Sir Flint of the Third Thriesniun, with a clutch of footmen, escorted Rohain to where the King-Emperor presided in the Highest Solar. The fortieth floor was heavily guarded by men-at-arms, but all was calm and serene. It seemed that the evildoers had passed this level by, leaving it intact. Ensconced torches shed a warm light on drab wall-hangings. Their brilliance startling against the black and silver of the Seventh House, yeomen in scarlet-and-gold uniforms stood at every door and window, at every corner. The Royal Standard leaned from wall-brackets, the crowned lion flaunting its splendid colours.
At the door, the visitor’s heart galloped as the sentries uncrossed their halberds with due ceremony and allowed her to pass. A wave of dizziness passed over her and she was forced to pause for an instant. Caitri clutched at her elbow.
‘Is my lady hale?’ Sir Flint voiced his concern.
Rohain nodded.
Across an outer room, through another door. Diagonals of sunlight, mellow and pure as honey-mead, lanced in at the windows.
Rohain looked up. And there he stood, the King-Emperor.
Through the slashed sleeves of his velvet doublet—gold lions worked on a ground of deepest royal purple—black cambric shirtsleeves showed in soft, full gathers, tied at three points. A wide belt of goldwork clasped the calf-length doublet, which was slit at each side in the manner of the Dainnan tunic and worn open at the front to show the shirt. Its wide lapels, lined with black and gold samite, jutted at the shoulders to form a V with its point finishing at the waist, just above the belt. Black hose fitted closely to his thighs, tucking into knee-boots turned back at the tops. His cloak, thrown back, flared in many folds from his shoulders. Made from purple velvet, it was worked in crowns and heraldic designs both black and gold, and lined with inky satin. His mane of dark hair spilled from beneath a simple low-crowned cap bearing three soft shadowy plumes.
All this finery could not in any way make him foppish; rather, he was magnificent, clad in splendor as rich and somber as a Summer’s evening. His vitality filled the hall as though all light, all darkness radiated from him.
At Rohain’s entrance, he regarded her without speaking. Viviana had schooled her in how to meet royalty. Like the servant girl, like the warriors flanking her, she dropped to her knees, bowing her head, noticing with intense clarity the detail of the skyriding design on the slightly worn rugs. This was one of the fringed, hooked rugs she had once been accustomed to punishing, in order to free the dust from it. In a detached way, she wondered who was privileged to undertake that job these days and whether they did it as well as she had.
A weight seemed to be pressing upon her eyelids. Soon she would have to look at him, but it would seem an impossible task.
She waited for him to speak.
Two hands lifted her gently to her feet. Their touch was lightning.
‘I’ll warrant thou wouldst be more comfortable sitting by me.’ The voice—rich, tempered, and flawlessly enunciated—a lion’s growl. She breathed the cinnamon incense of his presence.
He conducted her to one of two chairs at the head of a table, and seated himself beside her. The table was furnished with a pile of parchments like desiccated leaves, paper-knives with ebony handles, seal containers, red candles, a horn-handled knife, a twist of thin cord, pheasant-quill pens in a silver tray, and inkwells of cold, translucent onyx.
A timid page took a small key and unreeled the taper of a wax-jack on a little silver stand. He trimmed the wick with a pair of pointed snuffers and tremulously lit it, fumbling with the tinderbox.
Thorn’s existence was like a terrible furnace flaming at Rohain’s side. She was dimly aware that others were present in the hall—great lords, Roxburgh among them, all standing, facing Thorn. Caitri folded her hands neatly to hide her nervousness at being in the presence of the King-Emperor, and arranged herself against the wall where several pages and wigged footmen made bas-reliefs of themselves in scarlet duretty and gold frogging. High on a pelmet, the goshawk Errantry sat dozing, sometimes nervously flicking his tail from side to side. A whitewash of his mutes streaked and splattered the curtains below, as well as any footmen who happened to be standing in the vicinity. One or two hawk-casts decorated the floor with indigestible bits of bone and feather. Errantry opened one fierce eye and closed it again.
‘Fear not,’ Thorn whispered to Rohain. She found courage to return his smile. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said loudly, ‘here is the Lady Rohain for whom we have all sought high and low.’
