Biast, who had been jittering in his chair during this, interrupted. “If the accusation against Wencel is true, I am deeply concerned for the safety of my sister.”
Ingrey bore no love for Fara, after what she had done to Ijada, but considering his suspicions of the fate of Horseriver’s last wife-mother, he had to allow the point. “Your concern seems valid to me, my lord.”
Hetwar sat up at that admission.
Ingrey added, “I am reminded, Sealmaster. Earl Horseriver has lately hinted to me that he desires my service. I beg you, if he asks, to say you will not release me. I fear to refuse him to his face. I don’t wish to invoke his enmity.”
Hetwar’s brows drew down in furious thought. The archdivine stared, and said, “Two spirit-defiled men to be in the same house? Why does he desire this?”
“You assume your conclusion, Archdivine,” Ingrey pointed out. “The earl is accused, not yet convicted.”
Fritine turned in his seat. “Lewko…?”
Lewko spread his hands. “I would need a closer look at him. And the aid of the god, which I cannot force.”
Fritine turned back to Ingrey, frowning. “I would have you speak more plainly, Lord Ingrey.”
Ingrey shrugged. “Consider what you demand, Archdivine. If you wish my testimony of the unseen and the uncanny, you cannot pick and choose. You must take all, or none. And I doubt you are ready to accept me as some sort of courier from the gods, bearing orders for you.”
While Fritine was digesting the implications of that remark, Ingrey continued, “As for Wencel, he claims to be reminded of our cousinship. Belatedly enough.” Well, that too was true in a sense.
Biast said indignantly, “You would leave my sister unprotected in a house where you fear to go yourself?” His brow wrinkled, and he added more slowly, “You are loyal to my lord Hetwar, are you not?”
He has never betrayed me. Yet. Ingrey gave a little ambiguous bow.
Biast continued, “But if the accusation is true…who better to protect the princess from, from any uncanny act her husband might take, or to rescue her from that place if the need arises? And you might observe, inform, report…”
“Spy?” said Fritine, in an interested tone. “Could he do that, do you think, Hetwar?”
Ingrey raised a brow. “Now you would have me take a lying oath of service, my lords?” he inquired sweetly.
“Ingrey, stop that,” snapped Hetwar. “Your graveyard notions of humor have no place in this council.”
“That was humor?” muttered Biast.
“As close as he ever comes to it.”
“I wonder that you endure it.”
“His trying style has proved to have its uses. From time to time. He wanders his own twisted path, and brings back prizes no logical man would have even suspected were there. I’ve never been sure if it was a talent or a curse.” Hetwar sat back and regarded Ingrey acutely. “Could you do this?”
Ingrey hesitated. It would make official what he had been doing half-awarely all along; playing both ends against the middle while desperately collecting fragments that he hoped would fall into some pattern. And keeping his own counsel betimes.
He could say no. He could.
“I admit,” he said instead, slowly, “I, too, desire to understand more of Wencel.” He added to Biast, “And why do you suddenly think your sister in danger now, and not anytime these past four years?”
Biast looked a trifle embarrassed. “These past four years, I was scarcely paying attention. We met but once after her wedding, and wrote seldom. I assumed, assumed she was well disposed of by my father, and content withal. I had my own duties. It was not till she spoke with me—well, I taxed her—this past day that she revealed how unhappy she had grown.”
“What did she say to you?” asked Hetwar.
“She’d intended no such harm to fall out of the, um, events at Boar’s Head. She thought Boleso had grown too wild, yes, but hoped that perhaps he and, um, Lady Ijada might grow content with one another, in time. That the girl might calm him. Fara feels her lack of children keenly, though I must say, it is not clear to me that the fault in that is hers. She thought her husband’s eye had fallen on her new handmaiden, for it was he who brought her into Fara’s household.”
That last is new, thought Ingrey. Ijada had thought the offer the work of her Badgerbank aunt, but who had stirred up the aunt to remember her? Could Wencel have been thinking of a new heir, to place between himself and Ingrey? Or were his motives in securing Ijada something altogether else? Altogether else, I now think. He would not so bestir himself without reason, but his reasons are not those of other men.
