“The Lord of Winter is not the only one with wolves prowling hereabout. Find these others, their mortal kin, and you will find the immortal fire.”
The final word lingered on the wind even after the last desperate tongues of flame consumed the remains. The fire extinguished, leaving only a dark stain on the grass and a circle of melted snow to show it had ever burned. There was nothing left of the girl on which it had fed.
A raven alighted on a branch overlooking the tracks that marred the snow. It spread its ebon wings and cawed.
“Ach,” grunted Callagh as she stood. “I suppose that’ll have to do.” She set off to the southeast, following the tracks with a frustrated grimace as she passed beneath the crow. “But a unicorn would have been nice.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ROSES IN WINTER
AEOLIL Vae sat alone in the small courtyard, her legs curled beneath her, sinking into the voluminous azure dress that flowed out and around her like a pool of liquid sky. Her auburn hair fell loose about her face, hanging down in curly tendrils only recently freed from tight formal braids. Her eyes, like her mother’s, were a deep royal blue that stunned with but a glance. Her skin was fair, her freckles betraying her love of the outdoors without blemishing her delicate appearance.
This was a quiet place, generally forgotten by the courtesans and sycophants that peopled King’s Keep. Her only company were the pearly marble statues of aulden children at play, the dual rows of redberry trees, and her own sullen likeness which stared back at her from the still waters of the rectangular reflecting pool. The solitude of this place made it her favorite retreat from the court and its bickering politics. The trees remained in bloom all year round, their trunks and limbs embraced by the tangled curls and red-blossom kisses of rose-vines and the weepy white clouds of fragrant dragonmist. Like many of the trees throughout the city, they were nurtured by some unknown enchantments the aulden had left behind. Here she could find peace with her thoughts, if but for a short time.
Aeolil knew it would not be long before Bleys or her suitors discovered her, and neither prospect held much joy for her.
Bleys rarely let her out of his sight, watching over her like a horned eagle even within the king’s stronghold where such attention seemed unnecessary. If an assassin could manage the feat of reaching this fortified retreat and breaching its formidable defenses, she doubted her name would be high on the list of intended targets. But Bleys had always been over-protective, even back at home, and here it was much worse. Perhaps it was understandable, considering her family’s more recent history. She could elude him for a short while, occasionally, but times such as this were rare. She was not overly fond of him. He was ill-humored and serious, stern, and not gifted at conversation. But he had served her family, and served them well, for as long as she could remember, so she had learned to tolerate his behavior.
He would find her soon enough.
She hoped to Illuné that she could avoid her suitors more successfully. She knew she must take a husband, and her mother refused to arrange a marriage for her yet, hoping that she could wed for love rather than position or title. Aeolil smiled at the thought. It was a nice gesture her mother made, but impractical. In these times of growing instability, it was more important than ever to cement or create alliances, and marriage was an expedient and successful way to accomplish both. She knew her duty, even if her mother would spare her from it.
Her parents’ marriage had been one of political beginnings. They had loved each other as two close friends might, but she knew there had not been real passion between them. Regardless of love, as a result of their union the Houses of adh Boighn and Vae were both strengthened. She must now do the same and find a man whose lineage and standing would offer something to the Western Marches.
She had little doubt what the suitors felt she offered. Aside from the obvious political advantages, she was a beautiful young woman. Because her legs were long and lean, her skin fair and her breasts and hips well-formed – because of this she was less a person and more a prize. Since her years of bloom, countless men of rank had pursued her. Their eyes picked over every inch of her skin, slipping their slithering gazes under her garments to take in all that they imagined was there. A shudder ran from the base of her neck down her spine and ended somewhere in the pit of her stomach, leaving a cold emptiness there. She wondered if men knew or cared how obvious were their wandering eyes.
No matter. She was guilty of similar, if not entirely equal, offenses. Often she saw people in terms of their potential usefulness or how they might represent political advantage. How sad, she thought, that people must be a web of possibilities rather than human beings to her. Sad, perhaps, but there was no helping it. It was simply how she was, and how she had always been.
