Creatures of Light, Book 3

by Emily B. Martin

  I felt a slight nudge on my knee and tried to glance at Colm without turning my head. The corners of his lips were just barely turned up, his gaze on his own apple. My own relief rushed around inside me like a current—nobody would have to lie to Mona, or justify keeping information from her. We could go up, see the glyphs, and bring the news back that they were the same as Alcoro’s. Our policy talks would fall into place, everything could be settled to everyone’s satisfaction.

  I could tell Celeno—tell him everything.

  Smiling at my own dessert, I picked up my spoon. The apple was swimming in molasses and cream, and the first bite melted gloriously on my tongue.

  “We need to get you folk a good pastry chef,” Rou said through his own mouthful.

  “I could tan your hide,” Mona replied evenly.

  “Please,” he said. “Not in front of the court.”

  I giggled around my spoon, giddy with the turn of events and privately thinking that there was going to be a great deal of activity behind closed doors that night.

  The concert hall adjoined the dining room. I tottered after the chattering court as they passed from one room to the other, the waist of my elegant Lumeni gown tighter than it had been a short while ago. The double doors to the corridor were open, with more folk coming in who hadn’t been invited to supper. They filled in the rows of seats facing the stage, where a large choir was situating themselves.

  I looked around, having lost Mona in the crowd, the book of the diving ballad clutched to my chest. I felt a touch at my elbow and turned to see Colm crooking his arm to me.

  “I have made discreet inquiries,” he said, “and I’m pleased to report that we’ll hear an excerpt from the Diving Menagerie tonight, though I regret its inherent inaccuracy.”

  I slipped my arm through his. “I’m looking forward to it. Where do we sit?”

  “Off to the side there, on the dais.”

  I followed his lead to a little raised box with cushioned seats. Mona was settling in next to Rou, trying not to smile too broadly at something he was saying. Arlen was behind her, with Sorcha at his side. Four more seats sat empty.

  “Where are Ellamae and Valien?” I asked, craning my head. “I thought they got up from the table before we did.”

  Colm gave a short puff of laughter. “Sometimes they disappear.”

  “Making good on their threats from earlier, you mean?”

  “Possibly,” he said with half a smile. “They’ll have Mona to answer to if they make a scene coming in—I hope they at least find someplace with a door to close.”

  I searched my memory of the palace. “The healing wing is one corridor over isn’t it?”

  He let out a soft groan. “And it’s empty. Damn them.”

  I smiled as we climbed the dais, cheered by a full stomach, good company, and the unexpectedly encouraging turn the evening had taken. Mona glanced over at us, frowned at Ellamae and Valien’s empty seats, and cast her gaze to the double doors out to the hall. The attendants were starting to move around the walls, turning the lamps down as the last few stragglers filtered through the doors. The choir was shifting in anticipation.

  Somewhere down the hall, glass shattered.

  Every head turned toward the double doors. Mona straightened, a glint in her eye. The guards who had been nearly invisible along the periphery of the room tensed in unison. I saw the one I’d brought from Celeno’s room look from the doors up to me.

  “What was that?” I murmured to Colm.

  A figure appeared in the doorway, the fringe on his boots swinging as if he’d just pulled out of a run—Valien. He straightened slightly and moved casually into the room, offering a mild smile to the hundred-odd eyes all tracking his progress. He passed between the crowd and the choir, seemingly unperturbed by the attention riveted on him. Mona watched him approach, her posture rigid.

  He stepped up onto the dais, and from this range, I could see the sharpness in his eyes behind his mask of pleasantry. “You should come with me.”

  “All of us?” Mona asked, matching his calm tone.

  “At least you,” he said. “And Gemma.”

  Mona rose gracefully from her chair. She turned partway to Arlen. “You stay.”

  He nodded. She turned back to the rapt audience and waved an airy hand.

  “Please,” she said. “Begin.”

