‘Rawl, we ride now — make haste everyone.’
As she climbed into her saddle she looked at Fynch. ‘Romen’s here, you must stop worrying.’
He smiled but she could tell he was still distracted, worried. ‘You ride on ahead, your majesty.’
Valentyna nodded and kicked her horse into a gallop and the riders charged in her wake.
He could tell Knave was eager to go too. ‘You want to see him, don’t you, boy?’
Knave did not flinch; he waited for Fynch’s signal. ‘You go then. I’ll be back soon.’
The dog cut across open fields towards the palace, making it back before the riders.
THIRTY-FIVE
VALENTYNA LEFT INSTRUCTIONS FOR Romen Koreldy with her Chancellor before ascending the palace’s central staircase to the first floor. She deliberately slowed her walk through the corridor towards what was formerly her father’s study and main reception chamber for important guests.
It was from here she tackled the daily business of running the realm, as her father and his father before him had done. She could remember how as a child she used to jump at each window she passed to catch a glimpse of the world outside the palace. This liveliness annoyed her prim-faced tutor but the admonishments had never succeeded in preventing her from repeating the performance each time she was escorted to meet a guest or just share a few precious minutes of the morning with her father.
Valentyna possessed only a few murky memories of her mother. She could recall the softly spiced fragrance of her scent and the sound of her laughter. Not unlike her own, her father had commented. And she remembered a lullaby. Her mother sang it to her when she was sick or having trouble going to sleep. She would stroke her hair and softly hum it. But the rest was a blur. If not for the portrait hanging in the Great Hall or the miniature on her father’s desk, she would not know her mother’s features or be able to recognise the powerful likeness to her own. Her mother had died carrying her sibling. There were complications during the pregnancy — a poisoning of the blood, she gathered. Valentyna had been much too young to grasp the details. All she knew was that the woman she loved with the lovely laugh, who sang and smelled as beautiful as she looked, could not come to her one night. The next day her father had sat tearfully at her bedside and explained that her mother had gone to Shar’s keeping.
It had been a boy apparently, the much desired son and heir, who had perished inside her mother’s womb. Valor had cried shamelessly as he told her of the night’s events. It was the only time she would ever see him weep. They had held each other tight and wept together. From that moment on her father had become Valentyna’s world and vice versa.
She came out of her musing and stroked the back of his battered chair as she stood by the window in his old room. From this chamber she could look down into the main bailey and watch the arrival of Liryk and his men. His presence had been sorely missed but she understood his need to re-evaluate security in the realm and organise as many of their soldiers back to Werryl in readiness for the Morgravian visit … just in case. The King was apparently bringing only a light escort by his standards — but that still meant five score Morgravian soldiers on their soil. She would not be taking any chances. Should trouble could occur or Briavel be duped, they would be ready this time, for any eventuality.
She looked for Koreldy and, even though she had no idea of his appearance other than the description from Fynch, she picked him out with ease. It helped that he was dressed in civilian attire but even from this height she could tell that Fynch had drawn a supremely accurate picture of this man. Once again she marvelled that such a young boy could offer such precise information.
I shouldn’t be surprised, she scolded herself silently. Fynch has a mind like a vice for detail.
Valentyna watched her message of summons being delivered to Koreldy. He was to be brought immediately to her. A guard from the palace politely asked for his weapons which he readily handed over, including two curious knives he pulled from within his shirt. She smiled to herself, not sure why, as she watched all this unfold from her vantage. She presumed the guard must have apologised and asked if he could do a quick search — orders and all that — but Liryk stepped in and seemed to wave away the necessity for that.
A short discussion and the guard left, carrying the weapons. She noticed a friendliness between Liryk and Koreldy — that too was positive. She trusted Liryk implicitly and he would have made it his business to get close enough to this relative stranger to make an assessment. She remembered how dubious Liryk and old Krell had been about Koreldy. But it was Fynch who had persuaded them that he was very much on Briavel’s side. He could be trusted.
