Briar King

by Keyes, Greg

  “Some did, I suppose. But my heart was given. I promised her, you see, that as long as she lived I would love no other.”

  “A promise given when you were twelve. And she never released you from your vow?”

  “She died in childbirth, Princess, a year ago.”

  Fastia’s eyes widened and went oddly soft. He had never seen them so soft. “Saint Anne bless her,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Neil merely nodded.

  “But—and forgive me if this sounds cruel—you are released from your vow now.”

  “That’s true. But I’ve taken another—to protect your mother.”

  “Ah.” Fastia nodded. “You will find, I think, that few men keep vows as you do.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice. “Marriage vows in particular.”

  Neil could think of nothing tactful to say to that, and so remained silent.

  Fastia brightened, after a moment. “What a bore I can be,” she said. “Anne is right about me.”

  “I do not find you boring,” Neil replied. “Of everyone I have met in this court, you have been the kindest and most helpful to me.”

  Fastia’s cheeks pinkened. “How kind of you, sir. Your company these past months has been appreciated.”

  Neil suddenly feared he had crossed some threshold he should never have approached, and so he needled his gaze around the landscape again. Along the side of the road, stalks of spindly flowers like tiny spiral stairs caught his attention with their vivid orange blossoms.

  “Do you know the name of that flower?” he asked, for want of anything better to say. “I have never seen it in Liery.”

  “Those are Jeremy towers,” Fastia said. “You know, I once could name every kind of flower on this road.”

  “Would you entertain me by doing so, Princess? It would help me stay vigilant. I know it is impolite to look away while conversing, but …”

  “I understand completely. I would be happy to entertain you thus, Sir Neil.”

  When they stopped to water the horses, Fastia braided necklaces of pharigolds—one for each girl and Charles, and one for Neil. He felt rather silly wearing it, but could think of no polite way of refusing it, either.

  While the party reassembled itself, Neil rode to the top of the nearest hill, to get a better view.

  The land was rolling and lovely, copsed with trees but mostly pasture dotted with brown-and-white cows. About a league away, he could make out the slender towers of a castle— presumably Glenchest, their destination.

  Hoofbeats signaled the arrival of Sir James Cathmayl and Sir Vargus Farre.

  “Well, if it isn’t the captain of the queen’s guard,” Cathmayl said. “How do our chances look, Captain? Do you think you can take her?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re a fine tactician, I’ll tell you that. You’ve got the ice princess smiling, up top, which is a good first step to that smile down below.”

  “Sir James, I most honestly hope you are not implying what you seem to be.”

  “Let imps lie where they may,” Sir James said.

  “Crudeness aside,” Vargus interposed, “you do seem to have a way with her.”

  “She’s still a girl, under that dress,” James said. “That fool Ossel barely touches her, they say. But I’ve never seen her show an itch till now.”

  Neil regarded Sir James seriously. “Princess Fastia, if that’s who you mean, is a perfect and gentle lady,” he said. “Any kindness she shows me is from politeness, I assure you.”

  “Well, let’s hope she very politely licks your—”

  “Sir, stop there, I warn you!” Neil shouted.

  James did, and let a wicked grin spread across his face. Then he chuckled and rode off.

  “Sir Neil,” Vargus said, “you are far too easy a target for James to hit. He means no malice, but he loves to see your blood up.”

  “He should not talk that way about the archgreffess. It offends honor.”

  Vargus shook his head. “You were brought up by Sir Fail. I know for a fact that he taught you that honor has its place. But so does levity, and even a little crudeness.” He swept his hand at the party down the hill. “We’re ready to lay down our lives for any of them, anytime, and Sir James is not the slightest exception. Why begrudge us a little harmless fun? More to the point, the guard isn’t going to like you, if you keep this stiff, standoffish mien. And you need the men to like you, Sir Neil. You are to assemble a staff for the queen’s new bodyguard, yes, and captain it?”

  “I am.”

  “Better to have men who like you.”

  “Most will not like me anyway, however I act. I am not of gentle birth, and many find that offensive.”

