There was a quiet tap on the same private door Jacyne had used, and then it opened a crack and Rawl slipped inside.
"You sent for me, Your Majesty?"
"That I did. I have another, um, special assignment for you."
Rawl grinned. "I'm your man, as Your Majesty ought to know by now."
"Hmmm, yes," Florian said, a little sourly. His man had been paid well enough.
And would be again, once he learned what Florian had in mind. "There is a certain lady newly returned to the castle. She was taken once, and returned before anything, um, permanent could happen. I want you to remedy that. You've carried others to the Bog both living and dead. I think it would be very fitting to return this lady to that place as well. After all, it was once her home."
"The Princess." Rawl looked very dubious. "Begging your pardon, sir, but are you suggesting she be taken again?"
"The very thing."
"I'd advise against it, sir."
"For what reason?"
"If I may speak plainly, sir."
Florian nodded. "This is no time to hold back."
"Well, though I wasn't a party to it, I know that there was talk all through the castle and out into the city that you waS behind the Princess's disappearance.
They couldn't lay it at your feet, and that was lucky for you. But if the same thing happens again, now that she's back under your roof—" Rawl shrugged expressively. "You'd be the first one they'd come asking after."
Florian pondered the servant's words, frowning. Curse it, he was right. Ashen must be eliminated, but how to do it?
As if he could read the King's mind, Rawl continued. "We got to find a different way to do it. Servants' talk is the lady is ill."
"Yes. She lost a baby, and had some kind of poisoning with it."
"Well, there you are, then."
Florian blinked, not understanding at first. Then he remembered what Lady Jacyne had said. "All perfectly natural, my love," she had told him. And perfectly convenient. Surely his sister was being given medicine. A dose of poison—more poison—slipped into the brew, and she would slip away quietly with no questions being asked.
Furthermore, he knew who he could get to do this. Poison was not Rawl's style, and furthermore, his duties would not bring him near Ashen's apartment. Jacyne could do it, though, if he could persuade her that she was doing nothing wrong.
Also, he could make her think that her station in life would improve significantly. And then—
He smiled as the rest of the plan took shape in his mind. It was beautiful—lawless, even. And best of all, Rawl would still prove useful. After she was dead, let him take his sister's body to the swamp to be reduced to nothing by the hungry predators there. And because there would be a body needed for the elaborate—and carefully sealed—coffin, why, Jacyne would fill that requirement. Once she realized how she had been duped, she must be disposed of.
She might be slow of wit, but eventually she would understand what her part had been and she had much too loose a tongue to be allowed to live on.
"You are correct, Rawl. It was a moment's thought only and you have shown me that such an impulse must not be acted upon. Only stand ready, for I will have something else for you to do later."
"Depend on me, Your Majesty." He saluted awkwardly, giving the King a conspirator's grin, and went out the way he had come in.
Florian smiled also, but it was not a pleasant expression as he began contemplating the details of exactly how and when he would arrange for both his sister's and his mistress's imminent demise.
Nine
It was common knowledge that there were people who made their livelihood in brewing poisons both subtle and abrupt. For that reason every noble employed a staff of physicians whose duties included testing for such contaminations, even to articles of clothing. More than one pair of gloves, or elaborately embroidered shirt, presented as gifts, would have proven fatal to the wearer.
The wise among them were careful also of the cooks they employed, and paid them well, lest they be tempted by bribery. Still the danger existed. In a world where political enemies would stop at nothing, the wise person took every precaution available.
Florian knew himself to be wise in this regard, and so he sent for Jariad, who had apprenticed to Master Lorgan and learned well his physician's trade.
Further, while showing exemplary loyalty to his royal master, Jariad had also shown some talent not only in detecting poisons but also in collecting new and unusual ones. A hobby, he claimed, but a useful one. If there were such a court position as King's Poisoner, Jariad would have filled it to perfection. But instead, he was known merely as one of the staff of physicians maintained at
Rendelsham Castle.
Jariad merely raised one eyebrow when Florian told him what he wanted, without, of course, mentioning for whom this potion was intended.
"I think it should be something slow and lingering, don't you?" Florian said.
"Then it would seem like an unfortunate wasting illness. Quite natural."
"I think I know exactly the preparation you need," Jariad said. He bowed himself out, and Florian began to ponder how he could make Jacyne add it to whatever concoction Ashen was being given, thinking she was helping the Kings' sister.
The Dowager Queen Ysa dismissed the last of the petitioners; she had had a full day, taking care of the business that should have been Florian's responsibility.
When she was alone, she would find out what was keeping him secluded this time.
She had not performed this particular ritual in perhaps too long. She brought the Ring on the forefinger of her right hand to her mouth and touched it with the tip of her tongue. "Yew," she said.
