Book Preview - Spyder's Web

Chapter One

Liris’s footsteps echoed off the glossy walls of the antechamber to the Queen’s throne room. Prior to this mission, she’d never set foot inside Desdamea’s fabled Carnelian Palace. As a child, she’d scoffed at the stories her Estian father had told while she’d sat in his lap listening to him spin tales of the faraway lands he’d visited as the chargé d’affaires for his brother, King Ardon Lidup Estia. When she’d arrived, she’d whispered an apology to her father’s memory for not believing his outrageous descriptions.

Known as the Halls of Scarlet Justice for the highly polished sheets of deep carnelian lining the walls from floor to ceiling, Liris preferred to think of the antechamber as the blood-swept hallways of Desdamea’s tyrannical cruelty. In the short time since she and Daínon, a former spy aboard the Orgundian black ship, Drerenough, had landed at Port Connel, Organdy’s main port of call, Liris had witnessed three executions: one beheading, two hapless men drawn and quartered, and the evening before, ten Estian prisoners had received thirty lashes each.

Liris felt her muscles tense and knew she needed to keep her emotions in check if she expected to survive the next few days. Thirty lashes for organizing a minor uprising in the underground tunnels, where the Queen’s dungeons fester below the magnificent spires of the Church of Ebris, god of honor and fertility? Of course, prisoners would try to escape. What did the chancellor, who’d handed out such brutal punishment, expect? Only four of those ten had survived, and Aevala only knew how many of those poor sods would last through the night.

Burly guards on either side of a pair of heavy wooden doors crossed spears as she approached. She sighed, knowing it was pointless to mention that the Queen had summoned her. As she’d discovered during earlier visits when she’d been summoned and then ignored, these two listened to no one except Marshal Oberon. Apparently, the haughty little toad hadn’t yet informed them that Desdamea, herself, had ordered the visit.

The last times Desdamea had summoned her, they’d left her standing in the antechamber until well after dark. Leaving or complaining was out of the question as that was tantamount to questioning the Queen, a crime punishable by a trip to the lowest levels of the Carnelian Dungeons.

Rumor had it that the first King had built those levels in the middle of Port Connel’s vast sewer system. Prisoners languished in the cesspits for moons, their only sustenance the dregs they strained from the brackish waters carrying the waste out to the Vermillion Cliffs, where they cascaded down onto the rocky shoreline and then washed out to sea.

Although attempting to meet with people in the palace had been her intention from the moment she’d stepped off the cargo ship Pennimore, a summons from the Queen herself had been at the bottom of her list. Being noticed by Desdamea for anything, at any time, could prove fatal.

As she looked into the darkened holes of the helmets worn by the two guards, her resolve almost gave way to panic. Everything about them was dark, from the black helmet, gorget, and cuirass covering their head, shoulders, and chests down to the black plate sabatons covering their feet. To keep her nerves from overwhelming her increasingly anxious thoughts, she turned and studied the gilt-framed paintings lining the walls.

It had been generations since the Orgundian monarchy had given its patronage to the arts. With rising anger, Liris stepped from one Estian painting to the next, holding in her resentment at the brazen display of masterpieces pillaged from the destroyed castles, basilicas, and aristocratic manors of the land of her birth. Stepping closer to one particularly stunning oil depicting the cathedral-like spire of the Estian volcano, Eranol, she peered closely at the cramped script scrawled across the bottom right corner.

Legan, Liris’s Fisher Cat Spirit Guide, materialized next to her. Resembling a martin or weasel, he was three times the size of an average fisher cat, and when he sat, his head reached mid-thigh on her leather-clad legs. Liris unobtrusively ran her fingers through his nut-brown fur.

Legan had been entirely against the mission King Leopold had set before her and Daínon back in Anacafria. The Big Cat had insisted on accompanying her to Organdy and had somehow convinced the goddess, Aevala, to bring him through the pathways so he could keep an eye on his apprentice.

 The only problem for him stemmed from the fact that there were no other Spirit Guides in the entire country. None that he’d found anyway, and when Aevala had dropped him on the docks at Port Connel, she’d not mentioned any others. Legan glanced up at Liris with a worried glint in his eyes. What does she want this time, Lir? Will you have to stand waiting for hours, only to be told to return to your rooms at the tavern and be given no reason whatsoever for the summons?

The guards could neither see nor hear her Spirit Guide, and she couldn’t answer with them standing a mere five paces away. She wandered further down the length of the antechamber to give herself some privacy. Speaking softly, she stepped close to a second oil painting and again bent low to read the signature. “Look at that, Legan. Manacot painted this for my grandmother when she was still the Queen of Estia. Desdamea’s stolen Estia’s art to line her walls since she’s murdered anyone with any talent in her own country.” Her lip curled as she straightened. “Disgusting.”

