When they had finished sweeping, there was a pile of dust and scraps and crumbs and mouse droppings and a few bones—for Noggin didn’t sweep as often as he ought—on the earthen floor. They burned this on the brazier along with the wings of the crow, and candlebark and bitter herbs that made a sweet and pungent smoke, and when all was ash, the priests ended their song and seemed satisfied.
Now they turned to the dove, and the omen they’d found in her corpse, which stood for the female body of the household. Her heart was enlarged and too pale a red, which could clearly be seen when it was laid next to the crow’s. When they cut it open, the chambers were seen to be malformed. Trouble with Ardor in all its avatars, Smith and Hearthkeeper and Wildfire, they said, and didn’t look far for cause, for there was Consort Vulpeja, Ardor’s child, on her sickbed watching.
I felt then as though a great black wing had swept over me and gone. I was so glad to be overlooked. I had wronged the Auspices, thinking they would dare offend the gods by pretending to read what wasn’t written. Yet their interpretation was faulty, for they didn’t see that I had also been marked by Ardor. Since the Smith had saved me in the Kingswood, there had been many days—such as yesterday, in the dog pen—when I felt abandoned by the god, by all the gods, and other days when I’d mistaken my own fancies for Ardor’s bidding; now I couldn’t have said whether I’d served the god well or no, but I felt unknown purposes still at work in me. Here was another sign, in that pale engorged heart, of Ardor’s swollen will.
The more I thought on this sign, the more I feared it showed an ill will. My relief gave way to misgivings.
The priests went to stand about Consort Vulpeja’s bed. In silence she beckoned to Sunup, and the girl helped her to sit and took a place on the cot behind her so she could lean against her, back to back. Her hair being unbound for sleeping, Consort Vulpeja covered it with the blanket, and with this gesture wrapped herself in modesty, in dignity. She kept her eyes downcast.
Divine Xyster said, “Consort, it’s a marvel to see you so much better. “The last time the carnifex had seen her was the morning after the dwale smoke, less than a tennight ago, before she had forced herself to eat and so smoothed the hollows of her cheeks and changed the pallor of her skin from whey to cream.
Galan was standing behind the priests with his arms crossed. He muttered, “Indeed, she grows better and her temper grows worse.”
“Ill temper?” asked Divine Hamus.
Galan shrugged. “She curses at my sheath like a foot soldier.”
When Consort Vulpeja spoke at last, her voice was small and bewildered. “Your pardon, Sire, but what am I to do if the drudge needs correction? She’s disobedient and clumsy besides.” She appealed to the priests. “Surely such faults must be plucked up at once by the root, or they will spread.
“You misuse her,” Galan said.
“I fear you’re too lax with her, Sire. It’s made her impudent. ‘Smite a drudge and he will favor you, favor a drudge and he will spite you.’As you see, I can’t smite her, for I’m too weak. If I speak to her roundly, it’s less than she’s owed.” Her words were hard, but her voice was soft.
Galan took a step closer. “She healed you. You owe her your life, not your curses.” I wished he hadn’t said it, for Divine Xyster peered at me where I stood behind Spiller. I didn’t want him curious.
Her cheeks flushed red. She forgot to be gentle; she raised her eyes and her voice and cried, “Do I, Sire? I’ll not be indebted to her. I’d as soon she took my life back—I no longer want it.”
I thought how she must have had more guile before, when she was a maid and played coy day and night. Now she was so overstrung she couldn’t sound one note long before it began to sour. She played upon my faults and sounded her own: ire and obstinacy.
Or it may be that her temper had indeed been sweet and demure and guileless before Galan had won his wager. Not that she was blameless, even so. Even the most demure maid knows what treasure she must guard. She ’d brought dishonor on herself and her house and clan, dishonor and all that followed after—poison, her father’s shameful death, and feud. So many blows. The sign of her house was the anvil, and it was certain the Smith was still at work on her; she altered daily under his hammer. Some metals strengthen in the forging, others prove brittle and are cast aside. I feared she was near breaking.
Galan didn’t know that she meant what she said, that she’d set her mind on dying. Since the eve before yesterday, she’d taken no food from my hand or Sunup’s.
