The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2)

by R. M. Burgess

  “We should be delighted to wait on the sous cheval,” she said before Greghar could respond. “It is almost three hours till six—that will be ample time for us to get ready.”

  “A carriage will call for you,” said the Head Steward, bowing.

  Greghar said nothing, but Nitya got the feeling that he was not best pleased. Nonetheless, he got ready, laced on his light armor since he had no formal wear and belted on Karya. The beauty of the ancient sword immediately set him apart from the common run of warriors. Sailors were great hands with needle and thread, and they had worked their magic on Nitya’s attire. Soliciting donations from the entire crew, they had collected scraps of fine linens and even some silk. In the short span of time at their disposal, Nitya’s traveling shift was lengthened and beautified into a presentable gown.

  She could not get anything other than monosyllabic responses from him all the way from the dock to the small castle. The carriage jerked to a halt in the courtyard and the footmen opened the carriage door. As the lady, Nitya emerged first.

  Sous Cheval Hughen va Goset stood in the courtyard to receive them with two ladies by his side. His son, his daughter-in-law, and his two young daughters stood a rank behind them. A small crowd of relatives stood behind them in the third rank. Several liveried servants were on hand. Greghar led the way to the receiving party with Nitya on his arm. She was acutely aware of the ladies’ condescending looks at her makeshift gown, but she held her head up high.

  “I am Greghar Asgar of Utrea,” he said, carefully not taking the Nibellus name. He indicated Nitya. “And this is—”

  “Your lady, I take it,” said va Goset heartily.

  “No, no,” remonstrated Greghar. “She is my ward.”

  “We heard from your crew that you are Utrean nobility,” said va Goset. “What are your connections? Perhaps we have heard of them.”

  Nitya now spoke up, her upper-class Brigish accent a contrast to Greghar’s Utrish pronunciation.

  “We both serve in the court of King Lothar of Utrea. Greghar is nephew to the king.”

  Va Goset’s face broke into a wide smile.

  “Nephew to the king! I don’t know your Utrean traditions, but in Briga that would make you an archbaron at least!”

  “Our traditions in Utrea are different,” said Greghar ambiguously.

  “I bid you both a most warm welcome,” said va Goset. “Now, allow me to introduce my gracious wife, Sous Chevalina Estia.”

  Sous Chevalina Estia was short and thin, with a pinched face. She nodded to Greghar and Nitya, not nearly as happy to see them as her husband.

  “And this is my sister, Chevalina Kitara va Alsor of Tirut,” he said, taking the arm of the other lady who had been with him to receive them. Kitara was significantly younger than her brother and sister-in-law and was by far the prettiest of the women assembled there. She had mischievous brown eyes, a pert figure, and pouting lips that were painted bright crimson. Her gown hugged her curves and was cut to display her cleavage, even though she affected Thermadan modesty by wearing a scarf loosely over her dark hair. She gave Greghar and Nitya a quick bob of a curtsey but managed to make it look slightly mocking rather than respectful.

  Va Goset now proceeded to introduce his son, daughters, and daughter-in-law, and then his kinsmen. Greghar and Nitya murmured the appropriate phrases to afford each one the recognition they were due.

  “Now that we all know one another, let us proceed to our Reception Hall,” he concluded. “We have some of our local delicacies laid out. Come, do follow me.”

  It was the Head Steward who actually led the way into the Reception Hall. The chamber was modest in size and appointments compared to the apartments in Nordberg Castle. However, both Greghar and Nitya made sure to look around with admiration and make several complimentary remarks.

  There was a small orchestra seated in a corner and they began to play a gentle melody as the party walked in. The Head Steward supervised a motley staff of assorted maids and other downstairs help that had been pressed into service to attend them. They circulated with trays of the local Gosetter wine and small canapés.

  “This wine is from our own vineyards,” said va Goset, raising a glass. “I toast you both and drink your health.”

  “We thank you for your most gracious welcome,” said Greghar, returning the toast. “And wish you and yours long life and happiness.”

  As soon as the return toast was drunk, Kitara stepped forward from va Goset’s side.