Ignoring the question doesn’t negate the importance behind it, Lir. What does Desdamea want with you? He paced to the double doors and placed his nose to the space between door and floor tile. Neither guard moved as they were unaware of the Fisher Cat’s presence. Marshal Oberon is in there, along with Daínon and someone else who reeks of blood and fear sweat. He trotted back and began pacing behind Liris as she studied yet another Estian work of art.

“I don’t know what she wants, but my guts are already tied in knots, and your pacing doesn’t help.” She reached out and stroked the smooth surface of the black marble figurine displayed on a matching carved pedestal. “This had pride of place at grandmother’s summer palace in Konro. Has Organdy moved that far inland since we’ve been gone?”

With a huff, Legan lay down on the cold tile floor. I’ve tasted that fear scent before. It belongs to someone who walked the halls of your uncle’s palace when you lived there. Think, apprentice, is there anyone from Estia who could harm you or do harm to your cover story?

“No. I told the Duke of Ormitai everything about my Estian past when his goons dragged Daínon and me off the ship. There are no secrets to reveal.”

During your discussions with the man, did you include the fact that you prefer to take women to bed rather than men?

Liris’s suddenly panicked gaze locked onto his uneasy expression. Desdamea’s first lover, a woman of considerable wealth, talent, and influence, had spurned the Queen, not only losing her life in the process but causing all other same-sex couples within the Kingdom to lose theirs as well.

Think, Apprentice. Don’t panic. What will you say if accused?

Liris tamped down her panic, which was no longer rising since her heart couldn’t beat any faster than the staccato pounding a hole through the inside of her chest. She pulled in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and centered her thoughts on the eternal flame built into the courtyard of her grandmother’s estate.

Beginning on her third birthday, Rakog, Liris’s weapon’s master, had taken her to the flame every morning, at least until her induction into her uncle’s service at age nine, to ground her in the five principles governing a warrior’s mind.

Liris nodded at Legan’s admonishment, centered her mind on the flame, and whispered the mantra to the statue of Bendith, the god of the Third Realm of Bendi, displayed before her. “One. Respect. For your weapon, your house, and your monarch. Two. Honor. A state of being within yourself. Worthiness. Three. Allegiance. Unswerving loyalty to whatever or whoever holds your fealty. Four. Serenity. Maintain a peaceful mind in the midst of chaos. Five. Courage. Push forward through fear.”

A man’s nasally voice cut through her meditation. “Ah, yes. The Estian warrior’s mantra.”

Liris’s eyes flew open. After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she turned to face the man who’d silently walked up behind her. The sneer on Marshal Oberon’s face wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. When the Duke of Ormitai had requested Oberon, the Queen’s seneschal, hear Liris and Daínon’s story, the same sneer had puckered Oberon’s needle-sharp nose when he’d arrived to check them out.

He reached out and held his fingers a hair’s breadth away from her branded cheek as though wanting to caress her scar. “A failed warrior reciting the oath of a conquered army. There’s something poetic in that, don’t you think?”

Liris indicated the hall of paintings and sculptures with a wave of her hand. “And yet, I pray before the artistic accomplishments of Estian artisans here inside your hallowed halls. Does Organdy have no talented individuals of its own? Why display the beauty of those you hope to one day conquer?”

Legan sat next to her and leaned into her leg. Easy, Lir. If your implied insults travel to the throne, you could quickly lose your head…or worse.

She blinked at that. Compared to some of the more imaginatively brutal tortures Desdamea was famous for, losing her head would be a relief.

Oberon’s hand froze next to her face, and his close-set eyes narrowed. “Hope to one day conquer? For all intents and purposes, your country is ours.”

She sighed and nodded, swallowing her pride and pulling in the biting response sitting on the tip of her tongue. “I know. But, as you know,” She reached up and touched her scar, “I no longer have a country. I sell my talents to the highest bidder. When Daínon approached me in Anacafria with the story of the riches Desdamea would offer in exchange for my knowledge of Anacafrian military operations,” she shrugged, “it didn’t take long to make up my mind.”

His fingers twitched next to her cheek until a slow smile spread across his pointy, rat-like face. He finally brought his hand closer and pushed an imaginary lock of her short-cropped hair behind her ear. “I hope I will be the highest bidder for any other talents you might have…”

Remembering Legan’s comment about her sexual proclivities, Liris swallowed her disgust and cocked her head in what she hoped was an alluring pose. Her gaze roamed down to his codpiece, then back up over his pudgy midsection, dipping into his sunken chest before returning to a pair of disgusting, rheumy eyes. She teased her lips into a slow, sensual smile. “It has been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of a real man. I wonder if you could handle my…” she fingered the hilt of her belt knife, “somewhat eclectic passions.” She brought the knife out and slowly rubbed the back of the blade down the tattooed burn scar. “Some men don’t survive the experience.” She pulled her lips into a feral grin.

