Finder: First Ordinance, Book One (8 page)

"Did you say anything to her?" Omina turned back to Amlis. "To Mirisa, I mean."

"Mother, I came straight to you, as you are still Queen of Fyris, whether you use the title or not. I am a Prince and your son. You rule here at the moment."

"What do you mean by that?" Omina snapped.

"He means exactly what you know already, Omina. Once he takes Mirisa to wife, you will be shunted aside and Amlis and Mirisa will rule here. Your rule lies in Lironis, not Vhrist." Farin walked to a nearby table and poured a glass of wine.

He it was who'd sent for Amlis while treating Finder's wounds. Rodrik and Amlis had come at a near-run, and they'd watched as Farin cleaned blood around a head wound, delivered as a glancing blow by Mirisa who'd been aiming for a shoulder. The entire time Farin worked, Finder had shivered beneath his touch and not a whisper, sigh or whimper had passed her lips.

"How long before the girl is able to resume her duties?" Omina handed Farin a hard look.

"With a broken arm, eight weeks, at least. Likely ten. And that leaves you shorthanded again, Omina. Gossip is spreading and none are willing to work in the palace, no matter the wage offered. You should have left the girl in the kitchen. Mirisa has had nothing but contempt for Finder since she learned the girl acted as Amlis' page. She was merely waiting for the opportunity to strike. Imagine how Vhrist will be, when Mirisa becomes its Lady."

"Amlis will control her then," Omina sniffed.

"Mother, I couldn't control her today. She waited until I was out to do her worst, and there was only Beatris and the other servants, all of whom are less than she. None could stop her. Beatris could only send another girl running for Farin, who came and witnessed the end of the tirade, when Mirisa wore herself out and dumped the poker on Finder's unconscious body."

"Servants die all the time, Amlis." Omina refused to listen to Farin or her son. "And nothing is done about it."

"Is that what we have become, Mother?" Amlis stared at Omina. "You have read the old laws—they're in a book on your shelves. It was wrong, then, to murder anyone, no matter how highly placed the murderer might be. Yet we have come to this. Allowing the innocent to be beaten or killed, all for the sake of our expediency. No," he held up a hand when Omina thought to speak again, "I am just as guilty, and I wish it were not so."

"Beatris and I will be leaving in the morning. What she witnessed sickened her and she wishes to return home," Rodrik announced quietly. "I will not allow my lady wife to travel to Vhoorth unless I am by her side. Amlis has his guards, here. There is no need for my services." Rodrik nodded to Omina and Amlis before walking swiftly for the door.

* * *

"Rod, I knew she was thoughtless and cruel, and I thought to distract her. That was a foolish notion," Beatris watched as the chambermaid packed her clothing.

"My love, it was a noble attempt. I am sorry you were forced to witness such brutality."

"I cannot wait to get home and away from that bully. She looks and acts fine among her betters, but those lesser than she will always suffer around her."

"She has not mistreated you, has she?" Rodrik's blue eyes examined his wife's face. Beatris turned away.

"Only a little barb, here and there," Beatris muttered. "Nothing that would not be magnified if I were at court in Lironis."

"Then we will be well away tomorrow, and the better for it," Rodrik observed. "Omina counts on Firith, should push come to shove, but I do not trust Mortin or his brat."

"How can we? Your father is the only one who will surely come to Vhrist's aid if the King's hand comes to bear."

"I don't believe Tamblin will make a move until his ships are built. And I worry for the harvests this turn. If the people starve, Tamblin will not have troops to fill the boats Amlis is building."

"You think it is too late already? That nothing might save us now?" Beatris lifted a hand to her throat.

"Beatris, love, do not fret. A letter has been sent and we still await a reply. Let us hope they will honor old oaths and lend assistance."

"Did you ever see them, Rod? Did you? I heard there were drawings and paintings, once, but they have all been destroyed. I have never seen them."

"I saw one, long ago. He came to my father when I was young and they shut themselves inside my father's study. He was gone shortly after, and I learned that Tamblin had assumed the throne when my father sought me out later."

