by J F Rivkin
Nyctasia sat up and regarded him with a challenging air, one eyebrow lifted.
“And how is that, pray?”
He grinned. “Simply by confessing that I’m thoroughly exhausted.”
Nyctasia was on her feet at once. “For someone who only met me yesterday, you know me remarkably well,” she admitted. “Come along-back to bed with you straightway.”
“I don’t need more sleep, I’ve had sleep enough for a legion. I just want a bit of rest.”
“No matter. It’s time I had another look at your arm, so you’ll have to lie down, like it or not as you choose.”
“My arm feels fine, so long as I don’t disturb it.”
“That’s well, but I’m going to change the dressing anyway, so you may as well save your breath.”
“And to think I’ve been wondering how such a mild, sweet maid could be ruler of a city!” Erystalben complained, well pleased with his success at making her forget her lost love. Seeing that it pained her to speak of him, he had determined to distract her. Not only was he grieved at her distress, but it grieved him all the more to see how much she still cared for Lord Thierran. A dead rival could sometimes be the most difficult to defeat.
He hissed with pain as Nyctasia carefully removed the bandages and examined his torn flesh. Satisfied that it was healing cleanly, she spread a grayish ointment on a clean piece of soft cloth and laid it over the wound, then bound fresh bandages around his arm. “Sorry, love. I tried to be quick.”
“You do it well,” he said reassuringly. And it was true, she had a deft, expert touch with the materials. “You could be a physician.”
“I don’t believe I could, not truly, though I’d like to learn. From the first, I studied texts of healing above all else, but I was seeking a way to cure myself, not others-and perhaps I still am. A true healer ought to be selfless.”
“And have you known many who were so?”
“Well, no, not many,” laughed Nyctasia. “There’s something in that.” She leaned down to kiss him and said, “You stay right there for now. This is the last of my unguent of mendersleaf. I’ll fetch more from an apothecary in Chiastelm while you’re resting. I’ll be back by dark, I should think.”
“Why not send someone for it?”
“The herbalist’s an old friend of mine. I want to have a good gossip with her.
She’d like to know that you’ve come home.” And Maegor wouldn’t give Elixir of Painshade to a messenger, but Nyctasia said nothing of that yet.
“Do I know her?”
“You’ve met her, but you don’t know her well,” Nyctasia said evasively. The two had not taken to one another, in fact. “I’ll give her your regards, shall I? And don’t stir from that bed until I’m back, you mark me!”
From long habit, Maegor did not greet Nyctasia by name before her other customers, She merely chided, “Must you bring that monstrous hound of yours in here? There’s scarce room enough as it is. Take him out back at once, and don’t let him dig up my herb beds!” No listener would have supposed that the Rhaicime of Rhostshyl was being addressed in such a way.
“Yes, Maeg,” Nyctasia said tamely. “Come, Grey.” She led him out through the storeroom, pausing to steal a handful of currants from the bin.
Only when she’d rid the shop of everyone else did Maegor join Nyctasia in the kitchen garden. Greymantle, recognizing her scent as that of someone who’d often given him nice meaty soupbones, fawned on her shamelessly until she shooed them both into the kitchen. “I might as well give you a meal too, ’Tasia. You look as if you haven’t eaten in a fortnight, as always, and I see you’ve been into the currants already.”
“No one ever lets me have sweets enough,” Nyctasia lamented. “I don’t need a meal, Maeg. I’ve come for some Painshade.”
Maegor frowned. “Again? If you’re still troubled by sleeplessness-”
“It’s not for me, it’s for ’Ben,” Nyctasia said with a smile. “He’s come back.”
“Oh, ’Tasia, I’m glad for you! But-why does he need Painshade? Is he ill?”
Nyctasia related what little she knew of Lord Erystalben’s plight, including his mishap with Greymantle. “I’m not sure what to make of these dreams of his,” she concluded. “He’s not said much, but I don’t like the look of it.”
“A spell of Perilous Threshold…” Maegor mused. “He was fortunate to lose no more than his memory. Still, he’s to be pitied. It’s a hard welcome, to find you at last, only to be attacked by your dog, and then to learn that you’re about to be married to someone else.”
