0857664360

by Susan Murray

  “What are you suggesting?” Weaver growled.

  The freemerchant spread his hands wide again. “I suggest nothing. I seek only to convince you we serve the same king. He would have you rejoin him now. All of you.”

  Weaver exchanged looks with Curtis and Blaine. Each nodded, almost imperceptibly. Whether Tresilian lived or no, they all needed to eat.

  “We’ll put your rumours to the test, freemerchant. But only if the terms are good enough.” And if the braggart was not telling the truth, Weaver promised himself, he would cut out his lying tongue using the freemerchant’s own deceitful blades.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  From the window of her tower room Alwenna could see the washing green she and Weaver had crossed in the darkness, so many days ago. It seemed like an eternity since the blood-drenched night in the alley, when she hadn’t known for sure whose side the taciturn Weaver was going to take. Today there were washerwomen at work, even though they had no hope of drying their laundry outside in this weather.

  She could just make out the dark mouth of the culvert she and Weaver had escaped through. The water was running higher than it had been that night. She felt as though it had been raining forever, rather than a matter of weeks. It reminded her of the weeks following her arrival at Highkell. The rain had been unceasing then. Rainclouds had settled about the citadel, masking the summits either side of the gorge, and the rain had fallen and fallen. And she’d believed Highkell the most desolate place on earth. Now she knew the same sense of despair. Cheerless fog threaded between the trees and ridges of the hillside opposite and the water poured from the culvert over the waterfall in a steady rush that seemed to reverberate through the fabric of the building. She could hear it where she stood on the upper floor of the tower, sense it beating against the stonework of the curtain wall. She rested her hands for a moment on the stone sill: so much water, such power. If it had been like this the night she and Weaver had left it would surely have swept them off their feet and over the edge of the gorge.

  And maybe, just maybe, that would have been better for all concerned. And she wouldn’t be facing this farce of a wedding.

  Goddess knew she’d done her best the first time round with Tresilian. What was it Weaver had said? They hadn’t managed the business so ill. No, they hadn’t. That didn’t mean she wanted to go through it all again with Vasic. But there were still other people depending on her. The common folk. People whose lives had been torn apart because of what had been, in the end, little more than a childhood squabble. And she’d been the source of discontent. She could make amends. And so she would, although it gave her no joy.

  She stared out through the rain. If she leaned to her right she could see the main gate where a merchant’s caravan trudged in, pack ponies laden with barrels. Wine or ale for the common folk at the wedding feast, no doubt. Vasic would never drink anything hauled in so recently.

  There was a knock at the door, and Vasic’s new steward stepped over the threshold. He was tall, skinny and nervous, where Hames had been broad and bullish. “My lady, his highness is ready for you to join him.” He bowed hastily.

  She’d forgotten it was time to enact the daily farce of dining with her future husband. “Very well. We must not keep his highness waiting.”

  Vasic still looked gaunt and pale, but since declaring their wedding date he’d recovered some of his old bravado. He looked her over now with proprietorial approbation, a glass of red wine in his hand. He refused to use the old goblets, claiming they tainted the flavour.

  Alwenna picked at her food, conscious of the need to keep her strength up and thankful that her sickness had passed. Vasic hadn’t guessed her secret yet, but she didn’t see how she could keep up the pretence much longer. She was aware of her own waistline thickening, and it would be visible to the perceptive observer soon enough, however much care she took to choose garments that concealed her waistline. Not for the first time she regretted her decision to urge Weaver and the others to leave without her. Could several strong men not have broken down the door after all? Even without the keys? She pushed the thought away. Regrets served no purpose.

  “You look melancholy, my dear.”

  I am not your dear, she thought. “I have spent so much time cooped up indoors of late. I miss riding out beyond the citadel walls.”

  Vasic snorted. “Is that so? You must grow accustomed to it, my lady. It is not safe for you to venture abroad at this time. There are bands of brigands roaming the countryside. Tresilian was lax when it came to matters of law and order.”

  “Indeed? When last I travelled abroad the only brigands I saw were doing your bidding, cousin.”

