Blade of Fortriu

by Juliet Marillier

  Ana made to protest; the look on his face held her mute and still.

  “No wonder you think I’m not good enough for a lady of royal blood. It’s all him, isn’t it? That wretch has poisoned your mind and turned you against me. He’s wheedled his way into your affections; he’s out to ruin my chance of a future yet again. Tell me! Tell me!” Alpin seized her by the arms and dragged her to her feet. His grip was painfully strong.

  “That’s not true,” Ana whispered. “Let me go, you’re hurting me.”

  The grip tightened, and she could not suppress a cry of pain. “It is true,” Alpin growled, his bearded face close to hers, anger flushing his skin to a mottled purple-red. “I know it’s true. I know about your little sewing afternoons, your private sojourns up in the courtyard with that maid of yours, and the conversations you’ve been having. A flaw in the construction of his prison, apparently; how could I have overlooked it?”

  Ana had not believed she could be any more frightened, but she looked past Alpin as he said this and saw a tiny bird fly in to land on the windowsill, a brave small presence in gold and brown. She turned her gaze away quickly. “Sit down, my lord, please,” she said, remembering Orna’s advice.

  “Don’t presume to give me orders in my own home.” He gave her a shake; her head reeled. “Certain information came my way and I sent a boy up there today to verify it. He heard you. You’re a cheat and a liar, and you’re certainly not the pure princess you make yourself out to be! How dare you play the part of lady, putting me through hell with your pretense of modesty, when every day you’ve been murmuring love-talk to my brother? Answer me, by all the gods, or I’ll have it out of you another way!”

  “Please let me go. You’re scaring me.”

  “Tell me, curse you!” He shook her again; her teeth seemed to jar in her head, and she could barely find her voice.

  “I did speak to him, yes. Not what you say. Just idle talk. I felt sorry for him. It is a long time of solitude. Since he speaks like a rational man, I thought … I believed … Is this why you’ve punished Ludha? Did she tell you … did you make her … ?”

  “Agh!” With an explosive sound of disgust, Alpin threw her back down to her seat. “That cur, that godforsaken excuse for a man! I should have made an end of him seven years ago; I should have had the courage. The ties of kinship are no more than fetters when such atrocities are committed. If he’d not been of my blood he’d have been disposed of within a day, his head displayed over my gate, his corpse left for crows to feast on. How could you listen to him? How could you be so stupid?”

  Ana rose to her feet. She tried to summon the queenly dignity that had proved so helpful in the past when she was distressed or afraid. Head high, back straight, brows lifted. The cold terror did not relinquish its grip on her heart. “I don’t intend to remain here being shouted at and manhandled,” she said with as much dignity as she could summon. “Before I retire tonight I wish to see my maid, to ensure she has not been mistreated. And I want to see Faolan.” Her voice shook on his name. “I wish to see my bard without you present; I am happy for another to be in attendance, perhaps the druid.”

  “Not so fast.” He came to stand before her again. Ana calculated the number of steps to the door, and wondered whether there would be any point in running to her chamber and locking herself in. “You’re in no position to begin making demands,” Alpin went on. “What my informant heard up there wasn’t just passing the time of day. He described it as a great deal more than that. What he told me made me unhappy, Ana. Very unhappy, and more than a little angry.”

  “You no longer wish to go ahead with this marriage?” The question trembled between the recognition of strategic failure and a wild, impossible hope.

  “What, and ruin King Bridei’s treaty? Hardly. Besides, what a waste of all that sewing. Shame your maid won’t be here to see you in the confection she fashioned for you. But I’ll see it. I’ll see you smile in it, and make your promises in it, and I’ll watch the look on your face as I strip it off you and take what you don’t want to give me, because the man you save your sweet words for, the man you’re lusting after, the man you’re panting for is that benighted lunatic Drustan!”

  “How dare you!” The bitter injustice of it filled her heart, and for a moment fury took the place of caution. “Your brother is a hundred times the man you are!”

