But then Maxen returned to the table, still chatting with Vadik, and Merewyn lost her will to fight. The moment passed; Hildred stepped away, directing the servants, clapping her hands and hissing at them to “Hurry, you fools! Everyone is waiting!” Haley conscientiously jumped in and started helping to distribute the bowls of nuts and the decanters of dessert wines.
A bowl of pistachios appeared next to Merewyn, but before she could point them out to Maxen, who took a chair on the other side of his father, every light in the hall flickered and then as one, extinguished. Gasps rippled around the room, and Merewyn tensed, awaiting the dagger to her back she felt positive was about to come. A soft yellow light warmed the hall and then was shot through with red and orange. But what was the source of this light? She turned in her chair, unable to locate where the light came from. When she saw Hildred’s smug face, however, Merewyn realized the evening’s entertainment had begun.
The candles and torches now shimmered in the blue and silver of the King’s Banner, and into this dazzling light stepped Caedmon. He walked to the center of the floor, which had been vacated by startled guests seeking the safety of the walls, his arms outstretched to take them all in. “More than three hundred years ago, four of my fellow hillichmagnars and I stood in this very hall to celebrate Edmund Dryhten’s declaration of the new kingdom of Myrcia and his marriage to the singular Princess Maud. On that occasion, we displayed some of the gifts Earstien has granted us—the same gifts we had used to aid Edmund Dryhten in battle. Tonight, we gather not to commemorate victory in battle or a royal wedding, but simply to enjoy the fellowship of our Ivich brothers and sisters who live far away and whom we see too seldom.”
The hillichmagnar took a step back, and in his place a pillar of fire rose from the floor to the bare wooden beams of the high ceiling. There were gasps from the crowd, but nothing was consumed in those flames and Merewyn could see Caedmon on the other side, as cool and calm as if he were standing next to a fountain.
From the fire leapt a white steed, blue and silver ribbons that matched the candles streaming from mane and tail. It galloped directly at the head table, and Merewyn had to struggle against her instinct to flinch. A mere stride away, the horse took to the air in an impossibly high jump, easily clearing not only the table, but Merewyn and Ethelred, as well as Hildred, who still stood between them.
Everyone in the hall applauded, save Merewyn. She would have clapped, too, but Hildred looked so damned self-satisfied that she refused to give her the satisfaction.
Daryna Olekovna appeared at Caedmon’s side out of the very air. With a smile and elegant gesture of her thin arm, she produced another horse, this one with a chestnut coat so smooth and sleek it could have been lacquered wood. This new horse, an entire rainbow of ribbons flowing behind it, set off after the first animal. The two chased each other around the hall twice, leaping tables and benches, but also passing directly through a wine steward as he refilled Harish’s goblet.
Then a stream flowed through the hall. It twisted over smooth stones, and as it picked up speed just in front of the high table, Merewyn could swear she felt mist on her face. Faustinus splashed through this stream to join his two compatriots around the tower of flame, as the horses continued to run free, either jumping or charging through the stream as they saw fit.
Merewyn had never hated Hildred more. She turned to see precisely how completely her nemesis was basking in her triumph. Hildred took the empty chair beside Merewyn and grinned over her wine goblet before taking a sip. With casual insolence, she took an entire handful of pistachios from the nearest bowl, almost as if this were her own table at home, and started stuffing them into her face.
She must have swallowed wrong; she spasmed slightly, then coughed. Merewyn glared at her, hoping she was choking on those damned nuts.
And Hildred started to cough more and more forcefully. She dropped the rest of the nuts, and they scattered across the table. Brandon had wandered back to the other end of the high table with Edgar when the entertainment began, and he now looked down at his sister with concern. Other guests gave her less charitable glances, and as her cough grew raspier and louder, someone actually called out, “For Finster’s sake, leave the bloody room already.”
The epithet seemed prophetic. Red bubbled at the corners of Hildred’s lips, and Merewyn did not think it was wine. In fact, Merewyn held up her goblet to Hildred. “Here. Drink something.”
