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Am I? Or am I making excuses?
Let us pretend I have good reason. There is time enough tomorrow to criticize my motives.
He scanned the other two envelopes, which were markedly similar except for the handwriting. Both had outer sheets of expensive parchment. But unlike Benik’s, these were sealed with wax and magic. One came from a minor noble in Veraene’s capital, an old friend of Raul’s who often sent him the latest gossip from Duenne’s Court. He set that aside for later.
The second was addressed in a foreign style, witho
ut any of the usual signals or marks he associated with his own spies. For a moment he stared at the paper. His name, written in brushstrokes with several flourishes, said that the writer was more accustomed to a different script, and different language.
Karasek. He has answered me.
He snatched up the envelope and felt the buzz of magic over its surface. During his years in Duenne, Raul had studied all manner of spells useful for a court obsessed with intrigue—spells to make and unmake locks, spells to seal a room against intruders, even spells to detect the presence of poison. He was no great mage, but he could sense the layers and protections Karasek had employed. It was an interesting combination. If he read the signs correctly, the spells did not prevent anyone from breaking the seal, but they would leave traces if someone had.
There were no traces of any such attempt. Raul ran a finger along the letter’s edge. Magic and wax cracked, and the sheet fell open.
Lord Kosenmark. I thank you for your invitation to your estates. Alas, my duties require me elsewhere.
The letter was signed Duke Miro Karasek and dated six weeks before.
Raul laid the sheet on his desk and stared at it while he tried to work out the implications of this short, blunt reply.
Miro Karasek belonged to one of the six most influential families in Károví. More important, he and Duke Feliks Markov served as King Leos’s senior generals. Markov held more influence at court, according to Benik’s reports, where his conservative views were popular. Karasek himself had come to his title only seven years ago, and from all reports, he concerned himself with the kingdom’s army, not its politics. His father, however, had advised the king to negotiate less restrictive treaties with Veraene, and to make ties with other kingdoms. Raul had chosen to approach Karasek, hoping he privately shared his father’s views.
Apparently he did not. But such an abrupt rejection.
He blew out a breath. This was a public letter, he reminded himself. Karasek had not set any spells to burn the paper, nor to change the letter’s contents. His magic would only signal if anyone else had broken the seal. So he had expected spies to intercept the message.
With that in mind, Raul reread it more slowly. He kept in mind that here was a man raised to intrigue and caution. There might be clues hidden beneath each word.
… I thank you for your invitation …
Mere politesse? He could not tell. The same held for the word Alas. Oh, but the next phrase held more possibilities.
… my duties require me elsewhere.
Duties. A curious word to choose. It could mean Karasek privately agreed with Raul but dared not say so publicly. And required elsewhere. Could he possibly refer to orders from the king? That one short sentence carried a weight of meaning.
He set Karasek’s letter aside and opened the letter from his agent, Benik. It was possible she had news that would illuminate the matter.
The letter was a single sheet, filled from margin to margin with densely written paragraphs. Ostensibly, it came from an old acquaintance now living on the border between Veraene and the kingdom of Auszterlant. In it, the acquaintance detailed his foray into cattle farming. Number of head, how many herds, where they grazed, etc. Near the end, the friend gave a painstaking account of each member of the family, and asked when Lord Kosenmark might pay them a visit.
The meaning behind those phrases was clear. Ship maneuvers along the coast had ended. Troops recalled from the western border to the Károvín capital, Rastov. Additional ships—the swiftest in the royal fleet—reassigned and docked at the nearest ocean port. Duke Miro Karasek temporarily appointed to a special command …
A coldness rolled over his skin as he pieced the clues together.
Ah, Leos. Now I understand.
Four hundred years ago, Leos Dzavek and his brother, two princes of Károví, had visited Duenne’s Court. In those days, Károví was a minor province within the grand Erythandran empire. Though historical accounts from that time were unclear—and indeed, rewritten by subsequent rulers—one point was clear. Leos Dzavek and his brother had stolen three magical jewels from the imperial vaults. Lir’s jewels, gifted by the goddess to the Erythandran emperors, or so the legends claimed.
Whatever their origin, Leos Dzavek fled home to Károví with all three. He had quarreled with his brother, however, so when Leos launched a revolt, the brother led the emperor’s armies to retake the province. The brother was killed in battle, Károví regained its independence, and several other provinces broke away in the turmoil.
The empire had collapsed into splinters and factions, leaving only the kingdom known as Veraene. Leos Dzavek, however, had lived. It was the jewels, said the rumors, and their extraordinary magic that taught this man how to live centuries beyond the ordinary life span.
Centuries, yes. It was a hundred years later when the nameless elder brother returned to a new life as Leos Dzavek’s trusted retainer. Again the records contradicted each other, but the salient points were clear. The retainer stole the jewels and hid them, then killed himself before Dzavek could extract the truth from him. The jewels remained lost, most likely hidden in the magical plane. Since then, Dzavek had searched for them throughout Veraene, Károví, and all the other known kingdoms.
And now you have found them, Raul thought. One at least.
But which one? And where?
