If Rubyn knew it, he shared nothing. He only nodded briefly. ‘Cyrus comes.’
‘Good and bad news,’ the former prime said in his usual direct manner. ‘We can get rooms at a decent establishment called The Rose and Thorns but I’ve heard that the Cipreans were recently through here enquiring not so gently about two women who go by your description.’
‘I see,’ Hela said, hoping he had a suggestion. ‘Is it still risky then?’
‘I would prefer not to take any risk with you ladies. I have an idea but it may not be to your liking.’
‘Sir. Anything which offers us protection from danger is welcome,’ Sarel said.
He inclined his head towards the Queen. ‘Of course, your majesty.’ This was said in a whisper to prevent any passers-by from hearing. In a more level tone he outlined his idea.
‘You can disguise your appearance a little if you each cover your hair with a scarf. I’m suggesting that Hela and I arrive and book in as man and wife. I can be a soldier on leave bringing my lady on a special trip north to see this wondrous city. We can carry such a story off without trouble. It will be harder for the two of you,’ he said turning to Rubyn and Sarel. ‘Can you pretend to be brother and sister? You are travelling through Ildagarth on your way to meeting family at any one of the northern towns…let’s say, Saddleworth.’ He noticed Hela’s astonishment at his suggestion out of the corner of his eye but deliberately ignored her.
‘And where are we from?’ Rubyn asked.
Cyrus considered this. ‘Mexford,’ he said. ‘You’ve taken the slightly longer journey because you preferred not to travel through the capital and instead wish to see Ildagarth.’
They both nodded. ‘Who are we?’ Sarel asked, frowning.
He could see Hela would have her protest and did not answer the Queen immediately.
‘Light! Are you mad all…of you?’ Hela hissed. Then spoke in a harsh whisper. ‘Do you think I’m going to let the Queen of Cipres sleep with a stranger?’
‘But I see you are not protesting at sleeping with one, Hela. Please fret not either for my modesty or my chastity. Rubyn will respect both.’
There was that haughty Queen’s tone. Hela’s jaw gaped open at what was just short of a dismissal. Rebukes flew to her lips but none escaped. She reminded herself this was no longer a child to be admonished for her cheek. This was a Queen about to reclaim her throne.
Cyrus could see he needed to calm troubled waters and made a point of looking around. ‘Ah, there’s an excellent restaurant called The Tapestry here which is a favourite of mine. We can nut out a proper background for ourselves over our meal. Everyone hungry?’ He glanced at them all but eyed the elder woman. He needed to help her claim back some status. ‘Hela, what do you think?’
‘Again, a most suitable plan,’ she said softly.
He offered her his arm and Hela took it. ‘For the purposes of The Tapestry, we are family travelling together. I’ll do the talking,’ he said.
Later, with their bellies full and stories rehearsed, they had also hatched a new plan—much to Hela’s added despair—to stay in separate establishments overnight after Sarel had mentioned that they might be notable by their lack of luggage.
‘A single couple arriving at an inn without bags may be swallowed. Two apparently separate couples travelling without luggage and checking into the same inn on the same evening could draw attention,’ she had suggested. Cyrus had nodded sagely, looking uncomfortably towards the Queen’s companion.
‘She’s right,’ he responded, hating to add to Hela’s woes.
They were all surprised when the maid agreed. ‘I know she is. We must do whatever we can to protect her life.’
Cyrus glanced towards her, glad that she had wrestled with her objections and found them wanting. She had followed sound advice; done what was right despite her heart, and indeed head, begging differently. She enjoyed his soft, fleeting smile of pride in her decision and felt a tremor of helpless excitement now that she would be sharing a room and a night alone with this man.
Not long after seeing Rubyn and Sarel wave to confirm the successful booking of a room with two beds at The Rose and Thorns, Cyrus was smiling at the innkeeper’s wife at the The Lily Pond…another highly reputable establishment.
‘Just you and your good lady for tonight, sir?’
‘That’s right.’ He smiled graciously for the woman’s benefit.
‘I imagine you’ll be wanting the double bed then, sir, rather than the two single pallets.’
