A Muddle of Magic

by Alexandra Rushe

  The doors to the fast opened and the rowan charged down the steps and into the fray with a small army of men. The arrival of enforcements broke the nerve of the assassins, and they fled into the snowy night.

  “After them,” the rowan shouted. “A hundred trones to the man who brings me one of the knaves alive.”

  The guards exchanged startled glances and took up the pursuit.

  “That’s got their blood up,” Raven said, striding up. “A hundred trones is a princely sum.”

  “And worth it if we find the person responsible for this sedition. These men did not work at their own behest. Of that, you can be sure.” The rowan knelt beside a man in the snow. “This one lives. We’ll squeeze him until he talks.”

  “Pardon, m’ lord, but this man was with us,” Raven said, “and he fought most valiantly.”

  “Did he?” The rowan got to his feet. “I’ll have Gertie see to his wounds, then. I wouldn’t trust that quack Hedda’s named court physician to treat my boots.” He motioned to several young men dressed in finery. “Carry this man inside to the Old One.”

  “But, Your Grace, our clothes,” a man in a velvet doublet and breeches protested. “The fellow is covered in blood.”

  “I don’t give a hang about your trumpery,” the rowan roared. “See to it, at once.”

  Their heeled shoes slipping and sliding on the icy ground, the young men hastened to obey.

  “Fop doodles and sycophants,” the rowan muttered as the courtiers lifted the injured guard and carried him away. “That’s what I’m surrounded by. Excuse me. I must see to this mess.”

  He stalked off, issuing orders to the servants and soldiers who had drifted out of the fast.

  Raven bounded up the steps to the landing, his dripping sword in one hand. Blood spattered his leather jerkin, but he was otherwise unscathed. “Raine, are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m quite all right.” Raine released her death grip on Lúthon’s mane and slid off the horse’s back. With a shudder, she stepped around a puddle of congealing blood. Now that the fighting was done, reaction had set in. Her legs shook, and she felt sick to her stomach.

  “Lúthon and Mauric were splendid,” she said, sucking cold air into her lungs. She would not throw up.

  “Aye.” Raven turned to Mauric. “That was a fine throw. In the dark and with it snowing like a fiend, no less.”

  Mauric shrugged and nudged the dead man at his feet. “What roguery is this? The scoundrel wears the king’s colors.”

  “I don’t know, but I mean to find out,” Raven said.

  “Tro, you should see your face, cuz.” Mauric grinned. “You’re as grim as one of the Aratuk.” At Raine’s murmur of confusion, he added, “Battle hags, Raine, gray skinned with three hooked fingers on each hand, and nasty sharp teeth. They reside in Skelf and reap the souls of the unworthy.”

  “Lovely.” Raine glanced around nervously for the ghouls Mauric had described.

  “Oh, you won’t see them tonight,” Mauric said. “It takes a major battle to rouse them.” He gave Raven a hard look. “Why don’t you have a wash, cuz? You look as though you’ve slaughtered a pig. I’ll see to your horse.”

  “My thanks,” said Raven.

  “Happy to do it. Been itching to get better acquainted with him.”

  “Lúthon belongs to no man,” Raven said. “We’re friends. Right, boy?”

  He stroked the steed’s neck and Lúthon snorted in agreement.

  “Aye, and we’ll be friends, too, won’t we, boy?” Mauric said, chuckling when the stallion rolled an eye at him. “What’s this, a skeptic? Has Raven been filling your ears with rubbish? Never mind. A rubdown and a bucket of my special mash will sweeten you up.”

  Mauric led the horse down the stairs and into the night.

  The king of Finlara stalked onto the landing, his handsome face dark with fury. “My apologies, milady. We’ll get to the bottom of this attack, I promise you, as soon as my men return.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Raine drew an unsteady breath. “You think the attack was meant for me?”

  “Who else?” The king locked gazes with Raven. “Unless you’ve enemies?”

  “Any man worth a tinker’s dam has enemies,” Raven said, “but I agree that these men were after Raine. Furthermore, I suspect Glonoff was behind the attack. He’s already tried to do the lady harm more than once.” He pointed to an inert figure on the stairs. “Ask him who’s pulling the strings. I set the rogue aside, apurpose. Clouted him in the head so he couldn’t run.”

