Maurynna retreated in bewilderment to stand with Maylin at the foot of the stairs. Otter came down the hall, arranging a cloak over himself and the harp case slung over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I can’t go with you, Rynna. I hope Almered will understand about a royal summons.” He peered over the servant’s shoulder at the sky outside. “You’d best leave now for the tisrahn—looks like rain,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t wait any longer for Linden; he wouldn’t want you to be late. Likely he’s still stuck in the council.”
“But—” Maurynna began. Her words were lost as the bard rushed out, drawing the servant in his wake. “He’s not,” she finished to the oaken door that shut in her face.
She turned to Maylin. “A dinner? Why didn’t he warn us, then?”
“Perhaps it was a sudden thing?” Maylin hazarded. “The gods only know the answer to that, but I do know this: if we wait for him to get back from the other side of the river, we’ll miss the tisrahn. We must leave now, Maurynna.”
Aunt Elenna stuck her head out of the office. “If neither Otter nor the Dragonlord are with you, you girls are taking a ’prentice for an escort. It’s too late for you to go unescorted.” She looked over her shoulder and called, “Gavren, come here! You’re escorting Maylin and Rynna to this feast.”
Gavren, all gangly elbows and knees and bobbing throat apple, came grinning out of the office. “Yes, Mistress Vanadin. I’ll go round to the stable and get some horses.” He disappeared through the door at a shambling lope.
Maylin groaned. “Why Gavren, Mother? He’ll eat everything in sight and laugh that horrible braying laugh of his.” She shuddered.
Her mother shrugged unsympathetically. “So send him to the servants’ quarters when you get there. If he tries to get more than his fair share of the food, don’t worry—someone will thump him. Besides, he’s the only male apprentice here tonight.”
The ring of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones outside announced Gavren’s return. Maurynna numbly allowed Aunt Elenna to fling a cloak over her shoulders. Without knowing what she did, she kissed her aunt’s cheek and followed Maylin out the door.
Somehow she was astride her horse, arranging her blue silk skirts around her. The sense of emptiness and abandonment astonished her as they clattered out of the courtyard.
Maylin reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Rynna. If there’s anything …”
Maurynna decided on a brave front. “It’s all right, Maylin. I didn’t really think he’d come.”
“You did as I bade you?” Althume said.
“Yes,” Sherrine replied. “Indeed, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life as I have these past few days.” She laid a hand across her middle. She’d had to force every bite of that meal down; she’d been so nervous about seeing Linden again that her stomach had threatened to rebel with every mouthful. “Why did I have to eat so much, anyway? You never told me the first time.”
And she’d been too frightened to ask.
“To slow down the effects of the drug,” Althume answered and held up a small parchment packet. “Once more—there is a servant named Joslin at Lord Sevrynel’s estate. See that he is the one to prepare the farewell cup for you and give him this to add to it. A pity that it couldn’t have just gone into his food.”
“True,” Sherrine said as she took the packet. She tucked it safely away in the embroidered pouch hanging from her belt. “Where are the vials?”
“Here.”
Now the mage handed her two small earthenware vials. Both had wax seals, one brown, one white. “Repeat what you will do with these.”
Holding on to her temper, Sherrine said, “The brown is an emetic; get away as soon as possible after I finish the cup and drink it when I’m alone. Then drink the white; it is the antidote to the powder.” She looked down at the second vial and asked the second question she’d not dared to ask the first time. “Antidote? Is the stuff poison, then?” Gods help her, she’d no wish to murder Linden. Make him suffer, yes, but killing him had no part in her plans.
“No.” The mage smiled slightly. “I’ve no more wish to kill Linden Rathan than you do, my lady. The potion will simply spare you the … unpleasant effects that he will suffer.”
“As well he should,” Sherrine muttered.
Hoofbeats sounded outside. Althume went to the window. Sherrine heard him grunt in pleasure as he raised his hand in salute to the rider outside. “That’s the signal. Everything’s set.”
The mage turned back into the room and caught up his cloak from a chair. “Are you ready, my lady? Then it is time.”
