to rescue him if she had to, but it would be a desperate and dangerous move. There could be enormous repercussions. “Your brother is very naive still, my lord.”

Anton was glaring furiously.

But now Ottokar was smiling. “May we offer you a glass of wine, my lady?”

She should have changed back into servants’ garb, but even that morning he had suspected. Wulfgang had guessed and Otto was the subtlest of them idth=›Shall.