“Act as if I am your entire world. Act as if I am more important to you than your kingdom.”
“You are.”
She smiled. “Don’t ever say that to anyone but me.”
“Do you ever stop thinking of politics?”
“Only when I am thinking of the law.”
He grinned again. He held the blue silk to his face. “You’ve scented it with your perfume.”
“I hope it reminds you of me while you are away.”
“Perhaps I can think of some unique ways for us to use it when I return.”
The thought of that made her shiver. “You render me speechless, majesty.”
“I doubt that, highness.” He twined the silk around both their hands, joining them in an imitation of the kirok handfasting. “Are you certain you won’t join me? The nights will be cold without you.”
“I have no wish to travel north at this time of year. I’m enjoying my autumn without ice and snow. Besides, Cormac is ailing, and I don’t trust your uncle. You need someone here to watch the kingdom.”
“I suppose I knew you would say that.” He untied the silk and put his arms around her waist. “One more kiss?”
“If I must.” His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her. His hands slid up her back, under her hair, and his mouth drifted down her neck. She sighed. He is very good at this.
At last, he pulled away from her and stared down, satisfied. He smiled and lifted the blue silk. “Thank you for this. I will think of you every time I hold it.”
If it keeps you away from Olwyn Mac Rian, it will serve its purpose. “I am pleased that you like it.”
They walked out of the great hall arm in arm. He mounted his horse and reached down to grasp her hand. “Commander, I’m trusting you to be at the lady’s service while I’m gone. Please escort her wherever she’d like to go.”
Logan bowed. “As you wish, your majesty.”
Igraine met Braedan’s eyes. He trusts me. “Safe journey.”
He squeezed her hand and winked at her with a roguish grin. The drumroll began, and the king led the retinue out the castle gates.
Igraine’s eyes stung. Logan held out a kerchief. “Damn cold air,” she said.
“Of course, my lady.” He offered his arm, and together, they wound their way back to the castle.
Her days fell into an easy routine once the king’s retinue left. She heard petitioners with Cormac and Ronan, and together, the three of them conducted the business of the state and the castle. She wrote letters and waited for responses. She wandered the city, Logan and her ladies at her side, and greeted the merchants and commoners alike. The more she knew of them, the more she could picture herself as queen of Taura.
A week after the king’s departure, Logan came to her study one afternoon. One of her maids let him in, and Igraine looked up from her work. “Commander. What can I do for you?”
“I thought I might be able to offer you something, highness. It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to go riding?”
“I have a fair bit of work to do. Petitioners are trying to get home before winter snows hit. I don’t want them held up.”
“Perhaps you will find it easier to concentrate after some fresh air.”
His voice carried an urgency she’d learned to recognize. He gave a barely perceptible nod. “All right. Let me change.”
“I’ll have the horses saddled.”
When she arrived in the stables, he was waiting with a white mare and his own gray stallion. They rode toward the north gates of the castle and reined in near a large round stone building with a high roof.
The former smokehouse was one of the first buildings erected at the castle site. When the earliest kings and queens of Taura needed a place to stay while the great castle was built, they had used the building for living quarters. In later years, it was used for a smokehouse and then a storage building. At Igraine’s insistence, Braedan had ordered it made hospitable for the sayas.
Igraine didn’t relish the idea of seeing Sayana Muriel. “Must this be done today?”
He nodded as he helped her off her horse. “I wanted to send this lady off some while ago, but you were busy with the king. The lady has family in the north. If she leaves now, she can reach them before the snows are too heavy.”
“Who is it?”
“Saya Cait.”
Igraine nodded. She let Logan open the door for her and entered the building as she removed her riding hat and gloves.
The sayas had turned the interior of the building into a warm, inviting home. Logan had ordered bunks and modest furniture built for them, and the women had used every bit of it. Beds lined the curve of one side of the building, and other portions of the interior were dedicated for washing clothing, preparing meals, and storing food. A small door led to a fenced yard where they could walk on sunny days, and Igraine knew they were making plans to plant a small garden in the spring.
Sayana Muriel approached Igraine as the door closed. “Your highness,” she greeted. “It’s been some time. Have you brought us any news from Aliom?”
Igraine turned over her hat and gloves to another saya and shook her head. “Taurin ships are slow in autumn, sayana. If they were Eiryan, perhaps I would have some answers for you.”
Muriel’s calm smile creased her weathered cheeks. “It is well. Alshada protects us.”
I protect you. But Igraine stifled her irritation and smiled. “We’ve come for Cait today, I believe. Is she prepared?”
The dark-haired woman came forward. She curtsied. She’d lost weight since Igraine saw her last, and her robes hung from her in loose folds. “Your highness. You are a blessing from Alshada. I thought I’d never see my sister—”
“’Tis well, Cait,” Igraine said. “You can go see your sister.”
Logan cleared his throat. “I’ll wait outside.” He left the smokehouse.
Igraine undressed. “You know how this works?”
Cait nodded. “He’ll take me to the main road?”
