"Or what?" Druam said.
Daghorn smiled cruelly. "Or the allied kingdoms of Demarren and Skålland shall have no choice but to declare war against Dotschar for harboring a traitor and a witch."
"You go too far, ambassador," Druam said, his soft voice carrying to every corner. "You dare threaten my wife in my own palace? Get out."
"Seastone, be careful," Henrik warned Druam. He turned to the ambassador. "We have our own laws and customs, Lord Daghorn. You must give us time to consider this issue."
"You would give in to his threats?" Druam demanded.
"We would not have us go to war – after a hundred years of peace – for the sake of one woman!" Henrik shouted. "Leave, Lord Daghorn. Our answer has not yet been given."
Gwen shied away from the ambassador's taunting look as Daghorn swept from the room. The earls and lords bent their heads together, whispering urgently.
"Well," Henrik said after the murmurs had died down, "We think it time for the earls and ourself to convene privately. We have much to discuss."
King Henrik took his crown and seated it on his greying hair. His chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood. Druam kissed Gwen's forehead and whispered, "I won't let anything happen to you," then went with the other earls and the king to the adjoining private council chamber. Though fear made her shiver, Gwen took a deep breath, straightened her neck and shoulders, and strode purposefully for the exit. The vassal lords and advisors parted around her like water around a stone, watching her as if she might set any one of them on fire.
In the past two days, Druam had barely left her side – or, more accurately, barely allowed her to leave his side – but now, he would be in council for gods knew how long, and Gwen could spend some time alone to think.
Well, as alone as she could be with handmaids and assigned guards dogging her every step.
Gwen returned to her chambers and there tried to content herself with embroidery. She pricked her thumb a dozen times before she stopped. Lord Daghorn was now her declared enemy. What lengths would he go to in order to see her executed? Would he even wait for King Henrik to decide her fate? He could just as easily take her while the lords sat in their council and drag her screaming back to Demarren. But he wasn't the only danger to her: Mavian knew the ins and outs of the servants' passages; would he try to kill her while Druam was otherwise preoccupied? Or perhaps Mavian himself wouldn't come, but his prowlers, their jaws slathered with spit and blood.
Gwen thrust the embroidery into its basket and moved restlessly about the room. Her maids and guards watched her, as still and silent as statues. Pausing at a bookshelf, Gwen ran her fingers over the leather-bound covers and gilt titles, remembering sadly that Mavian had shown her how to use her magic to read.
Sometime after luncheon, a knock came at the door. Druam entered, followed by a servant carrying a wooden chest. Something in Druam's expression made her pause, and Gwen slowed as she drew nearer to him. Surely the council had come to a good decision?
"I have a gift for you," Druam said, his voice low and tired. He gestured the servant to step forward. Curious, Gwen opened the chest and drew out a long, silky dress embroidered from neck to foot with trees and flowers, birds and animals that cavorted around and around in a wearable tapestry. Shaking it out, Gwen examined the needlework and cut of the dress. It was as beautiful a thing as she had ever worn.
"It's gorgeous," she said. "What is it for?"
"The Masque. I wanted you to wear something utterly unique, for that is what you are. The tailors and embroiderers have spent a month working all night and day to finish it in time. Are you pleased with it?"
"Oh yes." Gwen took Druam's hand and led him to a couch. "What did the king decide?"
Druam licked his lips and glanced toward the silent guards as if itching to dismiss them. His hands lay utterly still in his lap, and though his shoulders were not hunched, there was a tightness about them. He ran his fingers through his hair, looked to her, then up to the ceiling. He wrinkled his nose, like there was a bad smell in the air, and brushed underneath his eyes with his fingertips. Gwen watched him, her concern growing. He did not seem himself.
After a minute of fidgeting, Druam finally met her worried eyes. He took a deep breath and said, "You will not be sent to the Inquisition...but the king wanted to bring you to Con Salur to serve as his court mage. And so he could have you watched at all times."
