Waterborne Exile

by Susan Murray

  Drew raised his eyes so he could see Jervin. The light of the torchère flickered over his face, making his expression appear to shift between compassion and monstrous glee.

  “I… No.” He was right. No one else in the world would be bothered.

  “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  “Of course.” Drew stayed where he was, against the wall at the opposite side of the chamber from Jervin. The manacles on his wrists dragged downwards, biting into his skin. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

  “No.” Jervin’s voice was thoughtful. “Neither did I. But you were keen for me to give people second chances, and…”

  Was he planning to free him? Could he even do that? Fool, of course he could. Jervin had a habit of getting his own way, no matter what the law stated. Drew’s eyes were watering from the smoke. Goddess knew what the torchères were made of, the smoke was acrid.

  Jervin took a couple of steps closer. “Right now I see nothing much to recommend the practice.”

  “You hit me round the head.”

  “You asked for it.” Jervin shrugged. “But if we’re to talk second chances we can forget all that happened. Put it behind us.”

  “Can we?” Was he really going to set him free, or was this some sick joke on Jervin’s part?

  “We can go back to Brigholm and forget any of this happened.”

  Drew’s heart leaped. They could. They could start over and it could all be like before. Could they? Could he, knowing what he knew now? And if he did, ignored all his misgivings over Jervin’s business deals, how long before Jervin lost his temper again? Drew looked up, blinking. The light flickered and Jervin’s face shifted: benign, monstrous. Benign, monstrous. Rekhart’s tale of the ailing child thrown in the water… Jervin was a monster with many faces, and only one of those was the honest one.

  Drew shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “What? I’ve come all the way down here and you refuse me?”

  “Apparently. No one could be more surprised than I am myself.” Drew managed to speak perfectly evenly.

  Jervin took a step towards him, then halted. “You fool. I give you a second chance and you throw it back in my face. Well, this time I wash my hands of you.”

  “I’m sorry. I just–”

  “You will be. I’ll make sure of it if you ever set foot in Brigholm again.”

  Drew raised his eyes: the face he saw was monstrous. How could he ever have been fooled? He lowered his eyes again. “I won’t. I doubt I’ll ever get out of here.”

  “And you’ll be well served. Like your friend Rekhart – did you hear your other friend, that soldier, killed him? Except Rekhart died quickly. You’ll probably linger here for months and months, until you’re finally too weak to draw another breath. Then – if they haven’t started already – the rats will chew your face off. You fool.” Jervin turned away.

  “Rekhart? You’re making that up.”

  “No. He’d served his purpose. Just like you.” Jervin stepped out through the door and was gone.

  The guards came back into the room, dragging Drew away from the wall and back to the ad hoc dungeon. He dropped down once more in his corner, wishing the place was a true dungeon, so the darkness would hide his pain from prying eyes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The priestess was wishing she’d chosen some more comfortable place to wait. The draught from the window casement struck chill against the back of her neck, leaving her shivering. A pair of tallow candles gave out more odour than light, and precious little warmth. There was no danger of a guard posted here dozing off while on duty – freezing to death, more like. Goddess knew what it would be like in winter. Of one thing she was certain: she had no wish to find out. Unfortunately right now, Highkell was her best hope of a secure future. She rubbed her arms. She would freeze entirely if she had to wait here much longer.

  Just as she was convinced the Lady Drelena must have chosen another way this evening, she heard footsteps on the stairs above. She straightened up, rehearsing her lines again under her breath.

  A moment later the queen appeared, two servants in her wake.

  “Your highness… my lady. If I may beg a word in private with you?”

  Drelena frowned. “In private? Can it not wait until after we have dined?”

  The priestess glanced meaningfully at the two servants. “It will only take a few moments of your time, my lady.” She lowered her voice, while making sure the two servants could still hear. “I have a message for you, from the freemerchant. He wishes to speak with you – he says it is a most urgent matter.”

  “Indeed? Could he not tell me himself?”

  “It concerns your father’s loyal servant, my lady. The freemerchant says it is urgent.”

  As she had hoped, that caught Drelena’s attention. “Has he brought more news from home?”

  “I believe he may have, my lady.” This was what the queen wanted to hear. “He mentioned a letter – that is all I know.”

  Drelena drew in her breath sharply. “He might have come to me himself with this news. Where is he?”

  “He said he would wait for you in the deserted tower, my lady, in the old throne room. He said it might attract notice if you were seen together in the main palace. And… he told me to say if you do not wish to meet him he will understand.”

  “This is all nonsensical.” Drelena glanced to where her two maidservants were waiting.

  The priestess folded her hands in her lap. “Shall I tell him you will not meet him, my lady?”

  “No. I shall tell him myself what I think of this nonsense. It is close enough by, after all. You two, go ahead. I shall join you in the great hall in a few minutes.” She turned to the younger woman. “I know the way. Vasic showed me where they have begun the repair work. You do not need to guide me.”

  “Are you sure, my lady? I do not mind.”

  “It is not for you to mind. It is for me to decide.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady.” The priestess curtseyed, then followed after the two servants. She would sooner be in the warmth of the great hall than trailing about after a pampered queen anyway.

