“Come, now,” the woman’s voice rose to its normal pitch. “It is time for me to take you to the Great Hall for the evening meal.” In a much lower voice, she whispered, “Just keep your tongue quiet, mind your manners at the table, and don’t let him sense your fear, whatever you do. Your best chance of saving your life is to simply go unnoticed.”
The Traitor’s Wife
The Great Hall was not at all what Elowyn had expected. It was lit up with oil lamps, torches, candles, and an enormous blazing hearth set back in the wall near the high table. Many trestle tables had been laid out with cloths, knives, trenchers, chalices and finger bowls, and the room bustled with a good many people Elowyn did not know. By their clothes she presumed they were a mix of nobles, council members, and perhaps even high-level servants. The ruling family and Braeden were of course present, already seated and waiting for the first course to be presented. Elowyn recognized each of them from the day Elias was executed. Much to her horror, the lady proceeded to march her, Morganne and their mother right up to the high table, ordering the servants to make places for them.
Braeden looked up at the Lady Isana with a wry smile, and said in a tone of mock surprise, “These are most unusual guests you have brought, my dear. Are you certain they would not be more comfortable sitting at the table of honor already prepared for them?”
The Lady Isana flared back at him with heated tones, “Does having to sit with my guests displease you, my lord? Would you be more comfortable if they were seated in the kitchen with the servants? Shall I sit there as well? Or perhaps we should all take our meals with the traitor’s wife you sent to my chambers earlier today, expressly against my wishes. Please tell me, Lord Braeden, if this is the kind of ill service and disrespect that I can look forward to my family and future guests receiving? Or does the treatment of guests depend solely on your personal evaluation of their worth?”
Braeden did not look the least bit ruffled by her stinging accusations, and it seemed to Elowyn that he was even secretly amused by her outburst.
“A misunderstanding, my lady, to be sure. I did hear that you were quite unhappy, and I assure you that no offense was intended to you, or to your … guests. But this is a matter best resolved in private, do you not agree?”
The lady glared at him, but remained silent. She had apparently made her point and did not wish to press the issue further. Elowyn thought to herself that she would certainly be more comfortable sitting among the servants, and from the look on Morganne’s face, Elowyn suspected that she must feel the same.
The lady turned to them with forced pleasantries and said there was no reason to be distressed by the Lord Braeden’s poor manners—perhaps he had lived too long among sour, solitary scholars to have learned true hospitality. And Braeden shot back pointedly that if Tyrocian hospitality was not up to her standards, she was by no means obligated to fulfill her betrothal vows, and that he was certain her father would be pleased to have her back in his household once again. For a moment the lady looked quite alarmed, but she quickly brushed the comment off with a nervous laugh, remarking that he should leave humor to the jester and stick to his scholarly pursuits.
Braeden did once address their mother and Morganne directly, much to Elowyn’s discomfort, but it was only to say that he heard the Lady Isana was pleased by their work on her new wardrobe, and that there might be more orders in the future. Braeden could not help but use the compliment to throw one more barb in Lady Isana’s direction, saying how fortunate it was that their work had pleased her since she was obviously a difficult woman to satisfy. In this way the two of them insulted each other all through dinner while Darik looked on with disinterested silence, blankly tracing the rim of his chalice with his finger. The more the two bantered, and the more incensed the lady became, the greater Braeden’s private amusement seemed to be. Elowyn remembered what Einar had said about Braeden gradually, subtly shaping Darik into the kind of person he could manipulate to his will. She suddenly wondered if Braeden was doing the same thing to the Lady Isana. She would, after all, soon be Darik’s wife, and the mother of Tyroc’s heirs.
Elowyn tried very hard to avoid looking directly at Braeden. The darkened eyes, the pale, sallow, strange fitting skin, the crooked nose and twisted smile … everything about him repulsed her. Enduring his presence was like reliving a nightmare that even the strength of the midday sun could not chase away. With every bite Elowyn took, she was trying to choke down with it the terror rising steadily to the top of her throat. She remembered all too clearly the black aura that had enveloped Braeden at Elias’ execution, even if she had been the only one to notice it. In but one fleeting moment, the directness of his gaze had seemed to penetrate all her defenses and left her feeling violated. If he’d had this effect on her from afar, how much more would he affect her now that he was just across the table? What would Braeden find should his probing eyes look directly into hers, and more importantly, what would he take? Would the darkness he exuded surround her too? She shuddered as she imagined it eating away, not at her flesh, but at the very essence of her being, until she was nothing more than an empty vessel, waiting to be filled by whatever horrors he saw fit to destroy her with.
Perhaps that was what had become of Darik, staring down at the food on his trencher as if he didn’t really see it, the line of his jaw hardened and tense, his expression cold and empty. Though the Lady Isana seemed to want him as her future husband, Elowyn felt sorry for her. She could not imagine that life with such a man would ever be happy. Elowyn shifted her gaze to Avery. Now that she knew his woeful tale, her heart broke for him. She studied his face as he sat quietly by his brother’s side. Avery was empty too, but in an innocent way. Though he of everyone at the table had the most to be bitter about, there was no trace of ill feeling about him. In a way, he was like an infant, or like the animals—aware of each moment as he lived it, without the ability to dwell on the past, or plan for the future, or engage in any kind of serious thought. He did little more than exist. Perhaps that was the key to getting through the meal. To turn off her thoughts and simply live in the moment as though there was no past, and no future, and nothing to be afraid of.
