To Kill a Nightingale

Epilogue: Possessions

Grim-faced men rarely brought good tidings, but then she never expected her underlings to be anything but grim-faced. She never expected good tidings, either.

Keeping her face impassively haughty, she watched the hygienically challenged men-of-arms file in. Five of them altogether. Then their first in command met her eye with an immediate obsequious bow.

"Quite the time of day for armed men to race into my bedchambers," she said coldly.

The man, Gunnar, looked perplexed. "Madam, I . . . eh, I mean, you called us?"

Maven felt like grinning contemptuously at the fool. But did not. "As you say." With some satisfaction, she noted that her carefully enunciated words seemed to make him feel precisely as stupid and small as they were intended to. She never ceased to be amazed by how the lesser people could be so thoroughly manipulated with just a few simple words stressed just the proper way.

Her eye traveled to the gruff men. Three of them were old faces. But one was a fresh one. A young fellow with a pretty face crowning a burly figure. Her daughter, Ingun, mostly handled the recruiting these days, and it was evident that the girl had inherited her good tastes.

As the young man's eyes met hers, he flashed her a dazzling smile. Concealing the feeling it gave her, she simply narrowed her eyes the faintest touch, then addressed Gunnar again. "So, bad news all around, then?"

He gave her his best grim nod. "Aye, Madam. The Nightingale, it seems, is dead."

Maven shook her head. "Runa Fair-Shield, then?"

"She's the only possible one," Gunnar replied.

"How in the world did the bitch manage that?" she muttered.

"Madam, I think maybe—"

"I wasn't asking you, idiot! The day I come to you for analysis on complex matters then pray do contact my physician, as it's become evident I've finally lost my mind!"

The laughable dolt went red. To his credit, he had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

"But that's not all, is it?"

Confusion. "Madam?"

"That stumpy fool was not the only casualty of note left behind by that insufferable woman."

After a quick blinking at the irreverence she afforded at the Nightingale, Gunnar cleared his throat. "Eh, no. I mean, I'm not sure I—"

"Jesper!" she cried, waving a hand and drawing a flinch from the man. "She got him, didn't she?"

"Ah. Yes, I, uh, I'm afraid that did happen."

That little idiot! She had sent him to do one simple job: to lure Runa into the Nightingale's trap. How in the world did the pup manage to get into fatal contact with her! With a small pang of regret, Maven reflected on the nights spent with the eager dunce over the years. Truly, what he had lacked in wits he had compensated with interest in other areas.

She felt anger flaring.

"It's obvious," she grated, "that I cannot leave it at that."

Gunnar, after a second's consideration, wisely seemed to judge it best to keep his silence.

"But what am I going to do with the woman? I do owe her . . ."

"If you don't mind me saying," Gunnar managed, clearing his throat. He went on in spite of Maven's glare clearly indicating that she did indeed mind. "Even if you do owe her, that doesn't mean you need let—"

"I said I owe her," she interrupted frigidly. "I didn't say what, exactly, I owe her." She gave a resolute nod. "No one gets away with destroying my property without retaliation. It's obvious she needs to pay. Only . . . how?"

No one had any suggestions, at least. Good for them, as it would have been a pity to end such a day with having some loose-flapped fool flayed.

She flicked her fingers. "Leave me, I have to think." As they were promptly about to follow her command, she pointed at the new fellow. "Not you. You stay."

"Ma'am," he said, remaining where he was. Plainly unable to conceal his pleasure.

She walked over to a small table with a bottle of red wine, pouring herself a glass. Drinking, she thought back on the long years that she'd been in charge of the Rift. Laila Law-Giver, her processor as the Jarl, had been one of those idealistic nimrods with high principles combined with utter blindness to the real state of things. In effect, during the naïve woman's reign, Maven had already ruled the Hold. But it had been only after she'd officially taken over, provided with not only the full support of the High Queen but the patronage of much higher powers, that the golden age had truly begun.

But she hadn't made the place what it was today, made of herself the power that she had, by being soft. Certainly not by letting people continuously get in her face.

She swirled the wine in the goblet, in thought, tapping one claw against the marbled surface of the table. "I've let that Fair-Shield get away with it for far too long. Never mind her mother. That woman's time has passed as well." No, she couldn't get old loyalties stand in her way. Not considering what was at stake. Not with the future she was very much looking forward to.

What is loyalty when compared to . . . immortality?

Her reveries were interrupted by the sound of a cleared throat.

"Uh, ma'am?"

Maven looked over, almost having forgotten about the young man.

"Ah, of course." She gestured. "Get undressed and go wait for me in bed."

With not much of a pause, he nodded, his eyes bright. "Aye."

Maven finished her drink, staring at the wall. If she knew one thing, it was how to handle people. Even people as difficult as Runa Fair-Shield. Killing the Nightingale, she would make her see, was nothing.

She smiled, setting the goblet down. "I grant you your life," she muttered. "And I can take it away."

Maven Black-Briar walked over to lock the door. Then over to bed where the eager young man waited, undressed, a smile on his lips. As eager to please her as everyone else was.