Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 25
Laid out with winding, convoluted streets to discourage foreign invaders, Moytura presented an intricate arrangement of byways and alleys that challenged all newcomers. Keriam knew every street by heart and where to make her purchases, whether it be perfume, silk scarves, or vases. Today, however, she didn't have shopping in mind.
Her head turning right to left, she passed the remaining stores without a second glance, ignoring a juggler and the dancing monkey, although at any other time their antics would have amused her.
"I'm thirsty, madam," Maudina said. "Couldn't we stop at a tavern and--"
"Yes," Keriam snapped, then quickly repented her impatience. "Only wait until I see . . . um, something I want to buy."
"Madam, we've passed all kinds of pretty clothes and jewelry, just the sort of things you like." She peered at Keriam. "Are you looking for someone?"
"Of course not," Keriam said. "Really, you have a very lively imagination. Now if you'll only-"
Ah! Clad in a deep green tunic and leather belt that reflected the sunlight from its wide surface, Roric Gamal stood outside the silversmith's shop, talking to an older man Keriam recognized as a wealthy and influential merchant. Was the major enlisting his help in the plot against her father? Goddess damn this man!
A fur-trimmed plaid cloak rode his broad shoulders, billowing in the breeze, his dark brown hair swirling around his neck. A sheathed sword dangled from his belt, the scabbard expensive and finely-wrought, she could tell even from a distance. Her father must pay him a good salary, she fumed, this man who would betray him. He looked for all the world like a casual shopper, like one who had nothing better to do than while away the hours in the city. The man should be an actor! Her body tensed, every muscle taut with fear for her father and hatred for this traitor.
She had to get away from her maid, had to contrive a meeting with this betrayer.
After one more hasty glance in the direction of the silversmith, Keriam drew a copper piece from a velvet purse attached to her belt and pressed the coin into her maid's hand. "Here, take this and buy yourself a cup of tea," she said, nodding toward the Black Boar. "And buy yourself something pretty with what's left over." She made a shooing motion. "Now go. You can meet me here later."
"Well, I guess it won't hurt to leave you for a few minutes. Thank you, madam."
Thank the Goddess! Keriam hurried on, weaving her way purposefully among the crowds, almost bumping into a little boy dragged along by his mother. She kept the major in sight, wondering how much longer her luck would hold, so afraid he'd soon disappear.
She stopped a few feet from him, as he was bidding his companion goodbye. Her face set in nonchalance, she strolled in front of him. Unclasping her ivory bracelet, she let it fall to the ground.
"My lady."
She turned in feigned surprise. "Yes?"
Roric Gamal handed her the bracelet. "Is this yours?" A hint of recognition touched his face, gone so quickly she wondered if she'd only imagined it.
She smiled. "Thank you. How careless of me." Taking the bracelet from him, she pretended to lose her balance and pressed her hand to his arm to steady herself. An image of him and General Balor flashed in her head, the two of them together--scheming? A jumble of his emotions rampaged through her head--sorrow and fear, worry and guilt, but above all, determination and pride. Each emotion conflicted with the others, a fierce struggle that made her head pound.
She swayed as the ground tilted around her.
"My lady, are you unwell?" He reached for her arm, then let his hand drop to his side, a look of concern on his face.
Grappling with her dizziness, she brought her mind back to reality. "I . . . I don't know what came over me." Lightly, she touched her forehead. "A slight headache but nothing to worry about, I'm sure."
"I hope for your sake you don't have a fever." He placed his hand under her elbow, a gesture that prompted a hot rush of anger, intensifying her pain and dizziness. Talmora! Ban this man from the Otherworld. She wished she could kill him now with her bare hands, choke every breath from his body.
"Permit me to lead you to the inn," he said, nodding toward the Snow Leopard. "Perhaps their healing tea will make you feel better." He smiled her way. "We can hope, anyway."