Indeed it was. Time for her revenge.
Linden excused himself from the group he’d been talking to. Spotting Kief across the room, he worked his way to the older Dragonlord’s side.
“You’re not planning to leave already, are you?” Kief demanded in an undertone.
“I most certainly am,” Linden snapped. “This idiotic, last-minute affair has made me late enough. I will not dishonor Maurynna in the eyes of her family. Or myself in her eyes.”
“I wish you’d reconsider th—Oh, bother; here comes Sevrynel, and he looks like a man with a bug in his breeches. I wonder what’s wrong?”
Linden looked over his shoulder. Lord Sevrynel was making straight for them; Linden had seldom seen a man look so flustered and worried. Annoyed as he was at their host for the poor timing of this dinner—for he liked the man and had enjoyed the other impromptu feasts—Linden couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “Looks like one bloody big bug, too,” he whispered.
Kief smothered a laugh behind his hand.
Lord Sevrynel fluttered to a halt in front of them. “Your Graces—Linden Rathan—Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I don’t know how to tell you this … .”
A commotion at the door made Linden—and everyone else in the room, judging by the sudden hush—look in that direction. He nearly swore aloud.
For Sherrine, her proud face salt-white and streaked with tears, walked slowly toward him. Astonished murmurs followed her. Her eyes were fixed on him as if she were a storm-lost wayfarer and he a beacon.
And in her hands she bore a large silver goblet.
In a flash he knew what it was: a farewell cup. One that he had to share with her or look like the worst sort of petty bastard before all these nobles—for they, of course, had no idea of the true enormity of Sherrine’s crime. Some he’d overheard even wondered why he’d been so upset for the sake of a commoner.
He would have to share the cup and publicly forgive Sherrine. Once more the girl had trapped him. This time he was not amused.
He waited for her, hands gripping his belt so hard it was a wonder the heavy silver plaques didn’t bend under the pressure.
Easy, Linden, Kief warned. Don’t do anything rash.
When she reached him, Sherrine went down on one knee. “Linden,” she began, her voice shaking with unshed tears. “Linden, I—I wanted to say I’m sorry. I had no right. You had made it clear that—” She looked away for a moment, then continued. “I know now that there can never be anything more between us. I just wanted to tell you that I am retiring to my family’s estates in the country for the duration of the regency debate; I know that my continued presence is … painful to you. I leave tomorrow morning. But I wanted to share the farewell cup with you before I left. For a time we were happy, I think, and I would bid farewell to you and that time.”
Linden studied the pale face raised to him. Sherrine’s beautiful eyes were sad but hopeful. Now the murmurs from the watching crowd were sympathetic. He’d look like the rankest cad indeed if he refused the cup held out to him.
Still, he thought of doing just that. Then he remembered: the wergild. Maurynna’s words ending the feud bound him as well. He wanted to snarl his frustration aloud.
“I will share that farewell with you, my lady,” he forced himself to say instead.
Sherrine gifted him then with one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen a
nd stood once more. Raising the cup so that all might witness, she said, “Fare thee well, Linden. I would have you remember me more kindly than I deserve,” and drank deeply.
As she presented the cup to him, he caught a delicate trace of her perfume. It brought back happier memories. A pity it had ended this way.
Linden raised the goblet to those bittersweet memories and said, “Fare thee well, Sherrine. I shall remember that we were happy. May the gods watch over you.”
Approving nods and whispers greeted his words. The Cassorins had the ending they wanted.
He drank.
The wine was rich and strong. As was traditional with a farewell cup, it was spiced with overtones of both sweet and bitter, this one more bitter than most. Or was that only because he’d no wish to be drinking this one in the first place?
Blast the girl for doing this to him.
Licking his lips as he finished, Linden reflected he had never tasted quite that combination of herbs before, but then he’d never partaken of a farewell cup in Cassori, either. There was a faint metallic aftertaste to this one that sat harshly on his tongue.
