Free The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) by J.L. Doty

easy way of explaining her actions now.
    AnnaRail came to her rescue. “No, mother. Morgin played a significant role in events that will shape the future, and we’re trying to understand that. Nicki and I have discussed this.” AnnaRail’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Nicki. “We also agreed that she wouldn’t attempt such powerful spell-crafting without my knowledge.”
    NickoLot looked at Olivia. “I thought you wouldn’t approve.”
    Olivia frowned. “Me? Not approve of powerful spell-crafting? Why, child, I’ve encouraged you every day of your life to push yourself. You clearly have far more ability than most, and you have the control to exercise it properly. What I disapprove of is your recklessness. I won’t stop you from such spell-crafting, nor will I disapprove of it. But you should have your mother, or me, present to ward you.”
    AnnaRail added, “She is right, daughter. But you’re wrong about these items. They didn’t all belong to Morgin. Not truly.”
    Nicki frowned and looked at her mother, trying to understand how she could be so wrong. “Of course they were Morgin’s. They were in a chest in his room.”
    AnnaRail leaned forward and carefully slid the comb, polished stones and hairs to one side. “These were Morgin’s. The rest . . .” She waved a hand, indicating the knife, pendant, shard of mirror, and feathers. “Rat was carrying the knife when Roland found him. The rest I retrieved from his lair. So in many ways they did not belong to Morgin. Rat valued them in some way, and they belonged to him.”
    ••••
    Chrisainne hated stitchery, found it a boring drudge. But on this quiet afternoon she must sit with Theandrin, BlakeDown’s wife, and pretend she found it rewarding. She’d much rather be riding that strong, young stable boy. He’d proven to have quite a bit of stamina, and she took far greater pleasure from him than she did from that pig BlakeDown, or her own husband for that matter.
    Theandrin put her stitchery hoop down and sighed. “I tire of this,” she said. She had clearly been quite beautiful when younger, was even now, in middle age, a handsome woman with pale-brown hair and attractive blue eyes. Chrisainne had gone to considerable trouble, had employed the best of her magic and powers to ensure that the older woman heard not the slightest hint of her seduction of BlakeDown.
    Chrisainne put her hoop down. “Yes. It isn’t the most entertaining of pastimes.”
    Theandrin stood and walked over to the room’s single window. Looking at something outside in the castle yard, she said, “I worry about this border situation with Elhiyne. It grows less stable every day, and neither of us can afford war. But each day seems to bring a new escalation of the tension, as if someone actually wants us to war. And my husband refuses to keep me informed of the latest developments. I’m forced to listen to rumors from the servants, and I do not like conjecture.”
    If only Valso could hear Theandrin’s words, he’d be even more pleased with Chrisainne. “Yes, Your Ladyship, it is troubling. But surely no one would want to see war between us, at least no one in the Lesser Clans.”
    Theandrin turned a bit and looked at Chrisainne. “You’re quite right; no one in the Lesser Clans. But the Decouix king would like nothing more than to see us tear each other apart.”
    Chrisainne’s heart beat just a little faster. “Do you believe that Valso is interfering in some way?”
    “No. I’ve carefully checked all our border lieutenants and everyone else involved. And I’ve put certain safeguards in place. None of them are working for Valso.” She extended a hand. “Come, child. Bring an old woman some comfort.”
    Chrisainne stood and crossed the room, took Theandrin’s hand in both of hers. “You’re cold,” she said. She clutched the older woman’s hand close to her breast and rubbed it to warm it. The courtyard below the window bustled with the daily routine of