Филип Этанс - The Death Ray

“The door,” Naull said. “A spell was cast on the door.”

“What kind of spell?” Regdar asked.

“An abjuration,” she said.

“What does that do?”

“All sorts of things,” she answered. “It’s a school of magic, not a specific spell. It’s very weak now, and it looks like it was never very strong to begin with. I’d bet it was designed either to hold the door shut or make the caster aware of someone passing through it.”

“Like an alarm?” Regdar asked.

Naull nodded.

“What about the rest of it?” he asked.

“The potion is likely meant to make you do something,” she said, “or think something…I don’t know. The cloak, the rapier, and the dagger, I have no idea. Other spells could tell me, but I would need a few days at least to get through all of them by myself.”

“We should take them with us, then,” Regdar said.

“The murderer wasn’t interested in all this valuable magic or gold and platinum coins,” Naull replied.

“Apparently not,” Regdar said.

“So,” said Naull, “it’s personal, then.”

Regdar nodded, then picked up the weapons belt, the pouch, and the vial. He nodded at the cloak and Naull picked it up, draping it over one forearm.

“Can you cast a spell,” Regdar asked, “like the one that sealed the door, if that’s what it did?”

“I can,” she answered. “Actually, I have one in mind that’ll likely do a better job of it. I’ll be able to open it, but it’ll be a tough one for anyone else.”

“Good,” Regdar said. “I think we’ve seen all we need to see here for now.”

Regdar stepped back, gesturing for her to precede him to the door.

“So, Your Lord Constableness,” she said, not moving, “is your high and lofty office going to cover the twenty-five Merchants in gold dust—twenty-five each go, mind you—that I’ll need to cast the identify spells?”

Regdar rubbed his chin with his big, callused fingers.

“You know what?” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I don’t know.”

Maelani slipped the fine linen camise over her naked body and luxuriated in the soft caress of the floral-perfumed fabric. She shook her long, clean hair out of the plunging neckline and reached for the stomacher of azure silk that Theria had laid out for her.

Maelani had taken longer than she’d liked to finally get rid of the ever-present maid so she could dress herself in peace. Theria wasn’t a gossip, and she kept any number of secrets for Maelani, but that didn’t stop her from whining or from trying to talk Maelani out of this plan, that scheme, or the other subterfuge. It was as if the chubby little maid wanted Maelani to settle for some loveless, political marriage.

Maelani wrapped the stomacher beneath her breasts, adjusting the fit to make the most of what nature had given her. She smiled at herself in the full-length silver mirror and tried to see herself as Regdar would see her.

In both of their short meetings she’d found the Lord Constable to be surprisingly nervous, but that was a reaction from men that Maelani was accustomed to. Since outgrowing her awkward years and coming into the full flower of womanhood, Maelani had become quite comfortable with the attention of the opposite sex. Beauty often made the strongest of men quiver in his boots, the most eloquent choke on the simplest greeting, and the bravest flee in abject terror.

She drew a cloth-of-gold bodice around her waist and began lacing it. Maelani hadn’t done this complex task by herself for so long that she found herself fumbling with the lacing. Growing increasingly frustrated, she even had to stop and start over from the beginning, but finally she managed to get it well secured. Examining herself from both sides in the mirror, she made fine adjustments to the garment’s fit, again in an effort to flatter her graceful but modest curves.

She stepped into a long skirt and drew it up. The skirt hung provocatively on her hips, revealing a scandalous hint of the translucent linen camise between it and the bodice. Looking at herself in the mirror, Maelani blushed.

There were things no man could resist and if done properly, a lady could take advantage of those things and still be a lady.

Maelani silently thanked the gods that her mother had lived just long enough to give her that advice and more. Had she been raised exclusively by her father, she might have made a fine man, a capable soldier, and a valiant leader, but she would certainly have been a washout as a lady.

“True power,” she whispered to her reflection, repeating words her mother had said to her a thousand times, “speaks with a woman’s soft caress.”

With a giggle, she slipped into a pair of gilded sandals enchanted to allow her to levitate. She found the experience of floating aloft unpleasant, but she had plans for the slippers that night. Next she slid a pair of cloth-of-gold gloves up her forearms. The gloves fit her to her elbows, and the fine silk only hinted at the greater softness of the flesh beneath. She kept her gloved fingers conspicuously free of rings. It was a message most men missed, but she would send it anyway. The duke would die if he knew she was leaving the palace without so much as a ring of protection, but what her father didn’t know…

Maelani regarded the whole outfit with a wider grin. She was beautiful. She was the sort of girl any man would fall in love with on sight.

“Potion?” she asked her reflection. “What potion?”

She slipped the vial she’d purchased from Vrilanda into one of her gloves, taking care that it wouldn’t show, even as she assured herself that she wouldn’t need it.

She took a deep breath and carefully picked up a shimmering, golden diadem from her dressing table. Though it was hardly the flashiest piece in the family’s collection, she’d had to send Theria to the vaults with a note to get it drawn out for her. Maelani slipped it onto her forehead, letting the cool aquamarine that dangled from it slowly grow warm against her forehead. The diadem would keep the hair out of her eyes while allowing it to flow free. Men liked that, Maelani knew.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” she said to the mirror, “may I present Duke Regdar and the Duchess Maelani.”

“For the thousandth time, Naull,” Regdar said, a vein standing out on his forehead and sweat beading on his upper lip, “I have no interest in the duke’s daughter.”

Naull shrugged and turned away from him so he couldn’t see her smile. She crossed to the bed they’d shared since returning to the city and sat down. She sank into the opulent duvet and ran her fingers through her hair. She was careful to give Regdar a good look at her long neck.

She heard him take a step toward her and her breath caught. As if sensing her reaction, he stopped.

“You like to tease me,” he said.

“You like to…” she started, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“Ah,” he said. “No comeback? No witty reproach of my honor, or the duke’s, or his daughter’s?”

Naull clenched her teeth to keep from laughing as Regdar walked up behind her. Even out of his armor his tread was heavy and solid on the marble floor. She could feel him looming over her.

“What do you want me to say, Naull?” he asked.

She shook her head, and Regdar’s fingertips brushed her hair. His touch was impossibly gentle for a man who had spent his life wielding a sword in defense of duke and duchy. She tipped her head just a fraction of an inch, leaning into him.

“This Lord Constable business is temporary,” he said. “There are crimes being committed, and the duke has chosen this way to stop them. He will choose a husband for Maelani as well, in time, a man who will be his successor. He may be casting about for that man now, but soon enough the realities of the situation will become apparent. The next duke will not have been born a commoner, Naull. It will not be me.”