Still standing, the lords bowed their heads: Richard of Esgair Garthen, Lord High Sea Admiral; Octarus Ogier, Lord High Chieftain of Stormriders; Durand Rivenhall, Lord High Chancellor; Istoren Giltornyr, Lord High Sky Admiral; John Drumdunach, Lord High Commander of the Royal Guard. Thorn introduced the chiefest among them by name to the lady at his side, then dismissed them, along with his Private Secretary, his pages and stewards, the guards, and all the other lords and servants, excepting Caitri. He bade the little girl wait in the anteroom.
Rohain sat utterly still, except that a slight tremor ran through her.
‘And now thou shalt want to ask some questions,’ Thorn said. ‘Dost thou wish to use handspeak? Hast thou lost thy tongue again? I confess, I was enjoying the novelty of hearing thy voice.’
She laughed then, joyously.
<
<
‘Thorn,’ she said, savoring the name. ‘Thorn. Your Dainnan name. That is, Your Majesty’s Dainnan name.’
‘Gold-Hair,’ he said, ‘it is hardly necessary to address me like that. Or,’ he added, ‘to collapse upon the floor when approaching me. Didst thou not pledge thyself to me last night?’
‘I did, sir, and most readily.’
‘Now thou must learn to be our betrothed, rather than a commoner who brazenly declares herself a lady. It is meet that thou shouldst become accustomed to bearing thyself like the future Queen.’
Her courage returned. ‘You know all? But how? Did you know I was residing at Court? Why did I not see you? How may a Dainnan be King?’
‘Here come the questions, all of a tumble,’ he said, amused. ‘But I shall start the tale at the beginning.’
‘Oh, but before you do,’ she said quickly, basking in his proximity as if it were Summer sunshine, ‘I wish to ask you to spare the life of a man imprisoned in your dungeons, condemned to death. His name—’
‘He is pardoned, from this moment, whatever his name might be. Now hearken, while I tell the tale. Art thou paying heed?’
‘No. I am looking at thee …’
Boldly, as though parched and drinking, her eyes travelled over the wiredrawn, flowing lines of his silhouette, the honed planes of his face, stern and laughing at the same time, full of strength, the jawline faintly shadowed with a dark tint, the arch of his throat interrupted by the subtle shadow of the round tumescence midway, and the hollow at the confluence of the collarbone.
His every movement was as graceful and confident as a lion in its prime, his demeanor relaxed yet poised, with the assurance that at need he, as a skilled fighter, could react with speed and power, and there would be only conquest. This time she tried to memorize his flawless beauty. The moment would be ephemeral, as was the wont of moments, and he would vanish soon. Rare beauty, by nature, must be ephemeral. Without that sting it is no longer rare. But I wish, oh I wish it were not so. I wish that he might endure forever.
‘And I am studying thee,’ he replied, ‘and I hope to do so more often and more thoroughly at my leisure. But if thou regard’st men in that manner, thou shalt drive them mad.’
‘Well, you deserve to be driven mad, sir, for you have already done so to me.’
‘Now thou must needs hold conversation with me from the other side of the room,’ he said, flame-eyed. ‘Else thou might provoke me to encompass and invade thee, here, at this instant.’
‘In that case,’ she answered breathlessly, ‘I remain.’<
br />
He regarded her with a strange softness, almost sadness.
‘Half child, half woman as thou art. For thee, virtuous maiden,’ he said, ‘there would be no rightness in that. Not yet.’
She forced herself to look away, suddenly understanding; there were rules that could not be abrogated, at this place, at this time, in this century, in Erith.
‘You must turn your back on me,’ Rohain commanded the King-Emperor of Erith, knowing him well enough to dare light banter, exulting in the play of words between them and the fragile power she wielded, while still unable to believe it was all true. ‘Turn your back, whilst you tell me the tale. But look not askance! Ever since I saw you for the first time I have longed to comb my fingers through your hair.’
He complied, laughing, sprawling back in the chair and stretching out his long legs. She let the dark veils of his locks flow over her fingertips and was amazed, that the very stuff of midnight could lie soft within her own hands, that what she touched was actually of him; he for whom she had ached throughout eternities.
