Mistress of Ambiguities

by J F Rivkin

  “The Lady Nyctasia, do you mean?” ’Malkin interrupted, diplomatically ignoring the threat against himself. “Did you actually lay hands on her? I took her for a servant-wench myself when I first saw her, and gave her a friendly pat on the posterior. Now that was awkward if you like-”

  “Oh, you’re that one,” said Steifann. “Well, I wouldn’t think you’d want anything to do with Corson, then.”

  “I don’t,” said ’Malkin, with unmistakable sincerity. “But I have to fetch Lady Nyctasia’s books from her, and deliver a letter to her. If I had my way, she’d be food for crows. Of all the insufferable savages it has ever been my misfortune to meet, that one is the most treacherous and vicious!”

  Far from resenting this vilification of Corson’s character, Steifann altogether approved of ’Malkin’s attitude. There were far too few people, in his opinion, who wanted nothing to do with Corson. “Isn’t she, though?” he said genially. “I don’t know why I put up with her. Once the City Governors made me close my doors for a week after a fight she started in here. Fined me a pretty penny, too. I sent her packing then and there, I can tell you, but no matter how often I put her out, she always turned up again.”

  “That’s nothing to the trouble she can cause! We were both jailed for nearly a fortnight in Larkmere, once, because she attacked an officer of the night watch.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it-”

  Steifann clapped him on the shoulder. “Come have a drink! Corson’s in the back.

  Trask!” he called, “Fetch some of Nyc’s fancy wine for our guest!”

  “Why, it’s ’Malkin. What are you doing here?” Corson asked. “Have you lost your place at court already? We could do with another scullion, if you’re out of work.”

  “I’ve come for Nyc’s books, of course,” ’Malkin said curtly, sounding as if he had never referred to Nyctasia in any other way.

  Taking his cue from this, Trask said-omitting the “sir”-“’Malkin, welcome to the Hare! It’s not the palace, perhaps, but we serve as fine a wine as you’ll find outside the Valleylands.” He poured ’Malkin a generous measure of a tawny gold wine, and presented it to him with a playful bow.

  “This is good,” he said appreciatively. “It has a nice bite to it.”

  “That’s why they named it after me,” Corson said with a snap of her teeth.

  “We were just talking of you,” said Steifann. “Our friend here was telling me a most interesting tale. Let’s have the rest of it.”

  He and ’Malkin were soon exchanging stories like old acquaintances, vying to tell the worst tale of Corson’s misdeeds and evil temper. Corson denied most of it, but no one heeded her, and the others soon began to contribute details to Steifann’s accounts, or relate episodes of their own.

  “Don’t forget the first time she came in here, either,” Walden put in. “We knew then that Steifann had met his match at last.”

  “Now that was all your fault, ’Malkin,” said Corson. “It was not long after I parted from you, and I was doing everything you disapproved of, just to spite you-gambling and drinking and looking for trouble-”

  “I remember that night!” Trask said gleefully. “She looked like a drowned cat.

  Stinking drunk, too, and she ate a lot of food without paying for it-”

  “Then she had the gall to flirt with me,” Annin recalled. “Without a penny in her pockets, either!”

  “Steifann tried to throw her out, but she got the better of him.”

  “She fights dirty,” Steifann explained. “Very dirty. Filthy.” It was one of his favorite stories.

  “She all but tore the place apart,” said Walden. “Chairs and tables went flying-”

  “Only one table,” Corson protested.

  “Then she chased Steifann into his room,” Trask continued, “and they didn’t come out for a week.”

  “Now that’s not so,” said Steifann. “It can’t have been more than two or three days.”

  Walden took up the tale again. “And then they staggered into my kitchen one morning with their arms ’round each other, grinning like a pair of idiots, and all he said was, ‘This is Corson. She’s going to stay for a while.’ Then they ate everything in sight and disappeared for another few days.”

  “Well, what could I do?” Steifann asked innocently. “She took advantage of me. I can hold my own against a dozen common brawlers in a fistfight, but that one’s a trained killer. I was just a helpless victim of-”

  The others hooted him down.