Hildred’s own goblet slipped from her hand, wine spilling from it. Merewyn wondered why the silly woman had not taken a sip to quiet the cough, which had now stolen everyone’s attention from the magysk entertainment. Earstien, but her eyes were bulging and her face was turning color.
Ethelred jumped to his feet and pounded on Hildred’s back, but that seemed to only worsen her cough. She braced herself on the edge of the table with both hands supporting her, but she continued to cough freely, blood now spurting from her mouth and down the front of her gold silk dress. And then her arms gave way and she collapsed, her face turned toward Merewyn. Blood continued to flow from her mouth, pooling on the table, but her eyes stopped blinking.
Merewyn recoiled.
Brandon pushed Ethelred roughly aside. “Hildred!” he cried, clasping her bloodstained hand.
The candles and torches resumed their natural colors, the horses vanished, and the stream dried up. Merewyn looked about, unable to comprehend what was happening. Was Hildred...dead? In the middle of the feast? She saw the scattered pistachios and spilled wine. Had they been poisoned? Had they been meant for her? Surely not. Hildred had choked. No, Hildred was not dead. She simply could not be.
“Pardon,” Faustinus said, reaching over the table to place a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. Once Brandon pulled back, the hillichmagnar leaned down and peered into Hildred’s unmoving eyes.
“What has happened?” Caedmon asked, joining Faustinus.
The Immani hillichmagnar shook his head and straightened up. Daryna Olekovna was there now as well, and he exchanged a look with her. “We’ve seen this before, years ago in Rawdon.”
Merewyn had no idea what he meant, but the Loshadnarodski hillichmagnar’s grimace told Merewyn that Daryna Olekovna understood the reference and did not think it boded well for Hildred.
“Let me see,” Daryna insisted. Faustinus stepped out of her way, and she brushed her delicate fingers across Hildred’s forehead and whispered words that must have been Old Trahernian. After a pause and a sigh, Daryna stood erect once more. She shook her head to Caedmon.
“I am so sorry, your grace,” Caedmon said to Brandon. “But your sister is dead.”
Chapter 29
A SOFT, RAPID MURMUR filled the hall, punctuated by Brandon’s weeping. Kneeling on the hard stones next to his sister, cries of incoherent pain emanated from him as he grasped Hildred’s arm. His sobbing shook the body, and were it not for her glassy, unblinking gaze, she could almost be alive.
“Hildred,” Brandon choked. “Oh, Earstien. Hildred.”
Merewyn understood what had happened no better than he did. There was a sense of relief at being alive, but Hildred’s dead eyes seemed to accuse her of something. But why? Merewyn had done nothing wrong. She had only hated the stupid woman.
Earstien! What thoughts to have while Brandon wept at her feet. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He jerked, as though she had awakened him, and he looked around like a man who had stumbled into the wrong street by mistake. After a moment, his eyes focused on Caedmon.
“What has happened?” Brandon asked, clutching his sister’s forearm so tightly he trembled. “She can’t be dead. Do something!”
“Your grace, there is nothing to be done,” Caedmon answered.
Daryna Olekovna knelt so as to look Brandon in the eye. “I am afraid Caedmon is right, your grace. Your sister has passed into the Light of Earstien now.”
Brandon’s face vanished behind his hand as he wiped away his tears. But when he emerged, more tears had taken their place. “How, Caedmon? How did my siste
r die? She was enjoying the feast one minute and dead the next.”
Caedmon leaned in to inspect the body. Merewyn wondered if his magy permitted him to see things that she could not.
“I cannot say for certain. Perhaps she choked on these nuts or had a bad reaction to them.”
There were the pistachios, spilled from their bowl across the table. Yes, perhaps Hildred had simply choked. Why assume something more sinister?
Faustinus whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and took up a few nuts in it before tying them tightly inside. Then he whispered a spell, and the rest of the pistachios were consumed in flames. “Not really safe to leave something like that lying around,” he said to Caedmon, who nodded in return.
Ethelred slowly bent his knees to join Brandon on the floor. Stooped in grief with their lined faces and graying hair, they appeared suddenly so old. Merewyn had seen Brandon so often over the years that she had never really seen him age until she saw him with his best friend, together in this moment of grief. In her imagination, they had remained 30 with Fransis. But now they were old men, worn down by the troubles of the world.
