WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "A year ago an artist visited from your brother’s keep in Eurus. Anya commissioned a portrait done of you." Medea turned her head slightly to one side. "But I must say the portrait did not do you justice. You are far more handsome." She stood, looking down at his upturned face. "He did not capture the sensuality in those beautiful eyes. Did he, Liza?"

  "No, Highness. Not at all."

  "You flatter me, Majesty," Conar said with bewilderment. There were undercurrents shifting between the two women he could only guess at. If Queen Medea knew, as her husband obviously did, of his involvement with his own Liza, then perhaps these two women were deliberately baiting him.

  The thought didn’t set well with him.

  "I would like it if you called me ‘Mother.’ After all, I will be one to you shortly. I must see to our daughter, gentlemen. She is like all new brides and is more nervous than I would have imagined."

  "Will she be joining us for the midday meal?" Conar asked a bit too quickly.

  The Queen smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You are anxious to see her, aren’t you, Conar?"

  King Gerren cleared his throat and Conar glanced sideways at him. There was a stern look on the older man’s face. "Conar has been most anxious to meet his bride." Gerren smiled.

  Conar looked away from his father. Aye, Papa, he thought, about as anxious as I am to have a tooth pulled.

  Medea laughed. "I am afraid you shall have to wait until your wedding eve, Conar. Our customs prohibit you from seeing her face from the sunset of the day before her wedding until the ceremony has been sanctioned by a holy man. It is a pity you haven’t come to Oceania to visit over the years. You and our daughter would have had time to adjust to one another."

  Conar winced. Time to adjust? Adjust to what? His mind filled with horrible images of a hideously slick and corpulent bulk clinging tightly to his arm as he was forced to go walking in the gardens of Serenia with The Toad.

  "You must take better care of yourself, Conar," the Queen cautioned. "You look rather green."

  He stared at her and saw the same laughing humor he had seen on her husband’s face. One quick look at the servant and he saw the laughter lurking in hers as well.

  Well, he thought viciously, his forced smile hard on his lips, they all had reason to be happy. They were getting rid of the amphibious bitch!

  "I’ll be fine," he grated through his tight smile.

  "Oh, I know you will, dear," Medea told him, patting his cheek as she walked gracefully away. "Come, Liza."

  The young Prince stared after the Queen and her servant. Not only because the lady moved with a sexual grace that made men look after her, but because the servant girl limped behind her, rolling from side to side in a slight, listing gait. He turned to Shaz.

  "An accident when she was a babe. She fell beneath the wheels of my wife’s coach and her foot was crushed. We took her in to live with us mainly because Medea was so distressed the thing had happened. But there was the added incentive of a father not wanting the burden of a crippled child. More fool, he, for Liza is a delight to all who know her."

  "I am sure she is," Conar thought and wondered if something similar had not happened to their own daughter to cause her limp.

  "Enough morbidity," Shaz proclaimed. He pointed to the harpsichord. "You play, don’t you, Coni?"

  "Aye and quite well. Do play something for us, son," Gerren encouraged.

  Conar didn’t really want to, but one look at his father’s stern visage and he seated himself at the harpsichord and ran his fingers over the keys. He was quite adept at the instrument and the song he began to play was executed with style and grace. His long fingers moved over the keys much as they would have a woman’s beautiful body. "Does your daughter play as well as her mother?" he asked to fill the silence more than to actually know whether The Toad played.

  "Anya?" Shaz gasped. "No! The girl has two left hands!"

  Conar’s fingers tripped over the keys, making a mistake that caused him to wince.

  Two left hands, he thought in horror. That might even be true. How many other spare parts did the haglet have? The image of a frog with scores of arms waving in the air flitted through his mind and he banged down hard on a chord, hissing at his flub.

  "Pray, play something that does not require mistakes, Conar," Gerren suggested, much put out with his son. He wanted to show Conar in a favorable light and the brat did know how to play.

  Softly caressing the keys, running his hands up and down the keyboard, Conar lost himself in the haunting and eerie beauty of an ancient folk song he had learned two summers before. His fingers arched gracefully over the keys and he closed his eyes to the sweet, sad melody, humming it to himself.