  “So, my lord Greghar, we have established that you are Utrean royalty, the nephew of King Lothar,” she said playfully. “And you certainly look the part! But what of your ‘ward’? Will you not name her for us?”

  “She is Nitya, lady-in-waiting to Her Highness, Queen Lovelyn of Utrea,” he said, maintaining a decorous tone.

  “Oh my, we are greatly honored to welcome such distinguished guests to our little castle,” Kitara said, again sounding slightly ironic. “I must steal you away to listen to your tales of the Utrean court.”

  Both Greghar and Nitya laughed politely. Led by va Goset, they circulated and made small talk with those he presented, mainly his kinsmen and favored local gentry. As the evening wore on, Kitara was as good as her word. She joined the group around them and with consummate skill, eventually managed to get them to herself in a corner, partially screened from the center of the Reception Hall by a pillar and a tall potted plant.

  “My dear Lady Nitya,” she said after some routine pleasantries. “You must tell me all of your protector’s secrets. For he is so handsome that he has quite stolen my heart away.”

  Kitara now put her hand possessively on Greghar’s forearm, a move that Nitya found incredibly forward as well as intensely irritating.

  “He is quite serious,” she sniffed. “He has no time for frivolous women.”

  “Oh, Greghar, surely that is not true!” exclaimed Kitara in mock horror. “For I am quite frivolous and if you have no time for me, it will break my heart.”

  Nitya expected Greghar to frown and brush Kitara off. But to her surprise he smiled warmly.

  “I am quite forgiving of frivolity,” he said. “Especially in a pretty girl.”

  “I am not a little girl,” said Kitara, laughing coquettishly, with a glance at Nitya. “I am an experienced, married, and well-connected woman. My husband is the younger son of the Baron of Tirut.”

  “I wonder that we have not met him,” said Nitya, hoping to embarrass her.

  “Oh, he is far away in Tirut, so I am quite free to pursue my fantasies. In any event, he is not nearly the warrior Greghar is.”

  Her fingers traced some of the scars on Greghar’s arm. In response, he took Kitara’s other hand in his and squeezed it. Color rose to Nitya’s face, for she had never seen this side of Greghar.

  She had seen enough flirting in the Utrean court both as an object and as an observer. So she knew how it could range from exquisitely subtle to utterly crass. Even so, she had never seen a wellborn woman throw herself at a man like this. Surely Greghar can see that Kitara is behaving like a strumpet, she thought. Why is he making such a fool of himself?

  Kitara and Greghar continued to make lighthearted conversation that progressively became laden with suggestion and innuendo. Nitya took no part in the conversation and stood with a set expression, her arms folded over her breast. Finally, when Kitara leaned seductively toward Greghar, causing his arm to brush her bosom, Nitya had had enough. She turned on her heel and was on the point of leaving them, when they were joined by va Goset. Kitara immediately addressed him effusively.

  “Brother, you cannot allow our august guests to spend their time in Goset on their uncomfortable ship. You must invite them to stay with us at the castle.”

  “Of course, my dear sister,” said va Goset immediately. “It will be our honor and pleasure.”

  “We thank you most sincerely,” said Nitya, in her most polished Brigish. “But our crew will not hear of it. They are like our family, and we must
stay with them.”

  “Oh, Greghar, will you leave us bereft?” asked Kitara theatrically.

  Looking over at Nitya and seeing her thunderous expression, Greghar said quickly, “Of course our crew are dear to us, but we will doubtless spend more time with them when we return to sea.” Turning to Kitara, his tone changed to one of overdone gallantry. “So if you will add your invitation to your brother’s, we will have no choice but to accept.”

  “I invite you to stay with us,” she said in a breathy tone. “With all my heart.”

  Greghar turned to va Goset.

  “Sir, we are pleased to accept your kind invitation.” He gave him a small bow. “I would be grateful if you could send one of your stewards to our ship to fetch our things.”

  “But—” began Nitya.

  “My dear, it is for the best,” said Greghar easily. “Think how nice it will be for you to have a firm bed after all those weeks in a hammock.”