“Aye. A man waits there with one of my maids, Deirdre. You’ll trade clothing with her, and the man will take you to an inn where the owners will give you supplies to help you go home.” She pulled off her riding habit and traded it for Cait’s linen underdress. When Cait had donned Igraine’s riding clothes, Igraine helped her bind her hair atop her head and hide it under the riding hat. “Keep the hood of your cloak up as well,” she told Cait. “The guards expect to see red hair. If they see black, they will question you.”
Cait swallowed hard and nodded. Her eyes were tired and drawn. “I can’t thank you enough, your highness.”
“Don’t thank me. This is Logan’s doing. I would see you safely to Eirya or Aliom in due course. He insists that you will be safer away from the castle.”
Cait nodded again. She embraced Muriel and a few other sayas and opened the door to find Logan waiting. He helped her onto Igraine’s white mare, and they galloped out of the north gates.
Muriel gestured to a chair. “Please, highness. Have a seat. We’ve just made tea. Would you like some?”
Igraine took the chair and arranged the saya’s white robes around her legs. “That would be lovely, sayana.”
Muriel nodded toward one of the younger sayas and then sat next to Igraine. “How do you fare in the castle, my lady?”
“Well, thank you.” She hesitated. “Sayana, there is some news, though not from Aliom. The king has made me an offer of marriage. I’ve accepted.”
Muriel’s eyes widened for a moment, but then she nodded. “Then you will refuse the kirok permanently.”
“The kirok was never my first choice, sayana. You knew that. I chose it to avoid an unwanted marriage.”
“And the usurper has convinced you that his cause is just?” Rare anger tinged the older woman’s voice.
A saya brought tea, and Igraine poured herself a cup and stirred honey into it. “He didn’t have to convince me of anything. I saw for myself. He is a better king than we expecte
d. I can do good in this position.”
“He stole his throne,” Muriel said in a low voice. “He had his cousin murdered and—”
“And he has done nothing that other conquerors haven’t done all through history, even conquerors the kirok has endorsed,” Igraine said. “Do you think I haven’t told myself all of these same things, then?”
“Saya Hana died fleeing his hand, and you would wed and bed the man who ordered it done.”
“He didn’t want anyone to die. Killing Hana was a mistake.”
Muriel shook her head. “No, your highness. I cannot endorse this.”
Igraine stood and pulled up the white hood of the saya’s robes. “Then it’s fortunate for me that I don’t need your approval. Excuse me.” She walked out the rear door of the building and into the yard, keeping her hood high so that no one would see her hair.
The time passed slowly under Muriel’s tense observation, though Igraine managed to avoid further conversation with the sayana by chatting with some of the remaining sayas. She counted eighty women remaining of the original one hundred four. We’ve helped more than twenty get free of this place, she thought. Seven weeks, twenty lives, and dozens of lies to the man I love.
When Logan finally returned with Igraine’s maid, Igraine was happy to exchange the sayada robes for the riding habit that Deirdre wore. The maid dressed in a simple serving dress and slipped out the door with a basket of linens to be laundered in the castle.
Igraine left the building without saying goodbye to Muriel. “Logan, let’s go riding.”
He blinked. “You said you had too much work.”
That was before I suffered Muriel’s glare. “I know. I need some air.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
They turned back to the north gate. The guards frowned in confusion. “Commander,” one said, holding out his hand. “Didn’t you already pass through with her highness?”
Igraine lowered the hood of her cloak. “Do you question the desires of your future queen, lad? Would you care to answer to the king?”
The man dropped his hand and bowed. “No, my lady, of course not. I—”
“I dropped a scarf. ’Twas a gift from the king and I’d like it back. You will let us pass.”
“Of course, your highness.” He stood aside, and Igraine and Logan passed through the gate.
When they were well away from the gates, Logan glanced at Igraine. “It might have been better to wait until the shift change,” he said. “They wouldn’t have questioned you.”
“I didn’t want to wait.”
Logan nodded. “Tension with the sayas, your highness?”
“I prefer not to discuss it.”
“As you wish.” He rode in silence for some time. “It’s been some time since we rode together. I’ve missed your company.”
She twisted the reins around her hands. “I’ve spent more time with the king.”
“As you should. As his betrothed.”
“Not officially.” She cleared her throat. “You’re still certain the sayas are in danger?”
“I am, especially after the attempt on your life.”
She sighed. “I don’t know how many more of these escapes I can manage,” she said. “My duties are expanded with the king away, and now that he isn’t here, Cormac and Ronan watch my every move. Can’t you use Deirdre? Dress the sayas in her servant dresses and let them find your man by themselves?”
He shook his head. “The guards are instructed to question any servants coming or going. They would not recognize the sayas as servants, and I doubt that any sayas could lie convincingly enough to get past the guards.”
“Then put men you trust on the north wall.”
“I can’t. Most of them went north with the king. I want him protected. The rest are in positions where I need their eyes and ears.”
She frowned. “Are there so few that you truly trust?”
“Yes.”
She tightened her hands on the reins. “There is much suspicion about what is between me and you. I can’t give Ronan more reason to speak against me to Braedan.”