I daresay they have their own traditional herbs, though I prefer the Yerrin or Kelnethi brews.
He returned the goblet to Sherrine. She raised it and turned the goblet over in the traditional ending. The few drops of wine left spattered across the white tile floor. They looked like blood, he thought, remembering Maurynna’s wounds.
Sherrine made him a courtesy; a servant came up with her cloak. “Farewell, Linden. May the gods watch over you.”
And with those words, Sherrine swirled the cloak over her shoulders and drew the hood up, shielding her face from the eager stares of those around her. Head bowed, she left the room.
Well done, Linden, Kief said in his mind. I know how hard that was for you.
Do you really, Kief? And now I am leaving.
He’d give Sherrine enough time to get well away and bid their host good-bye. And no one and nothing was stopping him this time.
Turning off the road into a thicket, Sherrine reined her horse in just inside the shelter of the trees. She fumbled desperately at her belt pouch for a moment before her nervous fingers found the vials they sought. With frantic haste she selected one, broke the brown wax seal, and gulped down the contents. Tossing the vial away, she dismounted and, after looping the palfrey’s reins around a low branch, walked a short distance into the woods. She waited tensely.
But Althume was as good as his word. Her stomach roiled. Sherrine fell to her knees and vomited forth the wine she had just shared with Linden. Spasm after spasm of nausea shook her, and the heavy supper the mage had warned her to eat followed the wine. Even as the tears streamed down her face she welcomed the sickness—else she would have fared far worse.
Linden would have no such reprieve. And it was no more than he deserved.
After what seemed an eternity of retching, Sherrine returned to her horse, one hand pressed to her aching stomach. The little mare snorted at the scents clinging to her mistress, but stood steady. With shaking hands, Sherrine untied the waterskin from behind the saddle and washed her face. Then she rinsed her mouth again and again, seeking to rid herself of the taste of wine and herbs that lingered on her tongue. Then she broke the white seal on the other vial and drank that one down.
She rested her head against the saddle for a few moments, then wearily pulled herself onto the palfrey’s back. She could rest well this night. She had her revenge. Sherrine wondered how Linden was faring. And, turning her face up to the rain just beginning, smiled.
Linden grumbled as he swung into the saddle. First this ill-timed feast; now a blasted storm was brewing. He’d be lucky to get to the other side of the river before the rain began.
The gelding’s hooves clattered on the cobblestones as Linden wheeled it around. A ball of coldfire burst out of the darkness at his eye level, momentarily blinding him. He spat out a curse and threw up a hand to shield his eyes.
Kief said, “Apologies, Linden; I didn’t mean to blind you. Perhaps you should delay returning. You don’t have a cloak with you; you’ll be soaked if it starts—”
Mindful of the watching grooms, Linden switched to mindspeech and exploded, Damn it all, Kief! A little wetting won’t hurt me—I’ve fared far worse than that over the years. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. I know bloody well how pleased you are at our estrangement. But I was invited to this feast before that happened and I have every intention of going tonight. You and Tarlna have been delaying me ever since Sherrine left. You will not change my mind—understand that. And now I’m leaving whether you like it or not.
Fat, cold drops of rain began to fall, first a hesitant spattering, then a steady downpour. Kief stood oblivious to it, looking up at Linden.
“Were we truly that transparent?” Kief asked ruefully.
“Yes,” Linden snapped. “Now get out of my way. And get that damned coldfire out of my eyes.”
The coldfire retreated to hover by Kief’s shoulder. “Will you take some of our escort with you?”
Linden touched the greatsword slung across his back; ever since that scare in the woods, he’d taken it with him whenever he left the city proper. “Kief, I do know how to use this—remember? And you don’t really think any footpad with even half his wits will be out in this rain to waylay travelers, do you?” And that mage has made no move against any of us. “Let your guards stay dry.”
For a moment he thought the older Dragonlord would argue further, but Kief stepped back, bowing his head in acceptance.
