Her words were like a good sturdy slap across the face. I dropped down beside her and wordlessly began to empty out the supplies she’d need.
“Have you stitched a wound before?”
“No.” I had, but nothing like this. My needlework was no comparison to Lady Lyll’s. Certainly not good enough for royalty.
“Then watch me.”
For the next half hour, we mopped up blood, pressed torn flesh back together, and looked for healthy skin to set the stitches in. Lyll’s hand was steady and swift — her stitches here were every bit as exact as the ones she set with gold on linen. Wierolf’s eyes blinked open once or twice, and once I even thought he recognized me, but mostly he lay still, panting and pale.
“What happened to him?”
“I — I don’t know,” Lady Lyll said, tying off the last stitch. I pointed the tips of the scissors and snipped close to Wierolf’s skin. Apparently she hadn’t worked out any sort of explanation yet.
“Who is he?” I pressed. If Lady Lyll trusted me this much, would she come all the way?
“He’s — Yselle’s nephew,” she said, only the ghost of hesitation in her voice.
“Yselle’s nephew,” I repeated.
“He’s a fugitive. He — got in trouble with the bailiff at his village, and she hid him down here without telling anyone. Celyn, I know I can count on your discretion.”
I could teach Lyll a thing or two about lying, but I let it go. I handed her the next thing she asked for, a bottle of vinegar from the basket.
She carefully cleaned the freshly sewn wound, wiping away every trace of blood from the prince’s body. I held him as she bandaged him, his body heavy and hot against mine. My face was pressed in close to his clammy neck, and — something was wrong here. “Milady —”
“Yes, what?”
I said it without thinking, and I had to wait until we had gently shifted Wierolf onto the ice-cold floor so we could change out his bedding. Where was it? “He needs —” And there I was, crawling around on the prince’s bloody, unmade bed, digging beneath the soiled mat tress for —
“What are you doing? What are you looking for?”
“This.” I found it, the chain snapped, caught in a crevice between the bed and the wall. If a spark of magic hadn’t leaped at my fingers as they brushed the edge of the pendant, I wouldn’t have seen it at all. I held it out to Lyll. The symbol I’d never been able to make out looked clear and crisp tonight: a seven-pointed star. Of course.
Lady Lyll looked at me for a long moment before she took the charm, threaded it onto a length of silk, and put it back around Wierolf’s neck. “I normally don’t like things like this,” she said. “But I suspect this man is an idiot who will never let a wound heal properly without a little . . . help.” And she tucked the pendant itself neatly inside a wrap of linen, close against his ravaged flesh.
Finally when all three of us were beyond exhausted, and Wierolf was sleeping peacefully in a clean bed, Lyll sank against the bare stone wall with a sigh. “Thank you, Celyn. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”
I glanced at the prince again. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, but his color was better. I wanted Lyll to tell me something true about him, and wondered how much she knew I had guessed.
“Shouldn’t someone stay with him?”
Lady Lyll frowned, and I could see the worries warring behind her eyes. What might the prince say when he woke up? Would he have the good sense to keep silent, or would his drugged mind spill secrets she’d worked for weeks to protect? It was odd, seeing this stalwart woman ner vous and faltering.
“You’ll be missed,” I said firmly. “Tell me what to look for, and I’ll stay.”
Finally she agreed. “Very well. He should be fine now, but watch for more bleeding, of course. If he turns paler, or if he doesn’t seem more alert after a few hours, send for me. You can find your way back to the stillroom?”
“In the dark, milady.”
Lady Lyll still hesitated.
A dark thought crept its way into my mind and would not stop squirming. Was it just a breaking-open of the old wound? That had been an awful lot of blood for someone supposedly healing. Maybe someone else at Bryn Shaer had found out about the prince’s presence here, and decided to finish what the would-be assassins had started. But who?
“Forgive me, milady, but —”
“What is it, Celyn?”
I gestured vaguely toward the patient’s new bandages. “That — it looked like an old wound?”
An odd look crossed her face, but she nodded briefly.
“How can you be sure? That it’s not a new injury, I mean.”
She watched me a moment. “Well, for one thing,” she said, “there is no way he could have survived a new injury. Are you sure you’ll be all right down here by yourself? I could stay —”
“Milady, I’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.” Besides, I really wanted to be the first one to see him when he woke up — so I could give him the smack upside the head he deserved.
Lyll finally agreed and headed for the chamber door, looking heavy and weighed down by the supplies she carried.
“Milady?”
She turned back.
“Why did you send for me? You could have stitched that up yourself. I wasn’t really that much help.”
She looked at me evenly, and I could not read the expression in her brown eyes. “Because,” she said simply, “he asked for you.”
Wierolf slept fitfully through the night; Lady Lyll had dosed him with enough poppy to keep a horse immobile, and I was nearly that tired. I managed to fall asleep propped up against the stone wall, my head pressed forward into my chest.
