Page 15 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)
The lord threw his delicate sword into his other hand, and then returned it to the man’s neck, his right hand reaching to take the wine.
Given his matching slim-fitting white gloves, I was surprised at his dexterity.
They looked so shiny that anything held in them would surely slip from his grip.
But he clutched the cup well enough, swirled it, and put his nose to its rim.
A moment later, he dashed the cup to the ground, this new wine joining the ‘swill’ in the cracks between the stones as the clay shattered into ten pieces. I caught its aroma on the wind, strong and sweet, with a touch of something more earthy.
“Guards!” His snarled yell was contained, his other hand keeping the sword perfectly steady.
“Please, your lordship,” the merchant cried, craning his chin away from the blade. “There is some mistake.”
“My nose is never wrong,” the man spat.
I moved back another step, my hands shaking.
The scene had drawn a number of spectators, and they were starting to look at me again.
My escape route was no longer clear, filled with peering citizens.
Three men dressed in dark purple appeared, gold tassels hanging from their epaulets, and rallied immediately to the lord’s side.
“Seize this merchant at once,” he demanded.
The three guards grabbed the wine seller, and as they pulled him away, he met my eyes, full now of the hate he had hidden from me before.
Then my confusing and grandiose saviour swished his sword around in a graceful arc before sliding it back into its leather home and turning to me. His pretty hazel eyes were set into a pleasant face, with pink lips and a long nose. He stared at me, taking in my white eyes with unabashed interest.
I flinched back, once more looking for an escape route and finding none. There was nothing to do but await his response. If he hadn’t known what I was, he did now.
He ducked into a bow, sweeping his hand low with his head to the floor in deference. He truly was equipped in the most sparkly white outfit I could ever have imagined. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. Was this all some joke? If so, I didn’t understand it. I glanced around at the crowd, and swallowed, remembering Ersimmon’s instruction on my manners. “And I you, my lord. Please, be at ease.”
He straightened, and offered his gloved hand. “Allow me to escort you safely to your next destination.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Then he tilted his head, perplexed by my swift rebuke. “I know where Medrilla’s shop is, and I can get you there without delay.”
I stared between his beckoning hand, the swarming crowd, and the merchant who glared daggers at me. Then I reached out and placed my hand in his. The lord smiled, and in a moment we were moving, the crowd parting for us .
He strode fast, and I kept up as best as I could as he weaved us back through the market and then down an empty side street. Then he stopped.
For a second, my heart leapt, thinking myself once more trapped, but he only turned to me and ducked into yet another bow. “I apologise for the brief manner of our meeting. I thought it best to extract us from the situation as quickly as possible, given the spectators gathered.”
I only managed a nod.
His smile wavered. “I have been most impolite. You are new to our town, and I have not introduced myself. My name is Prince Brascillan. What is your name, fair lady?”
This man was Prince Brascillan? It could not be.
Brascillan was the second son of the King of the Scentlands.
Not the heir, that responsibility lay with his older brother, Cratollan, but Brascillan was nominally in charge of the Scentlands’ fleet and was the Lord of Lavendell.
Another of King Braxthorn’s nephews. Seth’s cousin.
The Dragon’s Prince’s cousin, too, not that I could see much of a familial resemblance.
More importantly, I had thought of him last week, and the question echoed back.
Who will win the Laithcart Games?
The answer I should have given that day was standing right before me.
I dipped my head as my mind raced. “My name is Tanidwen, Your Grace.”
“Tanidwen,” he repeated.
I raised my head to find his hazel eyes troubled. This incredibly prim gentleman was Prince Brascillan. A second son with favour to gain, and rumoured skill with a blade. And now, my rescuer. I could hardly believe it. Could he be my future husband ?
“I am devastated that your first visit here has been so tainted by that fraudulent merchant,” he said, and his voice sombered. “Tell me, did you truly feel unwell?”
Without truly understanding why, I knew I didn’t want to tell anyone about my power. “I—I didn’t trust him.”
There was no suspicion in his eyes. “You have good instincts, my lady.” He offered his hand once more. “Please, allow me to get you to Medrilla at once.”
I hesitated. “I am surprised you overheard that.”
His cheeks reddened a touch. “I must admit I saw you in the market, and I simply had to meet you.”
He had followed me, then. My heart thundered, and I couldn’t help but let the words fall. “What is it about the Brotherhood that intrigues people so much? Is it so odd that a woman might be amongst them?”
He laughed as his hand dropped back to his side. “Well, your colouring is something. But we have two bound Brothers in Lavendell. One serves me, another serves Knowledge. I have little curiosity for the dealings of the Brotherhood. You, on the other hand, have alighted my curiosity completely.”
“I do not understand.”
He dampened his lower lip and smiled so warmly it made me want to smile, too. “You are beautiful, my lady. Singularly so.”
My breath caught, and I was incredibly aware that I was in an empty alley in an unknown town.
With Prince Brascillan. Of all the help Thread Ersimmon had offered, in this respect I was completely in the dark, and I at once felt overwhelmingly naive.
I didn’t know much about the dances of romance, but I was certain no promising stories began by walking alone around the back of a market with a stranger.
Then I reminded myself that he had been nothing but kind, and he had just interrupted a merchant from trying to harm me in some way .
“What was it?” I asked, needing both the distraction and the truth. Then I remembered my manners, the Dragon Prince’s scolding coming back to my ears. “Your Grace.”
Brascillan looked confused. “What was what, fair Tanidwen?”
“In the cup,” I explained, ignoring his second compliment entirely. “What did you smell?”
His nose wrinkled at the question, and he shook his head. “I do not think it wise to linger on it, sweet lady.”
“I must know,” I said, touching his gloved hand. “If I am to stay safe, I must know what the threat was.”
His eyes went to my fingers, and I retracted them immediately. But he only smiled at me. “I understand. I smelt dreadspores in the wine.”
“You smelt that?” I asked, as my stomach flipped. Dreadspores were native to the Sightlands, a fungus from the marshes of Manniston.
“I take my rituals very seriously.”
I nodded, the shock of the moment making me forget the Scentlands practice.
Every morning, and sometimes again in the evenings, Scentlanders would take time to hone their sense of smell, by breathing in different distinct scents.
Seth had often complained about the dormitory gardens being full of sniffing teenagers every morning.
This man’s rituals, though, had gone beyond rosehilt, lemon, and berries, and into the scents of poisons. “You’re certain it was dreadspores?”
He frowned. “Yes. I’m afraid you would have been dead in minutes.”
“Please escort me to Medrilla at once, Your Grace. I must discuss this with my mentor.”
He nodded, his shoulders straightening and his expression grave. Once more we wound through the market, with the prince mercifully taking a less populated path. With his focus on navigating us around the various stalls, I had a moment to collect my thoughts.
Prince Brascillan was almost right. Dreadspores would have killed me, but I would have died in seconds, not minutes. And there was more. For I had read something else in the merchant’s touch. Overpowering greed: enough to suppress the edges of his guilt.
Yes, he wanted me dead, but this was no vengeful grudge against the Brothers at large. Someone wanted me dead badly enough to pay him to do it. Nothing subtle, nothing left to chance. I would have fallen dead right there and then if the merchant had not brushed my hand.
I needed to find out who paid him, and soon, before the next person they sent succeeded.