He spoke.
‘Through the glades of Tiriendor I roved in Dainnan fashion, which is my wont when it pleases me, and when needs must. For, Gold-Hair, a good sovereign must gauge the state of his realm, and what better way than to explore it unmarked? Several, of my chief lords and advisors are persistently alarmed at this habit, and I must forever persuade them it is safer in the greenwood than in the wilderness of Court where poisonous vipers await the turning of every back.
‘I had long studied thee and thy companion, Captain Bruadair, ere thou didst meet with me. I was drawn to thee,’ he said. ‘In thee there burned a passion, right from the first moment—a passion of such intensity as I have never encountered. Thou dost possess a capacity for joyousness and for deep sorrow that bedims the torpid ardencies of others. The crests and troughs of their fervour are but the fickle waves of the ocean, whereas thine are like an island mountain, whose head lifts among the clouds, whose foundations are buried, far below on the ocean floor. Thou wouldst try to withhold thy fire, but such duplicity was beyond thy means. When it came time for us to part, I was already lost. Thou wouldst not accompany me then, but I was eager to bring thee to my side if not sooner, then later.’
‘Did it hurt you that I would not go with you?’ Rohain asked, surprised. Her heart leapt like a deer.
‘Hurt? To a degree. Only as a sword piercing the heart. Thou art kissing my hair.’
‘Even so.’ The strands were silk, lying across her mouth.
‘When thou didst hasten to the carlin’s house,’ he said, ‘I ordered guards to be stationed around it, to protect thee, to bring thee to me when your errand was completed. They were to be discreet.’
‘The watchers—they were men of yours?’
‘They were. I ought to have used Dainnan, but I did not suppose that thou wouldst try to slip through my net.’
She said hesitantly, ‘I was a servant here, once.’ Will he now reject me? He merely nodded, as if it did not matter. Her spirits immeasurably encouraged, she went on: ‘I escaped and found the wealth of Waterstair. For the sake of it, others wanted me to keep silence. They hounded me. And in Gilvaris Tarv I sought a cure for paradox ivy from the wizard Korguth. It failed and I thought he pursued me to take revenge for his own ill deed. I believed your men watching Maeve’s cottage to be those who hunted me for evil purpose.’
‘Why didst thou not enlighten me concerning your pursuers before we went our separate ways?’ he asked, his modulated, laughing tones threaded with a hint of gentle exasperation.
‘Why did you not declare your heart’s truth?’ she parried.
‘I asked thee to come with me—is that not enough?’
‘It was not plain to me. But you tell me plainly now.’
‘Because thou hold’st back thine own truth no longer. Thou speakest with thine eyes at last. And thy tongue. And because I would not lose thee a second time.’
Her heart seemed to melt like glass in the fire of his intent. ‘Now I do not fear to have you look upon my face. You read now in my eyes that which has long been written in my heart.’
‘Thou with thy secret commission to Caermelor—had you but confided to me this tale of treasure-troves, thou hadst saved thyself a deal of toil,’ he mocked gently.
‘I was to impart the tale only to the King-Emperor!’
‘And thus ’tis proven that thou hast that rare quality—thou canst guard a secret well. Wilt thou guard thine affairs so readily now that thou hast found thy tongue?’
He laughed. A sudden wave of concern swept through Rohain. There was another secret … Should he become aware of her strange history as an amnesiac foundling would he recoil from her? Yet he asked nothing of the past. For him, the present seemed sufficient. Indeed, what could that history matter?
‘But tell me,’ she said, ‘why did your guards not simply knock at Maeve’s door and announce that the King-Emperor summoned me?’
‘Thou mightst well have refused, as thou didst once before!’
‘I could hardly refuse my sovereign …’
‘So thou sayest, but how could I have known? Then thou didst disappear. Only once before in my life have I been thwarted so thoroughly. There arose a violent anger in my heart that this should have come to pass, that I should lose thee. All those around me suffered from my rage, which was caused by thee!’
‘Say no more!’ She tugged playfully at his hair.
‘No, thou canst not injure me now,’ he lightly teased.
‘It was not my fault!’
