The Warden

Chapter 41

Come closer leader of sheep, thought Charlan, her mind radiant with a smile her lips did not show. Soon he would remember who she was. Soon, he would remember that she was the toppler of the Animal Kingdom, the mother of Manu's spawn, the slayer of the Warden's husband, and the ensnarer of her upstart brat. Soon, you'll remember, but by then it will be too late, for you that is.

"Maybe you're right, Lord Markham," she said, the words barely escaping her mouth in quiet admission.

The stale atmosphere stilled into oblivion—no sound of breath, no suggestion of movement, only the wail of wind moaned from the chimney they had come down.

Lord Markham let his hands fall slack. "What?"

"You might be right," said Charlan again, raising her hands.

Lord Markham's face tightened, pinching into a guarded squint. "About what exactly?"

"About many different things. Lady Kyla, among others."

"Why are you agreeing with me of a sudden?" Lord Markham asked the question as though he had no way of holding it back. He glanced about to his right and left. Mistress Vertisk squinted at him in confusion, forcing him to collect himself with a fluster and blink.

But Charlan pressed her advantage. "I thought we'd come to an understanding, you and I," she said, her tone laced with familiarity. "Since my son's death, you've helped me see that some of my schemes have been misguided and needed to either be abandoned, or at least adjusted."

"That's true." Lord Markham shifted his feet. "I, uh... I..."

"Which leads me to believe that we should at least attempt one of your schemes without dismissing it so offhandedly."

Lord Markham blinked rapidly, as though his whole body was trying to adjust to this new approach. "That's... that's good."

"Lady Kyla should be eliminated, and the raid will afford us the perfect opportunity."

Sir Hahmunde rocked off the wall, following her words. In the moldy air, Lord Markham stirred currents in the spory darkness, turning about this way and that, as the others signaled their interest with open expressions.

"And do you have a particular method or person in mind to do this task?" asked Lord Markham. He gripped the edges of his coat, gathering some of his temporarily forgotten composure.

"Since, as you have said, my judgement has been slightly skewed since my son's death, I think we can all agree that I'm not the one for the task, though I wish it could be otherwise." Charlan hung her head. "No. I think the most fitting person for this task, after myself, of course, would be you, Lord Markham. Your enthusiasm won me over, and I can't imagine anyone else undertaking this."

Lord Markham fixed her with a look that seemed to ask what she was about. Charlan's mouth quirked at the side in response before stretching out with innocence, broad, open, as though hiding nothing. This only invited more scrutiny from her rival. His eyes narrowed. They roved up and down her person. They settled on her face, focusing on the corners and edges, awaiting any twitch or flinch that could betray anything. Charlan gave him nothing.

"I'm not sure I would be an appropriate choice for this assignment," he said, his first words spoken cautiously as though walking on untested ice. They became stronger with each word and his confidence built. "I think it would be best if I maintained my disguise as Erlulf and pass this honor off to another."

"Is that your only objection?" A pish followed Charlan's question. "I'm sure one here would be more than willing, eager even, to take your place." She sprayed her observation over the gathering, inviting anyone to make an offer.

Come you sheep, she thought, jaw tightening, honor your bell.

"Mistress Charlan," said Sir Hahmunde. "I'd be willing to take Lord Markham's place."

A nod and grateful smile from Charlan encouraged Sir Hahmunde to step into the circle.

"You see," she said, spreading her arms wide. "You can have no real objections."

Lord Markham's face shifted about as more than Charlan's head turned in his direction. His eyes ricocheted between the individuals, each sporting expectant, encouraging expressions.

Now, what will you do, clod? thought Charlan, her smile near bursting with triumph.

Eyes still flickering about, ultimately resting on Charlan, Lord Markham, twitching, clapped his hands together, clasping them as he did so. "Well, with so much support on my side, how could I possibly refuse the honor?"

"Excellent!" Mistress Charlan declared, her grin bright. "With Lady Kyla out of the way and with the right leverage, I feel that Lord Domrae will be more than cooperative."

"And what kind of leverage could possibly do that? asked Lord Markham, again taking the offensive. "We've killed all his family and anyone else he might be close to."

"Have we? Every last one he was close to?"

"Who else is..." His words cut off.

Every head snapped toward the east. Hisses slithered out between clenched teeth. Charlan pressed her hand to her chest where the numbing sensation radiated out into the rest of her frame. Others did the same.

Wilo was about to crest the horizon.

"This will have to be discussed later," said Charlan, moving off to her personal quarters.

The others followed suit. Charlan caught Lord Markham stealing a glance at her, eyes dead, face slack, but a calculating mind ticked and clicked behind that mask.

Sleep well, she thought, turning away from him. Soon that's all you'll be doing.

*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*