Higher Power (Prophecy Of The Cataclysm Book One), page 14
All eyes fixed on him. “By all means,” Duke Victor said. “Speak.”
“I believe the demon was sent by Princess Daniella,” Simon said.
“What?” Charles stared at him in shock. “Why would she do such a thing? Assuming she’s even capable of it.”
“Maybe she’s strongly opposed to the marriage,” Simon said. “Or maybe it’s something else. We have no way of knowing. But she’s the only person who might have even the slightest reason to want Lady Anastasia dead. And she’s a witch, no matter if she does deny it.”
“If the Princess truly summoned this demon then it was an act of great desperation,” Victor said. “She must know the possible consequence of such an action. If we could prove she was responsible, then it might help in Lord Charles’ bid for the throne. If the Prince is seen as colluding with a witch, the High Temple will never give him the crown.”
So, Lord Charles was going to try and wrest the throne from his cousin’s hands. Jesse couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d suspected which way the wind was blowing when Anastasia hired him. He glanced at the Lady, wondering if she would even try and pretend this hadn’t been her intention all along.
Anastasia sat with her hands twisted in her lap, staring into the unlit hearth. Despondent was the only way her expression could be described. And no wonder, knowing somebody was trying to have her killed.
“Richard will deny any knowledge of Daniella’s actions,” Anastasia said, her voice soft. “And it will be the truth. Richard would have taken no part in this. He doesn’t want me dead. He doesn’t want any of us dead.” She raised her head and somehow her gaze met Jesse’s. “You can’t torture dead people.”
A strange sensation went through him as he stared back into those dark brown eyes. It was shocking to see the depth of fear within her, but even more so was the reaction within himself.
“Richard isn’t going to be torturing anybody,” Simon said firmly. He put his hand on the back of Anastasia’s chair. “Not if I can help it.”
Anastasia’s gaze held Jesse's a moment longer, then she looked down at her hands. “There
may be nothing any of us can do about it.”
“How can we prove Daniella sent the demon?” Charles asked the room in general. “Even if Richard had no part in her actions, if we get rid of her it would still hurt him. He’s not smart enough to do anything on his own.”
No one spoke. Jesse rubbed the side of his head where the milk pail had hit him. It was tender to the touch and would no doubt be bruised by the morning. On top of that he was cold, wet, tired, and had no interest in getting himself involved in anything concerning witches and demons and spirits. Or nobles, for that matter. Especially one which evoked such strange and ill advised feelings inside him. Clearly this entire situation was far more complex and dangerous than he had been led to believe and he felt he’d done more than enough to justify his pay.
All he wanted now was to go back to the Guild house, even if it meant riding all night through the pouring rain. He’d always known coming to Havenessy would bring him nothing but trouble, only he’d never dreamed it would be this bad.
Anastasia leaned her head forward into her hand. Charles jumped to his feet and rushed to her side. “Are you all right?” He crouched beside her chair and laid his hand on her knee.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, raising her head and smiling thinly at him. “But I’m very tired all of sudden.”
He nodded. “We could all use a good sleep.” He rose to his feet. “We can worry about Daniella and the rest later.”
“I don’t see how I could ever sleep after...” Anastasia’s voice trailed off. She shivered.
“Perhaps I can help,” Nephima offered. “If you will permit.”
Charles frowned. “I don’t think--”
“It’s all right,” Anastasia touched his arm to silence him. “I would hear her.” She smiled at Nephima. “How can you help?”
Nephima drew a vial full of cream colored liquid from within her shirt and held it up. “You need only drink a little and it will give you a dreamless sleep.”
Loren stiffened, protest written clear in his eyes. But he said nothing, like a good servant. Jesse couldn’t help but be amused by the man’s obvious discomfort at the idea of his Lady accepting help from Nephima. But then he surprised himself by speaking the words Loren couldn’t.
“Are you sure that’s safe?” The words were out of Jesse’s mouth before he could stop them. He had no reason to care whether it was safe or not, and yet he did. And he didn’t like it.
Anastasia’s surprised gaze met his and this time he looked away, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut and not drawn any attention to himself.
“It’s safe,” Nephima said, with no hint she’d been insulted or angered by his question. “I would not offer it otherwise.”
“I accept your offer.” Anastasia took the vial, despite the displeased looks on the faces of the three men who most felt themselves responsible for her safety. “And I thank you.” She took two small sips, her nose wrinkling, then handed the vial back to Nephima and turned in her seat to face the Duke.
“I wonder if you would agree to let these people stay the night here in the manor, instead of the stable,” she said. “They did save my life.”
“Of course. I certainly have enough room.”
Jesse considered saying no, only he wasn’t really sure how a man such as himself could refuse such hospitality from a Duke. Besides, he didn’t want to irritate the man and have him
remember to wonder why Jesse and his companions had come to Havenessy in the first place.
“Come.” Charles helped his sister to her feet. “Let’s get you to bed before ... whatever it was you drank takes effect.”
“A good idea.”
Brandon nudged Jesse’s leg with his elbow. “Have you no manners? Aren’t you going to thank her Ladyship for giving us a nice place to sleep? It’s not every day the likes of us gets to sleep in the same house as nobility.”