Logan fixed his eyes ahead. “I will speak in your favor to the king. I will protect you from Lord Kerry.” He gestured ahead. “Let’s ride out to the lake.” Before she could answer, he spurred his horse northward, and she followed.
Cantering across the fields through the crisp autumn air cleared Igraine’s head. They rode around the lake, past the foot of Macha Tor, and back toward the castle. Logan indulged her in a race, laughing when she reined her horse in long after he crossed their agreed upon finish line. “Don’t go up against this one,” he said, patting the stallion’s neck. “He’s big, but he’s fast.”
“You cheated.”
“I did not,” Logan said over an indignant laugh. “You were distracted.”
She scoffed. “Well, let’s see how he does if I have a head start.” Before he could answer, she had spurred her mare into a full gallop toward the castle.
The pain struck suddenly. Her leg seized, and her hand flew to the arrow stuck in her calf. “Damn it!” Another arrow flew over her back. Igraine tumbled onto the ground and dove behind a tree. Blood stained her boot and skirt, and pain radiated up her leg. “Logan!”
The world spun with a sharp crack to her skull. A man’s hands and legs pinned her on the ground. She struggled to reach the knife in her boot. His hands tightened on her throat. She choked and writhed under him.
Blood sprayed her face, and the man fell off her. She shook her head to clear her eyes. Gentle hands helped her sit up. “Igraine. Are you all right?”
She nodded. The man lay next to her, dead, his head nearly severed. He was nothing—a lowborn thug dressed in plain homespun—but near his hand lay a royal-issue dagger. “Who is he?”
“I don’t recognize him. He’s not one of Braedan’s men.” He touched a raw place on her head. “You’ll have a good black eye. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“My leg—an arrow. Did you find the other one?”
“No.” He tied a long piece of cloth around her leg. “First an attack on you in the castle, now an attack in the king’s own forest. Where did you make such determined enemies?”
“I don’t know.” Her head spun and warmth drained from her arms and legs as she started to lose control of her muscles.
He examined the arrow, and she winced. “I can’t touch this. If it’s barbed, it will tear your leg up. I need to get you to Repha Felix.”
She nodded, but she was growing dizzy. “I don’t feel well.”
The world went dark.
***
Waking was a slow, tricky business. She tried to open her eyes, but she thought it would have been easier to dance in lead slippers. She heard herself moan from some incomprehensible distance. So thirsty. “Wa—” Her voice was barely more than a croaking whisper.
“Highness?” The repha’s voice. “Are you waking?”
She couldn’t nod. “Water.”
He fussed around her, and then a strong hand held her head up while cool liquid touched her lips. The fire in her throat faded with slow sips from a goblet. “My thanks.”
“Can you open your eyes?”
She tried again. Focus returned as she blinked and lifted her lids. The repha’s face hovered over her. “Castle.”
Relief tinged his smile. “Yes. Logan brought you back. The arrow was poisoned. I gave you an herbal remedy.”
She nodded. “Leg?” Talking seemed such an effort.
“It will be fine. Your boot stopped much of the blow. Thank the king for his insistence on buying you the finest leather.”
She tried to smile.
“Lie still, highness. You’re in the king’s bed. Your ladies are here. Logan and Lord Kerry are looking into what happened.”
“Cormac?”
“He went into the city this morning. No one has seen him since.”
She closed her eyes again. “Rest.”
“Of course.” He didn�
��t move away. “Highness, you wear a stone on your ankle. May I ask where you got it?”
She cleared her throat and rasped an answer. “Mother. Why?”
Silence. “No reason. We can discuss it further when you wake.”
She drifted to sleep as if lulled by the mere suggestion of it.
When she woke again, she wasn’t alone. She struggled to sit up. “Repha?”
A heavy arm fell on her chest, knocking her back against the bed. She screamed. Steel flashed. She pushed the hand away, the sting of the blade fresh against her neck. The man was on her bed, straddling her. “Repha—Logan—help!”
“Shut up!”
Her hand gripped his forearm and she locked her elbow, trying to keep the knife away from her. She pushed at the arm on her chest with her other hand, but he shifted it to press against her throat. Breath came only in choking gasps. The blankets and his body had her trapped. She opened her mouth, trying to breathe or speak, but nothing came out.
The door crashed against the wall. Another flash of steel flickered through faint light from a torch. Warmth soaked her blankets and night clothes as the man collapsed on top of her in death. Breath rushed back into her lungs, and she pushed the man off herself.
One of Ronan Kerry’s guards stood over her. “Highness, get up. The castle is under attack.”
She dragged her body to standing. “Who—what—”
“We don’t know. The sayas and kirons are dead.”
Her stomach lurched. She tried to put weight on her injured leg, but couldn’t. The man put an arm around her. “What happened?”
“We don’t know yet.” He supported her weight. “I’m taking you down to the dungeons.”
“The dungeons?”
“It’s the most secure part of the castle. There’s a room down there for this kind of thing.” He helped her hobble out of the bedchamber.
“My maids—”
“We’ve secured them in the servants’ quarters. They’re fine.”
“How did he get in here?”
“I don’t know. The guards outside your room are dead.”
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 30