The gardens, however, were not my destination. Beyond the now-bare rosebushes and the colored gravel walks, the forest rose, dark and secret. I knew that sometimes Mat and other men of the household would ride there, to hunt deer and squirrels and even the occasional boar, but I did not much fear encountering any of the men today. They had brought in two fine bucks several days ago, and did not plan to go out again for a day or so more. At least, that was what Melynne had told me, glowing with pride that Mat should be such a fine hunter in addition to being the keep’s general craftsman and jack of all trades.
Why I sought the forest now, I could not exactly say. Perhaps it was only that I had looked off into its expanses from my bedroom window for so long that it seemed a natural thing to explore it before the winter weather closed it off to me until spring. Something about those dark firs and pines, the naked branches of oak and elm, seemed to draw me to them, and I went willingly enough.
The air chilled my face and hands almost at once, for in my rush to leave the castle I had forgotten to put on my gloves. I buried my cold fingers in a fold of my cloak and pushed on, moving past the rose garden and through a yellowed and patchy expanse of grass. Beyond that was a tall hedge with a gate built into it; luckily, the gate was not locked, and I lifted the latch and moved on through. For the first time since I had come to be the Dragon’s Bride, I was outside the grounds of Black’s Keep.
It was very quiet. From somewhere far off I thought I heard the chattering of a brook as it rushed over a stony bed, but otherwise there was no sound, not even of birds or small forest creatures. Or larger ones, I thought, reminding myself that boars sometimes frequented these woods. Well, I would have to hope I’d hear a boar coming; it couldn’t be that difficult, considering the heavy carpet of dead, rustling leaves underfoot.
I had no very clear idea of where I was going but kept moving vaguely northeast. The grey towers of the castle were still visible over my right shoulder, and that comforted me. The stories of my youth were full of tales of children and young women who had gotten lost in the woods and had met unfortunate ends, and I had no desire to number myself one of them.
The air smelled of damp earth and the vague musty scent of decaying leaves. Above that, though, was the tang of pine needles, sharp and aromatic. I breathed deeply, glad of the crisp morning breeze. Odd how I had felt so cold indoors, and yet now enjoyed a chill that must surely be greater here. Perhaps I had grown weary of the castle without even realizing it, tired of the smell of linseed oil and woodsmoke and human sweat.
Whatever the reason, I felt my spirits lift as I walked along, free—if only for a little while—of the tension between Theran and myself, the undercurrents that swirled through the keep. I did not pretend to understand them. To be sure, I hardly understood my role there. I was not a wife in anything but name, and Sar might call me the lady of the castle, but she ruled that place, not I. What purpose a Bride served, I couldn’t begin to guess.
I pushed those thoughts away and continued doggedly forward. Whatever had happened between Theran and me could wait. For the moment I only wanted to enjoy this brief taste of freedom, even if I knew it couldn’t last.
Had any of the other Brides come this way? Surely they, too, must have longed for their freedom, wished to flee. I wondered then at my easy escape. Did Theran not worry that one of his unwilling Brides might try to run away, run from the confinement of the keep and its cursed lord?
The forest fell away from me, and I emerged into a clearing, pale with the last remnants of summer’s straggling grass. Then I blinked and looked more closely at my surroundings, and realized it was not a true clearing…or at least not a natural one.
It was a graveyard.
Rows of grey headstones marched away from where I stood. They all appeared to be more or less uniform in size, coming up to around my knees. Some force seemed to compel me to approach the closest stone, although the dread rising in my throat had already begun to tell me what I would find.
Liselle, Beloved Bride.
“No,” I said aloud, although some part of me knew my denial was foolish. What else could have happened to all those young women, so that Theran would need a new wife every five or seven years or so?
Footsteps dragging, I moved to the next one. The name was different—Delianne—but this stone, too, said, “Beloved Bride.”
How could he have loved any of them? There were so many…so many, I realized. I tried to count, found the landscape blurred as my eyes filled with tears. At least sixty, probably more, but I could not tell for sure. And how much longer until I lay there as well, beneath a stone that read, Rhianne, Beloved Bride?
“My lady!”
The voice was male, but not Theran’s. Besides, he had never addressed me thus. I turned and saw Mat stumbling from the edge of the forest, his broad, handsome face tight with worry.
“Sar sent me to find you,” he said, pausing a few feet away from me. I noticed he studiously avoided looking at any of the headstones.
“Why does that not surprise me?” I responded. “How on earth did she even know where to look?”
“Dellah saw you go out through the door in the hedge, and she told Sar.”
So there had been eyes watching me, even though I hadn’t noticed them. No real surprise; Dellah’s domain was the kitchens, and I should have guessed that she might be able to note my comings and goings from one of that chamber’s several windows.
Not that it really mattered, considering what I’d found. What did any of it matter?
“Come, my lady,” he continued. “This is not place for you.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
His eyes widened a bit, and I saw him cross his fingers behind his back, making the sign against the evil eye. He did not, however, contradict me, but said only, “’Tis cold, my lady, and the clouds are coming back in. Best to get you back home.”