“Brandon,” Ethelred said, embracing his friend with one arm across his shoulders. “We should move Hildred some place more fitting and private. And you have guests. We must think of them. They await our lead.”
“You are right,” Brandon answered, once more wiping his hand over his face. “We can take her into the parlor behind. I...I would like to go with her. Do you think someone else can see to the guests? I don’t think....”
Merewyn was about to volunteer, but taking in the hundreds of shocked and staring courtiers, she balked. No one wanted her to lead, and even if they had, she was utterly incapable of it.
Edgar approached and stood over the two kneeling men. And now here were three of the four old friends together. Three of the four men with whom Merewyn had spent so much of her youth. Only Fransis was missing.
Edgar said, “I will see to the guests. Do not worry. I know how to manage these situations,” and Brandon nodded in response. Edgar did not see the gesture, however—he was scowling at Merewyn.
What did he mean? Oh, yes, she knew all too well that he had practice at dealing with a crisis at a feast. But why this coldly appraising look from his squinting eyes, sunken into folds of fat? Surely he didn’t suspect Merewyn of having any part in this. Did he?
“Earstien bless us all,” gasped Queen Nina. “Can I do something? This is horrible.”
“I can’t even say,” answered Merewyn, still in a stupor herself. She turned to whisper as Edgar and Ethelred helped Brandon to his feet. “I think they are arranging to move the body, but I don’t know what will happen next.”
Vadik scurried up to his mother, hissing something in Loshadnarodsk, with Maxen close behind. When Nina heard Vadik’s words, her eyes grew wide, and she reached into her bodice to produce a little gilded figurine of a bird on a gold chain, which she kissed twice.
Merewyn looked to Maxen for an explanation, but the boy just shrugged. Turning to his dear, new friend, Maxen asked Vadik to repeat what he had said in Myrcian.
“We are leaving,” said Vadik.
Nina started to reply in Loshadnarodsk, and her sudden vehemence distracted the servants who had come to carry the body. It also attracted the attention of Edgar, who wavered for a second, perhaps wondering if he should investigate.
Merewyn jumped up, ushering Nina and Vadik out of the way of the servants, directing them to a quieter spot near the fireplace.
“Leaving?” Nina asked, switching to Myrcian. “It is night! Where would we go?”
“Home,” was Vadik’s answer. “We could ride all night. Leave Leornian. Leave Myrcia. It is not safe for us here.”
Why would Vadik suddenly think the Bocburg was not safe? Surely he didn’t think he was a potential target. Did he imagine someone was now running around looking to poison all the guests? What nonsense! The fatal bowl of nuts had been inches from Merewyn’s hand. They had been placed there before Hildred even sat down. It was all too obvious who the real target of the assassination had been.
Anyone could have poisoned the pistachios. Why not Vadik himself? Perhaps he wanted to escape with his mother before anyone realized he had killed the sister of the Duke of Leornian while attempting to murder the Queen of Myrcia. Dear Earstien! It must be Vadik!
Merewyn saw the prince’s pale blue eyes and even paler skin with new trepidation. He was seemingly so bloodless and cold, but apparently he had a greater taste for violence than she had suspected.
Should she tell anyone? Ethelred was still only a few yards away. It would take mere moments to tell him what she suspected—what she knew. But if Vadik was determined to leave, why should she stop him? Like a desperate gambler, he had bet it all on this one hand, this one attempt on her life. If he left the country now, before he regained his courage and formulated a new plan, she would be safe! Perhaps that meant Hildred’s murder would go unavenged, but Merewyn didn’t particularly care about that. Not when her own life was at stake.
“Nina, you must do as you see fit,” Merewyn said. “But your son may be right. Sometimes young men are more attuned to danger than we older ladies are. Is there anything I could do to help? I could send Haley to the kitchen to ready supplies.”
“Mother, no,” Maxen said in an accusatory tone. “The Bocburg is safe for them. Surely, we will find out what happened to Lady Hildred, and we will see there’s no reason for anyone to worry.”
