"The brooch is something he stole from a Bog-woman, when he killed her."
Marcala's words rocked Ashen back in her chair and she stared at Marcala unbelievingly. "No."
"Yes."
Ashen turned away numbly, staring at nothing. Then she began to speak in a monotone, as one who has been stunned by a blow to the head. "Kazi. It was Kazi.
She was a—a woman in Zazar's house while I was growing up. Zazar protected her.
But she couldn't protect her when Joal, the headman, brought her to the ruined city. She was bait, you see, to get me to come out of hiding. But I wouldn't, and then Joal went away and Kazi went away and I knew I had to go after her because if I didn't she might get eaten by Gulpers and then I saw her with a man who was covered in mist. I had a power stone and made mist appear around myself and then I could see him all but his head and he killed her with his fist. I saw it all, I saw it—"
"You're babbling nonsense, girl," Ysa said. "Pull yourself together at once.
There is no evidence that this man was Harous or even that there was a man at all."
"I never knew who it was. I never saw the misty man again."
"Harous has a diadem that creates such a mist," Marcala said. "I saw it. There is a talisman in the band that strengthens the spell against magic, and most weapons."
Ashen went on speaking as if unable to stop. "I saw the man take a bright thing from Kazi's body. Kazi never let me look at what she wore around her neck on a thong."
Ysa exhaled sharply through her nose. "There is no reason to suspect that the
'bright thing' you claim you saw and the old Ash brooch were one and the same."
Ashen turned to the Dowager. "To the contrary, Madame, I think there is. Once, just before Marcala and Harous's wedding, Gaurin asked me where Harous had found the brooch. I said he had never told me. It set me to wondering, but the matter was dropped and I didn't pursue it. There was never anything to tie Harous directly to Kazi's death. Until now, that is."
"You must have been mistaken in what you thought you saw," the Dowager said.
"Even if someone did put her out of her misery—you said she was crippled—this
Kazi creature was only a Bog-woman after all."
Ashen drew herself up. "She was a woman, Madame, and she had done Harous no harm. If you do not consider her murder a crime, I do!"
"Of course," Ysa said smoothly. "I only meant—"
"Perhaps my murder is sufficient?" Marcala said, an edge to her voice. She sat up straight in her chair, but the effort cost her too much strength and she sank back again. "Do not forget that he schemed to marry Ashen and, through her, gain the throne. Now, I think he intends even greater treason. His parting words led me to believe this. He promised he would do anything—anything—necessary for his own survival so that he could come back to divorce me, and in his eyes was a look that told me he would even go over to the enemy, should they prevail. With my dying breath I swear my words are true."
Ashen was fingering her necklace, the one that bore the badge of her house, a flame rising from a vessel set with a large sapphire, that hung from sapphire beads. Marcala knew the item well, for Harous had ordered her to find and hire the goldsmith to have it repaired from its nearly ruined state, and turned into the handsome ornament he intended to give Ashen. Around the edge of the former brooch ran words, what was called a canting pun. "Without flame, there can be no
Ash."
Marcala had nearly had it melted for the gold, planning to claim later that it had been stolen, but then had thought better of it. She had known all along, if
Harous did not, that he would never marry Ashen. So let him give the wench presents. It did no harm, and Harous was rich enough to afford it ten times over.
"I must go back to my apartment," Ashen said, her voice shaky. "If there is more, Lady Marcala, pray leave it for another occasion. I cannot bear any more."
"For my part," Ysa said, "I must be frank, even though it pains me to say this.
I believe that your illness, Lady Marcala, has caused your imagination to carry you away into a kind of madness. I cannot give countenance to these wild tales of yours."
Ashen turned to her, disbelief plain on her face. "Then you do not believe what
Lady Marcala has told us?"
"No, I do not. Not a word."
"Shouldn't someone be notified?"
"No. There will be no messenger sent to disturb the Four Armies. Harous has enough on his mind as it is." Ysa turned to Marcala. "Master Lorgan should be here at any moment and he will give you medicine to make you more comfortable at once. Poor child. Poor, dear, sick friend. You needn't even walk to the rooms next to my own. You will be carried on a litter. You must be tended carefully, and I will see to your well-being personally."
"For whatever small amount of time I have left," Marcala said with wry bitterness.
"You are wrong, my dear. Master Lorgan is very skilled. You will yet recover your health, in both mind and body, and live for many, many years to come."
"And I add my hopes for your recovery to the Dowager's," Ashen said. "We have had our differences, you and I, but please believe me when I tell you that I have never wished you harm."
Which, Marcala thought, is more than I could ever say about you. She hadn't even the strength to protest at the way Ysa thought she was lying. Or mad.
Now all Marcala wanted was to lie down quietly and sleep forever. She couldn't even summon up resentment for Ysa's betrayal of rejecting her story. After all, the Dowager was notorious for believing only what was comfortable or convenient.
