by Julia Knight
Her perfume still filled the room, clung to him and made him dizzy with need. Sleep would never come like this. Another drop and he would sleep at least, and maybe never wake up.
He poured some water and lifted the bottle. The stopper rattled as he drew it out and then dripped one careful drop into his glass. A small nick of the blade in his dead arm and a drop of his blood fell to mix with it. The water rippled like the sea as he tried to hold the glass steady.
He stood and stared down towards Regin’s temple and the people that even at this late hour were going in to pay their respects. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this any more.”
Apology
The road to Mimirin, Ganheim
Hilde knew she was dreaming when the darkness that claimed her parted like smoke. There they were again, the two wolves, and her heart tightened. Hunter and Regin. But something was different about them this time. A stifling deadness in Hunter’s heart that almost made her choke. A restlessness, an urgency in both of them that hadn’t been there before. Then the hand came again and she shut her dreaming eyes against the sight. It still danced behind her eyelids, their pain still rammed into her heart. A hot ball of fire exploded in her stomach, took her breath away and almost her senses with it. Then the voice. “You too,” it said, and she opened her eyes to see Ilfayne advance on her, his hand aflame.
No, he wouldn’t. She couldn’t believe that part of it. Is that what the kyrbodan had Seen? No wonder Ilfayne wanted her to stay behind.
Then the dream faded and she was awake and shivering in the hollow of Ilfayne’s arms. He muttered something in his sleep, pulled her closer and she nestled into him. He wouldn’t. But she couldn’t even think about that now.
Slow horses or not, Hunter needed them, Regin did. And now. The certainty of it fizzed in her blood. At the rate they were going, it would take them a week to get to Mimirin. A week they didn’t have, Hunter didn’t have.
Their slow pace grated on her nerves. The horses were not much faster than walking, or not without grain to keep them going, because they had to stop so often to let them graze. No one had any grain, the farm lad had been right about that. No grain for horses, for bread, for anything. The villages they passed through were ghost places, haunted houses of the orphaned and underfed. They didn’t stop in any of them, leaving the villagers their meagre provisions, and preferred to sleep outdoors. It was how they spent the majority of their time anyway, but at least here they didn’t need to sleep turn and turn about.
Ilfayne muttered in his sleep again and she caught the word this time. Devanna. His wife’s name. His nightmares of her death had faded over the last five years, dwindled away to almost nothing. But now he dreamed of her again. Dead four thousand years and still she had the power to haunt his dreams. It didn’t seem that these dreams bothered him the way the nightmares of her death had. In these dreams it seemed more that he was asking, begging for something and his dream wife wouldn’t give it.
Hot, jealous tears spilled down Hilde’s cheeks and she brushed them away angrily. She didn’t cry ever, if she could stop it. Why was she crying this time? It was stupid. Ilfayne loved her, she knew that without a doubt, and she could not expect a man who’d lived through so much to have no feelings except for her. She pulled that line of thought from her head. There wasn’t time for this. Dreams, for humans at least, were just dreams. Nothing sinister. No indication of anything. But still that sharp little pain stabbed in her chest.
She laid a hand on his cheek and called his name. He woke with a start and sat bolt upright, sweaty and breathless. Not with just fear, that she could tell, but some complicated mix of emotions that confused her. But then he was always complex. Rarely just one feeling in him.
“What?” He brushed damp hair away from his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“We need to be there. We need to be in Mimirin now, today.”
He peered at her intently in the first grey light of dawn. “Impossible. It’s at least three days’ ride, even if we had decent horses and enough to feed them.” He scrubbed his hand up his face, trying to wake himself, and yawned a yawn that threatened to crack his jaw.
“Circles then. Could you get us there today with your circles?”
He blinked himself fully awake and laughed, shrugged his shirt on and rummaged in his pack for his little mirror and knife. He propped the mirror on a handy branch and began his morning ritual of trimming the little goatee that he was so inordinately proud of. “Dear gods, I’d have to sleep for a week after. It’s a long way. You always think I can do anything, don’t you?”
