A Mother's Secrets Read online

  A Mother’s Secrets

  By Tuppence Van de Vaarst

  A Mother’s Secrets

  Tuppence Van de Vaarst

  Copyright © 2019 Tuppence Van de Vaarst

  All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book, or any portions thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 9781796384031

  First Edition: July 2019

  Cover Art: Charlotte Hayes

  Editor: Sally Little

  This book was published by Tannenhauser Press. www.tannenhauserpress.com

  [email protected]

  To the Council of Saemar:

  Rose, Neil, Nathan, Megan, and Jonathan

  And to our Mad God:

  Josh

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: An Invitation, the Lady, and the Book

  Chapter 2: The Expedition

  Chapter 3: The Labyrinth

  Chapter 4: Venia

  Chapter 5: Darkmane

  Chapter 6: Masquerade

  Chapter 7: The Great Hunt

  Chapter 8: Family

  Chapter 9: New Acquaintances

  Chapter 10: Manyu’s Time in Ninaeva

  Chapter 11: A Wedding

  Chapter 12: War

  Chapter 13: A Secret Trip

  Chapter 14: Papsukkal Festival

  Chapter 15: Elopement

  Chapter 16: Alfheim

  Chapter 17: Treachery

  Chapter 18: Death

  Chapter 19: The King

  Epilogue: Lady of the Council

  Chapter 1: An Invitation, the Lady, and the Book

  The decaying heads stared sightlessly from their posts above the city gates. Scavenger birds had pecked out their eyes, and flesh hung loosely from the skulls. Vinet shivered at the gruesome visage, grateful when her carriage moved out of sight. The heads were all that remained of the last Council of Saemar.

  Her carriage stopped, the clattering of the horses’ hooves on the pavement ceasing. Vinet stared out of the carriage, trying to process the sight in front of her.

  The carved granite steps to the palace were laid out before her. Some people suspected magicians of having carved them from a single stone. The palace itself was no less impressive. It rose into the sky, towering over the rest of the buildings. The front door loomed at least thirty ells into the air, and giant paintings of mythical beings decorated the walls on either side. The two towers to either side of the main building were painted with giant eyes, a reminder that someone was always watching. It was a security measure, Vinet knew, but that didn’t make them any less ominous.

  She looked at the person in the seat in the carriage opposite her. Bright green eyes stared back at her. Gwyn smiled reassuringly, her green and gold armor a proud statement of Ninaeva. Her bodyguard believed in her, at least.

  Vinet stared at the palace again. How in Mazda’s name did I get myself into this? she wondered.

  The invitation had been wholly unexpected. When the messenger had arrived at Ilhelm Castle, bearing a missive with the distinctive golden seal of King Andreas IV, she had had no idea what he was there for. She certainly had not expected this.

  She looked down at herself to check that everything was in order. She was wearing a green gown trimmed with gold—her house colors. The cut, however, was in the Venian style. Instead of being proper and modest, like most Saemarian gowns, it cut low towards her chest, and the sleeves ended barely past her shoulder. The cut was a statement as much as the color, to anyone who knew what to look for. Anyone who wore Venian clothing rather than Saemarian was someone who made an effort to look beyond Saemarian borders.

  And these people will know what to look for, she reminded herself. She straightened her shoulders.

  Gwyn nodded approvingly, causing a lock of her blonde hair to fall past her ears. She absent-mindedly brushed it back.

  Vinet couldn’t hesitate anymore. If she didn’t enter, she was going to be late.

  She returned Gwyn’s nod. Gwyn straightened and opened the door to the carriage, exiting quickly and glancing around before looking back and nodding. Her chain mail glinted in the light, and the sword and dagger on her hips looked especially prominent. Another statement based on appearances. If anyone was watching, they would know that Vinet was well-protected.

