by Lee Savino
16
Yseult
Ivar led me back into the castle, down halls that twisted and turned until I despaired of ever finding my way back to any room I knew. The mage might well use magic to keep the halls of his home too confusing for guests to memorize. A labyrinth, another layer of defense.
At last we came to a great marble entrance. The air was softer here, humid. Our footsteps echoed.
“In here,” Ivar stepped aside and let me go first. I gasped at the long pool set in the middle of room, surrounded by pillars and tiled walls. High, high above the pool, windows just under the great vaulted ceiling let in a little light. Swirls of color drew my eye, murals rivaling any picture I’d ever seen.
“This is beautiful,” I gasped.
“Very beautiful,” he smiled, but he seemed more pleased to watch me. “The baths are heated by deep earth springs. Enjoy yourself, lady,” he bowed. “I will send another to fetch you.”
Grateful for a moment alone, I padded to the pool and leaned over the still water. My reflection peered back at me. I looked younger, softer somehow. Over the years, the magic I’d worked had made me, molded me. The Yseult gazing back at me from the waters was a simple maiden, untouched by any artifice. Could she face someone as powerful as the Corpse King?
I crouched down, gazing at the water. I wished it was a scrying glass that could give me some hint of my future. I don’t know how long I sat, but when my reflection blended with another’s, I looked up.
Tristan stood over me, his brow furrowed. “You did not bathe.”
I rested my head against my knees, my dry state my only replace.
“Do you find this place pleasing?” He looked around the room as his voice echoed between the murals.
“It’s peaceful. Who built these baths?”
“The Romans. They made the murals, too.”
“Amazing. They are a grand empire.” I did not tell him that in a thousand years, their baths would be a memory, the murals chipped and their roads crumbling. So much greatness faded to dusk. “Does your liege seek to rival them?”
“He already does. But let us not speak of him,” Tristan set down his helm and gestured to the water. “You must ready yourself.”
“I have nothing to wear.”
“Garments are being prepared.”
“By whom?”
He shook his head.
“Did you send to the village? Speak to a warrior who found me these?” I lifted a foot and pulled off the boots he’d given me, letting them fall with a thump.
He shook his head and turned to study the wall.
“Where are all the king’s servants?”
“We serve at the pleasure of the king.”
“I mean his court. Why is this place so empty?”
He angled his head enough for me to see he raised a brow. “You do not delight in our company?”
“You know I do.” I imbued my voice with all my latent passion.
That made him turn, frustration on his face.
“Bathe,” he ordered. “Make ready. And then I will tell you about the king.”
“You will?”
“I had come to warn—” he broke off. “I have come to tell you what to expect when you meet with my liege.”
I sucked in a breath. “Why?”
His shoulders rose, fell. “I wish to protect you.”
I padded to him. It took everything in me not to put my hand along the side of his face, feel the rough edge of his stubbled jaw under my palm. “Why?” He was a Berserker, pledged to his lord. Why would he help me?
“I have never met anyone like you. My lady, please…”
“You call me lady. You know I am not.”
“I know not what you are,” his voice came out hoarse.
“I am but a maid,” I said with full honesty. I’d seen my reflection in the pool. In this world, in this time, I was only myself. No magic, no artifice.
He stared over my head. “You are more than what you seem.”
“Very well. I will bathe. If…” I hesitated, risking all. “If you will join me.”
His eyes widened.
“Bathe with me, Tristan.”
I backed away but waited until his nod before fussing with my garment, pulling it over my head and letting it fall.
Tristan had turned to study the murals. He would not look on my naked form. I smiled at his restraint.
Eagerly, I entered the water, warmed by the springs in the earth. I kicked around, sending ripples wide, splashing until I heard Tristan’s armor fall.
I watched him strip off his warrior’s garb. His muscles flexed, long arms and powerful legs, a great firm chest all revealed to my gaze. When he only wore a loincloth, his eyes fell on mine. I looked away at the last, blood rushing to my cheeks.
The water sighed as he entered the pool, and I again watched his dark head and broad shoulders come toward me.
“Is this what you wanted, lady?”
“Yes,” I mouthed the word but had no breath to give it life. We swam in large circles around each other.
“I am glad of your hospitality,” I said to Tristan. “Thank you for your escort.”
Tristan hesitated. “What do you know of the mage?”
He said he’d protect me, but our trust was fragile and new. For all he knew, I was a spy. I would have to go very carefully. “I know he is very powerful. His reach increases every year.”
Tristan nodded. “He is of old.”
“The lore in my country tells of a king who wished to be strong to stand against his enemies. He had many wives and many sons. He wished for more power. He grew too strong and was said to be cursed by the gods.” I bit my lip, waiting for Tristan to read the meaning behind my words.
“It is true. He gains power from the dark arts.”
“He is a sorcerer,” I whispered. I knew how the mage gained his power. Sacrifice.
“I do not want you to go to him,” Tristan said, and the frustration in his voice made my eyes widen.
“You are the commander of his army.”
“And spent my life pledged to his service along with my warrior brothers. But what have we gained but a long, endless descent into madness?”
