The young woman’s veneer was well practiced, not taken aback even in recognizing someone of her own kind—by his bearing and manner.
“Of course,” she said coldly. “Come. Someone will see to your horses.”
Turning, the duchess led the way toward the keep. The dark-skinned female lingered until all of them passed by, and then she followed behind.
Chane did not care for that, though when he glanced down, Wynn was looking up at him with an expression that clearly asked,
What have we gotten ourselves into now?
Shortly after, Wynn found herself in the keep’s central hall, with Shade pressed up against her leg. The open chamber was surprisingly bare, with no tapestries and only one long table and eight tall wooden chairs at the room’s far end. But the table was dusty, as if it hadn’t been used or tended in a while. At least a fire, providing warmth and light, burned in the great hearth to one side of the hall.
The duchess—Sherie—took a dry stalk from a bucket near the hearth and touched it to the flames. She lit a few candle lanterns and set them on the table.
“Rooms will be made ready immediately,” she said. “Dinner is past, but I will have the kitchen prepare food as well.”
She seemed different than she had in the courtyard: slightly less sure of herself and almost in a hurry to get them settled. Even before she set down the third lantern, she gestured with curling fingers toward the taller, dark-skinned woman. That one came close in long, firm strides and, after a whisper from the duchess, she left the hall.
Wynn wondered about the sudden subtle change in the duchess, though there was much she could guess as she glanced at her companions. Chane appeared almost cold and disinterested, though his gaze roamed over everything. Osha was clearly ill at ease as he looked over the bare stone walls. He hadn’t said a word since they reached the gates.
Nikolas’s face was pallid, and he wouldn’t raise his eyes.
Wynn found it hard to imagine how Nikolas and Sherie had ever taken to each other, considering the way they were now. Then again, lost love, betrayal, and perhaps even murder could change people drastically. After what Nikolas had told her and unknowingly showed Shade, Wynn couldn’t imagine how he must feel.
Sherie hardly appeared glad to see him.
“I want to see my father,” Nikolas said, and his voice sounded too loud in the hall after the moment of silence.
Sherie looked up from setting the third candle lantern on the table. Her pale skin was flawless, and Wynn had never seen anyone with such an abundance of shining hair. It was not hard to imagine a sixteen-year-old Nikolas being attracted to her, though it left Wynn wondering about what Nikolas had been like back then for her to want him.
“He is being checked on,” the duchess answered. “If he is well enough, you may see him.”
Nikolas took a hesitant step toward her. “Is he that ill? His letter suggested that ...”
He never finished, as swift footsteps carried into the hall. Wynn turned the other way as a young man strode in from a side archway, and she recognized him immediately.
Although Sherie was small with soft curves, her brother, Karl, the current Duke Beáumie, was tall with hawkish features. Their coloring was identical, though he was dressed all in black, with silver fixtures and adornments from his tunic to his pants and high leather boots. The young duke wore vambraces on both forearms above heavy leather gloves on his hands. But in some details his appearance was different from the memories Shade had passed to Wynn.
His skin looked stretched over his face with a feverish shine. His blue-black hair lacked its previous luster from Nikolas’s stolen memories and hung flat, combed but perhaps in a hurry and not washed in a long while. And more ...
His sister lost her composure, as if she was beyond surprised by his sudden arrival.
“Karl ...” she started and didn’t go on.
Wynn noticed three men standing at attention outside the hall’s main entrance. Their presence didn’t surprise her, but their appearance did.
Most nobles employed as many armsmen as they could afford, but these three were dusky skinned with dark hair—not as dark as that of the duchess’s companion, but they were all obviously Suman. Instead of armor, they wore long silk tabards of deep yellow over white muslin shirts and loose pantaloons—and they had curved swords in hand, the blades resting against their shoulders. One was about the height of Nikolas but much more muscular in build. The other two were tall and slender.
Why would a duke of Witeny employ Suman guards?
“What is going on here?” the duke demanded. “Who gave permission to open the gates?”
“They were opened for me,” Nikolas said quietly.
The duke turned, looking past Wynn as he spotted Nikolas. In turn Nikolas hesitantly studied the friend of his youth.
The duke stood frozen in silence at the sight of the young sage.
A cascade of erratic shifts passed through Karl Beáumie’s expression: first shock and then confusion, followed by a shudder of panic. It ended in a sudden, possibly forced smile.
“Nik?” he said, and the smile turned to a manic grin as he strode over, grabbed and embraced Nikolas. “I had no idea.... Why didn’t you send word? I would have sent an escort to bring you through the villages.”
Nikolas tried clumsily to embrace him back, but Wynn could see he was troubled. Pulling a step away, he looked up at his old friend’s face. Though concerned, Nikolas also appeared somewhat relieved, and she could hardly blame him.
Karl’s welcome—forced or not—was far warmer than Sherie’s.
“My father sent for me, and I ... I had protection,” Nikolas said, briefly gesturing to Chane and Osha. “The guild felt it best.”
Karl straightened, turning to inspect Nikolas’s companions one by one and finishing with Shade. His expression darkened.
“I had no idea the guild would employ hired swords and archers,” he said with an edge.
“They are with me as well,” Wynn added before Chane took offense. “I travel extensively and require guards. Master Jausiff Columsarn requested some rare texts. I was charged with delivering them.”
Karl looked her midnight blue robe up and down before turning to his sister. “So, Nikolas relates that his father ‘sent’ for him? How did that come about?”
His tone held such a coldly implied threat that Wynn half expected the duchess to falter, but Sherie was once more the commanding noble who had first appeared in the courtyard.
“I sent for him,” she replied. “Jausiff has not been well ... as you would know, if you were more aware of your staff.”
The first statement was a lie; Wynn knew firsthand that Nikolas’s father had written both letters.
“And how?” Karl wavered. “The keep is on lockdown due to the plague ... by my order. Who would deliver such a message?”
Wynn waited anxiously for the answer. Would she learn the messenger’s identity this easily?
Sherie showed no reaction at all. “I am duchess here, at least until—if—you marry. I communicate with whom I like and how I like. Or will you take it upon yourself now to read my private letters?” She paused, waiting, and though her brother became agitated, he didn’t answer. “An ailing father has a right to see his son. And you ... have been unavailable of late.”
At the last of that, the duke’s mouth dropped partly open. He quickly closed it again.
Wynn pondered this odd situation. Young noblemen who inherited titles normally took wives as the titled lady of the household. Young noblewomen were married off elsewhere, often for land, wealth, political influence, and more. Here brother and sister both remained unmarried and possibly vied for control of a little-known duchy far from anywhere of note.