Paladin

Chapter 27 Part Uno

After making some inquiries, Tristan learned that he was to meet Sander Branimir at the singular marble castle in the heart of the city. The Beyaz Kale – translated as “White Castle” in the modern tongue – was an amazing feat of architecture, as old as Luca itself. For centuries it was the primary home of the King and Queen, until the demon plague drove the royal family east. Now it apparently belonged to the Uriel.

Tristan rode his horse up the steep ascent to the ancient castle. Up close, the Beyaz Kale glowed in the fading evening light, and gemstones inlaid in the white marble walls twinkled like stars. A groom awaited him at the top of the path, and Tristan handed him the reins to his horse reluctantly. The stables were in a small, separate building, making a quick escape impossible.

The arched doorway to the main building was open, and Tristan let himself in, though not without trepidation. The richly decorated vestibule was dimly lit, empty apart from a solitary man of above average height, his face half hidden in shadow. The man closed in on Tristan slowly, as if he were approaching a skittish cat.

Shadows shifted, and Tristan could see white teeth in a crooked grin and a misshapen nose that had been broken several times over. They belonged to a rough, handsome face, etched with the deep lines of a man who laughed regularly and often. Strands of silver and gray threaded through hair that was once dark red, tufts of white curling around his ears and temples. He wore simple but finely tailored clothes, elegant enough for polite company but not so elaborate that he couldn’t jump into action if the need arose.

The man extended a callused hand. “Sander Branimir.” His voice was low and gravelly, but not unpleasant.

Tristan blinked back his surprise and returned the man’s grip. He had expected to first meet with a servant or a lieutenant, not Sander straightaway. “Tristan Lyons.”

Hazel eyes searched the room. “Your trainees, they did not come?”

“No,” Tristan said. “Perhaps there are things you would say that I would not want them to hear.” He had learned long ago that the best lies were rooted in truth.

“You distrust me.” It was a statement, not a question.

Tristan lifted his chin. “So I do.” That was no lie, not by half.

Sander chuckled. “Honesty is always appreciated.” And damn if Tristan didn’t feel a pang of guilt at that. Sander said, “Dinner awaits us in the tower, if you’ll believe my promise that the food isn’t poisoned. It’s a long way up, so we can chat while we walk.”

Together, they climbed the timber treads of the staircase that wrapped around the entire interior. Sander had not exaggerated when he said the climb was lengthy; there must have been more than a thousand stairs to the top. While his leg muscles throbbed with a dull ache, Tristan had ample time to absorb his surroundings.

Tristan’s right hand brushed over the black balustrade. “When I had heard last, the earl of Luca resided in this building.” A nastier man there had never been, too.

“He passed on eight years ago.”

“Had he no heir?” Tristan asked. He wanted to know how the Beyaz Kale had fallen into Uriel hands.

Sander’s eyes took on a faraway look. “He had a daughter.”

“Ah yes, I remember her now.” Tristan had met the earl’s daughter once and recalled she was quite lovely, although a great deal older than he, and very kind. Nothing like her father. “A good woman.”

“Aye, it’s why I married her.”

Tristan’s hand stilled on the railing. Sander was married to an earl’s daughter? He had been under the impression that the Uriel was peasant-born. “I wasn’t aware you were of the aristocracy.”