  “I was a little wild in those days,” Corson admitted, when the tumult subsided.

  “Huh-you’re not what I’d call a ewe-lamb nowadays either,” said Steifann.

  “Well, I can’t help that. Nyc says I’m encourageable.”

  “Incorrigible,” ’Malkin sighed. “Here, I’d almost forgotten, Nyc sent you this letter.”

  Corson read it through quickly and started to laugh. “It’s an invitation to the celebration of the marriage-alliance,” she reported. “Nyc wants me on hand, in case there’s trouble, and I’m to bring Omia to Rhostshyl because she may be wanted at any time. Then she says that anyone else who wants to see the festivities should come along, and-listen to this-‘but under no circumstances should you neglect to bring Trask’! What do you make of that?”

  “Corson! Does it really say that?” Trask demanded.

  “See for yourself-you’re such a keen reader.” Trask grabbed the letter and began to spell it out, muttering to himself. Corson turned to ’Malkin. “I suppose Nyc’s betrothal has kept you out of her bed, eh?”

  He shook his head regretfully. “No, it’s Lord Erystalben who’s done that. The betrothal’s merely a formality, but Shiastred’s another matter. When she has time to think of anyone, she thinks of him and no one else. It’s certainly a pity. We were getting on so well before he appeared.” He spoke as one disappointed, not of a romance but of an opportunity.

  “Cir-cum-stan-ces,” Trask read triumphantly, then suggested to ’Malkin, “You could poison him.”

  “That’s not much in my line, I’m afraid. But perhaps someone else will do it for me. I’m not the only one inconvenienced by his return. They say there’ll be trouble if he tries to press his claim to the Jhaicery. As for me, I have the University to console me. I’ll be one of the Master Scholars of Rhostshyl-a provost at least, if not a chancellor. I could never have attained such a position in Celys, where I’m not known to anyone of importance. Yes, I know it was your doing that I’m known to the Rhaicime, Corson, you needn’t remind me.”

  Corson grinned. “I was just going to ask, Master Scholar, do you want to see Nyc’s books now? They’re locked up safely. I haven’t let Trask get at them.”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt them,” Trask complained. “I’ve finished with the things you gave me, ’Malkin. There’s no library here, you know. How am I supposed to practice?”

  “Not with these books,” ’Malkin said firmly. “I’ll send you some new texts to work on, but you stay out of the Rhaicime’s books if you want to stay out of trouble, my lad.” He finished his wine and followed Corson to Steifann’s quarters to inspect the shipment, checking each volume against a list. When he was done, he replaced them carefully in the chest and relocked it. “It’s probably safest to leave them here till tomorrow,” he said as they returned to the kitchen. “The vahn knows where my escort’s spending the night.”

  “I’ll bring them ’round to you in the morning,” Corson offered, “so you can make an early start. Tell Nyc I’ll-no, I’ll give you a letter for her! I need to practice my penmanship.”

  “Very well. I’m staying at The Golden Arrow,” ’Malkin said, with a glance at Trask. He thanked Steifann cordially for his hospitality and wished the company a good night.

  Trask looked after him wistfully. If he was really to attend Nyc’s wedding ceremony, he had a dozen questions to ask ’Malkin, but there was all the evening’s cleaning yet to be done, to ready the tavern for tomorrow. He si
ghed and picked up a broom, wondering if he could get away without mopping the taproom.

  But Annin, who didn’t miss much, took the broom from him and shooed him out with it. “Run along then, and catch him-we can do well enough without you,” she said briskly. “You’d not do a good job of it anyway.”

  21

  nyctasia was wakened by the unexpected warmth of the early spring night. She pushed away the covers, taking care not to wake ’Ben, and drew back the bedcurtains to let in the mild breeze from the open windows. The heavy weight across her feet proved to be Greymantle who, as usual, had managed to climb onto the bed during the night. He jumped down, at Nyctasia’s kick, and curled up with a sigh on the sheepskin rug at the bedside.

  By hearth-light and moonlight she looked at ’Ben to see if he was sleeping peacefully. She herself was always so exhausted of late that she slept easily and well, but ’Ben often slept fitfully, still plagued by cruel doubts and dreams. She had more than once awakened in the night to find that he was no longer beside her but had gone to pace the garden walks alone, or had returned to the library to pursue his studies by candlelight.

