by Sarah Zettel
“You knew!” she cried. In answer, Ryol only held up his hand to motion her to silence.
Peran had jerked his head around and Mesek’s mouth curled into his broad, axe-blade of a smile. “Ah, now you look at me like a man.”
The chieftains faced each other, the desk and smeared letter the only barrier between them. Peran’s scarred flesh burned red, but the rest of his face had gone white.
“What do you want?” he croaked so softly that Lynet could barely make out the words.
“What you want,” answered Mesek. “To be free of outlanders and sorcerers and madmen. We could be if we held Cambryn.”
“Impossible.” Peran he did not move. He was waiting to be contradicted, Lynet realized.
Mesek did not disappoint. “I don’t believe so. I’ve seen enough of the place now, and of our Lady Laurel and her men. It requires only patience and nerve.”
It was Peran’s turn to smile, a mirthless, lopsided grimace. “The steward’s daughters are nothing. They are already dead and this place is already Morgaine’s.”
Anger roared through Lynet. This man had come demanding justice! They had stood in the midst of death and murder to do the right, and he meant to repay them by compounding vile treason!
“You can offer me nothing,” said Peran. Beneath the anger that stormed through her mind, it occurred to Lynet that Peran sounded sorry.
“Before you say so, ask yourself why does Morgaine want this place? If a fortification was all she wanted, she could have had Tintagel with much less of a fight. Mark’s all but gone now. She could reach out her hand and snap him in two, and Arthur’s oldest ally in our lands would be gone. She’d have a dozen clans rally to her sides in an instant and she could take Cambryn at her leisure. But she does not do this. She bends her will to this place. Why?” Mesek spread his hands, appealing to Heaven itself, but it was clear that Heaven or Hell had already provided him the answer. “Because there’s power here. Power that she covets, but could not reach until the keep was split open for her.”
Silence lingered between the two men. The pebbled expanse of Peran’s scar twitched as if it was a living thing. His burned fingers rubbed together, fast and hard. Mesek waited still and patient, ready to let Peran fight his own internal battle.
At last, Peran found his ruined voice again. “You say there is power here that could overthrow Morgaine?”
Mesek nodded slowly. “It came from the sea with Kenan lady, and she handed it to her daughter when she died.” He spoke carefully, holding the words out to tempt his enemy. Lynet felt herself grow cold as she realized what power he must speak of. Beside her, Ryol had also gone utterly still.
A fresh realization dawned in Peran’s eyes. “This is why you let yourself be brought here, why you agreed to be heard by the queen.”
“You also are not so ignorant as you seem.” Mesek leaned forward again, his voice quiet and urgent. “Come, Peran. This is our moment. You are no coward. Let your deeds make your life something other than a fresh slavery.” He held out his hand.
Peran did not move, he just stared, his eyes bright with pain and fear. What did he see, what did he remember? Lynet was ready to burst with the need to reach them both, to shout loud enough to bring every man in the keep. She would cry out their treachery to Heaven itself and see them die for it.
Laurel! Laurel! Where are you!
At long last, Peran reached out and clasped Mesek’s whole hand with his burned one.
“Good,” said Mesek simply.
“What now?” said Peran, releasing his grip, as if he did not like the touch of the other man’s skin. “She will come, you know, and soon.”
“I thought as much,” said Mesek, nodding judiciously. “We must watch our lady Laurel closely, until we can find some hint as to this power her mother left her. Her position now is lonely and precarious, and she is wise enough to know it. She will, I think resort to it before long. After that, the only question will be whether it is better for our ends to lead her to the altar or the graveyard. Now,” he said. “I’ll go. It would not be good for us to be found lingering together. Someone might suspect. We’ll talk again later.”
Lynet could stand no more. “Get me out of here!” she cried to Ryol. The spirit nodded and tugged on her hand, walking her back and away. Walls closed about the room, and they stood instead in the empty and silent corridor.
“You knew!” cried Lynet again. “You felt this somehow, before it had even begun.”