“In the vahn’s name, how do such rumors get about? I haven’t even met Aithrenn of Ochram, much less agreed to a marriage-treaty. But the matter seems to have been settled without me. Even here in Chiastelm it’s common knowledge! I suppose there’s nothing for me to do but consent, since it’s plain that everyone on the coast approves.”
“Erystalben won’t approve.”
“He wouldn’t have liked it before, but now, I’m not sure. He’s changed, Maeg.
It’s as if… well, do you remember the divination I nearly always used to receive when I cast the lots?”
Maegor nodded. “The number fourteen.
‘To thee hath fallen the fourteenth lot:
To have thy desire, yet have it not.’
The most ambiguous of the answers.”
“Yes, and the two texts closely agree on the augury for fourteen, though they differ for most numbers. The Celys Oracle says:
‘Thou hast cast the lot Fourteen.
Now good and ill thou liest between.
Thy wish the fates will not fulfill,
Yet in a manner, so they will.’
I always favored the interpretation that one may win one’s heart’s desire, and then discover that one no longer desires it. But since I lost ’Ben, my desire has been for his return, and now I have him back-and yet I don’t. He doesn’t know me, and I hardly feel that I know him.”
“But you care for him still?”
“Vahn, yes! As much as ever. Isn’t that strange?”
“No, not so very strange. Perhaps you never really knew him.”
“Maeg, I know you thought ’Ben proud and cold, but-”
“Never mind, ’Tasia. Certainly you knew him better than I. But sometimes the ones we love best are those we know least. That is no secret.” She stood and lightly caressed Nyctasia’s check. “I’ll give you the Painshade, if you insist, but are you sure that he must have it?”
“No, not altogether, but there’s none at the Smugglers’ House, and I want to have some at hand, in case he should need it while we’re there.”
“Very well, but don’t give it to him unless it’s necessary. It’s not to be trifled with.”
“I know. I’ll be careful, though it’s never done me any harm.”
“You haven’t lost quantities of blood-or your memory-recently. And even so, because it’s never harmed you before, don’t suppose that it never will. You oughtn’t to take it any oftener than you can help.”
“I don’t, Maeg, honestly. And I mix it very weak.”
“That’s of no consequence. You’re so small and slight that a weak draught affects you as a powerful one affects others. Once in a great while, it won’t hurt you, but taken any oftener it could be dangerous.”
“Well, don’t worry, Maeg,” said Nyctasia, with a sudden wicked grin. “Perhaps
’Ben won’t need it, and once he’s healed and has his strength back, I expect I’ll have much less trouble sleeping at night!”
But the following night, he woke again, shivering and groaning in terror, as Nyctasia bent over him, softly calling his name. He clutched at her desperately with his good hand, so hard that he hurt her arm, but she only stroked his face and said, “You’re all right now, ’Ben. You’re here with me.”
Again, he had been walking aimlessly through the Forest, listening to the whispers and the distant singing, when a grey bird lit on his shoulder and stole one o
f his golden earrings. He’d followed it frantically, knowing the danger of letting the Yth keep anything of his, but the bird had led him on, flitting always out of his reach. It would alight for a moment, then take wing just as his hands were about to close upon it, drawing him ever farther into the depths of the Forest. Finally it swooped low over a pool to drink, and let the earring fall, then flew off into the trees with a liquid trill of song.
When he leaned over the pool to retrieve the earring, he saw his reflection appear, with its one earring on the opposite side from the one he still wore, but the face seemed to smile at him, though he was not smiling himself. It was but a trick of the moving lights and shadows on the water, he thought, yet it frightened him nevertheless, for no reason that he could call to mind. The image shattered and melted away as he reached into the pool, groping for the gleam of gold at the bottom. But what his fingers felt, half buried in the soft silt, was the features of a human face.
Snatching back his arm in horror, he stared down into the pool, but saw only his reflection re-forming as the water grew still again. But now it wore two earrings, and it grinned at him in triumph.
