Rasnake(5)

Milton shook his head. "I don't see why Cecil—"

"Because she was holding a trinket he had made," Henry said. "No one else can make those clever little toys. She was gripping it as though her life depended upon it, and those fools took it as evidence that he is the murderer."

Tallant made a face. "That proves absolutely nothing; how can they get away with it?"

Henry's face twisted with bitterness. "They are desperate for blood, for explanation, for resolution. They want someone to blame for something, and they were never happy that she married him."

Milton frowned. "Huh? Who married who, and who is they?"

Henry eyed him cautiously, then said gently, "They as in the council, or what's left of it. When the dragons attacked and everything started to go so wrong, Her Grace feared for her people should she suffer the same madness as her father, or die in the midst of all this trouble. She did not want foreigners coming and taking the kingdom, nor did she want a civil war tearing it apart from the inside. She married Rasnake so that there would be someone she trusted to take care of them, should the worst come to pass."

Tallant winced. The only two things Milton talked about constantly—incessantly—were his little brother and Lady Irene. Milton had only left twelve years ago because Marden had caught him and Irene together in a compromising situation. He had told Milton to leave, or be hanged. Milton had left, but he wore the pendant Irene had given him as devoutly as Tallant wore his fate token.

Milton's face went carefully blank. "My brother married Irene?"

"She felt it was her only option," Henry said gently, eyeing him warily. "They are friends, the very best of; you would have to talk to them to better understand. Unfortunately, that is not possible right now."

Tallant stirred. "I know he is in jail, but I am afraid that we really must see him. Surely leniency can be granted for a brother returned after twelve years, and greeted with such devastating news."

Henry turned to him. "Begging your pardon, but who the hell are you?"

"My name is Tallant Delarma. I'm a battle mage and Milton's battle-bonded. He was gracious enough to invite me to join him on his long-awaited return home. I am sorry you have all been facing so much trouble; if we'd known, we would have come sooner. I promise we will do all that we can to help you solve these problems. But first, we must speak with Cecil."

"Battle-bonded, huh?" I guess you're the polite half," Henry said with a trace of humor. "Milton and Cecil both are too…"

"Flik?" Tallant offered dryly.

"Yes," Henry said, smiling again briefly. "Far too flik for manners." He turned to Milton, brief levity fading. "I'm glad you're home, Master Milton. Maybe you can fix everything that has gone so wrong with Rasnake, with Her Grace—with everything."

Milton stirred at that, frowning. "Why is he called that? My brother reads books and carves toys for children. He was a scholar, and could not hold a sword properly to save his life."

"Strife changed him," Henry said quietly. "He can hold far more than a sword, and has saved all of our lives innumerable times. I warn you now that the man you are about to see has nothing in common with the boy you left behind twelve years ago."

"Take me to him," Milton said, and rose.

Henry nodded. "This way." He led the way out of the castle and across the back fields, to where the jail was located in one of the south guard towers. "Master Milton, please keep in mind that much has happened. The little boy you knew is gone—"

"Open the damn door," Milton snapped.

Sighing, Henry unlocked the heavy door. Tallant stepped forward to pull it open, for which Henry looked immensely grateful. Henry entered first, followed by Milton, and Tallant trailed along behind them.





Chapter Three





The back half of the tower had been turned into three cells, all heavily barred and even more heavily locked. Two were empty, the furthest containing a single man. There were only two windows, one in each of the outermost cells, and so Tallant could not see anything clearly. He stared curiously at Cecil—Rasnake?—but simply could not see much in the limited light. Not a small figure, he could determine that much. Not as tall as himself, Tallant would hazard, but it was impossible to say as Cecil was sitting on the floor. Still, like Milton, he seemed to be broad-shouldered and made of tight, lean muscle. He also seemed to be wearing nothing more than leggings and an under tunic. He did not even seem to have shoes. Had they dragged him out of bed?

"Ho, Henry," Cecil said, his voice a bit deeper than Milton's, a bit rougher. "You brought me visitors?"

"I brought your brother," Henry said quietly, and slipped away out of the tower.

Silence fell in his wake, and then Cecil slowly stood up. Tallant had been wrong—Cecil matched his height, might even be a shade taller. His hair fell in thick, dirty clumps around his face, and his hands were dirty, calloused, covered in scrapes old and new, burn marks—the hands of a fighter, a warrior. But Milton had said a thousand times his brother was a scribe, an artist. In Tallant's experience, such significant change seldom happened in a person, and never for good reason.

"Well, well," Cecil said. "The mighty Milton returns at last. After twelve years, I'm surprised you could still find the place, or even bothered."