  Watching him sleep, Nyctasia was as much struck by his dark beauty as when they had first met. He bore scars now that she had not seen before, but he rarely spoke of what had befallen him during the last two years, and she did not press him to do so. He seemed as anxious to forget his recent past as to remember the rest, and he could no more do the one than the other. His search of the Cymvelan books had thus far suggested only one way to break the spell that bound him-to return to the Yth where that spell was evoked.

  “It is, in essence, a question of elemental Balance,” he’d told Nyctasia, “To regain what I’ve lost, I must give up what I’ve gained. I never won my freedom from the Yth; I took it, and paid too dearly for it. But if I surrender it, I may gain it again-on my own terms, this time.” He had determined to wait only until the roads were clear in the spring and start for Hlasven then, if he still had remembered nothing and had discovered no other solution.

  He’d informed Nyctasia of this decision only a fortnight before. “I’m not wanted here, you know it as well as I,” he said. “For the vahn’s sake, Lord Descador has offered to pay me to go!”

  “I want you here,” Nyctasia had answered fiercely, but he shook his head and looked away.

  “No, you want him-Erystalben. When you look at me, you see him, and your face lights. But then you remember who I am, and your look turns to pity. You once told me that Rhostshyl was my rival for your love, but Shiastred is my true rival. Can you understand how jealous I am of the man I was?”

  “I know what you suffer, ’Ben, and I suffer with you. It is pain you read in my eyes, not pity. Yes, I want you to recover the past we shared, but I want it for your sake, not for my own. To me you are Erystalben whether you remember or not, and I’m afraid, ’Ben-afraid that if you return to the Yth, alone, you may find yourself again, but I may lose you again. If there’s no other way, then wait until I can go with you-”

  “What do you take me for, ’Tasia? I’d not let you risk the Yth on my account!”

  “Two together are far safer against the Yth, believe me. I know the ways of the Yth now, and I don’t fear its tricks. With my help, you may find what you seek, but you know that I cannot leave the city now, with so many things unsettled.

  Wait a year-less, perhaps. Once Tiambria’s child has been born, and Jehamias has come of age… when the alliance with Ochram is on firm ground, and the University well enough established that I can appoint chancellors to look after its interests in my absence. Wait until then, and I swear this time I’ll not fail you.”

  He had neither consented to this appeal nor refused it, but Nyctasia was confident that she had persuaded him to stay, at least for the present. If only she felt as confident that she had been right to do so… She was troubled by his continued preoccupation with the dangerous Cymvelan books, and she knew that he was still tormented by nightmares of the Yth. It seemed all too likely that he would not be free of them until he returned there, and Balance was restored

  … Even as she lay looking at him now, she saw him shudder in the grip of a dream, and he whispered, “Old, so old! No, it can’t be!”

  He’d thought he had been wandering through the Forest for an hour at most, but when he saw himself in the pool, his reflection was that of an aged man, and he knew that he had been lost in the Yth for years, for scores of years. He woke suddenly with a frightened gasp, and said wildly to Nyctasia, “I’m old, old!

  It’s too late!”

  She drew him to the side of the bed and pointed to her tall, shining mirror,

  “Look at yourself, love. You’ve not changed.”

  He stared into the mirror for a long while, then said with a deadly calm, “I’m sorry I wakened you, ’Tasia, you need your rest. Go back to sleep-I’ll get on with my work. I’ll not sleep again tonight.” He rose to return to the library, nearly falling over Greymantle, but Nyctasia held him back. She suddenly knew just how to make him forget his evil dream.

  “You didn’t wake me,” she said. “The warm spring air did that. Don’t you feel it? It’s so beautiful, there’s a breeze that smells of blossoms,… It gave me the most splendid idea about how we might pass the rest of the night-a far better idea than yours. I didn’t like to wake you, but now that you’re awake anyway…” She leaned close and whispered her suggestion, circling his waist with her arms and nuzzling his ear.