  Drelena watched the priestess hurry away. She knew well enough the girl had been something to Vasic before her arrival at Highkell. And she would sooner not follow her alone through dark hallways. She could not pinpoint any one thing, but something about the girl’s grey eyes left her uneasy. And why the freemerchant chose to use her for his message was anyone’s guess. But none of that mattered: if there was another letter from home – or, more particularly, from Darnell – she would sooner read it far from watchful eyes.

  And if this piece of nonsense turned out to be some fancy of the freemerchant, then she would tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him for dragging her all the way out here on a cold night. The anteroom to the former king’s tower was unlit. Deciding she couldn’t trust her eyes to adjust to the darkness Drelena went back to the room before and prised one of the tallow candles loose from its holder. Hot tallow splashed on the back of her hand, stinging. This was a piece of foolishness and no mistake. But of course Marten couldn’t have illuminated the path for her, for then their meeting might be noticed. And if he had another letter from Darnell… Bleaky probably wouldn’t have wanted to approach her himself, not after their last meeting. She had been overly harsh towards a loyal servant. She ought to set things right. And so she would, the very next morning if she did not see him at table tonight.

  Drelena crossed the anteroom in silence, shielding the candle flame with her hand. It guttered as she stepped into the draught from the door to the old throne room. She paused, waiting for the flame to steady before stepping through the doorway. There was no sign of anyone else in the room: no light, no scent of smoke. She took a couple of steps forward, wondering if Marten might not have arrived yet. At the far side of the room, the ragged edge of the collapsed wall was silhouetted against the moonlight.

  The skin on the back of her neck p
rickled with unease. This was foolish beyond belief. That priestess was playing some trick on her. Then she heard the softest of footsteps. Was someone there in the room after all? She would not wait to find out.

  Drelena turned back to the door, and had taken a step towards it when a heavy blow crashed against the side of her head. She staggered forwards, dropping the noxious candle. The flame went out, plunging her into a dizzying darkness, clouded by a thousand swarming pinpricks of light. She lost her balance and would have fallen, but for the hands that caught hold of her and dragged her upright.

  “Be careful now, your highness. You need to mind your step up here.”

  Not Marten’s voice.

  Not Bleaky.

  A hand clamped over her mouth and nose. She clawed at the hand, kicking and flailing in an attempt to break free. Her assailant spun her about and dragged her across the floor.

  “Steady on, my lady, you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

  Still dizzy, she felt cold air whisper against her face and struggled harder. She had been so foolish. Abruptly the hands released her.

  Off balance, Drelena stumbled sideways. She found nothing but empty air beneath her foot.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Two soldiers led Marten to the throne where Vasic waited. The king’s expression suggested scarce-suppressed rage. Before Vasic, hands bound, knelt the priestess. At her side was the messenger boy Marten had been using for errands since his arrival at court, similarly bound while his face bore the marks of rough handling. Marten knew a moment’s gratitude that he had at least been treated as befitting an officer of the court. He’d been dragged from his bed with little ceremony, but no ill treatment. The soldiers released him and stepped back, although they remained within arm’s reach.

  Marten bowed. “Highness, I am your humble servant.”

  “Indeed?” Vasic glared at him. “Then you must humbly explain this sorry tale I’ve been told.”

  “I will if I am able, your highness. Has there been some misunderstanding?”

  Kaith was standing off to one side of the throne, his expression grim.

  “One might say that.” Vasic drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. “You were not present at table last night, Marten.”

  “No, your highness. I dined in my rooms last night.” His head ached dully from the wine he’d drunk to drown his sorrows.

  “Is that so? Might one enquire why?”

  Had Vasic learned of the planned meeting? “I was not in a sociable mood last night, your highness.” Was this why Drelena hadn’t turned up? Her seat beside Vasic’s was empty. This was unusual – she always made a point of attending the morning court sessions alongside her husband.

  “And not because you conspired to meet my wife that evening?” Vasic’s glare was stony.

  “Conspired, your highness? No.” This was not good. “I was handed a note requesting that I meet her urgently, but no one was there. I guessed it must have been some courtier’s trick and I was annoyed with myself for being taken in.”

  Kaith spoke up. “And can anyone vouch for your story?”

  “It is no story, sir, but the truth. I threw the note on the fire. I don’t think I spoke to anyone yesterday evening. But there were servants at work who saw me as I made my way to the herb garden.” The situation was going from bad to worse. “The boy there handed me the note.” He indicated the boy kneeling before the throne.

  Kaith moved forwards to study the prisoners. “The same boy who took the message to priestess Miria?”

  “That boy, right there. He’s often run errands for me. I didn’t think to question it when he brought me the note.”

  The boy straightened up. “It’s true, I took him a note, your highness.”

  Vasic glared at him. “And did the queen give you the note?”

  He shook his head. “No, your highness. It was her.” He pointed to the priestess.

  “I did no such thing, your highness. The poor boy is easily confused – he must have mistaken me for one of the queen’s servants.”

  “But it was her!”

