“I do not know if I want to be a Sieur on your terms; I do not know what the title means in this age,” he retorted. “But I know what it meant in my day, and that was a duty of care to all who depended on you. By Saedrin’s very keys, I will do my duty to the people of Kel Ar’Ayen. They crossed the ocean trusting in the Names of Den Rannion, Den Fellaemion and D’Alsennin. I am the last of those nobles and Poldrion drown me but I will defend their interests. I speak for people held under enchantment for nigh on thirty generations and many still lie insensible in the darkness. I want them back, and if I need some trumpery badge to make you people take me seriously then I will wear one, but it means precious little to me.”
“What he means is—” began Casuel in strangled tones.
“I can speak for myself, Master Mage!” Temar spat.
“Then speak,” the Emperor commanded.
“The only reason I came to you is my people will suffer still more in a quarrel not of our making. Kel Ar’Ayen is simply one more piece on the game board between Tor Bezaemar and D’Olbriot, and I cannot let that go unchallenged. Tor Bezaemar has been orchestrating all the cases brought before you in the courts. By way of retaliation, the Sieur and his brothers are planning every assault possible on Tor Bezaemar property and allied Names. D’Olbriot’s man there heard them.” Temar gestured at Ryshad who was standing motionless by the door, head raised, eyes level.
“You wear a chosen man’s armring,” the Emperor observed, a distinct chill in his voice. “Shouldn’t you be keeping your Sieur’s confidences?”
“I believe an open quarrel with Tor Bezaemar will harm the House.” Ryshad continued to stare straight ahead. “My loyalties are to all who bear the Name, not merely to the person of the Sieur.”
“Guliel’s not stupid, he must see this will only discredit his arguments in court,” said the Emperor, frustrated. “Why’s D’Olbriot taking justice into his own hands?”
“In my day we went to the Emperor for justice.” Temar stepped round the table to stand toe to toe with Tadriol. “You must stop this quarrel before it gets out of hand. Before all your advocates have said their pieces, innocent men will have lost their livelihoods, and if Kel Ar’Ayen is cut adrift my people may well lose their lives.”
“When I see open antagonism between two powerful Houses I will act to limit the damage,” the Emperor protested.
“Can you not stop it before it starts?” demanded Temar. “Do you wait until the roof catches before you tear down a burning house?”
“Then bring evidence untainted by magic before the courts,” repeated the Emperor with some heat. “Where all can witness it and justice can be seen to be done.”
“If we had it, we would!” Temar cried, frustrated. “We do not. Why else do you think we tried this?”
“I doubt shouting is going to achieve very much.” Avila strode into the room with Velindre and Allin at her heels. All three swept graceful curtseys to the Emperor, the swish of skirts the only sound to ruffle the abrupt silence.
“May I make known Avila, Demoiselle Tor Arrial,” said Temar, for want of anything better. “And Velindre Ychane, Allin Mere, mages of Hadrumal.”
“You didn’t get here by carriage.” Tadriol looked disconcerted for the first time.
“Velindre’s magic served the purpose rather better.” Avila fixed the Emperor with an impatient glare. “I take it you want us to prove ourselves?”
“How do you know that?” Tadriol looked instantly suspicious.
“Allin scryed for you when the Relict left.” Avila spared the girl an approving smile that set her blushing scarlet. “It did not look a happy conversation and I have had a bellyful of Tormalin scepticism these last few days, so it seemed a likely guess.”
“You didn’t translocate here when you only knew the place through scrying?” Casuel was looking scandalised at Velindre.
“Where’s Lady Channis?” Ryshad asked suddenly.
“On her way home in her carriage,” Allin assured him.
“Can we stick to the point before us?” Avila asked, scathing. “What kind of proof do you need, highness, to accept the evidence of your own eyes?”
Tadriol looked thoughtful, rolling the overlarge ring round his finger. “You say this spell has to be worked between two mages?”
Velindre nodded.
“You, go with my Steward.” The Emperor pointed abruptly at Casuel. “Master Jainne, take him to some room at the far end of the palace. No, don’t ask me, I don’t want anyone in this room knowing, not until this lady here finds him with her magic’ He inclined his head stiffly at Velindre.
The Steward relieved his feelings by slamming the door once he’d hurried Casuel through it. The wizard’s anxious queries went unanswered and rapidly faded into the distance.
Silence swelled to fill the small room with tension. Temar found it impossible to sit or stand still. He walked around, ostensibly admiring the delicate paintings hung on the walls. Landscapes were picked out in subtle watercolour, a suggestion of trees framing a proudly Rational dwelling here, a tangle of ivy detailed over the ruins of some ancient house there. Tiny script engraved below identified it as the Savorgan residence of Den Jaepe. Temar sighed; those towers were clearly long since fallen from the heights he remembered. He moved on, a sideways glance showing him Allin perched on the edge of her chair, face unhappily flushed. Their eyes met, he gave her a momentary smile of encouragement, and the answering support in her gaze rewarded him. Ryshad was still by the door, stance straight as a lance. Avila was similarly stiff-backed, hands neatly folded in her lap, every year of her age plain on her weary face. The only people seemingly at ease were Velindre and the Emperor. The lady mage was looking around the room with unashamed curiosity while Tadriol relaxed in his chair, watching her.
“That should be long enough,” the Emperor said, suddenly sitting upright. “Show us where he is.”
Velindre calmly retrieved the tray from beneath the window. “I take it this is what Cas was using?” She glanced at Tadriol. “Don’t you think he’d have come a little better prepared if this was all some elaborate hoax?”
Temar fetched her a taper from the mantelshelf.
“Thank you.” Scarlet fire blossomed in her hand as she set the tray high on the mantel, holding the taper in front of it, face seemingly more angular than ever as she worked her magic.
A smooth golden glow in the centre of the shining metal deepened to a burning amber before splitting around a silver rift. Almost too bright to look at, the brilliant lines framed a widening picture of Casuel sitting indignantly in a small room with a single window high behind him, washstand and ewer just visible.
Velindre smiled. “Your Steward seems to have put my esteemed colleague in a privy.”
“He’s on his way to tell you that himself,” snapped Casuel crossly, glaring through the spell. “Kindly send him back with the key.”
Temar had to turn away to hide his smile and saw the top of Allin’s head as she stared determinedly at the floor.
Velindre licked finger and thumb, snuffing the taper with a faint hiss. “Sufficient proof? We could argue the rights and wrongs of it all day.”
“Your talents certainly seem to be all that your associates boasted,” Tadriol said slowly.
Velindre smiled. “The cockerel can crow all he wants, highness, but it’s the hen that yields the eggs.”
A smile tugged at the Emperor’s mouth before he looked at Avila, face intent. “You say you can compel the truth. Do so, to me, now.”
“If you wish.” Avila pressed bloodless lips together. “Do you swear by all you hold sacred to speak truth not falsehood? This will only work if you are a man of your word.”
“I swear by the blood of my House and my father,” Tadriol said with forceful indignation.
“Raeponin an iskatel, fa nuran aestor. Fedal tris amria lekat.” Avila spoke with biting precision. “Now, Emperor Tadriol the Provident, fifth of that Name, tell me you do not suspect Dirindal Tor Bezaemar of a hand in the deaths that have plagued your House!”