Chapter Twenty-Three
No one seemed to need my participation in the loud, highly technical discussion of dueling that followed. My second joined in after returning from her errand, pausing only to tell me that her name was Lady Sylvian, and that she hadn’t been able to find Fritz.
“But I told your coachman, and he promised to see where he’d gone,” she added blithely, not even waiting for a response before entering the fray, immediately and confidently contradicting something Lord Griset’s second had said about the rules for duels held at night.
It didn’t matter.
Fritz hadn’t received my message.
Which meant Stefan wouldn’t be coming.
From the scraps of the conversation I was capable of attending to, in between breathing so rapidly that my ribs were bruised against my corset boning and my temples buzzed with prickly heat, I gathered that the use of magic in a duel wasn’t only an offense against decency, but illegal.
Lady Sylvian had successfully insisted on summoning an impartial mage who could monitor me and prevent any accusations of cheating.
Despite her breezy manner, she’d obviously pegged Lord Griset accurately, and I could only be grateful for her.
But it didn’t matter. If I fought, Lord Griset would murder me.
If I refused, he’d call for the city guard—no one had been able to talk him out of that.
And it had dawned on me that the duke and Lord Benedict were both away from Nevaia.
Which meant that my father-in-law, who had no further use for me now that Stefan had been established as the co-owner and heir of my possessions, would be the ultimate authority over any case Lord Griset brought against me.
No further use…and a grudge, too, now that Stefan had taken my side.
I could see it now: a pious, regretful recusal, the Lord Chancellor’s deeply held ethical standards not allowing him to pardon his own son-in-law.
Such a pity. The whole family would be in mourning after my execution.
Stefan would be angry, and it’d cause a rift, but he’d get over it.
How long had he known me? His distress wouldn’t last more than a few months, and he’d still have the same use for my property in Arthovia he’d had before.
Lady Sylvian detached herself from the group of gentlemen and came to perch on a chair beside mine.
“Lord Remigius, we’ve come to an agreement,” she whispered to me, with a little downturn of her lips that suggested it meant I’d be dying soon.
“You know, if Lord Griset wasn’t so insistent on having you arrested if you wouldn’t fight him, this could be put off until Lord Stefan’s return.
But you know that, obviously. I’ve done my best in the negotiation.
They’ve sent for a mage Lord Griset can have had no chance to bribe, and you’ll have first choice of the swords. ”
Every time I blinked, the world took a second to reform slowly when I opened my eyes. Lady Sylvian still looked terribly unhappy.
“You ought to choose for me,” I forced out through numb lips. “And call me Remi, please.” If she ended up being the last friendly face I saw, I preferred not to die addressed as Remigius.
“Sylvie,” she said, with a charming little smile. Much better than that frown. “The last stand of Remi and Sylvie. It sounds very well, except for the last stand part of it. Hopefully they’ll write a song about it! Do you know anyone who composes music? I should hire someone.”
She kept up her stream of cheerful commentary as we all trooped back out of the parlor, further down the hall, and out through a service passage to a quiet lawn, surrounded by tall hedges, that hadn’t been invaded by Lord Corombos’s guests.
Servants had almost finished setting alchemical torches on posts in a square surrounding the designated dueling ground, a table had been brought out and a selection of swords laid upon it, and as we approached, two men came from the other direction: a mage in gray robes escorted by a footman.
I was left alone once again as they all regrouped to discuss the final details. A warm evening wind swept across the garden, down from the mountains, but it felt chilly on my sweaty skin. Under my corset, my shirt was soaked with perspiration, and it had gone as cold as ice.
Sylvie put a sword in my hand, the hilt comfortable and the weight maneuverable for the strength of my arm.
She’d chosen well. I tried to thank her.
But my voice wouldn’t come. The lights streaked and swam.
Gods, I was a coward, and I’d never survive the shame of it, no matter whether I chose the fight or the ignominy of arrest.
“I don’t think you should fight in a corset,” Sylvie said, her tone worried. That was what concerned her?
Lord Griset swooshed his sword through the air, laughing at something his own second had said, and he hadn’t even bothered to take off his own heavy silk coat. Clearly he didn’t think the duel would last long enough for it to encumber him. I didn’t disagree.
“I believe it’s time, my lords,” Lord Corombos said. “If you would meet in the center of the square, please, for the final inspection!”