“I did,” Ryol acknowledged soberly. “It is part of my service that I must sense the secret threats to those who are my masters.”
A dozen thoughts lanced through Lynet, but only one went straight to her heart. “Then you knew of Colan’s conspiracy, you knew how …”
Ryol did not wait for her to finish. “I did,” he admitted.
“And you did nothing!”
“What could I do?” he asked quietly. “Your sister would not come to me, nor accept any service I might give.”
Lynet bit her lip, and felt nothing at all. “Laurel must be told what these two plan.” For all she stood surrounded by the reflection of her home, she felt the distance between herself and Laurel like a rift in her soul.
Something Lynet could not read shone deep in Ryol’s dark eyes. She did not care, so long as there was a way to give warning to Laurel. “It will be difficult,” he told her.
“What must you do?”
Ryol shook his head. “It is not for me, but you, lady. You are the one who is still rooted in the mortal world and what’s more, you are bound to your sister by blood and sympathy.”
“Then what must I do?”
“You must make of yourself a vision, lady. You must craft a shape of yourself, and you must send that forth into the mortal world.”
She hesitated for a single heartbeat. This was strange beyond words, but if this was how she could reach Laurel, then she would do it. “How?”
Ryol nodded, as if in approval. Still his eyes shone strangely as he spoke, and Lynet felt something in her clench tight.
“You must will it into being. I will help you. We must go to your sister first.”
He took her hand again and steered her down the corridor, sweeping his hand before him. In dizzying succession they were in the corridor, in the great round room of the central tower, in the kitchen garden, and above the earthworks. Then they stood in the dim recesses of the watchtower at the base of the worn stone stairs.
“Your sister waits above,” said Ryol. “I am bringing only you this close so that you might master your shaping before you must try to speak with her.”
“What must I do?” she asked impatiently. Laurel would surely be descending soon, or one of her guards would go up to fetch her. Then she would be surrounded by people until dusk, and by then … by then who knew what more might have happened?
Ryol moved to stand behind her. He placed both hands upon her shoulders. “You must want,” he said simply. “You must want to be in this place, in the here and now of it with all your strength. I will help you give that desire shape. Then you must walk up these steps and you will be with your sister.”
Lynet set all doubt and thought of absurdity aside. She faced the steps and she concentrated with all her might.
I must warn Laurel. I must be inside the tower to reach her. She is up above, and I must be here, so I can go to her. I must be in the shadows, and silent so the guards outside know nothing. I must go quickly, before they come looking. I must be with Laurel. I must warn her. I must …
Then she felt the subtle insinuation of some other will around her own. It came like a thread to bind her, tickling and tightening, gently at first, then more strongly. She feared it, but she kept her thoughts formed around her need.
I must warn Laurel. I must be inside the tower to reach her.
It hurt. It hurt as if an iron hook had been thrust into her guts so they might be pulled from her body. What had been vaporous thought was twisted and pulled. It was her thou
ght, and so she was twisted and pulled, and it was unnatural, and it could not be, but it must, and it hurt! Lynet screamed aloud and her being shuddered.
“Open your eyes, my lady!” bawled Ryol. “You must walk! You must see!”
Lynet opened her eyes and she saw the tower around her, but now she felt it as well. The cold thrummed in the air. It filled the stones and they radiated it as a fire did heat. She saw her hand before her, as insubstantial as thought, and she opened her mouth to scream again.
“No!” cried Ryol. She could not feel him, and knew without knowing how that she would not see him if she looked. “Panic now and I will not be able to hold you here!”
Lynet clamped her jaw shut around her screams and forced herself forward. I have hands and I have legs. I am myself, and I know these stairs. They are part of my home. I know the touch of their stone. I know every shadow of this place.
