by Julia Knight
Valguard sneered down at her and gripped her arm painfully. “And why would I do that? I have what I’ve been promised.”
Nerinna dug her nails in deeper. Concentrate on the small pain. She slid to her knees and kept her eyes on the floor. She knew how this worked, none better. “Please my lord. I’ll do anything you ask, be as willing as you desire. But don’t hang him.”
She couldn’t see his face; she kept her eyes to the floor. He reached down and pulled at her arm until she stood in front of him again. His lips were cold on her cheek, on her neck. She bit back a whimper when his teeth gripped and pulled the soft skin at the hollow of her throat, memories of Arashin and his knife flashing in front of her eyes. He bit down harder until a trickle of blood ran down into her dress and she could not suppress her cry of pain or the shudder than ran through her. Oh dear gods, please.
He stood back and smiled again. “That’s the sort of enthusiasm I expect. Your offer is very tempting.” He looked down at her for long moments and she forgot to breathe while she waited for his answer. Finally he smiled his gape-mouthed smile. “I’ll consider it. Of course, it’ll depend on how well you beg for his life. Make it good and maybe I shall spare him. It might be interesting to have him in the cells all that time and have him know I was with you. To have him live with the fact that, in the end, I was the better man. I’ll give you some time to make yourself presentable. But I expect you to be ready within the hour.”
He left her there and she fell to her knees sobbing as he shut the door behind him. Armour and swords rattled outside her door. She was trapped.
She dabbed at the blood on her neck, winced at the raw pain. It was worth it. He couldn’t be worse than Arashin. At least now she had one extra chance to save Hunter, keep him alive if she couldn’t get him free. But she wouldn’t trust to it.
She couldn’t sit here sobbing all night. She scrubbed at her eyes, stood up and ran to the bedroom, the small mirror and basin. Whether Valguard gave her what she craved depended on how she courted him. How she seduced him. She wouldn’t let him have it all his way. He wasn’t like Hunter. Men like Valguard were all too easy when you wanted something, if you knew just how to play them, and she might soften him with the tricks she knew, with her acquiescence. But he would take more than he gave. Men like him always did.
She wiped her tears on her sleeve again. She’d done this so many times before; she should be used to it by now, past tears for it. Hunter would hate her for it, hate that she had done this for him. No matter. He would live and that would be enough. He had never taken anything from her, only her damnable pride. She sat at the dressing table and stared blankly into the mirror for a moment before she took a deep breath and composed herself. Dear gods, she was a mess. She picked up a brush.
“I think that Hunter would prefer you as you are, who you really are now, than all the perfume and whatnot you could muster.”
The brush fell from her hand. She recognised the voice but could not place it. She turned, very slowly and carefully, to see who stood behind her. A huge man stood over her, one of the Gan by his blond hair in its warrior’s knot and his family braid.
Nerinna shrank back from him in her chair. He was young, with a strong, bold face, but something about the taut way he held himself, the way his eyes seemed carved from blue granite, made all her muscles turn to water. Her only consolation was that he wore a red cloak, not the green of the Disciples, and he wore no breastplate or emblem. No weapon that she could see.
He held up his hands. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to startle you.”
Nerinna gripped the arms of her chair and tried to control herself. She put on her chieftain’s voice and raised a cool eyebrow. “Then what was? And just how did you get in here? You aren’t one of the Disciples.”
“Would you rather I was? Or were you hoping for Valguard?”
Heat rose furiously in her cheeks till she was sure she would burn to a crisp like that mage in the Court. She turned away, back to her mirror, to hide it.
“Hunter sent me to help you,” he said to her back.
She turned slowly to face him again. Now she looked, his family braid was red on black. Like Hunter’s. He stood uncomplaining while she looked him over again. Yes, there was, not a resemblance, but certainly something that reminded her of Hunter. The way he stood maybe. No, not that. The way his steady eyes looked at her, really looked past the glitter and glamour she weaved around herself. Saw her. Knew her, like a wolf knows its prey or a mother her child. It was his presence. There was something about him she couldn’t ignore.
