Carina made a mental note to see what Royster knew of vayash morumedicine. "I'll see what I can find," she said to Gwill. "And I'll make sure Taru checks on your granddaughter."
Carina looked out across the room. Women and small children huddled together. An elderly man held an equally elderly woman in his arms, and Carina could see that they were both bleeding. Malesh doesn't need the vayash moru to do his killing for him. All he had to do was set us on each other.
Midday, Lisette finally got Carina to stop and rest. They went into Dark Haven's pantry, one of the few rooms not overrun with refugees. Lisette gave Carina another glass of the noxious milk and blood mixture and watched as Carina choked it down. Carina was grateful for a few moments to sit down.
"You're deep in thought, m'lady."
Carina nodded. "Just thinking about Gwill." She looked at Lisette. "The vayash morucan survive injuries that would kill a mortal. I knew you healed quickly, but I didn't realize that there was still pain."
Lisette looked away. "Aye."
"Is it different from what you felt as a mortal?"
Lisette did not meet her eyes. "No. All that differs is that we endure it. And that very little can be done about it, since neither potions nor whiskey blunt it."
Carina remembered the charred skin on Gabriel's back the night Tris won back the throne from Jared, and the way Gabriel had taken the brunt of the glass shards that exploded across the room when the Orb shattered. He'd fetched her to heal Tris, never giving a hint that his own injuries were agonizing. Lisette seemed to guess her thoughts.
"It's a matter of opinion whether ours is a gift or a curse," Lisette said. "The pain lessens as you grow more accustomed to bearing it."
Carina thought of the scars that covered Jonmarc's body. Wounds heal, but not memory,she thought. She'd hoped to change that by becoming a mind healer, but now, time was rapidly running out. "We're only halfway through the room," she said, drawing a deep breath and rising. "And Neirin says there are more rooms full of refugees. Let's go."
Two of the mortal servants came to offer them the opportunity to rest for a few candlemarks, but Carina declined. Neirin came to lead Carina into another of the inner rooms. Carina looked around with a combination of wonder and horror. The room's occupants appeared to be all vyrkin. Some were too badly injured to change back to human form without assistance, with blood matting their fur. Others appeared fully human, with only the violet eyes to give them away. As Neirin had warned her, most were females with suckling pups, or with children too young to fight.
"I need more herbs, and some hot water for potions. Vyrkinare more like mortals-most of my poultices should work," Carina told Neirin. "And bandages. I need whatever Taru isn't going to use."
"Understood, m'lady."
Carina knelt next to a woman who had two small children in her lap. From what little Carina had learned about the vyrkinfrom Yestin and Eiria, she guessed the children were just barely old enough to shapeshift, but not old enough to hunt for themselves. "How long has it been since you've eaten?" Carina asked the woman.
"Not since yesterday." The young mother's face was drawn. "There were five sets of mothers and pups hiding in the caves. Our mates left us there for safety when they went to Wolvenskorn, to answer Lord Gabriel's call. We had been taking turns hunting so that someone was always left to watch the pups-children. But yesterday, Cadi didn't return. Nia went to look for her, and she didn't come back, either." The woman swallowed hard. "A few candlemarks later, I ventured out. I was one of the best trackers of our group. Almost from the time I left the cave, I could smell blood. Vyrkinblood." She glanced down at her two small children. "Do you speak Margolense?" she asked abruptly.
Carina nodded.
The woman switched into Margolense from Common. "I found their bodies in the woods, m'lady. They had been butchered like animals, slaughtered and skinned and their heads taken for trophies. I know it was them. I could tell by their scent." She began to shake with grief. "Nia was my sister. Cadi was my brother's wife. We birthed our pups together. I swear, m'lady, neither we nor our mates ever harmed a mortal." Carina took her in her arms and held her as the woman began to sob. Her children pulled at her sleeves, too young to understand but aware that something was wrong. "I also recognized the scent of her hunters," the woman sobbed. "They were neighbors of ours. We lived beside them in peace for years. Never once did we steal any of their chickens or sheep. Never." She pulled back from Carina and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
"We didn't know where else to come for shelter," she said raggedly, fighting for control. "My mate is cousin to Yestin. Yestin had told us of his trust in Lord Vahanian. We heard that Lord Vahanian went with Lord Gabriel to stop Uri's brood from killing mortals. But I swear to you, m'lady, no vyrkinever helped Uri or Malesh. So why do the mortals kill us?"