A shaft of suns-light escaped the clouds and slanted through the water to shine with redoubled brilliance on the golden stones at the bottom of the reflecting pool. It was the moment she had waited and hoped for. In that instant the courtyard erupted in a dazzling shimmer of light that danced from the water and across the small statues, bringing them to life in a scintillating illusion of motion. Aeolil could almost hear the children at play as they ran without a care beneath the rose-vines and redberry boughs, their hair flowing about them as their voices rose and fell like the notes of a song on the wind. She could feel the iiyir crackle silently about her, within her and through her. Then, a heartbeat later, the shadow of a cloud silenced the imaginary music and laughter as it smothered the suns-light. The pool was dark and still, the stones dull and lifeless, and once more she was alone.
“There she is, Your Highness! I should have known!”
Bleys did not sound pleased. She heard his hard-shod boots patter against the stones of the stairway behind her but didn’t bother to turn. His Highness would certainly be Prince Hiruld, one of her more interested admirers, and one of her better prospects. He was attractive, no more than ten years her senior, and the king’s only living heir.
“Well, young Lady Vae, you had us on a merry chase!” The voice was resonant and powerful. “I believe Captal Malade was on the brink of panic.”
Yes, definitely Hiruld, she told herself. Aeolil rose, turned and curtsied in one motion. She came face to face with the tight sneer of Bleys’ disapproval. He towered over her, standing near six feet and two inches, his hulking frame attired in formal mail and tunic. A bead of sweat trickled down from where his polished iron helm met his brow, traversing the angular terrain of his hard features to dangle precipitously on his scarred chin. Smaller droplets were caught in the thick black mustache that dropped from above his lips down past the corners of his mouth and to the very edge of his face.
“Your mother shall hear of this,” he rasped quietly, his eyes locking with hers.
Aeolil stepped past her bodyguard and repeated her curtsy for Hiruld’s benefit. “My Prince,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Hiruld’s face was considerably more pleasant to look upon than that of Bleys. He had long, curling blonde hair that was well combed and scented, and features brightened by his rakish smile. In height he was even a finger’s breadth taller than Bleys, and his equal in girth as well. His gold and blue robes were fitted exquisitely and adorned with a variety of gemstones.
“Good news, this day,” he answered, offering his arm in escort. “Sometime between last night and this morning, Father’s favorite bard returned from his meanderings. He’s brought some barbarian curiosity with him from the Crehr ne Og. His understudy, I gather, and this really got Father’s attention. He’s quite anxious to hear them entertain, and he’s called a special luncheon for this afternoon. And I would have you at my table, if you please.”
She took his arm and nodded politely. She knew, in truth, she could refuse his arm no more than his invitation. “I would be honored, Your Highness. Why such urgency? My breakfast has yet had time to settle.”
“Yes, well, with the festival upon us in a day or two, who
will notice one extra feast? It has been a long while since last Brohan sang for us, and you know how his presence brightens the court, and Father especially.”
Aeolil nodded. The court had become a somber place. For every year that the war dragged on, every son who returned scarred and ragged or failed to return home at all, for every House that pulled its purse strings tighter and tighter as the financial burdens of conflict overtook their coffers’ gains, there was less and less to be mirthful or joyous about. Less of everything except tears. Since Vingeaux had fallen last spring, the king’s heavy heart was at the center of this depression. Now they needed the glow of Brohan’s voice and the wonder of his stories more than ever they had in years before.
“Yes,” she agreed, but withheld further comment as the prince led her back up the staircase and into the warm interior of the castle. Bleys came behind them at a respectful distance. She knew that Hiruld missed his older brother, and worried for his father’s health, but she also knew that he had neither the intent nor the ability to step into the power vacuum and assert the full measure of the House Royal’s influence on the splintering factions of the kingdom.