A slow red burn crawled up Jesse’s neck. Brandon had spoken loudly enough for the entire room to hear, leaving Jesse no choice. He was almost tempted to reach down and smack the little creep on the back of the head, only everyone was staring at him.
Jesse cleared his throat and stared at the plush carpet. “Thank you for your consideration of our comfort, your Ladyship. It’s much appreciated.” The words left a nasty taste in his mouth.
Anastasia stepped away from her brother. “It is I who should thank you.” Her voice drew Jesse’s gaze to her face despite his best effort to keep it focused on the floor. “If you hadn’t sent your friends to my aid, I have no doubt I would not be standing here. I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay.”
“As do I.” Charles stepped around his sister and held his hand out to Jesse. “I don’t claim to understand all which transpired this night, but one thing I know for certain is you and your companions were there to protect my sister when I could not. For this you have earned my eternal gratitude.”
Jesse stared down at the offered hand. Never in his life had a Lord offered him his hand. Not even those he’d done jobs for. Nor had any looked at him with a tenth of respect he saw now in Charles’ eyes. This offer of a hand, these words he’d spoken, were not a falsity to keep up face in front of his sister. He was genuinely sincere.
Unused to being heaped with praise and feeling he didn’t really deserve it, Jesse clasped Charles’ hand. He wished he could fade away into the shadows as Nephima could. He was unsure in a situation where he couldn’t utilize his normally flippant attitude and he did not like feeling unsure.
Thankfully the moment was brief, and then Charles and the others were leaving the room and Jesse was hoping the Duke would hurry up and call a servant to show him to his room. He couldn’t wait for this night to be over.
Victor rose from his seat. “As I told Lady Anastasia, I have plenty of space if you would each like your own room.”
“One room will do us fine,” Jesse said. “We’d rather stick together.” In case the Duke was thinking of splitting them up to make it easier to have them arrested, or something. You could never be too careful around nobles, no matter how honorable they might seem.
Victor stepped toward the door. “This way.” He led them through the halls to one of the guests rooms, but as the others entered, he halted Jesse just outside the door.
“I know why you’re here and I know who hired you,” he said. “What I don’t know is how you obtained your information concerning my funding of the rebellion.”
Sour fear shot through Jesse’s guts. His mind raced, trying to think of some path of escape. Fighting his way out wasn’t much of an option, but he would rather die than wind up locked away in some dank cell. But even as part of his mind was focused on escape, the other was bitterly wondering whether it was Anastasia or her brother who had told Duke Victor the truth.
“Stand easy,” Victor said, raising one hand in a placating gesture. “It was never my intention
to have you arrested. I would have sent you on your way in the morning without ever having seen you, but since you’re here anyway I would simply like to know if the information came to you by way of my brother.”
Jesse hesitated, then decided the truth couldn’t possibly put him in a more precarious situation than the one he was already in. “Yes.”
“I thought as much.” Victor sighed, a heavy sound filled with weariness which Jesse suspected had nothing to do with the late hour. “Family can be such a burden at times. You love them, so you overlook their faults. You want to protect them, so you do things you wouldn’t normally do. Well, I appreciate your honesty. I would also appreciate it if you would refrain from selling this information to anyone, but it will be up to you. Goodnight.”
Jesse knew he should let it go, but as the Duke turned away, he found the words blurting out of his mouth. “Which one of them told you?”
Victor paused. “It wasn’t either Anastasia or Charles, if that’s what you’re asking. I have my sources, but I’ll not name them, in case your mind is turning toward thoughts of revenge. I only tell you this much because I wouldn’t want you thinking we’re all alike.
“Anastasia and Charles are admirable people,” he continued. “Both willing to do whatever it takes to protect each other. They are a fine example to show not all nobles are like Prince Richard and my brother. Or even your father.”
Jesse’s mouth fell open, but no words would come.
A thin smile graced Victor’s lips. “One look at your face and I couldn’t help but know who your father is. His actions haven’t done much to honor his proud lineage, maybe his son could find a way to do better.” With that he turned and strode down the hall, leaving Jesse with the unsettling realization that nobles, underneath all the power and wealth and privilege, were only people after all. Maybe even decent people, some of them. It was a serious change in his viewpoint concerning the world and his place in it. And not one he was sure he appreciated.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Brandon lay on the divan and watched Nephima curl up on the rug in front of the fireplace as if she were a large cat. Jesse had offered her the bed, but she had refused, saying she preferred the floor. Brandon had not been offered the bed, but he truly didn’t mind. This way he could finally have a chance for a moment alone with Nephima.
“You know, I find you fascinating,” Brandon said.
Nephima made a rude noise. “I find you annoying.”
Brandon grinned. “Are you going to tell me who you were channeling up there in the hayloft?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my business and not yours.”
“Oh.” He scratched the side of his head. “That nightmare was sure something, wasn’t it? I’ve never seen a demon like it before. But I’ve read about them. Was it a higher power you were channeling? Or was it a spirit? I thought the spirits only talked to wildlings.”