‘Dost thou gainsay me?’ he said, feigning to chide her. ‘When thou didst alter everything about thy appearance and demeanor, thy mode of communication, calling thyself by another name and coming right into my house, which is the last place I would look for thee, while the town criers were bellowing at every gate in the city, morning, noon, and night, to proclaim the King-Emperor’s command that anyone who sees a yellow-haired wench called Imrhien should bring her to him instantly, on pain of imprisonment?’
‘I heard them shouting, but I never heeded the words.’
‘They cannot be heard distinctly from the palace, unless the wind is in the right quarter. Which I had always counted pleasant, since their rantings are tiresome.’
‘Did you have them looking for a yellow-haired wench of exquisite ugliness?’
‘No. Thou hadst told me that thou didst want to alter that condition, therefore thou wert bound for the carlin at White Down Rory.’
‘Yet in the beginning, how could you warm to someone so ill-made?’
He turned his beautiful head and gave her a measuring look.
‘Gold-Hair,’ he said, ‘I have already told thee.’
‘Did you see my ugliness?’
‘I saw it. I saw thee.’
‘How did you recognise me last night?’
‘I say again, I saw thee. Thine inner worth.’
It was said that the D’Armancourt line was set apart from ordinary mortalkind by some puissance of the blood. Likely, that included the Sight; the ability to perceive what lay beneath masks. Thorn looked away, and Rohain resumed her combing. A wonderful silence linked them, filled with unspoken words. May the Powers of all realms grant that time shall now stand still.
‘I want for nothing now,’ she said presently.
‘Thou shalt change thy mind, in time, as is the wont of women.’
‘I shall not!’ She smiled at his banter.
‘Dost thou not wish to hear the rest of the story?’
‘I do!’
‘Behold! Thou hast changed it already.’
The goshawk shifted on his perch, shook out his wings, and glided down in a lazy spiral to land upon the back of Rohain’s chair. She reached up. Decorously, he nibbled at her hand. Thorn raised his arm and Errantry flew to alight on the leather bracer encircling his wrist. Absently, Thorn stroked the bird’s barred plumage.
‘We could not find thee,’ he said. ‘Your red cocker
el of a friend at Isenhammer knew nothing. When there was no sign of thee by Imbroltide, we began in earnest to seek the carlin of White Down Rory.’
‘I dined in the same hall as you at Imbrol!’
‘Alas, that I was unaware of it! My eyes searched beyond the palace walls on that night, my sweet thief of quietude.’
‘And my eyes did not search at all! What of Maeve?’
‘Her cottage was discovered empty.’
‘Empty! Where had she gone?’
‘Curiously, she was nowhere to be found, even though the Dainnan and the most proficient of trackers sought her, and messengers were sent to every land. Then we had to depart for the fields of battle. We had tarried too long because of my quest for thee, but the need grew pressing. During my absence the search continued.
‘One evening, afar off in northern Eldaraigne, I was riding out with Roxburgh under the early stars, not far from where our troops were bivouacked. In conversation we chanced to look skywards, which turned us to the topic of beauty. My Lord High Field-Marshal of the Dainnan let slip the fact that a certain beauteous young damsel who had brought tidings of treasure to Caermelor had arrived masked. She had been unaware of particular aristocratic protocols and furthermore had recounted a strange story of traveling in the wilderness with a wild Ert by the kenning of ‘The Bear’. That sobriquet had once before come to my ears.’
Rohain recalled a conversation by a campfire, Diarmid saying to Thorn: ‘When I was a lad, I used to trade words with my—with my uncle.’
To augment his statement, she had signed, <
‘He always won. Ertishmen are famous for their skill with words; Finvarna is the birthplace of most of the greatest bards. But the Bear could outspar even his own countrymen.’
High in Isse Tower, Thorn again turned the implicit barrage of his gaze upon her.
‘I knew then that this “Rohain Tarrenys of the Sorrows” was thee—changed, healed, as thou hadst desired. “Rohain” was a name recently brought to my attention at Court. Ercildoune had once or twice bothered me with it. They had described the lady as dark-haired. That thou didst go disguised was proof enough that thou didst fear some imminent peril.’
The Bitterbynde Trilogy Page 73