The mere words pressed all thoughts from Gwen's mind and deflated her lungs. She stared at Druam, her violet eyes wide with shock. Remembering to breathe, she quickly sucked in air, though it tasted stale.
"But why?" Gwen gasped.
"Magic is not forbidden here as it is in your homeland, but King Henrik – and many kings before him – have questioned its use by those in the noble court. You have influence here, and if you use your Gift against the king...he would rather you be preoccupied with your duties to him."
Gwen imagined herself, trapped like Avallune in his tower, beholden to the king's whims. It may not be so bad, she thought, though her heart recoiled from the idea. "Couldn't you come with me?"
"My place is here," Druam said sadly. "We would be parted, only seeing each other when I visited Con Salur."
Forever trapped in the capital, with no opportunities apart from the king's will, and separated from the only person she still trusted...Gwen reeled at the implications. "I won't go! There must be some other way..."
"The king will allow you to stay here," Druam said. His voice betrayed his sorrow. "But only if you never practice magic again. He will assign a handmaid from his own household to watch you and report back to him."
"Did you know he would do this?"
Druam shook his head. "I feared his reaction, and so I said nothing. You were so happy, and I was a coward."
Gwen's heart fell to her slippers. Are these my only choices? A life of servitude, or a life without magic? She stared dully at the wall.
"Assume the mantle of a gentle lady, my Gwen, and leave your magic behind. It will cause us nothing but strife," Druam said, extending a hand to her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
"It's not fair!" she exclaimed. "This is who I am, Druam! Wullum sent me here so that I didn't have to hide myself. I don't want to go back to living a lie. And I can't leave you, not after everything. This is my home now."
Druam's strong arms encircled Gwen, holding her steady. "I'm so sorry, Gwen. Though your magic frightened me, I thought perhaps we could figure out a way together. I tried to hide it from the king as long as I could. But now we must move forward, forging a new path without your magic."
"I don't want to stop using it," Gwen said softly. "Even if Mavian was the one who taught me...I was happy practicing magic."
"I know, love. I know." Druam squeezed her, his musky scent comforting. "But with the threat of war, I cannot see any other way. This is the only way to keep peace, both with Henrik and the Skals."
Gwen sank into her misery, her magic swilling uncomfortably inside her, as if it too knew the king's proclamation. She did not respond when Druam led her to her bed, or when he brought her supper that returned cold to the kitchens, or when he lay beside her in the growing night. A vast emptiness threatened to consume her. She lay quietly and stared up at the dark canopy as Druam fell asleep. Laying beside him, listening to him breathe, Gwen realized that she did truly love him.
But she loved magic, too. It had scared her, caused her pain, but it was a part of her as much as her eyes or fingers were. Even if she tried to suppress it, even if she succeeded for years on end, there would come a time when she could not resist magic's pull, and then she would be taken from the life she loved. Could she live here in Riverfen under that constant fear? But there was nowhere else to go, no one else who would take her...
At some point, Gwen must have fallen asleep, for she found herself in a dream. Not the dreams that one forgets immediately upon waking, but a dream that felt real save for the swirling red and grey dust motes in the air. Gwen
marveled at the twisting tree trunks and grey foliage around her; this was an ancient, mysterious grove. Three women huddled beneath the trees.
"You seek us, child?" one woman said, her voice high and warbling.
"Or perhaps, you know that we seek you?" said another in a voice low as dirt.
The third woman hushed the others, her eyes bright. Her tones were motherly, inviting, warm: "Come to us in the Whispering Woods, sweet child. For years beyond measure have we waited, and watched, and listened, tasting the air for the signs that one has been born with the power of ancient times. Come to us, Gwendolyn Zaman of Demarren, princess of your people, but far more than that in the turning of Earda."
Gwen said nothing, but when the third woman reached for her, she held out her hand. The strange hag breathed on Gwen's palm, then smiled and said, "We the Witches Three are waiting. Open your magic and let our beacon guide you to us. Fulfill your potential – or waste away to nothing."
