King's man and thief

PROLOGUE
1278

"You don't have very long to get ready," Kastara chided her husband gently.

"I told you, I'm not going." Deveren's voice sounded like a stubborn child's, even in his own ears. His physical strength, though not inconsiderable, came from lean, toned muscles rather than a bulky, powerful frame. That, combined with a friendly, open face, made him seem much younger than his twenty-seven years. That boyish face was presently set in a scowl. He sprawled in one of the beautifully carved chairs that decorated their solar. Horse muck clung to his fine leather boots and spattered his breeches. His tunic was permeated by the scent of sweaty Deveren and sweatier Flamedancer, his lively new horse, and Lord Deveren Larath took a perverse pleasure in knowing that he probably smelled worse than the lowliest stable hand in his employ. He crossed his arms and glared at his wife.

Kastara arched a raven-dark eyebrow. At that moment there came a knock on their solar door.

"Enter, Yalissa," called Kastara.

"Go away," barked Deveren at the same moment.

Yalissa, knowing full well who was master of the house in this instance, stepped inside. "I've brought the tub and hot water as you requested, milady," said the elderly servant, motioning two strong young boys inside. The three set about readying Deveren's bath, selectively deaf to their master's complaints.

"I told you, I'm not going. I haven't been to a performance here in Braedon without you since the night we met, and I refuse to start now."

From their bed, Kastara gazed at her husband, amusement quirking her full lips. She absently rubbed her abdomen, eight months swollen with their first child, as she replied.

"It's a premiere," she said. "You're expected to attend premieres, love. That's why you're called a patron.'" Her blue eyes sparkled with mischievous humor in her pallid face.

Deveren gazed at her, his sullenness fading as he took in her paleness, her thin hands moving with an ancient rhythm over the mound of her belly. He could see the blue veins clearly through her skin, and those dark circles under her eyes worried him. Kastara had always been fragile. Part of her beauty was the enchanting contrast between the delicate frame and the fiery spirit it housed. But this pregnancy had strained her more than it should have.

"I won't enjoy it without you," Deveren protested in all earnestness. While master and mistress argued, the bath had been filled. The boys placed a cake of soap and neatly folded towels on the rush mat beside the tub. Yalissa took a moment to scatter some herbs into the steaming water, then followed the two serving boys out of the room. She closed the door quietly behind her.

"The cast will be heartbroken if you're not there. You've nurtured this show since the beginning, Dev, and if you're not in the audience tonight-well, you're always telling me how sensitive actors are."

"But…" He searched for the words to continue his argument, even as he undressed, immersed himself in the fragrant hot water, and reached for the cake of soap. "But I don't like leaving you alone here while I'm off enjoying myself. It doesn't seem fair."

Kastara rose with the singular combination of awkwardness and grace that marked a pregnant woman, and eased herself down onto a stool beside the tub. She took the cake from his hands and began to scrub his back with it.

"We'll be fine," she assured him. "Cassim and Yalissa will be here, and in case Baby decides he wants to come early they'll call in Health's Blesser right away. Besides, you leave me alone all the time while you conduct business during the day."

"That's different," countered Deveren, taking the soap back and finishing the job Kastara had begun. "That's not fun."

"If it's a good play," Kastara continued, her fingers playing with her husband's sandy brown hair, "it'll still be running when Baby comes. And if it's a bad play-well, then you've saved me from a dreadful evening."

He grinned at her, his hazel eyes laughing. They both knew he'd go, now, and Deveren was not one to hang on to a bad mood. Kastara answered his smile with one of her own, then heaved her bulk off the stool and back into the bed.

Deveren finished bathing, dried himself, and dressed in garb appropriate to the theater: a full-length, parti-colored tunic, a jeweled belt that accentuated his trim waist, hose, fine slippers, and a hat with a sweeping feather.

Kastara sighed in mock appreciation. "If I weren't with child," she teased, "I might not let you go to the theater, handsome husband of mine."

He sat down beside her on the bed. "If you weren't with child," he rejoined, "I just might get you with one tonight, beautiful wife of mine."