  “Set him aside, did you?” The rowan’s harsh expression eased. “Like a spare loaf of bread?”

  “Aye,” Raven said.

  The rowan laughed and motioned to an enormous man who hovered nearby. “Hjalfin, carry our spare loaf inside. I’ll want a word with him when he wakes.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the big man said.

  The rowan offered Raine his arm. “Allow me to take you out of the weather, milady.”

  Raine placed her fingers on the Mark of Finn and felt a sharp tingle through her gloves.

  “The Mark recognizes you,” the rowan said, smiling down at her. “Come along.”

  He guided her across the snow-crusted landing to the massive wooden doors of the fortress. Hjalfin trudged behind them carrying the unconscious man. They stepped across the threshold and into a large hall. The space was surprisingly warm. Hot air curled from grates in the stone floor. Whatever system was employed to heat this immense pile of stone, the same method was used in the stable that lodged Flame, half a league away.

  Torches sputtered in brackets along the flint walls. Raine looked up. The ceiling was dense with shadows. Long, narrow windows framed patches of night, ghoulish eyes staring down at them. A tapestry flapped in the wind.

  A slender woman entered the hall and glided to the entryway. “Husband,” she said, closing the doors against the snowy night. “Something is amiss?”

  “Yes, by the Bear,” the rowan said. “Our guest has been attacked. By Finlars, no less, and on our doorstep.”

  Husband? Raine studied the woman with interest. The queen of Finlara was a cool blonde, with delicate features and light blue eyes. Hedda’s silver gown was cinched tight, accentuating her tiny waist. White fur lined the rounded collar of her gown and tipped the ends of her bell-shaped sleeves. She was neat and elegant, and precise to a fault. Suddenly self-conscious, Raine slid her chapped hands and dirty fingernails beneath her cloak. She hadn’t had a real bath since Gambollia, and her clothes were travel stained, her boots caked with sea salt.

  “Lamentable.” Hedda twined her slender fingers together. “The ruffians have been apprehended?”

  “But one.” The rowan jerked his chin at the insensate man. “Raven kept this lump of gog shit in reserve. My men will apprehend the rest.”

  “Roark,” Hedda said, curtsying to Raven. “The ladies will be overjoyed at your return. It has been some years since you last graced us with your presence.”

  Raven bowed. “My affairs have kept me occupied.”

  “Your affairs?” Hedda’s brows rose. “You are rather famous for them, are you not?” Raine gasped and the queen’s pale gaze moved to her cloaked figure. “But I am remiss,” Hedda said. “Welcome to Rowan Fast, Princess Rana. We received word of your arrival.”

  “My name is Raine, Your Majesty.” Raine managed an awkward curtsy. “And I am not a princess.”

  “Indeed? The Shad Amaran emissary would have it otherwise. He is most eager to meet you.”

  “He is? I’m not—that is, I don’t—”

  “The lady is fatigued,” the rowan said abruptly. “Be so good as to see to her comfort. She’ll want a bath and a hot supper.” He gave Raine a look of enquiry. “Unless you prefer to dine in the lower hall with the members of court? You would be most welcome.”

 
“I have already made arrangements for the lady to dine in her room,” Hedda said in a bored voice. “I assumed she would be fatigued from her journey.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Raine was relieved. “I am rather tired.”

  The rowan gave her a slight bow. “As milady wishes.”

  “Princess, if you will follow me.” Queen Hedda turned and strode gracefully to a huge door in the middle of the hall.

  Raine bobbed a hasty curtsy at the rowan. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your hospitality, and for granting me sanctuary.”

  “Sanctuary?” Hedda paused with her hand on the door to stare at the rowan. “Have you taken leave of your senses? I assured Lord Joresh—”

  “Then you have presumed,” the rowan said. “I have offered Joresh no assurances.”

  “But, what of Glonoff? Surely you can’t have considered the implications of—”

  “It is done. See to our guests.”

  Hedda’s mouth thinned. “As you command, m’ lord, but you will deal with that animal.”

  “Animal?” The rowan frowned. “What animal?”

