To Ride Hell’s Chasm. Janny Wurts
Your kingdom produces exceptional wines. Bereft of my bride, who can blame me for seeking such exquisitely seductive consolation?’
Sessalie’s seneschal tasted the sample, then nodded his reserved approval. While the Prince of Devall filled his goblet in earnest, he asserted, ‘A wine haze won’t help Princess Anja’s recovery.’
‘No,’ Kailen murmured. ‘But it does dull the ache.’ He bunched up his napkin, wiped the dregs from his glass, then slid it forward, inviting a refill.
The foreign prince complied, then set down the bottle. His tapered fingers still nursing the goblet that stood all but untouched before him, he broached softly, ‘What news of my current petitions to King Isendon?’
‘They have not been refused outright.’ But the seneschal’s braced posture suggested an edge of stonewalled exasperation. ‘I could wish the issue had been handled differently’
‘Why don’t you address my documents of appeal and their outcomes one at a time?’ suggested the Prince of Devall.
‘The diplomatic complaint cannot be ignored. There will be a punishment extracted. However,’ the seneschal qualified stiffly, ‘the garrison captain who enacted the offence will be dealt with by military discipline.’
‘That means Commander Taskin’s been appointed to call the damned desert-bred on to the carpet.’ Kailen dashed down a swallow of wine, and grimaced. ‘That upright old stick doesn’t cut an offender much slack. He’ll execute the verdict along with the sentence, and won’t relinquish his right to keep privacy inside the ranks of his guardsmen.’
The heir apparent of Devall said baldly, ‘The commander won’t consent to an extradition.’
‘Never.’ Prince Kailen gave a tight laugh, drained his goblet, then fixed haunted eyes on his counterpart. ‘Powers above, this is Sessalie! Here, we hang only murderers and livestock thieves. Our dissenters certainly don’t include traitors. What brangles we settle between foreign diplomats are mostly disputes over how much of our best wine should be sold for export. We don’t have the occasion for criminal extradition, far less any precedent concerning the inequities of law that exist between outside kingdoms.’
‘Your Highness, you can’t have the desert-bred captain turned over to Devall’s bailiffs,’ the seneschal summed up with acidic dignity.
‘Are you trying to tell me he won’t be locked up?’ Brows raised by incredulity, the heir apparent sipped wine to douse the fire withheld from his language.
The seneschal sighed. ‘Taskin maintains his crown soldiers to fight. He keeps malcontents in line with the lash, and remands them for state prosecution only if they have incurred a direct threat of injury to a person of the royal family’
‘But this captain is the mongrel get of a darkling southerner!’ Kailen burst out in protest. ‘Surely a citizen’s entitlements won’t apply?’
‘They shouldn’t.’ The seneschal sustained both princes’ regard, his expression bitter as ice. ‘But Taskin stepped in at a sensitive moment. He stood on his prerogative to handle the trial, and King Isendon charged him to redress the misconduct with fairness.’
‘Well, no blood was drawn,’ the High Prince of Devall admitted. ‘Short of a dead advocate, I cannot submit an appeal to the primary complaint. No, the case must rest. If the outcome is lenient, I will placate my ambassador. He’ll receive my reminder that he shouldn’t expect formal protocol when dealing with low caste on errands.’
Gracious in capitulation, the heir apparent offered the last of the strawberries to brighten the seneschal’s mood. ‘Now, what of my appeal to help search for the princess? Surely that met with a warmer reception?’
‘Sadly not.’ The seneschal declined the blandishment, the deep, sour lines that bracketed his mouth hardened to dole out more bad news. ‘The king has made disposition and given the request over to Commander Taskin’s discretion.’
‘Then the writ will die there.’ Sessalie’s crown prince jammed aggravated fingers through his corn-silk blond hair. ‘Taskin’s nothing if not a cast-iron despot. Never has fancied anyone’s boots trampling over his turf. Devall’s honour guard will not be permitted to deploy, no matter how sensibly competent.’
Devall’s heir apparent absorbed this, pressed at last to withdrawn silence.
The seneschal fell back on aristocratic poise, grasped his goblet, then used the wine to ease his dry mouth. ‘On a good day, the commander would pose an obstructive impediment.’
‘A good day!’ The High Prince of Devall shoved the berry bowl aside. Bolt-upright and incensed, he pulled in a deep breath, but could not quite rein back his lit temper. ‘There’s more?’
‘Oh, yes.’ When balked, the seneschal could deliver a setback with vicious brevity. ‘Taskin made plain he’d withhold all opinion until after his appointment with the Captain of the Garrison.’
Crown Prince Kailen rocked out of his chair, swaying and flushed. ‘Mysh kael! What does Mysh kael have to do with this? My sister is missing, and past doubt in grave danger, and Lord Taskin takes pause to consult with an outlander concerning Devall’s right to assist?’
The high prince grasped Kailen’s strained wrist, bristling with autocratic authority. ‘Sit down!’
‘Bright powers above!’ The younger royal dropped rigidly into his chair. He accepted the filled wine glass pressed into his hand, and knocked back a vengeful swallow. ‘Taskin ought to be down on his knees, singing praises for Devall’s generosity.’
The high prince set down the bottle, not shaking. His rage stayed ice-cold, and his bearing immaculate. ‘I’m worried. Very much so, for Anja’s sake.’ He locked eyes with the seneschal in earnest regret. ‘I don’t like to suggest what may be spurious nonsense, but has anyone raised the question of whether your southland captain may have connections to a sorcerer? If your staunch commander appears to be acting outside of the ordinary, if in fact he’s shielding a criminal, that could be the first sign of warning. A man who wields craft might start off by casting spells of influence over another to further his nefarious ends.’
‘Mysh kael could well be the catspaw of such an enemy,’ Kailen broke in, morose. ‘Defend us from evil! Lord Shaillon, I’m not the only one to suggest that Anja’s abductors might be aligned with a demon.’
The seneschal inclined his groomed head. ‘It is true, near enough, that two women have died of questionable circumstances since yesterday. There is evidence pointing to Mysh kael, but no actual proof. The danger, as you correctly infer, is that the case might lawfully fall to Commander Taskin to prosecute.’
The Prince of Devall interjected the first breath of fresh air. ‘Well then, in good sense, something must be done to instil a proper avenue for oversight.’ His attention encompassed the seneschal, the need in him suddenly piercing. ‘For the princess’s safety, could I trust you to appeal as my emissary to King Isendon? I could offer my crown advocate to stand in on proceedings to guard against biased judgement.’
‘His Majesty has retired to bed,’ said the seneschal. ‘He’s unlikely to entertain anyone’s audience before morning. Taskin would be the exception, bearing word of the princess. Only the duchess, Lady Phail, attends the royal person throughout his informal light supper.’
Prince Kailen banged down a fist, upsetting the dregs in his goblet. ‘Balefire and damnation!’ While the wine spilled and ran, bleeding drips through the wicker, he added, ‘If that desertman’s a killer, Anja could already be dead! Powers preserve, we can’t wait till tomorrow.’
‘No,’ the heir apparent agreed in leashed quiet. ‘But we dare not tip our hand, or arouse a dangerous traitor’s suspicions by running roughshod over Sessalie’s court protocol. If Anja’s alive, such thoughtless action might actually kill her.’ He righted Kailen’s glass, spread his napkin over the spill, then tucked the crown