  “And many do not. There are ties that can bind warriors much more surely than any title or rank. But you have to be willing to make some of the rope.”

  Neil pursed his lips. “I was well liked in Liery, as you say. I fought alongside lords and called them brother. But this is not Liery.”

  “You earned your place there,” Vargus told him. “Now earn it here.”

  “That’s difficult, with no battles to fight.”

  “There are many kinds of battle, Sir Neil, especially at court.”

  “I know little of that sort of warcraft,” Neil admitted.

  “You’re young. You can learn.”

  Neil nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, Sir Vargus,” he said sincerely. “I shall keep that in mind.”

  Glenchest, as it turned out, was not so much a castle as a walled amusement. Its towers were tapering, beautiful, and utterly impractical for defense. Its wall, while high enough to keep goats and peasants out, would do little more than make an army pause. The gate was a joke, an elaborate grill of wrought iron made to resemble singing birds and blooming vines, through which could be seen a vast park of trees, hedges, fountains, and pools. Besides the towers Neil could see the roof of the villa, bright copper, shaped very much like an upside-down boat.

  The castle stood upon a low mount, and the town below was clean, trim, and very small, clearly grown up recently to service Glenchest. Its inhabitants watched the queen’s party curiously as they approached.

  When they drew nearer, four young girls broke from the rest, dancing excitedly up to the party. Neil’s hand strayed to his sword.

  “Sir Neil, stay your hand,” Fastia whispered. “Village girls pose no danger.”

  For their part, the girls seemed oblivious to Neil’s guarded attitude. They came right to Hurricane’s withers, eyes bright and upturned. They giggled, much in the same manner as the maids had earlier.

  “Sir Knight,” the eldest-looking said, a brown-haired lass who might have been thirteen. “Couldn’t you give us a favor?”

  Neil stared at them, confused. “Favor?” he replied.

  “For my wishing chest,” the girl said demurely, casting her eyes down.

  “Go ahead, Sir Neil,” Vargus urged jovially. “Give the girl a little something.”

  Neil balked, feeling his face flush, but remembered the older knight’s advice.

  “I don’t—” He broke off, befuddled. Elseny laughed.

  “Here,” Sir Vargus said. “I’m a knight, as well, ladies, though not so young and pretty as this one. Would a favor from me do?”

  “Oh, for me!” one of the younger girls cried, changing her attentions in an instant to Vargus. The older knight smiled and produced a knife, cutting a lock of his curly hair.

  “That’s for you, miss,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir!” the girl said, and then ran off, holding up her prize.

  “It’s the custom, hereabouts,” Fastia said. “They’ll wish on it and pray to Saint Erren for a love as noble as you.”

  “Oh,” Neil said. He looked down at the three still eagerly waiting. “I suppose it’s no harm.” He produced his little belt knife, sawed through a bit of his own hair, and handed it down to the girl. She beamed up at him, bowed, and ran off. The others followed, demanding a pa
rt of her prize. Elseny applauded. Audra and Mere looked sullen.

  “As I said,” Sir James drawled, “this one has a way with the ladies.”

  Neil caught movement from the corner of his eye, and to his chagrin realized he’d been distracted enough to miss the arrival of a sizable party.

  It was a gaudy group emerging from the gate. There were pages dressed in yellow hose and orange frocks, footmen in silver mail—it looked like real silver, which was ridiculous— knights in baroque, flowery armor and red and blue surcoats trimmed in gold lace. In the center of all this, on a palanquin covered with a silk awning and sprouting pennants of cloth of gold and argent, reclined a woman in a voluminous gown of gold and forest green brocade, touched here and there with scarlet flowers. It spilled down the sides of the palanquin like a waterfall, in all directions, and was surely impossible to walk in. The bodice was cut precariously low and pushed dangerously high, and it seemed to Neil that any motion at all might send her breasts forth to reveal what little of them was hidden.