Gwen woke suddenly, her chest burning with desire. She glanced at Druam, but he slept as peacefully as a cat by the fire. Gwen saw no markings on her hand, but rather felt the presence of an old magic hidden in the folds of her skin. Closing her fingers around it, she lay back and wondered. That dream could not have been merely a dream.
Gwen hummed an ancient song and called her magic up. It flowed over her shoulder and through her arm, released from the tips of her fingers. Colors sprang above her, contorting into a tapestry grander than any ever sewn. The images moved around each other, creating pictures before her eyes: the last meeting with Wullum, his love shutting out the horrible world for just a moment; running down the green-singing path to meet Druam for the first time; Druam's earnestness as he offered marriage to her; on and on the images came. Gwen watched them, bittersweet tears staining the pillow against her cheek.
When the magic brought forth that night in the tavern with Druam, she held his hand, feeling that content emotion stirring within her breast. The magic faded, leaving spots behind her eyes in the dark room.
Gwen realized that she would have to choose between her husband – a life as the earl's lady in a grand palace – and magic, with all the adventures, mystery, and danger it offered her. If only the king had not made his proclamation, if only this dilemma were not set before her...
Druam murmured in his sleep, rolling to face her. Gwen folded her arms and legs around him, pressing his head to her chest. But still she lay awake.
Chapter Forty-Six
Seanna
SERVANTS HURRIED back and forth with Seanna's belongings. Already, maids had come to sweep the floors and change the sheets on the feather bed. By the time Seanna departed, there would be no trace of her left in these borrowed chambers. She could imagine the steward back in Con Salur ordering her rooms to be prepared unexpectedly early, and the whispers of the staff as they worked.
There were still over two candles until the ship must sail, and Seanna did not know how to fill that time. Her embroidery had been packed, she was already dressed for traveling, and no one had come to see her off. She stood alone in the center of the drawing room surrounded by bustling servants. Sir Eric waited next to the door, as stern as ever.
All the other courtiers in the palace would spend their day washing, applying cosmetics, and dressing for tonight's Masque while Seanna began her lonely journey back to the capital. It was almost preferable to leave, though, than to abide the scornful looks she would no doubt receive at the party. Her gold silk dress, still laid out on a chair, made her want to cry. That one would stay here in Riverfen.
A pile of letters and notes sat on her silver platter. None were from well-wishers or allies in the court. The stack represented the entirety of Mavian and Maeria's relationship, the letters found when Druam had ordered a search of Mavian's rooms. Almost as if he were taunting Seanna, Henrik had the letters sent to her. He must have delighted in knowing her reaction to the contents of each.
Seanna shed no tears at Maeria's death, but she wept at knowing how little Maeria had cared for her. The girl had used her, writing to Mavian: I believe the queen to hold affection for me. Though I am repulsed, I will try to gain her favor and use it to our advantage. As her paramour, I could wield influence in our favor.
The queen has asked me again to her bed. She does not rival you, my love, but if we are to please our allies, then I must discover her weaknesses. Perhaps I am one such weakness?
Oh, Mavian, if only we could wed sooner...I cannot stand another night in the queen's company. I must see you again and feel you in every way. Tonight, tonight, tonight!
There were the ones from Mavian, too: You shall be the queen of my new world; nothing can stop us now that we are so close and Your father has succumbed to the potions you have given him. We shall be wed soon, my love. Seanna regretted asking the steward to read each and every one to her.
When she could no longer stand the growing emptiness in her rooms, Seanna said, "I suppose I should go thank our host, shouldn't I?"
Sir Eric didn't say anything.
"Druam had been kind to me in the past. Maybe now he'll be kind again, now that I have no friends nor allies." Seanna bit her lip, thinking. "How am I to make amends for what I did when I feel no remorse?"
"Honestly, and with many apologies," Sir Eric said. He gave her the barest hint of a smile.
"Then send word that I wish to see him before I leave."
Barely twenty minutes passed before the messenger returned. "Your Grace, the earl is in the conservatory. He grants you leave to visit him there."