Divine Xyster rubbed the bridge of his long nose. Divine Hamus said to her, “You don’t wish to live?”
She covered her face with the blanket.
The priests, all three of them, turned to Galan. He shrugged.
“Have you quarreled?” Divine Hamus asked him.
“No. To me she’s as meek as a mouse to a cat, but I’ve heard how she shrews behind my back. On my part, I’ve never said a cruel word or raised a hand against her.”
“Consort Vulpeja drew her knees up and bent over them. From under the blanket came her voice, choking. “Cruel. You are cruel. Why did you ever send for me if you didn’t want me? You’d have been kinder to leave me to die in my father’s tent.
“Galan said, “I found I couldn’t let you die. Not because of me.
“Her back shook, but no sound escaped save for a few dragging breaths. Even through the blanket I could see how thinly her flesh covered her bones, and how slight she was, narrow in the shoulders, narrow as a boy at the hips. Sunup laid a hand on her back. I wondered which was worse for her, Galan’s indifference or his pity.
Galan said, “I swear to you now, I’ll take no other concubine of the Blood while you live. You shall be the only one. You’ll have a respected place in my household. Soon you’ll go home, and I’ll send word to my wife to give you your own apartments in the keep, your own drudges. She’ll treat you with all due courtesy, I assure you.” He said to the priests, “I can do no more. Isn’t it enough?”
“It’s generous,” Divine Tambac said. “It’s handsome.”
“But Divine Hamus put his hand on Galan’s arm and looked up at him, his round face solemn. He said, “No, it’s not enough. You must give her children too. No woman should be without children. If you’re not fortunate enough to plant one before you part, then give her hope of it when you return.”
“Consort Vulpeja kept her face hidden under the blanket. She was so still, listening for his answer, it seemed she’d stopped breathing. She couldn’t see, as I could, the answer already there on his face.
“No,” Galan said. “She’ll get no bastards from me to trouble my household. I gave her honor back. That will have to content her.”
“No bastards to trouble my household. I flinched to hear him refuse her so bluntly, and then to see her fall across the cot wailing. It didn’t ease me that he denied her bed and bastards, for thinking that if the childbane should fail and I should come by one of his bastards myself, it would come unwelcome. As for Divine Hamus, he was displeased, but forbore to argue. As they say, a man can be commanded to his duty, but his prick answers to no one.
I turned away just as Galan said again, this time with more entreaty than anger, “I gave her honor back.”
By the time the Auspices took the last augury outside the tent, the Sun had already quartered the sky. We came to watch, all except Consort Vulpeja, who wept in her bed, and Sunup, who stayed to tend her. Crux Sun was warm on our faces though the air was cold. We’d not seen her so unveiled for many a day and our shadows were black at our feet. The sight of her lifted my spirits; surely Crux’s smile was a good omen to put against all these warnings.
Divine Tambac opened the cages and let the two remaining birds fly free, that they might seek out any threats to Galan from outside his household. The birds flew off south—of—west across the Heavens, brimful with blue. The wind had changed since the night before; now it blew from the mountains instead of the Hardscrabble and pushed the birds seaw
ard with a strong hand. Far out over the water, the dove could be seen trying to beat her way back, slipping sideways.
On a clear night any fool can point to the sky, to any one of the twelve directions, and read which god rules it at a given hour, for the godsigns are there writ large in the stars, moving in their slow circle dance. But Divine Tambac, Auspex of the Heavens, knew the stars in his bones. No clouds could hide them from him, nor could the bright Sun of day. He knew where they were at every moment, in every season.
Galan said to him, with a wry smile, “I daresay you’ll tell me to expect more trouble from Ardor. I don’t need birds to warn me of that.”
Divine Tambac kept his hand over his brow, shadowing his eyes. His eyesight must be sharp, for he watched long after the two birds had vanished from my sight. Then he turned his gaze on Galan. His eyes were bright and the skin around them was scored with crow’s—feet from years of squinting at the Heavens. He said, “A man is a fool who guards only one gate of his keep. Trouble can come by any road.”
Galan nodded, his smile gone.