"How old were you, then?"

"Fourteen, and just come back from sword practice. Someday, I will tell you how he arrived and what his appearance was, but that will wait for another day." Rodrik jerked his head toward the chambermaid, who was listening, open-mouthed, at his words.

"Ah. Yes. Girl, pack what lies in the armoire next," Beatris urged the girl to attend to her assigned duties.

* * *

Brin stood at Timblor's left, as always. The King had chosen to have lunch with the heir, Yevil Orklis and Hirill Mast, at a round table inside his private chambers. The table overlooked the courtyard and the gate below the palace. Red velvet curtains were swept aside to take advantage of weak spring sunlight filtering through exquisite, diamond-shaped panes of glass set cleverly and seamlessly together.

Timblor had taken the chair to Tamblin's left, garnering the best view from the King's window, as he preferred. Yevil took the next seat, placing him opposite the King, while Hirill settled into the remaining chair, his back to the glass and the view beyond it.

Etlund tasted the food to be served and sipped the wine before setting it before the King. Tamblin gripped a fork in his right hand and lifted the cup of wine to his lips with his left when Brin struck.

* * *

I was unconscious when the healer first came, waking halfway through his treatment. Bruises covered my body and a terrible pain was in my arm. The bone was broken, there was no doubt, and I wanted to weep from the intense pain of it. Wordless and without shedding a tear, I watched and shivered as Farin Wold pulled on my hand to set the bone in its proper place, before splinting the injury and wrapping it.

"Let someone know by tapping this," Farin indicated the bandaging, "if it becomes too tight. We do not wish to restrict circulation." My teeth chattering with the onset of shock, I barely nodded at his instruction.

The rest of my treatment went by in a blur, and sometime during the ordeal I noticed that Amlis and Rodrik were watching. Rodrik had gone immediately to Beatris and consoled her, I learned later. Beatris had witnessed my beating, and she was fortunate to receive Rodrik's care as she did—I was not so lucky. None thought to console me. I was merely a servant, after all, and if they believed Mirisa, then I'd been taking liberties with the Prince's underclothes.

What pleasure did she imagine I might have from placing them in a drawer? The logic escaped me, as it so often did with nobles. Willow bark tea was given after my treatment and a litter came to carry me to my storage room.

At first, the same tiny room I'd been given when I first arrived was offered, but as it wasn't far from the family wing, I shook my head in tacit refusal. I wanted to be as far from Mirisa of Firith as I could possibly get.

It was as the two young men who'd carried my litter down two flights of stone steps were setting it down beside my straw-filled pallet that I knew—death had come to Lironis, and it would affect the course of events in Vhrist.

* * *

Brin lay on the stone floor of Tamblin's chamber, gasping his last breaths after Yevil had fired an ancient and forbidden weapon at Timblor's servant. Timblor had been carried to the King's bed after a vicious stabbing at the hands of Brin, his own page.

"You didn't think I'd let you live, did you?" Yevil whispered to a dying and terrified Brin. "But you did very well, and I hope you spent the money I gave you earlier, as you will not have the opportunity now. You carry my gratitude, wherever you go from here." Yevil drew a knife across Brin's throat and death came swiftly.

* * *

"Did you dispatch that evil?" Tamblin asked as Yevil came to stand at the King's elbow.

"Of course, my King. How is the Prince?"

"I have riders combing the city, searching for healers. That fool physician had the temerity to die only this morning."

"Father?" Timblor moaned as two servants attempted to stanch the flow of blood from Timblor's chest.

"I am here, boy. Yevil, please ask your men to question all of Brin's friends and acquaintances. Find out if this is a conspiracy."

"As you command," Yevil nodded to Tamblin and walked purposely from the room.

"Father, I placed trust unwisely," Timblor coughed up a bit of blood. Tamblin knew what that meant.

"Get away, both of you," Tamblin shoved away one of the servants. "Wait outside until I call for you, do you hear?" Both young men rushed out of the King's bedchamber without a backward glance.