One more defeat. Then a spark of hope flared, faint and almost imperceptible, from an unexpected direction. The Ash wench had believed her. Maybe she could do something, where Ysa refused. Ashen had taken the question for unraveling, and sooner or later someone was bound to find the truth. Actually, Marcala was too tired to care. It didn't matter. Nothing did anymore. And by the time all was known, she would be beyond caring about anything whatsoever, for she would be well and truly dead.
Seven
Ashen could not get back to her own apartment swiftly enough. Anamara was sitting in the main room, mending a shirt of Rohan's that had been left behind.
Without pausing to greet Anamara with more than a nod she found Ayfare where the maid was busy putting a chest of clothing into order.
"Good," she said. "Please find for me some garments suitable for travel over what is bound to be a rough trail, and some that will keep me warm. Lay out my cloak with the wulvine lined hood. Is there any of the winter gear left from outfitting those soldiers who would accept it?"
"Yes, Lady," Ayfare said, startled. "But—"
"No questions, please. I have just learned some dreadful news. The Dowager dismissed it as the ravings of a woman who is very ill—and she is. The Lady
Marcala truly looks as if her hand is on death's door. However, at least one thing she told me has the ring of utter truth. I cannot put the rest aside.
Therefore, I am going to warn Gaurin that there may be a traitor in their midst."
Anamara spoke from the doorway. "Rohan has enemies who might lie about him."
"No," Ashen told her daughter-in-law. "It is not Rohan. I would rather that the man's identity remain a mystery for now, but the gossip will be all over
Rendelsham Castle within an hour. It is Count Harous."
Both ladies gasped, hands to their mouths. Then Anamara spoke up. "I will go with you."
"And I," Ayfare said.
"No," Ashen repeated. "I must do this alone."
"It is madness, Madame Mother! You cannot possibly undertake such a dangerous journey all by yourself!"
Ashen had to smile, if a trifle wanly. "And I suppose my safety will be assured by having two other women with me? It is impossible. But this I will do. I will ask someone to accompany me, someone we can all trust. Will that calm your fears?"
"It will help," Anamara said. "Who?"
Ashen's s
mile grew wider. "Someone who has expressed a wish to be with the fighting men, someone whose reputation for honor—as well as for his fighting prowess in years past—has no stain upon it. Someone who promised he would not go, unless, of course, an honorable excuse could be found."
"Lord Royance?" Anamara said, her eyes wide.
"The same. I can think of no better. Now, Ayfare, please get clothing together both for Lord Royance and for me. I must go and ask him now, and I think he will not refuse me. Have the winter garments ready by the time I return, if you can.
There is no time to waste."
Ayfare nodded. "It will be done, Lady," she said, already beginning to rummage through the chest for whatever might be appropriate. That this completely undid all her previous work didn't seem to matter to her.
A few minutes later, a steward ushered Ashen into the room Lord Royance used for meetings. There was someone with him now, a gray-haired man Ashen had seen once or twice. She started to leave again, to wait outside in the corridor, but
Royance motioned for her to stay.
"Sir Brean and I are finished with our business, Lady Ashen. We were merely exchanging pleasantries."
Brean arose from his chair across the table from where Royance held a kind of court. He bowed to both. "Then, sir, you will take this matter before the
Council?" he said.
"I will, as I told you, put it under advisement," Royance replied. "I must think about it first."
"Thank you." Sir Brean bowed himself out and closed the door behind him.
Royance arose in turn and came to greet Ashen. "You are a welcome sight, my dear—I hope you don't mind an old man's affectionate familiarity."
"I welcome it. I have come asking for your help."
"If it is mine to give, then it is yours."
"It is a very private matter."
"Then we shall discuss it in private." Royance led her into the small chamber opening off the formal one, where they both sat down beside the fire.
Leaning forward and mincing no words, Ashen told the old gentleman what had taken place in the Dowager's apartment. She took off the necklace Harous had given her, and held it out to him. "This is the proof that, to me at least, what
Lady Marcala said was true. I witnessed that murder, sir. I saw a misty man—and now I am certain it was Harous— kill Kazi and take this from her body. At least, the Ash badge. The rest was added later, when it was reworked into its present form."
"But why would Harous do such a thing? Steal a ruined brooch from a dead
Bog-woman."
"I cannot fathom a reason. Perhaps he saw some possible use for the trinket later. Perhaps Kazi had annoyed him. Perhaps he did it for sport." Ashen's lips twisted bitterly. "There are those who hunt Bog-people as if they were beasts."
Royance shook his snowy head. He closed his eyes and Ashen could tell that he was thinking deeply. Eventually he spoke.