  “I quite liked my hammock,” muttered Nitya to herself as va Goset expressed his happiness at their acceptance. As soon as va Goset turned away, Greghar put his hand on the small of Kitara’s back, and she gave him an amorous look. Nitya saw their intimate exchange with a stifling mixture of helplessness and fury.

  GOSET CASTLE HAD no grand guest apartments, so va Goset had to make some whispered arrangements with his Head Steward during the dinner regarding improvised lodgings. As a result of these, the castellan was moved to share accommodations with the captain of the men-at-arms and his tower apartment was given over to Greghar. Va Goset’s older daughter, a demure teenager, was moved in with her sister, and her chamber was given to Nitya.

  The dinner was a painful affair for Nitya. Kitara contrived to get herself seated by Greghar, while Nitya was seated with va Goset’s daughters near the foot of the table. Greghar and Kitara carried on an animated conversation with each other, being careful to include va Goset and his wife. Nitya could not hear their words, and so she imagined the worst. What does he see in her? she thought despairingly. She is pretty enough and her figure is riper than mine, but she is nothing compared to Princess Caitlin. She tried to concentrate on making conversation with the girls by her side, but they were too overawed to do much more than nod and smile.

  She did not get the chance to talk to Greghar after dinner for the men retired for brandy and she was left with the ladies. She did not encourage Kitara’s attempts to start a conversation with her, and after a short interval she was led to the room she was to occupy. On the way, she questioned the maid who accompanied her. To her chagrin, she discovered that Greghar’s designated apartment was on the other side of the castle from the room she occupied. Nitya made her point it out to her from the gallery outside her chamber.

  Her few possessions had been brought up from the ship and were already in the room, ready for her. She changed into her nightclothes and lay on the bed. She had grown used to the movement of the ship and the stillness of the bed made her dizzy. She meditated on the chant of power, grew steady and soon lost track of time. It seemed like she had barely shut her eyes when she was awake again. She rose and made her way to the window. She was on the landward side of the castle that faced full west, but even here she could see the lightening of predawn.

  She did her morning ablutions and dressed. She found a hairbrush on the vanity and spent a good ten minutes working her hair into a high gloss. The queen always said I have beautiful hair and eyes, she thought, missing Lovelyn and feeling a sharp pang. She wished she could go to her for comfort and advice.

  She had grown used to rising early with Greghar in their cramped cabin on the Darling Thoma and then serving him breakfast after he got ready. So as dawn broke, she made her way across the courtyard to see him in the tower apartment on the seaward side of the castle. She heard activity in the kitchen, and there were a few sentries on the battlements, but otherwise the castle was still asleep. She climbed the steep stairs that led up the rectangular tower, glancing out the arrow slit windows at the gray sea. From some angles, Goset harbor was visible and she could see the Darling Thoma in the distance, still moored at a wharf.

  It was a long climb to the tower apartment, and she paused to catch her breath on the landing at the top. The door was heavy and banded with iron. She pushed it and found it locked. She knocked softly, for she knew Greghar was an extremely light sleeper. There was no response, so she knocked again, and this time she allowed a full minute to pass. When there was still no response, she grew concerned. Have they done something to him? she thought worriedly.

  She closed her eyes and visualized the bolt on the inner side of the door. She concentrated hard and with her eyes still closed, saw it slowly sliding back. She pushed the door again and now it swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. With only a few very narrow arrow slit windows, the apartment was still in semidarkness in the breaking dawn. As she entered, she was aware of a sense of foreboding. A veil of darkness seemed to seep out of the windows at her approach. But it happened so quickly that she ascribed it to the rising sun, scolding herself for being oversensitive.

  Greghar was instantly aware of the opening door and he sat up in bed as Nitya entered. He put a finger to his lips and whispered, “How did you get in here? Go back to your room, I will see you at breakfast.”

  “Why are you whispering?” she asked in a low tone. She came forward toward him, noting his discomfort and confused by it. “Why did you not open the door when I knocked? And why do you not have your nightshirt on? It was a chill night.”

