by Ru Emerson
Her guard had slowed—deliberately she thought—to allow her to take that in, then with a jerk that nearly took her off her feet, they propelled her out of the Reception by its main doors, into the narrow hallway that divided Reception from Formal Dining. Left would have brought them eventually to the main doors, and outside; they turned right.
But except for that one moment in her father's reception, she felt like a stranger in unknown halls. She had been born here, grown to girlhood here, overnight to womanhood and Queen's rank—and that only four years ago. It might have been a lifetime and another person entirely. Another city.
The narrow hall gave way to a wider one, became narrow again as they walked through a maze of chambers and toward the staircase that had once led to the family apartments. She was no longer certain where she was: Doors and chambers were not where they had been; unfamiliar furniture, carpets, tapestries and paintings, mosaics—the ones she had known had been ash for four years. Don't think, Ylia. Don't. Two chambers had been opened out around the base of the broad stairway and there were some tables and a few backless benches near one of the many fireplaces. Ylia smelled stale ale and wine. A tavern? Here? A number of wild-looking young Sea-Raiders lounged on the benches and had taken over the bottom steps. They were drinking and laughing. Ylia's guard pulled her through them and up the stairs. Whistles, howls and remarks she fortunately could not translate followed them. They slowed at the turn in the stair. A small set of steps branched to the left, leading to the room that had once been Brandt's private library and accounting room. The entry gaped at her, dark and doorless. She turned on the senior guard; he tightened his grip on her arm and held up a hand.
“That was the only way to reach this part of the Tower. If you once lived here, you know that. And Lord Vess suggested it might he better that you know what dangers there are. Should you contemplate escape.”
“All right, I know now.”
“Do not speak. Listen. The crews of three black ships are within Koderra's gates at all times. There are always twenty men at the foot of this stairs. They would not use you kindly. Remember that.”
“Remember that! Remember that!” a mocking voice replied. It echoed over the landing. Her guard pivoted toward the side steps and his companion drew a dagger.
“Who is there?” the second man shouted. A giggle answered him. He rolled his eyes and sheathed the blade. “Only the madman,” he mumbled under his breath.
Madman? she wondered.
“Let's go, then.” They started up the steps; a patter of slippered feet came down the small staircase and up behind them.
Ylia stared, aghast. Jers stared back at her, unblinking. His pupils were pinpoint, even on that dim landing. He was hunched in on himself, and he seemed to have somehow shrunk. He bared his teeth and giggled as she recoiled. “Hee. He said he would and he has! He's tamed the witch!”
“Step aside, you.” The second armsman shoved; Jers staggered back into the wall, recovered his balance and came hurtling up the stairs to stand in front of her again.
“No, he did! He swore it, a—a time since,” he finished doubtfully, and a frown creased his brow. It was gone in a moment; he bared his teeth and giggled shrilly. “Our most noble Lord Vess embarks on the holiest of wars! He and his allies will strike clown the evil dabblers in magic so the true faith may prosper.”
Ylia laughed; she simply couldn't help herself. Of all the things to happen, of all the people who might have confronted her here! The feared, hated, fanatic Jers, made as a frothing rabbit, spouting Vess’ rubbish—for even Jers could not have thought up such a mouthful of stupid lies himself! “He's using magic himself!” she shouted over her shoulder as the guard dragged her away. “Black magic that will foul you forever, Chosen!”
“Liar!” he bellowed from far down the steps; he bounded up two stairs at a time to pass them and stand waiting in the hallway. Light from an open window showed him in all his unlovely state: His hair was wild, matted into his beard. Spittle ran from his mouth, unnoted, to dampen the front of a greasy robe that might once have been the pale grey Chosen roughspun. His hands shook and he plaited his fingers incessantly. “He has been blessed with Power beyond that of yours, but only so he may overcome you. Who should grant him such Power but the One? Repent of your ways, woman!” he thundered as they neared him. “Recant the witching, give over the heresy of witching and save your life!”
Her guard shoved Jers out of the way and started walking faster. Ylia laughed again. “You’ re mad, priest!” she shouted.