Somehow this nightmare had left him more terror-stricken than all the others, and this time he told Nyctasia everything that he had dreamt from the first.
“Could a-a creature of the Yth take on the form and flesh of a human being?” he asked her afterward.
“Yes…” Nyctasia said uneasily, “but it couldn’t leave the Forest, ’Ben.
Nothing of Yth-kind will set foot outside the Forest. They believe it would be their death.”
“But suppose it no longer knew itself for an Ythling? What then?”
“No, no, put such mad fancies out of your head, love. Such a thing cannot happen, in very truth. It’s only the old ballad you’re dreaming of, the song of the demon bridegroom-”
He shook his head. “I know no song like that.”
“You do, ’Ben, I’ve sung it for you many times. You may not remember it while you wake, but you know it still, for you’ve dreamt it from first to last. The true groom is lured away by the spell-song and taken by the Forest, and a demon-creature returns in his place. But it’s only a song. Nothing of the sort has happened to you, I promise you! It’s as I told you, ’Ben-no Ythling ever shed such human blood as you did!”
She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she felt him relax a little, and heard his breathing grow calmer. She believed all that she had told him, but she wished she were as absolutely certain as she’d pretended to be. What disturbed her was not the unlikely idea that he might be some inhuman creature spawned by magic, but the realization that she didn’t care what he was, as long as he was hers again. “It’s the spell of Perilous Threshold that’s made you a stranger to yourself,” she said confidently. “But you’re not a stranger to me, believe me.”
“I believe you,” he answered flatly, “but I want to leave for Rhostshyl today, do you understand?”
“You’re right, I think. We’ll go,” Nyctasia promised. “I’ve made arrangements, we can set out whenever we choose.”
It might be wiser to wait until his arm was further healed, but his peace of mind was worth the risk of an uncomfortable journey. And even if Rhostshyl failed to fulfill his hopes, still Nyctasia had begun to suspect that he might be better off anywhere than at the haunted Smugglers’ House.
15
nyctasia was rather alarmed to be met on the road to Salten not only by Corson but by Lord Therisain and an escort of guard as well. Since she and Erystalben were traveling slowly, she had sent a messenger ahead to inform a few of her trusted allies of her coming, but this had been a mere courtesy on her part. She had not expected a retinue to accompany her on her return to the city. She had guards enough from the Smugglers’ House in attendance.
They had evidently been watching for her approach, for they galloped to meet her, causing her escort to surround her with swords drawn, until she recognized Corson in the lead. “What is it?” she called, as they drew near. “Is something wrong?”
Lord Therisain greeted her coldly. “Was this necessary, Nyctasia?” he demanded.
Thinking that he referred to her sudden disappearance from Rhostshyl, Nyctasia replied, “It seemed so to me. If the city cannot survive a few days without me, it is in a poor way indeed. Has something happened in my absence? Is Tiambria all right?”
“There, now do you see?” Corson broke in impatiently. “I told you she knew nothing about it. Nyc, Tiambria’s fine, it’s the Lady Lhejadis-she’s been poisoned, and everyone thinks you were responsible.”
“What else are we to think, when you vanished on the very morning Lhejadis was stricken?” Therisain asked in an angry whisper, drawing Nyctasia apart from the rest. “Are you completely mad, ’Tasia? This was the worst possible thing to do at this time!”
“Jade?” said Nyctasia, still bewildered. “Oh, vahn, no! Don’t talk nonsense.
Therisain. I’d no reason to poison her.”
He had not actually expected her to deny it-not to him. “Who else had a reason?
She maligned you openly, everyone knows that.”
“All the more reason for me to spare her! I’d only confirm her slanders if I silenced her. My best defense was to let her be.”
“Eh-but that’s what I hoped to make you see,” Therisain said uncertainly.
“That’s why I came to fetch you. If you make haste you might be in time to save her.”
“What! Do you mean that she’s still alive?”