Then he smiled again and his face was transformed. A benevolent cousin, for all he was a big, brutal Gan. She’d come to appreciate the look they had. That Hunter had.
She wasn’t afraid of him any more. “Who are you?”
He shrugged. “A friend of Hunter’s. One who’d see him safe, as you would.”
“So what is this help then?”
The side of his mouth twitched and a hint of a dimple appeared. She wanted so much to like him, even if her first instinct was to mistrust him. Any help was better than none.
“I can get you out of here. Now, if you like.”
She turned back to the mirror. Gods, how she would like to, love to. To not be here when Valguard came back… But she could not. This might be Hunter’s only, faintest, hope. She shook her head and tears made little beaded patterns on her mirror.
“You won’t? Why not?”
Something about this man made her feel that she could say anything to him. That he would accept it, not judge. That if she told the truth he would help her. Something that pulled out everything from inside her.
“Because I’d do anything if only he could live. Even what I’ve promised Valguard. Anything for his life.” That was it. Everything paled beside that. Even her own country. She didn’t care. He couldn’t die, not if she could stop it. Because she loved him.
“Right answer,” he said. “Now, come with me.”
She turned to him again, painfully aware that her face must be puffed and swollen from her tears. “If I do, then I condemn him. I don’t care if he sent you, I don’t care if he hates me or what I do. I will stay for Valguard, do anything he wishes and smile about it, if I can know Hunter lives.”
He was smiling at her through sparse tears now. “And I too want him to live. But not as he does.”
“I don’t—”
He smiled again and she felt blessed somehow. Lighter, free of care. “He wouldn’t want you to do this for him, even if it cost his life. Don’t take that from him. It’s all he has left. There are other ways, other people who can help. And will help if you tell them the truth of what happened.”
“But—but I did tell the truth!” Was it her testimony about the ring that had swayed the decision? Oh Kyr, don’t let it be true, don’t let him think of her as his betrayer.
He moved towards her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “When you left the Court, he was accused of a very serious crime. Treason against Aran, for what he supposedly did to you. His ‘attack’ on you.”
“But—” Her cheeks became hot again. “But it was I who offered him. He—he turned me down.”
“That’s the truth you must speak. The wedge in the door of doubt. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t.”
His meaty hand engulfed her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take you somewhere safe, because Hunter wouldn’t have you do this with Valguard. Not for him, not for anyone. Because the truth hasn’t been heard. Because it’s right. Speak the truth there, and we may yet save him.”
Hunter wanted her taken care of. He didn’t hate her. She had to stop herself from flinging her arms round this stranger and kissing him. Instead she looked at herself in the mirror for a moment, saw the wreck of tear-reddened skin, blood and wild hair that she was and stood purposefully. “How are we going to get out of here?”
He smiled and put his free hand on her other shoulder.
“Close your eyes.”
She stared at him for a moment, dizzy with shock, with fierce gratitude that she didn’t have to lie with Valguard, with abject fear that if she went with this man, then Hunter’s last hope was gone.
His hands squeezed her shoulders. She looked into his ice-blue eyes, so steady, so calm and knowing. Not like any man she’d ever met. Something oozed from him, made her want to trust him. Made her feel that she could put her life in his hands and he’d protect it with his own. Yet he didn’t have to say a word.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them she stood outside a door. “How did you do that?” she whispered. “Was it magic?”
He stood behind her now but his hands were still touching her shoulders. They felt immensely comforting, as a stranger’s hands shouldn’t have been. Like a father, friend, mentor, lover all in one. The muscles in her shoulders and neck released some of their tension.
“I need you to help us all. Especially who’s in there. Tell him to stop being an idiot and get his finger out or we’re all dead.” Then the pressure on her shoulders was gone. She turned around but she was alone. She turned back to the door.