For a man who handled a ruthless monarch’s everyday affairs, he certainly didn’t have a warrior’s strength of personality. Blood drained from his cheeks, and he took a hesitant step back. “Uh…” He glanced over his shoulder at the guards, who pretended ignorance. To cover his unease, Oberon pulled himself to his full height, which was still shorter than hers, and puffed out his less-than-noteworthy chest. He waved his hand toward the throne room in the gallant gesture of a courtier. “After you, My Lady.” The insult implied in the last two words wasn’t lost on her.

Liris sheathed her knife and absently flipped the ripcord over the hilt. As she walked forward, the guards came to attention, bringing their fists to their thighs in the Orgundian version of a formal salute, more for the marshal, she was sure than because of her approach. She jumped when they crossed spears directly in front of her nose. Confused, she glanced back at the marshal, who pointedly looked at the weapons arrayed on her belt.

She chastised herself for almost committing her first capital offense. Stepping to the side, she undid the buckle of her belt knife, neatly wrapping the belt around the sheath and setting it on the floor next to the wall. Next, she lifted her pant leg, removed a second blade, and put that on top of the first. She’d left her falchion in her quarters but briefly considered keeping the stiletto she kept strapped to her back.

Don’t be a fool, Apprentice.

Growling quietly, she reached beneath her tunic and undid the breast band holding the weapon in place. It slid to the top of her trews, where she expertly caught it between thumb and forefinger, the reflex of a lifetime of advanced weapons training.

Oberon, standing at what he wrongly assumed would be a safe distance should she suddenly decide to go rogue, snorted. “I wondered whether you’d remove that one.”

As she placed it with the others, she silently berated herself for almost doing something stupid…again. She needed to get back on her game if she wanted to get through this assignment alive. The time she’d spent as a fugitive and then as the Duchess’ bodyguard had made the instincts she’d honed when in the presence of slimy nobles rusty. Dangerously rusty.

Legan trotted by her side. When you enter the throne room, remember at all times who is addressing you, Liris. Desdamea is the most despotic ruler to come to power in several generations. Curb your tongue, think before you speak, and remain calm within the tempest of fear tangling your mind and emotions.

She rolled her eyes slightly at that. Sometimes, Legan could be so solemn, pedantic even. She knew he was right, but they were so different in the way they saw the world, even though Legan had been by her side from the time of her birth.

As a toddler, her parents had teased her whenever she’d spoken to her “imaginary” friend. It wasn’t until she’d begun lessons with the other children on her fourth naming day that she learned her Fisher Cat was unique only to herself. She’d needed to keep his existence a secret or risk punishment for childish fantasies that had no place on the Estian royal training grounds.

Nashotah, the Shona healer back in Anacafria, had said that in the Realms, Fisher Cats are known as brave and honorable heroes. They take their role as mentors more seriously than most, and having Legan as her Spirit Guide meant her lessons in this life would be hard-won and most likely painful. She’d said Legan would teach her to endure with honor, and she would learn his lessons or die in the attempt.

The two guards pulled their spears back to their sides once she’d divested herself of all her weapons. The man on the left reached back and pushed open the door. She nodded her thanks as she strode past him, looking neither forward, left, nor right as she approached the throne. Even though the notion that someone from her uncle’s court waited in the room intrigued her, she kept her eyes trained on the bloodred tiles at her feet. When she reached the line of white quartz delineating the audience chamber from the Sphere of Royal Privilege, she stopped, lowered herself to her knees, and then prostrated herself with her arms straight above her head. She plastered her face to the floor as she’d been instructed by the seneschal the first time she’d been summoned and kept waiting. She tried not to think about the hundreds of boots and courtiers’ shoes fouling this very spot and consciously relaxed the muscles in her shoulders and neck to await the orders of the Queen.

Marshal Oberon stepped past her and entered the Sphere—a ridiculous term for the immediate area surrounding the Queen—and stopped near the tips of Liris’s fingers. If she rolled her eyes up in her head, she could just see the back of his blue floral, high-heeled shoes as he placed one foot ahead of the other. His stiff overtunic rustled as he delivered a much practiced, courtly bow.

The deathly silence in the room led her to believe no one moved, scratched an itch, or cleared their throat without the express permission of the Queen. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when the boots of a guard stepped to her side. The stench of unwashed feet and dirty socks settled over her, and she stifled the urge to gag. The boots were tipped with iron, and that iron faced her now. She couldn’t help but envision a saber held high and ready to remove her head from her shoulders at the slightest movement of the Queen’s hand.

If I say, roll, Apprentice, move swiftly to your left without hesitation.

So, her guess hadn’t been too far off the mark.

The Queen’s silky voice filled the silent room. “So, Estian knight, is this Verigo Liris Estia?” It was significant that the Queen used Liris’s full name when asking the question. In the Estian tradition, a person has two first names, followed by the name of the town or city where they were born. Those born into the royal house always have their country’s name as the last instead of their city. The primary first name denotes the person’s status in their clan, and the second is generally the name of a deceased family member.

