Summers at Castle Auburn

by Sharon Shinn

  I took a step back from her and her hands fell to her sides. “Not as we held you, in chains and against your will, but you would hold me,” I said, my voice stronger. “I cannot go with you. There is too much unfinished business here.”

  She watched me gravely a moment in silence. I could no longer see any of the other aliora; I hoped she would be able to catch up with them. “Anytime you change your mind,” she said. “We will welcome you gladly. We will make our home your home—I will take you in as my own daughter. We would celebrate to have you among us. You would be our communal joy.”

  “Thank you,” I said, backing away still more. “Someday, perhaps—thank you. Now you must go forward, and I must go back. You must run—the others have already disappeared.”

  She smiled. “I will find them. We will reach Alora together in a few days’ time. Thank you again, Corie. I have no stronger words than those.”

  “You do not need them,” I said, and stepped back through the gate. Back into the world of men, safe from the siren call of the aliora. One more moment she watched me through that stone portal, then she lifted her hand in a gesture of farewell.

  “I will look for you,” she said, and turned on her heel. Though I watched as closely as the darkness would permit, I could not follow her more than three steps down the road. That quickly she blended with the night, or was absorbed into it; that completely was she gone.

  I stood a few minutes with my sleeping companions, Shorro, Cloate, and the other guards, and allowed myself to feel a moment’s comfort in their undemanding presence. They—had they been awake—would have welcomed me as surely as the aliora would; they would have offered me their flasks and allowed me to deal a hand of cards. They would take me in, they would amuse me and—if it were in their power—they would protect me from distress and calamity. I need not feel so bereft just because the aliora were gone. Love and friendship could still be found in the world.

  It was warm out, but I suddenly shivered, and my stomach twisted violently once more to remind me of its unhappiness. I hurried back toward the castle, past the fountain, past the sleeping guards at the door, up all those flights of silent stairs. Back in my room, I threw up once more, then lay in bed a long time, shaking. It was nearly dawn before my eyes finally stayed closed and I drifted off to sleep. Had I known it would have taken so long to fall asleep, I would have sipped from the guards’ canteens as I slipped past them. This was a night I could have used some easy dreaming.

  * * *

  AN ANGRY SHRIEK woke me late the next morning. My room was filled with lazy golden light, enough of it to let me know the hour was far advanced. For a moment I could not think why I was so tired and why I should feel such dread for the revelations of the day. Another cry in the hallway was answered by a series of shouts. I sat up in bed. Suddenly I remembered.

  I did not trouble to dress before running to the door and sticking my head out. The hallway was filled with people milling uselessly about; I identified Greta and Daria and a few of the noble guests.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I called out. Daria hurried to my side.

  “Such terrible things!” she exclaimed. “Everyone is sick and the aliora are missing and the regent is accusing one of the noble lords of having been careless with the keys—”

  “What? What? Who’s sick? And the aliora? They’re missing? How can that be?”

  Daria nodded vigorously. “That’s what everyone wants to know! But all the shackles are in a heap on the floor of their room. Dirkson of Tregonia says Lord Matthew did it on purpose, and the prince wants to ride out after them, but he’s so sick he can’t get out of bed—”

  That caught my attention. “Bryan’s sick? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Some kind of problem with his stomach. The princess said he was up all night with—with unpleasant episodes,” she ended delicately. Apparently she did not want to offend my sensibilities by saying the prince had been retching out his guts.

  “How strange. I had a little trouble last night as well,” I said.

  She nodded again. “Yes, so did many of the guests. The regent and Lord Kent also were sick, though it seems the prince suffered more than anyone. He is still unwell this morning and cannot even get up. Although the princess says he is determined to ride in the hunt for the aliora—”

  The aliora! If Bryan was truly too sick to ride, it was unlikely Matthew would organize a hunt in his stead—not that the regent wouldn’t want the aliora back just as badly as Bryan would, he just wouldn’t run the risk of leaving the castle if Bryan were truly ill. This would have bought the fugitives half a day, a day—perhaps their freedom. Although one of the other lords might easily organize the hunt instead—unless they were all too sick to ride—?