  With that, she swept past me. Valien fell into step behind her, and I hurried to rise from my chair and follow. I glanced back once—Rou hesitated, and then rose too. I didn’t see Colm make a decision before several guards detached themselves from the wall and followed in our wake. Mona led us around the back of the room and out the double doors. As soon as we were through, a wave of murmuring broke out behind us.

  “What’s going on?” Mona whispered to Valien.

  He walked quickly down the dark hallway, his face grim. I picked up my skirts, trying to keep pace.

  “Celeno,” he said.

  My insides froze as we turned the corner to the healing wing. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes, tossing snow in drifts along the sills. It dampened all the light, making the hallway shadowed and cold, save for one open door lit with dim candle flame. Shadows played against the far wall. On the floor outside the door lay several shards of glass, glinting.

  Valien stepped over the glass and stood to the side of the door. I steeled myself as I rounded the corner. Celeno was lying facedown on the tile, his head turned away from me. Ellamae knelt on his back, expertly pinning both arms behind him, holding him in place. Beyond them, a glass-front cabinet had tipped forward, littering the ground with broken fragments and the contents of the jars and canisters inside. The sharp bite of camphor oil lingered in the air.

  “Celeno,” I whispered into the stillness. I saw his back rise and fall with breath, but he didn’t stir under Ellamae’s grip.

  “What happened?” Mona asked gravely.

  “He broke into the supply room,” Ellamae said. She nodded to the shelves around them, her face somber. “He’s already given himself a round of poppy syrup.”

  “No.” The word left my lips halfway to a moan. I put both hands to my face.

  Valien very gently put his hand on my back. “We’re not sure how much he managed to take.”

  “No,” I said again, shaking my head. “No.”

  Ellamae tested her hold on his arms. “He fought me for a minute or two before getting woozy, but his pulse is way down now.”

  No.

  My dearest Celeno—

  It is clear to me now that your time is upon us. I am, and have always been, merely a placeholder. Do not grieve for me, my son—I am at peace with this truth. My greatest fear was to linger on, depriving our folk of the years the Prophecy has granted us.

  I shook my head with force, as if trying to shake the current scene into oblivion, his mother’s suicide note burning bright in my mind.

  “Are you sure that was all he took?” Mona asked.

  “No,” Ellamae said. “I didn’t see him with anything else, but a lot of bottles smashed when we hit the cupboard. He could have grabbed anything. He’s going to need to be watched constantly until he wakes up.”

  You will do well, Celeno. Be blessed in the Light.

  Mother

  “What happened to his guards?” Mona asked.

  “The big hairy one ran by looking for him,” Ellamae said. “I don’t know what happened to the woman.”

  No, no, no, no, no, no.

  Wiping my streaming eyes on my lace sleeves, I stepped over Celeno’s legs and crouched so I could see his face, the glass fragments shifting under my shoes. His cheek and lip were bleeding freely, and his eyes were slitted.

  “Celeno,” I whispered. I brushed his sweaty forehead.

  His eyes shifted behind his drooped lashes. “G’mma,” he murmured. “Time is it?”

  I looked up at Ellamae. “Let him go—please. Let him up.”

  She grimaced but loosened her grip on his arms. They slid
down and landed limply on the glass-covered floor. I picked his hand up and held it close to my chest—it was cold and still.

  Footsteps crunched on glass, and Colm drew up short at the corner, his gaze sweeping the scene. Seeing him only made all my simmering emotions flare—that swell of hope I’d felt just moments before, that unearned peace, now collapsed into nothing but nameless pain.

  I forced my voice through my tears. “Help me get him up—help me get him back to bed.”

  Mona pressed her lips together. “I want him in a cell,” she said.

  I looked up at her imploringly. “Please, Mona.”

  “What happened to my guards?” she asked. “What did he do to them?”

  “One of them came with me,” I said. “I brought the woman with me to supper. Ellamae said she saw the other one.”

  “Why would you remove one of his guards?” she asked.

  Because he wanted to keep me safe.

  No.

  Because he wanted one out of the way.