“Lady Ijada claims the earl offered her no insult,” Ingrey put in. “I grant you she may be naïve enough not to have recognized one unless it were gross, and Wencel is not given to grossness. I hold Fara much at fault in this whole chain of events. Though I admit, Boleso was well along on his own dark path, and it was better he was stopped sooner than later.” Reminded by Hetwar’s quick glare of a need for civility, he added to Boleso’s bereaved brother, “I’m sorry it had to be so cruelly.”
The prince-marshal vented an unhappy Mm. It was not a noise of disagreement.
The archdivine cleared his throat. “I would observe, Lord Ingrey, that by your testimony to Learned Lewko—and certain other evidences—it seems your spirit wolf is now unbound. You stand in violation of your dispensation.”
His bland tone concealed not so much menace, or acute fear, as pressure, Ingrey decided. So. He knew how to deal with simple pressure.
“It was not by my will, sir.” A safely uncheckable assertion. “It was an accident that occurred when Learned Hallana took the geas off me. And so, in a sense, the Temple’s own doing.” Yes, blame the absent. “While I can’t say it was the gods’ will, two gods have been quick enough to make use of it.” Was that the barest nervous flinch on Fritine’s part? Ingrey took a breath. “Now you desire to make use of it, too, setting me to guard Princess Fara. This seems to me a grave mandate, for a man you do not trust. Or do you mean to extract the use of me first, then turn on me? I warn you, I can swim.”
Fritine considered this bait for a long moment and shrewdly declined to bite. “Then it behooves you to continue to make yourself useful, don’t you think?”
“I see.” Ingrey favored him with a slightly too-sweeping bow. “It seems I am at your service, Archdivine.”
Hetwar shifted a little uncomfortably at this blatant exchange. It was not that he was above threats, but he had always managed to find smoother ways to move Ingrey to his will, a courtesy Ingrey appreciated aesthetically if nothing else.
“Since you put it so compellingly,” said Ingrey—Hetwar grimaced, he saw out of the corner of his eye—“I will undertake to be your spy. And the princess’s bodyguard.” He gave Biast a polite nod, which Biast, at least, had the mother wit to return.
“This brings up the disposition of the prisoner,” said Hetwar. “If Wencel is suspect, so is his courtesy of housing Lady Ijada. It may be time to move her to more secure quarters.”
Ingrey froze. Was Ijada to be torn from his wardenship? He said carefully, “Would that not prematurely reveal your suspicions to Wencel?”
“By no means,” said the archdivine. “Such a change was inevitable, after the funeral.”
“It seems to me her present lodging is adequate,” protested Ingrey. “She makes no attempt to run, trusting to Temple justice. I did mention she was naïve,” he added, by way of a jab at Fritine.
“Yes, but you cannot guard two places at once,” Biast pointed out logically.
Hetwar, finally growing alive to the sudden tension in Ingrey’s stance, held up a restraining hand. “We can discuss this later. I thank you for volunteering in this difficult matter, Lord Ingrey. How soon do you think you might slip into Horseriver’s household?”
“Tonight?” said Biast.
No! I must see Ijada! “It would look odd, I fear, if I were to arrive before he begged me
of you, Lord Hetwar. Nor should you let yourself be persuaded too readily. And I am in need of food and sleep.” That last was unblunted truth, at least.
“I would have my sister guarded now,” said Biast.
“Perhaps you might arrange to visit her yourself, then.”
“I have no uncanny powers to set against Wencel!”
You begin to believe you need me unburned, then, do you? Good. “Is there no Temple sorcerer to set in guard, meanwhile?”
“The ones I deem suitable are out on tasks,” said Lewko. “I shall dispatch an urgent recall as soon as I may.” Fritine nodded to this.
“Peace, prince,” said Hetwar to Biast, who was opening his mouth again. “I think we can take no further sensible action tonight.” He pushed up from his writing table with a tired grunt. “Ingrey, step out with me.”
