Nightshade

by Shea Godfrey

  It was time to shake loose their caution and step boldly, whether Malcolm was prepared or not. Joaquin had always known that blood would be shed in the end. Though on this night, it shall merely be his pride.

  “Will Captain Darrius be joining us on our hunt?”

  Malcolm lifted his eyes from his plate. “No, she will not.”

  Owen eased back in his chair at the head of the table, his goblet in hand as he studied Joaquin. He had been expecting some sort of challenge for several days. Malcolm had been on the receiving end of several short-tempered comments as of late. Their negotiations were slow, but forming a lasting treaty with Lyoness had never been attempted. They had much to consider, and beyond that, the timetable had been set by Bharjah’s offer of his daughter’s hand in marriage. The protocol involved in such a venture was complicated at best, and the one thing they had now was time. And if Jacob’s spies were right, a little more time was all they might need.

  If Owen could believe the missives sent back across the Lyonese border, Bharjah was swiftly dying and all would change in a heartbeat if one bright morning the Butcher of the Plains did not awake with the sun. Perhaps Joaquin knew this, perhaps not, but the young man certainly had something planned for his part in the negotiations; it was written within his every expression. That he and Malcolm had become thick was no secret either, and though Malcolm loved his games, too much was at stake right now for Malcolm to overstep his bounds.

  “Seems a shame,” Joaquin said. “If she is allowed to pursue manly virtues, then she should be permitted the hunt.”

  “She’ll not be joining us, Joaquin,” Malcolm repeated.

  “But surely her beauty, despite her dress, would allow us a bit of entertainment while away from the feminine comforts,” Joaquin said, pleased by Malcolm’s reaction. You are weaker than I thought, Malcolm. You’d not last a week within the shadow of the Jade Throne, nor even a day beneath my father’s wrath.

  “Entertainment how?” Owen asked.

  Joaquin turned to his right, straight into the unwavering gaze of the High King of Arravan, and a tremor of apprehension rippled through his stomach at the steady question within Owen’s eyes. “I am curious as to her skills, that is all.”

  “You wish to mock her?”

  Joaquin sat back slowly. He had meant to spar with Malcolm, for Joaquin had discovered almost at once that Darrius was Malcolm’s bane. If Joaquin was to put him in his place, she was the key. Owen, on the other hand, was a unique opponent. “Not at all, my Lord. But in my land a woman knows her place and is kept within it. Your daughter is somewhat of an oddity.”

  “But you’re no longer in Lyoness, are you, Joaquin?”

  “Perhaps if she could demonstrate her skills, I would not find her so impolite. As to her manly dress and behavior only, I assure you, my Lord.” Joaquin knew the comment encompassed more than enough to insult. “If she truly has value as a soldier in your command that is a different matter. But I find that fact hard to believe so I wonder, why is she allowed to play at this game? Does it merely amuse you to let her do so?”

  Silence suddenly encompassed them, the other conversations at the table having tapered off. The Queen sat unmoving, her eyes upon her husband as a fire of slow temper rose within her expression.

  “Perhaps this is a conversation better suited for after dinner, Prince Joaquin,” Jacob said. “I waited some time for my dinner and I would like to enjoy it.”

  “Yes, but you see my dilemma, Prince Jacob?” Joaquin said. “I am to deal in treaty with your father’s throne and have yet to determine the seriousness or the tone of these negotiations. We have spoken in council for many days as to the state of affairs between our two lands and the history of war between us. These are serious matters, yes?”

  “Of course. But they are matters unrelated to my dinner.”

  Joaquin ignored Owen’s quiet laughter. “So how might I treat with a throne that allows a daughter of the Blood to expose herself in such a manner? It’s hard to know if this is a frivolous pursuit allowed out of indulgence or a serious threat that speaks to the minds of your people. Am I to sanction a union between Malcolm and my innocent sister, who has never been exposed to such widely accepted immorality, shall we say?”