The only light in the room was a single candle on the mantle of the fireplace and so he couldn’t see Nephima’s expression when she asked, “Does that ever actually work?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Switching the conversation back and forth. Does it ever work? Does anybody ever actually fall for it?”
“I’m not trying to make you fall for anything,” Brandon said with a frown. “Even if I knew how to, I don’t think it would work with you. You’re too smart. I can tell.”
“Tripping me up doesn’t work, so you resort to empty flattery.” Nephima snorted. “If the next trick up your sleeve isn’t any better than what I’ve seen so far, you may as well stop now.”
Brandon sat up. “I don’t pass out empty flattery, so if I tell you I think you’re smart and fascinating, I mean it. From the moment you climbed up into the tree without me hearing so much as a rustle, I knew you were someone I had to meet. Somebody who was maybe a little bit like me, even.
“And now I’ve met you, I want to know you even more. You don’t seem the type to be crawling around the woods with a bunch of bandits. And not only because of your talisman. I’m not trying to trick you into telling me your secrets. I want you to tell them to me because you want to. Because we’re friends. Now, I know we only just met, so you can’t see me as your friend yet, but I’d like to find a way to change that.”
Nephima propped her head on one hand and gazed up at him. Half her face was lit by candlelight, the other lost in shadow. To Brandon it seemed a perfect depiction of her duality. “You are a strange person,” she said.
“Yes, I am, but nobody ever said it to my face before.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “People are afraid of me. I don’t know why. Sure I’m an assassin and I sort of kill people for a living, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to snap and slit somebody’s throat for no good reason. But people are still afraid. Like Jesse. He only let me come along to Havenessy because he was afraid to tell me no.”
“Your friend is afraid of you?”
“He doesn’t consider me a friend,” Brandon said. “But I don’t care. I like him anyway. So do
you follow a particular higher power?”
She regarded him silently for a moment before replying. “You really aren’t trying to trick me, are you? This is the way you talk.”
Brandon tilted his head to one side. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was talking about. But at least she was talking. Much as he liked horses, they weren’t great when it came to conversation. “I guess it is. I don’t mean to pry. It’s nice to talk. Most people don’t like to carry on a conversation with me. I usually only talk to horses. So maybe I’m not good at talking to people.”
“No, you aren’t,” she said, but her tone was not unkind. She lowered her eyes, her gaze slipping away from his. “I’ve never gone to temple. My parents worshiped nothing higher than the paper in their pockets. Most of my life, I didn’t even believe in higher powers or gods or the like. Then...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No. I don’t follow a particular higher power.” She raised her gaze to meet his, almost challenging him to question her further. “Do you?”
So she wasn’t ready to tell him her story. It was all right, patience was one thing Brandon had in abundance. “I follow Reaper, like a lot of assassins.” He drummed his fingers lightly against his knee. Nephima wasn’t the only one with secrets and as his were only bound to bring him trouble he wasn’t much more eager than she was to share.
But this was different from the friendship he’d sort of forced on Jesse. In Nephima he saw a possibility of a return of affection, something he’d never had before. So maybe it would be all right to tell her a little.
“I was raised in a Death Dealer temple.” He watched her face, wondering what her reaction would be.
Surprise flitted through her eyes. But not fear. She sat up. “Are you a Brother?”
In answer, Brandon slid the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and held out his arm for her inspection. She stared at the complex tattoo inked in black on the inside of his left forearm. Then she sat back on her hands.
“Does Jesse know?” she asked.
Brandon shook his head. “Nobody knows. Not even the Guild Master. It’s not exactly the sort of thing you want to show around.”
“I suppose not.” She frowned. “I’ve seen a mark of the Brotherhood once before, yours is different.”
“Each mark is unique to the one who wears it.” He drew his arm back and pushed his shirt sleeve down. “If you could read it, it would tell you more about me than you would like to know.”
“So now you’ve told me your secret, I suppose you expect me to tell you mine.”
Brandon grinned. “You’re a suspicious sort of person, aren’t you? I don’t want your secrets until you’re ready to give them to me. I’m not exactly an open book, I haven’t told you everything about me, not even close. I showed you the tattoo because I like you, not because I want something from you. I would show it to Jesse, only I don’t think he would handle it well. He has an open mind when it comes to other people’s beliefs, it’s one of the things I like best about him, but I think this would be too much for him to handle.”
“It would be for most people,” Nephima said.
“But not you.”
She shrugged. “The Brother I knew was not a demon, as most people seem to think Death Dealers are, and I doubt you are either. I’ve long ago learned not to judge people based solely on
their choice of a religion.”
“Even most people who don’t think there’s anything wrong with following Reaper, people like Jesse, would be bothered by someone who chose to become a Brother.”
“Well, I’m not most people,” Nephima said.
Brandon grinned. “No, you most certainly aren’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Dawn was creeping over the horizon before Simon felt safe enough to rise. Anastasia, afraid to be alone, was sharing the bed with her brother. She’d insisted they bring a divan in from the sitting room so Simon could stay in the room as well and had refused to lay down and let Nephima’s potion do its work until they had agreed. It pained him to see her in such a state.
