Page 25

Talac was battling a throbbing headache. The more sensible Palace hangers on had given this morning’s talent show exhibition a miss. He wished he had the same privilege.

Unfortunately, his Grandmere was of the firm belief that a lady’s hobbies revealed a lot about her suitability as a wife.

The crowd that had gathered in the Grand Ballroom – for better acoustics – was mostly made up of men. The fathers and brothers of the bridal candidates. With only a spattering of females besides the candidates; mostly personal maids and distant relatives acting as chaperones.

Grandmere Cecelia was a little unimpressed with the turnout, her smile just a little too tight. But what did she expect when she announced at the last moment that the theme for tomorrow night’s ball to meet his parents would be a Masked Carnivale?

Several talent displays stood out for Talac so far this morning, and not in a good way.

Miss Jacquene had a unique way of strangling high notes when she sang that proved quite ear piercing. And whilst watching Lady Tolbeth instruct Sparkles to jump through hoops, play dead, and beg for treats had at first been a welcome relief. Her habit of clapping her hands and the high pitched baby voice she assumed when speaking to her beloved pet quickly became wearisome.

Without doubt Lady Niah was gifted on the pianoforte, but she chose to perform Ecobi’s Fall of Estella. A forty-two minute piece that had felt interminable. Lady Cannon had also chosen to sing, and could stay on key, problem was, her voice was not very strong. Her effort coming across as rote, the crowd quickly growing restless and disinterested.

Lady Evagene made a pretty picture, plucking away at her harp, expression serenely beautiful. She proved proficient and thankfully kept her performance under five minutes. Miss Delish read a poem she’d written in Talac’s honour. He could recall very little of the actual content. There had been a lot of rhyming, and it got a little unwieldy as she sought words to rhyme with grey, when she mentioned his eyes.

Lady Parkour performed several magic tricks with cards and scarfs that had proven adequately entertaining. Then Miss Freer had walked in, set up an easel with a blank sketchbook resting upon it and proceeded to produce a life like, if a little too complimentary, drawing of the Dowager-Queen in under ten minutes. Receiving a warm round of applause for her efforts.

Finally, all eyes had turned in Alia’s direction. Faux pity in their gazes. Smirks tugging up the corner of lips. The collective mindset being that no one here thought she had a hope in the nine circles of hell of competing with the performance of their candidate.

Alia just rose calmly to her feet in response, walking to the centre of the room that was being kept clear for the performers. From the main doors, two footmen, wearing Palace livery, wheeled in a stuffed straw target. A buzz of sudden interest humming through the crowd.

Alia strode up to the target, grabbing the nearest footman by the arm, speaking quickly into his ear. He shook his head, looking hesitant and uncomfortable. Shocking everyone, the footman reluctantly stood in front of the target. Alia indicating he should hold his arms out to the side. Slowly he followed her instructions, arms visibly trembling. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

Alia strode away fifteen paces, turned, and within a blink of an eye sent a blade slicing through the air to hit the target, right between the footman’s thighs. He gasped in dismay and promptly slid to the floor in a dead faint. The second footman racing forward to drag away his compatriot. Which left Alia with no partner for her knife throwing act.

She made a request for a volunteer from the audience. Suddenly everyone was staring at their polished boots, checking their watches, or cleaning their glasses. Alia finally turned in Talac’s direction, eyebrow rising slightly in a taunt, hand gesturing towards the target.

The collective gasp of those present as Talac stood up was almost enough to ruffle the heavy velvet curtains. The Prince moving quickly to stand in front of the target, holding his arms out like the footman had been instructed to do. Being so much bigger there was a lot less target for Alia to aim for. The room was set a buzz with shock, horror, and a little dash of glee. If Alia were to injure the Prince, then she would immediately be banished from the competition, if not the Realm.

Alia raised a wickedly sharp blade, made as if to throw it but stopped at the last moment. Eyeing the Prince and the small slices of target visible. More than one person present thought she was going to change her mind and recant. Instead, she turned and took a further ten paces back.

Barely pausing for a breath, she threw three blades in quick succession. The first blade landing just under the Prince’s right armpit. The second under his left armpit. And the third and final blade coming to rest in the target a few inches to the left of Talac’s throat. There followed a roar of surprise and loud applause from the gentleman present who couldn’t help but appreciate the skill involved in the display. The sound abruptly cutting off as the men suddenly remembered they were effectively cheering on the enemy. Deafening silence descending, meaning Lady Cecelia’s thoughts on Alia’s performance reached every ear.

