Breath and Bone

by Carol Berg

  The prior sagged onto a couch, his round face stunned, his gaze flicking uncertainly at the man he believed little more than a lord’s scribe. “But I am no Luviar, Gram. I’ve no wisdom to bring to such a task. How can I—?”

  “None of us can replace Luviar,” said Gram, clasping his hands behind his back. “We must do with our own talents. He chose you to run his abbey, Father Prior, to care for his brothers whom he loved. Thus he had clear faith in your judgment. If Valen’s accusations are correct, then Gildas deceived even the abbot. Perhaps a more practical man will make a better choice.”

  Though his manner was entirely calm and logical Gram, Prince Osriel’s eyes had taken on the character of iron when fire, hammer, and coal have had their way. No wonder he kept his gaze shuttered as he played this role. No meek secretary had such eyes.

  A cramp tightened my left calf. I propped the toe of my boot on a stone facing and stretched out the muscle. It’s nothing. Nothing.

  Prior Nemesio kneaded his chin, staring at the patterned rug. “Luviar had a great respect for Jon Hinelle, a merchant’s son in Pontia who once studied here,” he murmured, “and for Vilno, a self-taught practor who once traveled as far as Pyrrha. Hinelle, I think—he’s younger, more practical, if not quite so powerful a mind. With the abbey library in ashes, the new Scholar will need access to the lighthouse. And he’ll need protection.”

  Over Nemesio’s head, the prince lifted his eyebrows at Stearc and flicked his gaze from the bemused prior to the door. Stearc nodded brusquely.

  “We shall open the lighthouse the moment the new Scholar is in place, Father Prior,” said Stearc. With a firm hand, the thane dislodged Nemesio from the couch and drew him to the door. “And I’ll leave a small garrison here at your disposal for the new man’s retrieval and protection. Fedrol is a capable commander and will ask no awkward questions. I’d advise you heed his recommendations…”

  As their voices faded down the stair, the prince poured himself a cup of cider from the pot on the polished table, lost in his own thoughts as he sipped. I kneaded my aching left forearm and breathed away a sharp spasm that pierced my rib cage.

  Elene graced me with a rueful smile. “It is the gods’ own gift to see you safe, Brother Valen.” Her voice sounded as rich and potent as fine mead, warming even my cold spirit.

  I mustered a smile and bowed, pulling off my mask and looping it on my belt. “Just Valen, mistress. I make no further pretense to holy orders.”

  “Two days ago, when we saw what the Harrowers had done to the abbey, and then Voushanti straggled in, saying you had stayed behind to face our pursuers alone, we feared your brave heart lost. So when your message came to Fortress Groult—” Her red-gold skin took on a deeper shade. “While we could not rejoice at your conclusions, we did rejoice that you were alive to make them. And now”—she jerked her head at the prince—“we’ve no need to hide certain facts from you. For better or worse.”

  “For better or worse,” I said softly. So she knew Osriel’s secret. “Mistress, do you know—? Last night, I—” The prince looked up from his cup, expressionless, and I dared not speak what I had seen, lest he overhear. “Lady, I am unsure of whom I serve.” Perhaps I had found the source of her bitter enmity for Gram. I could not imagine a woman so devoted to justice and right, herself so rich with exuberant life, countenancing practices so abhorrent.

  “We are an inharmonious collection of comrades, to be sure.”

  The clamor of boots on the stair signaled Stearc’s return, accompanied by a blast of cold air—and Voushanti. Elene promptly moved away from me, poured a cup of cider, and plopped herself onto the dusty couch.

  Welcoming the fresh air, I pressed even closer to the window. The stifling heat was near choking me. Another cramp wrenched my back. I blamed the overbuilt hearth fire and the previous day’s climbing. Please, gods…

  “We should inform the prior of your identity, Your Grace,” said Stearc, squatting by the fire and rubbing his hands together briskly. “If he is to be an effective ally, he should know all.”

  The prince shook his head. “Too many secrets have escaped our grasp of late. Nemesio is stalwart and intelligent, but unimaginative in deceit and poor at conspiracy. That Gildas cannot expose me is one slim consolation amid Valen’s ill tidings.”