  “Who else has been infected? Has Giselda been called in? Has she identified the illness?”

  “She has been with the prince since early this morning, but she says she cannot tell what the disease is. He has a fever as well, and his face is beginning to show spots of red color.”

  “Huh,” I said, thinking it over. Well, fever, nausea, rash—that could be any number of illnesses, some dangerous, some not. It seemed likely that one of our charming guests had ridden in from the outer provinces carrying a malicious germ which had infected the whole palace. I smiled to think that I had attributed to nerves and overeating my own “unpleasant episodes” of the night before.

  “Do you think she needs my help?” I asked Daria. “Tell her I’m willing to join her if she wants my opinion. I have to dress first, but I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  “Certainly, Lady Coriel.”

  I jerked a head at the knot of noblewomen still wailing and gossiping in the hall. “And what’s all the shrieking about? Who was making such a noise before?”

  Daria tried very hard to hide a smile. “That was my lady’s mother. She learned that Cressida would not be available to dress her this morning. She was not very happy.”

  “I thought from the sound of it somebody must have died.”

  “No, but she is quite distressed.”

  “I guess you’ll have to help her, then.”

  Daria’s face showed a faint alarm. “I must return immediately to the princess,” she said quickly.

  I laughed. “So would I, if I were you. But first give Giselda my message.”

  I withdrew into my room and began to dress hurriedly. No Cressida to bring me warm bathwater, so I made do with the pitchers of cold water in the room and decided I would just have to wash my hair later. I braided it back from my face, put on a plain, serviceable gown, and sallied out into the castle to see what I could discover.

  The knot of agitated noblewomen had dispersed so I had to go farther to find activity, but once in the breakfast room, I was in luck. Angela was there with her parents, and she immediately came over to join me.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I demanded in a low voice as we found a table somewhat apart from the crowd. I had never seen so many in the breakfast room at this hour. Apparently the disasters of the night before had thrown people from their usual routines and caused them to band together in confused, useless groups.

  “You know about Bryan? And the aliora?”

  “Yes, but just the barest outlines. Bryan is sick? Is it serious?”

  Angela spread her arms. “Giselda doesn’t seem so sure. He’s been vomiting all night, and now he has a high fever and this black rash—”

  “Black rash,” I interrupted. “You mean black spots? In the center of red spots, or appearing all by themselves?”

  “Black spots within red circles,” she replied promptly, for of course she knew. “On his hands and his face and, curiously enough, on his feet. And even though he is burning with fever, his hands and feet are so cold to the touch that nothing they can give him will warm his toes and fingers.”

  Every word she said made my own skin grow colder. I could feel the prickles of fear and disbelief skittering across my scalp and down my spine. “
His breathing?” I said, my own breath coming slowly and with difficulty. “Is he wheezing? Coughing?”

  Angela looked at me wonderingly. “Just this morning, he started having trouble breathing,” she said. “But Giselda seemed more concerned about the rash.”

  I nodded. I felt like a stone statue that had been set in a winter garden—chilled, frozen, unable to turn my head or lift a limb. “Is Damien ill?” I managed to ask.

  Angela shook her head. “No, for he was the first one Lord Matthew checked on this morning when he learned about Bryan. Damien said his stomach hurt during the night, but by this morning he was fine.”

  I shook my head slightly, for that made no sense. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes—well, it’s not the sort of thing the regent would be mistaken about! So, Giselda thinks it’s some pox from one of the low countries, though she hasn’t seen it take quite this form before. She’s been run completely ragged, poor thing, because, of course, Bryan’s not the only one who’s afflicted. But no one else seems quite as sick—only Goff of Chillain has a high fever, and no one but Bryan has a rash.”