  The face above all of this was, at first glance, almost plain. It was gently oval, with a tiny sharp nose and small lips. But the woman’s eyes were cerulean and radiated an easy mischief, and her lips were painted red and bowed in a smile to match. All this somehow made her whimsically beautiful. Her hair was pale brown, caught up in a complex silver coronet.

  “My aunt Elyoner, my father’s sister and the duchess of Loiyes,” Fastia whispered. She leaned away, and then back. “She is a widow and an enemy of virtue, my aunt. Watch yourself with her, especially if you are alone.”

  Neil nodded, thinking the duchess did not resemble her brother the king in the least.

  “Muriele, my love!” the duchess said, when they were near. “What a disaster that you should come now! I’m barely fit to receive visitors. I just came out to the country a few days ago and haven’t had time to properly put things in order. I hope you will forgive this drab reception! It was the best I could manage on such short notice, but I could not fail to welcome you!”

  As she spoke, the pages scattered the road before them with lilies, while others offered goblets of wine and took the reins of the horses. The queen took one of the proffered cups.

  “A gracious reception, as always,” she said. “It pleases to see you, Elyoner.”

  The duchess coyly averted her eyes. “You are always so kind, Muriele. Please, all of you, come down off those sweaty things. I have chairs for most of you, and your guard will enjoy the walk.” She gestured at four palanquins, each with two seats. They were somewhat smaller than her own.

  “Elseny, what a beauty you’ve become!” she continued, as the party dismounted. “And Fastia! You have color back in your cheeks. Have you finally taken my advice and found a lover?”

  Fastia made a sound like a hiccup, and suddenly, for some reason, the duchess focused her eyes on Neil. “Aha!” she said. “An excellent choice.”

  “I’ve done no such thing, Aunt Elyoner,” Fastia said, “as you ought to know.”

  “Really? How sad. I take it, then, that this delicious young knight is free for sport?”

  “He is Sir Neil MeqVren, captain of my Lier Guard,” Muriele said.

  “How odd. I could have sworn he was guarding Fastia. But that hardly answers my question.”

  With a guilty start, Neil realized that he was, indeed, nearer to Fastia than to her mother.

  “Aunt Elyoner, you have no shame, truly,” Fastia said.

  “Why, I never claimed to, dear. Now, come give us a kiss, and let’s get out of this dreadful sunlight!”

  “Please accept my apologies, once again,” the duchess said that night at supper, gesturing at the table, an enormous affair the size of some galleries. “The cupboard was rather bare, and my best cook is too ill to be troubled.”

  Neil was starting to notice a pattern with the duchess. The polished oaken surface was filled from end to end with partridges in butter gravy, quail pie with currants and almonds, ten kinds of cheese, mixed herbs, steaming platters of eel stew, capons in crust of salt, three roasted suckling pigs, and a gilded bull’s head. Wine had been flowing like water since they passed through the gates and fantastic gardens of Glen-chest, and Elyoner herself had taken quite a bit of it, though to no obvious effect. Servants hurried everywhere, keeping glasses full, and Neil had to be careful to keep up with what he drank.

  “Your hospitality, as usual, is far more than adequate,” the queen assured her.

  “Well, as long as I got you out of that dreary Cal Azroth. What a hole!”

  “But a safe hole,” Erren muttered.

  “Oh, yes. The attempt on Muriele’s life. I got that news only a little while ago. It must have been terrible, my dear.”

  “I hardly had time to notice it before Sir Neil removed the danger,” the queen replied.

  “Aha!” the duchess said, waving her cup at Neil. “This is the one? I knew this young man had a quality about him. I can spot that sort of thing right away.”

  “Those are kind words, Duchess,” Neil said. “But I simply did what any man in the guard would have done. It’s only that I was nearer.”

  “Oh, and modest, too,” the duchess said.

  “He is that, and truly,” Fastia said, setting her goblet down and spilling a little wine in the process. “It’s no courtly pretension, with him. Heezh—” Fastia looked surprised, and glanced at her wineglass with a bit of chagrin. Misunderstanding, a page hastened to fill it. By her slurred speech and pink cheeks, that was hardly what the usually sober Fastia needed.