Carina's heart ached as she reached out to comfort the little girl who clung fiercely to the woman's arm. "It's not all of the mortals," she said quietly. "Please believe me. Just like it's only a few of the vayash moruwho've followed Malesh." Her words sounded hollow. Wars have started over less, between enemies equally mortal. First Jared burned the vayash moru. Now this. How much can anyone take, before they strike back?
Carina met the woman's eyes. "I give you my word as Lady of the Manor. So long as the walls of Dark Haven stand, you and your children will be safe here." She managed a tired smile as she looked down at the two children. "Let me talk with the kitchen. We need to see about some meat and milk for all of you."
Carina stood and stumbled. Elen, one of the servants, caught her, and Carina managed to steady herself. She could feel her knees buckle and Elen helped her out of the room and into a chair. Before Carina could stop her, Elen ran to bring Taru.
"You've pushed yourself too far, Carina," Taru chided gently.
"But there are so many of them. They're hungry and they're hurt and I can't even heal them the way I used to." Carina's voice showed her exhaustion and frustration.
"I've already spoken to Neirin about special food for the vyrkin," Taru said. "And thanks to the healing you and Lisette did before you were injured, there are several of the servants who are handy with the basics of cleaning and binding up injuries. But there's no one who can step into the Flow except you."
Reluctantly, Carina nodded. "Point taken." She looked up at Taru. "I'm running out of time. I know it. I want what's left to count." She thought she saw tears start in Taru's eyes.
"Rest assured, Carina. What you're doing counts. For all of us."
Chapter Eighteen
Tris Drayke rose from a restless night. He could see by the light against his campaign tent that the sun was already up, and guessed that once again, Coalan had let him sleep. With a groan, he sat up on his cot. Although he'd slept fully clothed, he shivered as the heavy blankets fell away. Southern Margolan was bitterly cold this time of year.
"You're up!" Coalan said cheerily. Tris had no idea how the young man managed to dredge up his seemingly endless enthusiasm, but it was one of the few things that made the war bearable. Coalan set a cup of steaming hot kerifon the table, adding the second, and possibly only, other item on the list of bearable things. Tris drank the hot, dark liquid, feeling it burn down his throat.
"Where's Ban?"
Coalan chuckled. "Are you asking as his friend or as the king?"
Tris looked at him warily. "Why?"
"Because he's out trying to see if we can round up enough sheep for a mutton stew for Candles Night tomorrow evening, to raise the men's spirits. Now his friend Tris might like the sound of that, since he was always partial to mutton as I recall. But King Martris ordered Uncle Ban to take it easy. So who's asking?'
Tris had to smile despite himself. "His friend, Tris. Although of late, that person comes around so seldom I don't recognize him anymore." Coalan was one of the few family friends to survive Jared's reign, and Tris treasured that friendship. Coalan, Carroway, Harrtuck, Soterius and Zachar were some of the very few who k
new him from before the coup and still treated him as "Tris" instead of "King Martris," at least in private. They were a link to memories of a time that was gone forever, and loved ones who would never return. And while Tris knew he did not have the luxury of dwelling in the past, those friendships at least gave him a way to keep the memories from fading.
"Good. Because he'd probably thrash me if I got him in trouble with the king." Coalan smiled broadly. "Breakfast will be here in just a moment. It's gruel again, but it's hot gruel."
"I spent the Birth Month in Principality last year, telling myself that Margolan's winters were so much milder," Tris said, holding the cup of kerifbetween his hands for warmth. "I can't believe I'm just as cold!"
Coalan nodded, and Tris knew the young man was wearing every piece of clothing he owned as well as a few he'd scrounged. "That's the Lady's truth, all right. Maybe it won't be much longer before we can all be home in our own beds."