  I had to think. I had to do something. Giselda had not recognized the symptoms. It was a low country import, well enough, but it was not a disease; it was poison. If treated immediately it could be counteracted, but if the rash had already appeared, it was probably too late for Bryan.

  “Where is Lord Matthew right now?” I asked through stiff lips.

  “In his conference room shouting at his guests,” Angela said with a laugh. “Dirkson of Tregonia is so furious that his aliora disappeared into the night! He only has the three, you know, and he paid some unbelievable price for the one he acquired just last year. He’s convinced Lord Matthew was somehow careless and let the aliora escape. And, of course, Lord Matthew will not take that kind of accusation calmly—”

  I allowed myself, for just this minute, to be distracted from the larger problem. “And what does the regent think happened? How does he think the aliora got free?”

  “He’s blaming Thessala of Wirsten.”

  “I didn’t think they had any aliora at Wirsten Castle.”

  “No, that’s it exactly. Thessala is some kind of reformer who believes it’s sinful to domesticate any wild creatures—aliora, hawks. I think she even has a problem with hunting dogs because she says they were originally wolves of the forest. Anyway, Matthew thinks she had something to do with releasing the aliora. But Thessala is denying it, and all the viceroys are arguing—at least they were. That was an hour or more ago—”

  “And how did they get off the castle grounds? Does anyone know? Did they just walk out the gates?”

  “That doesn’t seem possible, since all six of the guards say they were alert and attending all night. Someone’s checking the gardens for footprints but so far no one’s found anything.”

  “You don’t seem too upset,” I remarked. “I mean, about the aliora. You liked that little Phyllery, didn’t you?”

  Angela nodded, her blue eyes sober and her pleasant face creased into a frown. “Yes, but—Actually, I’m sort of glad that they’re gone. Poor Phyllery was the sweetest thing and I loved her to death, but she—she was so miserable. She would come into the room and sometimes I would just want to cry. You know how aliora can generally sort of heal you—lift your spirits—just by touching your hand? She would do that—she would try to do that—and it would just make me sad. I can’t explain it. I hope they make it to safety. I don’t think I want another aliora in my life.”

  This from Angela, the shallowest woman I’d ever met. I gave her a quick hug, which surprised her. “That’s how I feel,” I whispered in her ear. “But I thought I was the only one.”

  “I think my mother feels the same way, though she hasn’t said so.”

  “Will there be a hunt?”

  She shrugged. “Dirkson and Holden wanted to organize one, but they were arguing with Matthew about what road to follow. And with Bryan so sick some of the other lords thought it would be disrespectful to go off sporting. Then someone else said, ‘It’s hardly sport, I paid half my fortune for that aliora—’”

  “So, it might be awhile before a hunt actually gets under way.”

  She nodded. “Of course, the aliora are on foot—”

  “I know. Well, we’ll just have to hope for the best.”

  She said, “For everyone.” She looked significantly toward the open door, where Lord Matthew had just stalked in. He looked angry but under control, and the cadre of noblemen who followed him looked equally as stirred up. Angela lowered her voice and whispered in my ear, “I think this will be a strange day.”

  I agreed, stood back against the wall to escape the regent’s notice, and eventually slipped from the room as unobtrusively as possible. I knew where the royal suite was situated, in the middle level of the main portion of the castle, but I had never been there. This was where Bryan had had his bachelor’s suite, and where Lord Matthew and his son lived. I had never been invited to visit. The right wing was my territory, the right wing and the upper reaches of the castle—and the stables and the servants’ quarters and the weapons yard. . . .

  When I found the newlyweds’ new quarters, it was full of people.

  Elisandra was in one corner of the outer parlor, talking seriously with Giselda, while nearby hovered Daria, Greta, Lady Sasha, Giselda’s assistant, and two of the kitchen servants who appeared to have been pressed into nursing duty. In another corner stood Kent, Roderick, Holden of Veledore, and some of the male servants to whom Kent appeared to be giving instructions.