  Gerren wholeheartedly wished he had kept his mouth shut when he asked his son the name of the beautiful piece.

  Conar glanced up at his father and held the inquisitive gaze of the older man. "Shall I sing it for you, Papa?"

  "Aye!" Gerren agreed. The boy had a good voice, as well. Not as good as the du Mer boy, but a helluva sight better than Legion! "Sing for us!"

  "The name of the song is ‘The Prince’s Lost Lady.’ In a clear, deep voice, he began to sing:

  "Where are you going, my lady, my love? Where are you going this day?

  "Said she to him, ‘It shall not take long; For I go but a very short way.’

  "And how long will you be, my lady, my love, how long will you be gone this day?

  "Said she, ‘I’ll be gone a very long while; And will not be back this way.’;

  "Will she ever return, my lady, my love?" he begged of her mother one night;

  "Said she, ‘I fear my daughter is dead; And will never return to our sight.’

  "He mourned for the lady, his lady, his love; He wept for her night and day;

  "Said he, ‘I will go to meet my love; For I believe I have found the way.’

  "He took to his bed in the fading light; Turned his eyes to the sky above;

  "Said he, ‘I seek what I know I shall find; I go to be with my love.’

  "They laid him down in the green, green grass. On the hills overlooking the town.

  "And on his grave they carved these lines: The Prince’s Lost Lady Is Found."

  Silence filled the room as the last note sounded. Conar sat over the keyboard, lost in thought. His voice had wavered on the last line and he was valiantly trying to recover his composure.

  "That was a very lovely song, Conar," Shaz said quietly, placing his hand on Conar’s slumped shoulder. "Very beautifully sung. I have heard it many, many times before, but never have I heard it sung with such emotion."

  "Thank you, Majesty," Conar answered and was surprised at the reassuring squeeze the King gave him before removing his hand. He looked up into those warm brown eyes and saw, what?—Pity?—Remorse? Surely not.

  "Will your son, Legion, be joining us, Gerren?" Shaz asked. "I have heard he is quite a warrior. I would very much like to meet him."

  "He’d be honored to meet you, Shaz." Gerren beamed.

  "And Conar?" Shaz turned to his son-in-law as Conar stood. "I hear you have a good friend here, also. Is it du Mer?"

  "Aye, Majesty," Conar agreed. "He lives with me most of the time. His father was Duke Cul du Mer of Downsgate." He frowned in concern. "Why do you ask?" He hoped Teal hadn’t already gotten into any trouble with Shaz’s entourage.

  Shaz chuckled. "I have heard he’s a very good card player and I thought we could all sit down to a game or two this afternoon after the meal. Would he join us, do you think?"

  "He’ll turn cartwheels to do so, Majesty." Conar grinned. "He feels put out when someone important comes to visit and we don’t invite him to join in."

  "Why wouldn’t you invite him?"

  "Teal isn’t known for his diplomacy, Shaz," Gerren answered for his son. "He’s a lovable young cur, but he has this impossible bad habit of not thinking before he speaks. I don’t include him all that often because you never know what he’ll come up with next. He was
a constant embarrassment to Cul. Teal’s mother was a gypsy dancer and I fear he has her love of getting into mischief."

  "So I have been told!" Shaz grinned. "My boy, Chand, shares that same trait with the du Mer lad. The boy is forever getting into things my elder boy has to get him out of. He’s taken more knocks from Grice than I can count and yet he still insists on doing things his way, right or wrong!"

  "Sound familiar, Conar?" Gerren teased. "I’ve loaned Conar more money from our treasury to pay off du Mer’s gambling debts than I have spent on anything else in the kingdom!"

  "Papa!" Conar warned, laughing at the horrible exaggeration.

  " ’Tis true!" Gerren laughed and slapped Shaz on the back. "Money that Conar has yet to pay back, at that!"

  As the three men headed for the dining hall, Conar stopped to pick up a parchment that had rolled off the hall table. Replacing the scroll, he felt a nudge along his sixth sense and glanced up to the balcony that ran above the dining hall archway. He froze.