Why not? This was what she wanted, the perfect opportunity to discover more of the conspiracy, in a clandestine way, of course. Fighting to keep her anger in check, she knew he mustn't appear too anxious.
"I appreciate your kindness, but I should go home soon." She pressed her hand to her forehead, matching her slow step with his. "Oh, my head is still pounding."
"Then it's just as well we've reached the inn," the major said, opening the heavy oak door for her. "And may I say, madam, it surprises me to see such a fine lady without her maid."
She made a dismissive gesture as he led her to a round table in a far corner. "Oh, well, the girl is somewhat flighty, wanting to see this, looking at that, stopping at all the stores. So I left her to gaze to her heart's content."
The dining room appeared dark as night after the bright sunshine, and she had to focus her eyes to get her bearings. Swallowing hard, she determined her fury would not get the best of her. She suppressed a shiver as the major helped remove her cape, then slid his cloak off, hanging them both on a rack next to their table. She didn’t want him touching her.
Her glance covered the dimly-lit room, where beeswax candles burned in iron sconces and deer and elk heads dotted the walls. A stained glass window of red, blue, green, and yellow lined a far wall, the colors appearing dull now, the sunlight at the wrong angle. The aromas of ale and roast beef wafted in the air, although only a few customers patronized the inn at this mid-morning hour.
Roric looked up as the innkeeper came to their table. "Spiosra tea for the lady and ale for me." He glanced her way. "Is spicy tea agreeable with you?"
"Tea is fine." If she could drink it without choking, she fumed, her stomach knotting with hurt anger.
"I believe your excellent honey cakes might be in order, too," Roric said, looking her way again.
"Very good, sir."
After the innkeeper walked away, Roric leaned closer, his elbows on the table. "Madam, let us be honest with each other. You are the king's daughter, so no use pretending otherwise."
"I wasn't pretending. You didn't ask my name, which is Keriam.."
"Yes, of course.”
"I saw no reason to give you my name or to ask yours." You traitor!
"Which is Roric Gamal," he responded, inclining his head, "formerly an army officer but now a courier for your father, since we have been at peace for so long. Although," he said with a slight smile, "I’ve retained my officer's rank."
“Yes, I’ve seen you at the palace many times.” And after today, she agonized how she could bear to see him at the palace again, this conspirator who would kill the king--her father!–and wreak such havoc on the kingdom, doubtless for the gold it would garner him.
An amber pendant dangled from a gold chain around his neck, glimmering in the candleglow, and a heavy gold signet ring caught her attention. Directly above his heart a palace emblem was stitched on his tunic, evidence he served the king. As a child, she'd learned the words emblazoned there, we will keep faith. And with whom was he keeping faith? Not her father or the kingdom. May the Goddess strike this man dead!
He gave her a cautious glance from under his lashes while he drummed his long fingers on the table. "Are you feeling better now, madam?" he asked after a period of uncomfortable silence.
"Much better. I don't know what came over me." What a lie, she thought as so many sensations still roiled inside her. Her breathing came fast and hard, chills racing along her arm.
The innkeeper returned with their order, distracting them momentarily from further conversation.
Keriam disregarded the sights and scents of the dining room, aware she needed all her faculties to deal with this devious man. She reached for her cup of steaming tea, agonizing how much longer she could keep up the pretense, ready to fling the hot brew in his face.
He slid the plate of honey cakes toward her. "Please, have one of these. I assure you they are quite delicious.”
She took a careful sip of the spicy tea, then set the cup down with a shaky hand. "Sorry, I'm afraid I have no appetite at this hour, so soon after the morning meal." She strove to keep her voice even, for surely her anger would give her away.
"How long have you served my father?" she asked, playing for time.
Raising the mug to his mouth, he paused. "For eleven years, since I was a lad of twenty."
Twenty, she thought in surprise. Her age.
"Tell me, what is your opinion of the king? Do you think he's a good ruler? An honest answer, please." As if he would tell her the truth! You Goddess-damned traitor! If I had a knife I’d kill you now.