She watched the two men in the yard share a few words, a quick laugh and then Koreldy took his leave, following the page.
Soon enough she heard footsteps and the only outward sign she showed of the sudden nervousness she felt was to touch at her wayward hair, wishing now she had taken a moment to comb it back at least. Never mind, she was not one to pay much heed to vanity and the thought was dismissed almost as soon as it had come.
A knock at the door and her Chancellor entered. ‘Your majesty, Romen Koreldy is here to meet with you.’
‘Thank you, Krell, please show him in.’
He nodded. ‘I will have the refreshments sent up immediately, your majesty.’
She smiled her thanks. His intuition as well as experience was precious to her.
Valentyna remained by the window, just a little unsure of herself. She hated that her normally effortless confidence had momentarily evaporated and she had only just begun to grasp the reason for its absence when Romen Koreldy finally stepped into her chamber. They stared at each other just a bit longer than protocol dictated. She noted that Romen’s eyes were sparkling — it was as if he already knew her and was gladdened to see her again.
A small smile of bemusement played at her lips as the silence lengthened. He had not made a step since the door had closed quietly behind him. Koreldy became aware of her gentle confusion and was now quick to stride across the room before kneeling and taking her hand.
‘Queen Valentyna.’ He kissed her hand, again lingering, she thought, for a moment or two longer than strictly necessary. ‘Your majesty, I offer my service, as promised.’ His head remained bowed, her hand still resting in his, she noted. He was clearly not keen to let it go and if she was truthful with herself, she was in no hurry either.
‘Be welcome, Romen Koreldy. It is a pleasure to have you amongst us.’
Now he stood up to his full height, taller than her, she realised, which was unusual. Most men she could look straight in the eye or down to; to reach his grey gaze, she found herself tilting her head just slightly. A rare and pleasurable experience.
Emotions she could not immediately pinpoint passed through her and threatened to unbalance her poise. In the same instant Valentyna recognised what had sapped her normally unflappable nature. It was him. Even when she was looking at him earlier from her private vantage something had sparked. For the first time in her young life Valentyna understood what it was like to be strongly attracted to a man.
Oh, she had experienced infatuation with older men when she was a girl. In fact she recalled having a crush on a tawny-haired stable boy when she was barely ten summers; and one of the squires in training had chanced kissing her once. She had kicked him. There was a tutor when she was twelve who made her breath catch when he smiled or leaned in close but since then no one. Not a single man to send her heart skipping out of control. The feeling unnerved her in truth, for it made her feel weak inside, like her knees felt right now. Weakness would not help her rule.
He was watching her closely with that sardonic expression, those knowing eyes. She had expected someone more arrogant. Krell had met Koreldy briefly on his first visit and had described a swaggering, confident sort of fellow with an easy laugh — someone used to getting his way. She did not sense much of this right now but it was too early to be making judgement. K
oreldy cleared his throat and she realised the silence between them had stretched too far. She should say something.
‘Thank you for coming back.’
Now he smiled broadly and it changed him, lighting a fresh spark in his eyes and handsomely wrinkling the skin of his tanned face around his eyes and mouth.
‘I could not stay away,’ he replied.
I could get lost in that smile, she thought. Valentyna was rescued by a knock at the door and Krell announcing refreshments which a servant brought in on a large tray.
Relief flooded through her. ‘You must be thirsty after your ride,’ she said to her guest.
‘Please forgive my appearance, your majesty, we have been on the road for several days.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, thanking the servant with a small nod as he left the room. ‘I too have been out riding this morning.’ She wanted to tell Koreldy that she liked his dusty look, the smell of the horse about him, his unshaven chin and the unruly dark hair falling near his shoulders. It struck her that everything she found attractive in a man seemed to ooze from him. Here is a man to lose one’s heart to.