As she concentrated, the pain lessened. Her body was wraith-like, but present. That was all that mattered. She was here, now, in this place, and Laurel was alone above her. She could find her legs and feet and force them into motion. The world no longer flowed around her with the ease of water. She must force herself through it, inch by painful inch. She walked slowly up the spiralling stairs, willing her mind to remember how the stones felt beneath her boots when she had trod them the morning of the thaw, when she had last climbed this way with Laurel and Colan and Bishop Austell. She put out the shape of her hand and lifted the hatchway above, remembering the feel of the splintery wood, the creak of the hinges. It hurt, it hurt, but the hatchway moved, its hinges strained and lifted and fell back with a bang.
Above her, Laurel jumped and turned at once. Lynet lifted herself out of the hatch. I have hands, and body and form. I am myself. With this in her mind, she stood before Laurel.
Laurel saw her, this ghostly form of her. Lynet felt her sister’s shock slapped against her like the splash of cold water. “God of mercy, no …” she choked.
Lynet held up her hands, tears prickling her eyes. The fear was so cold it added fresh pain to her. I did not mean to frighten you. “Fear not, sister. I am no ghost. I still live.”
“Then what is this?” Laurel’s voice sounded small and distant. Lynet could feel the meaning more clearly than she could hear the words. It moved through the air like a song, dark and somber, yet too quick and off-key for comfort.
“It is the mirror,” Laurel said, answering her own question. “Mother’s mirror.”
This did nothing to quiet the fear, if anything the touch of it grew quicker, more erratic, canting and slanting through the air. It tugged at Lynet, simultaneously pushing her away and drawing her closer. “Lynet, go back! Now!”
Lynet mustered herself. She reached out with the will that had been shaped to bring her being here, and found the touch of Laurel’s fear. Following that fear as if it were a life line, she was able to bring herself closer to her sister.
“Laurel, you must hear me,” she said urgently. “Peran and Mesek have made a bargain. Peran came here looking to deliver Cambryn to Morgaine. Mesek has turned him against her, or has seemed to. Mesek knows there is power here, and he wants it for himself, so he can stand against Morgaine and whoever else comes.” She swallowed, moving closer yet, wading deeper into her sister’s fear and new understanding. “He means the mirror. That’s why you gave it to me, isn’t it? To get it away from here?”
“Only in part, Lynet, but yes.” Sorrow at necessity was like summer rain, warm and melancholy and true.
“I understand. It was as well. Now it is safe, but you are not. Mesek means to wed you, or kill you, for the power.”
Laurel’s jaw tightened, and the touch of her emotion changed to jagged stone, cutting, forbidding. This was anger, but not at Lynet. For her, there was still the regret of summer rain. “Is Morgaine coming?”
“Peran believes so.”
Anger cooled and smoothed and deepened, becoming the pool of dark water that looks so inviting but hides its depths and its danger. “When?”
“I don’t know yet.” As Laurel calmed it was harder to hold on. Lynet’s strength and will began to waver. The pain grew, a cramp in her hands and arms, a sharp ache in back and belly. “Laurel I think I cannot stay much longer. I must tell you, Bishop Austell is dead.”
Laurel bowed her head, covering her eyes with her hand. She stayed that way for along moment before she recovered herself and was able to look at Lynet again.
“I feared as much. God rest his soul. He was a good man.”
Lynet wanted to ask how she had known this, but another cramp cut across her midriff, and sent spasms up her arms. “Lynet …”
Laurel reached her hand out, brushing Lynet’s insubstantial shape. A new song, smooth and clear, strong and soaring. Love. Her sister’s love. “I’ve heard you sister. I will take care. Trust me when I say I gave away only a piece of power when I gave you the mirror. You must go back now.”
Lynet smiled, stretching out and seeking to form her own song, her own smooth touch to fill the air and find Laurel whom her flesh and bone were too far away to reach. “I’ll come again as soon as I am able.”
Fear and love together now, dark and smooth, painful and healing. “No, Lynet. This is dangerous.”
Lynet drew her will around that fear and love, suddenly desiring to hold it, to shape it, and return it. Laurel can I reach you this way? “Laurel, they mean to kill you and take Cambryn. How can I wait here for that?”
Love rose over the fear, its soaring tones and healing touch blotting out every other note as Laurel spoke. “Be very, very careful, sister.”