"If I considered him an incompetent ruler--which I don't--do you think I would tell you? Or that I would serve him? Don't be naive, Princess Keriam."
"Naive?" she asked with raised eyebrows.
He dipped his head. "My apologies, princess. But if revealing my honest opinion could prove harmful to me, I would surely not confide in you, of all people."
"No, I suppose not." She gave him a level look across the table. "The king's wish for an alliance with Elegia is no secret. What do you think of this plan?"
Roric drank his ale and set the mug down. "A good idea. Such a union would greatly strengthen the country. Avador badly needs a seaport, an easy means of getting goods and supplies into the country and exporting our merchandise." He nodded. "I'm in favor of an alliance with King Barzad."
Liar! She recalled his words the night of her spectral travel, his plans to kill her father. Her turmoil increased, waves of anger pulsing through her body, her heart thudding, her hands clenched in her lap. How could he sit here and feign innocence, pretend to go along with her father's wishes, when all the time he plotted to assassinate the king!
"Madam . . ." The major leaned forward, looking worried.
Fury raged inside her, an emotion she felt powerless to control. It surged through her body, growing stronger, more intense, making her tremble, her hands shake. She wanted to call back her anger, for it would only defeat her purpose. Why couldn't she learn to harness her abilities, to master them and never let them get the best of her?
Besides, she needed time to discover more about the scheme. She relaxed her hands, trying to present a picture of cool insouciance, knowing that any minute now--
"Princess Keriam, I fear you still have not recovered from–“
--she would explode!
The mug in his hand shattered, the glass flying in every direction, ale spraying through the air.
"What--what?" Blood trickled down his hand and dripped onto the table, leaving red splotches on the wood.
Roric stared at the mug remnant in his hand, then at the spot of blood on the table. "In the name of the Goddess, how did this happen?"
Keriam pressed her hand to her forehead. Why had she let her anger get the better of her? She might never have another meeting with this traitor, another chance to discover more of the plot. Her heart sank, regret weighing her down.
Towels in hand, the innkeeper hustled over in obsequious solicitude. "My apologies, my lord.” He handed a towel to Roric and sponged up the blood on the table. "I can't imagine how this happened. These are fine mugs, thick glass, the best money can buy."
"No harm done, just a cut." Roric pressed the cloth to his hand and looked her way, an anxious frown on his face. "And you, madam?"
Jerked back to the moment, she brushed at the spots on her dress. "Only a few drops of ale, nothing to consult the druids about."
The innkeeper clasped and unclasped his hands. "My lord, may I get you another mug of ale?"
"No." Roric waved him away, his gaze on her. "I'm afraid this has turned out to be a rather unfortunate encounter. I'm sorry, Princess Keriam."
"Not your fault. I'll survive the experience."
A gradual rise in temperature and a brightening in the room revealed the passage of time, the stained glass windows shining like jewels. She must fetch her maid and return to the palace, else her father would worry. He wanted and expected her to join him for the midday meal. A rush of affection for her father swept over her, coupled with regret that she was no closer to rooting out any information about the plot or the plotters. This meeting had been a waste of time. But perhaps not. It had taught her one thing: she must learn to control her power, use it only to serve her purpose.
Most important, she must save her father.
Chapter Two
Tired and dust-covered, Roric cantered his chestnut along the Royal North Road, returning from a mission to Galdina. King Tencien had sent him to this adjoining country with a message for the Galdinan king, informing him that a new ambassador would soon arrive to ascertain the country’s neutrality should Avador form an alliance with Elegia...
He approached the village of Cairn on the outskirts of Moytura, a hamlet consisting of a few scattered houses and farmsteads, built around a sacred pile of stones that gave the place its name. His fears canceled all thoughts of his recent meeting. He must find a means to protect King Tencien from the plotters without revealing his hand too soon. First, he had to discover the names of the other traitors, and when the time was right, he’d turn the names over to the king. By that means, he’d deny the conspirators any chance of escape. But how much longer could he pretend to be part of the scheme? How much longer before he was discovered?