As Valentyna cleared her throat with embarrassment at her private thoughts, Wyl was feeling very glad for Romen’s unflappable manner, for he was sure without that he would be behaving as a stammering youth. He wondered at how intriguingly unpredictable Romen’s essence was, sometimes fading to nothing and at times, like now, potent. Looking at Valentyna again lifted his spirits and filled his heart. He could not imagine ever being happier than this precious moment. Just the two of them. Both a little awkward, his heart hammering in his chest and that familiar sensation of shortening breath. He recalled it from the first time they met. She is so lovely, he thought, and just as I remember with her hair easing from its clasp, wisps of it about her face, and her man’s riding clothes and unaffected manner.
I have missed you, Valentyna. I love you more than I can begin to explain, he so desperately wanted to say. Instead he nodded at her gesture to be seated and joined her at a small table and chairs by the window. He hoped Romen’s cheeks did not flush as easily as his own used to.
She grinned. ‘I’m still trying to get used to this room. It was my father’s, you know. I can often feel his presence.’
He could tell she was uncharacteristically nervous. ‘He was a brave man. We were outnumbered, I’m so sorry, your majesty, for letting you down …’
‘Don’t,’ she said, instinctively reaching to touch his hand reassuringly, only to be thrilled once again when he did not hesitate to cover hers with his own. She did not shrink away. She allowed the dry warmth of his palm to seep through the back of her hand. It was the most sensuous moment of her life. It made her catch her breath to feel his touch, whilst those flinty eyes held her so directly.
Valentyna resisted the temptation to clear her throat again and begged her voice not to tremble. ‘I know that you and Wyl Thirsk would have fought valiantly to save him. I owe you heartfelt thanks … a Morgravian and a Grenadyne fighting for a Briavellian. It’s ironic.’
Wyl remained quiet. Her pain was evident. The silence stretched.
‘There’s a small boy and a huge dog eager to see you,’ she said brightly, forcing herself to move away from the subject of her father’s death and from Koreldy’s touch.
‘Fynch — is he well?’
Taken off guard momentarily by his earnest manner — which certainly did not fit with the description Krell once gave her of this man — Valentyna liked him all the more for it. ‘He seems well.’
It struck Wyl that the Queen did not sound so sure. ‘But?’ he asked.
She handed him a goblet of wine, wishing she had not cast doubt in his mind. He spoke to her as if they were old friends, such was his easy manner, but she did not know this man well enough yet to share secrets. ‘No but. He is well,’ she confirmed, favouring him with a heartbreaking smile. ‘Please,’ she said, encouraging him to taste the wine. ‘This was one of my father’s favourites.’
Wyl sipped, Fynch forgotten momentarily as he allowed the warmth from that smile to wash over him. ‘It’s superb. Thank you.’
Valentyna enjoyed the compliment. ‘Father always counselled that this wine is best when young,’ she admitted, sipping from her goblet. She took a deep breath. It was time to move on from the pleasantries. ‘Romen, may I be candid?’
He nodded. ‘I’d prefer you to be.’
‘Well, it’s just that I find myself in a precarious situation. You tried to save my father’s life — with no reason for doing so — and you fought alongside a man we trusted. A man you had been sent to kill, I’m assured. Wyl Thirsk died that day and we have no one’s word but yours as to how that happened. The saving grace, of course, is that you could have simply left him and fled. However, you returned his body to Morgravia and then took his sister to safety, which we can only assume is a sign of your honesty in this matter. And now I am having to trust that your pledge to Briavel … and to me’ — she felt herself blush — ‘is true.’
He moved to say something but she held her hand up. ‘No, please. Let me say this. It needs to be said. I must have honesty from you in this because I cannot fathom what you have to gain, whereas I have everything to lose by putting my faith in you.’
‘Your majesty.’ Wyl took her hand again — how he wished to caress it. ‘I wrote in my letter that I am yours to command. I meant it then and I mean it now. I am true to you, Valentyna, Queen of Briavel.’
‘But why?’