  Vinet took one last moment to make sure that the plaits of her red-brown braids were securely fastened before following Gwyn out of the carriage. Her hairstyle was also a statement. It was a style favored by the nobles of Hillsdale, the city-state closest to her holdings of Ninaeva. The fact that the braids dipped to cover her ears was incidental. Not that her ears were different to the casual eye. Someone on the Council might be keen-eyed enough to see the slight points, however, and no one could learn she was a half-elf.

  Gwyn fell into place a half-step behind her as Vinet began ascending the steps. She kept her eyes fixed in front of her. Here in the capital the situation was different than in Ninaeva. Here she had to appear to stand on her own.

  Two guards came into view as she approached the entrance to the palace. Both stood at attention, so still that she could barely tell they were human and not statues. Only Vinet’s sharp eyes allowed her to see the way their eyes followed her as she ascended the steps.

  Someone had noted her arrival, because a servant approached her as soon as she reached the entrance. “Lady Vinet Rochelle of Ninaeva?”

  Vinet nodded, and without being asked produced the invitation.

  The servant took it, glanced at it, and then bowed deeply. “If you’ll follow me, my lady.”

  No one asked for Gwyn to disarm, an acknowledgement of Vinet’s rank. Vinet followed the servant into the palace, Gwyn still a half-step behind her.

  The inside of the palace was just as impressive as the outside. A long, grand, entrance hall led straight to large, elaborately carved double doors. They were closed right now, but two of the King’s Guard, in their dark black armor and closed helmets, stood with their halberds crossed before the doors. That was the throne room, where King Andreas IV held audiences. That was not where she was heading. The servant took her down a side passage to the left of the throne room and stopped before a smaller, but no less elaborately carved door.

  Vinet was struck by the decorations of the palace. So much was painted directly on the wall, with elaborate abstract symbols and depictions of famous Saemarians down through its history. In Ninaeva, all of that was done via tapestries. Then again, Ninaeva grew cold. The tapestries were a necessity that she had turned into a luxury.

  Vinet glanced back at Gwyn and gave her a slight nod. Gwyn took a station at the door, and Vinet took a deep breath before she turned the handle and pushed.

  The room was almost entirely taken up by a large table, with chairs lined on either side. At the head of the table was a larger chair, only slightly more elaborate. That was the chair reserved for the Lord of the Council. It was vacant and would remain so for an entire year, when the councilors would elect one of their own to that position of power.

  Only one other person was currently in the room. A man in his thirties, wearing the thick wool and furs associated with the far north. He leaned back in one of the chairs, his boots resting casually on the table.

  There was only one man matched that description from the briefing she’d been given: Lord Conn MacTir, lord of Dunbarrow, self-styled Lord of the Gray Mountains.

  He glanced up as she entered the chamber. “Ah, another councilor!” he exclaimed. His eyes swept up and down, taking in every aspect of her appearance. Vinet felt
a moment of gratitude that she had taken as much care as she had.

  “Lady Vinet Rochelle?” he hazarded.

  Vinet gave a nod of acknowledgement. “And you must be Lord Conn MacTir,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Conn nodded back. “Likewise. It’s good to have another northerner on the Council.”

  Vinet concealed a smile. Although Ninaeva sat in the far northwest of the kingdom of Saemar, and perhaps had once shared a culture with the clans that formed the basis of Dunbarrow, it now held more similarities to the free city-states along the coast.

  “Do you take your position so lightly that you rest your sullied boots on the council table?” The sharp voice made both Vinet and Conn glance up as another man entered the room, appearing from the shadows by the door. He was strange, tall, with dark black hair, and eyes of two different colors, one blue, and one a bright citron. A red scar over the citron eye made it stand out even more.

  “Ah, Lord Dannan,” Conn’s voice was smooth. “I did not see you skulking there. I trust the prince is well?”

  The knowledge from her dossier clicked into Vinet’s mind. Lord Dannan Duatha, tutor to the young prince. Rumors surrounded him, from him being cursed to being possessed by a demon, and after taking one look at him, Vinet could understand why.

