The trader’s account had confirmed the stories about Raesene’s appearance, but disputed the claims that he had gone hopelessly insane. He wrote that the Gorgon, perhaps hoping to encourage other traders to visit his domain, had received him warmly and that they had engaged in polite and interesting conversation in which his host had referred to himself as Prince Raesene and had seemed intelligent and in full possession of his faculties. However, that had been over a century ago, and popular belief now held that Raesene had lost all vestiges of his humanity and was little more than a wild beast.
Laera found that hard to credit. If it were true, it was doubtful Callador would have been able to negotiate with him and reach an agreement for his services. Aside from that, a wizard of Callador’s ability could have found another wealthy patron without a great deal of difficulty. He was too canny and had too strong a sense of self-preservation to sell his services to someone who had lost all sense of reason. If the Gorgon had gone mad, it was madness with a method that Callador could understand.
After her initial bout of panic, Laera had forced herself to calm down and think things through. She had followed Callador’s instructions and obtained a lock of hair from Derwyn, saying she wanted to keep it in a locket so that she would have a part of him to carry with her at all times. He had been charmed—it was so easy!—and had readily agreed to her request. She had cut off a thick lock of his hair and kept a part of it to place inside a locket, in case he should request to see it. The rest she gave to Callador, who had used it to concoct a spell.
A week or so after her child had been delivered, Derwyn returned to share her bed. She did not think it prudent to put him off longer. However, she had no fear of Derwyn’s discovering her relationship with the wizard who once served his father. When the misty tunnel started to appear inside their bedchambers, Derwyn would fall into a deep trance, a sleep from which no amount of noise or jostling would wake him. Laera would then pass through the tunnel and emerge in Callador’s sanctum deep in the bowels of Battlewaite, where he would school her in the mystic arts.
She never saw any part of Kal-Saitharak beyond the windowless stone walls of Callador’s retreat, and she never encountered anyone but him. Each night, she would spend several hours studying under his patient tutelage, then pass back through the tunnel once again and return to bed with Derwyn none the wiser. He would awake refreshed each morning, suspecting nothing, and the sleep that Laera lost each night she made up with naps in the afternoon.
She had made rapid progress in her studies, much to her surprise, and Callador took pride in her accomplishments, saying she possessed an uncommon natural aptitude for magic. Still, it was not a discipline that came easily to anyone. It required diligent study and concentration. She took care never to bring any materials back with her, because no matter how well she might hide them, they might still be discovered, and she was anxious to avoid suspicion. Callador shared her sense of caution. He was pleased with her efforts, but he never allowed her to forget she must refrain from practicing any magic out of his presence until he gave his approval. And he would not allow her to progress any farther in her studies than he deemed prudent. Magic, he reminded her, could be very dangerous, and mastering even relatively simple spells required patience.
Laera did not chafe under these restrictions, nor was she bored with the long hours of poring over ancient scrolls, committing spells and rituals to memory. If that aspect of her training lacked the fascination of the exercises she performed under Callador’ s watchful direction, she never minded because she knew that all those hours of painstaking study would result in her ability to gain power over others—one man in particular. The day of reckoning would come, and when it did, Aedan Dosiere would face not just a princess, but also a sorceress.
Meanwhile, Laera continued her campaign to build up Derwyn’s ambitions for his son, Aerin. He still wanted another son to ensure the continuation of his name, and she used that, along with his desire for her, to lead him subtly in the direction she chose. Callador had provided her with a plentiful supply of the preparation to control her own fertility, and it wasn’t long before she had learned to concoct it for herself. She would never again have a child unless she chose to, and she would make that choice only as a last resort. So long as Derwyn had only one son, he would pin all his hopes on him and continue to be driven by his desire to produce another. And that would help her keep her hold on him.
She went to temple every day, where she always made sure the priests knew she was praying for the birth of a new son. She always expressed a fervent desire to please Derwyn and become pregnant once again, stressing that it had to be her fault she could not conceive; surely there could be nothing lacking in his potency. Yet by raising the subject, she nevertheless planted a tiny seed of doubt in his mind, which she could use to good advantage as it grew. As Derwyn slowly came to fear the loss of his masculinity, he grew even more tractable and docile, which made him more vulnerable to suggestion.
Slowly and carefully, Laera played on his affections for her and Aerin, building up an idea in his mind that someday, if the right circumstances would prevail, his son might sit upon the Iron Throne and found a new dynasty bearing his name. When it was announced throughout the empire that Michael had married and an heir to the House of Roele would soon be forthcoming, Laera was not deterred. While expressing a feigned joy over the union and her brother’s happiness, she kept reminding Derwyn of his son’s importance in the scheme of things.
“When the prince is born,” she told Derwyn, “Aerin will still occupy a vital role in the succession. He will not only stand to inherit your title and your lands, and grow up to be the most important vassal to the future emperor, but as the firstborn scion of both the houses of Roele and Boeruine, Aerin would be the next in line should any tragedy befall the prince—may the gods prevent it. Your father’s claim to the succession may have been disputed, but as the firstborn of a princess of the empire and the Duke of Boeruine, none would question Aerin’s birthright.”
Aerin’s birthright. It was a phrase she used judiciously, but often enough to start Derwyn thinking of his son’s future in those terms. His right by birth to sit upon the Iron Throne. And once that possibility was firmly implanted in his mind, the next step was to manipulate him into a desire to do something to increase the probability of its coming to pass. It would require time, for she would have to proceed slowly, allowing Derwyn to think it was his own idea. However, it would not be very difficult. Derwyn was much weaker than his father had been, and her long experience with manipulating men made it simple. He thrived on her affections, and if she withheld them, he would bend over backward to regain her favor, assuming the blame for having done something to displease her. And so long as he still wanted a second son, he doted on her and catered to her slightest whim. Nor was he the only one at Seaharrow whom she had enthralled.
It took a while for her to pick out the right one, for she wanted to ensure that there would absolutely be no mistakes. However, after a few weeks at Seaharrow, carefully evaluating all the possibilities, she had settled on young Viscount Rodric, eldest son of Count Basil of Norcross, whose small holding lay to the north of Seaharrow, near the Black River and the border of Talinie.
Rodric, in the. time-honored tradition of vassalage, had been sent by Count Basil to the court of Seaharrow to serve as a squire to his father’s lord. At the next Summer Court, he was due to be elevated to knighthood. His father was getting on in years, and Rodric stood to inherit the estate. He was seventeen, and he had a promising future. In other words, he had a lot to lose.