Ingrey excused himself to the seated powers, making sure to direct a special little farewell bow to Gesca just to worry him. If Gesca was Horseriver’s spy, how would Wencel react when this report reached him? Although the earl must have anticipated Cumril’s accusation. At least Gesca might testify that the suspicion hadn’t come from Ingrey. Yes. Let Gesca run, for now. Follow his scent, see if it goes where I think.
Ingrey followed Hetwar down the dim, carpeted corridor, well out of earshot of the closed study door. “My lord?”
Hetwar turned to him and stood close under a sconce. The candlelight edged his troubled features. “It had been my belief before now that Wencel’s keen interest in the upcoming election was on his brother-in-law’s behalf. He has been deep in my councils therefore. Now I’ve cause to wonder if, like Boleso, it is some much closer desire.”
“Has he made new actions aside from his odd interest in Ijada?”
“Say rather, old actions seen in a new light.” Hetwar rubbed his forehead, and squeezed his eyes shut, briefly. “While you are guarding Fara, keep your eyes open for evidences of any, shall I say, unhealthily personal interest on Wencel’s part in the next hallow kingship.”
“I am very sure Wencel is not interested in mere political power,” Ingrey said.
“This statement does not reassure me, Ingrey. Not when a certain wolf-lord has uttered the words kingship and magery in the same breath. I know very well you left things unsaid in there.”
“Wild speculation bears its own hazards.”
“Indeed. I want facts. I do not wish to lose a valuable ally through offensive false accusations, nor conversely to fail to guard against a dangerous enemy.”
“My curiosity in this matter is as great as yours, my lord.”
“Good.” Hetwar clapped him on the shoulder. “Go, then, and see about that food and sleep you mentioned. You look like death on a platter, you know. Are you sure you weren’t really ill, this morning?”
“I should have much preferred it. Did Lewko report my confession?”
“Of your so-called vision? Oh, aye, and a lurid tale it was.” He hesitated. “Though Biast seemed to take some comfort in it.”
“Did you believe it?”
Hetwar cocked his head. “Did you?”
“Oh,” breathed Ingrey, “yes.”
Hetwar stood very still, first seeking Ingrey’s eyes, then, after a moment, dropping his gaze uncomfortably. “I regret missing that entertainment. So what did you and the god really say to each other?”
“We…argued.”
Hetwar’s lips curled up in a genuine, if dry, smile. “Why does this not surprise me? I wish the gods well of you. May They have better luck getting straight answers from you than I ever did.” He began to turn away.
“My lord,” said Ingrey suddenly.
Hetwar turned back. “Aye?”
“If, ah…” Ingrey swallowed to moisten his throat. “A favor. If, for any reason, my cousin Wencel should suddenly die in the next few days, I beg you will see that I am brought at once before a Temple inquiry. With the best sorcerers Lewko can muster doing the examination.”
Hetwar frowned, staring at him. The frown deepened. He started to speak, but closed his lips again. “I suppose,” he said at last, “you imagine you can just hand me a thing like that and walk off, eh?”
“So you swear, yes.”
“You are confusing swear and curse, I think.”
“Swear.”
“Yes, then.”
“Good.”
Ingrey bowed and retreated. Hetwar did not call him back. Though a low and breathy cursing did, indeed, drift to Ingrey’s ears as he turned for the stairs.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IJADA WAS SITTING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRCASE AS THE porter admitted Ingrey to the prison-house’s entry hall, hunched over with her arms wrapped even more tightly about herself than the last time. Her warden sat a few steps above her, looking on in disquiet. Ijada sprang to her feet, her eyes searching Ingrey’s face for he knew not what, but she seemed to find it, for she pounced upon him. Grasping his arm, she dragged him into the side room, slamming the door on the disapproving but cowed face of the warden.
“What was that, a while ago?” Ijada demanded. “What happened to you?”
“What did you—did you see something, too?”
