“With all due respect, there are not.”
“Tell me,” Lucin replied with a sniff, “when you marry and have children, will you continue with this habit?”
Ilythra stiffened. “I do not have plans to marry or have children.”
A few of the women gasped.
“But my dear, it is the duty of all women to bear children.”
“My duties lie elsewhere.” Elsewhere. The word echoed in her mind. Where? She inclined her head. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must go see to Aclan.”
Ilythra made a hasty exit. There was more than one way to do battle, and she’d rather face a score of armed men than a single Lucin.
* * *
On the first night of Emdarech, Ilythra decided to break her self-imposed exile. She was feeling a little better, more herself and looking forward to learning about the celebration.
In a castle filled to capacity, torches lit up the main hall, filling the air with a smoky brilliance. Women swirled around the tables, leaning over to speak to seated guests and displaying abundant cleavage. The jewels in their hair caught the torchlight, reflecting it in brilliant sparkling shades. She saw Lucin glance her way, frown and continue speaking to a small, withered-looking man. For the first time, Ilythra felt out of place in her tunic and leggings. Cassia had suggested she have a dress made, but Ilythra had declined. What was she supposed to do with it when she left? Of course, maybe she was just being stubborn. What would it hurt? She would be here all winter. She’d dressed like a Heleini in the desert, why not blend in with the women at court?
Wine spilled from much-filled goblets, staining the rushes deep red as servants bustled about, trying to keep up with the demand. She’d meant to ask someone about the holiday before it arrived, but it had slipped her mind. But then, it seemed much had slipped her mind during the last weeks. She wondered why the thought didn’t alarm her.
An entire roast pig took most of the center of the table, surrounded by fruits, breads, jellies and an assortment of fowl. It was enough food to feed the entire village below. She spotted the captain of the guard leaning against a wall half in the shadows and made her way toward him.
“Greetings.” Rothit raised his goblet as Ilythra approached.
“And to you as well.” She leaned against the wall near him.
The captain stared over the guests, his face a study in disinterest.
“You look like you’re having a good time.”
“The best, of course, as is required by my station.” He scowled into the ruby wine in his cup.
Ilythra leaned closer. “I’ve meant to ask you, what is this celebration all about?”
He grinned over his goblet. “It’s an excuse to eat too much, get drunk and bed a willing woman.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, the wine. I’ve said too much.”
Ilythra smiled. It was obviously not the captain’s first glass. “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.”
“Before the first winter snow, they make an offering to the mountain gods—it’s a little complicated, but what they are offering is a little summer in exchange for a mild winter.” He moved an arm to encompass the torches. “They light the gardens too. Summer.” He shrugged. “It’s rumored that a long time ago, they offered a blood sacrifice as well. A life to appease the gods’ appetite for death in the hopes that life would soon return to the land.”
“You’re not from Greton?”
“No. West of the pass. A plainsman. My father and Erhard’s were friends. We moved here when I was a wee lad, but I’ll always be considered an outsider. My wife was born here.” He drained his glass and looked around for another.
Something was definitely bothering the captain. “You say plains as though it’s derogatory.”
“To some, it is.” His jaw clenched and unclenched. “No matter I grew up here.”
“Then you’re as much a social pariah as I am.” Ilythra retrieved a glass of wine from a passing servant. Rothit did the same.
“More. I’m not as interesting or beautiful.”
Ilythra fought the blush. She wasn’t used to compliments. Growing up with just her grandfather didn’t teach her to function in social situations. Give her a sword and she knew how to communicate. “But you’re captain of the guard. So you must be respected.”
“I proved myself time and again, but even that may not have elevated me to my present post. At one time, Erhard and I were friends.”
“No more?”
Rothit shrugged. The lines on his face seemed to deepen. He stared into his goblet.
Apparently it was a sore subject for the man. “I thought the people of Greton worshipped the sun?”
“Some do. There is a small chapel in the castle somewhere.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“Sun worship is a religion many adopted from the plains people, though they’d never admit it. Traditionally, the people of Greton worship the mountain god. In the winter, his voice booms over the valley. He brings snow, sometimes as a blessing—stored in the mountain heights to water the crops in the summer—or as a curse, to bury the living while they yet breathe.” Rothit gulped his wine. “Like all gods, he’s fickle.”
Were all gods fickle? Someone had told her a story once about a god who hadn’t seemed fickle—a story that involved her stone. She struggled to remember. Frustrated, she surveyed the guests wandering around the room, standing in groups, laughing or meandering by the table, selecting treats to eat. There was an overabundance of food for those gathered. “How do the villagers celebrate?”
A shadow crossed the captain’s features. “As best they can. In years past, there have been lines waiting outside the castle wall. If Erhard feels generous, anything we don’t eat will be given to them.”
“And if he isn’t feeling generous?”
“Then they go home hungry and make do.” He finished the wine. “If we appease the mountain gods here, then it helps the villagers too.”