  His fist came across like a thunderbolt, cracking into her jaw, and she fell across the table, her head and neck a red hot ball of pain. As she staggered back to her feet, the wren flew across to her shoulder, its small, twittering voice blending strangely with the harsh sound of Alpin’s labored breathing.

  “I said to you once,” Ana gasped, “that if you raised a hand to me I would not marry you, treaty or no treaty. Fetch the druid, and send for Faolan. I’ll have no more of this.” The bird had made no attempt to conceal itself. She willed it to fly away.

  “You’re a whore, even if it’s only in your mind,” Alpin said, his tone rough. “You were heard, and your defense of my brother proves it. You’re in no position to dictate what should or should not unfold.”

  “You forget, I am the one who must sign the treaty on Bridei’s behalf.” Her whole body was shaking. “I want to see Faolan. I will not—”

  “Stop right there.” Alpin’s eyes were on the bird. Ana took a step back. “For you, there is no cannot, no will not. You’ve broken the rules. You’ve talked to my brother; you’ve allowed him to insinuate his way into your heart, and if he were not safely behind locked doors, no doubt he’d be in your bed as well, making up for all those years when women only featured in his crazy dreams.”

  “I won’t listen to this. If Faolan knew you had hurt me, he would—”

  “Shut your mouth!” His fist came up again, and she fell silent; her courage did not stretch quite as far as that. Trying to run would be futile, since it was plain he could outpace her. And it was his guard who stood beyond the door. Did these people all know what Alpin was? Perhaps, in the world of the Caitt, such behavior was quite normal. “Faolan, you will find, is unlikely to be of much assistance to you tonight,” Alpin said. “As for you, my dear, there’s no backing out of the treaty, or of the marriage, at this late stage. Wanton as you are, liar and dissembler, you do bear a certain bloodline, and you will bear sons for me. I don’t care if that’s to your taste or not. Maybe you can think of Drustan while I’m having you; that should help the juices flow. And you’ll sign. Your bard will be leaving the day after tomorrow to take the news back to Bridei. It’s all arranged.”

  “I won’t do it.” Ana spoke through clenched teeth. Fly away. Now. Fly back to him.

  “Yes you will,” said Alpin, and with a snatch as rapid and expert as that of a cat pinning its prey, he reached out and took the wren from her shoulder. In his big fist its body was invisible; Ana could see only the delicate beak, the bright, terrified eyes.

  “Please—” A strangled whisper broke from her.

  “You will do it. You will do precisely as I tell you, and you won’t run to your tame Gael or to anyone else with tales of woe. You’ll stay away from my brother from now on. No songs, no whispers, no visits from his wretched creatures.” He glanced at the trapped bird; Ana saw its head move frantically as it sought escape, but the hand held it fast. “You’ll sign the treaty, you’ll go through the handfasting without any show of reluctance, and you’ll open your legs for me when, where, and how I choose.”

  “No—”

  “Yes,” Alpin said. “Because if you fail to do any of those things, I’ll squeeze the life out of Drustan as quickly and surely as this.” He fixed her with his gaze, cold and calm now, and tightened his fist.

  The wren died without a sound. It was Drustan’s cry that echoed through every corner of Briar Wood at that moment, the wrenching scream a man utters when a piece of his living heart is torn from his body.

  Alpin tossed the little corpse into the fire and wiped his hand on his tunic; a fragment of wispy feather
floated gauzily in the air. Ana was without words. Somewhere inside her a child repeated, in a sobbing whisper, Let this be a dream, let me wake up now.

  “Sit down,” Alpin said.

  She sat. After that chilling cry of anguish, there was only silence outside.

  “Change of plan, I think. We might sign the treaty now; all parties should be available. I’ve lost my appetite for this cozy supper. And you can see your bard. I think it appropriate that he witness the signing, since he’s to bear the document back to King Bridei. A chance to say your final farewells. The druid can be present, just as you requested. But I will also be there. I don’t trust you, Ana, and after this I probably never will.”

  “You are an evil man,” she said. “Cruel and barbaric. Why do you hate Drustan so?”