Of course, were she to marry him, she could help steer him in the right direction. She would make a good Queen. Agrylon never lost the opportunity to plant that thought in her fertile mind, the meddling bastard, but she knew it was true regardless. She was more than a match for Hiruld mentally, and had the common sense and practically that had been the hallmark of her line since Kiev won his land and title centuries ago. Not to mention the potential their children would have. Yes, there was much to say for such a union.
“Is my company tiring you?”
Aeolil looked up at the prince with a wide smile that washed away any concern from his face. “On the contrary, Your Highness, I was reflecting on the truth of your words.”
Comforted, the prince led their conversation into the small talk and irrelevant niceties with which he was accustomed when speaking with ladies. Aeolil paid him the appropriate respect and responded when necessary. In her heart, she longed for the stillness and silence of the glittering pool in the courtyard. In her mind, she prepared for entrance into the realm of the king’s court, where words could prove more deadly than steel. With but one misstep, she could lose her hard-fought standing with the House Royal, and worse even than that, betray her mother’s implicit trust. Her late father and brothers had once been expected to share this burden, but as the only surviving child, it was now hers alone, and she thrived on its inherent challenge as she hated its ever-looming presence.
Hiruld led them around a corner, still chatting away contentedly to himself, and Aeolil felt a warm burst of air rushing down the corridor to greet her face. They were nearing the Eastern Audience Hall, where the king entertained only the most favored of the aristocracy. Unlike the Grand Hall, where most of the king’s parties would be held during the festival, the smaller size of this venue allowed for a more intimate setting. The bards would sit at fireside with the nobility arranged before them in a semi-circle of finely appointed tables. The low stone ceiling, trimmed with ornately carved rafters, trapped in the heat and sound instead of letting them flit away aimlessly as in the vaulted heights of the larger chamber.
She stopped in mid-step as the gilded doors drew nearer. Bleys almost walked over her, so sudden was her halt, and Hiruld turned with a confused blink. The prince’s query dropped short when he saw her hands reach for her hair. He knew as well as she that though attractive enough, such a casual hair style was not befitting a lady of her station on the arm of the crown prince. Such a sight would prove fertile soil for gossip; and where gossip thrived, scandal soon grew with a healthy bloom.
“Your pardon, Lady Aeolil. I shall await you within,” he said, excusing himself with a gentleman’s nod. A moment later he had passed through the doors.
Bleys sent a smug, almost malicious smirk in her direction. She realized that Hiruld considered his departure a mark of politeness, leaving her to finish her womanly business in peace, but it was more a mark of stupid neglect. He, of course, had already seen her hair in disarray. What matter if he was present as she remedied the situation? Meanwhile, he had left no one but Bleys to guard the corridor from intruding eyes or inopportune approach. Then again, how was Hiruld to know that Bleys would choose inaction as his method of revenge for her temporary escape?
Aeolil worked her hair around her fingers and tried her best to approximate the intricate work it had taken her handmaidens an hour to perfect. Without a looking glass, she found it that much more challenging. She should not have let her hair, or her guard, down at all. Her visits to the secluded garden were a selfish indulgence – an attempt to live a life of her own instead of the life chosen for her. She must not show such weakness again. But, even as she pledged this to herself, she knew it was a distraction she could not give up.
She heard footsteps approaching from behind, somewhere around the corner as yet, and felt her heart race in apprehension. With her luck it would be Garath or Derrigin, young rakes on the prowl for any hapless victims on whom they could unsheathe their barbed tongues.
Bleys’ smile widened.
Bastard! she thought. He’s relishing this. Men and their damned court niceties.
Aeolil gritted her teeth, wondering again at the ridiculous pomp of life at court. In the more casual protocol of House Vae, a ponytail would have sufficed. But here…. Anything out of place was fodder for the political wolves and the rumormongers.
As if seeing my hair undone actually reflects upon anything of importance!