"Harous comes from an ancient family. I have known him since he could toddle. He was always too ambitious for his own good, but I never thought—No, I will not judge him prematurely on the word of a sick woman, even though your evidence is strong. Men have been convicted and even executed for less. Still, there might have been a misunderstanding. Harous could always have found the old brooch after you were brought out of the Bog, and had it made into the necklace out of sheer generosity. Another man might have been responsible for Kazi's death."
"I know. I am trying to keep all that in mind." She picked up the necklace and ran the sapphire beads through her fingers. "Once, a long time ago, Zazar pulled some cords out of a tangle she kept as one of her ways of seeing into the future.
She called these cords 'trimmings from the Loom of the Weavers.' On this occasion she pulled out six and laid them on the floor between us. Three were gold, one brighter than the others. Another was such an intense blue it hurt my eyes to look at it. The fifth was spring green, and the last was black with a few flecks of gray. It lay apart from the others."
"What does this mean?" Lord Royance asked. "I don't understand."
"If you had been brought up by Zazar, you would. The golden threads were the
King, the Queen, and Prince Florian. His thread was thin and weak; the Queen's the strongest. The blue, Zazar said, was me. The green one I thought was Obern but I was mistaken. Gaurin's color is spring green and I knew he was the man I loved from the first moment I saw him." She swallowed. The next words would come hard. "I never guessed who the last was, until now. The black thread, I fear, was Harous."
"This is no evidence."
"I know. And yet—" She picked up the necklace and studied it. "Part of me wants to throw this away. Another part of me feels that my—my mother must have been wearing this brooch when she came to Zazar, the night I was born."
Royance frowned. "Now I will tell you something, though I don't know if it will help or not. I often saw the Lady Alditha wearing a brooch very similar to the one in question except the vessel holding the flame was a lapis lazuli. But what became of it, I do not know nor can I attest that you have it now." He spoke slowly.
Ashen's eyes filled with tears. "Harous gave me the fragments of the blue stone that had been originally set in the brooch. I still keep them in my jewel box.
They are lapis. Lord Royance, thank you. In my heart I believe that you have solved this one mystery at least. The brooch was my mother's. I will keep it for it is all that I will ever have of her." She fastened the ornament around her neck once more. "But as you say, more questions remain. Is Harous guilty, or innocent? Whatever the truth may be in this moil, I feel that Gaurin is in grave danger. I must go to him," she stated. "I must."
"Why not let a messenger from the Dowager, or the King, or even the Council carry this news?"
"Because Ysa has forbidden it."
"I see. Well, it is no disloyalty to think that the Dowager wrong. I agree with you." Lord Royance spoke firmly. "I think the threat of treason was something spoken hastily, in the heat of a quarrel between two headstrong people, and there is nothing in it. Nevertheless, Harous must be informed. If he is innocent, he should be given the chance to clear himself. If he is guilty—" He left the rest of the thought unspoken. "Also, he should know about his wife's illness." He got to his feet, his movements brisk. "Knowing you, I suspect that preparations are already underway for our journey."
Ashen's cheeks grew warm. "Yes, sir. I hoped you would go with me. But if not, I was determined to go alone."
"I wonder if Gaurin knows what a treasure he has in you. Well, I told him at dinner the other night that I still might have a battle or two left in me. It seems that boast is about to be put to the test. I will not have broken my word, now there is need." He returned to more practical matters. "What preparations are you making?"
"So far, warm clothing, enough for both of us. We will need food, of course—"
"I have a little carriage on runners that will take us to a rendezvous point near a certain hunting lodge of infamous memory. We can go that far without escort."
Ashen grimaced to think of it, but the old gentleman was right. The lodge where she had been taken, years ago when she had been abducted and Obern had come to her rescue, was close by the road north and a convenient meeting spot.
"I will send a messenger to Grattenbor. I am seldom there these days, but I daresay they have not yet forgotten their lord. There must still be a sled or two left there, or at Yew-keep. Jervin, my chief steward, will find them for us, and dogs to pull them. I know my kennels were not entirely emptied. My guards will bring the sleds and dog teams and join us at the lodge, and thence to the road north. I will personally handle the one that carries you."
"Can you drive a sled?" Ashen asked in some disbelief. She had envisioned a march along the road the soldiers had taken, and had never hoped for anything swifter.
"I did, in my youth," Royance answered. Unexpectedly, he grinned and a ghost of the high-spirited boy he had once been shone through his customary dignity.
"Grattenbor is very close to the mountains, and sledding and snow traveling out in the high country is something we all do. I loved it and practically had to be dragged back home. I can give your Gaurin competition crossing snow fields unless he too knows how to make woven frames for your feet that will keep you from falling through the crust."
Now that the adventure was taking shape, he seemed downright jaunty about it. A dozen years seemed to drop from his shoulders, and once again Ashen was reminded of the way he had welcomed the opportunity to participate in the Grand Tourney with the other senior nobles.
"Your various talents never cease to amaze me," she said, smiling in return.
Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 3 - A Crown Disowned Page 11