“She was this morning, but the physicians haven’t much hope for her. If you-”
“Why didn’t you say so at once, man, in the vahn’s name? There’s not a moment to lose!” Wheeling her horse around, she trotted back to Erystalben and leaned from the saddle to kiss him quickly. “I’m sorry, love, I can’t wait for you. I must get to the city without delay. Stay in Salten tonight as we planned and rest that arm-promise me!”
“All right, but what-”
“I’ve no time-don’t worry-I’ll see you soon, Therisain, you remember Erystalben ar’n Shiastred. He doesn’t remember you, but he’ll explain that. See that he reaches his people. Corson, you’ll come with me-?” Without waiting for anyone to reply, she spurred her horse to a gallop and was soon riding as fast as she dared through the village, with Corson close behind her and Greymantle racing at her side.
Nyctasia had sent word only that she was coming, not where she had been, but Corson was not much surprised to see that Lord Erystalben was with her. Little could surprise Corson anymore, where Nyctasia and her affairs were concerned.
When they stopped to water their horses at a farmhouse, she only asked, “It is him, isn’t it?”
She thought Nyctasia hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yes. Oh, yes, it’s ’Ben.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Nyctasia sent her a sidelong glance. “He suspects that you want to kill any man who takes an interest in me.”
“Rutting insolent jackass!” Corson blustered, her face flushing. “He’s welcome to you-and you to him! The pair of you deserve each other.” Determined to change the subject, she asked, “How did you know Lord Collarbone was at the Smugglers’
House in the first place?”
“I didn’t know. I went there to look for myself, and found him.”
Corson didn’t ask her to explain this cryptic remark. In her experience, Nyctasia’s explanations generally created as much mystery as they dispelled,
“Well, why’s his arm in a sling? He was all right when I left him.”
“Greymantle misunderstood his intentions toward me. I was so shocked to see him there that I all but swooned, and when ’Ben tried to catch me, Grey attacked him.”
Hearing his name, the dog trotted over to them, wagging his tail and still panting from his long run. Corson patted him. “Good lad. Grey! I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“You needn’t gloat, Corson, He nearly bled to death.”
“I came to warn you he was there-it’s your fault if you go haring off like that without letting me know.”
And if Jade dies that will be my fault too, Nyctasia thought grimly. If I’d let Therisain know where to find me, he could have fetched me back sooner to save her. And now he thinks I don’t trust him. That probably vexes him more than the belief that I’d poison Jade. I must show him some sign of my faith and favor soon. It won’t do to occupy myself so with reconciling my enemies that I forget my friends.
It was just to get away from such concerns that she’d gone to the house by the sea, and she still believed that she’d been right to do so. But perhaps she’d had no right to be so secretive, after all. Did the Principles not say, “The only one who is free is the one who has no heart”?
“You’re right, of course,” she said to Corson. “I won’t do it again, I promise you.” In spite of everything, she could still surprise Corson from time to time.
Though Nyctasia had been suspected of poisoning the Lady Mhairestri, the accusation had never been widely believed. The matriarch had been so advanced in years, and her health so uncertain, that folk were ready enough to accept her death as the course of nature. But Lhejadis, who was young and strong, would be another matter. Her death would not only look like Nyctasia’s work, but would seem to confirm the rumors about Mhairestri’s murder as well. Lhejadis was the perfect target for those who wished to discredit Nyctasia.
“Why didn’t I foresee this and warn her?” Nyctasia reproached herself. “I sent the children away, to protect them-thank the vahn!-but Jade was always in greater danger than they.” As Erikasten had argued, Mhairestri’s followers wanted to see Leirven and Deirdras take their places among Rhostshyl’s rulers.
But Lhejadis was of no great value to them. To check Nyctasia’s power would be well worth the sacrifice of a pawn like Jade.
“But she’d never have believed a warning from me,” Nyctasia thought. “And if I’d tried to send her away, she’d have refused to go.” Lhejadis was not a child, nor a commoner like Rehal, nor was she Nyctasia’s ward, like Erikasten. She was of age and might do as she pleased, and if Nyctasia had forced her into exile, it would have been said that she’d been murdered. But now that would be said anyway, and with better reason! It seemed that any action or failure to act would have endangered either Lhejadis or Nyctasia herself.