“Quite. But how is that type of skill useful when it comes to entertaining esteemed guests?”

“There is no quicker way to kill an annoying insect that has made its way into the parlour.”

Alia responded with a bland smile before bowing her head slightly in Talac’s direction, giving him silent thanks for participating.

Something made Talac glance behind him at the two footmen stepping up to remove the target. One of the men was Alia’s earlier blocking target. The man looked nothing but hale and healthy now. The quick flicker of the footman’s fingers as he glanced in Alia’s direction, signalling her, confirmed Talac’s suspicions. He’d been set up from the get go.

It gave Talac pause, how many other Palace staff were in some way connected to the Lair? Thank the Gods the Gloomenthrall clan had no ill-will for the Royals, or a secret yen to rule the Realm. As Talac was starting to get an inkling that their reach through the people they had helped over the years was a vast and intricate network.

Giving him momentary pause, could that network perhaps be utilised somehow for the good of the Realm, and by extension strengthen his own family’s position? It would take some consideration. And some careful questioning of Alia to discover the breadth of those who might in some way feel indebted to the Lair personally, or via a family member, or close friend.

Which gave Talac the perfect excuse to seek Alia out, in order to talk business. But as soon as he made that determination, he found himself obstructed at every turn. Bridal candidates wanted to compliment him on his bravery. Their fathers and brothers likewise wanted to express their admiration of him. And as the Queen-Dowager rose, to lead the way to the luncheon she had organised out on the grand terrace, the rest of the Palace guests flooded in to join them. Talac finding himself hemmed in on all sides by people who wanted something from him.

Of course, they could never just come right out and ask for a favour. They had to fawn over Talac first. Then dance around the subject trying to gauge his stance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just brush people aside. But he could thwart or act oblivious to where they were leading the conversation. All the while making mental notes to pass along to his father later.

After lunch Talac lingered on the terrace, trapped by the sheer crush of the crowd. Suddenly a middle-aged couple appeared at his elbow. The gentleman wore his sparse hair swooped back across his skull to try and hide the fact he was mostly bald. He was rotund and well fed. His companion, Talac could only assume his lady wife, was taller than her husband, her full curves encased in a dark burgundy day dress, large sparkly diamond earbobs her main adornment whilst her dark hair was arranged in artful ringlets. She, like her husband, was smiling fiercely. This couple needed something desperately from Talac, he could see it in their eyes.

He was just about to duck away when he caught the man’s name as he introduced himself.

“Lerdon? Of the merchant shipping fleet?”

The couple puffed up in pride. The Prince knew their name. They would be praying that important people were eavesdropping on this conversation right now.

“Yes, Your Highness, that’s the one. It’s our honour and privilege to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m surprised to see you here Lerdon, socialising. Didn’t you just lose two big contracts?”

“Um, no, Your Highness must be thinking of someone else.”

“No, Lerdon Shipping Merchants. You transport spices from the White Isles and oranges from the Halcyon Realm, correct?”

Talac watched the stout short man pale and swallow. A buzz of interest erupting amongst those nearby who were whispering the news to those just out of hearing range, who then turned to relay the news to those standing even further away.

Mistress Lerdon lifted her chin, dark eyes boring in to Talac.

“I believe Your Highness is…”

She didn’t want to say wrong, that would be unforgivable, instead gifting him with an understanding smile.

“… the victim of a mischievous prankster.”

“You think? How bold of someone to misinform me. You know, I recently had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your daughter-in-law.”

He watched the Lerdons regain their pompous equilibrium. Pride emanating from them, no doubt assuming he was going to mention one of their older sons’ brides.

“Mistress Petal, I found her to be commendable.”

The blood washing out of Master Lerdon’s face once more while his wife was trying to hide her shock and confusion.

“To be widowed so young, and with three daughters to raise by herself. A brave woman.”

“We were most despondent when she insisted upon returning to the bosom of her family for support.”

Mistress Lerdon supplied readily. Oh, yes, Talac could just picture this viper standing over Petal and evicting her and her daughters from their home.

“Insisted, did she?”

Talac mused over the words before smiling haughtily.