At first, Liris assumed the Queen addressed her, and as she began to answer, a voice as brittle and weak as an ancient clay pot responded, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Once more, silence filled the room. Finally, the Queen addressed the man who’d answered with a hint of amusement in her tone. “Speak your accusation so she knows the charges you’ve leveled against her.”

The man croaked some words Liris couldn’t make out.

The growl that came from the Queen reminded Liris of a predator’s snarl. “If you cannot speak loud enough for all to hear, I’ll remove your tongue from your head since you have no need of it!”

The temperature in the room seemed warmer than most, and tiny droplets of sweat formed on Liris’s brow. No wonder the guard’s shoes reeked of sweat.

The man gathered his strength and spoke louder than before. “She bedded her handmaid before she went off to war.” His voice cracked several times during this pronouncement, but she recognized his distinct northern Olden Haven accent.

There’d been only three people at court with that accent: the Lord Provost’s squire, who would still be too young to have that deep of voice, one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting—obviously not her—and Milos Kentin Jergin, a Knight of the Chenarié, who’d won his place in the elite order through bribery and deceit rather than bravery and honor in battle. How her uncle had been so blind as to knight the man, she’d never understood, but if that was who accused her now, she was in trouble. He would lie to keep his head firmly atop his shoulders, of that she had no doubt. But why did he speak with the voice of an old man? She and Kentin were the same age, and the last time she’d heard him pontificate to those he considered lesser beings, it had been with the robust baritone of an overly arrogant courtier.

“So, Verigo Liris Estia, you heard your accuser. Do you take women to your bed?”

Liris wasn’t sure whether she should lift her head to answer, nor did she know if it would be considered an insult to speak to the floor instead of directly to the Queen. She decided to do the next best thing. She kept her forehead on the floor but spoke loudly enough for Desdamea to hear. “Your Majesty, I beg leave to come to my knees to address the Queen of Organdy with the respect and honor she deserves.”

Legan’s growl began deep in his throat, and she could only guess the guard had raised his sword in anticipation of the order to strike. Apparently, people didn’t deviate from the questions asked by the Queen.

While readying herself to roll on Legan’s command, she briefly wondered if he would materialize and attack the man if the sword began a downward trajectory. It seemed that the Queen had called off her dog because Legan lowered himself to his haunches, albeit with muscles taut and eyes riveted on the guard’s every move.

In the meantime, some communication must have happened between the Queen and her seneschal because Oberon spoke to Liris over his shoulder. “You may rise to your knees.”

Slowly releasing her breath, Liris gathered herself onto her hands and pushed herself up. Keeping her head lowered, she tried to assess the situation without being too obvious. She already knew about the guard standing to her right but hadn’t realized there was another directly behind. “Your Majesty, I—”

“You may look at me when you speak.”

She’d only seen the Queen one other time from a great distance and hadn’t appreciated the woman’s stunning beauty. She wore her wavy, chestnut hair swept up into a chignon that accentuated an elegant neckline flowing down to perfectly matched collarbones.

How such an evil woman could have the face of a celestial being was incomprehensible to Liris. And her eyes. Alluring didn’t even begin to describe the depths of their beauty.

And the jewelry she wore. If the woman were a phoenix rising from the ashes, the jewels adorning her body would outshine the flames. The dangling, ruby earrings matched the red gemstones hanging from her tiara, while Diamonds encircled her long, graceful neck. Rings with gems of every size, shape, and color adorned each of her ten delicate fingers.

Not the harridan Liris had expected. Quite the contrary, this woman appeared as insubstantial as a wraith or a ser’ight floating just above the cushions of her throne. On the other hand, Liris was well aware of how deceiving beauty could be.

It was apparent the Queen waited for an answer, but it was equally evident she reveled in Liris’s stunned admiration. Shaking herself out of her shock, Liris glanced to the side of the room and saw Daínon standing off to her right near the far wall. A huge smile lit her face, and she turned back to the Queen. “Your Majesty, your answer is standing right there next to the wall.”

All eyes turned to Daínon, who, taken off guard, straightened to his considerable height. He held Liris’s gaze, hoping to get some clue as to how she planned to get out of the trouble the Estian prisoner had visited upon her. An enemy’s sword had left a wide scar running down one side of his nut-brown face, exposing several molars where the wound bisected his mouth and lower jaw.

Being the sudden center of attention in Desdamea’s court unnerved him, and a blush ran up his face, accentuating the white of both the ragged line of scar tissue running from temple to chin and the exposed teeth bracketed on either side by the hideously gaping wound.

The Queen cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, angered at the change in Liris’s demeanor. Cheerfulness irritated her. It grated to see a grin on the face of a suspected spy. Her voice dripped venom when she asked, “How so?”