"Thank you." Seanna tipped the boy a silver shem and stood to go. She leaned on Sir Eric for support on the long walk down to the glass conservatory.
The soldier at the wrought iron gate bowed to her and allowed her inside a small antechamber, where a simple wooden door barred the way inside. A gardener opened this door and said, "Your Grace, your knight is to remain here. I will escort you to Earl Seastone."
Feeling some discomfort at leaving Sir Eric behind, Seanna stepped into the conservatory's humid air. She felt she had come into another world entirely, a world molded by the singing of birds and babble of brooks, that always smelled of sweet things; a world wholly apart from the one she'd left behind of petty squabbles and bickering gossip.
The gardener led her down a winding path lined with waterfalls – It must be magic, how they continually flow – and through differently cultivated sections. One grew roses of all types, another fir and pine trees, and others exotic trees and shrubs, until at last the gardener brought her to a trellis archway lined with orchid blooms of all colors. Beyond it was a garden with trees, shrubs, and flowers Seanna had never seen before. A gardener worked in one of the flower beds, a pile of weeds beside him on the otherwise clean walkway.
As they drew closer, Seanna realized that the gardener was not a servant. Druam knelt in the dirt, his embroidered tunic exchanged for a pair of worn trousers and a patched shirt. His boots were covered in mud, and he wore filthy gloves with holes in them. All his clothes were smudged with dirt and sweat, his normally slick hair hanging loose over his grimy face.
Druam did not look up as Seanna approached him. "You may leave us, Jerly," he said to the gardener. To Seanna: "I hadn't expected you this morning, Your Grace."
"I hadn't expected to come." Seanna sank onto a bench behind him. Druam kept on working, wiping the sweat from his brow and blowing his nose into a kerchief. Watching him, Seanna said, "This place is beautiful. Why don't you invite others to come here?"
Though she couldn't see his face, Druam's tone was friendly enough. "I built this conservatory as a sanctuary away from the politics of palace life. What good could it do me if I allow those same politics to enter and ruin the peace?"
"Ah." Seanna's heartbeat grew audible in her ears. Now is the time to apologize, now or never. If you don't do this, you'll have no chance at regaining his alliance.
As if sensing her thoughts, Druam asked, "Why have you come, Seanna?"
Sea
nna shifted uncomfortably on the bench and played with her hands beneath her belly. She couldn't see her feet unless she stretched out backwards and pushed them in front of her, but that might cause her to fall. Would that hurt the baby? She hadn't done anything wrong with the first two, yet she'd still lost those. Best be safe, and not try to look at her feet.
"Seanna? Do you have something you need to tell me?"
"Yes; no; I don't know...yes. Yes, Druam. I have betrayed your trust, and for that I am sorry. I am so sorry. You mustn't be angry at me, for I think it would be impossible to be angrier at me than I already am at myself."
Seanna paused for breath; Druam had not moved. He knelt, his head turned slightly over one shoulder. For a moment, it looked like he had even stopped breathing. He said nothing. Despite the dirt and greens on his hands and knees, Seanna felt a beggar next to him.
"You must believe me, Druam, I did not intend to hurt you," Seanna said, blabbering now. "Sometimes I do not think of the consequences of my actions. I was swept over by the promise of power. I was enticed to it by those conniving people; it was never me that did those things, it was an evil inside of me that I couldn't control."
"Gwen wore a cloak made of these orchids on our wedding day," Druam said in a soft, measured tone. "Purple, like her eyes. On that day, I had not imagined anything coming between us, least of all unfounded lies born of envy."
Seanna opened her mouth, but Druam spoke first. "You have said your piece. Listen to me now."
Seanna felt compelled to obey.
"In all that I do, I have done for my people. You came, and you did everything in your power to destroy the one selfish thing in my life. I am a man of my people, and all I had left over in my heart, I gave to Gwen.
"Your own marriage has left your soul empty yet your belly full with child, and you resent those of us who find joy in what the gods have granted us. I cannot forgive you for what you have done. All I can do is pity you."
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