“Well, you can.” She threw the blankets off. The morning chill surprised her skin and she reached for her own shirt. “You’re an all-powerful sorcerer, as you’re so fond of telling everyone.” She moved behind him and slid an arm around his waist. “We need to be there. You trust my dreams don’t you?”
He stopped shaving and peered at her reflection in his mirror. “Of course I do. But I can’t do miracles.”
“No, but you can do sorcery. You can get us there, I know you can. You did it before.” She ran a gentle hand along his arm and smiled at the goose bumps that trailed her fingers, glad that her touch still made him tingle.
“Herjan’s bloody arse, you don’t want much, do you?”
She grinned to herself. There were always ways to get him to do as she wanted. She snuggled up behind him, slid her hand under his shirt and ran it teasingly over his skin. He jumped and swore viciously at the small nick he’d made on his chin. “Don’t do that when I’m shaving!”
He turned round and stared at her intently. “You’re sure about this? Because you know what it does to me.”
Yes, she knew the pain it gave him to use his sorcery. Using his normal magic was tiring enough. But sorcery—a power great enough to create something from nothing, or to destroy it so utterly it was as though it never existed—was a far greater drain, both for his mind and body. Dangerous even. The language the gods used to shape the world was not to be spoken lightly or without thought. He never used it unless he had to. In fact she’d only ever seen him use it three times, and that at direst need when their lives, and others, had been at stake. And one of those times he had ripped a hole in the fabric of the world and had them step through somewhere else.
She nodded. “I’m sure. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.” Panic rose up in her from somewhere. That they would be too late, were already too late. And if not, then she would see Hunter. Not just see him, but See for him, one brief glance that would show her an instant of his future. For her the Seeings didn’t happen often, and she still shuddered to think of them. But she had to. They had to. Ilfayne hissed with pain and she realised she was pinching his skin. She relaxed her grip. “Please. We have to be there today. Can you do it?”
He frowned down at her for a few moments and sighed sharply. “It’s been a long time, when Duke Brimeld…” He trailed off for a moment, troubled. “A long time, but I know Mimirin. I should be able to get us there. We’ll leave the horses at the next farm. They won’t go through, I’ll tell you that for nothing.”
She slid her arms round him and reached up to kiss him. “Thank you.”
He kissed her back and laughed a little shakily. “Anything for you.”
“Anything?”
“There’s nothing I can think of that I wouldn’t do, for you.”
***
“Gods damn it, girl, leave it. I’ll do it myself.” Nerinna slapped away her maid’s hand and arranged her own hair. She’d barely slept and morning had found her in a foul temper. Her mood was not improved by knowing she was going to have to spend all day freezing to death watching the stupid tourney Aran had arranged. And she’d have to face Hunter. A flush heated her face just at the thought and she stabbed a jewelled hairpin in too sharply. “Ow! Oh, very well, you do it. But stop pulling my hair around.”
The maid came forward and cautiously began to rearrange her hair. Nerinna glared at her reflection in the mirro
r. How had she let Valguard persuade her to embarrass herself in such a manner? She had known that Hunter would turn her down. Known it, and how angry he would be, and yet she’d followed Valguard anyway. She hadn’t stopped to think that she might jeopardise this alliance—she’d thought his refusal would safeguard it, would prove Hunter was not a heretic. The Gan were too different though. She’d always known it, in her head, but now she saw it. Saw the consequences her actions might have on a man, a country so driven by an honour she could barely understand.
She had followed Valguard blindly because Arashin had opposed it, reason enough for her. Because she’d feared Valguard was right, that Oku really had spoken to him. Because she would use any method that kept this alliance—and kept her safe from Arashin. But above that, because she wanted to seduce Hunter. That was the answer that she had to drag from the deepest part of herself. The one she was loathe to admit, even to herself. The nerve of the man, turning her down!
