Chapter Ten #2
The fish market, however, was a different story.
Because Bristol was so close to the sea, fishermen went out every morning and returned shortly thereafter to sell their daily catches.
The fishmongers were alive and well that morning as Ciaran entered the city.
He thought the whole city smelled like the ocean, anyway, and it certainly smelled like fish down by the river.
In fact, that was where he was going—to the river—because that was where Aphrodite’s Feast was, where he assumed his daughter was.
And he was prepared to do battle with her.
He left his horse at a livery downriver from The Feast, mostly because he wanted to walk the rest of the way so he wouldn’t be obvious riding on horseback.
A man on foot was often overlooked in a big city, whereas a horse could draw attention.
The streets were still fairly empty at this hour as he approached Aphrodite’s Feast from the east. The way the building was constructed had it facing the river, but there was a big bend in the river just to the east of it, so the rear of the building was exposed to the road that ran along the river.
Ciaran found himself looking up at that enormous, gray-stoned building.
As he drew near, he could see some men gathered down on the riverbank.
He assumed they were customers of The Feast and paid them no mind.
There was a short walkway off the road and then the stairs that led to the elaborate entry door, a great stone arch with a door that God himself could not penetrate.
There were two men standing at the door, big men with weapons, and Ciaran was prepared for them.
He knew who they were, as he’d been to Aphrodite’s Feast several times, usually to gamble but sometimes to seek female companionship.
This time, it was different. He paused before entering, speaking to the man on the left.
“I have come to see Desdra le Daire,” he said. “I am her father. Will you send for her, please?”
The man didn’t reply. He looked to another man, standing a few feet away in the foyer, and this man stepped forward. He’d heard Ciaran’s request.
And he recognized him.
“Le Daire,” he greeted Ciaran. “Do you remember me?”
Ciaran found himself facing a big man with dark, curly hair. “Zeus,” he said. “I never forget a face. You’re still here?”
“I am.”
“Is my daughter?”
“She is.”
“Then tell her I have come to see her.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“She is not.”
Zeus’ gaze lingered on him a moment, a haughty gaze, for he was well aware of Ciaran le Daire and his gambling debts. They all knew that Desdra was there because of those debts, because of a father who paid for his weakness with his own flesh and blood.
“I will fetch her,” Zeus said after a moment. “You may wait in the reception room.”
He was indicating the chamber to the right of the entry.
There was a fire in it, comfortable chairs, but no food.
That was in the feasting room with the mosaic on the floor.
Knowing this, Ciaran ignored Zeus’ invitation and went into the feasting room, where a couple of men were finding sustenance for the morning.
There was a warm, mulled drink of apple juice mixed with wine as well as a half-dozen dishes that were being kept in warm pots.
As Ciaran picked over the food and demanded wine from a nearby servant, Zeus headed up the stairs to the solar where Desdra was. She was seated at the table and carefully writing in one of the ledgers. It seemed that she was always there, always writing in those ledgers.
He cleared his throat softly.
“Desdra?” he said quietly. “Are you terribly busy?”
Desdra looked over her shoulder at the man who, during the course of her residency at The Feast, had tried to court her more than once.
She liked him very much, but she simply wasn’t interested in anything romantic with him, much to his disappointment.
But to Zeus’ credit, he was always professional and courteous with her, even when she’d broken his heart repeatedly.
“Simply going over accounts,” she said. “Why? Do you require something?”
Zeus stepped into the chamber. “Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve come to tell you that your father has arrived. He has asked to see you.”
The calm expression vanished from her face and she looked at Zeus in surprise. “My… my father?” she gasped. “Here?”
“Aye,” he said. “He said that you did not know he was coming.”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said, struggling with her shock. “I did not. I have not heard from him in almost a year.”
“Well, he’s here now.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
Zeus shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He simply asked me to fetch you. Do you want me to bring him up here?”
Desdra took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. The unexpected arrival of her father had her rattled more than she cared to admit. Although she knew he was still alive, she had been hoping he’d forget about her and go on with his life.
“Aye, bring him up here,” she said after a moment.