Elowyn focused instead on the glorious meal placed before her—mixed greens, meats, broths and gravies, bread with generous amounts of butter and honey, meat pies, fruit with cream, tortes, and wine that was not so inferior or watered down as what she sometimes got at home. Even when she was full, she wanted to keep right on eating, as she could not foresee having such a meal set before her again. When she could truly eat no more she sat back and took comfort in staring at the hearth fire and letting all of the conversation around her swirl into an indistinguishable hum.
By the time the remains on the table were all cleared away, and they were finally dismissed for the night, Elowyn was feeling rather sick. Her body was not accustomed to so much rich food. She said as much to Elias’ wife on the way back to her chambers.
“I have just the remedy for that, don’t you worry.” She returned in a short while with a warm drink that smelled of mint leaves and said, “When you’ve finished that, the best thing for you would be a brisk walk in the gardens.” Elowyn brightened at the suggestion and smiled gratefully.
It turned out to be a beautiful night for a walk. The moon shone so brightly, everything was clothed in its brilliance. Wisps of moonlit clouds drifted slowly across the night sky while the stars danced merrily overhead. The stepping stone path that wound its way through the castle gardens was cradled in an amazing abundance and variety of flourishing plants, trees and flowers. Many of them were new to Elowyn, as she knew far more about wild plants and herbs than cultivated pleasure gardens. She wished she could see the full array of breathtaking color in the light of the sun. But what really stood out to Elowyn were the smells, so many she could hardly distinguish them all from each other: floral perfumes, fruity aromas, and rich earthy musks, all mixed in with the tang of sea air wafting in from the coast. The world was still and pur
e, and its perfection cleared her mind as the fresh air being drawn into her body flushed out all the sick, heavy feeling she was there to purge herself of.
They soon came to a large open space circled by small flowering trees. In the center was a little carved bench and a looking pond that reflected the moon and stars on its surface. Elias’ wife bade her to sit while she stood at a close distance, as she would normally do, waiting for direction. If anyone was watching them from the castle windows or the outer walls, they would not notice anything unusual.
“Are you feeling better, child?”
Elowyn nodded, “Thank you.”
“Now, then, we may talk for a bit if we are careful. We are not truly safe, even here, but it is the best we can do without drawing attention.” Her face softened and grew sad. “What has happened to them? To Einar, and the others? Since my husband’s death there has been no one to bring us news, and there are many families here waiting, and hoping, and desperate to know if their loved ones are or dead or alive, or if they have any chance of seeing them again.”
Elowyn answered truthfully, “I can only tell you that they were alive not so long ago, and that they have gone away to other places. They stayed in the wood and fought as long as they could, but then the Hounds came … they had no way to fight the Hounds.” Elowyn stopped, wondering how much she should tell. She did not want to put Einar and the Circle in any further danger.
“They wanted to return … they tried their best,” Elowyn shook her head sadly, not knowing what to say. Elias’ wife nodded tearfully in understanding.
“They caught the man who betrayed your husband,” Elowyn ventured cautiously.
The servant’s interest perked up. “Who was it, and what became of him?”
“He was called Mavek. They voted to execute him. Einar did it himself with his bow … I was there, watching.” Elowyn shuddered as the memory came back to her in full.
There was a long silence before the servant finally spoke again. “I know this may be too much to ask, and if it is, I understand. There is a courier in Tyroc that Elias knew well, and trusted completely. If I gave you a packet of letters, would you see that he gets it?”
“Yes,” Elowyn nodded. “I will try to find him for you.” She hesitated anxiously for a moment, and then asked in what was barely a whisper, “Is Braeden really the one who calls the Hounds? Are they coming to him with the storms?”
Elias’ wife gaped at Elowyn with a mix of shock and fear, but would not answer.
“Please, I must know. Elias knew, didn’t he? That was what he wrote to Einar just before he was captured. The dying monk they found gave the same warning.” She lowered her voice even further. “What is Braeden?”
Whether it was coincidence or something more Elowyn would never know, but at that moment the wind changed direction and increased in strength. It came not from the coast, as it should have, but from the direction of the castle. The air was warm, heavy, moist, and smelled of rain. A soft, deep rumble of thunder vibrated throughout the garden. The moon and the stars, one by one, began to disappear under heavy cloud cover.
“Speak not of such things again, child,” she whispered fiercely. “You know not what you say, or what danger you put yourself in by saying it. Do you not even now realize that such knowledge is what destroyed my husband’s life, and mine? We must go back—at once!”
Elowyn found herself being hurried along the path back toward the castle at a rapid pace. They had barely gotten through the door when the skies began to pour. There was no longer any question in Elowyn’s mind as to the truthfulness of Einar’s tale. What to do with that knowledge was a different matter.