Needing a blush to rise into her cheeks for added effect, Liris pictured the Anacafrian Duchess Makena naked, not that she’d ever seen the Duchess naked. Still, her imagination did the trick, and her face burned as she lowered her eyes in feigned embarrassment. “Well, it was a long voyage from Anacafria to Organdy, and Daínon and I…” She let the words trail off, once again meeting the Queen’s gaze as she brought her shoulder up in an embarrassed shrug. “I do have to admit, I’ve bedded men from every walk of life, from the stable lad to my uncle the King, but I’ve never been drawn to another woman’s bed.” Her mother had always said if you must lie, make it big enough that no one would presume to contradict you.

Desdamea stared at Liris, who didn’t dare look away a second time. A friendly servant had warned her that if the Queen held your gaze and you looked away, the punishment for the insult would be swift and brutal. After several long heartbeats, Desdamea turned to glare at Daínon. “You were present when the prisoner gave us the information about Verigo Estia, and yet you remained silent. Only a fool would withhold information from me or dare to speak lies in my presence. Is the fool the ghastly-faced man returned from the sea or the captured Estian knight?”

When Desdamea pointed toward the back of the chamber, Liris turned and saw Kentin kneeling on the floor with his arms bound behind his back. His shirt lay in tatters over his shoulders, held in place by an intricately embroidered collar that bore the sigil of his father’s house. Blood smeared every inch of his exposed body: his chest, stomach, and arms. He faced her, and she couldn’t see his back, but if he’d been one of the ten flogged the night before, the skin would be flayed to thin strands of meat and gristle. No wonder his voice sounded brittle and strained.

Too weak to remain upright, he swayed into the pike held by two guards who had run the weapon beneath his armpits to brace him. They stood holding the ends, one to each side, keeping him on his knees before the Queen.

Hatred poured from his eyes as he attempted to shout at Liris but succeeded in uttering nothing more than a pain-filled rasp. “Liar! You whored with every woman at court! Liar!” Spittle shot from his mouth, and blood flew to the left and right as he shook his head in denial. “She’s the liar, Your Majesty, not me!’

One of the guards pulled a truncheon from his belt and brutally struck Kentin’s temple with a crossbody swing. When the men released the ends of the pike, Kentin toppled forward like a wave after reaching its crest. The only difference being that a wave continues to move after cresting while Kentin lay motionless with his arms tied behind his back and his backside pointing into the air. The guard kicked him with the side of his boot, and he toppled onto his side.

This distraction gave Liris a quick moment to register her surroundings. Aptly named, at least from the standpoint of color, the Hall of Scarlet Justice gleamed a bright, blood red. It wasn’t a hall in the strictest sense of the word. A hall would be long on two sides and narrow on the ends, whereas this circular room had neither a beginning nor an end. The walls held thousands of highly polished carnelian gemstones and rose from the floor to the height of ten Sinclair Runyon trees standing end-to-end.

Midway up, windows circled the circumference, making the hall deceptively bright and cheery. Near the ceiling, an array of colored, stained-glass windows topped the upper rim.

Back at floor level, four sets of double doors broke the otherwise smooth surface of the wall, with armor-clad guards standing sentry to either side of each pair. Instead of being placed in the four cardinal directions, north, south, east, and west, they were each halfway between, one each at northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest.

 Courtiers stood against the curved walls, which had armor, pennants, and heraldic devices of the noble houses displayed at various intervals throughout the room. To a person, the courtiers stood. None sat. None moved. They held their attention riveted on their Queen. To what type of madhouse had King Leopold sent her?

As though Kentin hadn’t just bellowed out of turn, the Queen continued to glare at Daínon, who fell to his knees. He usually spoke with the accent of his parents, who were part of the Anacafrian gentry. In Organdy, however, he reverted to his undercover role of a peasant from the uneducated lower class. “Ay would niver lie ter me Queen, evun if it meant th’ trut’ would cost me my loife. You’re my loife, my Queen, and me loyalty ‘as na wavered. Ay din’t speak out ’cause ay knows y’ ‘old a woman’s ‘oner dear ter yer ‘eart.”

Liris almost snorted at that. Desdamea knew nothing about honor. Everyone in all the Kingdoms knew that if a knight sent his son or daughter to her court, she would deflower them herself if she found them comely enough. The irony was that none of the young women spoke of the abuse because relations with another woman were punishable by death, even when the other woman happened to be the Queen.

Daínon motioned to Liris with a lift of his chin. “It be up t’ th’ lady t’ tell ’bout ‘er…” he paused to find the right word. “… fritterin’, nay th’ bloke.” The less said, the better here in the Carnelian Palace, so he finished speaking and lowered his gaze, signaling he had nothing more to say.

Liris studied the Queen, who didn’t need to hide her emotions behind the blank façade most courtiers practiced as a defense against the intrigue of every court in every Kingdom on Ar’rothi. At court, the slip of a sneer at the wrong moment could provide an unending source of gossip to the spoiled and mostly bored nobility, and heaven forbid that gossip land on the ears of someone with influence, or worse, the power over life and death.