“Would you betray him then?”
“If I did, I must have a reason. Some higher purpose. Something to live for.”
I swallowed. I could barely meet his gaze.
He reached out, slowly, as if I were a bird that might fly away. Gently he tugged a wet lock of my hair. “Something…or someone.”
“Tristen,” I whispered. He kept playing with my hair, not meeting my eyes. “When I first saw you, I felt I’d known you forever.”
“I dreamed of you, lady.”
I moved forward, letting the water lap between us. “Mine was more than a dream. It felt like…a memory.”
“Ivar says there is a woman foretold to become our mate.”
I smiled. “You’d share me with your men?”
He met my gaze then, eyes flashing. “Not just any man. But my captains, we are more than comrades. More than brothers.”
“From where I’m from, Berserker warriors mate in pairs. There are so few women to be their mates, and the companionship of their warrior brother allows them to fight the curse far longer. But, Tristan, you’ve known me but a day. Not even that long.”
“I’ve known you since I first dreamed of your face. You saved my brother from his fate. He would’ve succumbed to the battle madness, if not for you. You saved him.” He stepped closer, and I was never more aware of a man. Everything in my body was tuned to him, strained towards him.
“Yseult, you saved us all.”
I tilted my face upwards, feeling his breath on my lips. A beautiful moment, and then it was gone. Harsh footsteps and echoing voices made me cringe. Tristan stepped in front of me as warriors burst into view—Lars and Ivar, chasing down Gaul. I crossed my arms in front of my breasts and crouched behind the large commander, peering around his arm.
Lars and Ivar got in front of Gaul at the last, and stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons in hand, blocking him from coming further.
“Let me through. I have news from the king.”
“What news?” Tristan’s voice boomed.
Gaul craned his head “Where—” he started.
Lars pushed him back. “You will go no further.”
“State your message,” Ivar ordered.
The upstart warrior glared at them both. “The king has sent gifts to his guest. They are in her chambers.”
“She sends thanks in reply,” Tristan said. “Now leave us.”
Gaul retreated, then stopped. “Take care commander, that you do not touch what is not yours.”
“Enough,” Lars pushed forward, knocking Gaul back. Ivar stopped his warrior brother with a hand on the blond’s shoulder.
The three left, as quick as they’d come.
Tristan cursed.
Before for I could lift a hand to touch and soothe him, he strode away, leaving the pool, letting water stream off his naked form.
By the time I emerged, he was dressed, helmet and all. My heart ached. All my life I’d been alone, and satisfied, complete in my own power. But I needed this man like no other. His closeness, his touch, his strength lent to me so I could face the greatest threat of my life.
“Tristan—”
He faced the murals again and would not turn. “It was wrong of me to bathe with you. I will not take advantage again.”
“You—”
“I am the king’s commander. You are his guest. It will not happen again.”
I bit my tongue. I wanted to rage and scream. I had but one day to do my duty, if I could. At the end, I would either live, or die.
But now I was not ready to die. Not without telling all my secrets to this man who seemed to know so much about me already.
I’d left my shift crumpled on the floor, but now it lay smooth and unwrinkled on a bench. The sight of the soft linen gave me pause. A faint scent of lavender lingered on the cloth, as if it’d been laundered and dried. But I had seen no servant come or go.
He has no need of human servants… but no one said anything about inhuman ones
Swallowing my worry, I slipped the now clean garment back on.
Tristan led me back to my rooms. I crossed to pour wine, pretending to be fine.
“What sort of women does the king prefer?” I asked in a nonchalant tone. I hoped to find some answers of what I would face tonight. If the Corpse King found me pleasing, this charade would continue. The spells I’d felt at the gate oppressive. He was certainly strong enough to kill me. If not by magic, he’d give the word and Tristan would run me through. The commander of the guard had no choice. “Well? You have served him many years. Does he prefer dark hair or blonde?”
Tristan had remained in the shadow on the edges of the room. “The king has no one preference that I know. He likes women whose essence lights the stone.”
“Have you met many of his consorts?”
“Our mothers were all his wives.”
Of course. I’d forgotten that part of the tale. The king took spaewives to his bed and sired an army of Berserkers. In the tales he also sacrificed his children.
I shuddered.
“You do not call him ‘father.’”
Tristan shrugged. “He is the king.”
“What a rich king, with so many heirs,” I murmured, but knew the awful truth. The mage sought immortality. Ventured into the dark arts, his power eating his mind as much as the berserkers lost theirs to the spell that made them. The king did not want heirs. He would live forever.
“If the king chooses you, he will make you into the bride he wishes you to be.”
“Even if that is not my will?”
Tristan didn’t answer.
I sank into a chair. The throbbing in my head was back. The Corpse King’s magic weighing on me.
“You should rest,” he turned away.
My only armor was the lack of magic. He would not recognize me as a threat. Of course, I had no way of defending myself
I would’ve trembled, but I’d been trained in the way of the initiates. The witch trials had driven all weakness from me. Of course, in my new magic stripped state, my body did not remember. But my mind did. Closing my eyes, I stilled myself.