  “Well enough,” Dannan’s voice was harsh.

  Conn nodded amiably. “How could he not with such an exceptional tutor? And I trust Ninaeva fares well under your enlightened rule, Lady Vinet?” Slowly, he removed his boots from the table.

  Vinet kept her expression solemn as she sat down at the table across from Conn. “Ninaeva fares quite well, thank you,” she said. “And Dunbarrow?”

  “We had some trouble with bandits recently, but we’ve driven them off. We believe they were attracted by our new trade routes.” Conn smiled grimly.

  His comment was an obvious poke at Vinet. Anyone who knew her public reputation knew that she had been outspoken in favor of trade for her entire reign as Lady of Ninaeva.

  She was saved from the necessity of an answer by the entrance of two other councilors. One was dressed in robes embroidered with the golden sun conquering the darkness that marked him as a priest of Mazda. That was Ellil, the high priest of the temple of Mazda, the sun-god who kept his dark brother Manyu from conquering the world. The woman next to him, dressed elaborately in a velvet black dress in the southern Saemarian style, was just as easy to identify. There was only one other lady in the dossier Vinet had been given, and the mourning gown just made it obvious. Lady Pellalindra Duskryn, widow of the late Lord of Duskryn. Her husband had been a member of the last council and had died in mysterious circumstances.

  “Good morning, councilors,” Lady Pellalindra said, her voice smooth and melodious. “My apologies if we’re late.”

  “Not at all,” Vinet gave her a small smile. “We were just getting to know each other.”

  Conn gave Pellalindra a nod. “My condolences to you, Lady Pellalindra. I am sorry that I could not attend the funeral, we had a bandit problem that needed dealing with.”

  Vinet glanced at Conn sharply. Given the rumors surrounding Pellalindra’s late husband, and that those rumors linked him with the treason of the previous council, she would have not brought his name up at all.

  Pellalindra’s smile was tight. “Of course, domestic concerns precede others. I would prefer to invite you to my lands during a time of mirth, anyway.” She glanced around the table. “Shall we get started?”

  Vinet glanced from one to the other, trying to remember who else was in the dossier. They were missing someone. “Has anyone heard from Lord Kamian?” she ventured.

  “If he is late for the discussions, he has only himself to blame,” Dannan growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Vinet held her peace. She, just as much as anyone here, had to be careful not to make too many enemies. They all had things to lose. And with the grisly example of the last council’s heads hanging prominently above the city gate, the price of losing could be far higher than any of them wanted. And if any of them discover who my father actually was, then I will be thrown to the wolves faster than I can scream.

  Five of them. Five of them to decide where to funnel the kingdom’s resources, to decide how to shape the future of Saemar. King Andreas IV wouldn’t do it. That was why he had set up a council to begin with. Three of us landed nobles, one priest, and the prince’s tutor, whom some call cursed. Mazda’s light.

  Or perhaps there were six of them, indeed. Vinet glanced up as the door opened again, and a young man dressed flamboyantly in the brightest colors possible stepped into the room. Four landed nobles, then.

  “Excuse me for being late, lords and ladies,” he said, bowing extravagantly. “I was delayed by a personal matter. The most charming…”

  “You’re here now,” Dannan cut him off. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Lord Kamian Silas of Hinswold didn’t look at all dismayed by Dannan’s tone. He took a seat next to Vinet, giving her a broad smile. “A pleasure to find such a charming lady as a fellow councilor.”

  Vinet raised a brief eyebrow, refusing to allow herself to be flattered. She knew Kamian’s reputation. His skill as a duelist was only matched by his skill in flirtation.

  Pellalindra sniffed disdainfully. “Lord Dannan is right. We should focus on the reason we’re here.”

  Vinet cast an amused glance at her. Surely, she wasn’t put out that Kamian had deigned to flirt with Vinet instead of her?