Deveren lowered his head and kissed her. He'd meant it to be gentle-Health's Blesser had warned that Kastara was having a difficult pregnancy and was not to be overly excited by anything, including her husband's attention-but she snaked her hand up behind his head and crushed his lips to hers, hungry, seeking. She wanted him to go, yes, but like Deveren, Kastara would not enjoy the hours apart.

Ending the kiss, Deveren gazed down at his wife. He suddenly felt that he shouldn't go, that he should stay here tonight, but that was foolish… wasn't it? Kastara had reminded him that she would be well looked after for the, what, only four hours that he would be gone.

Gently he placed a hand on her enormous stomach, making a father's contact with the small being housed within. Kastara placed her hand over his. He smiled down at her, thinking that her black hair spread across the goose-down pillow looked like a dark halo, and went to the play.

It was good, better than earlier rehearsals had indicated. The weather cooperated, and the amphitheater just outside the Braedon city limits that was home to the city's dramatic productions during the summer months was filled to capacity.

Deveren had just settled into the second act, thoroughly engrossed, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He glanced up, dragging his eyes away from the most exciting scene in the whole play, to gaze into the concerned face of Captain Telian Jaranis, head of the local guardsmen of Braedon, and a personal friend.

Deveren's first thought was that the child had indeed come early. But Cassim would have come for him, not a guardsman, and there would be joy mixed with worry on the elderly servant's face-not this strange expression that sat upon Telian's handsome features.

"The baby," Deveren cried, not caring that he disturbed his fellow audience members. "Oh, gods, she's lost the baby."

"Lord Larath," and the formal title chilled Deveren's soul, "I'm afraid there's been…" Telian swallowed hard, could not complete the news he had been sent to deliver. To Deveren's horror he saw tears in the guard's eyes.

Growling deep in his throat, Deveren sprang at the captain, clutched his tunic. Telian's men moved, but a gesture from their commander stayed their swords. The crowd gasped, watching the real tragedy unfolding instead of that being performed by the actors.

"What happened?" demanded Deveren, his teeth clenched.

"There was an intruder," began Telian. "He broke in- we think he assumed that you had both gone to the performance-and Kastara-"

Deveren let Telian go and raced for the stables, taking the stone stairs that wound between the seats two at a time. He heard the sergeant crying his name, shouting something about how Deveren didn't want to see it, but Deveren paid no heed. He mounted Flamedancer swiftly and rode the gelding hard, denying the words of the guardsman as he frantically raced home and burst into his house.

Yalissa and Cassim held one another and wept. Several guards were talking to them, inspecting the first-story floor.

"Lord Larath-" one of them said, but Deveren ignored him and raced up the stairs.

Kastara. Kastara. Oh, gods, please, please…

The bedchamber was crawling with guardsmen. The place had been ransacked. Chairs were overturned. Drawers were open. The pillows had been slit and their feathery contents lay over everything like a bizarre dusting of snow. The guardsmen glanced up at his entrance, and upon recognizing him moved to block his view.

But not soon enough. Oh, dear gods, not soon enough.

She lay where the evil intruder had left her, sprawled on the bed. Her chemise was no longer white but red, and the wet redness clung to her breasts and full belly in an obscene caress. The redness came from the terrible hole between her breasts, the hole created no doubt by the same knife that had slashed open the pillows and…

Deveren, his knees buckling, stumbled to the bed. He felt concerned hands closing on his shoulders and arms, trying to pull him away, but he tore loose and fell upon his wife's corpse, sobbing hoarsely. Dimly he realized that her flesh was cold. Any chance Health's Blesser might have had of saving the child, if not the mother, had long since passed.

They had been married only a year and a half. They were expecting a child. They were supposed to have years left, decades together… and one stranger's greed and evil had destroyed it all.

"Kastara… I'm so sorry… I should have stayed…" She was stiff and cold in his arms as he clutched her to him, and hard on the heels of his wild grief was a hot, scorching rage.

One thought hammered at his brain, and would sustain him through years to come. Deveren Larath would find the man who had done this. He would find him, and then, he would kill him. It was that simple.