And saw a great, bloody battlefield, stretching from my feet to the dying sun. Crows feasted on the bodies of warriors—all dead.
“Lady.” My eyes snapped open. Lars was there, looming over me, looking more serious than I’d ever seen. “You have not examined your gifts.” He swept out a hand towards the gown lying over the back of the couch. On the table there was a jeweled goblet and pitcher of wine.
“The king is very kind,” I said. Lars’ eyes widened at the bitterness in my voice. It didn’t matter. Tristan had made his choice: remain loyal to the king. He and his warriors could kill me for disrespect, I no longer cared.
“He expects you at dusk.”
“He dines so early?”
The blond inclined his head yes.
I went to the gown. “It is beautiful.”
Lars still hovered at the door. “It will look lovely on you.”
I held up the garment, turning it this way and that. It was shot through with threads of gold. Against the shimmering fabric, my own white shift looked so plain.
“No,” I laid the gown down. “No. Let him look on me as I am.” At least my shift was clean.
“You reject the king’s gifts?”
“I do not want to wear them. Let him see me as I am.”
“You are brave, lady. Very brave or very foolish.”
“Perhaps I am both.”
I crossed to the fountain to check my reflection in the dying light. The white garb I’d worn for the ceremony was meant to symbolize purity. In it I looked like a fresh maiden. I had stopped aging long ago, when the magic I handled gave me an artificial youth. But this was different. In the fresh shift, stripped of my powers, I truly looked young, virginal.
It was madness to think I’d be a match for a powerful mage.
Goddess, help me.
Armor clanked behind me, but I didn’t turn. Tristan spoke quietly. “It is time.”
I followed him through the halls. Ivar and Lars brought up the rear. We entered a long hall, with great windows that let in the day’s final light. The shadows lay strangely between the columns, rippling and flickering. Dark tendrils rising up as if trying to reach for me. Out of the corner of my eye I caught them following us. I fisted my hands in my shift and forced myself to scurry on.
Tristan slowed as we approached giant gilt doors, stretching above us to the cavernous ceiling, tall as ten men.
“Lady,” a voice rasped at my right. A warrior stepped from the shadows. Lars steadied me while Tristan moved to block him.
“Wait,” I put a hand on Tristan’s bicep. I recognized the third warrior from the dungeon. He stood tall and proud again, his helm shining and face clear. No dark magic buzzed around his head.
“I remember,” he said. “You asked my name, and now I remember. It is Magnus. That is the name my mother gave me.”
“Well met, Magnus,” I smiled up at him, pushing Tristan gently out of my way so I could stand before the large man. “Remember your mother. Remember her and be whole.”
“Lady,” he bowed, backing into the shadows once more.
I stepped in front of the great doors.
“Ready?” Tristan asked, not meeting my eyes. He was sure he was delivering me to death. If not tonight, then one day.
I took a deep breath. “I am.”
Lars and Ivar took their place at either door and opened them slowly. Air rushed out, along with faint whispers. My skin prickled as magic licked over me.
I forced myself to take a few steps. Inside stretched a great hall, again lined with windows tall as an oak. But these windows let in nothing but darkness.
I hesitated and almost backed into Tristan. H
e stood at my back, steadying me, and did not urge me forward. Across the great expanse of the room, a low light lit a dais where I knew the king would be waiting.
“I’m ready,” I repeated, and went forward again.
Just inside the doors, I sensed him stop. “I can go no further.” he told me. I nodded.
“Have care, lady.” He backed away and bowed, dusky light gleaming off his helm until the doors swung shut. Tristan would remain on the other side, waiting for my return. The thought bolstered me as I crossed the echoing flagstones.
The journey seemed to take an age, but finally I stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the dais. A table was there, bare, with only one chair available. But of the king, there was no sign. I wanted to shiver in the heavy quiet, but I made myself still, made myself wait.
You are not wearing my gifts. The voice rang around me, a rich timbre that caressed my limbs, quickened my heart.
I stopped in my tracks, letting the magic snake around me, tasting me.
The dais was still empty. The corpse king had not shown himself.
I opened my mouth, hesitated.
Speak, the command hung on the air.
I curtseyed. “Forgive me my lord. Your gifts were so fine. I am a simple maid. I felt I did not deserve them.”
“No?” amusement. “Most women love my gifts.”
I curtsied again. “The king may have whatever woman he pleases.”
“You wonder why I would pick you?” Wind wafted through the hall, lifting my hair, making my shift swirl around my ankles. “You have beauty enough.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Come closer, girl.”
Heart beating, I ascended the dais.
Shadow shimmered, became solid, I didn’t look at it directly at first. Then movement behind me caught my eye. I turned and didn’t stop my gasp
The mage was tall, much taller than any man, even the Berserkers he made. Thinner too, a lean build, he wore robes that did not hide his broad shoulders. Not a soldier, a scholar. A ruler.
“Welcome, Yseult. Welcome to my home.”
17
Tristan
I stared at the doors to the king’s audience chamber, my hands curled to fists.