  “And ignore the fact that the crimson blood of our predecessors still flows down the gate?” Kamian arched his eyebrows. “I find that short-sighted, especially of you, Lady Pellalindra.”

  Pellalindra paled slightly, and Vinet hastily intervened. “I believe we are all aware of what happened to the first council,” she said. “And doing our job, and taking care of the kingdom, is our way of acknowledging what happened to them. As well as avoiding their fate.” She looked around. “We are none of us traitors, or the king would not have sent us invitations. It is up to us to prove that his faith in us is justified.”

  Pellalindra cast Vinet a look that spoke volumes. There was gratitude there, but uncertainty as well. Vinet didn’t blame her. Pellalindra’s situation could hardly be less precarious than her own. Pellalindra’s husband may not have been executed, but the rumors still circulate.

  “Exactly,” Dannan said brusquely. “So, to business?”

  Vinet nodded. They had all received briefings on the issues they were to discuss and vote on today; nominally, these were issues the governmental administrators felt required higher approval. It was simple enough, but Vinet couldn’t help feeling that it was also a test of their abilities.

  “I would recommend focusing on the Jyrian’s request for soldiers to guard the trade route,” she said. “A kingdom’s lifeblood is built on trade, however insular they may try to be. As a small city-state, Jyria does not have the manpower to guard the trade routes, and we do.”

  Kamian gave her a look of approval, but Conn and Dannan both shook their heads at the same time.

  “The request from the smallfolk deserves greater attention,” Conn said. “We conscripted their sons into the Regulars. It is only right that we acknowledge their request and return some men to help with the harvest.”

  Vinet glanced out of the window. The bright sun was indication enough that it was still Mazda’s Time, but it would only be a month or so before the leaves started changing colors.

  “They’ve never had a problem bringing in the harvest before,” Pellalindra objected. “Why should they now? Our resources could be better used elsewhere.”

  “The recent conscription,” Dannan said. “The size of the Regulars has been increased dramatically, causing a labor shortage.”

  “A conscription that was meant to deal with Tigri,” Pellalindra put in. “Should they not be sent down to guard the border, as was originally intended?”

  “We just won the war,”
Conn snorted. “What could Tigri be doing to threaten us now?”

  Vinet felt a pang of misgiving. Their neighbor, the Duchy of Tigri, had been at war with Saemar on and off for generations, ever since Tigri had successfully seceded during the reign of Andreas II. The last conflict had ended with Saemar nominally victorious, but that hardly meant that Tigri wouldn’t still pose a threat.

  “Since we have the upper hand over Tigri, now is the time to deal in diplomacy, not swords,” she said. “And Jyria is a valuable trade partner. There have been bandits reported along the route. Surely you would not object to sending the Regulars to deal with them, Lord Conn?”

  Conn shrugged with indifference. “That is in Jyria’s land,” he said. “Let them supply the men to deal with them. Saemar has its own issues, and our men should remain concerned with them.”

  “Trade is a Saemarian issue,” Vinet felt impelled to point out.

  Ellil spoke for the first time. His voice was quiet, yet it carried a weight that made everyone listen. “I would be remiss in my office as high priest if I did not urge charity for the smallfolk,” he said. “If they are under pressure because of our actions, then we must do our best to relieve that pressure.”

  Conn glanced triumphantly around the table.

  Pellalindra frowned. “Surely we would not have conscripted men we could not spare from the fields?”

  Vinet narrowed her eyes in thought. Had they? It hadn’t been the last council who’d ordered the conscription, but the Regulars. Surely the Regulars knew that if they didn’t have enough food for the troops if wouldn’t matter how many men they conscripted. “If we open new trade routes, then perhaps we can trade for food if there’s a weak harvest,” she said. “But on the basis of one plea, I cannot see that diverting our men from their current positions would do us any good in the long-term.”

  Pellalindra leaned back with a smile. “So, we agree, Lady Vinet. Though I believe securing the border should be of the utmost priority before opening trade routes.”