Wyl stood and moved with a sinking heart before Briavel’s sovereign who looked down upon him from the shallow dais with an air of icy detachment.
He bowed. ‘My Queen,’ he said but she did not acknowledge him.
‘Romen Koreldy, you stand here before us accused of betraying the trust of the Crown of Briavel. I have heard disturbing reports of your clandestine activities, none of which I can substantiate but nonetheless fill me with a dread I have never known. However, we shall not execute you, Koreldy, as the monarch of Morgravia demands. Briavel extends you mercy, for without proof of your guilt, I cannot condone your death. But I also cannot permit your presence within our borders. For your treachery today, you are banished, to be escorted by my Guard to the Briavellian border.’
She paused just briefly to glance his way but he was staring at the floor so she continued.
‘You may choose where you re-enter Morgravia or you may take your chances by sea to the south, north into the Razors, or indeed far east into the unknown. We care not for your choice, though I would warn that should you return to Morgravia King Celimus will have you captured and executed on sight.’ This time she looked at him fully, her gaze resting long and sadly upon his bowed head. ‘Shar speed you, Koreldy, from our sight. Briavel washes her hands of you and your taint.’
Wyl felt his body lurch with despair but there was nothing to say, nothing to be gained by helpless, cringing complaints to the contrary. He was cornered by Celimus’s lies once again and, although there was the small consolation that Valentyna was not entirely going along with the King’s version of events, there was no doubting her desire for him to be gone from this place … from her life.
As he searched for something to say there was a sudden commotion which smashed through the silence. It was Fynch bursting through some concealed doors into the Great Hall, yelling.
‘No, your majesty. No!’
A loud combined exclamation issued from the gathered, offended that a child should interrupt proceedings but the Queen held her hand up for quiet.
‘Fynch,’ she replied gently, breaking protocol by even acknowledging him at this juncture. ‘It is too late.’
‘No, Valentyna,’ he cried and ignored the further angry murmurings at his familiarity. ‘You don’t understand him.’ He ran towards her.
‘No, I don’t,’ she said but bent slightly to look into the tear-streaked face of the child who had been such a good friend to her. Will I lose him too now? ‘But he must go. I cannot have him in our presence for a moment longer than necessary.’
‘Your majesty,’ Fynch implored. ‘This is not Romen Koreldy … this is —’
‘Fynch!’ Wyl called. ‘Let it be, son.’
They all watched the dishevelled boy, as his face twisted through a series of emotions, settling on something that seemed to lie somewhere between hate and despair.
‘Let’s go, lad,’ Liryk murmured, moving to escort him out of the Great Hall.
‘Come, Knave,’ the boy said. ‘We have no place here.’
Fynch did not look back and would always regret that he did not say a single word of farewell to the man called Romen Koreldy.
EPILOGUE
WYL SENSED THE REGRET in Liryk who joined the four-man escort which would see him to the border of Briavel; one man always riding behind, a crossbow trained on Koreldy’s back. All knew the weapon was not necessary; still, they were taking no chances.
He had been given no further opportunity for discussion with Fynch or indeed anyone at the palace, save Stewyt who had packed a sack of gear which Wyl could claim as his. The horse he rode was his to keep, especially chosen by her majesty, he was told — her final act of kindness towards him. It was a tan mare. He had admired her in the stables once — that occasion felt like a lifetime ago. But Valentyna had not forgotten. He wished he could read more into the gesture but remembering her wintry gaze from suddenly cold, blue eyes, he knew they were no longer even friends. Her generosity was simply payment for his service. Now she wanted him gone from her realm. The saddlebags, he noticed, were well stocked with food and supplies. His weapons were in the care of Liryk, strapped to the older man’s horse, until such time the Commander decreed it appropriate to return them to the disgraced prisoner.
As for the Queen, after pronouncing sentence she had departed the hall without so much as looking towards him again. She had made it clear that Briavel had washed its hands of him.