Linden urged the gelding past Kief. He wondered if he’d be able to find the site of the tisrahn by himself; Maurynna had no doubt left for it long ago. He’d have to go soaking wet, as well. There was no time to spare to return home for dry clothes and a cloak. He’d not give her more excuse to be angry with him than she already had.
It was a long ride to the ferry and Linden didn’t dare ask the gelding to gallop in the sloppy footing and poor light. As it was, the horse shied and snorted at the heavy rain and wind gusting through the tree branches. Linden thought he heard thunder far off in the distance. He pressed the gelding as much as he thought safe, but the trip was taking far longer than he’d hoped.
At last he was on the straight stretch of road that led through the little meadow to the ferry landing. He could make out the ribbon of darkness that was the Uildodd in the distance.
Damn! Looks like the ferry’s on the other side, he thought. Since the way was clear, he urged his mount to a canter.
A short time later the gelding’s hooves thudded on the wooden landing. Sure enough, the boat was gone. Linden set the ball of coldfire to hover high over his head; a distant “Hallooo!” told him the ferrymen knew they had a fare waiting. He wrapped his arms around himself, hunching his shoulders against the rain, and called up a heat spell. Once again he heard thunder rumble in the distance as he settled himself for the wait.
Linden licked his lips and grimaced. The taste of those herbs still lingered. Ah, well; the sooner he got to the tisrahn, the sooner he could get a cup of wine to clear that wretched taste from his mouth.
He smiled. And the sooner he got there, the sooner he’d see Maurynna again.
He hoped the ferry returned quickly.
Forty-three
The hot, humid air, thick with perfumes and incense, clung stickily to Maurynna. The rich aromas of roasting goat and pig wove through the more exotic scents, drawing them together in the tapestry of smells that Maurynna associated with her voyages to Assantik. All around her the crowd surged through the noisy darkness, laughing, chattering, and singing. Now and again ululations rose above the steady beat of the drums. She was suddenly homesick for the feel of the Sea Mist rolling beneath her feet, the sharp tang of the salt breezes blowing in her face, crisp and clean.
She wiped the sweat from her brow. Maylin appeared at her side; she said something that Maurynna couldn’t hear over the clamor. Bending, Maury
nna heard: “Let’s get closer to the dancers! I can’t see over all these people.”
Though the last thing she wanted to do was wade deeper into the crowd, Maurynna hadn’t the spirit to say no. She still couldn’t quite believe that Linden had played her for a fool. So, with Maylin following on her heels like a dinghy behind its mother ship, Maurynna elbowed a way through the tightly packed celebrants to the center of the courtyard where the dancers performed around a bonfire.
If only I could have asked Otter to mindspeak Linden when he was first late. Though I don’t think I would have dared.
She just hoped Linden wasn’t with Lady Sherrine.
As they drew closer, Maurynna could hear the clashing of the tiny brass cymbals the dancers wore on their fingers. All around her people swayed and stamped their feet, mesmerized by the music.
The rhythm of the drums pounded in her bones now. Almost against her will, the deep boom, double-boom of the daggas set her feet moving. Weaving in and out of the daggas’ heavy pulse were the sharper-toned zamlas, little brass drums with dyed goat hide stretched across them. Above the beat of the drums swirled the melody of the shrill pipes.
“Look at them! They’re so graceful!” Maylin yelled up at her.
Maurynna grinned back, remembering her first sight of Assantikkan dancers. “Aren’t they, though!”
She set her worries adrift on the music and enjoyed the dancers circling the bonfire. They twisted and turned, men and women, bodies impossibly serpentine, their arms echoing with movement the intricate melodies of the pipes, hips and feet following the drumbeats. Like everyone around her, Maurynna swayed to the music, stamping her feet in time with the dancers’.
One moment she was lost in the music. The next, the realization that Linden still wasn’t there shattered her contentment. She went cold inside and looked around.
No, no bright blond head towered above the crowd. She tugged nervously on a lock of her hair. Where on earth was Linden? He should have been here long ago; Aunt Elenna would have given him directions. Surely he wouldn’t dishonor Almered this way.
The Last Dragonlord Page 30