  I closed my eyes. “Because I’m a fool,” I whispered.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ellamae said. “I don’t trust him being loose anymore, either, but I want him in a bed here in the healing wing.” She nodded at the knot of guards who had followed us from the concert hall. “Somebody get an ankle cuff to fix to the bed. And find those two guards!” she called after them.

  “You don’t have to lock him up,” I said.

  Ellamae looked down at me, her face grim but not without sympathy. “It’s for him as much as anyone, Gemma.”

  I bit my lips shut and looked back down. Celeno shifted and gave a soft groan. Sick with anger and guilt and grief, I struggled to pick his head up, off the slivers of glass. Colm stepped forward past Mona and Ellamae and grasped his shoulders, helping me roll him over without dragging him against the floor. He groaned again, rolling his head from side to side. A few droplets of blood landed on my skirt, staining the silvery blue fabric.

  “Help me get him up,” I whispered. Colm threaded his arms under Celeno’s shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. His boots slid on the glass, and I put his arm over my shoulder. He leaned all his weight on me—I staggered to keep from tipping over. Colm took his other side. Mona watched with disapproval as we maneuvered him out of the ransacked supply room and into the healing wing across the hall.

  We were halfway to a bed when Celeno gave a violent shudder and rolled unexpectedly off Colm’s shoulder. I lunged to break his fall, landing hard on one knee. His fingers closed on my delicate lace sleeves. A long run instantly appeared up the right one, splitting the fine tatting. The left simply pulled apart at the shoulder seam. Seed pearls sprang loose from the embroidery and ticked away across the hardwood floor.

  Celeno retched, his head bent forward, and Colm rushed to lift him off me. My left sleeve slid down from my shoulder, bunching at my elbow and revealing my dark, mottled skin. My face reddened—why not add this extra indignity? I stripped off the loose sleeve, and, gripping it in my fist, helped Colm move Celeno the last bit of distance to the bed.

  Celeno rolled onto his side, gripping his stomach and letting out a groan. Ellamae marched in, winding a handkerchief around her palm—she’d been bloodied in the scuffle, too.

  You’re in one of the safest places in my country—what do you expect to have to react to?

  A ruinous foreign king, and a queen too sentimental to make rational decisions.

  Ellamae nodded at Colm. “Get some water. It’d be better if he gets this out of his system.”

  While he moved away, she fetched a basin from under the bed. When Colm returned with a pitcher and a full glass, she took it from him and hoisted Celeno upright. Propping him against her shoulder, she tipped the water into his mouth, covered his chin with her palm, and pinched his nose shut.

  He coughed violently, spraying water through her fingers. She kept her hands firmly in place until he’d swallowed at least some of the water, and then as he continued to gasp, she reached down and hefted the basin into his lap. Right on cue, he bent forward and emptied his stomach.

  Mona came to my side, watching impassively.

  “Gemma,” she said. “I know I said I would help you, but you must realize how unstable—”

  I turned to her, the ruined sleeve clutched in my fist. “My husband could die tonight.”

  Her mouth snapped shut, and she gave one of her usual tight-lipped frowns. Silently we watched as Ellamae forced more water into him and then laid him back against the pillow. A rattle behind us told us the guards had returned, one with an ankle cuff. He moved to fasten one end to the bed frame and the other around Celeno’s ankle. While he did, the two guards who had been outside Celeno’s door moved forward amid the handful of others. They stood crisply in front of their queen, their expressions clear that they expected the worst.

  Mona looked them over.

  “Names,” she said.

  “Britta Mornagh,” said one.

  “Conlan Sligh,” said the other.

  “What happened?” Mona asked.

  “I was outside the king’s door, my queen,” said Conlan, looking straight ahead. “He came out and said someone was outside his window making threats. He said they had broken a glass pane.”

  “And?”

  “A pane was broken, my queen.”

  “From the outside?”

  “I didn’t think to check. I went out on the patio.”

  “And he slipped out,” Mona finished.

  Conlan’s face was burning red under his beard. “I’m sorry, my queen.”

  “And you?” Mona asked Britta.

  “The Alcoran queen requested I attend her,” she said. “I did not think I could refuse.”

  Mona gave a short nod.

