Page 80 of Sanctifier

But where was Taryel? Had he really been summoned to some other duty?

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, as if by thinking of Taryel she had cursed them, the doors to the room swung open. There was no sudden crash, no sound to announce their presence. But Ru felt them immediately — a cold drag of unease across the back of her neck.

And as Simon’s fingers stuttered on the strings, as the melody broke, Ru turned to see. There in the doorway stood Hugon D’Luc, and flanking him were his three Children.

Ru reached for Gwyneth’s hand and found it was warm against Ru’s, whose fingers had gone ice cold. They gripped each other as if they feared being torn apart forever.

Lord D’Luc surveyed the room with haughty authority. “Don’t stop the party on my account.”

CHAPTER 29

Simon stood slowly, smiling at Lord D’Luc. To an unpracticed eye, he would have appeared entirely at his ease, relieved, even, at the lord’s arrival.

“On the contrary,” said Simon, holding out a hand in welcome. “We have only just begun. Won’t you join us, Your Grace?”

The lazy smile that crossed Hugon’s mouth was a thinly masked threat. Ru knew that expression all too well and had been on the receiving end of its cruelty. Hugon snapped his fingers, and the Children moved like specters, taking up residence at either side of the door.

“And what sort of party,” Hugon said, moving into the room with the grace of a predator, “would I be joining, exactly?”

“Ru’s birthday, of course,” said Simon. Ru saw in the tense set of his shoulders, in the strain around his mouth, that he was ready to spring into action. What that action might be, she couldn’t guess.

“How strange,” said the lord, drifting past the refreshments and selecting a glass of wine for himself. “I never received my invitation.”

Everyone in the room remained frozen. The only evidence of unease was a hurried shared glance, the odd clearing of a throat. Hugon moved through the small gathering undeterred until he came to an empty chair. He sat, leaned back, and crossed one foot over his knee.

Ru could not take her eyes off him. He, like Simon, vibrated with anticipation as if ready to strike. His eyes glittered darkly, and his mouth hinted at a sneer. She had rarely seen him more arresting or more terrifying.

“My apologies,” said Simon, once again taking a seat on his stool. “I was certain I had sent it. Only the most intelligent and thoughtful members of court are invited. Perhaps it was a mistake.”

The insult was clear. A few intakes of breath mottled the silence, but Hugon and Simon were utterly focused on one another. The minstrel strummed a cord, never once removing his gaze from the golden-haired lord. Lord D’Luc sipped his wine and smiled, catlike.

“Hmm,” Simon said, “Perhaps we ought to start with something everyone knows. Why not a folk song?”

Ru’s fingers tightened against Gwyneth’s. How could Simon be so reckless? For a moment, a strange sensation filled her, as if she were a vessel overflowing, suddenly too full with no way to empty herself. She glanced down, almost expecting to see blackness seeping out of her body, as if she were the artifact herself, overcome with rage and helplessness, erupting outward.

But she saw only her drab woolen gown and her hand clasped tightly with Gwyneth’s.

“A folk song,” Lord D’Luc said, sipping his wine thoughtfully. “And what song would suit me best, do you think?”

Don’t, thought Ru, seeing Simon step willingly into the trap as he lifted his lute, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t pass up a chance tobe insolent. She wished she could jump on stage and strangle her brother, but there was nothing she could do.

“I know just the one,” said Simon, smiling serenely. He began to play.

It was a Navenian folk tune, one every member of court knew by heart. It was the kind of tune sung at pubs in Mirith, a rude, bawdy tale. It told of a lord, a cruel, thoughtless brute, who spent his time pawing at other mens’ wives and ignoring his own.

Usually, when this particular song was played, everyone sang along. There would be hearty knee-slapping, and beer-swilling, and plenty of jokes and drunken laughter. But this time, the room was silent as a grave. Not a soul dared move as the last chords faded.

Still seated, Lord D’Luc downed the last of his wine and set it aside. “You have my thanks,” he said. “I was in need of some amusement.”

Ru and Gwyneth shared a tense, fleeting glance.

“But I’m afraid,” the lord said, rising to his feet, “that the time for amusement is over.” He snapped his fingers again, and the Children moved as one toward the front of the room. Toward Simon.

Ru knew what would happen next. The Children would take Simon. They would bring him to Lady Bellenet, accused of some unimportant crime, and she would change him. Ru was more certain of it than she was certain of anything else in that moment.

“Amusement,” Simon was saying, making a show of how carefree he was, despite the lines at the corners of his mouth, despite the restless tap of one finger against his lute. “Over? Whatever can you mean? Surely the amusement ought to continue.”

The Children had reached the stage, and one by one, they moved to surround Simon.

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