“By the by, did you hear that we have finally found a man to oversee the Widows Dividend Funding division? An accountant, a man of enviable honour and ethics. We shall be assigning him several squadrons of guards to enforce anyone lagging behind, or who are resisting payment. Can you imagine that, someone refusing to pay a widow her due? They would have to be monsters.”

Talac nodded his head.

“Forgiveness, I must continue to socialise. Though how fortuitous I should bump into you after just having made the acquaintance of your daughter-in-law. Oh, and if I were you, Lerdon, I’d be watching the skies for a pigeon or two flying in from the Halcyon Realm and the White Isles heralding a change in your fortunes.”

It was a hard fought battle to keep a blank haughty expression on his face as Talac made his way through the abuzz crowd. The news of the Lerdon’s imminent financial woes spreading like wildfire. To compound the issue, Talac was sure lenders would be approaching them calling their loans due, whilst any one doing trade with them would be ending their business post-haste. Rats always recognised when a ship was sinking.

He made a mental note to send Master Kinnith a job offer. Head of the Widows Dividend Fund, it had a nice ring to it.

Quickly however Talac’s good mood was obliterated, as aristo after aristo greeted him and somehow managed to bring the conversation around to Alia and not quite insult her. Always hovering on the edge of good manners, but leaving it unsaid that she was not one of them. Her clothes. Her height. Her unfashionable looks. Her strength. Her calmness. Her competitiveness. How vulgar she was to put on display so casually the scar across her throat.

It made Talac want to howl in their greedy lying faces. He’d been in their homes. Watched all these aristos from the shadows. They all had little desperate dark secrets they were hiding from the world, but the one person who was exactly as she appeared, was Alia Gloomenthrall.

He… admired her. Yes, that was the word.

Turning, who should Talac find next to him? Alia, leaning against an ancient marble column, conversing with no one. In fact, there appeared to be a little pocket of space around her. As if their fellow party-goers were afraid that getting too close to her might see them painted with the same contempt everyone here was heaping upon her under their breaths.

“Lady Alia.”

“Your Highness.”

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement. Just enough to be courteous.

She was an oasis amongst all these clinging sycophants. Talac stepped into her space, taking a deep breath. Noting the crowd around them watching on avidly, but no one appeared willing to encroach closer.

“Did you say or do something to put the frighteners into our fellow guests?”

“Besides breathe? No. They’re a bored lot, aren’t they? They need jobs.”

“This is their job… being, acting wealthy. They don’t just support themselves, but their families, their servants, even the inhabitants of the towns closest to their estates. Advantageous marriage contracts have far reaching rippling impacts.”

“I had not considered that perspective.”

“Their motives don’t make them any less mean though, so don’t go getting soft on me.”

“Never. But it’ll make it easier to refrain from pulling a knife, I shall just have to keep relying on the sharp edge of my tongue to inflict retribution.”

“Has anyone in particular insulted you to your face?”

Anger stirred in Talac’s gut.

“Too many to remember. Though it’s never quite an insult. It’s too often a gently worded bit of advice they feel impelled to share with me… as if they’re trying to help me.”

“What kind of advice have you been receiving?”

“That I should hunch more. And perhaps consider remaining seated at all times. That there are hairstyles better suited to me. And they highly recommend a sweeping side part where more of my hair would cover half, if not more of my face. Several expressed their sympathy that I was unable to source enough material to make a dress that would cover my entire form, but assure me that I should persevere, and they were positive I would look lovely in pastel pink.”

Talac had to shift, ensuring no one but Alia could see the amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“You would look stunning in pastel pink. And perhaps you could consider braiding your hair so it covers the majority of your face like a helmet?”

“More style advice.”

Absently Alia smoothed down her dark green jacket with its little sweep of fabric falling to cover her rear-end. By doing so she drew attention to the expanse of cleavage on ready display.

“On second thoughts.”

Talac’s eyes dipped downwards momentarily, he was after all only a man.

“Don’t change a thing.”

Lifting his gaze quickly his attention came to rest upon the scar bisecting Alia’s throat.

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Very.”

“I know little of your neighbour, Soutner.”

Well, he hadn’t known much yesterday, but Talac’s network of intelligence had since filled in a few gaps. And the discreet watchers he’d posted to monitor the Baron and his men were constantly relaying new information.

“Ninth of thirteen children, with seven older brothers. And the family has such a tragic history of accidents and the like. It almost defies the odds the man has now assumed the title.”

