The Queen considered this while a swarm of servants swept in to lay out spiced tea and a collection of intriguing little cakes. Rennyn liked trying new sweets, and wondered if she could take one of each without looking more interested in eating than talking. Having staved off a private audience this long, it would probably set the wrong tone.
Queen Astranelle had too many reasons not to like Rennyn as it was. Although Rennyn’s ancestor, King Tiandel, had abdicated his throne three hundred years ago, there were some in Tyrland who had suggested that Rennyn was Tyrland’s true Queen. Fomenting mischief. It wouldn’t lead anywhere, but it was an annoyance to a Queen already less than impressed by Rennyn’s failure to keep her informed about anything during the crisis of Solace’s attempted return. Secrecy had been necessary, but she could have at least attempted not to act like Queen Astranelle was entirely irrelevant to proceedings. Perhaps worse, she had most inconveniently married a Kellian without letting anyone official know first, and if the Queen guessed at the reasons for the haste it would almost amount to a direct insult.
"Lady Weston tells me that, as yet, she sees no way of removing this casting from you."
The Grand Magister had barely been able to detect it. "It may not be possible," Rennyn said baldly. "It doesn’t respond to dispels, and trying to pull it from me by force, even if we could get a hold on it, would probably kill me."
"You are very matter-of-fact," the Queen commented. "Will you accept such a limited life?" The strong do not enjoy being weak, her cool gaze added, and Rennyn had been very strong.
"No. I am going to hunt my Wicked Uncle down and kill him." Rennyn took a sip of spiced tea, recalling the Grand Magister’s advice that she should request permission to leave Tyrland, and ask for support. But she found she’d rather simply explain and see how the Queen reacted. "He cast the spell, and he later took my true focus. Killing him will drastically increase my chances of overcoming this spell. Particularly since the symbology was one of him controlling me."
The Queen sat back in her chair. "The best Tyrland can muster has yet to find the creature calling itself Helecho. It has likely left the country. Even if it can be found, you yourself named it one of the most dangerous of the creatures born of the Eferum. The abilities of a mage, the form of a human, and the command of other Hells-spawned creatures."
"I don’t have a great deal of choice," Rennyn said, bluntly. "Other than the broken bones finishing their healing, I am not going to recover further physically. And while it might be possible to accept living in this fashion, I’m simply too vulnerable to infection. A harsh winter would finish me without the constant care of a healer. Besides, regardless of my own problems, he needs to die."
"That I do not dispute." Rennyn’s Wicked Uncle had been quite despicable all around. "How, then, do you propose to locate it?"
"He has my focus. Even were I not ill, the distances involved would be too great for me to track it properly. But my brother has created a very general directional spell using me as a subject. Nothing more than over there," she gestured vaguely to the west, "but it can be recast as we get closer."
"And when you find it?" The Queen didn’t bother pointing out Rennyn’s frailties, but then she made a gesture as if to put aside the discussion so far. "We are prevaricating. Even if it is not currently among us, this creature is a threat—not simply to Tyrland but to any that Hells-spawn would feed upon. It is not a matter for you alone. Nor do I imagine you so short-sighted as to expose both yourself and your brother to this creature, given the consequences of your deaths."
Her Wicked Uncle inheriting the ability to control the Kellian would be a disaster, and Rennyn didn’t bother pretending that she hadn’t seen this, or wanted Seb anywhere near Prince Helecho. "You will assist?" she asked simply.
"The Sentene’s role is to hunt the monsters from the Eferum. They will hunt this one, with your assistance. The difficulty lies in taking a military force outside Tyrland’s borders. Even in those lands inclined to cooperate with us, it would cause alarm."
This was not an aspect that had occurred to Rennyn, but it made sense. "A large group would be too noticeable to him, anyway. But there’s no reason I can’t travel as a private individual—there’s a property in Kole that has been left abandoned since the last of that branch of my family died. It would not be remarkable for me to be accompanied while I attended to removing anything of worth and selling the house. And if a second small group travelled separately, and joined me there, then they are simply mages with their own personal guard. I don’t know if he’s in the Kolan Empire, of course, but it’s a good starting point, and in the right direction."
"The Emperor’s intelligencers are not to be underestimated. But, on the balancing hand, Corusar is no fool, and it might be possible to apply to him—even in relation to your health. At the moment he is no doubt more than usually inclined toward an exchange of assistance."
The Emperor of Kole had had a formidable reputation as a healer-mage before he’d taken his throne. But that had been nearly three hundred years ago, and he most certainly no longer practiced those arts. Still, there were other scholar-mages in Kole that Rennyn intended to consult.
"At the moment?" she repeated.
"You have not heard that Kole has misplaced Arugar, Keshkant—and quite a number of other mages?"
"Misplaced? Mages?"
"Gone without trace. It began a short time after Solace’s attempted return, so perhaps their disappearances are related to the monster you seek. You hope to depart soon?"
Rennyn hadn’t heard anything about missing mages, but then she had enough trouble with local news, and had not been paying attention to Kole. "Being ill has delayed me too long already."
The Queen nodded, sparing Rennyn the arguments the healers had insisted on boring her with and instead saying practically: "I will make a ship available to you. Avoiding the Vandalusian roads should keep the journey from being improbably arduous, and side-step any chance of being caught in their mountains by early autumn rains."
This settled, the Queen turned the discussion to Surclere. The title had been left untenanted by agreement between Rennyn’s ancestor Tiandel and the Montjuste in whose favour he had abdicated. The Duchy itself was small and now badly neglected. A mountainous part of the kingdom’s north-west, it had never been a very rich area, and Rennyn was treated to a precise summary of what would be due to her, and required of her, when she became its Duchess.
Rennyn forced herself to concentrate. She couldn’t become Surclere’s Duchess and then ignore it, but the mountain of legal precedent and economics she would need to climb was daunting. Illidian would help, of course, but she would be ultimately responsible. Duty. It was a word she had thought to leave behind after Solace’s defeat. Still, there was still a chance that before she formally became a Duchess the Kellian might decide their future was not in Tyrland, and that would change everything. Illidian might want to make a home in Surclere, but could Tyrland be their home when there was so much hatred for the Kellian as a people?
Sharp anxiety washed over her, but Rennyn pushed it back. She hated this unreasonable fear that would creep up on her whenever she wasn’t entirely certain where Illidian was. Despite two months of recovery, a part of her remained convinced that he was dead, or in urgent danger, and she was always being overwhelmed by this need to see him, to make certain he breathed. And still chose not to hate her.