Tris knew that Coalan had overheard enough of the battle planning to realize how unlikely that was, and to realize that many of the soldiers milling about in the camp beyond the tent would take their final rest here, on the wide open Margolan plains, before the battle was over. "I hope so," he said, pushing aside his own gloomy turn of thought.
Outside, the cook's bell rang and Coalan sprang to his feet. "That's the signal. I'll be right back with that gruel."
When he left, Tris set his kerifaside and walked to where a light covering of ash dusted the tent's packed dirt floor near an iron brazier. He squatted down and began to draw in the ash, trying to recall what he had seen in his dream. He traced a long, wide blade that ended in an ornate hilt. But what set this knife apart from others he had seen was the markings on the steel of its blade. In the dream, he had clearly seen a pattern of lines, as if the steel had been folded over on itself countless times, making a swirling design.
"Problem with the fire?" It was Ban Soterius, who stopped at the tent's doorway to brush off the snow that clung to his cloak.
Tris straightened hurriedly. "Just adding some coals." He managed a smile. "Coalan told me you were up early."
"Damn. That boy can't keep a secret." Soterius shrugged. "Since it looks as if we'll be going to battle tomorrow, I just thought keeping Candles Night might cheer up the troops. Not to mention that a little bit more meat, if the cook can manage it, wouldn't hurt. We've been feeding them mostly beans, roots and potatoes for weeks now."
"Excuse me." Coalan stepped around Soterius. He had the serious look he adopted when anyone else was present. "There's a messenger with a packet from Shekerishet." At Tris's nod, Coalan motioned for the messenger to enter. The young man bowed low, and then opened his bag for a large pouch sealed with the seneschal's mark.
Tris frowned as he took the pouch. "Did Crevan say anything when he gave you this?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"How long ago did you leave from Shekerishet?"
"Four days, Your Majesty. M'lord Crevan told me to ride hard, and I rode my horse as long as I dared."
Tris's sense of foreboding grew deeper. "That will be all," he said, waiting until Coalan and the messenger had left them to break the seal. He was aware that his heartbeat had quickened, and he feared that Kiara or the baby had come to harm. Inside the pouch was a single sealed letter, and Tris's fear and disappointment grew when he realized that the handwriting did not belong to Kiara.
"Is Kiara all right?" Soterius asked. "Do you want me to leave?"
Tris shook his head. "Stay, please." He moved to where the light was better and unfolded the letter.
Your Majesty.
It is with great trepidation that I write this, having postponed it as long as I dare, hoping that circumstances would right themselves and the matter would no longer merit your regard. Unfortunately, that is not the case.
There is no delicate way for me to break this most unpleasant news, and I apologize deeply in advance for the necessity of it. Rumors are thick at court that Master Bard Carroway and the Queen have engaged in an unseemly relationship. At first, I dismissed it as nattering. But over the last few days, it has become so widely spoken of as to attract even the attention of the Council of Nobles. I myself have witnessed nothing, but there have been those among the servants who have claimed to witness Carroway departing from the Queen's chambers at unusual hours, always alone and often looking as if he wished not to be seen. Since Carroway's reputation with the ladies is quite well known, such things have led to a level of discussion that has led the Council to meet today. I am not privy to their conversation, but word reached me that they are gravely worried about damage to the honor of the Queen, and by extension, to the Crown.
Your Majesty, it pains me greatly to write of these things and I wish it were not necessary to be the bearer of such dark news. To protect the honor of the Queen, I am taking the extraordinary measure to banish Bard Carroway from the palace until your return. Moreover, he is not, on pain of death, to be in the presence of the Queen.
I know that the temper of the Lady governs how quickly your battle concludes, but I pray you, please do not delay your return longer than is necessary. While there can be no doubt as to the father of the child the Queen carries, much has been said about the Queen's allegiance, and I do not know if we have already passed the point at which it may be repaired.
Ever your faithful servant, Crevan
Tris re-read the letter, feeling his heart pound. He crumpled it in his fist, trying to breathe. Beyral warned me that I would be betrayed again, by someone very close to me. Sweet Lady! This can't possibly be true.
