Talis felt his tiredness fade as he looked on her afresh. ‘My Lady can see men’s souls?’ Was this some sign of her divinity?
She frowned and shook her head. ‘It’s just a saying. We keep having these mix-ups and it’s all my fault. I get tired and I forget you don’t know my … Magorian expressions.’ She accepted his flask and took a sip, labouring over the swallow before she wrinkled her nose and handed it back. ‘“Haven’t seen a soul� means that you haven’t seen any people. Where are all the people who live on Ennae?’
‘My Lady, we hope not to see the Raiders of the forests who live in caves nearby and emerge only at night.’
‘They’re nocturnal. That’s interesting.’ Before Talis could ask her the meaning of her words, she went on, ‘But they’re bad guys. Where are the good guys? The people who are loyal to my brother?’
‘The peoples of Ennae who are loyal to your brother are the Houses of Ennae, great and small. The great Houses are Be’uccdha to the south —’
‘That’s where Lae comes from?’ she said, and munched on the leaves.
Talis nodded. ‘Sh’hale to the west, and Verdan to the north.’
She swallowed and held out her hand. ‘So who’s in the east?’
Talis smiled as he handed over more of the small, sweet leaves. ‘My Lady, you are in the east. Or you will be when I return you to your brother’s Volcastle.’
She smiled back. ‘The Volcastle. I’ve heard so much about it. I can’t wait to see it.’ She put the leaves in her mouth and chewed contentedly. Then she asked. ‘But you still haven’t explained. Where are the people?’
It was Talis’s turn to frown. ‘My Lady, at their castles.’ She raised her eyebrows and he sought to find a simple explanation. ‘Each House has a castle or a keep where their noble family lives. Outside this, yet near their lords, live the people who are loyal to that House.’
‘So everyone is loyal to a House? No-one lives in between.’
‘In between?’
‘No roadside taverns? No little villages along the trail?’
Talis shook his head. ‘We have been invaded by the Northmen sporadically for all of our history, My Lady,’ he said. ‘We have learned to protect our own by keeping them close, and to rally around the King in times of trouble.’
‘Well, the strategy obviously works.’ His Princess fell silent then and he thought he saw her eyelids droop. Even without touching her to connect his Guardian powers, Talis could sense her vitality was low. Her exhaustion was visible and heart-wrenching.
‘I fear I am unduly tiring My Lady with this information,’ he said.
She looked back at him, and tried to smile. ‘It’s not you, Talis. I’m just not used to being around people all day. Talking. I was alone a lot on … in Magoria. Caring for my mother.’
Tails felt disquiet intrude on their pleasant idyll. ‘The Queen Danille is ill?’
His Princess opened her mouth to speak and then looked down at nothing. Talis felt his apprehension grow. When eventually she found words, they were hesitant and unsure. ‘I need to speak to my brother about that first, before I …’ she trailed off, her eyes troubled.
Talis immediately regretted his impertinent question. ‘My Lady, I apologise if I’ve given you cause for —’
He was moving to rise when she laid a hand on his arm. ‘Wait. Please. Don’t start that “Yes, My Lady, No, My Lady� again, like you’re a servant and I’m a …’
‘Princess.’
She pulled on his arm and he seated himself again. ‘We were getting on so well and I thought … I just can’t keep doing this Princess thing if … I’m lonely, Talis. I need a friend.’
He saw the ache of it in her eyes. Felt it in his heart. ‘You will see your brother in a handful of days,’ he assured her, braving the awkward omission of her title.
‘I know it’s my fault that I’m here and not with Mihale. But I wanted to do the right thing.’ She looked away a moment, then dropped her head and put a hand over her eyes.
Talis heard her catch her breath, watched her wipe her eyes beneath the strands of hair that had fallen loose to hang wistful around her face. Emotion flowed through him so strongly that it clenched his throat and stung his own eyes. He took a breath and forced out words, not caring that they were hoarsely spoken. ‘Your sacrifice is both brave and generous,’ he said. ‘And may well save the life of my betrothed.’
Her head came up, strands of hair sticking to the damp skin of her cheeks. ‘Could it?’
‘Certainly …’ My Lady. ‘Your actions are those of a true Princess. ‘The Princess I remember.’
She wiped at her face. ‘You liked her.’
‘Much more than “like�,’ he said in truth. They regarded each other for a moment before he said, ‘I am sorry to have caused you grief.’
She nodded. Tried to smile. ‘Likewise.’
Talis was unsure how to proceed and glanced around the near distance, as was his habit, to reassure himself of her safety.
The Princess misinterpreted his gesture. ‘I guess you have stuff to do. I’m okay.’ She waved a hand in dismissal, a gesture Talis would have obeyed a day ago. Matters were different now.
‘I will stay,’ he said simply, and was rewarded by a watery smile.
‘Thanks.’
Their companionship lightened the Princess’s burden. Talis could see this by the ease with which she curled into his cloak and fell asleep. It was only after she’d succumbed to her exhaustion that he realised she had eaten nothing but the nesdai leaves he’d given her.