“But there is a great deal to worry about.” Vadik pierced Maxen with his eyes. “You know there is. You should come with us.”
Merewyn opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Anik Kaur pushed into their little group. “Queen Nina, Prince Vadik, my apologies for interrupting,” he said. “Lady Daryna has asked that you come with me.” Queen Nina appeared momentarily confused, but then nodded to Merewyn and followed the foreign minister without another word. Prince Vadik went with her, but a few steps on, he glanced back to Maxen and gestured for him to come along.
“Maxen, please stay,” Merewyn whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I do not trust him.” Her voice faltered, and she squeezed his hand, desperately trying to make him understand the importance of this choice. Desperately hoping he would see that she was giving him one last chance.
“You trust no one,” he hissed, pulling his hand angrily away. “You could have died just as easily as Lady Hildred tonight. Maybe you should worry about that instead of who I talk to.”
Then Merewyn’s little boy turned away without waiting for an answer, leaving her utterly dumbstruck.
“Are you alright?” Broderick asked, rushing up to her. He took hold of her hand and inspected her as though she had been the one coughing up blood.
“I’m fine,” she answered. Was she, though? She could not focus, as though she had drunk far too much wine, although she had not. For years she had been locked away, and on her first night back in public, the hostess, the woman who in many ways had replaced her, dropped dead next to her. And then her son had walked off with the probable murderer.
“Do you know how it happened?” he inquired. “I was talking to Lady Hildred not half an hour ago, and she was well.”
Merewyn shrugged—what words could she possibly use, after all? The woman was dead. To confirm as much, she looked back to the table in time to see Caedmon draping his own ivory cloak over the corpse as it was carried away by four servants.
“Surely she choked on something,” Broderick offered.
“If she was choking, how did she spit out all that blood?” Merewyn whispered. “Faustinus believes the pistachios had been poisoned.”
“H’m....” Broderick rubbed his chin. “Pistachios. Maxen’s favorite. Everyone who knows him even slightly has seen him eating them. You know, when Maxen visits here, Brandon puts in—”
“Puts in a special order for him,” said Merewyn. “Yes, I know.” She remembered Brandon telling
her about that, and laughing about how Maxen would bribe the servants to let him into the storerooms so he could eat pistachios by the handful. In fact, few people would have such ready access to the nuts as Maxen.
Vadik and Maxen whispered on the far side of the hall, constantly throwing glances at her.
Suddenly, it was all horribly clear. But no. Oh, Earstien, no. It couldn’t really be true!
“My lady, may I get you anything?” Haley asked, bustling up to them. Merewyn could barely hear the girl over the thudding of blood in her ears.
“No, I need nothing.”
“A glass of wine, perhaps?” Broderick suggested. “Or water? You’ve turned horribly pale all of a sudden.”
Of course, she was not well, but what could wine or water do for her? Hildred was dead, and her murderer, in all probability, was Maxen. Worse, he had likely killed her in an attempt to kill Merewyn instead—his own mother! And even if he hadn’t poisoned the nuts himself, he was friends with Vadik now. Vadik, who had wanted her dead all along, and who must have finally convinced Maxen to help.
Broderick pressed her again to take some wine. “No, really,” she said. “I need nothing. I am fine.”
“I am sure you are,” Edgar sneered. “You’ve always had a talent for escaping unscathed.”
Fat as he was, somehow Merewyn hadn’t even seen him approaching. Poor Haley jumped back, as if Edgar’s words were a barrage of arrows.
“Your highness, this is hardly helpful,” Broderick sighed.
Edgar grimaced. “I do not ask your pardon for interrupting, captain general. Her majesty and I have been dancing this dance for a very long time. Too long, if you ask me. In any case,” he finally turned to look at Broderick, “I require your assistance. His majesty has given me leave to begin gathering evidence in the death of Lady Hildred on behalf of his grace, the Duke of Leornian. I’ve sent for the sheriff, but I will need help organizing and questioning guests.”
“I will be happy to assist,” Broderick answered. “But only if my stepmother no longer needs me.”
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