“My Lord…my Lord.” His heart hammered in his ribs. He could feel his neck throb with each beat. His chest was cold and damp. What the hell? he thought. Am I a page or a kitchen boy? I have entertained kings! He swallowed, pulled his doublet straight, and turned to close the doors gently behind him.
The unusual intrusion prompted the Baron to glance toward his guest with brow raised. The imposing Dejran seated to his right remained impassive, but ceased talking the moment the door opened. His business was not meant for other ears.
“My Lord,” he began again, his voice quiet but not quite steady. Glancing away, he craned his neck to crack it. Most unprofessional. “My Lord, there is…that is, an Indagator has arrived. For an audience.”
The Baron, who had until now sported a half smile, sat up quickly, eyes wide. “An Indagator? What does he want?” He turned to the Dejran then immediately back to his chamberlain.
“My Lord, she would not say.” He lightly emphasized the pronoun.
“Of course not, no, an Indagator would only deliver a message directly to her…to her…well, show her in, man! Let’s not keep her waiting.” He looked to the Dejran again for confirmation, but the ebony face still betrayed nothing. An artefex of his station probably deals with Indagators frequently, thought the Baron. He wondered if he looked like one of those minor country nobles who were all elbows and knees at court. A little decorum. He understood his chamberlain better, now.
“Of course, my Lord,” the chamberlain hesitated, looking at the artefex. “Ónen Sra, if you please, how do I announce her?”
“Thank you for the promotion,” he said without inflection.
The chamberlain stared at him. “Promotion, artefex?”
“This is Ón Sra, man,” the Baron interjected. He stood, pulled his own doublet smooth, wiped a hand back through his hair.
“Yes my Lord. Sorry, artefex.”
“Her name, Indagator of the Marreschall of Kordika, if indeed that is who she represents.” The Dejran neither shifted nor altered the tone of his voice.
The chamberlain breathed out slowly. “Thank you, Ón Sra. I apologize for my behavior. I will not fail your Lordships.” So saying, he turned, grasped the double doors by their handles and drew them apart. The shadows of halberds fell across his face as the western sun blazed past the guards. He strode out, back straight, arms loosely at his side. They could hear him announce, from across the court, “This way, your honor. Whom may I announce?”
The answer was strong and carried well. “Cameníl, Indagator to the Honorable Marreschall of Kordika.”
Moments later their silhouettes blocked the light of the doors and the Chamberlain repeated the address in a steady, professional voice. He bowed, backing out and taking the door handles with him. Ón Sra stood for the occasion, arms folded into the sleeves of his dark robes. The three exchanged bows.
The Baron verified the marks of office, the darkly stained lower lip and cheeks below the eyes, the baldric of Forbidden Blue, the brassard with the seal of the Marreschallein on the bare right arm. No one had dared challenge her to remove her double swords. She was clearly Palaji, but almost fair-skinned.
“You are Suurt,” he said, then immediately put up his hands, palms outward. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I was…surprised. I thought The Families did not owe Fealty to the Lands.”
She flexed her half-gloved right hand, looking at him with narrowed eyes. She let the silence drag out. “We are familiar with the claims of the Orkanái. They are mistaken. The Elvemeer owe Fealty to the Princes as much as any other who live in The Lands. They cannot exempt a people through a linguistic trick. I proudly represent my Family.”
“Of course,” murmured the Baron. “What can I do for the Marreschall?”
“Nothing. I am here to speak with Ón Sra.”
“Oh? Indeed. But how did you know? He only arrived now.”
The artefex said nothing, but smiled ever so slightly.
The Indagator turned to Sra while addressing the Baron. “I inquired this noon at his laboratory. The Dean informed me he was here, so I came.”
“You came fifty leagues.”
“To be sure I caught up with him, yes.”
“I did not realize you practiced Arte.”
“I do not.” She continued to regard the artefex through the exchange. The Dejran returned the look calmly. “I ride shadow.” She finally turned back to the Baron. “I will speak with Ón Sra now.”
It took a moment for the Baron to realize he was being dismissed from his own office. His last view was of the two of them still standing face to face as he pulled the doors closed. “See that none enter until they finish,” he told the guards, then turned to find his chamberlain.