  Greta was the first one to see me, and she hurried over. “What are you doing here? There are too many busybodies interfering as it is. We don’t need any more people cluttering up the room.”

  I stood my ground, trying to get Elisandra’s attention. “I thought I could help Giselda. I thought I could take a look at Bryan.”

  Greta inhaled one scandalized breath. “An unmarried woman examining a sick man! Have you lost your mind? And you, a common witch woman, not trained like Giselda—”

  “I know some things Giselda does not.”

  Greta shook her finger in my face. She was so small and pale that even her rage seemed ridiculous. “Go on back downstairs! Offer to help the regent any way you can in this crisis.”

  “The regent is too busy even to listen to my offers for help.”

  “Then go visit with that nice Lord Ordinal. With the castle turned all upside down like this, he’ll be needing someone to entertain him—”

  I brushed right by her, as she continued talking, and approached the group surrounding Elisandra. She looked calm as ever but deathly pale. Her black hair made a smooth coronet around her white, white skin; even her lips seemed bloodless.

  When Elisandra caught sight of me, she broke off her conversation with Giselda in midsentence. “Corie,” she said, and came over to lay her head against my shoulder. From the self-possessed Elisandra, this was nearly a complete hysterical breakdown. “I am so glad to see you.”

  I hugged her tightly until she pulled away. “Poor Elisandra,” I said, inspecting her face. “What a dreadful night for you.”

  She smiled faintly. “More dreadful for Bryan. I have never seen anyone be so sick in my life.”

  I glanced at Giselda. “How long have you been here?” I asked the apothecary.

  “Since about five this morning.”

  I raised my eyebrows. The feast had come to an end around nine in the evening, and surely the music had not lasted much past midnight. If Bryan had first gotten sick around the time I had, he had been vomiting and burning up with fever a long time before the medic was called in.

  Perhaps Elisandra read my look, for she said, “Over and over I begged him to allow me to send for Giselda. He kept refusing. Finally against his wishes, I sent the guard for Giselda, and she has done what she can, but he only seems to get worse—”

  The room was too full of people; I could not voice my suspicions and risk the m
aelstrom that might be set into motion. Instead, I said to Giselda, “What have you given him?”

  She rattled off an impressive list of medicinal herbs, but none of them would counteract the poison I suspected. I said, most casually, so that the tone of my voice would alarm no one, “And have you tried ginyese?”

  “No,” she said, sounding distracted and worried. “I’ve never used it for a fever. Do you think it might be of some use?”

  “I’ve seen it work in about half the cases,” I said. This was a lie. “It might not help, but it couldn’t hurt.”

  “I don’t have any,” she said.

  “I do. In my room,” I said, most pleasantly. “Shall I go get it?”

  “Why, yes—if you would be so kind—” she said gratefully.

  Elisandra clutched my arm. “Corie, what is this ginyese? Why is it so important?”

  I smiled and patted her hand. “Just an herb that has been known to be effective in cases like this.”

  “What kind of case is this? Is this a disease you recognize?”

  No, for it was no natural disease. “I have seen symptoms like this a few times,” I said. “Sometimes the ginyese has helped. Sometimes it has not. Let me fetch some, and we’ll hope it does some good.”

  “Lord Goff has a fever, too,” Giselda reminded me. “Do you have enough to dose both of them?”

  I nodded. “I think so. I’ll be right back.”

  I moved to go, but Elisandra’s grip on my arm tightened so painfully it turned me back. “Corie,” she said in a fierce undervoice. “What is it? Why do you talk so strangely?”

  I smiled and kissed her very gently on the cheek. “Bryan has been poisoned,” I whispered in her ear before drawing back so I could see her face again. “Remember the gifts I gave you,” I said. “In the sachet. Have courage. Be strong. Now let me go see what I can do for the prince.”

  She released me, still staring. I hurried for the door, catching from the corner of my eye a swift movement from Kent’s side of the room, as if someone started after me. I did not stay to see who. Outside the door, I picked up my skirts and ran.