Lynet was fading, unable to hold this shape that cramped and confined. “I will. Pray for me, Laurel.”
Pain spasmed through her, as she tried to hold on that much longer, to bathe in her sister’s love for just one moment more.
“Let go, my lady,” said Ryol, a distant whisper from no source that she could see. “You have done your work. Let go.”
Her hold broke in a short snap, and as painful as it was, it was a relief, as if she had been set free from a cage, and she was beside Ryol once more, in his sunlit garden. He held her hands tightly, but she could not feel it. The whole world around them looked distant, and felt hollow. There was no music of being here to fill the air, not even between her and Ryol. She missed it. Even the pain of it had been strong and beautifully pure.
“You must go back now, lady,” said Ryol. She thought he must be worried, but she could not be sure. She could not feel it, or clearly understand the expression on his face. “At once. Go.”
Bemused as she was, she saw no reason to argue. She backed away from him, toward the faint but insistent pull that she knew was the call of flesh to spirit. She followed it drowsily, aware that something was wrong in the numbing sensation of distance that swaddled her now.
Then blackness.
Chapter Thirteen
The touch of morning’s light on her eyes woke Lynet slowly. Her body was aching and stone cold. She had curled herself like an infant around the mirror. Every joint protested as she stretched out. Thirst raged in her and pain pounded in her head with each heartbeat. She blinked her heavy eyelids. How long had she been away from herself? Daylight now streamed through the shutter slats. Lynet’s heart constricted as she saw that her waiting maid’s empty bed. What if the woman had tried to rouse her and been unable? What if she had gone to fetch help?
How will I explain?
As quickly as she could make her stiff hands move, Lynet slid the mirror back into its purse and tied it to her girdle. To add to the pain in her joints and sinews, her soul already ached to be back with Laurel. She wanted to dog Mesek’s and Peran’s footsteps. And Morgaine. How could she have failed to make Ryol show her what Morgaine was planning? It would be a grave risk, but they must take it. Surely even Morgaine could not see through all shadows.
Despite all these frantic thoughts, all Lynet could do was lay back on the pillows, trying to loosen her bre
ath and find her strength. After a time, before a hand scratched at her door.
“Enter!” she managed to croak.
The door opened. Daere came in. The maid carried a tankard of something that steamed, and was followed by a golden-haired girl so thin and bony it seemed her shoulders would poke right through her neat dress. This girl bore a brightly colored bundle of cloth in her arms.
“It is a tisane sent from the queen,” Daere said, making her curtsey as she handed the silver tankard to Lynet. “She says you are to drink it all before you come down to join her to break your fast.”
“Thank you.” Lynet made her hands wrap around the tankard. The steam was savory with herbs and strong wine. She sipped it, tasting sorrel, marjoram, thyme and even a little pepper. It warmed and strengthened her well. By the time she finished the drink, Lynet found she was able to sit up more easily and watch while Daere laid out the fine garments the younger girl carried on the foot of the bed. There was an underdress of rich burgundy linen trimmed at the hem with hawthorn blossoms of white and gold. The over-robe was a brown silk, embroidered with holly branches in red and silver, and with trailing sleeves to be tied to it with red laces. Next to this, Daere laid out a girdle of bronze holly leaves studded with garnets to make the berries. A plain bronze circlet and fawn-brown veil were laid out last.
The sight of so much wealth displayed so casually stunned Lynet. “These are …” she began.
“These are also sent to you by the queen,” said Dare smoothing out the skirt of the overdress. “She asks you of your courtesy to accept this gift as a token of the earnest welcome you are given to Camelot.”
Determined not to play the country maid any more than necessary, Lynet swallowed. “Of course. I will have to render sincere thanks to her majesty.”
“The queen is a generous and thoughtful mistress,” replied Daere with such an attitude of sincerity, Lynet could not set it down as the empty compliments of a fawning servant. “I give thanks daily to be in her service.”
There was nothing Lynet could say to that.