“Why don't you go find some children to warp, it's what you do best!” Jers was screaming at her; she couldn't pick out words.
The guard stopped at a white, plain door, its only ornament a cast brass handle. Ylia gazed at it with a sinking heart. Her own apartments. I should have known where Vess would put me.
The door opened and Vess was there. “My sweet Lady. I have been waiting for you. And I see you have company.” Jers was abruptly silent. Vess smiled at him; he returned the smile nervously and began pleating his robes again. “You've been lecturing my Lady on her duties, haven't you, my friend?” Jers nodded warily. Vess laughed, clapped him on the back and sent him staggering against the wall. “That was kind of you; I appreciate your care for things that are mine. I will let you instruct her in the proper faith, my friend Jers.”
“You will?”
“Soon. Perhaps you will be able to persuade her from her blasphemous ways, if I cannot.” Vess leaned down to whisper against his ear. Jers clapped his hands together in a dreadful and unwitting parody of a small child promised a treat, turned without further word and scampered away. Vess watched until he was gone, a complacent smile on his face. “Thank you for bringing my Lady here. You need not wait.” He held out a hand as the guard turned away. “Sweet Lady?” Ylia drew a deep breath as Vess took her arm and led her through the door.
I knew from the first that it would be bad, whichever of them had her, but I feared Marrita the most, Vess the least—
I was not with her and so I could not know all the reasons why Ylia hated him; and it was not for a very long time that I learned, for only then could Ylia bear to tell me all of it.
19
The shape of the rooms—that much was familiar. The furnishings, the carpets, the hangings, like those in the rest of the King's palace, were new, dissimilar enough to those she'd known since childhood to render the entirety strange. Here, in the chambers she'd known all her growing years, the strangeness was disorienting; she clutched at the nearest wall. Vess’ hand on her arm stayed constant; she tried, briefly, to dislodge it, but he merely tightened his grip, She must remember not to fight him, but it was humiliating to be helpless against a greater physical strength. If I had my sword, or use of the Power—but her sword was in her true bedchamber, and the bracelet was securely in place. She'd spent enough time trying to remove it, gaining only a skinned and sore wrist for her pains.
“A gift for you, my Lady. Favor for favor, as they say.” He smiled widely. “Favor for favors, might come nearer the mark.” She closed her eyes, turned away from him; Vess caught her chin between his fingers, brought her face around. “Do not look away from me.” The fingers tightened, almost enough to be painful, loosened, though he did not let her go. “I thought you had perhaps learned manners, and behavior fitted to a Lady. If you feel the need of more time to learn these things, I can have you returned to your former chamber.”
Gods, no! Horrified denial echoed through her mind, and she was almost certain at first she'd cried that aloud. Not the dark, the long hours, the uncertainty—the dark was the worst of it, suddenly; she couldn't bear it again. Her face must have reflected the thought, though: Vess laughed, shook his head.
“You have learned—haven't you? Favor for favor. Behave and you shall remain here. Guarded or with me. Or locked securely within these apartments, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed faintly.
“As much for your safety as for fea
r that you might try to leave me—which, dear Lady, I would not recommend. Not all my allies are—tame.”
“Point taken,” she said dryly. Vess laughed.
“You retain your sense of humor, I like that, sweet cousin. Humor in a woman is a rare thing, all the more to be appreciated when found. No, the guard is—let us say mostly for your safety. Food will be brought to you shortly, and wine. I may not be able to join you for that, but I shall later.” He bowed low, his lips lingering on her fingers and was gone. A key turned ponderously in the enormous lock—that was new. Ylia stared at the closed door until she could no longer hear his footsteps down the hall toward the stairs; she turned away, then, scrubbed the back of her hand viciously across one of the tapestries and crossed the room to the nearest window.
It was much narrower than it had been; once she could have climbed onto the ledge, if she'd been fool enough then to tempt such a long drop—ten or more lengths to hard paving stones. They'd narrowed it to half its original size. She could see mountains, a corner of the stables, part of the city—it was still largely rubble, and the folk walking through the streets were too few, subdued. Not Nedaoan, any of them. A gleam of light beyond all that that might be sun on the Torth.