"Tris?" It was Soterius's voice, and from his tone, it was clear that he had called for Tris before without answer. "Are Kiara and the baby all right?"
Not trusting himself to speak, Tris thrust the crumpled paper at Soterius and turned away, struggling for composure. He heard Soterius's sharp intake of breath a moment later as he read the damning letter.
"Crevan's mistaken. You know that, right? This whole thing is a lie."
Tris shrugged, struggling with the anger and pain that welled up inside him with an intensity he did not expect. "I don't know what to believe."
Soterius took a step toward him. "It's got to be Lady Nadine and her friends again. They never forgave Bricen for banishing her. What a way to take revenge!"
"Kiara hasn't written to me once since I left for the war," Tris said in a voice just above a whisper. "Not once."
"Maybe she hasn't been well. You said her mother had a difficult time of it when she was pregnant."
Another shrug. "Crevan's said nothing about that in any of his letters. The packets come weekly. Surely there was one week when Kiara felt well enough to send a note." Tris knew that Soterius could hear the hurt in his voice. Leaving a new bride behind and going to war was a miserable proposition. But to hear nothing in almost three full months...
"There has to be a reason," Soterius persisted. "Kiara and Carroway both nearly died to help you win back the throne. You told me that when you fought the Obsidian King you shared your life force with Kiara. You made a ritual wedding. Surely with your power you could see into her soul."
I thought I had."I'm new at this-remember?"
"Kiara risked everything for you. And Carroway has been your best friend since we were kids."
"You know the old tales as well as I do. These things happen." Tris knew Margolan's legends far too well to dismiss such a possibility. Too many of the downfalls of the kings of old came because of the treachery of a friend and the unfaithfulness of a queen.
"You can't be serious."
Tris turned around to face him, and he knew Soterius could see the pain in his face. "I really don't know what to believe, Ban," he said raggedly. "I've sent letters to her with every messenger. I've begged her for word like a schoolboy. No reply. What should I make of that?"
Soterius's glance fell to the drawing Tris had scratched in the ashes. "What's that?"
Tris gave a sharp, hard laugh. "That's what I see in
my dreams. That's why I don't sleep. For the last two nights, I've seen that knife. I don't know who's holding it, but every night, I see someone attacking Kiara with that knife and driving it into her belly." He closed his eyes and let out a breath. "I just sent a letter with yesterday's messenger, warning Crevan to increase security. As if there isn't enough to worry about with this war and the plague, I've been worried sick about Kiara." He ran a hand back through his hair, beginning to pace. "And now? I don't know what to think."
"Tris, it's Carroway we're talking about. After what happened with Lady Nadine, you know he didn't even touch another woman for two years. And after that ended badly, he went off by himself again-until he brought Macaria to court." Soterius shook his head. "Goddess! He watched her like a smitten puppy and never laid a hand on her, because didn't want to do to her what Nadine did to him. How many ballads did he write for her at Staden's palace? Did you ever once see a spark of anything but friendship between him and Kiara? Once?"
Tris sighed and shook his head. "No. I didn't. But if everything's all right, why hasn't Kiara written?"
"I don't know. But whoever's spreading these rumors could do as much damage as anything Curane does. If Donelan gets wind of it, he'd be within his rights to avenge Kiara's honor. And when you get back-"
"I know." When he returned, the rumors assured that the joyous reunion he'd sustained himself by envisioning since he left for war would not occur. At best, he'd become the arbiter, trying to salvage the reputation of his foreign queen. At worst, he would have to stand in judgment, condemning his best friend to death or banishment. And he'd be forced to confront Kiara. Tris had the power as a spirit mage to read her soul and know the truth of it. He did not know if he dared. Even if the rumors were true, there was no way for him to set aside his marriage to Kiara without declaring war on Isencroft. Neither kingdom would survive such a conflict. And in his heart, Tris doubted that he could ever set her aside. He was well aware that for him as a Summoner, "soul bonded" was exactly that.
Dark Lady's Chosen Page 20