Home? I thought. Is that what Black’s Keep is supposed to be for me? It seems only a temporary way station, a stopping point before…before… And my mind hesitated and stuttered to a stop there, for I could not bear to give the horrible notion any further shape and form.
“All right,” I said wearily, for I had no doubt he would throw me over his shoulder like a sack of meal and carry me back that way if necessary. I might have been the Bride of Black’s Keep, but I was not the one who issued the orders.
The look of relief that passed over his features might have been comical under different circumstances. He nodded, said, “Very good, my lady,” and did not move until I had turned away from the forlorn little graveyard and begun moving toward the southwest, down the narrow trail that had brought me here.
It seemed in this, as in all else, I could only do as I was told.
Chapter Eleven
“So he did kill them,” I said baldly, as Sar set my muddy boots by the fire so she could brush the dirt away once they had dried.
She straightened and shot me an indignant look. “He did not lay a hand on any of those poor girls.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that they all died of an ague, or a fall down the stairs, or from eating the wrong type of mushroom? I know there are many ways to die in this world, Sar, but it does rather stagger comprehension to think they all died under perfectly innocent circumstances!”
Her hands tightened in her apron. “Believe what you like, but his lordship had nothing to do with any of their deaths.”
“Hmph,” I replied, and drank of the spiced wine she had brought me.
There had been no words of recrimination, no scolding. I’d had to remind myself that Sar was, in fact, a servant, and that it was not her place to question my actions, for I’d been certain I was about to receive the sort of dressing-down I hadn’t gotten since the time I was eleven and thought it a good idea to use my father’s glazes to paint my fingernails red. I’d overheard one of my mother’s acquaintances describing such a procedure taking hold in the court, after a visit by a Keshiaari princess who tinted her
fingernails, and had thought it sounded like a jolly fun idea. My mother hadn’t thought it jolly at all, of course.
Sar hadn’t been jolly, either, her jaw tense and her mouth more than a little strained. She said nothing as Mat handed me over to her. I wasn’t exactly marched upstairs, but her manner told me that I had better not suggest anything else besides going straight to my rooms.
Of Theran, I saw no sign.
“It is…unfortunate…that you saw what you did. You should never have gone there, my lady, nor left the castle grounds on your own. It’s dangerous in the woods, what with the boars and the bears—”
“Do not forget the dragon,” I put in.
Her mouth tightened further. “The dragon would never trouble you, my lady, and I think you know that very well.”
“Do I?”
She turned from me then, the set of her shoulders communicating what courtesy would not allow her to. How she probably wished she could give me the talking-to she so clearly thought I deserved.
“You are not well,” she said, after a pause. “You should not have gotten out of bed in the first place. I do think you should allow yourself to rest. This will all look much better to you tomorrow.”
I didn’t quite see how even an extended period of rest would help me to extinguish the grim vision of those rows of gravestones, of the realization that all of my predecessors lay buried not more than a mile from where I now sat. Even ten years of sleep, like that which had captured the enchanted princess from the tale my mother used to tell me when I was a little girl, would not be enough to erase that sight…or the questions it aroused.
Besides, if I slept…if I closed my eyes…who was to say they would ever open again?
Something of my dismay must have shown itself in my face, for Sar’s tone was gentler when she spoke again. “You have nothing to fear,” she said, and somehow I heard the truth in her words, although I guessed it was not the whole truth. “And he knows nothing of any of this, so we can keep it as our secret.”
Her words did seem to lift a burden I hadn’t noticed I was carrying until it was gone. Truly, Theran was probably still angry with me after our exchange the previous night. I didn’t want to think what his response might be if he learned I had left the castle unaccompanied. Not only that, but that I had discovered something no doubt he wished to remain hidden.
“Thank you, Sar. I think I shall sleep now. Don’t worry about bringing me any supper—I’ll make up for it at breakfast.”
She nodded, a little of the worry seeming to lift from her brow, and she appeared even more relieved when I set down my goblet of spiced wine and made my way to my bedchamber. Since I had already removed my mud-spattered woolen gown, it was a simple enough thing for me to shrug off the heavy quilted robe I’d put on over my chemise and then slide into bed.
I closed my eyes, more for Sar’s benefit than because I thought I would actually sleep. She seemed to putter about in the outer room for a minute or two more before I heard the door close.
The wind wailed past the tower, rattling the windows in their casements. Mat had been right; another storm was coming in. Nothing to be surprised about, of course. This was the season for it. I supposed I should have been glad that the snow had held off so far. We were only a few days into Novedre, but snowstorms had been known to come earlier than that.
Perhaps it was the keening of the gale outside that stirred up my restlessness. Not that it really mattered. I knew sleep would not come to me this early, so many hours before the time I usually laid down my head. And besides, that dream of mine had taught me the portrait was not yet right, that there were still many things about it I needed to correct, close as it was to its subject.
