This time, corson had no difficulty finding her way to the hostel. “If that Yth-taken friend of yours-” the host began.
“She’s not with me! And she’s not my friend. I want a room!” Corson looked around defiantly, daring anyone to try and put her out. Today she’d give them a fight, and welcome. But no one challenged her, and she was shown at once to a small bedchamber. She ordered some ale and dropped wearily onto a bench by the window overlooking the moonlit roadway.
Corson knew that no one at the inn wanted anything to do with her, and she could hardly blame them. “That ungrateful bitch!” she thought, leaning her arms on the windowsill and staring out into the night. She cursed the day she’d met Nyctasia, she cursed all magicians and then all the aristocracy for good measure. On an angry impulse, she took off the earrings Nyctasia had given her and pushed them into her pouch, “I’ll sell the filthy things. I don’t want her cast-off trinkets.”
“Gold doesn’t suit me,” she said prissily, mimicking Nyctasia’s high voice and aristocratic accent. “Gold’s not good enough for her!”
Corson frowned. Some notion seemed to leap out at her like a startled fox, plain in the moonlight for only a moment, then scuttling back into the shadows. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the hesitant knock at the door, and she was startled when the serving-maid appeared with her ale. The girl approached timorously and set a pitcher and mug on the bench next to her. “I don’t have any demons in my pockets!” Corson snapped, and the child hurried off in confusion.
“I might as well be a leper, thanks to Her Ladyship!”
Corson shook her head, still vexed by the memory of Nyctasia’s indifference. She knew what an accomplished actress Nyctasia could be, but she could not persuade herself that Nyctasia’s familiarity with her had all been feigned. If Nyctasia were really as haughty and proud as all that, she would never have taken so much trouble to nurse Corson back to health. She’d have thought it beneath her to cosset and humor a lowly servant like Corson, to wait on her with her own hands.
Had she been acting when she’d dismissed Corson with cold formality? Why should she perform such a masquerade for Corson’s benefit-was she afraid of Lord Erystalben?
Corson downed a mug of ale and poured herself another. No, Nyctasia had been more than willing to throw in her lot with that bloodless, spindle-shanked bastard, of that Corson was certain. She slammed her fist down on the windowsill. If only there were some way to settle her score with Shiastred! He’d called her a dog, and she’d slunk off like a whipped dog, too. If she could just fight him on her own terms-! She gulped down the last of her ale and went downstairs for more. Though no one was likely to drink with her, she preferred the busy taproom to her own chamber just then. She fetched a fresh pitcher and took a seat at an empty table.
To her surprise, someone did sit down across from her before long. She looked up from her drink. “You again! Let me be-Lady Nyctasia’s not here.”
“So I see,” said Vhar Kastenid. “Where is she?”
Corson took a long pull at her ale. “She’s dead.”
“Dead-how? What do you mean?”
“You ought to know what it means. She said you were right about him-that he was dead. I wish he was!”
“Then she has left him?” he asked eagerly.
“Well, she did, but she went back again. Of course, she was sotted,” Corson snickered.
“Impossible-Lady Nyctasia observes the Discipline. You’d best tell me everything from the beginning.”
Corson fell silent. Her wounded pride rankled too keenly for her to tell of her humiliation at Shiastred’s hands. “It’s none of your affair.”
“You don’t understand. She’s in grave danger.”
“She’s always in danger!” Corson exploded. “What’s it to me? I don’t care what becomes of that high-handed, treacherous vixen!”
“But I care what becomes of her, and I need your help. You want vengeance on Shiastred. Don’t deny it. This is no time for your cursed sullenness!”
Corson started to her feet, fists clenched. “You-!” But at a look from Kastenid she suddenly caught her tongue. Shiastred had looked at her in that way.
“Sit down,” he said quietly.
Corson obeyed. “You’re no better than he is,” she muttered.
“That’s as may be. We want the same things, he and I, but I perhaps am more particular as to how I get them.”
“What do you want with me?”
“What would I want with a mercenary but to buy her services? And I pay well,” He studied Corson for a long moment. “What is it you fear?”
“I’m no coward!” Corson hesitated, toying with her empty mug. “But I’m… helpless. I can’t fight Shiastred.”
“I don’t want you to fight him. That is for me to do. But I cannot challenge him at the source of his power. If he’s drawn off his own ground he’ll be weaker, and with Lady Nyctasia’s help I could defeat him.”
“Are you mad? She won’t turn against him!”
“I believe she will, once she’s freed from his Influence. When she broke the Discipline she abandoned her defenses, and now she’s beyond my reach, within his domain. But you can go there freely. She trusts you, and Shiastred has no reason to harm you. He’ll not consider you a threat.”
“I know. I’m beneath his notice.”
He leaned closer to her. “Do you dare to return there?”
It was a wise choice of words to put Corson on her mettle. “I’ve daring enough.
But I warn you, for such a deed I command a noble fee.” She did not much trust Kastenid, but without a magician’s help she could never hope to foil Lord Erystalben. It could do no harm to hear him out. As he talked, she reached absently into her pouch for the gold earrings and put them on.
“Come for a ride with me,” said Corson. “I want to talk to you.”
Nyctasia was more than ever a stranger to her. She treated Corson as a favorite, whose familiarity was to be indulged. Shiastred simply took no heed of her-how Nyctasia managed her servants was her own affair.
They rode along a path that led up into the hills toward the stone but where Kastenid was waiting. “Bring her as far as you can,” he’d told Corson. “I’ll try to create an Influence to draw her on, but I can do nothing while she remains within his walls.”
Nyctasia reined in her horse, frowning. “We’ve come far enough, Corson. What have you to say to me?”
Corson dismounted. She seated herself on a fallen log and waited for Nyctasia to join her. “I’ve been with Kastenid, Nyc. He says you’re spellcast and I believe it. You’re not the same.”
“One behaves more freely on the road, of course-formalities may be put aside.
But the journey is over now.” She looked off into the hills. “So Kastenid hopes to use you to sway me? He is wrong to bring you into this. You do not understand the risks you run.”
“I don’t trust any magician. Never mind Kastenid-you should come away from here for your own sake. This place is a prison!”
Nyctasia rose. “This is where I belong. Go back to Chiastelm, Corson, you can do no good here.” She held out her hand. “Farewell.”
Corson shrugged. “I’ve done my best.” She suddenly smiled and reached her right hand out to meet Nyctasia’s. “Farewell, Nyc.” Her fist caught Nyctasia neatly under the jaw in a swift, stunning blow.