The priest said, “Sacrifice a cock to Rift tonight, for Rift follows close on Ardor’s heels. You may find favor there.”
Then Divine Hamus put his hand on Galan’s shoulder and said, “I didn’t wish to speak of this in her presence, but I fear your concubine is in grave danger.”
“But she’s getting well,” Galan said. “She’s gained flesh and strength since she came to me. It’s only her temper that worries me, how she cries and laughs and rails without restraint.”
Divine Hamus shook his head and told Galan that the omen of the dove’s heart had been plain, and plainer still Consort Vulpeja’s despair. “It would be best if you yourself would give her some hope—but since you refuse, we must try another cure for her melancholy. If you can afford it, I’ll send for the Initiates of Carnal. I’ve heard there are some here at the Marchfield. They’ll know what to do.” He had lowered his voice. We overheard him nevertheless, Spiller and Noggin and I. We were sitting on our heels near the corner of the tent, catching the warmth of the Sun hitting the canvas wall.
Galan asked what it would cost, and when he heard the answer exclaimed that by the time Consort Vulpeja was settled at home, he’d be stripped to his hose and have to run about half naked.
Divine Hamus said, “Find the money, or all you’ve spent on her till now will be ashes on the wind—she’ll come to her pyre before ever she reaches your keep. If I go to the Initiates today with payment, they should be able to start the rites tomorrow.
Galan stared bleakly at the priest and I thought he’d refuse, but he went into the tent and brought out his jewelry: his great jade pendant of a gyrfalcon stooping for prey, a cap sewn with pearls, his armbands and bracelets, the small gold knives he wore on his sleeves when he went to dine—all these he gave to the Auspices. They said it might do.
Spiller watched with his mouth hanging open, and when the priests had gone and Galan stood before the doorway frowning at their backs, he elbowed me in the ribs and hissed in my ear, “The Initiates of Carnal! They’ll teach her such tricks as will have his prick in harness and her with the whip and reins. You’d better look sharp!” Noggin whinnied so loudly at this that Galan turned our way.
I’d heard much of the Initiates from Mai and the whores. Enough to cause me disquiet. Their jests about the cult were bawdy and tinged with an envy that came near to awe. Whores worshiped Carnal, after all, in the avatar of Desire; they paid taxes to the temple and kept her shrine in their tents for protection; they did her work. The cheapest two—copper drab kept an idol of naked, fat Desire, even if it was just an amulet of unglazed clay to string around her neck. And Mai served Carnal too, in her fashion; she once told me she’d dedicated herself to furthering the aims of Desire after the god gave her Sire Torosus.
The Initiates kept the god closer still. Desire was rumored to possess them during their rites and leave them with certain gifts. They were called upon to heal the various afflictions to which dames and maidens are prone, such as barrenness, nagging, grief, sulking, disobedience, jealousy, pining for love, cuckolding or refusing their husbands—no need to go on, the list is endless. Each woman they cured became an Initiate in turn.
Mai claimed that the Initiates were more apt to work their cures on discontented men than the wives and concubines those men sent to them. The men never guessed, being well satisfied when their women came home sweet and docile; before long they were docile too, led about by their dangle. So the jest went, anyway.
In truth, the mysteries of the cult were a well—kept secret, privy only to a few women of the Blood. Mai and the whores knew no more of them than any other outsiders. But, as often happens, the less known, the more said.
So I wondered: would the Initiates undertake to cure Consort Vulpeja or Galan?
Though the morning was half gone when the priests left, there was still unwonted bustle about our camp. The Crux and his men had gone off to the tourney field, but he’d left orders that Sire Alcoba and Sire Fanfarron should move their tents, each taking the other’s place on the opposite side of the compound. He didn’t think it wise for Sire Alcoba to dwell next to Galan any longer.
Sire Fanfarron’s drudges set up his pavilion next to ours. It was painted on the front with dancing cranes, the crane being the emblem of his house, but the sides and back were a dingy green. Such was the man too I’d heard: all front and bluster and nothing much behind.
Galan watched in silence, then turned and went into his tent again. When he’d finished arming he tucked his helmet under his arm and went to see Consort Vulpeja. She was still weeping behind her curtain. One couldn’t help but hear.