As usual, her perception altered, and it was as if an invisible part of herself swept through the castle, seeking to know the well-being of the head of the
House of Yew, her ancestral House. This leader now was Florian. Ah. There he was.
Of late, swordplay had become almost an obsession with the King. There were actually classes held in the Great Hall, and staged mock combats between students, in which sport Florian engaged eagerly. He was so occupied now. Well, better that than to be dallying with one or another of the string of mistresses he kept, to his new wife's dismay.
As an experiment, she then touched her tongue to the ring on the thumb of her right hand. "Oak." The same tableau presented itself to her eyes. That was interesting. And alarming. She must try to keep from him the fact that, to the
Rings at least, he was now in command of two of the Four Great Houses of Rendel.
Always they had been allies, but to her knowledge no one person had ever headed both at one time.
Let Florian fritter his time away with swordplay and wenching, and leave the management of the kingdom to her. She was, after all, the one to whom the Four
Great Rings had come of their own volition. She was the one with whom the Rings remained. Therefore, she was best suited to her task, as he was to his.
Then, knowing what she would find, she tasted the wood inlay of the Ring encircling the thumb of her left hand. "Ash."
Ah, there she was—the Bog-Princess, in Marcala's amusing phrase—lying asleep and perhaps dreaming of one who was not her husband. She did not look well. The rumors must have been true. Ysa wondered whether she wished Ashen alive, or dead.
Then she touched tongue to the last Ring—Rowan, ever the weakest of the Houses, the one whose traditional ally was Ash, even as Oak and Yew were allied.
Two images, separate and distinct, yet one. Lord Wittern, and also the new
Queen, Rannore. This caused Ysa to stop again and think. With Florian as head of both Oak and Yew, and with his wife being at least as important as Wittern in the governing of Rowan, this definitely had the potential of putting too much sheer political power in the hands of one not fit to wield it. Perhaps it was more fortunate than she had thought, that the King was so caught up both in bed-sport and in play with sword.
S
he tongue-touched the Ring on the thumb of her left hand again, summoning the image of Ashen, daughter of her late husband, and her bitterest rival. The girl stirred in her sleep, as if aware of Ysa's shadowy intrusion. The Dowager withdrew immediately.
Perhaps she should try to overcome her aversion to the girl in truth as well as appearances. Or at least until she had managed to wrest some of Florian's power from him before he discovered the true scope of it and began to use it in inappropriate ways. And, of course, so much depended on whether Rannore's child was a boy, or a girl. Ysa bit her lip, sharply aware that at this juncture she needed allies from any direction she could get them.
Ashen must live.
"Of course it won't hurt her," Florian said. He pulled Jacyne close and cupped his hand on her cheek, the way he knew she liked to be caressed. "You know how doctors are—all so jealous of each other that if one discovers a cure for some illness the rest won't use it even if their patients are dying."
'Tell me again what you want me to do."
Florian led Jacyne over to a table and sat her down in the chair next to it. He took the chair opposite and placed a small vial on the table. "My sister has been prescribed a daily tonic and Master Lorgan prepares it. You are to volunteer to take it to my sister's apartment. This will be easy, as Master
Lorgan is so busy the morning often grows on toward noon before he gets around to taking it himself, and it grows stale. Put six drops, no more and no less, from this vial into the cup, and the lady's health will be much improved in a matter of days. I am assured that this is so."
"It does seem an easy matter—"
"Easy, and inexcusable that Master Lorgan hasn't seen to it himself. But as I said, physicians are a jealous lot."
"You must be very fond of your sister, to be so solicitous of her health."
"I have no other sister—that I know of," Florian said, with a touch of malicious humor. "Of course I care a great deal about what happens'to her."
"Very well, I'll do it. I probably would have, even without the title and house that goes with the deed, though I do appreciate the gift. You are a generous
King, sir."
"Oh, I can be very generous to someone who pleases me," Florian replied. "As here."
He placed a large purse on the table beside the vial. Jacyne hefted it, and the clink of coins filled the chamber. She peeked inside. "Gold!"
"As I said, I can be very generous to someone who pleases me, and when it pleases me to be so."
She smiled. "Then I must take pains to please you more often. And more completely. Tonight?"
"Of course." He had promised to spend the evening with Ran-nore, but he knew he could leave early, if he pleaded a headache. And he might as well get what pleasure Jacyne had to offer while she was still able to provide it.
Though she was undoubtedly slow in her wits, she was not completely stupid. Yes, eventually she would realize what part she had played in the death of his dear sister and then Rawl would have another assignment from the king. Almost, now that Jacyne's fate was all but accomplished, he felt a glow of that first attraction for her. He could afford to grant her a few evenings, if that was all it took to keep her quiet. And compliant.