Trapped. She was, still. The Thullen bracelet was a heavy weight on her left wrist, she was aware of the edge of a nasty headache she could not heal. But the mere fact of light, and fresh air, a clean body and clothing that was not stiff with dirt and sweat—such small things, such simple things, to give her so much hope.
'Galdan?’
Galdan started, shifted his weight and leaned across the bed. “I'm here, cat. What do you need?”
'Information, mostly.’ Nisana had napped the morning, wakened to eat the bits of cooked and boned fish Ysian had brought her, lapped at a little milk and gone back to sleep. So, amazingly, had Galdan slept, though on waking he wondered if Ysian might have had something to do with that. Ylia could not send him sleep; something in his form of Power blocked her from doing that; it should also block Ysian. But the wine he'd drunk with that plate of soup had been fairly tart.
“Information.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I could do with some of that, myself. What I know, though.” He sat up, stretched. Perhaps Ysian had been right, if that wine was her doing: He'd needed the sleep. It felt disloyal, but the pure sense of the thing was he couldn't help Ylia if he was worn to a thread on lack of sleep and fear. Eliminate one, if possible. He'd done that, or she had for him. “Bendesevorian is going to bridge to where the fixed focus was set.”
Nisana looked alarmed. ‘He can't—!’
“He says he can. He's Nasath, remember, cat? Different protection. He's out readying now: something to do with gathering strength from the sun, the earth, the wind—I was too tired to understand. He says it works better when there's more than one or two of them, but that he is safe even without this extra protection. With it, he told me he could walk through the Sirdar's palace undetected by all Three.” Silence. Galdan shifted uncomfortably. “I hope he doesn't test that, myself. I don't like it.”
'If he says he can, it's so.’ The cat's thought was stronger than it had been, and she cautiously levered herself up, licked one shoulder and stretched. “I know only the form of Power is different. Where is Ysian?’
“She has gone to be with Golsat; he's just come back from the Ylsan border again.”
'Again?’
“Bringing in refugees. Not as many, the last two days. But he's still finding some.”
'Good.’
“If you need—I can cure headache,” Galdan offered tentatively. Nisana unwell, so shaky—he hated it. It was like being a child again, the first time he'd seen his father afraid. Nisana fixed him with grave eyes.
'I know, I taught you how, remember? Thank you, I haven't one.’ She let her eyes close. ‘I would like sun, can you open the shutters?’ Galdan walked ever to the windows and let afternoon light fall on the bed. ‘I know how hard it is to wait, Galdan. I'm sorry.’
“It wasn't your fault, cat.” He watched as Nisana stretched, stepped into a pool of sun and collapsed gracefully into his side of the bed.
'Not my meaning. Sorry that you must wait. Because Bendesevorian will not let you go with him. You know that.’
His shoulders slumped. “I know. I guess I know.”
'You must stay, and always for the same hard reasons. Selverra must have one parent to raise her in the ways of both her mother's and her father's kind. Sel is only three and Nedao must have one grown ruler alive and on the throne. You know that. Particularly in the face of things as they now are. It is harder to wait than to wield. I know that, too. But,’ she added in the most gentle mind-touch he'd ever felt from her, ‘it must be painful indeed, to wish to rescue your beloved, to deliver her by your own hands, and not be able to. I love her, too, of course. But I know it is not the same thing.’
Galdan dropped back to the bed, buried his head in his hands. “I—to just wait! Berd, Ylia—I've had to sit and wait and there is nothing I can take sword to, nothing I can battle! Nothing I can do!”
'I know,’ Nisana replied, still gently. She eased forward to rub her chin on his hand. ‘We will get her back.’
“Mothers,” cat, Galdan whispered. “I don't dare think—that far ahead.”
Ysian came an hour later with a tray for them both: milk and a cooked piece of hen breast for the cat, bread and wine and the rest of the hen for Galdan. She refused his offer of part of the food, saying she had eaten with Golsat, but took a cup of the wine. Only then would he drink from his own cup; Ysian laughed briefly, but her eyes stayed sober. “Bendesevorian reached me, about an hour ago.”