  “I don’t understand why you believe all this about Gildas. The boy’s body is proof that he was murdered, not that Gildas did it. We’ve a far more likely candidate right here.” Stearc glared at me with undisguised contempt. “Did your own guilt catch up with you, pureblood? Did you realize you’d be found out, and so turn on the very one who compromised himself to aid you? Perhaps you didn’t know that Gildas confessed how he’d induced you to strike him and run. How he sent Gerard after you with supplies for your escape. The monk’s testimony shook even Luviar. Now you say some magical insight has shown you the boy’s resting place? I don’t accept it. You were half crazed that night. I say you struck down the boy so he couldn’t give you up to the purebloods.”

  Voushanti shifted his position slightly, intruding between Stearc and me. “You should listen to the pureblood, Thane. Whatever else, he’s no coward. Eight days ago I was ordered to kill him did he step wrong, but I found reason enough to leave him walking. Save for his diverting the Harrowers, you, your daughter, Prince Osriel, and the rest of us would lie dead on the Palinur road.”

  This casual confirmation of how close I had come to dying by Voushanti’s hand did naught to cool my burgeoning anger. I’d given Elene the benefit of the doubt, but this…Damn the woman; she had been there. She had allowed these lies to fester.

  “I am certainly no innocent,” I snapped. “But bring me the man or woman who says I have ever used a child ill, and I will show you a liar. As it happens, I’ve a witness that Gildas himself brought me supplies the night of my escape, that I forbade him send the boys, and that I had no contact with either boy before I was slammed senseless near the aspen grove. As that witness has not come forward to speak for me, perhaps the coward prefers I stand guilty of the crime.”

  Osriel looked surprised. “A witness?”

  Stearc snorted. “I don’t believe—”

  “You planned to kill Valen?” Elene rose from the couch, her face crimson. Had Osriel spouted blood from her glare, it could not have surprised anyone. “You told me you would question him and seek the truth about that night. I never thought—Are we no better than the murderous madmen we fight?”

  The prince’s face hardened like mortared stone. “We did as we thought best.”

  “Your secrets blight your life far worse than any illness, Gram of Evanore. Twisted pride and a corrupt soul will be the death of you, not Sila Diaglou or your wretched royal brothers.”

  “Daughter!” snapped Stearc. “Mind your vixen’s tongue!”

  Wrenching her glare from Osriel, Elene crossed her arms, touching opposite shoulders, and bowed to me. “I beg your forgiveness, Master Valen. I had reasons for my silence that seemed compelling at the time but were clearly selfish, foolish, and inexcusable. Please believe, if I had imagined such murderous folly, I would never have left the matter in doubt.”

  She turned back to the others. Though her arms remained in the penitent’s gesture across her breast, her fists tightened as if to contain a fury that matched my own. “Papa, Mardane Voushanti, my lord prince, I indeed followed Brother Valen out to the dolmen that night. He did not leave my sight until the purebloods gave chase through the fields. All is as he has said. Only Gildas came. Not Gerard. I heard Brother Valen adamantly refuse to involve the boys in any way. He could not possibly have seen anyone that evening without my knowledge.”

  “You returned at dawn, girl!” bellowed Stearc, his cheeks burning. “You said you’d been with some ailing pilgrim woman in the Alms Court all night. What were you doing with Cartamandua? And where were you after he was taken?”

  “That has no bearing on Valen or Gildas, so I’ll not waste our time just now, Papa,” said Elene,
acid on her tongue. “But I will tell you. What misdirected loyalties induced my silence are now moot.”

  I had no wits to sort out what she might be talking about, save that it surely had to do with Osriel.

  “I am satisfied that Valen is innocent of these crimes, Stearc,” said the prince, putting a sharp end to the matter. “After yesterday’s encounter with Kol, I fear our hopes of aid are even flimsier than before. Yet before we can consider how to approach the Danae, we must attempt to retrieve the boy and the book…and Gildas. We ride within the hour.”

  Voushanti had passed around cups of cider, and now stood across the room, observing me curiously. Every time I blinked, the world seemed to waver. I gulped the cider and set the cup aside before the mardane could notice how my hand shook.

  Stearc jerked his head at Elene and snatched up his cloak. “Let’s be off, then.”