When Obern returned to Rendelsham with Rohan, as instructed by Zazar, he expected to see Ashen looking and feeling much better. To his dismay, her condition seemed to have deteriorated instead, though she welcomed him warmly and bade Rohan sit on the side of her bed and tell her about his journey.
Ayfare drew Obern aside. "I don't know what it is that ails my lady," Ayfare whispered, "but she fades daily, little by little."
"Does the doctor know anything?"
"No. He is as puzzled as the rest of us. I prepare my lady's meals with my own hands, just to her hieing, and give her a cup of tonic daily—"
"Tonic?"
"Aye, sir, as written out by that Bog-woman and prepared by Master Lorgan himself. Though lately—"
"What?"
"He hasn't been bringing it to her himself, as he did when we first got here, but one of the court ladies has taken up the duty."
"Which lady?"
"Jacyne, sir." Ayfare wrinkled her nose in a gesture of distaste. "They say she's the King's light-o'-love."
"Thank you, Ayfare. Tell my wife I have an errand. And let Rohan visit her as much as she wants, without tiring her. Perhaps that will cheer her up."
Then, full of apprehension, he went in search of Lady Jacyne. He found her with a group of other ladies, doing whatever it is that ladies did of an afternoon with their needles and thread. She looked up, startled when the steward announced his name, and followed him to a spot where they could speak in relative privacy.
"I've come to thank you for the gracious care you have taken of Lady Ashen," he told her. "I heard that you offered yourself to carry her tonic to her personally."
"It was nothing, sir. I only did what I could to help. And is she better, as our lord King promised? I only leave the cup with the maid, at the door, and have yet to be admitted to see her."
The King! Obern's apprehension deepened. So that silly, dressed-up, crowned nobody Kasai never referred to except to call him a catamite was mixed up in this! That meant no good. Obern knew he could not afford to let his temper flare, not yet, not without knowledge of what the details might be.
Deliberately, he decided to lie. "Yes, she is greatly improved. The color is coming back into her cheeks, and the sparkle to her eyes."
"That is good," Lady Jacyne said with a smile. "His Majesty was right, then.
Physicians are jealous folk, and Master Lorgan scorned to use the remedy that would cure her."
Obern decided to gamble all on one toss. "Now that I am back," he said to her as winningly as he could, "I am more than willing to take over the duty of adding the potion to my wife's medicine. Surely you can understand how I want to tend her with my own hands."
The lady nodded. "Of course, sir. Wait here, and I will fetch the vial."
He knew he was taking quite a risk, interfering with whatever scheme the King had in mind, and his only hope had been that Jacyne was being used as an unwitting dupe. If so, she would not object. If she knew that what she had been dosing Ashen's tonic with was, in fact, a noxious substance that was making her worse, she would never have allowed him to take over the task. Therefore she was innocent. Vaguely, this knowledge made him feel better.
Jacyne returned quickly. She placed a vial in his hand. Holding it up to the light, he could see that it was still almost full. He opened the vial, sniffed the bitter aroma, and recognized it.
"The dose is six drops, no more and no less," Jacyne told him. "His Majesty was most explicit."
"And how long has she been taking this?"
"Five days only."
That was a relief for it meant the King had not intended to end Ashen's life quickly but rather let her fade away as if naturally. She would undoubtedly recover.
"My thanks, Lady Jacyne. Six drops. I will remember."
Then he bowed, with as much courtier's grace as he could summon, and returned to his apartment. There he hid the vial at the bottom of his clothes chest, first making certain that the stopper was tightly sealed with wax. If it seeped out onto a shirt and then he wore it, he would suffer direly from it.
There were many sea-beings whose weapon was poison, either administered by sting or bite or hidden in succulent, tempting flesh. The Sea-Rovers had long accumulated lore on poisons. Obern knew this one—a concoction derived from certain underwater plants encountered when diving for shellfish. Brush against them once, and one only got stung for one's troubles. But get entangled in them and the hapless victim was apt to die before he could drown. Divers built up tolerance for the poison by eating the leaves and Obern himself had done so.
Ingested, it made one ill according to the amount eaten. The stuff in the vial—Yes, it would be serious if it touched the skin, deadly even to him if it were rubbed into a cut…
Bunding rage trembled be
hind Obern's eyes, and he dared not let it burst out. He sat down, clasping his hands tightly to keep them from rash action. He longed to seek out Royance's advice as he had before, but knew that the stern old man would have to be loyal to his King first, and at best would dismiss him out of hand. At worst, Obern could be imprisoned or even executed for what he longed to shout aloud, for what would be considered a treasonous utterance—that the King was murdering his sister.
Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 2 - Knight Or Knave Page 13