  “You ask that only because you refuse to recognize the truth. Drustan killed what I loved best. Of course I hate him. He was flawed from the start; he should have been drowned at birth. He was never like the rest of us. He shouldn’t have come back here.”

  “If he had not,” Ana’s voice was quivering with shock and rage, and with the chill knowledge of defeat, “you would not have gained control of his waterways at Dreaming Glen. And he would never have been locked up.”

  “We won’t discuss that.” Alpin spoke without emphasis. His eyes were cold. “I’ll expect you to keep your mouth shut from now on where matters of warfare, strategy, or alliance are concerned. These are men’s business and best confined to men’s gatherings. You know what to expect if you disobey me.”

  “It seems your wife will be silent most of the time, her conversation limited to the anticipation of roast beef for supper or a discussion of the weather.”

  “As long as you oblige me in bed, I’ve no problem with that.” Alpin went to the door, summoned his guard, made a hurried, quiet request. He closed the door again and stood with his back to it, watching her. There was a smell in the room like meat charring. Ana felt sick.

  “When Faolan sees this mark on my face,” she said, “he will know that you hit me. What kind of news is that to take back to White Hill?”

  Alpin’s brows rose. “They don’t discipline their women in Fortriu?”

  “I would swear Bridei has never raised a hand against his wife; such a thought would not enter his mind.”

  “Uh-huh. A little odd herself, isn’t she, from what I’ve heard? One of the forest folk. That could be a weak spot in a man’s armor.”

  “Tuala is of another kind,” Ana said quietly. “She’s one of my dearest friends.”

  “Got a penchant for the exotic, have you? I can’t conceive of anyone wanting my brother as a lover; such a notion is perverse. His condition has been a source of deep shame to our family since Drustan was a child, long before he decided to turn his hand to murder. And you expect the household to discuss it openly. You’re a fool.”

  Ana said nothing. From now on, she thought dully, there would be many silences. If they were required to prevent another sacrifice, she would hold her tongue, and weep on the inside.

  FAOLAN CAME IN with a tall guard at his back and a thickset one beside him. There were red marks around his wrists as if he had been bound. Above one eye was a crust of blood, and a purple bruise marked his jaw. Beneath these signs of blows, his face was white. The shutters were down as they had so often been at White Hill, his features wearing the bland, indifferent look of a man who desires not to attract attention. He said not a word.

  “Faolan,” Ana managed. “You are well?” The courteous question hung in the silence between them, and behind it all the things she could not say; the things she would never say.

  “Yes, my lady.” The voice level, toneless. The eyes now looking anywhere but at her face, where no doubt a florid bruise was spreading to match the fierce aching in her cheek and jaw. Then, as if he could not help himself, “You’ve been hurt.”

  There was a small metallic sound as Alpin shifted a knife on the tabletop.

  “A clumsy accident,” Ana said, looking at the floor. “My maid opened a chest just as I leaned over. These things will happen.” His wrists were livid; there were marks on his legs, too, revealed above the worn shoes they had given him to wear. She found she was staring and made herself look away. “My lord tells me you’re leaving for White Hill the day after tomorrow. So soon.” Her voice was shaking; she must try to be strong, for if they had hurt him they could do so again. They could hurt him, and they could hurt Drustan. She must govern every word, every look, every gesture.

  “There’s no need for further delay,” Faolan said. “I understand the treaty is to be signed tonight; the handfasting occurs tomorrow. After that I’ll be straight off, since I’m no longer required here.”

  “You must do as you think best, of course,” she said tightly. “What would I know of such matters?” They were all watching and listening, Alpin, the men-at-arms, that fellow Dregard who was always at Alpin’s right hand, the druid, who had entered the chamber with a quill and ink pot. She longed for a few moments alone with Faolan, even though she could not tell him the truth, not with Drustan’s safety in the balance. If the others were not here, she could at least clasp his hand, wish him well, and thank him for his courage and friendship. She could tell him he had done a good job. “Safe journey, Faolan,” she said quietly. “I don’t suppose there will be time for us to talk tomorrow. Please give my warmest good wishes to Bridei. And to Tuala.” Tears were close; she swallowed them. “And hug Derelei for me. I miss him.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Still the stubborn refusal to meet her eyes. Was he acting a part, not to bring down Alpin’s wrath?