Ilythra examined Rothit’s eyes. He didn’t believe his own words. The inequality between the servants and nobility was severe and didn’t mesh with what she knew about the king. Or did it? Erhard had said something that bothered her recently. Why can’t I remember? “And the servants, do they celebrate?”
“On the last day of Emdarech, the servants are free from any demands. They usually keep to their quarters and celebrate the holiday in a far less ostentatious manner.” His nostrils flared and he gazed across the room.
“How many days of Emdarech are there?
Rothit held up a hand. “Five.”
Ilythra nodded.
He turned his gaze on her, intense despite his many glasses of wine. “Are you feeling better?”
She shrugged. “Yes. I think so.” She was, save for the occasionally memory lapse, which had to be from lack of sleep.
“Good.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You had me worried. How is Aclan?”
“Angry that he couldn’t come down and celebrate. I don’t want his stitches opening.”
Rothit nodded and returned to his relaxed stance against the wall. “He’s a fine boy. You know he has a crush on you?”
Ilythra shrugged. She had noticed. By age he wasn’t much younger than she was, but she felt ancient next to the boy. Affection brought a smile to her mouth. “That’s normal. I’m spending a lot of time with him. He’ll get over it.”
“But will his father?”
“What?” The smile fell. What was he talking about?
“Never mind, it’s the wine speaking again.” Rothit stood straight. He gripped Ilythra’s elbow and pulled her close. “When we last spoke I’d guessed, but now I know.” Rothit looked around. “Heed an old solider. I’ve served the king loyally for many years. Something’s not right. The air tastes wrong. There has been no war
in my time but... Perhaps it’s in the blood. I sense battle. And Erhard...” Rothit looked up, his face draining of color. “Sorry. I’ll tell you more later,” he mumbled, squeezing Ilythra’s elbow.
Ilythra looked around but could see nothing that would have frightened the captain. She wove around the guests to follow Rothit. A hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see Erhard smiling at her.
“It’s time to sit. Come.”
Ilythra glanced toward the doorway. “I was going—”
Erhard followed her gaze. “Going? Dinner will be served shortly.”
She looked up at Erhard. He was right; she’d talk to Rothit later. It didn’t seem so important now. She offered Erhard her arm, and he led her to the table.
* * *
Ilythra walked in the gardens outside the great hall as sounds of merrymaking drifted on the cool night air. When she could no longer stand the claustrophobia, noise and the stuffy air of the hall, she’d asked Erhard to be excused, checked that Aclan was sound sleep, grabbed her cloak and walked down the damp halls to the garden. Now she kept to the edge of pools of light from torches standing along the path, throwing ghostly shadows over the naked plants.
The wind carried the scent of decay, moldering leaves buried beneath their brethren. Naming the plants out of habit as she walked along through the meandering path, she glanced up to see she’d almost reached the end of the gardens. The finger of forest hid her view of the lake but if she concentrated, she could hear waves lapping at the sandy beach. She closed her eyes, remembering another sandy beach. She missed the roar of the ocean. It was in her blood. Although she didn’t worship the great waters, like those who lived along the coast, she called it Mother still. It seemed appropriate.
Ilythra paused before a bare tree, branches twisted, embracing one another against the cold autumn night.
“Those who wait to live are those who never live at all.”
Ilythra crouched and spun on the balls of her feet. Bredych sat on a bench behind her. How had she not sensed him? “Who are you?” She stepped closer to him. A spark of anger warmed her breast. “And why do you want me here?”
“I wonder what people see when they look at you. Perhaps a strong woman, a warrior, or do they see a compassionate healer? Mmm. You are beautiful. But has anyone ever seen past Ilythra to the woman inside?”
More compliments. Ilythra tried to shrug them off, but she couldn’t deny the strange pleasure they brought. She sensed no lie in the words. “I asked who you were.”
“You know who I am.”
She reached for her missing sword out of reflex. Her weapons were in her room.
“You can’t kill me, you know? Oh, I see you didn’t.” He sounded surprised, but she knew that at least was false. “But then, I can’t kill you either. A forced truce, so to speak.” He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back into the bench. “You see, as long as I hold Crioch, I’m out of your reach. If you were to kill me to get the stone, it would be destroyed and your mission failed.” He leaned foreword. “Zeynel didn’t explain that? He must have been slipping in his waning years.”
He hadn’t. But then, he hadn’t explained many things. She didn’t acknowledge the sense of betrayal that came with the knowledge. “He didn’t have time.” She fanned the anger, urging it to grow.
“No? All those nights alone in the Faisach. How long did it take me to tell you?”
He was right. Why hadn’t Zeynel told her? The anger drained from her body, leaving her limp. “What do you want with me?”
He breathed deeply. Bredych stood. “I think we can do better than a forced truce. I say we call a cease-fire out in the open.”
Ilythra didn’t take her gaze off him.
Bredych smiled. “There is so much I can teach you. So much you need to know. As a show of good faith, I’ll answer a question. But first, an observation.” He stepped closer. His dark eyes gleamed with the light of the stars. “I see a woman who has been strong all her life but whose innermost yearning is to find strength in someone else. Can you imagine letting yourself go? Letting someone else be strong?” He took another step closer. The heat of his body warmed her skin. “No? I see a long, lonely path stretching both behind and before you. A path of your own choosing? Did you choose it, Ilythra, or was it chosen for you?”