  “Perhaps we might see if the weather will affect your ruminations as well.” Jacob’s tone had turned somewhat cold. “We’re expecting a blow from the south, I believe, that might upset your thoughts on any number of things.”

  “If her value as a woman is so slight that her skills as a warrior are a better asset to the Arravan throne, I might accept her uniqueness,” Joaquin said. He was surprised that the weakling Jacob had come to her defense. He was always quiet in council and seemed to have very little standing for a man of the Blood. “I understand your need for an ample supply of warriors, even if you must employ your women to find them.”

  “Enough.” Cecelia pushed her chair back and rose to her feet, looking down at Joaquin.

  “Perhaps a walk in the gardens, Cecelia,” Owen said, interrupting her before she could say what was obviously on her mind. “For the ladies at the table, so we might finish this conversation without insult to anyone.”

  “I mean insult to no one.” Joaquin met Owen’s heavy gaze. “I merely wish to know if all your officers are of the same amusing caliber. And if they sport the same inclinations as your daughter. It is a reasonable question.”

  “You seek to provo—”

  “Why don’t you ask her,” Owen said. “Ask her,” Owen repeated, “if the men in my command are of the same caliber as she.”

  Joaquin reacted swiftly. “Lady Darrius?”

  Darrius stared at the table. “Yes, my Lord?”

  “Are the officers within your father’s command of the same caliber with a sword as you?”

  “No,” Darry answered. “They have cocks and I do not.”

  Joaquin was uncharacteristically silent, clearly undone.

  “Or were you talking about the other sword?”

  Owen let out a bark of laughter.

  “Yes, actually, I was.” Joaquin’s tone was snappish.

  “Because if you were talking about the male anatomy, I consider them to be at a disadvantage. But since you were not, you have my apologies.”

  “A disadvantage?”

  “Yes, well, your cock does not allow you the time or the inclination, does it?”

  Joaquin frowned. Jacob was grinning as he cut into his fish.

  “The time or the inclination for what?” Joaquin demanded.

  “To discover what truly pleases a woman.”

  “Darry.” Cecelia smiled and ducked her head.

  “Though you can piss standing up,” Darry said, “which is an advantage, I’ll give you that. But back to the proper sword, yes?”

  That Joaquin was insulted showed clearly in his demeanor, and though it was obvious that he wished to respond, nothing came out when he opened his mouth.

  “But I see that perhaps I’ve maligned your prowess as a lover. This was unintended, my Prince. I’m sure that your lovers, and they are legion I have no doubt, I’m certain that you have satisfied them all. Their screams were from pleasure, no doubt.” Darry chuckled, dangerously close to mocking. “And their sobbing was that their prayers had been answered. I was speaking of lesser men, I assure you, who do not handle their swords with care.”

  Owen watched as Darry took up her goblet. By the Gods, woman, but you have your mother’s wicked tongue.

  “But I shall never know if that’s actually true, for you see, I do not fancy having your cock between my legs. I shall just have to take it on faith.”

  Malcolm sat back in his chair with a beseeching expression. Owen ignored him, though, caught by the clever spin of words as he considered Darry with thoughtful pride.

  “And I believe,” Darry continued with a smile, “that unless you wish to challenge me to a duel right here and now, before dessert—which I hear is a lovely pie of spiced peaches with a dark suga
r crust—that you must show the same faith in my skills and assume that I have earned my rank at least in some measure, based on the same exacting standards that others must meet.”

  They stared at one another, neither looking away as the silence grew thick.

  “Some of life’s mysteries, my good Prince, are meant to be savored,” Darry added quietly. “Let us not ruin them, and before dessert? It really is in bad form.”

  Joaquin held her eyes for a few seconds more, then glanced away, lifting his goblet. “Then let us drink to those mysteries, Princess. Until one or the other, or both, may be solved.”

  Owen’s jaw twitched. Don’t make me spill your blood, boy, for I’ll do so without a thought if you would be so careless. Arravan’s panther shall not have the chance to gut you, before you’ve met her father’s sword.