On the other hand, it was a given that Desdamea possessed the skill to mask her emotions. She hadn’t always been the ruling monarch, after all. Even for a crown princess, palace life swirled with the deadly consequences of dangerous slander and scheming disloyalty.

No, Liris read the Queen easily enough. Calculating anger, followed by disgust as she stared at Daínon’s mutilated face, and then—” Liris’s breath caught when the woman turned a lustful eye her way. Gods no! The thought raced through her brain at a dizzying speed. Suddenly, the Queen became an opponent rather than simply a deranged, insane monarch. Beautiful as she was, it was the beauty of a magenta foxglove, alluring yet deadly to sample. If it came to bedding the woman, would she be able to best her, possibly even strangle her, before it came to anything more?

Bile rose in her throat, and she called upon years of perfecting her own blank expression so as not to allow her loathing to give her away accidentally.

Apparently, it worked because Desdamea reached to her right, holding her hand poised as though waiting for something to magically appear, which it did.

A small page hidden in an alcove behind the throne rushed forward, holding a fruit tray precisely beneath the Queen's questing fingers.

Without looking, the Queen picked up a sprig of red grapes, brought the cluster to her mouth, and pulled one off with her teeth. The woman looked feral.

Liris smiled inwardly. Elegantly feral, if there is such a thing.

Once again, no one moved. An itch began at Liris’s elbow and slowly made its way up her arm. When it kept moving upwards, she realized an ant or spider must have climbed onboard when she’d lain prostrate in front of the Queen. The movement stopped momentarily but then proceeded to circle her bicep before skittering down her forearm. It stopped at her wrist, probably because her tunic’s billowy sleeves ended in the tight cuff she preferred for swordwork.

The urge to grab her wrist and smash the little bastard into a spider-sized pancake almost got the better of her. But the eerie stillness in the room brought her up short and reminded her that no one moved in the presence of the Queen without her express permission. A bite would be less painful than a beheading.

The creature reversed course and began moving back toward her elbow. Mesmerized and slightly repulsed, Liris had so completely focused on its movements that she missed the Queen’s next question.

Thankfully, Legan repeated it for her, and she detected more than a bit of irritation as he recited the question in her mind. She said to tell her why you left a comfortable life in Anacafria to come to your enemy’s shores.

She put the spider’s progress out of her mind and focused on her answer. “As I told Marshal Oberon, I no longer have a country and therefore no enemies, Your Highness. When sub-commander Shoan allowed the constable to brand my face despite finding my actions honorable, I swore I’d no longer hold allegiance to Estia. I sailed to Anacafria, and King Leopold granted me asylum. Since I’ve trained as a warrior my entire life, I joined Anacafria’s army, but because of the brand,” she reached up and indicated the scar with two of her fingers, “his soldiers never accepted me.” She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’m handy with a sword and was eventually assigned as bodyguard for the King’s cousin.”

Desdamea’s lip curled with distaste. “Aurelia McKenna.”

Liris nodded. “A lot of soldiers coveted that position, and I found myself having to watch my own back more than I needed to watch hers. When Daínon got word to me from his prison cell that he had a proposition that would make me a wealthy woman…” She tried to surreptitiously shake her arm to dislodge the spider, which had stopped midway between her elbow and shoulder. “…needless to say, I was intrigued. I bribed the same night guard who’d brought Daínon’s message to me, and he snuck me in to speak to him. Daínon told me that you reward people who provide valuable information. If I could break him out of prison, he’d bring me to Organdy, where I could possess more gold rions than I could earn in a lifetime in Anacafria.” At that, she raised her eyebrows and held the Queen’s gaze. “I hope the intelligence I have on the military tactics of both Estia and Anacafria will earn your pleasure, Your Majesty.”

Another grape disappeared between Desdamea’s teeth. She chewed slowly, staring at Liris with lowered lids that shuttered her eyes from anyone who dared try to read her intentions. There was the skill all court denizens possessed. When she finished, she daintily patted her lips with a tissue supplied by a second page hidden behind her throne. “Did he mention the cellars of Ebris overflow with those who waste my time with useless prattle?”

Unsure whether answering would constitute more useless prattle, Liris decided to stay silent.

Desdamea rose, and immediately, everyone in the room either bowed or curtsied. Everyone except Liris because the Queen still held her gaze. Swallowing hard, Liris watched as the other woman sauntered toward her. The Queen moved with catlike grace, and as she came to stand directly in front of her, Liris couldn’t help comparing her to a leopardess stalking her prey. Tall for a woman, with long, graceful arms that swayed in concert with sensuously rounded hips, her gaze never wavered, effectively anchoring Liris in place

When the Queen’s hand snapped up to pinch Liris’s cheeks between thumb and fingers, the movement was so quick and unexpected that Liris nearly reacted according to her training.