By all accounts, it seemed men actually preferred a lady’s hair wild and free, and yet took great measures to ensure they would rarely see it so. Aeolil had determined that all this foolishness was a product of their fear. Fear of awakening their own desires, fear of the self-control that would slip away and, worst of all, fear of rejection. She knew all this, and had spent her time at court harnessing their fear and forging it with her own wit and looks until she could wield the knowledge like a weapon. Unfortunately, the keener the edge became, the easier it was turned back upon her, and the deeper the wounds would be. This coming wound would not be severe, she realized, but it would be painful and bothersome all the same.
Or perhaps you’ve just become too proud, Aeolil, she chastised herself. Perhaps, at long last, vanity has conquered your common sense.
The footfalls grew ever closer, and a bright laugh reached her ear – they were right around the corner. She had no more time. The ridiculous situation enraged her so that her fingers fumbled with the final braid and sent it falling from her hands and over the horrified expression on her face.
To keep up appearances, Bleys stepped belatedly in front of her as the two men strode into view. The first, a tall beautiful man with dark skin and almond eyes of shining green, was wrapped in fine emerald and brown garments of elegant cut, a long cape fluttering behind him. The other was a boy recently become man, blond with pale blue eyes and handsome features lit by a flush of excitement. His garb was the same, absent the long cape that marked a master bard.
“Well met, Lady Aeolil!” exclaimed the first, his rich voice soothing and commanding. His eyes darted to her tangled coiff. “It appears you are a few strands shy of a proper braid. May I?”
“Master Brohan, you would honor me greatly!” she replied, returning Bleys’ smirk tenfold as relief washed over her. “Oghran has taken pity on me, it seems.”
The master bard came up behind her and began his work.
“Not much time, I’m afraid,” said Brohan casually as his fingers danced through her auburn tresses. “The young Lords Vespurial and Malminnion are but scant steps behind. Oghran’s pity, you know – rather fickle.”
Aeolil’s pulse quickened.
“No worry, though,” continued Brohan, popping his head around her left shoulder for a quick wink. “When young Calvraign here stops staring he’s apt to do something chivalrous.”
The young apprentic
e started at the mention of his name, blinking and averting his eyes as scarlet shaded his cheeks. “Yes, yes,” he stuttered. “At your service, milady!” He tripped on his feet as he rushed to turn around and then bounced off of Bleys with a grunt.
Aeolil could see Brohan’s grin out of the corner of her eye as his apprentice sprinted around the corner. Soon after there was a great crash of bodies to the floor and an indignant yell that was unmistakably Calamyr Vespurial’s.
“Oaf! You’d best watch where your leaden legs carry you!”
Aeolil could almost see the arrogant young lord’s furious expression as Brohan’s apprentice stuttered nonsense in response.
“Almost done,” whispered Brohan.
“Will he be all right?” she asked. “My pride is not worth so much as that.”
Brohan was silent for a moment as Garath Malminnion’s voice joined in scolding Calvraign, then answered, “If he keeps his head, he’ll keep his head. From the sound of it, they just want to remind him of his place. Besides, the great Captal Malade would not allow harm to a boy who just saved his charge from undue embarrassment. That would be a great dishonor, indeed.”
Bleys grunted, and his expression soured. “Ah, yes, I forgot myself,” he muttered with a decided lack of conviction. “I’ll see to him.”
“There,” said Brohan with a flourish. “I should have been a hairdresser.”
With a quick dip into his vest pocket, the bard withdrew a palm-sized silvered mirror and held it up for Aeolil to see. She gasped and smiled. Not only was her hair once again braided to perfection, but interlaced with her hair were several filaments of reflective silver silk which accented her deep blue gown in keeping with her House colors. She was impressed, and not only with the end result. Her time spent in Agrylon’s tower allowed her to identify a subtle use of the Craft in his effort, and that intrigued her most of all.
In Siege of Daylight Page 18