Watching the storm from within the castle was nothing like weathering it out from home would have been. During such storms, their little cottage shook with every gust of wind, and shuddered with each peal of thunder. On more than one occasion it had been flooded with water. But secure within the massive castle walls, Elowyn would not have even known there was a storm were it not for the strange whistling sounds the drafts made, the gentle pelting on her windows, and occasional flashes of light.
Even so, Elowyn barely slept that night. For one thing, she was not used to sleeping indoors alone, and on a soft bed rather than a floor mat. For another, she kept staring at the crack under her door, waiting for the guard to come for her. She half expected to be cast into the castle prisons under cover of night, never to be seen again. Even when she did manage to sleep, Braeden was always there, lurking in her dreams, shadowing her every move and thought. He desperately wanted something from her. Oh, he already knew about her connection with Einar, the quest he had embarked on, and the scattering of the Circle. All of that was of little consequence to him—it amused him, in fact. There was something more. Something that had gone awry, which was eating at him, infuriating him. What that something was, or why he thought she knew anything about it, she could not fathom.
Elowyn awoke in the early gray of morning feeling exhausted and confused. Had she only been dreaming? The heavy, haunting vision of Braeden’s probing questions had seemed so real, staying with her more like a memory than a dream. It did not have the vague, disjointed, nonsensical quality that dreams so often do in the light of wakefulness.
Elias’ wife did not come to her chamber that morning. Another servant, a prim-looking older lady with pursed lips, had been sent instead. She silently filled up the washing basin with hot water and began to bathe and dress Elowyn as though she had done it so many times she gave it no more thought than breathing. Elowyn instinctively knew that there would be no good protesting or trying to dress herself. This servant knew her duty and was determined to perform it.
“Where is the lady who cared for me yesterday?” Elowyn asked.
Without missing a step, the woman answered dryly, “It is not for me to question where my lord sends his servants. Where I am summoned I go, where I am told to stay, I stay, and when no direction is given, I stand in silence waiting to learn my lord’s will.”
“Might I be able to visit the gardens today?” Elowyn asked, barely daring to hope. That hope was quickly dashed.
“The Lady Isana has requested your presence for the remainder of her fittings.”
Elowyn breathed a heavy sigh of dread as she was escorted through the corridors, back to the lady’s chambers where Morganne was already fast at work with thread and needle.
“That wretched storm kept me up half the night. Such tiresome weather you have here in Tyroc,” the lady was saying as Elowyn was brought into the room. “How do you bear it?”
“It has been an unusual season, my lady,” Morganne answered her softly as she worked. “Though sudden storms do come in off the sea now and again, our weather is normally quite pleasant during the summer months.”
“Where I come from, the weather is always hot, no matter what the season. The rains are warm enough to bathe in. The plants grow huge and lush, in brilliant colors, and the seas stretch out clear, and blue, and calm, so far as your eyes can see.” The lady’s voice lost its commanding edge and became wistful. “I already miss the sight of the moon rising over the waters. I miss the openness of everything. Here, your buildings are all closed in, with small windows and stale, smoky air. Your clothes are heavy and restrictive, no doubt to keep out the cold. Even in summer you require a hearth fire to warm your halls and your baths. You have no hot springs, or steam caves in which to clear the mind and restore health to the body. I look out to your gardens and woodlands—to me they are dull, colorless. I don’t know that I shall ever grow accustomed to this life. Had there been a family of suitable lineage and wealth for me to marry into, I should have stayed in the islands for the rest of my days.”
Elowyn sat entranced, trying to envision the world the lady had described. She could not imagine a land so beautiful that it made Tyroc’s gardens and woodlands look dull and colorless by comparison. She wondered what hot springs and steam caves were like, though she was not sure that she would appreciate the intense
heat as the lady seemed to. Elowyn thought it was really too bad that she would never get to see such a wondrous place in her lifetime.
“Your people’s ways are just as strange to me as your landscape,” the lady continued. “So much lies hidden, so much that is spoken is false. A smile does not always mean benevolence. Polite words are spoken to the face, while insults are murmured behind the back. I do not understand that way. To speak directly, honestly, even when the words are unpleasant, is to show respect.” She shook her head, laughing briefly with amusement. “But your people do make good sport, even if they are badly mannered. They are easily scandalized, aren’t they? It takes so little to have their eyes bulging and their tongues wagging gossip to each other behind closed doors. Though they complain bitterly, I know they enjoy it. How dreary their lives must have been before my arrival!
“You would not believe the looks and the questioning I got when I gave orders to have you all brought here and treated as guests in the manner I saw fit. Who you were, or for what purpose I desired your presence close by should not have mattered. My word should have been enough. As the time of the wedding draws near, I shall have friends and family visiting me from my own homeland. The treatment of all guests, and their servants, is taken very seriously by my people. Deliberate breeches in our laws of hospitality have been enough to provoke wars between families that drenched our soil with blood for more than a hundred years. By bringing you here, I wanted to see in what manner I could expect that my future guests would be treated. No doubt they will be far more difficult to accommodate, and my demands shall also be far greater. This test should have been easily passed. I see now that much must change before I dare to invite my family to Tyroc. I would not wittingly allow them to be so dishonored.”
Journey to Aviad Page 18