  “The troll,” Hedda said. “She is dirty and ugly, and she has a foul mouth.”

  “She is my mother,” Raven said in a tone as cold as frosted iron. “Lest you forget.”

  Hedda arched a brow. “Forget? Not likely. Everyone knows the tale. How you were cast aside by your mother and raised by that monster.” Hedda shrugged. “Better than being left for a rock troll to eat, I suppose.”

  “Enough,” the rowan said. “Glogathgorag stays, howsoever long she likes. If her trollish form offends your delicate sensibilities so greatly, seek out your kin in the north until she departs.” He bowed to Raine. “I regret, milady, to have served you so thin a slice of Finlaran hospitality. Things will be pleasanter on the morrow, I promise.” He motioned to Hjalfin. “Come. Let us endeavor to wake this sorry fellow. I would hear what he has to say.”

  “I will accompany you, sire, if I may,” Raven said, his flinty gaze on the queen. “I have a personal interest in the matter.”

  “As you like.” The rowan stalked through the heavy wooden doors with Hjalfin and disappeared into the fast.

  “Milady.” Raven kissed Raine’s hand. “I bid you good e’en.”

  “Must you?” Raine glanced at Hedda and whispered, “I don’t think the queen likes me.”

  “Then we are a pair.” Raven smiled down at her. “You are the king’s guest. She will accord you every civility.”

  “What of Chaz?” Raine gave him an anxious frown. “How will he know where to find me?”

  “He will be brought to you straight away, as soon as he arrives.” The rigid line of Raven’s jaw softened.“No need to be pothered. Gurnst will keep the boy safe.”

  With a curt nod at Hedda, he strode after the rowan, leaving Raine alone with Hedda.

  “I am his queen, yet, he did not take his leave of me,” Hedda said. “But, then, how can he be expected to have manners when he was raised by a beast?”

  “Gertie is not a beast,” Raine said quietly. “She is my friend.”

  “Naturally, you would feel that way, having been in her company. But, now that you are at court, you will have your choice of companions.” Raine remained silent, and Hedda tilted her head to regard her curiously. “The boy you spoke of, he is your son?”

  “No, an orphan in my care.”

  “Another stray? How tiresome.” Hedda turned her back on Raine. “Come along. I will take you to your quarters.”

  She swept through the door without waiting to see if Raine followed. Raine trailed after her, stepping into the adjoining room, and halted in astonishment. The chamber was mammoth, with three huge fireplaces on each side of the room, stone furnaces vast enough for a warrior to stand upright. Logs sat, ready to be kindled. Stretching the length of the room was a gleaming table of polished wood, fitted with matching benches. In the center of the table was a large nef in the shape of a bear standing on his hind legs. The bear held a shallow bowl of salt in one outstretched paw, and a bowl of what looked like black pepper in the other.

  Raine’s stomach tightened. This was the banquet hall where, the following night, the rowan would announce that he’d granted her sanctuary, a proclamation tantamount to a declaration of war, and everyone would know that she was to blame.

  “This way.”

  Hedda’s frigid voice drew Raine from her thoughts. The queen stood poised at the bottom of a curving staircase that led to the upper floors, her skirts trailing behind her in a silver froth.

  Hedda floated up the steps and Raine hurried after her, the heels of her boots ringing on the stone floor. At the top of the stairway was another door, and through that, a long hall. The queen led Raine down seemingly endless corridors, past numerous towers, stopping, at last, before a heavy door of pale oak inlaid with leaves and twining flowers.

  “This tower has a fine view of the cliffs and the ocean,” Hedda said in her colorless voice.

  She opened the door, revealing a hidden staircase, and started up the winding steps without a backward glance. Raine climbed after her. The stairs ended in a broad landing. On one side of the landing was a thick door engraved with marigolds.

  Hedda threw open the door. “Your rooms.”

  Raine stepped inside and was pleasantly surprised. She’d halfway expected something dreary, given Hedda’s chilly reception, but the chamber was large and richly appointed. A fire crackled on a massive stone hearth with a sandstone mantel. Cushioned chairs sat near the hearth and against the wall, for visitors. The stone tower walls were hung with colorful tapestries. One of them depicted a handsome blond lad standing over an injured troll. Sword raised, he defended her from a group of wicked-looking men. On another tapis, a rabbit streaked ahead of a slender hound.