  Neil was the only one who seemed to notice her discomfort, perhaps because he shared it.

  “Well, Sir Neil,” the duchess said, with a sly smile, “we shall have to think of some reward for you. Our sister-in-law is very dear to us, and we thank you very much indeed for preserving her life.”

  Neil nodded politely.

  “Now, dear Muriele, tell me every little thing about the court. Well, no, not the boring things, you know, no politics or war or matters of that sort. Just the interesting things—which cocks are in which henhouses, you know. Page! Bring the brandy, will you?”

  After dinner it was games in the garden—darts, tennis, hide-and-seek in the hedge maze. The duchess sent more and stronger spirits to Neil, which he sipped at and poured out when she wasn’t looking. The queen took part in the games, and even seemed to be enjoying herself. So did Fastia, though she swayed unsteadily as she consumed more wine and brandy.

  The duchess had changed before dinner, and now wore a black gown embroidered in silver and of more manageable length, though still scandalously revealing. She presided over the play from a little throne her servants carried from place to place.

  As the sun set, she beckoned Neil over. When he drew near, her servant produced a small golden key.

  “This is for you,” she said, her gaze tracing his face languidly. “I do hope you’ll use it.”

  “I don’t understand, Duchess.”

  “It is the key to a certain chamber, in the tallest tower, there. In it I think you will find a reward you will quite enjoy.”

  “My lady, I must stay near the queen.”

  “Foo. I will protect her. I am the lady of this house, and I command it.”

  “Lady, with greatest respect, and with all of my apologies, I cannot leave my queen’s side.”

  “What? Will you sleep with her?”

  “No, lady. But near.”

  “She has Erren, when she sleeps.”

  “I am very sorry,” Neil said again firmly. “But my first and only duty is to the queen.”

  The duchess studied his face in fascination. “You are the virtuous one, aren’t you? I thought they threw all of your sort off of the cliffs long ago.” She bit one side of her lower lip, then straightened her smile. “How exciting. It only makes the chase more worthwhile. I am young, I’ve plenty of time.” She frowned a bit. “Agree with me, Sir Neil. Tell me I am young.”

  “You are, my lady. And beauti
ful.”

  “Not so beautiful as some, perhaps,” she replied. “But I will tell you this, Sir Neil: I am very, very learned. I have read books—forbidden books—and I do so hate to read. But it was worth it.” She stroked his cheek and parted his lips with her finger. “You would find my studies were not in vain, I assure you.”

  Neil’s body was already convinced, and he had to swallow before answering. “Duty,” he managed.

  She laughed, a trilling, beautiful sound. “Yes, we shall see about that,” she said. “You will take some breaking, but every horse can be ridden.” She dimpled. “Suppose I told you I could have something put in your drink, something that would drive you mad with desire?”

  “Then I should have to stop drinking,” Neil said.

  “Suppose I told you you already drank it?”

  Neil’s mouth dropped. He did feel flushed, and certain parts of him were very much attentive. He could smell the flowery fragrance on the duchess, and his eyes were drawn more and more to the precipitous cleavage she exposed.

  “May I be excused, lady?” Neil said.

  “Of course, my dear,” she replied. She took his hand and stroked it, sending a jolt through his body. “A little jumpy, are you?” She released his hand. “I’ll see you later, Sir Neil. Hopefully all of you.”

  Later that night, once he was certain the queen’s suite was secure, Neil retired to a small chamber outside of her receiving room, and there removed his armor, gambeson, and underclothes. He splashed cold water from the basin on his face and then sat on the bed, trying to control his breathing, which was still a bit irregular. He was almost certain now that the duchess had somehow bewitched him. It was as if lightning were flashing in his head, and each bright eruption illuminating an imagined feminine limb or curve. He knew that in the next room the queen was undressing, and it disgusted him that he could not keep that fact from his mind. He lay on the bed, summoning memories of battle and death, of anything to divert his thoughts from lust. Failing, he rose and exercised, padding silently in his small chamber, working through the motions of sword practice with his open hands, as he had first learned them.