Hold, Apprentice! Only Legan’s biting command stilled her hand before she reflexively reached up to break Desdamea’s arm and wrist. She pulled in a deep breath, concentrating on not looking away, on not moving, and on not losing her life to a stupid mistake.

The Queen squeezed, hard, lifting Liris’s chin until she jammed her head back onto her neck, and Liris could no longer see the Queen’s face. Desdamea moved her lips next to Liris’s ear and whispered, “Close your eyes.”

With her neck wrenched so far back she worried it might break, Liris shut her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to withstand the pain but knew instinctively that the slightest movement would be her last.

“Now, tell me, Verigo Liris Estia, are you a spy?”

Answering through lips pinched inward by the Queen’s surprisingly strong grip, Liris answered, “No.”

Fingernails dug into her cheeks as the grip on her face constricted into a vice of pain. With one ruthless twist, her neck would snap. The sibilant whisper came again. “Do you wish to bed me?”

This had to be a trap. Answer yes and possibly insult the Queen. Answer no and do the same. Thinking quickly, she croaked between strained breaths, “You…are the most…beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Your…Majesty. But I’ve never…bedded a woman and wouldn’t know how…how to pleasure you.”

Desdamea pulled Liris’s head down so they were once again eye-to-eye. She released her hold on her face and then backhanded her with such force both spittle and blood flew from her mouth, spraying a red arc across the red-tiled floor.

Liris quickly ran her tongue along her teeth to make sure they all remained in her head. She dared not raise a hand to her cheek to check the damage the Queen’s handful of rings had torn into her flesh. Instead, she lowered her head and waited for Desdamea’s next move. More blood trickled off her chin, and she watched as each drop splattered in a random pattern next to her feet.

Desdamea gently placed a fingertip beneath Liris’s chin and lifted until she once again had to look deep into the Queen’s eyes, which shone with an emerald-colored madness.

To Liris’s disgust, the woman ran her finger up the trail of blood all the way to the tip of her injured cheek and then quite gracefully placed the bloody, bejeweled tentacle between wet lips swollen with desire. In another place and time, the way she licked and sucked before slowly pulling it out might have been sensual if the fluid had been something other than the blood she’d just ripped from Liris’s face.

An amused glint fired in the Queen’s eyes before she turned and glided out through a door hidden behind her throne.

As if the snapping of a spell had released the onlookers, people began moving and whispering among themselves. Liris glanced down at her fingers. They were shaking so badly that she shoved her hands deep into her pockets to hide the sudden release of adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt, rather than saw Daínon standing next to her. The guard who’d nearly executed her, along with the one standing behind her, had both disappeared.

Daínon gently placed a folded cloth on her cheek before leading her behind a pillar where she could regain her equilibrium.

Marshal Oberon and most of the onlookers had left the hall on the heels of the Queen. Thank the goddess for small favors, Liris thought as she replaced Daínon’s big hand with her own. “Daínon, madness runs rampant here. In most courts, there are whispers or the rustling of swords or shuffling of feet. Here…” She shook her head, not able to comprehend the utter stillness of twenty or thirty people while their Queen...

The big man glanced around to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. “Don’t even whisper of the madness within these walls, Liris. It will mean your life.” He gently reached up and pulled the hand holding the cloth away from her cheek. He studied the damage a moment before his lips compressed, and he pushed the fabric back into place. “We don’t have much time. Oberon is outfitting another black ship and has hinted that I’m to be Master of the Deck on this one as well. We have two, maybe three full cycles of the moon before it’s finished. We need to find him before then because I have no intention of sailing with that ship.”

The room had nearly cleared, and they were expected to leave as well. Daínon said quickly, “Meet me at the huntsman’s lodge, in the stables behind the salt house, two hours past the midnight watch.”

Liris watched him stride across the floor to a different set of doors than she’d come through. As she tried to leave through the door she’d used initially, the guards bracketing the doorway blocked her way with crossed spears. She narrowed her eyes, then decided to try the doors Daínon had used. She’d have to find her way back to the atrium to retrieve her weapons, but better that than cause a stir with these two.

The guards at the next set of doors allowed her through, and she felt like a goat being herded into a catch pen.

These doors didn’t open onto a fancy, art-decorated atrium. The tiles on the floors were old and worn, and the walls were lime mortar instead of gemstones. Liris took several steps and then heard a definite harrumph behind her. Turning back, she cautiously approached one of the guards standing on this side of the door. In her brief experience in the Carnelian Palace, guards were mute unless spoken to by someone in authority. Pulling herself into her best military posture, she nodded at him as she would to any of the men she’d led into battle. “Yes?”