Bearding a Wizard at His Wine
Hilde followed Sannir down dark and silent streets, away from the ruckus in the square. She was sick to her burning stomach, shaking with pain, weariness and grief, and he had to hold her up once or twice. She still couldn’t believe what had happened before the shrine. Could not believe what Ilfayne had been about to do. Her dream, he’d raised his flaming hand to her as he had in the dream. Something she had thought he’d never do. But the offer of his wife and sons, that they would live again—she couldn’t compete against that. And did not even want to. She knew how much his family had meant to him. His grief over their deaths had led to the Mage Wars that had so decimated the people of the Three Kingdoms, had led to their flight here. His madness had devastated a continent. If he got that back, what he’d had, she wouldn’t begrudge him, though her own grief would be no less. And to a kyrbodan, grief for a lover was fatal.
He’d looked different, blurred around his eyes, as though not fully aware of what was going on around him. Someone had done that to him. Valguard had done it to him. It was the only explanation, the only thing that could have made him do it. This wasn’t just about her and Ilfayne disagreeing, even if it was over something so uncompromisable. Her aching head fumbled the thought; Hunter wasn’t the only one in danger. Ilfayne was too. The thought made icicles grip her heart. They were being pushed apart, now, just when they needed to be together. But who was doing the pushing?
After an interminable time, a dizzy spell hit her and she stumbled to the flagstones, skinning her hands on the rough stone. Sannir helped her up. “Not much farther now, lass. See, you can see it from here.” He pointed to a faded sign that hung out over the narrow street and proclaimed an inn, Forn’s Bells.
The smell of the nearby docks didn’t help Hilde’s nausea. “And what’s here?”
“Here is where we all gather. Valguard’s jealousy of Hunter is a well-known fact here. He’s been building to this for months. Subtle harassments of Hunter’s supporters, or anyone who goes to Regin’s shrine. Arresting a few of the more vocal on spurious charges and somehow finding the proof that shouldn’t be there. Arresting Hunter’s own guards on false charges. Hunter tried, but he can’t overrule the Prime Servant. And now this. Here you’ll find those who don’t believe a word of what Valguard says. Those who know Hunter’s innocent, or just those who believe in Regin. This is where we’re preparing to get Hunter free.”
Hilde fought back an urge to be sick and grimaced at the coppery taste that pervaded her mouth. “How are you going to do that? Oku pronounced his guilt, how can we prove a god wrong?”
“Well, one of our lads is pretty sure he can. Hunter’s cousin or some such, here for the tourney. He seems pretty confident and I’ve a feeling he’s a shrewd man. Reminds me very much of Lord Hunter, only younger, less worn down. Doesn’t hurt that he’s a good man in a fight. Saw off more than a few Disciples trying to defile one of the shrines down by the dock. He’s getting us organised. We don’t have a lot of time.”
He opened the door into the bar and a wash of fuggy air and voices swept over them. Hilde blinked heavily. For a moment she thought she was home, just coming into the Elephant and Turnip, and a twist of nostalgia burned in her heart. The same smells, the same voices. The bard in the corner telling what she had once thought of as pixie tales, of dragons and the dark god’s servants and Regin. Tales she now knew were at least partly true. But she hesitated to enter, knew that her memory played golden tricks on her. Even at home she’d never been welcomed, only tolerated and that barely. But Sannir propelled her into the room.
The voices died down as they saw who, or rather what, she was. She pressed her lips tightly together as the whispers started. She’d thought herself past this, past worrying about what people thought of her. But here, in her homeland and without the comfort of Ilfayne, the barbed words still had the power to wound. She clenched her fists and stared back at them.
A man at the back, not much older than her and a head taller than even the tallest of the others, turned to greet them. His blond hair was swept back in a warrior’s knot but he wore no weapon, no breastplate or emblem other than his red and black family braid. He strode towards them and all the blood drained away from Hilde’s brain.
“Hello, Hilde,” Regin said, and the world went black as she fainted.