Knowing he must guard his own strength, though, he devoured the meal his uncle brought him then settled himself to sleep, safe in the knowledge that his Princess was well guarded.
The next day would likely bring battle, and he was eager for that. Talis did not know Lae’s fate, but true to his warrior training, he would not think her dead until he had seen her body. Instead he looked for Lae to live, to be his wife when she was ripe to marry.
And he would be glad to see her again. How he longed for the uncomplicated pranks she favoured, those which so vexed his cousin and warmed his own heart. The nearness of the Princess had troubled him sorely, and no end to that struggle lay in sight. With her life in Magoria lost, the Princess was trapped in Ennae, and he at her side. Long years of Championing stretched before him and he needed no foreteller’s eye to see he would best serve his Princess honourably with a wife waiting in his bed.
That comforting thought in his mind. Talis fell into slumber, no great distance from the woman whose memories he would dream of that night.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Do you know anything of this lifeday celebration for the King?’ the Elder asked his son as they stood alone in the battle-practice yard of Fortress Sh’hale. Around them rose pale sandstone, the lower portions of which were stained with blood, and though it was close to midday, the height of the walls kept all but the smallest patch of sunlight from entering. ‘The Dark spoke of a great celebration when I saw him at Castle Be’uccdha last week.’
Kert shrugged a lean shoulder, intent on his throw.
The Elder watched his son aim, then precisely as the weapons master had taught him, Kert lunged forward, his knife arm slicing through the air, the blade spinning from his fingers to land true, fair into the heart of his woven practice target.
A sneer came comfortably to his narrow face. ‘Die, Gua
rdian,’ he said.
‘Kert!’ Acid roiled in the Elder’s stomach. He should be proud of his son’s prowess and even of his handsome features, yet he could feel only frustration and anger at this pointless rivalry with the King’s Champion. It was tradition for a Guardian to Champion the King, yet Kert’s coveting of the role had brought him nothing but discontent, which some months past had flared into deadly enmity over the favours of a filthy Plainswoman. It was beyond foolishness. Kert should not Champion, but should sit on the throne himself.
The Elder persisted with his questioning, ‘Have you heard nothing from the House of Guardians about this celebration? Do you not know their youngest son?’
‘I know Pagan,’ Kert said, strolling forward across the swept ground to retrieve his knife before slowly retracing his steps. ‘The fool speaks of nothing but wenching. He is a dolt.’
‘He is an ear inside their House and you will cultivate him as I have instructed.’
Kert ignored his father and threw the knife again, a vicious, sharp throw that took the head off his target. The Elder watched, his wrath stilled a moment by awe as the knife clattered against the deeply shadowed wall and stuffing from the effigy fell in disorderly clumps.
Such an arm the boy had.
‘I will do as you wish, Father,’ Kert said, stepping forward to retrieve his blade.
Yet the Elder noted there was no glance of obedience accompanying these words and again anger stirred within him.
His relief at being home among his own people faded in the presence of this disobedient son. On each occasion he was forced to deal with Kert, the firstborn son destined to inherit Fortress Sh’hale and the mountains that lay around it, the Elder felt his stomach ailment burn. Did Kert know? Did he deliberately provoke his father to gain just this response?
The Elder’s eyes narrowed. ‘Listen to me, boy,’ he warned. ‘You do not impress me with your warrior skill. I care only that you have a brain to keep our House from harm.’
‘I have a brain, Father.’ Kert returned the head to his target and resumed his throwing position. ‘I may not click sagea pieces across a stupid circle board all night, but that does not mean —’
‘You would rather battle than think,’ the Elder said, furious that his son would not spare him a glance.
Kert paused, arm at the ready, to turn his gaze on his father. ‘You would rather insult than instruct,’ he replied.
The Elder stared at his son long and hard, hatred in his belly like a lump of molten ore. Yet if he did not keep peace with Kert, the boy would not do his bidding. Then all would be lost. ‘So you have heard nothing of note about this lifeday?’ he asked again.
‘Nothing,’ Kert replied.
The Elder nodded then turned away. Agony such as he had not felt before burned deep inside as he made his way back to his rooms, calling for his healer as he passed the hallway of arched colonnades that surrounded his private garden. The scent of thick-petalled lorthen hung heavy in the air but it did not please him. And neither did the ash-blend incense the healer set beside his bed. Desperate for relief, he took the foul herbs given him and set his mind to rest, yet harsh thoughts bedevilled him, seeming to waft in on the hot breeze that stirred his heavy bed-drapes.
Damn The Dark with his air of mystery. Despite his assurances of good will, and the sham of a blessing he had given Sh’hale for his ‘duty to the throne’, Djahr had made no commitment to House Sh’hale. Worse, no preparations were being made to defend the Kingdom should the Northmen return. The Dark might think their young King’s ‘divine authority’ would save them from hard steel but the Elder knew better. Mihale’s father had died as mortal a death as any of his men, yet in all of this The Dark refused to see that Kert would be the better King.