  Standing perfectly motionless at the top of the stairs was a heavily veiled figure, her entire figure obscured by the billowing silk of her gown and silver net veil. Her hands gripped the balcony rail, her head slightly tilted to the side, and he knew her eyes were entirely on him.

  He squinted, staring up at her for a moment, his face still and calm, expressionless. The only sign of his agitation was the constantly flexing fingers by his side. He knew who he was looking at and felt a great hate well up inside him. His stare went cold and hard as steel, and his mouth filled with a bitter acid as he ground his teeth so tightly together a muscle in his jaw jumped and locked.

  It took every ounce of his manners to slightly bow his head to the woman. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t acknowledged in any way that he was staring up at her.

  It took every ounce of control he had not to openly curse her as she turned away from the balcony, her back to him. A cold, icy fury flashed through his heart as he watched her bulky figure limp away, passing out of his fine of vision.

  "Bitch!" he spat beneath his breath. "I’ll make you regret you were ever born!"

  Chapter 28

  * * *

  Legion and Teal arrived together, greeting King Shaz with a wariness that soon turned to pleasure as they got to know him. Teal was on his best behavior, after a warning by both Conar and Legion, to think before he spoke. He smiled a great deal, showing his deep dimples, and answered questions put to him with a simple yes or no.

  One man had come late to the meal, apologizing for his lack of manners, and had taken a seat next to du Mer. He greeted the King of Oceania with exquisite politeness, and had turned to his own King in recognition of the invitation to eat with King Gerren and his visitor.

  "I am honored you invited me, Highness." The man smiled. He adjusted the sleeve of his robe and dusted away a fleck of lint. "I have been anxious to meet His Highness, King Shaz. The other priests will envy me my good fortune."

  "Since it will be you who performs the ceremony, it is your right to be here," Gerren said. His eyes flicked to his son, but the young man was staring intently at his plate, his hands in his lap, his head bowed.

  "I understand you did not bring a priest from your homeland with you, King Shaz," the priest commented. "Are you willing for the wedding to be done in the name of our god, Alel?"

  "We will adhere to your son’s beliefs, Gerren. Our daughter is willing to forego a blessing by our clergy. Your religion’s dogma is not that far removed from our own."

  "Your daughter has been consecrated to the precepts of your goddess, Iluvia, has she not?" When Shaz nodded, the priest held up his hands, palms facing to the ceiling. "Well, then it is no problem. In our pantheon, the goddess is one of Alel’s many wives. According to custom, whomever is dedicated to one of His, is dedicated to Him."

  "I am sure the King knows that," Conar snapped, his head still averted from the priest.

  "I am sure he does, too, young Prince," the priest said soothingly. "I meant no offense to our guest. I am pleased you remember the precepts of our religion still, considering it has been a long while since you stepped foot inside our Temple." The priest smiled as Conar tensed, willing the young man to look up at him, but Conar adamantly kept his head down.

  A thick shock of white-blond hair covered the priest’s forehead and fell to his shoulders in long black beaded braids. Icy pale blue eyes narrowed with the intensity of his gaze upon Conar and the thin, almost transparent lashes dipped with a slow, insulting speed.

  One thin pale hand stroked his chin where a long, pointed bush of beard hung. He pulled at the goatee and tapped his index fingernail on the bristly hair. The nails were long, too long, and sharply pointed, lacquered with gold and tipped with vermilion. His hawk-like, skeletal nose dominated the thin face and his slit nostrils seem to flare in anger with each breath he took.

  Heavy folds of skin draped down from his neck to his collarbone and the flesh over his chest and upper arms was mottled with white discoloration, for he had been badly burned at some point in his life.

  With his hooded eyes never leaving Conar’s face, the priest watched as the young man laughed at something the visiting King said. The priest’s tongue came out and flicked at the left corner of his mouth, revealing yellow-stained teeth.

  From his position at the opposite side of the table, Legion studied the priest. A strong dislike, combined with a natural fear of the priesthood, made Legion wary in all his dealings with this particular priest. Unfortunately due to the man’s elevated rank within the priesthood, the cleric was allowed free access to all social gatherings within the keep. Thankfully, he rarely attended unless Conar was there, as well.