He rode in a bleak silence, ignoring his fellow riders, dark thoughts his only company. It was early evening when they set out with little intention of reaching any great distance before night closed in — at best Crowyll perhaps, ten miles from Werryl. It was important to Valentyna for him to be removed from the palace immediately. In truth Wyl felt as though he no longer cared about anything. It even occurred to him that should the soldier behind accidentally fire that crossbow it might be a welcome end to this intense grief at the loss of his only love’s trust. The only thought which encouraged him to stay alive right now was Ylena’s safety and the need to make amends to Fynch.
He came out of swirling thoughts. The other riders had dropped back he noticed absently, leaving only Liryk to ride alongside him.
‘I did not kill him,’ Wyl said into the silence. ‘The deed was done by a thug called Arkol — and he was sent by Celimus.’
The soldier knew immediately to what he referred. ‘But you cannot prove it,’ Liryk replied, ‘that’s our dilemma.’
‘Yet you would believe the Morgravian King?’
‘I have no choice publicly. But for what it’s worth, Koreldy, I don’t want to believe you murdered King Valor, and just for your peace of mind — if there is such a thing — neither does our Queen.’
‘Then why —’
The older man interjected. ‘But what you did on that tourney field today completely overstepped your familiarity with Briavel. It was tantamount to war between our realms. And if we did not punish you for such an affront to the visiting monarch we would risk his personal wrath towards her majesty. Don’t you understand, man! We are not equipped to fight another war so soon with Morgravia. We are treading the narrowest of paths here along a precipice and should we trip we could fall into the darkest of times.’
Wyl knew Liryk to be right. He knew the consequences before he had even stepped onto the tourney field with the intention to do malice. And he suspected Valentyna’s demand for his promises indicated that she never quite trusted that he would not take a chance to hurt the Morgravian King.
‘Why could she not say she knows me to be innocent?’ There was a plaintiveness in his voice.
‘Because she still isn’t sure you didn’t kill Thirsk in cold blood … and frankly neither am I! Whatever Thirsk was, he was honourable by all accounts — as was his father whom I personally knew. Enemy or not, murder is not the Briavellian way and Thirsk came here in peace.’
The sense of being trapped was complete. Briavel was banishing him on behalf of Wyl Thirsk. If only they knew.
‘But these days murder is the Morgravian way and you and your Queen are going to have to learn very quickly to fight fire with fire … or you are lost,’ Wyl warned, angrily.
‘Let us worry about that. You are fortunate to have escaped with your life, Koreldy. The King calls for your blood.’
‘I care nothing for his threats. All I know is he has corrupted Queen Valentyna’s mind. Tell her that from me. Beg her not to trust him. Not to agree to marry him.’
‘You know I won’t. You understand that I support this marriage to achieve peace.’
‘Well you are being duped! Celimus wants Briavel, not peace. He will plunge you straight into war with Cailech for sure.’
‘How can you know this?’
‘Because I know him so much better than you think,’ Wyl said, exasperated. ‘He will marry her and he will treat her with contempt. He will destroy her … and Briavel.’
‘Stop, Koreldy! I’ll hear no more of this. We’re approaching Crowyll
and this is where we’ll overnight. You’d do well to appreciate your final evening in a comfortable bed. After this it will be grass for your mattress until we reach the border.’
Wyl said nothing, his frustration overwhelming.
‘Any preference for an inn?’ Liryk asked, friendly again.
His gripe was not with Liryk, who was a good man. ‘How about the Forbidden Fruit?’ Wyl suggested facetiously, remembering the woman, Hildyth.
‘Aha, so you were paying attention,’ the old soldier replied, surprising him. ‘Yes, why not. I’m sure we can afford the banished man one last glimpse of the good life.’ He laughed. ‘Incidentally, in which direction are we headed tomorrow?’
‘Morgravia, where else?’ Wyl said, his voice hard.
Liryk reminded Wyl that he would be guarded.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t try anything.’
Liryk nodded. ‘Good. Don’t, for your own sake. My men are on orders to kill should you attempt to escape and it would not please me to see you as a corpse when we’re going to so much trouble to keep you alive.’