  Vasic swallowed the last of his wine and dabbed his lips with a clean handkerchief. “Do you think me so easily fooled, my dear? I know you are far from reconciled to this marriage.” For a moment an expression of sadness crossed his face. “I will do my duty by you, nevertheless. You will be married with all honour, and accorded all the respect due to one of your exalted status. None will be able to criticise my treatment of you.” He stood up, watching her closely for a reaction. “In fact everyone will be able to see how you have been accorded every courtesy. If after that you cannot accept our marriage, well…”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Vasic glanced round in annoyance. “What is it?” he snapped.

  The door opened a fraction and a serving boy peered round the edge, bowing after a fashion. “Your highness, I’m to tell you your guest has arrived from the west.”

  “Very well. Have him escorted to the throne room. I shall speak to him there.” The boy vanished, pulling the door shut. Vasic pushed himself slowly to his feet, clad in finery surpassing Alwenna’s plain everyday gown. “I hope we will enjoy a long and fruitful association, dear cousin. But I would say it is very much down to your behaviour – accept the honour I accord you with good grace and do your duty or… well, our marriage may prove distressingly short.” He smiled. “I am not so lost in admiration for you that I cannot see how you store up resentment. Abandon any idea of turning against me, dear cousin. You must accept this – it is your destiny.” He paused at the door. “Many’s the fresh-faced bride who’s been lost in childbed, after all.”

  Goddess, had he guessed her secret, or was this nothing more than his old habit of pulling wings off trapped butterflies? “Threats, cousin? You choose a strange way to win me over.”

  “Dear girl, we both know that day is long past. Do not misunderstand me: I would grieve deeply if I were to lose you now. But I must bear in mind the best interests of the state. Such is the lot of a king.” He opened the door himself and stepped out through it, his lips curling in that self-satisfied smile she’d hated since childhood. It was a measure of Vasic’s capacity to bear a grudge that none of the old childhood scores had been forgotten. And that, in itself, was proof he couldn’t have guessed her secret yet. Learning she carried Tresilian’s child would eclipse all of those.

  Childhood memories chased her through her sleep that night, intermingled with visions. Some she recognised: the collapse of the road beneath her parents’ carriage as they arrived at Highkell; the smell of wet earth as it thudded against the carriage, entombing her; the long-ago discussion beneath the cherry trees when Tresilian told her they were expected to marry; Vasic cornering her in the garderobe; her precipitate flight down the stairs; how good the air tasted as she paused to draw breath, rain misting her face and flattening her hair to her head. But the rest made no sense: the smell of dust and masonry settling about her, clogging her mouth, making her cough and her eyes stream; darkness, unremitting and chill; a voice in the darkness, soft, caressing; the sense she no longer knew who she was, but only that something mattered, something that lay beyond recall; the murmur of water against a lakeshore, driven by a light breeze that raised goosebumps; a blind need, desire, the rush of cold air against heated flesh; voices calling in the darkness; hands lifting her from her tomb into light too bright, too dazzling to bear
; murmured reassurances, hands moving over cold flesh; lungs struggling to draw in air, burning with pain yet so cold, such need for warmth; more heat, desperate need, soft hands answering that need; a moist cloth pressed over mouth and nose, shutting off the air, shutting off everything–

  Alwenna woke, gasping for breath. The dream had been too vivid, too real. She sat up, her whole body shaking and her heart pounding with panic as she drew in great gasps of air, relieved to find it filled her lungs. Her mouth was foul with the taste of the sight, just as it had been the night she witnessed Weaver’s ambush.

  Was he in trouble again?

  But it hadn’t been Weaver, she was certain. How she could be so sure, she didn’t know, but it had been someone else. Someone she felt she should know, yet somehow alien to her. She shivered at the memory of the cloth pressing over her – well, someone’s – face. There had been a strange smell, sharp yet cloying. Her mind was filled with the sense of it still, but she couldn’t place it at all.