Cyrus’s smile hesitated. The single beds would be far better.
‘Of course,’ Hela intervened. ‘I had forgotten how cold the nights can be in the north.’ She winked at the lady behind the counter.
‘Oh my, my, sir. You’d better have our best room then, the one with the fire and armchairs.’ She tapped her nose suggestively.
Cyrus had to fight back the urge to glare at her as an old pride flared up until he reminded himself that he was no longer anyone of status in this Kingdom. No longer Prime; no longer the revered head of security and protector of the King. Instead he was pretending to be an officer on leave, bringing his wife on a short holiday to the north. He forced the smile to return to his face.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll have our lad send your bags up, then.’
‘No bags,’ he replied, perhaps a little too quickly.
‘Oh?’ the woman said, confused. ‘I thought you were taking a holiday in these parts, sir?’
‘We are,’ Hela said, intertwining her arm through that of Cyrus. She had noticed his face darkening. For someone who was going to do all the talking, he really was not very good at deception. ‘Do you know, madam, our luggage was lost on our way from the east?’ She lied smoothly and convincingly.
‘No.’ The woman’s eyes widened with disbelief.
‘Yes indeed. I am mortified, for how am I to travel without my clothes and toiletries?’
‘Stolen?’
Hela shrugged. ‘It matters not how they’ve disappeared, that we don’t have them is what troubles me.’
‘Well, quite,’ replied the woman, warming to her guests’ plight.
Hela giggled coquettishly. ‘I shall need no clothing for tonight, madam, of course,’ she said, glancing towards Cyrus who looked aghast, ‘but tomorrow I’m afraid I shall have to do some damage to my husband’s fortune and replace all my goods from your beautiful city.’
Cyrus squeezed Hela’s arm. ‘The coachman said they may still turn up on the next journey north, my love.’ He smiled through slightly gritted teeth.
‘This is true,’ she agreed.
‘Is there anything I can send up for you good people then?’ the lady asked.
Hela smiled back. ‘I hear Ildagarth is famous for its drink known as zabub?’
‘Indeed, my lady.’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘Have a carafe of Morriet sent up too,’ Cyrus said, wresting back control of the conversation.
‘Right away,’ the woman replied. She handed them a large key. ‘It’s at the end of the landing on the top floor. The climb is worth it for the view over the city,’ she said, adding, ‘but don’t tire yourself, sir. Your wife has plans for you.’ She returned the wink to Hela and left, giggling to herself.
Cyrus sensibly chose to keep his irritations to himself and Hela wondered if she had overstepped the mark for as soon as they were out of sight up the stairs, he untangled himself from her arm.
‘I hope I did not offend?’ she asked and received only a grunt for her enquiry.
They climbed the next two flights of stairs in stony silence but the ascent was worth the effort when they finally entered their spacious room and unlocked the shuttered windows. They were rewarded with a magnificent view across the city of ruins lit by the moon and smiled upon by thousands of twinkling stars in the clear night skies of the north. The balcony was framed by beautifully carved pillars—it reminded Hela momentarily of Cipres.
&nb
sp; ‘Forgive me for any indiscretion. I merely wanted to keep our disguise authentic. This was all your idea, after all, and you seemed to be having difficulty convincing the curious innkeeper’s wife.’
‘I understand,’ he said, holding a lighted taper to the fire’s kindling which caught immediately. ‘It is cool outside,’ he added distractedly.
She turned around to face him. They both looked at one another and then towards the double bed as if in concert but Cyrus immediately looked away and busied himself with poking at the flames. Hela took a deep breath and was pleased to hear a soft knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
A serving girl entered, balancing a tray. ‘Your zabub, madam,’ she said, looking towards a small table. ‘And your wine, sir. May I set it here?’
‘Of course,’ Hela replied. ‘Thank you.’
The girl left almost as soon as she arrived and Hela found herself back with the difficult silence of Cyrus.
He finally cleared his throat. ‘I can rest on these chairs pulled together.’
She did not know what to say. How best to put him at his ease again with her. ‘Can I pour you some wine?’
