23.6

Zyrdicia's eyes drank in the sight of Geshna as she walked with Tristan. He was sensible enough to be quiet. The city's vitality soothed her mood. Here, at least, was something in her life that still functioned as it should. In contrast to her magic and her former mate, in Geshna there were no unpleasant surprises.

Though the main market area hummed with commerce, large crowds gathered in bustling cafes lining the narrow side streets. Inside, magical heaters imported from Lyr kept the night's icy chill away from patrons. The space around every table was jammed with warm bodies. Laughter and conversation filled the air.

Zyrdicia scowled briefly as the cacophony of thoughts assaulted her. She stopped and closed her eyes a moment, letting it all sink in. She had not been around such a large crowd often enough to be used to this yet.

Tristan touched her arm, "Are you all right, my lady?"

She nodded, slowly finding her bearings amid the swarm. The crowd parted at the sight of her, and an empty table appeared, as though by magic. Everyone greeted her with smiles and admiring glances.

"They love you," Tristan said warmly as they sat down.

"I know."

"Of course you do. I'm sure you are used to that."

She scowled, glaring at him. Before she could say anything, a small horde of Lyrians she knew from the Cauldron surrounded the table. She was showered with kisses upon her cheeks and a barrage of insincere banter about how boring life in Lyr was now that she had moved away. Everyone in the room seemed to wonder when the much-discussed so-called husband would be taken out for a public outing. Since her last interview with the Liar, they had all been coming to Geshna hoping for a glimpse of him.

After a few minutes, she waved them away impatiently.

"What's wrong?" Tristan asked, his tone full of affected concern. "You'll find I'm an excellent listener."

She shook her head stubbornly. Hot, spirit-laden grog arrived. She pulled the pewter mug near and closed her eyes as she inhaled the aromatic steam.

Tristan prodded, "You and the king had an argument?"

"Dirk and I are over. I left him."

Before he could press her with another question, a flurry of burgundy velvet rushed across the room at Tristan. Andrea Crandall threw her arms around Tristan's neck and kissed his cheek. "Count Ildewynd!" she greeted merrily.,

Zyrdicia noted how much more animated the woman looked now than she had at Castle Blackpool after the coronation. Andrea seemed to thrive in the absence of her domineering husband. Listening to the woman's thoughts, Zyrdicia realized Andrea had recently poisoned the fat, loathsome nobleman to whom she was married. His servants would find him dead in his bed chamber in the morning. She had come out to celebrate - and look for the friend who had given her the poison.

Embarrassed, Tristan gestured for her to take note of the woman seated across from him.

Andrea's eyes widened in surprise as she looked over and recognized the queen. Flustered, she curtsied quickly and stammered, "Your Highness. Lovely to see you again."

"I congratulate you on your murder, Lady Crandall," Zyrdicia whispered, smiling thinly as she noted the other woman's sudden rush of terror.

Andrea's face drained of color. She expected Zyrdicia to call the royal guards. The penalty for murder of one's husband was death.

"Oh, please," Zyrdicia scoffed, responding to the unspoken thought. "Tonight, I would be more likely to declare the murder of husband's a civic duty. Shall I make it a divine proclamation right now, for all to hear?"

Andrea's jaw dropped in shock. She whispered urgently, "No, I beg you! Please do not draw attention to me! I would surely be executed."

Zyrdicia studied her carefully. The woman was terrified - though exhilarated by the murder. "As you wish. I find you more interesting this way. People really don't become interesting until they've killed at least once without remorse. Did Lord Crandall suffer?"

Andrea glanced quickly at Tristan, uncertain whether this was some kind of sick joke. Seeing the genuineness of the queen's expression, she smiled nervously and said, "He suffered hideously."

"Good. And you enjoyed it?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I hated him."

"Then you are worthy to sit down and join us. And address me by my name, please. I no longer have any connection to the ill-tempered, inbred clan who claims to rule this realm."

Andrea's eyes widened at the mockery of the Blackpool family. She was unsure whether Zyrdicia was joking. She weighed for a moment how to react to best gain the queen's favor. She smiled slyly, showing her appreciation for Zyrdicia's sentiment. She chose to say nothing.

Zyrdicia found she liked Andrea Crandall more than she expected. Most of the women in Karteia were hopelessly dull. But Andrea was a manipulative schemer. She was politically savvy, and a dauntless social climber. Andrea also hated Dirk, and so Zyrdicia found that they had something in common.

Zyrdicia sensed that Andrea found her fascinating. The woman was trying very hard not to stare.

Andrea blurted out, "I think I understand now why Dirk - I mean His Highness - finds you irresistible, Zyrdicia."

Zyrdicia scowled. It cut too close to the source of her bad mood.

Tristan nudged Andrea and whispered, "They're not getting along right now."

Andrea nodded sympathetically, "I'm not surprised. But it's his loss, really." After a brief pause, she whispered warmly to Zyrdicia, "He is so despicable. You have my condolences. Truly!"

"He's an ass, and I hate him. I have no plans to return to Castle Blackpool," Zyrdicia muttered matter-of-factly. "At least not until I level the castle and am ready to rip Dirk's heart from his body with my bare hands."