In answer, he indicated the wall behind him with a toss of his head. “Tig brung ‘em ‘n I kep’ ‘em safe fer ya. Sojer t’ sojer, like. ‘E said ya ’ad a warrior’s calluses on yer’ hands an’ tha’s good ’nuff fer us.” He looked to his partner on the other side of the door, who nodded once.

Trying to hide her surprise, she dipped her chin in thanks and gave the typical soldier’s reply to such a gesture. “I’m Verigo Liris Estia, and I’ll keep your back safe or fight you honorably if we meet in battle.”

He nodded with approval. “I’m guardsman Sidon Fleck, an’ I’ll do ya no dishonor, neither, if’n we need t’ fight.”

Liris pointed at her blades, which were stacked slightly behind the man. “May I?”

At his nod, she brought them out into the open and then courteously stepped out of blade range as she strapped them on. When she’d settled them comfortably, she dipped her chin once to thank the men and then started down the dingy corridor. After several wrong turns, she spotted the little page who’d handed the Queen the tissue. He hurried toward her, carrying an oversized book cradled against his chest.

When the lad looked up, his dull blue eyes barely registered her presence. He averted his eyes and backed into an alcove.

Liris hadn’t paid much attention before, but after the boy ducked inside one, she noticed open archways every twenty or so steps along this stretch of corridor. She stopped in front of his hiding place and looked in. Mounds of melted wax hung from a shelf placed slightly higher than the boy’s thick crop of straw-colored hair. A lump of wax with the tip of a blackened wick barely visible sat on a cracked piece of clay.

The boy shrank further into the darkened recess and kept his eyes downcast, pulling his neck and head down so the collar of his page’s doublet covered most of his face. He wiggled the exposed skin of his hands up into the sleeves and cradled the book with handless arms.

Liris glanced up and down the deserted corridor and, when she knew she wouldn’t be seen, knelt in front of the opening. “I won’t hurt you.”

The only indication the boy was alive was the slight rise and fall of the tome he held crushed to his breast.

Since pages heard and saw more things than the average castle dweller, she tried again to gain his trust. “I’m Liris. I’m new and could use a friend.” She pulled a copper rion from the pocket of her trews and held it out. “Any chance that might be you?”

A copper rion meant little to her, but the way his eyes widened told her it meant everything to him. He shyly uncrossed one arm, plucked the coin from her hand, folded it into his fist, and re-crossed his arm over the book.

She hadn’t expected an answer, and when she pushed to her feet, she felt a persistent stiffness in her upper body. That damn Queen had better not have done injury to her neck. Limbering exercises and a hot bath would go a long way to easing sore muscles. Too bad she had little time for either.

After taking a few steps down the corridor, she glanced back to see the boy dart out of the alcove and scurry away, holding the book with all the alacrity of a house mouse hoarding an overlarge hunk of cheese. He disappeared around a corner, and Liris wondered if all the pages acted so timid and ill-used.

A door a few paces down opened, and a shapely young woman dressed in a chamber maid’s open-fronted kirtle and woolen skirt stepped out with arms loaded high with freshly laundered linens. Liris didn’t recognize her at first, but when the woman turned distinctive sea-green eyes her way and smiled, she remembered her as the servant who’d whispered a hurried warning to her several days prior.

She returned the woman’s smile and stepped nearer to pull the door shut behind her. Liris doubted the woman could spare a hand without toppling the entire pile of sheets onto the floor. “Hello again. I’m glad I ran into you. I needed to thank you for your warning the other day. Without it, I’m not sure I would have survived my…discussion with your Queen.”

The woman’s bright pink cheeks blanched, and she quickly looked up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone. She moved in close and whispered, “There are listening holes everywhere, My Lady. You’re only safe if you’re outdoors and only then if there are no places of concealment about.”

Liris whispered back, “Sorry.” The woman turned to go, and Liris put a hand on her arm to stop her.

The woman hissed over her shoulder. “I must go.”

“You don’t speak like a servant. Please, tell me who you are. I’m walking a dangerous path here, and the only way I know to survive is to know who I can trust.” The woman pursed her lips, and before she could turn to leave, Liris repeated, “Please.”

The woman glanced about again and must have realized by the strength of her grip that Liris wasn’t going to let go until she answered. “My father was Baron Nefsim. That’s all I can say for now. Please, I need to go.” With that, she pulled her arm away and practically ran down the hall, holding one hand on the top of the linen to keep it from toppling.

Baron Nefsim. The woman had said, “was” Baron Nefsim. Liris made a mental note to find out what had happened to the baron and his wife. She pushed open the door the woman had come through and slipped inside into another corridor slightly brighter than the one she’d just left. A single candle flickered from a sconce set halfway between her and a corner in the distance. She pulled the door shut behind her, careful to close it completely so no one would have a cause for concern. How many times had guards discovered spies in her uncle’s palace because of carelessness rather than incompetence?

It was time to get all her wits about her and use the five senses the goddess had given her if she was going to survive this nightmare.