‘Thank you.’
She cringed inwardly at their stilted words and responses. For his part, Cyrus watched her move towards the table and made himself pull his gaze from Hela’s lovely shape. He knew he had made her feel awkward and felt compelled to say something conversational. ‘You should enjoy your first taste of the famous zabub.’
‘I intend to,’ she replied, handing him his glass of wine.
There were two armchairs and they settled back into them, facing one another. She watched Cyrus sip his wine and was quietly amused by the contented look which stole across his face at its taste. His expression relaxed as he closed his eyes to savour the Morriet.
‘I can see it’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed such fine wine.’
‘Indeed,’ he murmured, taking another mouthful but not opening his eyes.
She sipped her own drink. It was surprisingly potent but its taste was nonetheless rich and exotic. ‘Mmmm,’ she said, helplessly. ‘Incredible.’
‘Told you,’ he said, his voice much softer.
‘Are you tired?’
‘No, just enjoying a simple pleasure and my own thoughts.’
‘Would you prefer me not to talk?’
He said nothing, which just served to confuse her further and so Hela kept her peace, sipping her zabub which was truly delicious. The silence lengthened and although she realised they should light a candle or two, she dared not disturb his peace and in fact began to wonder whether he had fallen into a doze.
She hated the silence; could no longer help herself. ‘Are you married, Cyrus?’ Hela stunned even herself with the sudden asking of such a personal question.
‘Once,’ he replied, his eyes remaining closed.
‘Oh?’ She found herself studying the lines of his face in the glow of the firelight. He must have been a handsome young man she decided, but life’s events were now etched on his lovely face and their lines disappeared into the moustache and beard he kept trimmed very close. Life had definitely made his handsome face far more interesting. She realised he had offered no further information.
She pressed on doggedly. ‘What happened?’
‘She died.’
She had not expected this and Hela now felt terrible for asking. ‘I sense you carry that sadness still,’ she said gently.
‘You are correct.’
‘No other women?’
‘Plenty.’
‘Ah,’ she answered reflexively to his direct response. Her thoughts were roaming and she found herself erratically wondering what it might be like to be his lover. His body looked hard and fit and she also noticed his hands were meticulously cared for; in fact everything about him was neat and ordered, smart and precise.
He surprised her by saying more when she thought the conversation was over. ‘None who could touch my heart.’
‘I have never known a love as deep as that.’
‘Love of this nature should be treated with caution. It can mean pain more than joy, as in my case.’
‘Would you prefer not to have known her, then?’
His eyes opened now and she felt impaled by the hard grey gaze of Kyt Cyrus; a look which used to strike fear into his men. ‘No.’ The single word seemed to chill the room.
‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I meant nothing by it.’ She felt her cheeks burn. She had done nothing but apologise to him since entering this inn. Light! This man was unnerving. His eyes were closed again and his glass empty. She took the chance of tiptoeing to the table, fetching the carafe and refilling his glass. She also took the opportunity to light a single candle which cast new shadows around the room.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.
‘And family?’ She hoped this was safer territory to tread. They had a whole long night to get through and conversation was clearly all they would share.
‘A son.’
‘Is he grown?’ She sounded surprised. How could he have left his own child to raise someone else’s?
‘He died with his mother…soon after his birth.’
Now Hela wanted to bite her own tongue out. She gulped down the zabub, scalding her mouth. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her.
‘I have made you uncomfortable.’
‘Yes, you have.’
He looked suddenly amused. ‘It is a special gift I have.’ She found herself grinning despite her discomfort.
‘I’ll recover,’ Hela finally said, liking that this enigmatic man could amuse her at the height of such awkwardness.
He sipped. ‘Perhaps we should start again. Why don’t you tell me about your life while I finish this carafe of Morriet?’
And she did. She described her early life in a sleepy hamlet of Cipres before she ran away from home with a man who turned out to be no good. The promise of marriage disappeared as soon as their money did and Hela explained that she was fortunate to have been taken pity on by one of the courtiers at the palace. He wanted her body enough to find her a position on the Queen’s personal serving team. She told Cyrus about life on Sylven’s staff, describing how over the years she had climbed the ranks of the servants to become a personal maid to the Queen and finally her aide and companion.