The ground seemed to rise up to meet my foot as I stepped forward.
Ennolu save me, but I wouldn’t even make it across the grass without falling over—and Sylvie wrapped her hand around my elbow, supporting me with surprising strength.
Lord Griset’s eyes glittered in the alchemical torchlight, his sword gleaming too, and I took another step—
“I say, it seems unsporting to begin without me, what?” I froze, foot suspended, and tried to whip around so quickly that I overbalanced again, Sylvie catching me.
Stefan. That was Stefan’s voice, and I prayed I hadn’t hallucinated the sound of it.
But no, not a hallucination. As I peered into the darkness, the lights blinding me, Stefan materialized as if by some greater magic than I could command, striding across the grass with Fritz by his side.
His eyes fixed on me and caught my gaze; I knew it, even at this distance, and I felt it, felt him, all the way down to my toes.
Maybe this overwhelming relief that another man would fight my literal battle for me made me even more of a coward, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Stefan had come. I didn’t know how, but he’d come, and everything would be all right.
As he approached, dark eyes never wavering from me, commanding and competent, everything else faded into the background, distant and unimportant: Sylvie’s exclamation of shocked delight, Lord Griset’s curses, the footmen fixing one of the lights that had tipped over.
“You’re too late,” Lord Griset snarled. “The duel’s begun!”
“No, it most certainly has not!” Sylvie declared, and let go of me, her skirts whirling as she ran off to set Lord Griset straight.
“Remi,” Stefan demanded as he reached me, his eyes blazing but his voice pitched low, for my ears only.
He leaned in close, but he didn’t make any move to embrace me, or to touch me.
Was he really so angry as that? “Great merciful fucking gods, what the fuck are you thinking? Why didn’t you refuse? What the fuck?”
Apparently so.
“He said he’d send for the guards and have them arrest me for using magic, but I didn’t! Stefan, I swear I didn’t. How are you here? Stefan, I—”
“Fritz was lurking to the side of the terrace, and he overheard the fracas and ran to find me instantly. I told him not to let you out of his sight, and now I owe him a much larger salary. See to it if I don’t remember to.
” I glanced at Fritz, who didn’t seem pleased at all by the prospect.
In fact, his expression remained downright dour.
And Stefan…now that I’d calmed enough to look closely, his appearance was very odd.
His clothing didn’t match, a pair of plain dark breeches and shirt underneath an ill-fitting black evening coat.
The underclothes made sense; they were similar to what he always wore when he went out to meet his seedy associates.
But Fritz had quite possibly stolen the coat from Lord Corombos’s cloakroom.
The strangeness of seeing Stefan badly dressed had almost made me overlook the clammy pallor of his face.
And his posture, almost awkward, not his usual supple grace at all…
Icy dread wrapped around my chest, squeezing me more tightly than my corset. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong here.
“Stefan, what’s the matter? You’re not yourself. What’s—”
“Nothing whatsoever. Lord Corombos!” Stefan turned and strode away from me, and I tried to follow, but Fritz caught me by the arm.
“Stay here, Lord Remi,” he said. “Stay out of it. Your part in this is done.”
“But—”
Sylvie trotted over and took the sword out of my hand. “You won’t be needing this!” she declared, and off she went with it.
“Stef—”
“Be quiet!” Fritz’s hand tightened on my arm, tugging me back as I tried to chase after Stefan. “Don’t distract him, my lord. Don’t.”
“Fritz, what’s wrong?” I tugged, but he had me fast. “Fritz!”
He didn’t answer, merely shaking his head, but it didn’t matter. Stefan had already stepped into the center of the square, bowing to the assembled lords, including Griset, who’d puffed up and gone purple with rage and frustration.
That might have been more satisfying under other circumstances. But Stefan truly wasn’t himself, I could tell: the odd rigidity of his posture, his pallor, Fritz’s tension.
“Good, we’re not taking our jackets off,” Stefan said. “I’d rather get this over with quickly too, what? I need a drink. My lady, ah…”
“Sylvian, my lord!” She came to his side with the eagerness of a hunting hound, practically vibrating with excitement and hero-worship. “I hope you don’t mind having me as your second. I was doing my best to serve Remi well.”
“The sword you chose for him was very good,” Stefan said, and I could see her blushing from five yards away. “But I’ll need something with a larger hilt, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, my lord!”