  “Not you, Thane. You are to remain here.” The prince pivoted on his heel. “You and Fedrol will detail your men as you see fit for the prior’s needs and for the security of the lighthouse and the brothers.”

  Stearc flushed and glared at me. “My lord, if this is punishment for my accusations—”

  “This is not punishment,” said the prince sharply. “We’ve no time for petty guilts and reprisals. Believe me when I say I would prefer to have your strong arm at my side. But Luviar has fallen. As the only living lighthouse ward-holder, your personal safety is paramount, and we’ve no time to transfer your charge to another. Thus, if you perceive the least threat to your person in these next weeks, you will entertain no foolish ideas of brave antics, but will run and hide, no matter the brothers’ safety or your daughter’s or mine. Do you understand me?”

  “Aye, Your Grace. Of course.” Stearc gritted his teeth and bowed.

  The prince shifted his attention to Elene, who looked as near jumping out of her skin as I felt. “Mistress, though it grieves me to say it, you cannot go with us either.”

  “I thought we had no time for petty reprisals!” she snapped. “I have not faltered in my duty to this cabal, no matter our personal disagreements. I have not hesitated.”

  “I would not think of underestimating your determination,” said the prince, as frosty as the windowpanes. “My only hesitation is for the dangers I must ask you to venture instead. Thanks to a few brave souls, Brother Victor lies safely at Renna. To move him was a risk, but not so much as leaving him in Palinur. Saverian will keep him alive if any physician in the world can manage it. Mistress Elene, I would ask you to meet Victor at Renna and take on the burden he and Luviar kept safe from Sila Diaglou. Saverian can work the necessary rite. We cannot leave your father the only ward-holder. Are you willing?”

  “You wish me to be a lighthouse warder?” Astonishment wiped Elene’s fine-drawn features clean of anger and outrage. “Of course…of course I will.”

  “Good.” The prince turned briskly to Voushanti while Elene was yet stammering. “Dispatch Philo and Melkire to safeguard Mistress Elene on her travels, Mardane. They’re our best, and if they remained with us…Well, I’d not wish them to confuse Thane Stearc’s secretary with their prince just yet.”

  Voushanti nodded, as did Elene, only a rosy flush remaining of her surprise.

  “I believe we have some time, if we take care,” said Osriel to all of us. “Sila Diaglou has some use for Valen beyond his grandfather’s book. As long as her attention is distracted with her own plans and she is left guessing as to mine, a small, fast party should be able to move unnoticed to intercept Gildas.”

  “Gildas knows I’ll come after Jullian,” I said. I wished I shared Elene’s determined composure. My knees squished like mud and my bowels churned like a millrace.

  “But you are Osriel the Bastard’s bound servant, and Osriel’s cruel games would never permit you such freedom,” said the prince. “Secrets and deceptions grant us opportunities that fate denies.”

  No one could have missed this reproof of Elene. But I could read the prince’s expression no better than any other time. His cool sobriety revealed no hostility.

  “Now that Gildas holds the book,” he continued, “Valen is our only hope to warn the Danae and enlist their help. As his safety is critical, and I’ve still some notion of ruling my father’s kingdom, Voushanti must keep the both of us alive through this venture.”

  Voushanti bowed. “How many men?”

  “Only us three.”

  “My lord, no!” Voushanti and Stearc erupted in unison. “Impossible…”

  Stearc argued himself hoarse about Osriel’s foolishness in taking a single bodyguard “no matter his exceptional talents.” Osriel allowed him to rant, but altered the plan not a whit. As Stearc moved from sputtering at Osriel to showering Elene with warnings and advice, the prince took up pen and paper to set his plan into motion.

  Osriel took Gildas’s threat too lightly in my opinion. The monk might believe me the Bastard’s bound servant, but he also knew how I felt about villains who abused children. Worse yet, he knew my weakness; he’d left a box of nivat seeds to taunt me. I’d destroyed the box and yet clung to the belief that I could manage a few more hours of sanity—long enough to set Osriel on the right path. I could not abandon the boy. I had sworn to protect him.