Andrea smiled broadly, and clapped her hands gaily. Dirk deserved to know the pain of rejection, finally. Her eyes danced in the café's warm light. She whispered merrily, "He must be devastated that you've left him. That's lovely!"

Zyrdicia pulled the thread of thought from Andrea's unresisting mind. Andrea knew Dirk's amorous history better than most. The woman was certain that Dirk had never loved anyone - until Zyrdicia. Andrea doubted whether he had even loved his parents or his nanny as a child. For years, she had thought him incapable of the emotion. But she had seen the way he looked at Zyrdicia during the coronation festivities. His eyes drank up the sight of his queen as though they could not be sated. There was a depth of passion to his merest gesture with her that Andrea found perversely beautiful to watch during the wedding - though she was terribly jealous that she had never inspired it in him.

Listening to Andrea's thoughts, Zyrdicia had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. The woman was utterly wrong about Dirk. Like everyone else, Andrea was convinced the King of the North had genuinely fallen for Zyrdicia. And like everyone else, she was a fool as far as Zyrdicia was concerned.

Through the din of conversation in the café, Zyrdicia heard a commotion out on the street. A pair of men dressed in the uniform of the elite torture trooper guard of Castle Blackpool stormed in purposefully. She recognized only one of them; the other one she had never seen before tonight.

Spotting her immediately in the crowd, they marched up to her confidently. She smiled coldly in greeting. They both bowed briefly. The room grew silent as every face turned to watch Zyrdicia's exchange with the messengers from the king.

In a voice carefully calculated to carry throughout the room, she said, "Dirk wasn't man enough to come face me in person? I'm not surprised. He wasn't man enough for anything else, either."

The men looked at each other briefly, surprised she had dared to utter such words. Several sniggers in the crowd signalled the onlookers' amusement at her impertinence.

Trevor, the soldier she recognized, suppressed a good-natured grin. Like almost every man in the northern army, he found her daring delightful. In a friendly tone, he said, "Good evening, my queen. The king sends his regards."

The one she did not recognize was displeased with his companion's warm demeanor. He shot Trevor nasty look. Zyrdicia arched a brow in surprise as she realized she could not read the new man's thoughts. Shutting her out was becoming alarmingly common. Her eyes moved over him suspiciously, appraising whether he might be a spell caster.

With perfect, business-like detachment, he pulled a gray envelope from his cloak. He offered it to her and announced curtly, "A private message from your lord, my lady."

There was a hint of accusation in his tone, a subtle reproach for her mockery of the man he served. Zyrdicia stared hard at him. She found it exceedingly odd that he could have evaded her notice at Castle Blackpool.

She affected her trademark look of perfect, contrived innocence and replied, "Dirk has never been my lord."

The knight stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. She watched him clench his jaw and pressed his lips firmly together, biting back whatever he yearned to say to her. He waited impatiently for her to take the envelope from his hand.

She stood up then, making a point to stand very close to this man. She glanced at the envelope he held, wondering briefly what nastiness it contained. She preferred not to know.

She caused Dirk's message to burst into flame. As it ignited, a bright ball of purple fire shot long streaks in all directions. The messenger tossed it away quickly, but not before his glove and forearm were singed. He glared at her silently, but did not dare to utter a rebuke.

She took a few steps away from the men, noting that the crowd of onlookers had backed away considerably once they had seen the flames erupt in the soldier's hand. She smiled sweetly at this man whose thoughts she could not read. She leaned near and whispered, "I have a reply for you to take back to your lord."

"Your message, my lady?" he asked between clenched teeth, his voice tense with anger.

Without warning, she called her hell-forged sword from the ether. She severed Trevor's head with a single, elegant stroke. The room seemed to inhale sharply in a collective gasp.

She smiled coyly at the other messenger. With the flick of a finger, the severed head moved of its own accord into her waiting hand. She tossed it lightly at the messenger as though it were a toy ball. He caught it reflexively, making an effort not to look at it.

"That is my message for Dirk. And warn him if he bothers me here in person, I'll cut off a very different head of his own."

The onlookers erupted in nervous, tittering laughter.

She thought a moment, then added, "And take every single soldier loyal to him with you out of the city when you leave. The Karteian military is henceforth banned from all of Dagonia. Any member of Dirk's army that crosses my path will be executed. I'll rain bloody bits of them down upon Castle Blackpool."

The messenger stared back at her, too stunned to reply.

Raising her voice, she added for the benefit of the crowd, "I have a Yule gift for the subjects of my barony. I declare Dagonia a free state, with no allegiance to the Blackpool Crown! Any soldier, officer, or knight wishing to defect from service to Karteia will be welcomed here and made rich."

A deafening cheer exploded in the room at the announcement.

Tristan grinned broadly. He stood up beside Zyrdicia and announced, "The County of Ildewynd proudly joins Dagonia's declaration. All men I've sent to serve the Blackpool Crown will be immediately recalled to serve in the joint defense of our newly aligned lands."

Andrea Crandall stood up then. She said matter-of-factly, "If there's to be a civil war for Yule, I add my dead husband's lands to those aligned with Zyrdicia."

The messenger turned heel and stormed out.