‘We were close and I know she would have liked you, Kyt Cyrus,’ she said.
‘Why is this so?’
‘Because you are something of a mystery.’ She noticed how he smiled at that. ‘I think most women would find that compelling, but as much as Sylven would have loved to unravel your secrets, I believe she would have been mostly engaged by your complexity. It is a quality many women can find threatening, to be honest.’
‘But not Sylven.’
‘No. She would have thrived on it.’
‘Do you find me threatening, Hela?’
She was cross she hesitated. ‘No. I find you to be remote.’
‘Is that so?’ he said, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She felt her heart skip. Slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched towards the fire and his shirt slightly undone, this man looked very desirable indeed and the conversation was headed towards dangerous territory. Behind him was the double bed towards which her eyes flicked uncharacteristically nervously now, betraying her thoughts, her desires.
She took a deep breath. ‘But I think it’s contrived, sir. I don’t believe for one moment that you are not a warm and affectionate man.’ She shrugged. Might as well say it all. ‘I just think you deliberately hide behind a wall of remoteness, and layers of mystery. It’s safe. Your wife and son died. Your heart broke. You believe you can never mend that heart and give it to another and so you make love to many but love none. It ensures you can remain at a distance from women.’
She held his gaze and noticed his eyes had strangely darkened.
‘You seem to know a lot about me.’
‘I know only what my own
senses and instincts tell me, sir.’
He stood. ‘Time for our rest, I think. You take the bed. I’ll go out for a walk until you are settled.’
Hela felt disappointed with herself. She had not handled him at all well and men were her specialty. She liked this one; not that she expected anything to come of it but she genuinely felt she had somehow failed him this evening. Their mission was dangerous and small pleasures such as quiet conversation, perhaps just getting close to someone, would be brief, if even at all possible. Tonight was a chance for her to forget their perilous life and simply get to know more about an intriguing person and yet all of her charms with men had abandoned her.
‘Damn him!’ she muttered. He had made her feel like a cheap whore. And yet he did not even want her. When it boiled down to it, what was truly frustrating her was that Kyt Cyrus had showed no sexual interest in her whatsoever. She watched him leave without another word and felt hollow. She knew men desired her. If Hela had to describe herself the word ‘worldly’ would spring to mind together with ‘provocative’ and ‘erotic’. It disturbed her greatly that these qualities appealed not to Kyt Cyrus.
She stripped, washed her undergarments and blouse and hung them discreetly on the balcony to dry for the morning. She untied her hair, lamenting the lack of a brush and fingered through it to loosen it. Slipping beneath the fresh sheets, she thanked her luck that Cyrus had good enough taste and purse to ensure such a decent inn for them—a small consolation after a desolate evening—and then fell into a fitful doze awaiting his return.
Cyrus had to get out of the room. He inhaled the crisp night air and walked, no particular direction in mind. He linked with Rubyn who said they were fine but not especially sleepy. Cyrus felt the companionship with Sarel was good for Rubyn.
Be careful, lad. Remember you are in the presence of a Queen.
See you in the morning, Rubyn replied and cut the Link.
The old soldier was rarely troubled by his charge’s contained manner. Rubyn had been like this since he was old enough to talk; nothing had changed. If anything he rather admired Rubyn’s manner; it sometimes reminded him of himself. However, he would be the first to admit that the boy needed to grow and experience the world. They had led such a quiet existence all of these years that he realised both of them desperately needed to mix with people again, women especially. Which is why he found himself strolling the beautiful streets of Ildagarth—he had been intimidated by a woman and that was a new experience for Kyt Cyrus, the self-assured, arrogant and brilliant former commander of the Tallinese army. Men and women had worshipped him in his glory days but he had called no man friend—except perhaps Torkyn Gynt—and had only ever loved one woman. She had departed his life without warning, leaving him bereft, he now realised, of the ability to love another.
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