  Voushanti charged off to see to horses and supplies, and conversation shifted to a brisk discussion of message drops and rendezvous and other details that needed no input from me. As the moments slipped by, the knot in my belly launched a thousand threads of fire to snarl my flesh and bones. My companions and their concerns and, indeed, the entire world outside my skin began to recede, until they seemed no more than players and a flimsy stage. My time had run out.

  “My lord,” I whispered from my place by the window. It was all the voice I could muster from a throat that felt scorched. “I need to tell you…”

  No one heard me. Elene held Osriel’s sealed orders for his garrison at Renna and for this Saverian, his physician and house mage. Voushanti returned and hoisted the leather pack that contained the prince’s medicines. Osriel donned his heavy cloak and tossed his extra blanket to Voushanti, telling him to pack it. “A dainty flower such as I cannot afford to leave extra petals behind.”

  My body burned. I tried to unfasten my cloak and padded tunic, but my hands would not stop shaking.

  Soon Osriel and Stearc were laughing. They embraced fiercely. Elene clasped her father’s hands, biting her lip as she mouthed sentiments I could not hear.

  I fumbled with the iron window latch and shoved the casement open far enough I could gulp a breath of frigid air to cool my fever.

  “Magnus, it’s time to go.”

  “Magnus Valentia!”

  The calls came as from ten quellae distant. I lifted my anvil of a head, sweat dribbling down my temples. The four of them stared at me.

  “What’s wrong, Valen?” said the prince.

  “I can’t,” I said, pressing one arm to my belly as a vicious cramp tied my gut in a knot. “It’s too late. Gildas knew—” But I could not blame Gildas for this betrayal. He had merely taken advantage of my own sin; the excess nivat he’d given me in Palinur had but sped up what was going to happen anyway. “I’m afraid I’m no good to you after all.”

  “Are you ill, pureblood?” Voushanti dropped the satchel. “You should have spoken earlier.”

  I shook my head, as waves of insects with barbed feet swarmed my skin. “You’d best go now. Retrieve the book, or you’ll have to discover another way to the Danae.”

  The prince appeared in front of me. Though his years numbered only six-and-twenty, fine lines crisscrossed his brow and the skin about his eyes. Concern settled in the creases as in a familiar place. “You seemed well enough yesterday. Have you some hidden injury? We can fetch Brother Anselm.”

  When he touched my chin, I jerked away. But trapped in the window niche, I could not evade him. I closed my eyes, though behind my eyelids lay naught but flame. “No, my lord. A disease.”

  “But not a new one.
” I felt his gaze penetrate my fever like a spear of ice.

  My molten gut churned. “It comes on me from time to time.”

  “Have you medicines for it? How long will it hinder you? A day? A week?” Spoken with the understanding of a man who had dealt with illness every day of his life. Did his remedies skew his mind until he could think of naught else, until they became indistinguishable from the disease? Did his salves and potions leave him muddleheaded so that he killed the people he was trying to help? I doubted they tempted him to slash his flesh or scald his feet just to make the healing more pleasurable.

  “You’re our best hope to reach the Danae, Valen. We’ll get you what you need. Just tell me.”

  There it was. The temptation I feared most.

  The doulon hunger sat inside my head like the Adversary himself, whispering its seductions. One spell and you can hold together for a few days…help them rescue Jullian…retrieve the book. Then they won’t need you anymore, and you’ll have kept your vow as best you could. Too bad you threw the enchanted mirror away—so easy to do when your gut is not on fire—but this devil prince can surely enspell another. And he’ll have a supply of nivat as a gift for the Danae. Surely…

  The fiery agony was my disease. For all these years, no matter its torment, no matter how I rued my folly, cursed the stars, or told myself otherwise, deep inside the darkest core that held a man’s unspoken sins, I had welcomed its pain in aid of its remedy. My chest clenched with hunger. My loins ached with need no woman could satisfy. Saliva flooded my mouth. No amount of washing had removed the scent of nivat that clung to my skin, to my fingers that had opened the little box Gildas had left me. So enticing…

  “Valen?”

  Luviar had died an unspeakable death because the doulon had left me slow-witted and confused. Brother Victor lay half dead and Jullian was captive because servicing my need demanded my first and clearest stratagems, and every other matter must yield to whatever the doulon made of me. Nivat gave me an illusion of control, but I knew better. A cramp wrenched my back like an iron hook.