One of her other maids came in and waited by her shoulder just as her hair was finished. “What?”
“Your yinae, madam.”
Nerinna groaned at the thought of the taste. “I doubt I’ll need it.” Not with the Gan being such prudes once they were betrothed.
The maid shuffled her feet awkwardly. “But madam, with the regent being a…”
“A what?”
“Rumour says he’s a magic user, madam. That’s what I heard. Have to protect yourself, madam.”
“Heard from who?” Nerinna waved her hand dismissively. She wouldn’t take the vile stuff until she had to, whatever rumour said. “I haven’t the time now.”
The maid left but returned almost immediately. “Valguard’s come to see you, madam.”
“Really. Good, I’ve a word or two to say to him. Send him in. And get out, the pair of you.”
They scurried away from her temper and Valguard came in. He sat primly in a chair by the fire and Nerinna turned to glare at him. “You’ve put me in an intolerable position! How could you be so wrong?”
“It didn’t go well then?”
“No, it didn’t! I don’t know why I believed you. I told you he wouldn’t betray Aran, and I was right. And now I’ve insulted him beyond anger. This marriage will be a living nightmare with him around.”
Valguard smiled thinly. “He won’t be around. He won’t betray Aran yet maybe. He’s read the same reports on you as I have. And what I have read leads me to believe that you are supremely confident with men. Also that you are the sort of woman who likes the one thing she cannot have. No one has ever turned you down before. No one has ever treated you this way. And it intrigues you, does it not? Makes you more determined to have him?”
Heat rushed Nerinna’s face. Was she that obvious?
Valguard laughed, a thin sound that made her shiver. “Hunter isn’t a stupid man, my lady. If he rushed to bed you, you’d have discarded him as soon as you had what you needed from him. That I know, and so does he. You’ve done so many times before now. But this way, he makes you pursue him. Makes you want him over Aran. He seeks to entice you to willingly give him control of your country. Because he knows very well that to try and take it from you by force would be a grave mistake if he wants to be a popular king.”
“Surely not.” She still couldn’t reconcile Valguard’s opinion of Hunter with her own. His every word served only to confuse her more. “He seems so straightforward.”
“This is a country that prides itself on its strength of arms. On its warriors. How else but by guile could a man who can no longer function as a warrior have kept power so long?”
“But—” How did Valguard always turn things around in her head, make them seem so plausible? So likely. What he said was true enough; Hunter had to be a clever man to keep his rule. If he really did plan this, he might well plan it this way. It was what she would have done, after all. But still…
“It’s time for the tourney.” Valguard stood up and prissily brushed down his breastplate. “Aran sent me to fetch you. Don’t worry. As I said, I have it from a most unimpeachable source what Hunter’s plans are. You’ve not done anything which will harm you. If we can’t find our proof this way, another will surely present itself. And then any embarrassment of yours may be forgotten.”
Nerinna stood up with him, resolved not to trust Valguard any further. He had got her into this situation, where the most influential man in the country loathed her. She was not about to follow him to worse, no matter his “unimpeachable source”. Even if it was Oku, and that she didn’t believe for a moment.
There must be a way out of this mess. A way of reparation, or her marriage would be an overwhelming version of the Bitter Dark. Her father had been right. Emotions were a trap for the unwary, as this ridiculous crush had shown her. Had left her weak and liable to stupidity. She could think of no other explanation for how she had let this happen, how she had risked this vital alliance for some slippery words from Valguard and a fleeting fancy. She thought long and hard on it as they made their way to the tourney.
***
The sun was bright on the field but Nerinna still shuddered with cold. She was starting to hate this country with a passion and only the thought of the men she needed, the warriors who would protect her people, kept her from leaving. That and the thought that if she returned, she might well have no recourse but to marry Arashin. The day seemed ever colder.
Valguard led her up to a dais raised above the area where the tourney would take place. Crowds thronged the barriers that had been set up. The general carnival atmosphere among them didn’t travel up to where Aran and Hunter sat.