  Darry lifted her wine in return. “There shall be only one question answered between us, Joaquin, and you must trust that I shall be the one who decides which mystery it will solve.”

  They both drank, Darry the first to set her chalice down before returning to her plate. “Shall we find a deck of cards after our pie, Emma? We’ve not had a game of Suns for some time.”

  Cecelia turned to Owen. “I shall see to the kitchen, Owen, with your leave?”

  “Of course. My compliments to the cooks.”

  “I would like a match very much, Darry,” Emmalyn said.

  “Excellent.”

  “So what is the best game at this lodge of yours, Malcolm?” Joaquin looked down the table, then returned to violently slicing his meat, his knife blade scraping against his plate.

  Jessa listened as several conversations sprang up, everyone eager to wipe away any remaining effects of the awkward confrontation. She had never witnessed such open mockery of a man, and a son of Bharjah at that. Her heart was pounding as a heady rush of victory settled in her chest, smothering her embarrassment that Joaquin had thrown such innuendo at a woman of royal blood. Spoken in front of Darry’s parents, it was a terrible breach on many levels, despite the overtly sexual tone of Darry’s challenge.

  She studied Darry and noted that though she moved the food about her plate she made no real effort to eat it. Darry set her fork down and reached for her goblet. A bloodstain darkened the white tablecloth beneath where Darry held her knife. She was gripping the edge of the blade where it met the handle, her knuckles white with the force.

  Jessa reached for the pear that sat beyond Darry’s plate. “Let go, Darry.”

  The colors of Darry’s eyes were tainted with emotions she had not anticipated, and as Jessa sat back she was ashamed of her joy at Joaquin’s defeat. I didn’t think of that, Darry, forgive me. Vhaelin essa, but I didn’t…you’re not alone, Darry, I promise.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re as restless as a bloody cat,” Radha growled in her scrape of a voice. “Sit down!”

  Jessa moved from where she paced before the hearth and flopped onto the divan across from Radha’s heavily stuffed chair. “I will be expected to sing.”

  “Perhaps not.” Radha’s needle moved with precision within the silk of Jessa’s dress.

  “It is a formal ball, Radha. There will be musicians and players, most likely.”

  “Yes. And is that why you’ve been stalking about for the past two days?”

  Jessa tipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She pulled at her robe, shifting with annoyance and then settling with a sigh. “Leave me be, old woman.”

  Radha studied Jessa for a time before returning to the dress. “She has been making herself scarce, child, that’s all.” She laughed, the sound like pebbles caught underfoot. “They have cocks and I do not.” She laughed harder. “I would’ve given a piece of my soul to have heard that.”

  “It was not as pleasant as you might think,” Jessa said, “to see that fikloche get his own handed back.”

  Radha’s laughter faded and she started on the seam once again.

  “She was all alone,” Jessa spoke almost to herself. “And I just sat there.”

  “And what would you have done?”

  Jessa had no answer. Radha moved along the seam and then knotted the stitch and brought the dress to her mouth where she bit cleanly through the thread. She searched the basket on the table beside her for the spool of blue.

  “She is a backwards woman.” Radha threaded her needle. “In such a life she must defend herself. No one else will do it.”

  “I could’ve tried to be brave.”

  “At what price?”

  “What does it matter the price?” Jessa pushed to her feet and walked back to the hearth. “I have always been trapped, Radha, and so it is no matter what I do or feel. But to see her so, it wasn’t right.”

  “You know little enough about her to be making such a statement.”

  “I know enough.”

  “And what is it that you know?”

  “That she’s kind and good. And that she has courage. I can talk to her and she speaks to me as if I were someone other than Bharjah’s daughter, as if I was just me and that is enough for her.” She smiled. “And she makes me laugh.”

  Jessa considered her stay at Blackstone Keep since she and Darry had shaken hands at the pond and made their pact to be friends. She thought of their time each day, always in the midst of others, yet even so she realized how dull and heavy things seemed without her presence. I am missing you, Darry.