  He laughed softly. “Mad Lass, I almost believe you’re in earnest.”

  “But I am. Why shouldn’t we? It’s a fine, fair night. What better way to spend it?”

  “I can’t think of one,” Erystalben admitted. “Very well, but on one condition-that hound of yours stays here!”

  Despite the late hour, there were others stealing through the gardens to enjoy the inviting night, Nyctasia noticed with amusement. “How everyone always carries me about,” she murmured dreamily, cradled in Erystalben’s arms like a child.

  “Everyone? Who else has been carrying you about, pray?”

  “Why… no one else,” said Nyctasia, puzzled by her own remark. “I don’t know why I said that. I must have been talking in my sleep.” But why had she felt that someone had carried her somewhere, not so very long ago? “My brother Emeryc once carried me out here at night, but that was when we were children. He wanted to show me the game of floating candle-ends downstream in the dark, but of course the night air was thought to be bad for me, so we had to sneak out of the palace in the dead of night. Then he carried me, lest my nurse should see my slippers wet with dew.”

  “A brother’s right I’ll allow,” Erystalben conceded. “But henceforth no one is to carry you anywhere without my leave.” His arms tightened around her as he spoke, and Nyctasia smiled to herself in the darkness.

  “I’ll issue an edict to that effect,” she promised. “I’ll appoint you First Bearer to the Rhaicime, with all the dues, duties, obligations, rights, perquisites and prerogatives pertaining to the office.”

  “And what are the duties and prerogatives of the position?”

  “I shall explain them all to you presently-in private,” said Nyctasia.

  She had shown him the walled garden once, during the winter, and he went directly to it now, only pausing to let Nyctasia take the key from its hiding-place. Not until they were within its walls did he set her down, kneeling to lay her on the young spring grass, and kissing her eyes and lips before he released her. Nyctasia clung to him, but he laughed and said, “I think I should close the door, don’t you?”

  “Be quick about it, then,” Nyctasia ordered. But before he could obey, two darkly cloaked and hooded figures slipped swiftly through the door and blocked the way, daggers drawn at the ready. Nyctasia had time for only a moment’s regret that she hadn’t heeded Corson’s warnings more faithfully. Neither she nor Erystalben was armed. “Teiryn or Edonaris?” she demanded, scrambling to her feet.

  “Shiastred,
I think,” said Erystalben. As the two started forward, he took a step toward them, as if to meet their attack, but the intruders never reached their quarry. They crumpled suddenly to the ground, without a cry, before they even came within striking distance of Erystalben. “You should not have persuaded me to stay, ’Tasia,” he said. “The delay has made Jhasteine impatient.”

  Nyctasia let fall the handful of earth she had seized to throw, and slowly came to stand at his side. One look at the attackers was sufficient. She did not trouble to listen for their heartbeats. “’Ben,” she said heavily, “what bargain have you made?”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “Do not ask that if you prefer not to hear the answer, love.” When she made no reply, he asked, “Should I have let them kill us both?”

  Nyctasia turned away. “Do what you must, ’Ben, but not here. Not in my city.

  Take the books and go.”

  Outside the garden, he took her in his arms again. “Am I to come back, when I can claim what is mine in my own name?”

  Holding tight to him, Nyctasia thought, ’Ben, where are you? Yes, come back to me. You have never come back to me. But aloud she said, “I command you to do so.

  Who is to be my Bearer, if not you? And always let me know where you are-always.

  It may yet be that I shall come to you.”

  She had the unknown attackers buried secretly in the garden, then locked the door and threw the key over the wall. She knew that it would be many years before anything grew there again.

  22

  nyctasia made good her promise to bring Trask to Ochram for the celebration of the marriage-alliance. He was not allowed to attend the court ceremony in Rhostshyl, but Corson, who was present as Guard of Honor, assured him that the proceedings had been nothing but dull talk and bowing.

  But the festivities in Ochram more than made up for this disappointment. The spectacle and pageantry were all that he’d hoped, even surpassing the magnificence of the wedding of Lady Tiambria and Lord Jehamias. As a member of Nyctasia’s retinue, Trask was a guest of the court, and was admitted everywhere.