  Within her that tiny life shifted and stirred, pressing momentarily against her bladder, the sensation reassuringly grounded in the here and now. It was still dark outside, but she could no more go back to sleep than take wing and fly. She propped her pillow against the head of the bed and tucked her knees up to curl against it. Someone had been part of her nightmare. Someone was undergoing some kind of ordeal. Not Weaver. Someone else. Had she witnessed their last moments as they were smothered in their sleep? She shuddered. There had to be some way to stop the sight.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Erin fastened the clasp of the necklace in place. “You look very fine, my lady.” Wrought in the shape of a garland of leaves, Vasic’s gift to Alwenna struck chill against her skin.

  “I’ll do, I suppose. You will make a finer lady-in-waiting than any of the rest, Erin.”

  The girl bobbed a curtsey, not entirely at ease in an elegant gown. “Thank you, my lady.” She was less than delighted by her newly enhanced status but at least she hadn’t refused the honour.

  “Vasic was always fond of keeping up appearances.” Alwenna stared at her reflection in the mirror. The fitted gown could not disguise the slight thickening about her waist. But it was only slight; apparent to her, but hopefully not even to those who had met her daily since her marriage to Tresilian. By her good fortune – sad thought though it was – there were few of those present at court now, and none of them well acquainted with her.

  The maid watched her in silence, her expression conveying nothing. Had she guessed the truth yet? Watchful as she was, it seemed more than likely. Whether the girl had or not, Alwenna could do nothing about it now. She had a growing conviction their fates were entwined more closely than either would once have believed possible. And probably more closely than either of them would have chosen. But choice was a fickle friend, more often than not illusory. If Alwenna’s fortunes turned then the girl would find herself once more in the scullery, fending off the advances of every guard who happened by in a dark stairwell. That might be enough to ensure the girl remained close with any secrets she’d learned about her mistress, rather than risk losing her position.

  Alwenna took one more look in the mirror. If she twisted her head it made her reflection shift and distort and she found herself looking at a stranger, yet a stranger who was somehow familiar. Her hair was bound up in traditional style, just as it had been for her wedding to Tresilian. She was now less than two years older. The events of that day seemed far off yet at the same time they jostled about her, demanding her attention.

  Goddess, not now. She recognised the dizziness that presaged the sight. Everyone was waiting for her in the throne room. She clasped her hands together to counter their unsteadiness and tried to will herself to remain calm. It seemed to help.

  She could see the reflection of the maid behind her, watching her, dispassionate. At least the girl didn’t actively hate her. Not yet. Where had that thought come from?

  Alwenna twitched at the folds of her dress, ensuring the skirts fell in smooth lines to the floor. Green silk, for fertility, with inset panels of purple to denote her royal status. It was a shame about the shadows beneath her eyes, but she wouldn’t disgrace her family. Not this day.

  Again the thought surprised her. She pushed it away. Now was not the time for morbid reflection. Her ladies-in-waiting were in the antechamber, ready to escort her into the king’s presence. They’d all been hand-picked by Vasic, from households loyal to the southern king. If she heard the word usurper whispered that day they would be directed at her, not her soon-to-be husband.

  Her head felt clearer. Had she managed to subdue the sight for once?

  “Are you ready, my lady?” The maid’s voice seemed to come from some place far away.

  Alwenna turned and took a step towards the door but never reached it as the room pitched about her. The voices woke. Thousands at once, all clamouring to be heard, a monstrous babble from which she could discern no meaning, no sense. They increased in volume until they blanked out everything, even the daylight. She didn’t know she’d fallen until she awoke with her face pressed against the cold floor – except she was not herself, she was him. She was Weaver, trapped in the dark and kept alive only by the burning shame of his failure. And through the dark someone moaned, a whisper answered, two lovers locked in desperate communion. And she was gazing into grey eyes, pupils dilated, locked on hers. Then the eyes widened as they recognised her and a woman screamed out loud.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  A hand pulled at her arm. “My lady, you must stand. Everyone is waiting. My lady, please.” The hand tugged more insistently and Alwenna pushed herself up to a sitting position, the bloody taste of the sight filling her mouth. No, not just the sight, she’d cut her lip against her teeth. Her fingertips came away red with blood and she spat a mouthful out onto the floor before she could contain her disgust.

