‘You three,’ Shardan called out, and they turned. ‘I am Councillor Shardan Lim, and I am about to visit the Vidikas estate. If you carry a message for Lady Challice, do permit me to deliver it.’ As he drew closer, he offered the three men a com shy;radely smile. ‘She is a delicate woman — having three sweaty men descend on her wouldn’t do. I’m sure you understand-’
‘Forgive me, Councillor,’ one of the men said, ‘but the news we deliver is bad.’
‘Oh? Come now, no more hesitation.’
‘Gorlas Vidikas is dead, sir. He was killed in a duel earlier today. We were in shy;structed to ride to his widow first, and hence on to Eldra Iron Mongery. It means we got to go right back the way we come, but the foreman insisted. As a courtesy. As the proper thing to do.’
Shardan Lim simply stared at the man, his thoughts racing.
‘Weren’t no duel,’ growled one of the other men.
‘What’s that?’ Shardan demanded. ‘You there, step out. What did you just say?’
The man was suddenly frightened, but he moved into the councillor’s line of sight, managed a quick bow and then said, ‘He was assassinated, sir. The foreman kept saying it was all legitimate, but we saw it, sir, with our own eyes. Two knives-’
‘Two knives?
‘Because of the other duel, you see, sir. It was revenge. It was murder. Coun shy;cillor Vidikas killed another man, then this other one shows up. Then out flash those knives — so fast you couldn’t even see ’em, and Councillor Vidikas topples over, stone dead, sir. Stone dead.’
‘This is all sounding familiar,’ Shardan Lim said. ‘Listen to me, you three. One of you, ride to the Orr estate and inform Councillor Hanut Orr. The other two, go on to Eldra, as you will. I will inform Lady Challice. Then, the three of you, find a decent inn for the night and tell the proprietor to treat you well, and to bill House Lim. Go on, now.’
There was some discussion as to who would go where, and which inn they’d rendezvous at when the tasks were done, and then the three men rode off.
Thunder to the south, getting closer. He could hear the wind but it was yet to arrive. Shardan Lim walked up to the gate, pulled on the braided chime in its elongated niche. While he waited for the doorman to arrive, he thought about how he would deliver this grim news. He would need a grave countenance, some shy;thing more fitting than the dark grin he was even now fighting.
She was a widow now. Vulnerable. There was no heir. Cousins and half-relations might well creep out of the woodwork, mediocre but grasping with sudden ambi shy;tion. Proclaiming ascendancy in the Vidikas bloodline and so asserting their newly conceived rights to claim stewardship over the entire House. Without strong allies at her side, she’d be out before the week was done.
Once Hanut Orr heard the report, and gleaned whatever he could from the particular details, his mind would fill with the desire for vengeance — and more than a little fear along with it, Shardan was sure. And he would not even think of Challice, not at first, and the opportunities now present. The next day or two would be crucial, and Shardan would have to move sure and fast to position himself at her side and leave no room for Hanut Orr once the man’s own ambitions awakened.
An eye-slot scraped to one side, then closed again with a snap. The gate opened. ‘House Vidikas welcomes Councillor Lim,’ said the doorman from his low bow, as if addressing Shardan’s boots. ‘The Lady is being informed of your arrival. If you will kindly follow me.’
And in they went.
She hesitated, facing the wardrobe, studying the array of possible shifts to draw on over her mostly naked body. Most were intended to cover other clothes, as befitted a modest noblewoman engaged in entertaining guests, but the truth was, she couldn’t be bothered. She had been about to go to sleep, or at least what passed for sleep of late, lying flat and motionless on her bed.
Alone whether her husband was there or not. Staring upward in the grainy darkness. Where the only things that could stir her upright included another gob shy;let of wine, one more pipe bowl or a ghostly walk in the silent garden.
Those walks always seemed to involve searching for something, an unknown thing, in fact, and she would follow through on the desire even as she knew that what she sought no garden could hold. Whatever it was did not belong to the night, nor could it be found in the spinning whirls of smoke, or the bite of strong drink on her numbed tongue.
She selected a flowing, diaphanous gown, lavender and wispy as wreaths of in shy;cense smoke, pulling it about her bared shoulder. A broad swath of the same mate shy;rial served to gather it tight about her lower torso, beneath her breasts, firm against her stomach and hips. The thin single layer covering her breasts hid nothing.