‘Are we all staying here?’
‘There are normal rooms for rent so yes, but not all will be partaking of the specialties on offer. However, you may feel free, my friend. It is a farewell gift from me, shall we say. I hope you enjoy it.’
Wyl mustered the suggestion of a grin for the older man. Liryk was hard not to like. ‘And you?’
‘Not tonight, son,’ he replied, his glance flicking behind Wyl. ‘Ah, there she is. I trust you won’t pass her up a second time, Koreldy?’
Wyl turned, knowing it would be Hildyth approaching. He was right. She looked frankly surprised to see him — he could not read what her confused expression meant. Still, he gave no further thought to it, focusing somewhat helplessly despite his mood on how very desirable she looked in a rouched gown of white voile. It was transparent, yet cunning folds of the fabric clung perfectly to the areas of her body which she chose to conceal and tantalise the customers with. Her hair, cut bluntly shorter than any other woman he knew, struck him as unusual again and yet it suited her perfectly, framing her square face above very broad and angular shoulders which were bared.
She smiled and once again he was reminded of a cat — but this time one which had swallowed the pet bird. There was something knowing in those green eyes and he noticed any confusion he might have sensed in her moments before had vanished. She was entirely in control of herself again.
‘Romen Koreldy,’ she said, effecting a graceful and altogether feminine bow.
‘You remember,’ Wyl replied, impressed.
‘I would never forget a face like yours,’ she crooned. ‘And Commander Liryk, it’s good to see you again, sir.’ She returned her gaze to Wyl. ‘I knew I could trust you,’ she said.
‘Trust me to do what?’ Neither his body’s response to her flirtations nor Romen’s easy grin failed him.
‘To return. You said you would.’
He nodded. ‘That I did, madam.’
‘And I hope you will choose me to give you some relaxation this evening?’ she enquired.
‘Well, I gather from what you say that I made a promise?’
‘Not in so many words,’ she admitted, ‘but I took it as such.’
‘Then let us proceed,’ Wyl said, desire sparking through him, swimming strongly against his mood.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said, bowing to Liryk and the one other senior officer who had accompanied them into the building. She offered her arm to Wyl.
‘I’ll see you in a few hours, Koreldy,’ Liryk said and winked. ‘Remember what we discussed,’ he added.
Wyl already knew he was a man who needed to love a woman to enjoy sexual intimacy. He remembered his night with Arlyn in Orkyld as a blessed physical release, made richer by her affection. But it was Valentyna who had made him realise that when love came together with desire — when the need for both matched each other in intensity — it was the most potent of confections. Only with Valentyna could he say he had experienced this cocktail which so addicted the soul in the most vicious way. Wyl knew he would not recover from the potion. It coursed through his veins and would continue to poison his thoughts and his dreams.
Valentyna! he silently cried as Hildyth led him away.
It had taken every ounce of his will to control his ardour for Queen Valentyna when they had lain together in her bed last night. On the surface he regretted it now, wishing they had enjoyed each other fully. It was he alone who had stopped them from consummating their love. It was right but it was also unjust, considering the next man she would probably lay with might well be his enemy. Yet now as he walked down the softly scented, low lit corridors of the Forbidden Fruit, he was glad he had. She could only have hated him more if they had shared such an intimacy. As it was he could never expect her to look upon him — if she ever did again — with anything resembling affection.
Hildyth had none of Valentyna’s raw beauty but there was definitely something about her which Wyl wanted to possess, if just for a few hours. He would use and enjoy her hard, taut body tonight and release all of his tightly held aggression. And then he would leave.
No love shared. Just lust and payment.
Hildyth led him into a chamber where a narrow, low shelf ran the length of the walls. Upon this shelf fragrant candles burned, scenting the room with honey and jasmine with a hint of spice. A splash pool of heated water awaited where heady vapours of refreshing mint and citrus mingled with the other scents to create a sensuous atmosphere of wellbeing. Nearby a table held wine and sweetmeats for their indulgence. The smoothing bench was against the far wall.