He thought of his wife and baby son, dead these many years. Goddess! How he missed them. If only he had Branwen lying beside him at night, this woman he’d loved above all others. But he had consigned them both to the past, where all painful memories belonged.
What about Princess Keriam? Despite his problems, he smiled, fully aware their meeting in the city square hadn’t been an accident. He’d seen her study him out of the corner of his eye. So what was her purpose, and what–
A scream shattered the late afternoon stillness. Talmora’s bones! The horse reared, and straining on the reins, Roric brought him under control. He struck his spurs to the horse’s flank, closing the distance between him and an old woman who thrashed on the ground outside a hut, suffering a beating from three young thugs. Her skirts pushed past her knees, her arms crossed in front of her face, she kicked at the bullies, vainly trying to fight them off.
He reined in the horse and swung to the ground. “Stop!” Whip in hand, he strode toward the boys. They halted their battering, their faces defiant but wary.
The old woman moaned and struggled to rise. Blood streamed down her cheeks, cuts and bruises spotting her arms.
“She’s a witch!” one of the boys cried. “Everyone in the village knows she practices magic.”
Magic! Like a curse, the word ricocheted through his brain and chilled his arms and legs. Ignoring his fear, he cracked his whip, the sound like a clap of thunder. “All of you be gone, before I take my lash to you.”
The boys backed away, faces set in obstinacy. “You’ll be sorry you stopped here,” one of them said. “She’ll cast a spell on you.”
His heart galloped. Pretending indifference, he waved his hand. “Be off, I said.”
The boys spun around and raced down the path, leaving clouds of dust behind, until they became specks in the distance.
Propped up on one elbow, the woman groaned and pushed her skirt down. “Sir, I . . .”
Roric knelt beside her. “Don’t try to talk.” First checking for broken bones and finding none, he carefully lifted the old woman. His quick eye noted flowers bordering the house, new shoots of corn and other vegetables sprouting in the backyard, a steam house several yards distant. He carried her to her dwelling, a wattle-and-daub hut that squatted on a small plot of farmland. The front door stood open, and he stepped inside the dark room with one lone window, his eyes needing time to adjust to the dimness. After a few seconds, he carried her over to a small bed against a far wall and carefully set her down.
Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their spicy fragrances scenting the room. The smell mingled with the aroma of onion soup that simmered in an iron cauldron over the sweet-smelling peat fire. A quilt-covered wooden chest sat below the peg, a wash tub close by. A small but neat house, one he’d never associate with a witch.
In a far corner, a black cat jumped to its feet and arched its back, hissing before slinking through its own small door in the wall. Roric’s stomach tightened. Had the boys spoken the truth? Was this cat the woman’s familiar?
He headed for the stone hearth and dipped a flannel cloth into a pan of water hanging from a trammel. “Now let’s tend to your wounds, madam . . .?”
“Radegunda,” she replied in a raspy voice. She shoved her matted hair from her face, revealing a lump already forming on her forehead. A patched gray russet dress and shabby shoes evidenced her poverty. “The boys spoke the truth.”
He paused, water dripping from the cloth in his hand. “The truth?”
She changed her position, the bed creaking. “I am a witch, but I practice only good magic.”
No such thing as good magic. This sorcery had killed his wife and baby son. His chill deepened, near painful in its intensity, as if he were frozen in ice. He stifled shivers and focused on her words. The evil craft must be stamped out, never again permitted to gain a foothold in the kingdom.
He faced her, a hard set to his mouth. “Magic is an offense in the kingdom, punishable by death. You know that.”
“Is it wrong to heal people?” She raised her hand to the dried herbs. “If you have a stomach ache, ginger’s the thing. A headache? Nothin’ beats feverfew. And I’ll wager you have sore muscles from ridin’. Oregano’s the best herb for sore muscles.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, waving a hand. “Common knowledge.”