  “The story of Finn,” Raine murmured, moving closer to examine the hanging. The stitches were so finely wrought, the figures in the tapestry seemed to move.

  She wandered to a bank of windows. Outside, the storm raged, and the wind tossed snow against the panes in heavy whispers. A tremendous wooden trunk, ornately carved and fitted with soft cushions, sat beneath the windows. Raine tested the pillows. This would be the perfect place to gaze out to sea or study her lessons. She crossed the room to the hearth. A chair with carved bear heads atop the arms and claw feet at the base sat by the fire. In front of the chair was a padded footstool.

  “This is lovely,” Raine said, turning back to the queen. “Thank you.”

  Hedda moved to a square table near the fire and lifted the cover from a tureen. Steam wafted into the air. Raine’s stomach growled at the tantalizing aroma.

  Hedda lifted a brow. “I take it you would prefer to dine before you bathe?”

  Raine flushed. “Yes, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  Replacing the lid on the serving dish, Hedda clasped her hands. “Your bedchamber lies through yon door. I have provided you with a gown and a robe until your things arrive. I will also have a trundle bed brought up for the foundling, if you like.”

  “Thank you,” Raine said, “but I suspect Chaz will wish to stay with Tarin. He and Raven’s cabin boy have become friends.”

  “A cabin boy? And you encourage such low acquaintance?”

  “We were at sea a long time, and Tarin was the only other young person on board. Chaz is quite fond of him.” Raine met the queen’s haughty gaze. “As am I.”

  Hedda’s brows rose, but she made no further remark. Going to the door leading into the other room, Raine peeked into the bedchamber. The room was spacious and fitted with its own fireplace. A large canopied bed hung with heavy curtains sat against one wall. The bed curtains had been pulled back and the covers turned down. The mattress looked plump and inviting. A maid knelt beside the hearth, tending to the fire. She jumped up, whirling about when Raine turned the latch. She was young,
with large doe eyes and a pleasant, round face.

  “Hello,” Raine said, entering the room.

  “M-milady.” The girl flushed and curtsied.

  “Drifa,” Hedda snapped, coming through the door. “Don’t stand there, stupid girl. Take the lady’s cloak and gloves.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Drifa hurried over to Raine. “Milady?”

  Raine tugged off her gloves. Untying the strings of her cloak, she handed the garments to the servant. “I’m afraid they are sadly stained.”

  “Drifa will see to them,” Hedda said. “If they are not cleaned to your liking, she will be dismissed. There are peasant girls aplenty in Finlara.”

  Drifa turned pale.

  “I’m certain that Drifa will do a good job.” Raine smiled at the quaking servant. “Right, Drifa?”

  “Oh, yes, milady.” Drifa clutched Raine’s garments to her chest. “I’ll work hard for you, I promise.”

  Raine turned to face Hedda. “There, you see? Drifa and I shall do splendidly together.”

  Hedda regarded her thoughtfully. “You are Hara’s sister, and no doubt, but you are much too thin, and your hair is a fright.”

  Raine stiffened at the queen’s calculated rudeness. I will not let this woman bait me, she thought.

  “In truth, Your Majesty, I am much improved,” Raine said, pasting a bright smile on her face. “Mauric once likened me to yesterday’s stew.” She paused. “Or was it porridge? I forget.”

  Hedda’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the entrance of two men carrying a large wooden tub.

  “Ah, they’ve brought your bath.” Hedda motioned to the servants. “Bring the tub in here. No, dolts—put it by the fire. Drifa, don’t stand there gaping. There is work to be done.”

  Drifa scurried to the fire. Removing two warming pans from the bank of glowing coals, she placed them between the covers on the big bed. Servants streamed in carrying buckets of hot water. They emptied the pails into the wooden tub and went back for more.

  “The castle is heated by hot springs below the mountain,” Hedda explained as the servants prepared Raine’s bath. “Unfortunately, the tower faces north, and the vents are inadequate, which makes this part of the fast cold. However, as I said, the view is spectacular.”