"I asked Brin to do it," Timblor coughed again, bringing up more blood. "Only he turned on me. Father, I think you know." Timblor's eyes unfocused. Three rattling breaths later, Timblor did not draw breath again.

* * *

"I will carry word to your lady wife," Hirill offered several hours later. Tamblin had cursed, railed and tossed several pieces of old and priceless furniture through even more fragile and expensive glass panes. The courtyard below his suite was littered with broken and splintered wood and precious fabrics. The red velvet drapery was the last thing to fly out the shattered window. Guards and servants were picking through the remains for anything of value.

"Do it. And bring the bastard back with you. Take men. Twenty at least, and make sure he arrives safely. For the moment, Amlis is my heir. Go." Tamblin waved Hirill out the door. "Wine!" Tamblin shouted as Hirill walked away. "Bring it!" Servants rushed to obey.

* * *

I had no desire to inform Amlis that his brother was dead, or that men rode north from Lironis to haul him back to his father. Perhaps Rath or Rodrik might return to oversee the building of ships—the King's goal of building a fleet had not been set aside.

In my dreams, too, I heard Fyris groaning. Trees were dying, their roots poisoned by a virulent toxin I could not name. Warmer weather had arrived, but grasses and seedlings were more stunted than usual. The harvest would be very poor, if it came at all. Farmers plowed and tilled, but gossip had many shaking their heads.

"We cannot live on fish alone, and did you see what came in with the last catch?" Two kitchen girls brought my supper on the third night after Mirisa's beating, handing me the bowl of lentils with a piece of bread and a cup of water.

"Two-headed shrimp? No, thank you," the other girl shivered. "It isn't just the land. It's leaking into the sea."

That worried me and brought up something I'd not thought of before—the poison was spreading past the land itself. Would it eventually sicken and destroy all of Siriaa? That thought motivated me, and during the remaining fifteen days until the King's guards arrived to collect Amlis, I slipped into Tamblin's old study at night, after Mirisa and the others had gone to bed. Old candle stubs made enough light to read by as I pored over books with much missing information.

* * *

The afternoon that the King's guard arrived with Hirill Mast at their head proved to be a stormy one. Men were wet to the skin and cold. Gathering around any available fireplace, they waited patiently while Lady Omina and Amlis were brought to them.

The great hall not far from the kitchens was the place chosen to deliver news, so I stealthily made my way through halls and warrens, determined to listen in. No, that was not something I did as a rule, but I could not deny my curiosity in this matter.

"Hirill, what brings you home?" Lady Omina took his hand the moment she walked into the wide hall. Amlis, walking slightly behind his mother, with Mirisa behind him, stared at the twenty men who'd accompanied Hirill to Vhrist.

"Sad news, I'm afraid, my Lady," Hirill bowed his head to Omina. "Your eldest son's page—Brin, I believe his name was, suddenly went mad and stabbed Timblor in the heart. The heir did not live long from the injury." Hirill bowed his head again to Omina. The cry that came from Omina's throat was strangled, after which she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

"You must come to Lironis, the King commands it," Hirill informed Amlis over a glass of wine. Omina was receiving care from the healer within her chambers, and Mirisa had been asked as politely as a tight-lipped Amlis could muster to confine herself to quarters and send a servant out if she required anything. "You are now the heir," Hirill added.

"Unless and until he can get another," Amlis huffed, standing to pace. This meeting was held in Tamblin's old study, which someone had bothered to clean, Amlis noticed absently. The last time he'd been inside it, everything was covered in dust.

"There is that, but that opens the door for you, my Prince and royal heir."

"I never thought to hear those words," Amlis raked a hand through thick, brown curls.

"I am happy to be the first to say them to you," Hirill inclined his head.

"I cared for my brother," Amlis stared out a window that had been cleaned recently. Once again, he wondered who had achieved that particular blessing. It allowed late afternoon light into an otherwise dark place.