***
Nerinna hesitated outside the door and tried to still her shaking hands. She knew whose door this was. The dreaded Ilfayne was in there. She had heard the tales about Ilfayne, who hadn’t? His evil temper, the melted eyeballs, and once he’d fried a man’s brain in his head for some minor indiscretion. And she’d seen enough of Ilfayne today, of his magic and his foul temper, to believe it all true.
She stared at the wood in front of her and willed her hand to rise and knock. The door was wrenched open. Ilfayne stood in the doorway and she almost yelped in fear. He glowered at her in such a ferocious way that she grabbed onto the doorjamb to stop herself from screaming and running back to her room, back to her bed where she could hide under the covers.
“What do you want?” His voice was little more than a slurred snarl. He put out his hand to steady himself on the doorframe and stumbled forward. Drunker than a sailor on shore leave. Something on fire in the room behind him sent curling tendrils of smoke whispering round him. The bed. Flames shot up from it, ate into the wood and sheets in a burst of smoke, but nothing else burned. Just the bed.
She licked her lips and stared at the floor, all her usual confidence evaporated. “Please, can I come in? I don’t want to talk about it here.”
His lip curled but he staggered back into the room and bowed her through. She’d never thought it could be done sarcastically, but she couldn’t doubt that was what he did. The door slammed behind her, making her jump. She offered up a silent prayer to Kyr that it was true he never killed people and another right after, that he leave her eyes intact.
Ilfayne staggered over to the fire, slumped in a chair and poured himself a glass of wine. “Come on then, out with it. Make it bloody good.” He gestured with his stump for her to sit.
She slid into a chair opposite him and sat hunched on the edge. She took a deep breath, still not certain this was the right course. But that Gan had been so persuasive, so calm and so sure. “Is there any way you can help Hunter? Please?” She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, to state it so baldly. A sign of her nerves no doubt.
He gave her a squint-eyed frown, and she noted the redness round the lids. As though he’d cried. Ridiculous. She had never seen a man cry, ever. They never cared enough about anything for tears. “What, you want to help him?”
She nodded and stared at the floor. She tried to sniff back the tears, but they came out in a hot, incoherent rush.
“Here.” His voice softened and when she o
pened her eyes he handed her a grubby cloth for a handkerchief. Her nerves vanished. Ilfayne the dread wizard, a pushover for a crying woman.
She took the cloth and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes, I want to help him. He can’t have done that, the magic. I’m sure of it.”
“Really? How very interesting. And the rest?”
“What rest?” In her surprise her mind went blank.
Ilfayne scowled at her, a perplexed frown puckering his forehead. “Well, the fact he’s suppose to have, ahem, forced his attentions on you?”
All her worry and dread came out in a gush of laughter at the prim way he said it. Once she started she found it almost impossible to stop, until finally, with a last giggle she came to an end, exhausted and tearful. “No, he never did. I wanted—Valguard said that Hunter was trying to—I wanted Hunter but he turned me down.”
Ilfayne turned sharply from her and stared at his wine. His fingers clenched the neck of the bottle so that old scars stood out like roots on his skin. “So he didn’t?”
“No, no of course not.” As if she’d care about Hunter if he had.
Ilfayne’s lips pressed together until they were a pale line against his olive skin. He tossed back his wine with a flick of his wrist. “That’s just Valguard gilding the lily. Oku pronounced Hunter’s guilt to me, of being tainted by Mithotyn, using Regin’s good name to gain what he wanted. I’d gladly see him hang even if it was only that. And believe me, it’s not only that. Mithotyn has bigger and better plans.”
Ilfayne’s dark eyes became shrouded, worried. His arrogance disappeared, replaced now with fretful anxiousness. “But I would never have thought it of Hunter.” He stopped, downed another glass of wine and shook himself. All his bangles and trinkets jangled, as if worried with him. “Maybe you should just tell me everything,” he said, “because this makes no sense. No sense at all.”