‘What would you prefer me to call you?’ she asked, cat eyes shining.
‘Romen will be fine.’
‘Come, Romen, let me undress you.’
But first she reached behind herself and flicked the clasp which undid her gown. It fell to the floor, lightweight and wispy, leaving her naked. She stepped unhurriedly from her garment ensuring his own gaze could roam her body. He was right, she was contoured by muscle which did nothing to detract from what he realised was a neat yet wholly voluptuous figure. Her breasts were not large but they were full, curving towards dark, erect nipples.
She turned to pick up her gown and place it on a chair. It was a deliberate move so he could admire her round, rather lovely bottom. It occurred to him that she possessed the shape of a beautiful musical instrument. The thought was gone as she turned back towards him, the dark downy triangle between her strong thighs arrested his gaze. It was here he hoped to find solace and relief this night.
‘I hope I was the right choice?’ she said, half smiling at where his look rested.
‘Indeed. I chose well,’ he replied in Romen’s sardonic way and began to pull off his clothes.
‘Allow me,’ she said.
It was a slow and sensuous experience all of its own being undressed by this intriguing woman. She lingered on certain areas of his body as she unburdened them from their coverings. Wyl felt himself trembling in anticipation and surprised himself that he did not feel self-conscious when she removed his breeches and his hard desire for her was revealed.
She looked up from her knees, the half smile there again. He knew she thought about giving him the much-needed release right then but she decided against it, straightening back to her full height but making sure his naked skin now touched hers, sending a fresh shiver through his body.
Hildyth gestured that he should step into the pool and as he did so, she poured wine for him. She joined him in the water, handing him a goblet and seating herself on the ledge in the pool so he could lean back between her legs as she soaped his upper body. Wyl began to relax as the rhythmic movement of her sudsy fingers played over him. It was always such a treat to be washed in this manner. She lathered his hair and he drained his goblet of the excellent Kurshor from Briavel’s sun-drenched coastal valley, felt its fiery warmth hit the spot as her strong hands now massaged his scalp.
> As she rinsed his hair, she encouraged him to caress her, and then she suggested he allow her to dry him. Wyl was reluctant to leave the pool, loath to interrupt this pleasure and the state of mind which had permitted him to put aside his angry thoughts, numb his cares for the last hour.
‘Let me give you a smoothing as you have never had before, Romen,’ she muttered in a low voice.
He nodded, allowed her to dry his body with warmed linens. Their gentle roughness against his skin revived his desire again as she dried his legs and buttocks. He realised their time together so far had been mostly silent. She was not curious to know anything more about him, which he found agreeable, and he appreciated that she did not babble, like so many of the brothel girls. Hildyth was comfortable in his silence but not once did he feel she was going about her business with him in a detached manner. If anything he felt a bond with her — as though they were kindred spirits in this comfortable place void of idle words.
She smiled and pointed towards the smoothing bench and he obliged, lying belly down, his face turned away from her.
‘On your back, please,’ she said in a soft voice and he obliged. This was an unusual position to begin the smoothing but he was past caring about details. ‘I have a warmed pouch of barley I am going to lay across your eyes. It will feel good and help you to relax,’ she explained.
Wyl nodded. He was familiar with this practice and sighed gently as she laid the perfectly weighted, warmed pouch on his face. He heard her opening the cupboard, then the gentle clink of small glass bottles.
Again the voice soft. ‘Would oil of lavender be to your liking, Romen?’
‘Yes,’ he murmured, knowing it was dangerous, for it would remind him of Valentyna and the evening they had kissed and their love had first taken flight.
As he listened to her rubbing the oil between her hands he imagined feeling her thighs around him shortly. After the smoothing she would lead him into the adjoining chamber — a bedroom — where they would complete this ritual and she would pleasure him in any way he chose. He desired nothing more complicated than the feel of a woman holding him as he moved inside her. Lost in his lust-filled thoughts, he reached his cupped hands behind, laid his head on them and sighed.
The Quickening Page 54