‘Because Celimus is as faithless as a snake. His loyalty is to himself alone. I have no people, your majesty,’ Wyl said, hating to hear himself say it. ‘I no longer have a home. I have no roots which I care to claim. I am a free spirit,’ he added, not impressed with his choice of words. ‘I liked Wyl Thirsk. He wrung a blood oath from me that I would protect you with my own life.’
‘So I’ve been told.’ She was shocked. ‘Why would he ask that of you?’
It was his chance. Perhaps as Romen he could say what he never could have uttered as Wyl. ‘Because he was in love with you, your majesty.’
Her mouth opened to speak but no sound issued. She closed it again, eyes wide with surprise. ‘We were strangers,’ she finally said softly, in disbelief. ‘Knew each other for only a couple of hours.’
‘Have you never felt the stomach-churning, heart-stopping sensation of meeting someone for the first time and knowing they are the only person in the world for you?’ He said it lightly for fear of it sounding condescending. Wyl followed it up with the dazzling smile he knew Romen did so well.
Valentyna blushed instantly. She hoped he could not read her thoughts. ‘I have heard of it happen,’ she said, not daring to admit the truth.
He continued, ignoring her discomfort. ‘I liked Wyl from the moment I met him.’ Now he fashioned the lie. ‘I witnessed Celimus’s brutality of the Thirsk family first hand and decided then that I would not be Wyl’s murderer but I was in too deep to pull away from the mission. I could not allow Celimus to know that I had turned traitor. Wyl knew of my instructions — he heard of them through Fynch.’ She nodded. ‘The more I got to know of him on the journey to Briavel, the more I knew I could not execute him. We hatched a plan. Of course he did not know you then, your majesty, or the plan would have been very different.’
‘Go on,’ she said, embarrassed but intrigued.
‘Well, of course, once he had met you, it all changed. He no longer wanted to encourage you to marry Celimus, even though to fail would threaten his sister’s life.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, he said as much to us. He told us everything. His hatred for Celimus was the reason he was prepared to fight for Briavel’s King, I presume. He was the bravest of men, for to turn traitor takes the hardest courage of all, especially with the name Thirsk.’
‘Very true,’ Wyl said, touched by her perceptiveness. ‘Thirsk had witnessed his closest friend killed ruthlessly. His sister, wife of that friend, was made to kneel in her husban
d’s remains. The length of their marriage could be counted in hours.’ Wyl’s tone was so raw he had to clear his throat. ‘Ylena was imprisoned, held as ransom on her brother’s success in persuading your father to agree to the marriage. His guardian and mentor, Gueryn, had been almost certainly killed in the north, he was told. He suspected foul play on the part of the Celimus and I have since discovered he was right to believe this. But he was cornered. Wyl had much to hate the new King for and after meeting your father and you, your majesty, it was easy for him to choose Briavel’s cause despite his loyalty to Morgravia.’ He rushed towards the end of his emotional speech. ‘After you and Fynch had fled the palace, Wyl let me into the chamber and told me what he could about the ambush. That was when I realised I had been double-crossed. He asked me to fight alongside him. I had no choice.’ His tone became tentative, not wishing to reopen old wounds. ‘After your father was slain and we thought we had killed his attackers, Wyl admitted his heart was already lost to you. One last man murdered Wyl, I’m sorry to admit.’
A small choked sound escaped from the Queen. ‘We had shared a brief meal together — that was all. How could he claim to be in love with me?’
‘Your majesty, when love’s arrow bites hard into the flesh, there is no escape, no preferred length of time for its delicious poison to take effect. For some, its magical potion can be instant. There is no doubt in my mind that Wyl spoke from the heart. He was prepared to die for you — and he did. But he made me promise over a blood oath that I, of no loyalty to any crown, would protect you with my blade and his sister with my connections.’
Wyl deliberately stopped himself from biting his lip or betraying any other sign of anxiety over the cleverly crafted lie. Would she take it? Would she accept him?
‘I sensed he was a good man,’ she said, turning to stare out of the window as she considered all that she had heard. ‘I believe my father trusted him, even though they were sworn enemies.’
The Quickening Page 45