“He's—where is he?” Galdan stuffed bread into his cheek so he could talk.
“Don't stop, keep eating. He's nearly ready; he needs your aid, before he goes. Said you'd need your strength for that. Eat.” Galdan pulled a leg joint loose and neatly stripped it down to the bone in a few bites. “He won't go until middle night. Nisana, he'll need you to show him where.”
'I'll be awake.’ The cat was working through her food with a near-normal appetite.
“Good. I'll be back later, I promised Selverra a walk down to Lisabetha's, to hold the baby. Chedra's busy drying fruit.”
“Go.” Galdan spoke around a mouthful of chicken. “We'll—black hells.” He shrugged. “We'll be here, won't we?” He peeled off more meat. “Cat?”
'I had enough. Thank you.’ Galdan picked up the tray and set it on the chest at the foot of the bed, finished his wine and set the cup back on the tray with the bottle. He lay back on the bed and his eyes closed; he shifted once or twice, relaxed into the blankets. Ysian came into the chamber, tiptoed across to adjust the shutters so he was in shade. Nisana curled up in the pocket of his knees where sun still hit.
'Very clever, Ysian. But he won't thank you for putting sleeping draft in his butter.’
Ysian ran a hand over warm fur and she laughed quietly. ‘He'll thank me tonight, when Bendesevorian wrings him dry. Besides, Galdan admires initiative; I wager you he'll be more proud of me than not.’
'No take.’ The cat rubbed against her hand, hard. ‘I gave up years ago trying to keep such foolish human notions straight. Go back to your Golsat, I want more sleep.’
'Cat, he's not my Golsat.’
'Not much. He knows, I know, all Nedao knows. Like that hoyden Lennet and the Sirdar's heir.’
'Go to sleep; you're babbling,’ Ysian replied firmly, and strode from the chamber. Nisana opened one eye to watch her go, mentally shrugged and closed it again. Human notions of love and courting and all the rest of it had once irritated her very much; they seemed to get in the way of everything sensible. Anymore, they just amused her. Getting old, cat, she admonished herself, but the notion didn't upset her much.
She was drifting toward sleep, drifting—failing—momentary terror filled her. She jerked awake, felt Galdan's knee warm and solid against her neck, the other one as warm and solid where she braced he
r hind feet. Safe—one of us is. Two of us are. She will be. She let her eyes close, pressed her neck and cheek hard into Galdan's knee and this time slept.
The sun was nearly behind the mountains, level in her eyes, when the tap at the door drew her attention. “Enter,” she called, momentarily transported back beyond the past four years by the view she'd stared at the past hour or so, the familiar mountain shapes, the shining band of Torth that was now lost in mountain shade and tree-shade. Reality jarred her hard; she turned and leaned back against the window ledge as Vess came in followed by an old woman bent near double under the weight of her tray. She set out wine and cups, a bowl of fruit, two deep bowls of a cool green soup, a basket of bread, another bowl of soft white cheese. Vess locked the door behind her, leaned against it and looked across the room.
“Sweet Lady, I put them to considerable trouble to prepare you a meal, things I know you like. Come and eat with me.” She crossed the room without comment and sat, waiting quietly while Vess poured wine. She waited until he, with a deprecating smile, took an ostentatious drink of his own before she drank hers. Vess sampled everything else with that same broadly sardonic air. “You might thank me,” he said finally as she began to eat.
“It is good. Thank you.” She took the bread he smeared liberally with cheese, bit into it, washed it down with a little more wine. Vess watched her, biting back irritation.
What was the matter with the woman? As much attention as he'd rained upon her, as much care as he'd taken not to force her, not to hurt her, only to give her pleasure—and then finally, to bring her here, to clothe and feed her! Well, she no longer treated him with open contempt, but it was just below that carefully cool surface. Any other woman would have been hanging on him by now, pouting if he left her alone for hours at a time, blushing and giggling if he brought a meal such as this and hand-fed her as he was hand-feeding Ylia.