  “Well, now,” Alpin said, “we’re all here, so let’s get down to business. I will ask you to be seated—not you, bard, you can stand where you are—and perhaps Berguist will do us the courtesy of reading the terms of the treaty, just so we’re all sure of what we’re agreeing to.” He directed a patronizing smile toward Ana; she stiffened her spine and gave a polite nod in return. She seated herself and waited. By her hand, on the table, a brown feather stirred in the draft.

  The druid, Berguist, set out the terms of the treaty clearly and simply. For him, at least, there was no reason to be anything but calm. It had all been rendered into Latin and set down on the parchment, which he offered to Ana to read over just in case he had made any errors. She scanned it, but such was the desolation in her mind that the thing could have been a stock list or a Christian prayer, so little of it did she take in.

  “My future wife is something of a scholar,” Alpin was saying. “Clever as well as beautiful; every man should be fortunate enough to find such a paragon, eh? Finished, my dear?”

  “It seems everything is here, my lord,” she said. “Even the reference to Dreaming Glen that Faolan and I requested. You’ve been thorough.”

  Alpin’s eyes narrowed. “Sign, then,” he said.

  She took the quill and, in the place the druid indicated, wrote her name: “Ana daughter of Nechtan, Princess of the Light Isles.” And beneath it, “for Bridei son of Maelchon, King of Fortriu.” Alpin, impatient, seized the pen from her fingers before the ink was dry and placed his mark beside hers. The druid took the parchment back to record Alpin’s full name above the cross he had made, and to append his own details as witness. It was done.

  “Ah,” Alpin said expansively as the druid sprinkled sand from a little bag onto the document to hasten the drying of the ink. “A most satisfactory ending to a particularly trying day. And won’t King Bridei be pleased? This could make all the difference to his future plans.”

  “A great achievement, my lord,” said Dregard.

  “Will you provide Faolan with a guide as far as the borders of your territory, or maybe farther?” Ana asked Alpin. “I imagine Breaking Ford may still be impassable. And there are your warlike neighbors—”

  “That need not concern you,” Alpin snapped, his mood abruptly altered. “It is—”

  “Men’s business, I know.” Careful, careful; watch e
very step. “I simply wish to remind you how important it is that the news does reach Bridei. Bear in mind that, although we’ve been here two turnings of the moon, word has not yet been sent advising him that our escort was lost. And that his emissary was drowned,” she added hastily, unsure if that earlier lie counted for anything after what had come about today, but anxious to help Faolan get home safely. His demeanor troubled her. He did not seem himself tonight.

  “We’ll see your pet Gael safely off the premises, don’t worry,” Alpin said. “We’ve reason enough to want him gone. Of course, it may not be for long.”

  The atmosphere changed subtly; there was a chill in the room.

  “What do you mean, my lord?” Ana asked.

  Alpin seemed to be savoring in advance what was to come; he had that air again, the gathered tension of a wildcat about to pounce. “I could tell you,” he said. “But I think we’ll get the bard to do that himself. You’ve been solicitous of his welfare from the first. You may as well know from his own lips what a two-faced piece of scum you brought inside my walls. His account of himself will make a change from those sickly love songs he likes to entertain us with. Go on, bard! Tell her!”

  “Faolan?” she asked. “What is this? What is he saying?”

  “My lord—” Faolan turned to Alpin, protesting.

  “Tell her!” Alpin barked.

  Faolan cleared his throat.

  “Come on!”

  “I …” Faolan appeared to be unable to go on. He stared at the floor. The chamber fell silent; it was clear nobody was going to help him. A look passed between Alpin and his men-at-arms: a look that said quite plainly, If that’s what it takes, hit him.