Ilythra stood, mesmerized by his eyes. She opened her mouth to refute his statement then closed it. Shock, betrayal and stunned disbelief stilled her tongue. It was chosen for her. But she’d accepted it. Hadn’t she? That made it her choice. Yet she was no longer sure.
“Who am I?” Bredych stepped near, his skin luminous under the starlight. His breath warmed her cheek. “I think the better question is who are you? Who have you become?” Bredych drew his cloak around him. “What do I want with you? I want you to see your full potential.” He walked away, his feet making no noise as he melted into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Thank you, I’ll be right there.” Ilythra shut the door.
“What is it?” Aclan sat up in bed.
“Your father wants to see me.”
An expression of concern passed over Aclan’s face. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, why?” Ilythra marked the page of the book about ancient Greton kings she’d been reading aloud and placed it on the chair. She wanted to see if she could determine just how long Bredych had been in Greton.
“You look worried to be summoned by my father and you’ve been on edge and preoccupied all morning.”
Ilythra sighed. The prince was right. She’d slept fitfully again, unable to get the encounter with Bredych out of her mind. When she finally gave up and rose from bed, she skipped breakfast, finished her exercises and went directly to the stables where, after standing still for what felt like most of the morning, she was rewarded by Melior letting her stroke his luxurious coat. Then she’d dragged herself back to her room to clean up and check on Aclan.
“Your father’s summons doesn’t worry me. He’s been very busy lately and this will give me an opportunity to tell him that with his permission, and as long as you don’t overdo it, you should be able to come down to celebrate with everyone else tonight.”
Aclan’s smile lit his face for a moment then disappeared into a frown. “Clever, but it’s not going to work. If not my father, what has you so upset?”
Ilythra waved her arm, dismissing his worries. “Too much celebrating. I shouldn’t keep your father waiting.”
“All right, but if you want to tell me, you know I will guard the information with my life.”
Ilythra smiled and moved to open the door.
“But you’re serious about coming down to celebrate?” His voice sounded hopeful.
“Yes. You’re healing fast. No infection, no more fever. Keep the cream and the bandages on and you should be fine. Oh, but no wine or ale or women.”
Aclan arranged his features in a false scowl. “Then how am I supposed to celebrate?”
She laughed. “I’ll change the bandages when I get back. Stay put.” Ilythra made her way down the corridors and stairways that led to Erhard’s office. Why had he called her?
She paused before the door and knocked.
“Come.”
“You sent for me?” she asked she entered the room.
“Yes.” Erhard moved away from the fire. He seemed preoccupied. “Please sit.”
Ilythra sat on one of the chairs while he paced the room. Maybe Bredych had said something to him. He was acting oddly.
“How is Aclan?”
“Good. I’ll remove his stitches soon. He will still have to be very careful. No strenuous activity for a while but I told him if he had your permission, he’s healthy enough to attend dinner tonight.”
Erhard nodded as though he didn’t have time for deta
ils. “Whatever you think is best.” He cleared his throat and stood nearby. Shifted his weight from foot to foot. “It’s customary on the first day of...I mean, and treating Aclan...I wanted you to know how grateful I am.” The king sat down across from her. “I have something for you. A gift to show my gratitude.” He reached to a low table for a small wooden box inlaid with pieces of colored glass resembling a miniature garden and handed it to her.
Confused, Ilythra opened it to find small glass earrings nestled in a bed of red silk. Each globe was spiraled blue and gray and filled with a clear liquid. She held one up to the light and then brought it to her nose. She breathed deep and smiled. She detected rose but with a musky undertone that was unfamiliar to her. Very nice.
“Do you like them?”
Erhard seemed so nervous a rush of tenderness for the king filled her. “Yes. They’re beautiful.”
“Put them on. I had them made for you.”
Ilythra clasped them to her ears; a waft of the fragrance brushed her face. It was similar to the scent on her bed linens. A question formed in her mind but dissipated.
“Oh, they are beautiful on you.” His eyes shone.
For a moment, he appeared young and vulnerable. Ilythra grasped his outstretched hands. “Thank you, Erhard.”
“I am so glad you like them. You will wear them?”
“Yes. Of course.” She shook her head slightly. The delicate glass swayed with the movement.
He glanced down to the floor then back up to meet her eyes. His gaze was somber. “I also wanted you to hear it from me instead of the gossips around the castle, since it seemed the two of you had developed a friendship.” He paused. “Rothit was found dead this morning. It appears he was making his way to the top of the keep and slipped on the steps. They’re icy this time of year. They found him early this morning. He broke his neck in the fall.”
A wave of shock hit her body, lifting then dropping her without thought. They require a blood sacrifice.
“Ilythra, you’ve paled.” His grip tightened. “Perhaps... Do you want to lie down? I can summon—”
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