Sar had built up the fire, and some of its heat penetrated into my bedchamber. Cold drifted past the cracks in the windows, though, and I gathered up my heavy dressing gown and put it on before going to the alcove and fishing out the portrait from its hiding place.
Out came my palette and brushes as well, and I set to, working to get those crinkles around his eyes just so. Altering the shape of his mouth would take more time, and so I set that task aside for later. If I could get at least this part right, I would feel as if I had accomplished something today.
I worked away, as the stormy gray half-light outside my windows faded into dusk and then black night. At some point I set down my brush long enough to light some candles, but that was the only respite I allowed myself. Too much to do, too much to do, I told myself as I dipped my brush in the paint, using tiny strokes to define the troublesome areas around his eyes.
Finally I set down the brush, mainly because my hand had begun to cramp. I had no way of knowing how many hours I had spent in my frenzied work, but the castle around me was quiet and still, save for the ever-present keening of the wind. Apparently Sar had taken my words at face value and stayed away.
Meaning that Theran had taken his dinner alone. I doubted it was the first time, and I tried to ignore the pang of guilt that went through me as I pictured him sitting by himself at the round table in his chambers, his ingenious little devices whirring and shimmering away in the next room. Why should I feel guilty? It was he who had insulted me, not the other way around. And I was not the one with a graveyard full of dead wives barely a mile away.
That thought brought home the events of the day. I had done a good job of shutting them out while I was working. Perhaps I had thrown myself back into the painting in such a frenzy precisely because I wanted to forget what I had seen.
Not so easy, though. I could see it clearly as if it still lay before me, that forlorn little clearing with its ranks of neat grey headstones. Someone obviously took care to keep it in that condition, for the area had been clear of weeds, and I thought I had even spotted the remnants of wildflowers lying on several of the graves. Whose grim duty was that? Mat’s? Sar’s?
What would Theran say, I wondered, if I went to him and asked outright what had happened to all those young women?
What happened to them…and what will happen to me?
He would give me no answer. What was it he had said? I cannot speak of it. But that had been in reference to the curse, and not to his Brides…unless they were one and the same.
Secrets lay heavy upon the castle, and I knew I would get no answers to them. Reason enough for me to keep to myself, to stay away from Theran Blackmoor. If he could not do me the courtesy of explaining even something of my reasons for being here, then I saw no point in extending him any particular favor.
That sounded very fine and proud. Whether I would be able to do such a thing for any period of time remained to be seen.
Weariness came over me then, and I knew I might finally be able to sleep. I cleaned my brushes and put everything back in its proper place, including the portrait. Before I settled it in its corner, I held it out at arms’ length, studying the man’s face. In my dream those lips had touched mine; it seemed I could feel them still. But that had been no true dream, only a wistful fancy. If it had been true, he would be here with me now, in the flesh, and not in this flat frame, with arms that could not hold me, and a mouth that could not kiss me.
It seemed then as if I could not bear to gaze at him any longer. I hurried to put him back in his hiding place, so I would not have to torture myself with that which could never be.
“It’s clear as day,” Lilianth was saying to me as we paused at Alina’s stall to ponder the various potatoes and turnips and leeks. “You obviously care for him. So why not tell him?”
The sky above us was a clear, bright blue, but we both wore cloaks and scarves, and I could see my breath hanging on the morning air. Not summer, then, but perhaps a fine early winter day on a rare respite between storms. Beneath her cloak I thought I saw Lilianth’s belly rounded in pregnancy.
Foolish, of course. Not that dreams had to make any particular sense, but I knew even if she had been with child when she wed Adain, she would not be showing so much barely three months later.
; “I can’t just come out and tell him,” I protested, picking up a string bag of golden potatoes and inspecting it carefully to see if it hid any half-rotted specimens. “That would ruin everything.”
Her blue eyes were wide and guileless, a mirror of the sky. “Why?”
“Because—because—because he’s the Dragon! It’s not as if he’s the goldsmith’s apprentice!”
“All the more reason.”
I pulled a pair of copper coins from the purse at my belt and handed them to Alina, who had not appeared to pay much attention to Lilianth’s words. Just as well; even in a dream I really didn’t want someone overhearing such a frank conversation.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, gathering up my potatoes and moving on to the next stall, where skeins of brightly dyed wool hung from the wooden crosspieces.
“Don’t I? At least I know what it is to be in love…and I see all the signs in you.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. You moon over him constantly, worry about what he thinks of you, wish to be in his presence even though you do nothing to make such wishes a reality. It’s either love or an attack of some extremely ill humors.”
“The physicians of the Golden Palm don’t believe in humors,” I pointed out.
“They wouldn’t. Anyway, we were not talking about them, but about you. What’s the worst that could happen, if you told him the truth?”
“He might—he might laugh at me.”
“Do you really think that is what would happen?”
No, I didn’t. I knew he had enough courtesy in him for that. But I also knew he was very good at keeping his own counsel and maintaining a certain distance between us. There were times I thought he actually enjoyed being in my company, true. Yet he never confided in me, and never did anything to make me think he wanted anything close between us.
Dragon Rose (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) Page 15