He murmured something and she grew quiet, but when he came from her chamber, she began to sob again. He looked at me and grimaced. “Have I been so cruel to her, do you think?”
I opened my mouth and a croak hopped out.
He caught me up in an embrace that pressed me hard between rivets and scales and an arm like iron. “Never mind, never mind.” He lifted my chin. “The swelling will go down by tomorrow and no doubt then you shall fill up my ears as usual. Today, lie abed for once and let Sunup tend to you.” He smiled and gave me a kiss. The smile was worried and the kiss as hard as the embrace.
For a moment I didn’t fear the Initiates or the Crux or anyone. I was proud to be Galan’s folly. He’d faced the dogs for me, and no one, not even his uncle, could have been more amazed at it than I was.
If I was his folly, he was mine. He was mine. I took his lower lip between my teeth, and when he drew back his smile had changed. Desire came at my summons, avid and fierce, and she seized both of us.
But Galan only laughed. He called for his men and set off for the training fields, and left Desire to fatten on anticipation.
Then the camp was quiet, save for the drudges about their chores. Noggin sat cross—legged on his pallet, mending Sire Galan’s second set of under—armor and breathing loudly through his mouth; he snored even when he was awake. I did lie abed but soon rose again. I was restless and couldn’t bear hearing Consort Vulpeja cry. I fixed broth and put soothe—me in it to make her sleep, but she dashed the bowl from my hands and shrieked at me. I drank the rest of the soothe—me myself, for I was in need of it, and at last I slept in the drowsy afternoon.
CHAPTER 14
Wildfire
umormongers pay snitches for tidbits of gossip. Most snitches are drudges—and why shouldn’t they snatch a few coins where they find them, since their masters are so drudges are everywhere and often go unseen. So it’s likely someone in our camp earned a few copperheads by telling a rumormonger that it was Sire Galan’s armiger, Sire Rodela, who killed Sire Bizco and defi led his body. As for why the didn’t tell the rest—that Rodela was Galan’s armiger no more and had gone to stay with Sire Alcoba—that is anyone’s guess.
When Ardor’s men came they went straight for Galan’s tent. It was easy to find, for his banners flew beside it. They carri
ed oil and pitch and torches and went without stealth, for the fighting men were gone to the tourney field and the training grounds. A bagboy belonging to the clan of Growan allowed he’d seen them coming. They came on horseback without haste or concealment, and they never dismounted.
By the time the bagboy gathered his wits and began to shout, others had seen them. Too late, for the deed was already done, it was quickly done, and the men rode off in more haste than they’d come, leaving Consort Vulpeja, their own kinswoman, behind in the burning tent.
I woke to Sunup’s screams.
Dulled by sleep and soothe—me, I sat up on my pallet. That was a mistake. The tent was flooded with stinking black smoke, turbulent, hot, full of grit, a substance more like water than air. I feared I’d drown in it. It entered my nose and mouth and I coughed and gagged. My eyes burned and ran with tears. I could see no farther than my own hand, except for bright puddles of flame above me and rivulets of flame on all sides. This was no natural fire. It spread from everywhere at once.
My mind was as thick as the smoke, moiled with terror. I couldn’t tell east from west, north from south, or whether the doorway was behind or before me. But Sunup was screaming—I’d never heard such a scream from anyone before, man or beast, yet I knew it was Sunup—and the sound goaded me. It was the one thing I understood. I rolled on my belly and pulled my sheepskin cloak over my head and began to crawl toward her with my nose near the ground, where the air was less foul. Before long her screaming stopped, for the more she cried out, the more smoke she took in. She coughed and she whimpered, and then she was silent. By then I knew where I was. Sunup hadn’t left Consort Vulpeja’s side. I was crawling away from the door.
No breath to spare for prayers or curses, though I was full of both, all muddled together. Only breath enough to hitch along, elbows and knees, belly scraping the ground. I was afraid to uncover my head. I hid from the fire in the stifling dark under my cloak. As if the flames wouldn’t find me if I couldn’t see them.
Firethorn Page 38