  “Silence, boy.” Vasic glowered at the boy until he lowered his head once more.

  The priestess spoke up again. “Pray forgive him, your highness. His wits are lacking and he often misremembers. This boy told me–”

  “I did not! She lies! I–”

  A soldier cuffed the lad round the ear. The boy hunched over in miserable silence.

  “This boy told me,” the priestess repeated in a calm voice. “He brought me the message and when I saw the queen on the way to dine I passed it on to her, word for word as I told you, your highness.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She sent her servants on ahead and said she would deal with this nonsense. I offered to go with her, but she said she would go alone. If I had only disobeyed her…” Her voice broke as if her throat was constricted. Her shoulders heaved and she drew a gulping breath then fell silent, head lowered.

  Marten spoke up. “Your highness, the boy is slow of understanding, but I have found him reliable on the whole. Surely the Lady Drelena can tell us if she did indeed send the note?”

  A gasp from behind told him he’d said something terribly wrong.

  Vasic’s fingers closed over the arms of his throne, knuckles white. “Do you think to jest at a time like this?”

  Kaith leaned closer to the throne, keeping his eyes on Marten. “I believe he speaks the truth, your highness.”

  “You think so?” Vasic turned his gaze away from Marten.

  “I’m sure of it, sire. We will question the servants who would have been in that part of the building – it will be easy enough to prove the truth of what he says.”

  Someone nearby cleared their throat. “Your highness, if I may be so bold. I saw the freemerchant going out into the herb garden, just as he said.” Bleaklow stepped forward. “I was on the way from my quarters to the great hall.”

  Bleaklow was ashen-faced and his expression even more sombre than usual. Only then did the reason for Drelena’s absence dawn on Marten.

  Kaith straightened up. “There we have it, your highness.”

  Vasic’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded slowly. “Freemerchant, you may go about your duties.” He turned to Kaith. “But we will have the truth of this. Have the boy questioned properly – I will know who brought him that note.”

  “What of the girl, your highness?” He nodded towards the priestess.

  “Release her. She has told us all she knows.”

  Vasic withdrew and the courtiers drifted into little knots of people, discussing the news in subdued voices. Marten took Bleaklow by the arm. “I thank you for your intervention – I had not numbered you among my friends.”

  “Nor should you, if you caused her so much as a moment’s trouble.”

  “Never would I. But by the Goddess, what was all that about?”

  Bleaklow studied his face in silence. “It is true, then. You really do not know. Come with me, we cannot speak here.” He led the way out of the throne room at a brisk walk. Only when they had reached the courtyard did he slow down. Bleaklow checked no one was nearby to overhear before he spoke.

  “Last night…” He paused to clear his throat. “Last night, the Lady Drelena fell to her death from the old throne room.”

  Marten’s gut churned in shock. “Goddess, no. How could such thing happen?”

  Bleaklow shook his head. “It was suggested… she had rebuffed your advances, and you pushed her. Had I not seen you myself at the far side of the palace, I might believe that still.” He spoke in haste, as if he forced the words out before he could change his mind.

  “You do not know me well enough to see that such a thing is not in my character, but I offer you my deepest condolences, nonetheless.”

  Bleaklow didn’t speak for the best part of a minute. “That priestess had them all convinced for a while: it seems to me she wishes you ill.”

  “Someone must, to have sent me that lett
er. Unless it was the Lady Drelena herself – and that I cannot believe.”

  “Nor can I.” Bleaklow’s voice was sharp.

  The fire had been almost out last night when Marten dropped the note in it. He recalled one edge curling and blackening in the embers before he’d dropped down on his bed in a wine-fogged stupor.

  “Would you know her writing if you saw it?”

  Bleaklow nodded. “I would.”

  Back at Marten’s room, they found a portion of parchment remained in the grate. It was blackened and discoloured, but the handwriting remained legible.

  Bleaklow studied it with a frown. “It looks much like her hand, and yet… I cannot imagine her forming her sentences in such a way. She was ever direct.”

  The Lady Drelena’s body lay in state in the great chapel. Marten went down there alone that evening, expecting to find the place deserted, but Bleaklow was sitting there, keeping vigil. Marten would have turned away and left him in solitude, but Bleaklow looked around. Even by the candlelight it was possible to see his eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.

  “Forgive my intrusion. I wished to pay my respects when it was quiet.”

  Bleaklow nodded, but that was all his reply.

  Marten approached the stone slab where her body rested. From this angle, her face appeared near-perfect, marred only by a large bruise on her temple. Only now was it possible for him to believe her life had truly been cut short. He knelt, murmuring words to commend her to the care of the Goddess and the Hunter. He doubted she would have minded a freemerchant blessing – her confidences on her unease at being so far from home told him they had at least that in common. Marten stood, leaning over to set a hand on her forehead in farewell, and he froze. The one side of her face was as perfect as in life, but the other… It had been bound up with care, but it was impossible to hide the fact one side of her skull had been smashed beyond recognition, the right eye socket clearly empty beneath closed lids.

  He turned away, bile rising in his throat, and fought to master himself.