  She was surprised how much she had come to rely on Darry being here and how she waited with anticipation each day for that hitch within her heart that warmed her blood so wonderfully when she first saw Darry. And it did not stop there. For a minute or for an hour, it made little difference. She makes me feel as if I belong somewhere.

  “And she’s very beautiful,” Jessa whispered, as thoughts of the pond turned to the memory of Darry’s wet clothes clinging so suggestively to her body. And when she smiles at me my stomach does wonderful things.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Jessa answered. She closed her eyes. “They will want me to sing.” She turned abruptly. “I would look into the Waters of Truth, Radha.”

  “You cannot. The water is very different here and I’ve not yet found the proper herbs. I still discover the city, and the things I need are not offered in the open markets.”

  “Yes, and while you prowl about the castle at night and move through the city by day, I am stuck having tea and waiting to be sold off for the highest bid! Are you not done with that yet?”

  Radha laughed, ignoring her. “What need have you for the Waters, child? Had your fikloche not interrupted us on the road, do you think you might have seen what you are needing now?”

  “I am needing nothing.”

  “Your vision lies within you, you know that,” Radha said, concentrating on the tight stitch. “If you would but meditate, most likely you would remember better.”

  “I’m sick of meditating. Either the Vhaelin will show me or they will not. My sitting about in a stupor waiting for my gods to give me a sign is becoming a waste of my time.” She turned on Radha. “I said nothing to you? I must have said something.”

  “Not that I can remember.” Radha did not look up. “What will you do when your vision comes at last, Jessa? Will you accept what it shows you, no matter what it is? Perhaps your sons will be of the Blood, perhaps not. A vision granted is but one path.”

  “But I remember feeling…I felt so—”

  “You felt what?”

  “Alive!” Jessa said. “Damn you, Radha, I know you’re lying.”

  “Then you should meditate. I cannot do everything for you.”

  “I do not want to meditate,” Jessa said between clenched teeth.

  “Then what would you rather be doing?”

  “I would rather be living,” she said. “I shall be in the bath, not that you care, you heartless wretch.”

  Radha grinned.

  “I will have to sing, mark my words.”

  *

&
nbsp; Emmalyn handed the bulky packages delivered from the tailor into Darry’s arms, noting the dusty uniform and the sword at Darry’s side. “I almost opened them,” she said, eyeing for the hundredth time the soft parchment wrappings that were tied with string. “Tell me you don’t have a dress in there.” Darry was utterly stunning in a dress, but they had not suited her temperament or her wild spirit since she was a girl. If she wore one now it would bring the court to its knees with shock and rumors. Malcolm would keel over.

  “I don’t have a dress in there.”

  “Where have you been? Mother and I went looking for you, and Longshanks told her that he sent you on an errand, then received a tongue-lashing like I haven’t heard in years.”

  “I had to do a bit of riding, yes.” Darry smiled. “I have a present for you.”

  “What?”

  “I said that I have a present for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A Solstice gift, of sorts.”

  “What is it?” Emmalyn asked again.

  “You’re very pushy.”

  “Darry.”

  “Do you always lie about in the middle of the day in your dressing robe?” Darry asked, surveying her up and down. Her hair had been done for the ball, piled in flaming red curls atop her head and spilling onto her shoulders. She had yet to put on her dress and so stood in bare feet and a simple gray robe. “And though you look ravishing just as you are, I’m fairly unimpressed with the duties of the eldest daughter if this is how you’re allowed to spend your days.”

  “You would do well to get ready yourself,” Emmalyn said. “Your hair will take hours to dry.”

  “My hair is fine.”

  Emmalyn was less than convinced. “Mother will flay you alive.”

  “It won’t be the first time,” Darry said with a grin. “My skin grows back.”

  “Where’s my present?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Emmalyn lowered her brow in annoyance.

  “Do you want it or not?”

  “We’re not to exchange gifts until the Solstice, Darry.”

  “This isn’t your Solstice gift. I said it was a sort of Solstice gift.”