  “I think I drank a bit too much last night,” he hissed. “I need to rest a bit longer, so please leave me.”

  She now noticed a large shape under the covers by him. As she stared, it moved, and a dark-haired head emerged, yawning.

  “What is the matter, Greghar?” asked Kitara sleepily.

  “Nothing,” he said hastily. “Go back to sleep. I thought I heard something, but I was mistaken.”

  He made a quick movement with his hand, making it absolutely clear to Nitya that he wanted her gone. It was quite unnecessary, for her face had fallen, and she was on the point of rushing out of the room of her own accord. But Kitara was awake now and saw her. She sat up, drawing the sheets to cover herself.

  “Why, it is little Nitya,” she said lazily. “Why do you look so shocked? Surely you have had your share of passionate adventures in the Utrean court?”

  “I am pleased to say that I have had no such adventures,” said Nitya, as stiff as Kitara was relaxed. She was furious, and it showed plainly on her face.

  “My, my, what a jealous hussy you are,” said Kitara, her tone light and teasing. “You have had Greghar in your bed, but he is too much of a man for just one woman, surely you see that. You must learn to share him.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, you…you…you whore!” spat Nitya. “You would not understand the relationship I have with Greghar. Women like you think everything between a man and a woman is sexual.”

  “And isn’t it?” asked Kitara knowingly. “Come now, you ladies-in-waiting are the worst hypocrites. I bet that all the Utrean queen’s equerries have enjoyed your favors. That’s the way it was when I was at the court of Briga. Why should things be different in Utrea?”

  “I think that is quite enough,” broke in Greghar. “Nitya, you had best go now. I will see you at breakfast. I can explain everything.”

  “How could you, Greghar?” Nitya cried, bursting into tears. She turned and rushed from the room, followed by Kitara’s gay laughter.

  NITYA WANTED TO leave immediately and return to the Darling Thoma, but the castle was still secured for the night. So she returned to her room and stewed till she thought the hour civilized enough to take her leave. She went down to the parlor and found va Goset and Estia at breakfast.

  “Good morning, sir. Good morning, my lady,” she said, addressing them formally. “I thank you for your hospitality. However, I must take your leave and return to my vessel, for I miss my shipmates dearly.”


  “You cannot leave us!” exclaimed va Goset, his tone cheery. “Has anything not been to your satisfaction? Tell me what’s amiss and I will do my best to make you feel at home. Come, take some breakfast with us, and we will discuss the matter.”

  “I am not hungry, sir—” began Nitya.

  “Nonsense,” said Estia, in a surprisingly civil voice. “Young girls are always hungry. Sit with me and allow me to serve you some of our honeyed porridge. Everything will seem brighter once you have eaten.”

  Nitya looked at her in astonishment, for she had not been particularly welcoming the previous day. However, now she looked on Nitya kindly as she sat by her and served her solicitously.

  “I saw how Kitara was trying to put you down at the reception last night,” she said in a tone low enough that her husband did not hear. “But you must not let her upset you. She is ever so vain. She is used to being the belle of the castle whenever she visits. No doubt she sees an attractive young girl like you as competition.”

  Nitya looked at Estia gratefully. She did not know how to respond, so she just smiled. Estia patted her hand.

  A few moments later, Greghar entered. Va Goset stood to welcome him and brought him to the table. He called on his Head Steward to bring out fresh rolls and hoped that Greghar had rested comfortably. Nitya refused to meet his eye. She ate her porridge as quickly as possible and took her leave with as much politeness as she could muster.

  She ascended to the battlements and walked along the crenels, looking out at the seascape. Nitya contemplated the Darling Thoma down in Goset harbor and closed her eyes, imagining the morning scene aboard. When she opened them, Greghar was at her elbow, standing silently with an abashed air. Her own expression grew set, and she deliberately looked away to sea, trying to ignore him.

  “I am not good with words,” he said. “But you must allow me to speak to you.”

  “What is there to say?” she asked bitterly. “You are a free man and may act as you please. Obviously, you are more comfortable with women of your own class. Your uncle spoke for you when he called me menial and a beggar.”