“Visions, Ingrey, terrible visions. Not from the god, I swear. Some little while after you went out, I was overcome again. My knees gave way. The world around me did not fade altogether this time, but the pictures were stronger than memory, less than hallucination. Ingrey, I saw Bloodfield, I saw my men! Not tattered and worn as they were in my dream in the Wounded Woods, but from before, when they yet lived.” She hesitated. “Died.”
“Did you sense Wencel? Did you see him or hear his voice?”
“No, not…not as he is. These visions were in your mind, I think. Were they not?”
“Yes. Pictures from before-times, yes? The Old Weald. The massacre at Bloodfield.”
She shuddered and touched her own neck, and the horrible crunch of the ax parting bone sounded again in Ingrey’s memory. She felt that, too.
“Why do we share such things? What has happened between us?” she asked.
“The pictures, those visions—Wencel put them in me. He is not just spirit warrior like you, not just shaman like me. He’s more. Lost out of time, terrible in his power and pain. He thinks he is—he claims to be—hallow king.”
“But old Lord Stagthorne is king, has been since before I was born—how can there be two?”
“I think that is some problem, some mystery, that I have not yet come to the core of. I went to Wencel planning to beat the truth out of him if I had to. Instead, he beat it into me…”
He guided her into a chair and sat next to her, their hands still gripping each other across the tabletop. Haltingly, Ingrey described his terrifying interview with the earl. Ijada seemed to have shared only the mystic visions, not their context; Ingrey thought she must have spent the last hours wild with bewilderment, for even now her eyes were dilated and her body shivering.
“Wencel claims I am his soul’s heir, my body to be seized by his spell whether he or I will it or not. How long this has been so, I do not know. There might once have been some other cousin between us, who died more lately, but…but it may even go back to the death of my father. Which raises yet more questions without answers about what my father intended with his wolf rite.”
“My other dream,” she breathed. “Of the burning horseman, the leashed wolf racing through the ash. It was you! It was both of you.”
“Do you think? Perhaps…”
“Ingrey, I recognized Holytree, I recognized my men. I am bound to them as certainly as I am bound to you, though I do not know how. And if Wencel spoke true, he is bound to them as well, and they to him.”
“Wencel’s tale was full of gaps, but he did not lie about that,” said Ingrey certainly. “That binding is at the very heart of all this.”
“Then the circle is complete. You are bound to me, me to my ghosts, they to Wencel, and Wencel, it seems, to you. Is Wencel trying to work some great magic w
ith all of us here?”
“I’m not sure. This is not all Wencel’s doing, exactly. For one thing, the choice of his mystical heir is not his own, or he would surely have picked someone other than me. Which makes a sort of sense; the spell must have been made to work in the chaos and heat of battle, when both king and next heir might fall in the same hour—as happened at Bloodfield, more or less. The transfer must take place without attention or will on the part of the hallowed ones. So that part of the spell must be bound up with the dead spirit warriors in the Wounded Woods. It’s as if the whole of the Old Weald, or what remains of its kin powers, chooses its heir through Wencel.” There seemed to Ingrey to be an enigmatic, daunting validation in the notion.
Ijada’s eyes narrowed. “Are we all three supposed to go to Bloodfield, then? And if so, what are we supposed to do when we get there?”
“And who—or Who—presses us to that end?” Ingrey muttered. He sat back, frowning. “The spell was locked tighter, heretofore. Just the Horserivers and the dead warriors, around and around for sixteen generations. You—you broke into it from the outside. The spell broke out to claim me. Its boundaries are not what they were. Boundaries between death and life, spirit and matter. Bloodline and bloodline. The Weald and an outer land. Changes—for the first time in centuries, changes are breaking in.”
Ijada rubbed her wrinkled brow. “What am I, in this? Half-in, half-out—do I even belong? I am alive, they are dead; I am a woman, they are men—mostly—I think… My leopard is not even a proper Wealding beast! I did nothing for Boleso’s soul this morning; I just stood there stupidly gaping. It’s you that’s wanted, Ingrey, you who might free the ghosts from their old creatures!” Her gaze upon him was devouring in its conviction.
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