Even to the question of why Djahr had chosen a Guardian to marry his daughter, rather than a son of the House Sh’hale had met no reasonable reply.
Love.
The Elder would have laughed in his host’s face, but by the end of his visit, his struggle to breathe the wretchedly moist air and his exertions with The Dark’s maidservant had taken their toll, He returned home exhausted and now matters were worse.
A true healer, one of the King’s Guardians, could use his powers to cure the Elder’s ailment, but once his defences were breached, a Guardian might see into his mind and recognise the sedition within. Though this use of a Guardian’s powers was prohibited, the Elder trusted no-one. Better to suffer and toil in silence, that House Sh’hale might reap the rewards of his sacrifice. That Kert, undeserving though he was, would one day rule in the boy King’s place.
Reconciled to his fate, the Elder tried to sleep, yet it was slow coming and later he awoke muddled, his mind heavy. Kert stood at his bedside.
‘Are you dying, Father?’ he asked, no shadow of pity in his eyes.
The Elder took comfort from this. A man must be strong to rule. Perhaps there was hope for the boy yet. ‘Yes,’ he said, and the urgency of this admission turned his thoughts to their most pressing need. ‘You must find a weapon to use against Be’uccdha. His throat was dry and he swallowed to wet it. ‘If The Dark will not help us he must not stand in our way. You must take the throne if our kingdom is to survive.’
‘I know a weapon against Be’uccdha, Father,’ Kert said, his narrow face and short-cropped hair blurring in and out of the Elder’s vision. ‘And the taking of it would grieve both your enemy and mine.’
The Elder frowned. ‘What do you say?’ he said and struggled against lethargy to fix his gaze on his son, cursing now the herbs he had taken to ease his pain. ‘What enemy of yours? The Champion?’ He wet his lips. ‘Fix your thoughts on Be’uccdha, not the Champion or you will risk the King’s anger before we are ready. Son … you must… not…’
The old eyelids flickered and closed, and Kert let the sneer that lived in his heart touch his lips. When he was sure his father slept, he said, ‘I will do as I choose, old man. You are too weak to stop me now. Best you make your peace with the Great Guardian and leave the affairs of House Sh’hale to me.’
Out of the shadows came the Be’uccdha maid Kert had sought out to poison his father even as she bedded him in The Dark’s guest rooms. ‘My Lord,’ she said.
‘We leave for the Volcastle tomorrow,’ he told her, dropping the bed drape and turning away from the stench that was his father. ‘Have you prepared the deadly herbs?’
‘My Lord will be head of his House within the month.’
‘Good. I will see you are given a position of responsibility once we reach the Volcastle.’ For a moment his gaze lingered on her lips, imagining the pleasure they could give him, the pleasure they had given his father, yet a glance at her eyes which now glittered in anticipation of his request stilled his desire. ‘Go,’ he commanded. ‘I will not speak to you again lest our conspiracy be suspected. You are a present to the King’s House from my father. Nothing more.’
She curtsied, ‘My Lord, the deadly Be’uccdha arts which I have learned and the herbs I have stolen are yours to command.’
Kert frowned and held her back a moment. ‘The Dark does not know of their loss?’ he asked.
‘My Lord, no,’ she replied. ‘My mother was the keeper of his medicinal pantry. She knew nothing of my thefts.’
Kert nodded at this, yet felt an odd sense of betrayal. A maid whose ambitions would endanger her own mother was not a woman to be trusted. What else might she have done in her quest for advancement? ‘You will not steal from your new master,’ he said.
‘My Lord, no,�
�� she replied and curtsied again, her expression obedient and yet oddly shuttered, as though her face was a mask behind which her real thoughts lay.
Kert wished then that he could kill her, yet knew he would not. If his father did not succumb as planned she would have to return and give him more of the medicament. It was a slow and disorderly death, yet necessary if Kert was to avoid any legal impediments to his claim on House Sh’hale. Should a Guardian be called to inspect the body, the poison would be gone within an hour of the death, and only the damage would remain. A stomach ailment which ate the flesh from within would be diagnosed and Kert would be free to claim the castle and lands which were rightfully his.
In that moment, however, while Kert gazed upon the maid, it struck him as odd that The Dark would keep such a herb. Being deviously slow, it was not an apt weapon to eliminate recalcitrants who upset The Balance.
‘My Lord?’ She raised a dark eyebrow and Kert remembered himself.
He waved her away and with a dry swishing of skirts she was gone. Alone again, he stepped back to his father’s side and pulled back the bed drapes to stare in silent hatred at the lump of flesh which had governed his life for so long. ‘I obey you no more,’ he told his slumbering father, ‘and hasten now to protect the throne which you would steal. I shall see you in Haddash.’ Kert found he could smile at this, knowing he would take much pleasure in the knowledge that the Serpent of Death was devouring his father’s entrails.
CHAPTER TEN
Laroque stood troubled at the river’s edge, his thoughts as tangled as the vines they had cut through to make their passage. Of the Forest Raiders there had been no sign, which in itself was worry enough, but now. Talis …
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