Nerinna kept her face steadfastly on Aran to avoid Hunter’s eye, and took her seat with Aran between her and the regent. Aran stood as she seated herself and bowed over her hand. She forced a smile but one look at Hunter’s face from the corner of her eye and the smiled faded. He looked ill and his face was pale and lined. She would have sworn his hand trembled on the arm of his chair, but the dark, flat look he gave her stopped her from asking after him. She kept her eyes on the men, and a few women, who paraded the field in bright armour and listened with half an ear to Aran tell her who each was, and who he hoped would win.
Even Arashin stood among them, drawn up haughtily and surveying the others with disdain. His bright silks fluttered in the breeze. So he’d entered the tourney? To prove to her that these men were no better than the Reethan, that she could do no better than him. That they needed no Gan men, like the proud and blind idiot he was. How wonderful. Half her problems might end down there on the field.
Food and drink were set out before them but Nerinna had no appetite. Aran chattered, seeming not to notice that she said nothing. She nodded and smiled absently as he prattled on. Maybe he was nervous, or anxious she should be enjoying herself. She forced herself to ask questions and only half heard the answers but Aran seemed to settle at that.
Finally it was time for the tourney to start. Aran stepped down to the field with Valguard and a few of his Disciples as escort. Hunter stayed in his seat and Nerinna searched for something to say, something that would get rid of the awful silence that had descended on the dais. There was little enough she could say. Only one thing that might do any good and the one thing that stuck in her throat. What if Valguard really was right? But it needed to be said.
“My Lord Hunter, I—”
His head swivelled round and his brown eyes locked on hers.
She almost lost her nerve but plunged on before fright could stop her. “My lord, I can only apologise for my behaviour last night. I understand it is something that is not done here. There will be no repeat of it, I assure you.”
His face softened. Not much but enough to give her a little more courage.
“Valguard tells me…Valguard tells me many things. I didn’t know whether to believe him, though some of your actions would support it. But your reaction last night tells me he’s wrong. I can’t believe you would stoop to such a thing.”
He frowned
at her, making his face threatening and wild. “Stoop to what exactly?”
“To breaking your—”
A thundering noise cut her off. Even if she had breath left to speak, Hunter wouldn’t have heard her over it. Words clanged in her head, words like the end of the world. They almost sent her reeling from her chair but a strong hand caught at her arm.
Hunter kept her from the floor, though he looked close to falling to his knees himself. Blood dripped from his nose and ran through his beard and when she held a hand to her face, her own lips were wet. Her mind refused to think in utter panic but the solid look on Hunter’s face reassured her. Like a mountain, unshakable.
Finally, mercifully, the words stopped, replaced by a string of vicious swearwords from behind the dais that, although forceful, were just normal words. Nerinna sat and shook in her chair.
Hunter wiped the blood from his face and handed her a napkin to do the same. There was an odd expression on his face, of long-suffering weariness and a resignation to something. He stood up straight and beckoned two of his guards from the field. No blood on their faces. No hint they had heard what she had, for surely they would have looked more than stoic and uninterested.
“Fetch Ilfayne,” Hunter said. The guards blanched at the name. “Behind us a little way. They won’t be far. Here, he’ll need these.” He handed them some napkins. “And see about getting more wine up here. I think we’re going to need it.”
The Tourney
Mimirin
Hilde sank to the ground, shivering and nauseated as she wiped at the blood that dripped from her chin and oozed painlessly from her gums.
Ilfayne lay next to her and retched blood onto the grass. “I’m so glad I didn’t bother with breakfast.”
She helped him upright and he sat with his head between his knees while she looked round. He’d aimed for just outside Mimirin, hoping few or no people would see them come. Unfortunately they’d landed in the middle of a corral of panicked horses that stamped and snorted as far away as the fence allowed. Pale, blood-stained faces ringed the corral. So much for coming unannounced.