“Brilliant!” Brisbois said. “But what if the baroness hears of this?”
“She won’t. Besides,” Maldrake shrugged nonchalantly, “if she does, I’ll just tell her I’m new to this taxation business and didn’t know any better. After all, what will she do to her crazy cousin’s husband?” Maldrake’s face crinkled into laughter. “See you for dinner!” The lord sauntered down the wide, majestic hallway, laughter bubbling from him.
Brisbois called after his friend, “Is Teryl Auroch going to be there?” He detested the mage and might avoid the dinner if the old conjuror was planning to attend.
“Of course!” cried Lord Maldrake, walking backward. “Yvaughan doesn’t take a step without her advisor. She’s given him permanent quarters in our tower, by the way, so he’s there all the time. Come anyway, you old spoilsport! We have fortunes to build!” The lord turned and continued his way down the immense hall.
Brisbois nodded curtly. He would have dinner with Maldrake and his wife, but only because Maldrake insisted on it. And he would watch Teryl Auroch very, very carefully. That mage had plans—plans Brisbois intended to uncover.
Yvaughan leaned forward, a thin sliver of sweetmeat between her fingers. She dangled it in front of the large bird before her. It was an elegant, lovely bird, and Yvaughan never tired of watching its long and graceful form. The bird’s tail coverts were nearly twice as long as its body, the plumage fine, almost hairy. Its white tail was laced with emerald green plumes. The rest of the bird’s feathers were pure, blazing white, save for an iridescent green crest upon its head.
The bird was a finicky eater, and Yvaughan had spent the last hour coaxing it into eating various goodies. Finally it pecked delicately at the proffered sweet and then greedily ate it all. Yvaughan sighed in relief. The bird’s shy mate, a dove-brown creature that was no less stunning, jumped from its perch to join the cock. In the potted trees dotting the large tower room, dozens of smaller birds roosted and preened. Others took wing, flitting this way and that, filling the room with chirps and exotic calls.
Yvaughan turned around, sighing at the beauty of the place: the rosy marble floor, the white pillars, the tapestries gracing both floors and walls—all kept meticulous by a troop of servants. Potted plants of all sorts provided perches and nesting sites for the birds. From a tiny, well-hidden pool, the noise of falling water filled the air. The furniture in the tower was elegant, yet comfortable and inviting. Even the bars on the windows soothed Yvaughan’s troubled heart. She and her birds lived safe in their tower hideaway, safe from the world and its dangers. Yvaughan never felt alone in this chamber, not like she did in the bedroom at night with her young husband. Strangely enough, only the white bird and his mate ever entered the bedchamber, but even these two beloved pets couldn’t provide the comforting sound that a thousand birds could. The pair roosted at night on the rail above her head, sending Yvaughan to sleep with their cooing.
Seated on a divan before her was her advisor, Teryl Auroch. He was a tiny, wizened man, apparently ancient, though none but he knew his actual age. He sported a mousy brown goatee, currently in vogue at the castle, and a moustache that was so nearly the color of his skin that it was often not seen. His hands, which were white and shapely, moved constantly, as though he suffered from some inner agitation. In contrast to his withered body and jittering hands, the man’s eyes were the brilliant, youthful blue of a summer sky. They inspired trust in Yvaughan.
“Today it is sweets, Teryl,” Yvaughan complained to the man sitting before her. “Yesterday it was grain, the day before it was meat. Will I never know what to feed my lovely pets?” She placed a shallow, gilded container on the granite floor, clucking in sympathy. The two birds milled about and then began eating the sweets it contained. The remaining birds, creatures of lesser glory, fluttered near. The moment the pair had had their fill, the others would swoop down and eat.
Yvaughan rose unsteadily to her feet, her pregnant bulk upsetting her balance. She put a hand to her rounded stomach, said a silent prayer to comfort the child within, and moved slowly to the barred windows. The winter sun had already set, so she could see little outside the tower window save for a few lights being lit in the country houses. Her husband should arrive soon. Yvaughan was glad Baroness Arteris no longer insisted that they join the other nobles and knights for the evening meal. The public meals made only for political posturing and simpering.
Yvaughan leaned against the damask drapes that outlined the tall window before her. She was nearing forty and late to childbearing, but her figure was still strong and graceful, her golden hair still untouched by gray. Although her cornflower-blue eyes were generally untroubled, today they stared emptily. She reached a pale hand out to touch the delicate, wrought-iron bars she had installed on the windows of the tower to prevent her beloved birds’ escape.
Baron Arturus, her uncle, had granted her the tower on her wedding day. He and she had spent many happy times together in the tower conservatory, one floor above. The conservatory’s plants and birds had inspired Yvaughan to begin the slow transformation of the rest of the tower. Soon all four floors would harbor birds and plants and pools of water. Yvaughan smiled. Her uncle would have been proud of all she had accomplished.
Then she frowned. Her happy childhood had ended when Arturus gained a daughter of his own and had no time for his young niece. How happy I was before Arteris, the woman thought, when my uncle loved me best of all. Yvaughan’s parents had died from plague shortly after her birth, and her uncle had raised her as his own. As his wife seemed unable to bear children, Yvaughan had been brought up as his only heir. But the birth of Arteris had spoiled all that.
Yvaughan sat on the divan next to the mage. “You’ve been very good to me, Teryl,” she smiled. “I’m so glad I could persuade you to leave your studies and join me here at the castle. I don’t know what I would have done without you the last two years.”
“I am also glad, lady,” Teryl said in his high-pitched voice. “Though your husband had a hand in the persuading, too, I might add.”
“Fain?” Yvaughan’s voice was tinged with hysteria. “Have you seen him? Fain Flinn is returning? Where is he?” A familiar terror welled up in her, and she put one jeweled hand to her throat.
“Calm yourself, my lady,” Teryl responded, his hand fluttering on her arm. “I was speaking of Lord Maldrake, your second husband.” The mage stood and went to a sideboard. There he poured a little wine and mixed it with the contents of a stoppered vial he produced from his voluminous robes. He handed the glass to Yvaughan and said, “Here, my lady. A glass of claret before dinner will soothe your nerves. Drink.”
She looked at the glass wildly, then glanced up at the wizard’s smiling face. She trusted Teryl. He was her only friend at the Castle of the Three Suns… besides my husband, of course, she dutifully added. Whatever Teryl has put in the glass is for my betterment. She downed the wine with one swallow and handed the glass back. Teryl replaced it on the sideboard, taking care to wipe it dry.
“You’re right, of course, Teryl,” Yvaughan said a moment later, her tongue feeling thick. “How foolish of me to mix up my first and second husbands.” She turned at the sound of footsteps. “Ah, I believe my love is here now.” She gazed toward the door as Lord Maldrake strode forward, her face ht with an uneasy smile.
“Yvaughan!” Maldrake cried, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “And how are you today?” he asked her, glancing at Teryl Auroch who stood nearby. The mage shook his head slightly.
“Maldrake, I’m fine!” Yvaughan cried. “Teryl’s just being a worrywart. Come, sit beside me and tell me about your day.”