“I’ve come to realise that Regal is a man who creates his own destiny, and plays a very long game.”

“Behind those pretty blue eyes and angelic looks he’s now seething with rage. Was it wise to step forward and pin a target upon yourself and your sister?”

“Regal has a son, his heir, my nephew, there appears to be nothing wrong with the boy except he limps due to a childhood injury. Regal… despises imperfection. I recall now, during our youth, that Regal’s hounds never grew to an old age. Read into that what you will. And that there were always new faces amongst the Soutner staff, very few old retainers. Loyal servants don’t just up and leave, not after decades of service. They take a pension and enjoy their retirement.”

“You think Soutner started out hurting… killing his pets and then moved onto anyone he deemed feeble and old?”

“Knowing him as we do now, yes. Though we had no clue at the time, would never have even considered it. He was a truly beautiful boy. Doted on by his mother. Spoilt by their servants. But as you said, the family were dogged by tragic accidents. First, Parvel, only a year older than Regal. He died in a bog when he was ten. Slipped and fell in whilst he and Regal were out fishing and exploring.”

“One down.”

“Just so. And the wailing, tears, words of recrimination that Regal emoted, you would have sworn that in a heartbeat he would have traded places with Parvel if he could have. That he had done everything in his power that day to try and save his brother.”

“Probably the one who pushed him in.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe Parvel just slipped that day, a genuine accident, and Regal did nothing but stand back, watch and wait. Smart enough to splash himself with mud and cry crocodile tears. And he was smart, truly diabolical in fact. Willing to wait two years before striking again. Sixteen year old Felstap was next. How that spiked acorn got under his saddle was never fully explained. Naturally we all assumed it had been an awful accident. Lucky for Felstap he only broke an arm and a leg when the horse bucked him. Our medics travelled to Soutner lands to tend him, advising he should recover fully but would require six weeks of bed rest. Imagine the shock ten days later when the maid went to rouse Felstap and he’d expired during the night.”

“Poison or just a pillow over the face would have done it. Or perhaps a combination of the two.”

“And the thing of it is, I vividly recall Perri comforting Regal, telling me how he was putting on a brave face but inside he was crushed. And how it was unfair of Baron Soutner to hire a very strict tutor for the boys in the days following their brother’s death. One who rode Regal rather harshly.”

“His father knew?”

“I think he suspected, or had begun to. Things were quiet for the next few years. The oldest boy, Adeene, married and embarked on a year long honeymoon cruise with his bride. A year later the next in line, Magnus married. Ours is a harsh part of the Realm. It’s not unheard of to marry young. But looking back, I think the Baron was trying to push Regal so far down the inheritance line that he would begin to realise his machinations were futile.”

Alia ceased talking as a flash of white caught her attention. Miss Jacquene had stopped at the edge of empty space surrounding her and Talac, straightening her shoulders, fixing a smile in place before barrelling forward. Her white flounced gown glaringly bright and bridal under the afternoon sunshine.

“The archery competition is due to start, Your Highness. I’ve heard you excel at the sport and would be most grateful if you would act as my teacher.”

Eyelashes fluttering faster than her fan.

Talac turned, the suddenly haughty expression on his face could have been hewn from stone. Alia found her stomach dipping, she missed the sparkle in his eyes, the animation on his face when he assumed his Princely mantle.

“The others might accuse us of cheating, I’m afraid. According to my grandmother my role in today’s event is to hand out the trophy to the winner. All I can do is wish you good fortune, Miss Jacquene.”

Dismissing her with a curt bow, Talac turned his attention back to Alia, dropping his voice to a rough whisper.

“Hurry up and win this cursed thing. I want to hear the rest of your story.”

“As you command, Your Highness.”

He knew she was mocking his high handedness, but damn, if he didn’t like to hear those words drop from Alia’s full mouth. As he commanded. Naturally, a spirited woman such as Alia would never readily submit to a controlling hand. And the idea of her saying yes to him all the time, because of who he was, Prince of the Realm, was abhorrent.

But if she chose to follow his instruction… and perhaps issued a few commands of her own? Hhmmm, perhaps admire was the wrong word for what he felt for Alia. Talac had an inkling that – desire – might perhaps be a much more accurate term for his feelings. By the nine circles of hell, things had just gotten very, very complicated.