Soul of the Fire

He didn't doubt that the women of the estate were agitated that Claudine was scheming to bring trouble. Many of those wives had been with the Minister, seduced by the heady air of power around the man. Dalton had reason to suspect many who had not been to the Minister's bed wanted to end there. Bertrand either simply hadn't gotten to them yet, or didn't wish to. Most likely the former; he tended to appoint men to the estate only after he'd met their wives, too. Dalton had already had to turn down a perfectly good man as regent because Bertrand thought his wife too plain.

Not only was there no end to the women swooning to fall under the man, but he was a glutton about it. Even so, he had certain standards. Like many men as they got older, he savored youth.

He was able to indulge his wont for voluptuous young women without needing, as most men passing fifty, to go to prostitutes in the city. In fact, Bertrand Chanboor avoided such women like the plague, fearing their virulent diseases.

Other men his age who could have young women no other way, and could not resist, did not get a chance to grow much older. Nor did the young women. Disease swiftly claimed many.

Bertrand Chanboor, though, had his pick of a steady supply of healthy young women of limited experience, and standards. They flew, of their own accord, into that candle flame of high rank and nearly limitless authority.

Dalton ran the side of his finger gently along Teresa's cheek. He was fortunate to have a woman who shared his ambition but, unlike many others, was discerning in how to go about it.

"I love you, Tess."

Surprised by his sudden tender gesture, she took his hand in both of hers and planted kisses all along it.

He didn't know what he could possibly have done in his life to deserve her. There had been nothing about him that would augur well for his ever having a woman as good as Teresa. She was the one thing in his life he had not earned by sheer force of will, by cutting down any opposition, eliminating any threat to his goal. With her, he had simply been helplessly hi love.

Why the good spirits chose to ignore the rest of his life and reward him with this plum, he couldn't begin to guess, but he would take it and hold on for dear life.

Business intruded on his lustful wanderings as he stared into her adoring eyes.

Claudine would require attention. She needed to be silenced, and before she could cause trouble. Dalton ticked off favors he might have to offer her in return for seeing the sense in silence. No one, not even Lady Chanboor, gave much thought to the Minister's dalliances, but an accusation of rape by a woman of standing would be troublesome.

There were Directors who adhered to ideals of rectitude. The Directors of the Office of Cultural Amity held sway over who would be Sovereign. Some wanted the next Sovereign to be a man of moral character. They could deny an initiate the Seat.

After Bertrand Chanboor was named Sovereign, it would not matter what they thought, but it certainly mattered before.

Claudine would have to be silenced. "Dalton, where are you going?"

He turned back from the door. "I just have to write a message and then send it oh its way. I won't be long."

CHAPTER 18

Nora stirred with a groan, thinking it must be light already. Her thoughts rumbled woodenly in the numb blur between asleep and awake. She wanted nothing so much as to sleep on. The straw beneath her was bunched just right. It always bunched just right in perfect, comfortable, cuddling lumps, right as it was time to be up and out of bed.

She expected her husband to slap her rump any moment. Julian always woke just before first light. The chores had to be done. Maybe if she lay still, he would leave her be for just a few moments longer, let her sleep for a few dreamy minutes more.

She hated him at that moment, for always waking just before first light and slapping her rump and telling her to get up and to the day's work. The man had to whistle first thing, too, when her head was still a daze in the morning, rickety with sleep still trying to get out of her head.

She flopped over on her back, lifting her eyebrows in an effort to wake by forcing her eyes open. Julian wasn't there beside her.

A feeling skittered up her insides, bringing her wide awake in an ice cold instant. She sat up in the bed. For some reason, something about him not being there gave her a feeling of queasy dismay.

Was it morning? Just about to be light? Was it still somewhere in the night? Her mind snatched wildly to get her bearings.

She leaned over, seeing the glow from the embers she'd banked in the hearth before she went to bed. A few on the top still glowed, hardly diminished at all from the way she'd left them. In that weak light, she saw Bruce peering at her from his pallet.

"Mama? What's wrong?" his older sister, Bethany, asked.

"What are you two doing awake?"

"Mama, we just gone to bed," Bruce whined.