  “In a moment… Bring me some wine. Strong and sweet.”

  The girl’s footsteps hurried across the chamber to the side table. Alwenna kept her gaze fixed on the woodgrain of the floor in front of her until the last of the dizziness faded and she could focus clearly once more. She could see the myriad of tiny flecks criss-crossing the grain of the oak, her eyes able to discern tiny variations which her fingertips couldn’t detect. She shivered. The sight had passed and with it the ghastly lightheadedness that had dogged her footsteps all morning.

  Erin handed her a goblet of wine and she gulped it down, shuddering as it coursed down her throat and crept into her stomach, blazing a trail of fire that staved off the chill the sight had left.

  “Can you stand now, my lady?”

  Alwenna forced herself to concentrate on the present. She had to do this. “Yes.”

  With the girl’s assistance she stood and they shook out the folds of her skirts once more, cleaning off dust from the floor. The girl worked in silence, taking care to remove every trace of Alwenna’s collapse. Doubtless she’d be punished if her lady was not presented in accordance with Vasic’s wishes. She even took time to tidy Alwenna’s hair, though it was still perfectly presentable.

  “That will do, Erin. Open the door, please, before my nerves get the better of me again.” She doubted the girl believed a word of that particular lie, but Alwenna felt more confident now. The lingering after-taste of the sight had gone and her mind was sharper, clearer. The voices had been banished for now and she could face the coming ordeal with more assurance. Thank the Goddess it had happened before she’d left her chamber. She’d been a fool to imagine she could deny the sight. She didn’t know how she’d manage with a new husband to hide it from. With luck he wouldn’t require her to spend much time in his company. She intended to ensure she wasn’t a sufficiently stimulating companion. She couldn’t suppress a smile at that thought.

  “My lady, are you all right?” The girl watched her apprehensively.

  “Never better, Erin. Open the door.”

  Erin obeyed, announcing her to the ladies-in-wait
ing. Alwenna walked forward with certainty as they backed away and curtseyed before her. She might as well have staggered out like a drunkard for all they could see with their eyes pinned to the floor. Foolish sheep, they were. Vasic seemed to enjoy their vapid bleating. That one there at the end, the blond one. Alwenna had seen her in a vision, gasping as Vasic had her up against the wall. He’d appeared to enjoy that uncommonly.

  She drifted regally past them, not waiting for them to fall into line behind her as she paced with determination towards the great chamber. She noted the scuffling as they hurried to take their places. This, too, amused her. The wine had been strong. Perhaps she ought to have had another goblet before leaving her chamber. No matter. There would be plenty more at the wedding feast.

  The great chamber was packed. Vasic had ensured all his supporters were there to witness their union. And if this crowd was any indication his supporters were plentiful indeed. Or his detractors were prepared to play along for the sake of an easy life. Which was it? Perhaps, in truth, most of the people assembled there didn’t really care who ruled as long as there was some kind of stability. It saddened her to think Tresilian’s untimely passing might have been of so little consequence to them. He’d arguably been a better man than Vasic. Kinder, certainly. But perhaps it wasn’t in a king’s best interests to be kind? That was one issue she could expect to debate with Vasic, far sooner than she would have chosen.

  She made her stately progress towards the dais where Vasic awaited her. Beyond him a priest in ceremonial robes knelt, head bowed in prayer as he blessed the wedding cup. She glanced over the ranks of subservient dignitaries and reflected that perhaps ruthlessness was the most desirable attribute in a king.

  Minstrels played on the gallery over the door by which she’d entered the room. The music they played was sombre, better suited to a funeral than a wedding. Suitable gravitas for a state occasion, but to her it spoke of departures, not new beginnings. Not that it mattered. None of it would matter soon. The stone-cold certainty brought a chill of recognition: this was a truth she could not alter, would not attempt to. This would be an ending.