  “You are both dismissed from my service,” she said. “Pack your belongings tonight and hand in your commissions tomorrow morning before breakfast.”

  I grabbed her wrist. “No, Mona, please . . .”

  “That is all,” she said.

  The two guards gave deep bows. I didn’t miss the twisted look on Britta’s face as she rose and left the healing hall without a word, Conlan following silently after.

  “Mona . . .” I said.

  “The rest of you,” she said to her guards, ignoring me and my grip on her wrist, “will take up position at every door and window to this hall and the wing beyond. You will let no one through unless they have my seal or a note bearing my signature, excluding the few folk already in this room. Anyone found disobeying my orders will be similarly released from their oath of service. Dismissed.”

  A murmuring salute rippled among them, and then they scattered to do her bidding. I ducked my head as several passed by, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

  The guard finished fastening the cuff around Celeno’s ankle, having padded it first with a length of bandage. Ellamae tested it with two fingers to be sure it wasn’t too tight and then got up from the bed, where he lay senseless. She brushed off her embroidered green tunic, now mussed and spotted with blood.

  “I’m going to get changed, and to talk to one of the healers,” she said. “Someone needs to stay with him and be sure he doesn’t stop breathing.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “I’ll fetch an attendant to do it,” Mona said.

  “No,” I said. “I will.” A hardback chair sat a few paces away, and I grabbed the back and pulled it along Celeno’s bed, ignoring Mona’s sigh.

  “I’ll send someone anyway,” she said, and turned to leave the room. Ellamae followed with Valien.

  Two arms wound around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze from behind. I glanced down at Rou’s steel ring, and my vision suddenly blurred. In another breath, he was gone.

  I knew Colm was standing behind me, but I didn’t turn to look. Looking would mean facing that short time just moments ago when I forgot myself, forgot my purpose, forgot that I was in too deep to draw hope and relief from an hour of laughter and enjoyable conversati
on. I realized I was still clutching the stupid sleeve in my fist, that my mottled purple arm was on view for any casual eye. I uncurled my fingers and let the embroidered lace fall to the ground. My skin prickled—I hadn’t worn anything sleeveless since I was a girl, and I disliked the naked sensation now. I held back a shiver, focusing on Celeno’s pale, slack face.

  A hand softly rested on my shoulder, and I stiffened in surprise. It sat half off the torn edge of my sleeve, his palm warm on my skin. The shiver I’d suppressed released, my shoulders drooping. It had been so long since anyone had touched me there, on my stained arm. It felt alien.

  It felt wonderful.

  “Stop,” I whispered.

  His hand tensed, and then it disappeared, leaving a cold wash in its absence. There was a long moment of heavy silence, during which I didn’t turn or open my eyes. I heard the soft flick of a pin being undone and the slide of fabric. I drew in a breath, steeling myself for the sensation that came next—the weight of warmed silk on my skin as the blue capelet settled over my shoulders.

  And then, receding footsteps. A quiet turn of a knob, and a soft, slow latch.

  I gripped the capelet in my fist, bent forward over the bed, and sobbed into my arms.

  Chapter 13

  Celeno slept all that night and most of the next day. I dozed fitfully in the hardback chair before finally conceding to curl up on the next bed over, lying bunched on top of the coverlet with my shoes still on. I woke any time someone came into the hall—Ellamae, various healers, guards hurrying to relieve their fellows from their posts. Valien came twice to kiss his wife’s forehead and give me a pat on the shoulder. Mona and Rou arrived mid-morning—she with a fresh, simple day dress for me to change into, and he with a pilfered jam biscuit to supplement my breakfast tray. They stayed for only five minutes—Rou threw me an apologetic glance as he followed Mona out the door.

  Twice Celeno’s sheets were changed. Once the bandage was re-wrapped around his ankle. Three times I helped Ellamae force water and broth into his mouth.

  “The good news is that his pulse and breathing are back to normal,” she said near the end of the afternoon. “And his tremor’s back—that means his body’s fighting off the last of the poppy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up soon.”