  Legion often caught the priest staring at his young brother with the same loathing he was exhibiting now. His uncanny surveillance of Conar, his eerie way of never wavering his attention when Conar was present at the table, unnerved Legion. It was almost like watching a snake mesmerizing its prey before lunging for the kill. Even when the priest was asked a direct question, he never took his eyes from Conar, who made it a point not to look in the man’s direction if he could prevent himself from doing so.

  Legion had suspected for a long time there was something between the two men, but even though he had asked Conar on several occasions why he appeared so ill at ease in the man’s presence, Conar consistently refused to say why.

  Kaileel Tohre knew Conar’s bastard brother was studying him. It didn’t matter. He continued to watch Conar. Nothing could have prevented him from doing so. His close scrutiny of the young Prince seated down the table was the only thing of importance to him. Knowing his unwavering inspection made the young man nervous immensely pleased Kaileel Tohre. Every movement, every word, every facial expression, every breath Conar took, he carefully examined. If Conar raised his hand to sweep back a heavy fall of blond hair, Kaileel followed his hand until it was down again. If Conar got up from the table to get something from the sideboard, the hawk-like eyes would make every step with him, missing nothing the young man did.

  Tohre grinned, for he caught the flicker of blue eyes—nervous, uneasy, fearful—slip his way and then hastily lower. He sat back in his chair, pressing his fingers together under his chin as he studied his former pupil. It delighted Kaileel Tohre to see the young Prince so jittery. He always was when in Tohre’s presence. This eve, Conar was more unnerved than ever, most likely due to his impending marriage; but his fidgeting and his deliberate snubbing of Tohre were signs the young man’s neurotic tendencies were close to the surface.

  And that pleased Tohre even better.

  Teal du Mer, who was seated beside the priest and not at all happy with the position, asked Conar a question and the Prince turned in Teal’s direction. There was a smile on his face and he was about to answer when his attention was caught by a movement of Kaileel’s hand and his eyes involuntarily strayed to the man’s cadaverous face.

  It was as though a bucket of icy water had been thrown on him. Conar’s smile vanished, hi
s body tensed. He held Tohre’s hateful stare, unable to break the gaze locked with his own. A look of pain passed quickly over his suddenly still face. Something strange shadowed Conar’s eyes as the priest sat forward and began playing idly with the candle flame in front of him, a sinister grin on his thin mouth.

  Kaileel moved his gaze away, but not before everyone had seen the malicious smile that spread over the priest’s face as Conar lowered his head and stared at his lap.

  Conar could only shake his head at Teal’s repeated question, no doubt repeated to break the silence that had settled over the table. Kaileel Tohre’s direct gaze had stunned him, and he found his body shaking uncontrollably. He swallowed and willed his heart to stop the erratic beat it had started at the precise moment his gaze had met Tohre’s. He flinched as the steward moved beside him and offered fresh wine. Glancing up at the steward, he nodded.

  Tohre smiled as Conar’s wine was poured.

  Conar could feel Tohre looking at him again. He always felt Tohre’s stare every time he was near the priest, but tonight he was feeling it more keenly than ever. He glanced at his half-eaten food and his stomach heaved. There was no way he could eat now. He had only sipped at his wine during the meal, his head still a little numb from the morning’s unwise consumption. He had not been allowed wine with his midday meal and he knew his father was watching him closely for this one. When the servant placed the goblet before him, he glanced at his father with pleading and was surprised when the King nodded his reluctant permission. He hastily reached for the goblet and drained the pale pink liquid.

  "Is the wine to your taste, Your Grace?" Tohre inquired. When the prince did not answer, the high priest leaned back in the chair and cocked his head to one side.

  Conar wiped his mouth with his napkin, his attention on King Shaz’s rambling tale of horse trades. He listened for a moment and then his attention wandered. He looked at Legion and smiled as his brother winked at him. He took a deep breath and tried to regain his focus on what Shaz was saying, but found he could not concentrate. He looked to the head of the table where his father sat.