“I do not want anyone seeing him. And I do not want anyone hearing him, though when you bring him up here, please have someone on the stair landing outside the door in case I need assistance. I do not trust my father, sorry to say. Not knowing why he is here, I cannot vouch for my own safety.”
Zeus knew that. Having seen Ciaran at The Feast over the years, there had been a few occasions when they’d been forced to either subdue the man or escort him out because of his violent tendencies.
“Have no fear,” he said. “I will stand on the landing myself.”
“Thank you,” she said, though it was clear she was unhappy about the situation. “Show him in. Let’s see what he wants this time.”
Zeus simply waggled his eyebrows in sympathy before heading out.
When he was gone, Desdra sighed sharply and moved away from the table, over to the hearth and its comfortable chairs.
Her father’s appearance was a distinct shock, but not too unexpected in hindsight.
He’d been known to come around from time to time, but, as she’d said, she hadn’t seen him in nearly a year.
A lot could happen in a year.
So she waited.
Ciaran wasn’t long in coming. Zeus escorted him up the stairs, but once he hit the landing, he bolted inside the solar, forcing Desdra up from her chair.
Her father was moving so quickly that she immediately looked around for a weapon.
She wasn’t entirely certain that she wasn’t going to have to beat the man away, so she went to stand behind the chair as he approached.
As if that chair could protect her.
“Daughter,” he greeted her, looking far older and more haggard than she’d ever seen him. “Am I not welcome?”
Desdra didn’t move. She merely nodded. “You are welcome,” she said evenly. “But why are you here?”
Ciaran had his arms open as if he was going to hug his daughter, but it was clear that she didn’t want that. He ended up lowering his arms and looking around for wine.
“I can see things are as they usually are between us,” he said, irritated. “At least offer me some drink. I am thirsty.”
Warily, Desdra moved out from behind the chair and over to a small table that contained the warmed cider she’d been drinking. “All I have is this warmed drink,” she said. “There is wine in it, but it is watered. Do you want it?”
Ciaran made a face of disgust. “Nay,” he said. “Send for wine. I’ll not drink that sewage.”
Already, his visit was off to an unpleasant start.
Desdra went over to the entry door and called to the nearest servant, sending the woman for wine.
She also rolled her eyes at Zeus, who was standing at the top of the stairs.
As he fought off a grin, she dutifully returned to her father, who had taken a seat by this time and was warming himself at the fire.
“Well?” Desdra said. “Why did you come?”
Ciaran glanced at his daughter, his hands out in front of the fire. “I came to tell you that your brother is dead,” he said. “Killed by outlaws as he traveled home about a few days ago.”
Desdra gasped. “Benedict is dead?”
“That’s what I said.”
He was so cold, so unfeeling. That was not news Desdra had been expecting and, in fact, he’d nearly smacked her over the head with it in the most insensitive way possible. She immediately burst into tears.
“Benedict,” she sobbed into her hand. “My sweet brother.”
Ciaran eyed her, annoyed. “Aye, it is tragic and all that,” he said impatiently. “But now I have a problem. That is why I have come to you.”
His attitude enraged her. “A problem?” she said. “I’d say you do, indeed, have a problem. Your son is dead!”
“He is,” he said. “My weeping like a woman will not bring him back.”
Desdra couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How can you be so callous?” she said. “Your son has been killed. You could show some grief or sorrow. You could show something for his memory.”
Ciaran sighed sharply. “Stop carrying on so,” he told her. “I have come to you with a problem. Benedict is no longer here, so you must help me. I have no one else to turn to.”
Desdra was becoming increasingly angry at him. “Why do you not care about your own son’s death?” she demanded, wiping the tears from her face. “Why are you so cold?”
“I told you,” Ciaran said as if she had asked a stupid question.
“Crying copious amounts of tears will not bring him back. He was traveling home from Ridlaw and was felled by outlaws, who stole his purse and left him on the road. He was found by someone from his village, who went to tell his wife. She buried him. That is the end of it.”
Desdra had stopped openly weeping and just stood there, staring at him in disbelief. “You are a vile creature,” she spat. “Get out of here. I do not want to talk to you.”
She started to march toward the door, no doubt to summon someone to escort him out, but he leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the arm before she could get away.