When I woke, confused about the time, I was freezing and achy and disoriented, and at first I didn’t remember where I was. It was dark and cold, and for a strangled moment I thought myself back in the wine cellar in Gerse. I jumped to my feet —
“Easy, easy.” A soft voice came out of the darkness. “You’re with me.”
“Wierolf?” I found his name somewhere, but it sounded scratchy and strange in my voice. I had never said it aloud before.
“The candle’s gone out. There’s another one on the shelf behind the bed. You know where, right?” His voice was surprisingly strong. “Were you here last night?” the prince asked, as I rose and got the candle lit. “I don’t remember.”
“What do you remember?” His bandage looked fine — just the slightest bit of pink dampening the linen. His forehead was cooler than he had any right to be.
“Um, I was doing a little stretching —”
“A little stretching? It was that damned Raven, wasn’t it?” I said. “You know you’re not ready to —”
“And there was lot of blood,” he finished. “I couldn’t stop it, and it seemed like hours before anyone came. I was afraid to call out, and I thought you’d come back, but —” He sighed heavily. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to.”
“Well, you nearly bled to death this time,” I said. “You have no idea how lucky you are that Lady Lyll found you when she did.”
He looked solemn. “I do. Can you — can you tell me where you thought you were, a moment ago, when you awoke? You sounded scared.”
I shrugged faintly. “Home. Gerse.”
“At the Celystra?”
“Why would you say that?”
His voice was gentle. “You were — mumbling a little in your sleep. I couldn’t really make out any words.”
Liar. But I was grateful. “Just so you know, apparently you’re Yselle’s nephew.”
He blinked. “Yselle?”
“Your Corles nurse. You got in a fight with your bailiff.”
“I see. Did I win?”
“Not from what I can tell.”
“I’ll have to learn to — control my temper,” he said, wincing as he tried to shift position. “I hate this.”
I edged him over slightly on his pillows. “I know.”
“I’m accustomed to being useless,” he said. “Not helpless.”
“Nobody likes a whiny prince.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “That tone of voice is usually quite effective on women.”
“Ew.” I waved him off, but at least he was almost smiling again.
“So, Celyn not-just-a-maid, are you ever going to explain to me who taught the Celystra girl to fight? Was it this mysterious brother of yours?”
I sank down beside him. “He’s not mysterious,” I said. “And no.”
“So it wasn’t your brother?”
“No, it wasn’t my brother,” I snapped. “What?”
“You know my story,” he said softly. “Tell me yours.”
I shrugged. “Nothing to tell. I left the Celystra, he didn’t. End of story.”
“And the Nemair took you in, and you left Gerse with them.”
“There, see? Now you know every thing.”
He gave a little sigh. “Do you ever think about what’s happening — out there? Back at home? What would you be doing right now?”
Leaning my head back against the wood railing, I tracked my thoughts back to the city. It seemed unreal, no more than the dream I’d just had and couldn’t remember. “It’s almost midwinter,” I said, my voice thin and thready in the flickering candlelight. “I guess we’d be getting ready for the last of the street fairs and river festivals before every thing closes for the Holy Nights of Marau.”
“Tell me about them,” he said. “I was officially banished from Gerse when I was nine. I haven’t been back since.”
Something about that made my throat feel tight. Not to ever go back to Gerse? I’d thought I was used to that idea. I closed my eyes and recalled aloud how the twisted cobblestone streets filled up with crowds in ornate, fanciful masks, and the boats on the three rivers lit up with paper lanterns like huge fireflies.
“That sounds pretty,” he said softly. “Tell me more about the rivers.”
I told him what I remembered, about how the Big Silver rose and fell with the tides; and Wierolf asked about the locks on the Oss that moved great ships in and out of the city. When I described our rainy winters, he wanted to know if the main streets were ever impassible because of mud. And when I talked about walking along the great wall that surrounded the city, he inquired about the gates and the watchtowers.
I hesitated; something in the questions he asked me was shifting away from casual conversation. The city wouldn’t have changed much in twenty-two years — but Bardolph hadn’t barred Wierolf from Gerse because he didn’t want the prince to see the festivals. I rose and crossed the room, where he could see me without straining, and drew a great ring on the wall with my finger, pointing to places as I spoke.
“Gerse’s wall has seven gates,” I said. “They lead into different areas of the city. The Oss Gate, here, on the northwest side, for boats. It’s always heavily guarded, but they never close it. The Harvest Gate, what locals call the Green Gate, is open sunrise to sunset. The Green Gate road goes almost straight through Gerse, right to Hanivard Palace, if you can clear the market traffic. . . .”
I glanced at him through a strand of my hair that had come loose. He was watching my hand, though a fine sweat had broken out on his forehead. “Go on,” he said.
And I continued, explaining to Prince Wierolf exactly how he might breach my city, should he ever decide to bring an army marching on Hanivard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The prince finally fell into a light but peaceful sleep, and Yselle came to fetch me, ordering me to Lady Lyll’s quarters, where a scalding-hot bath had been drawn up in the dressing room. As the steam drifted into the wan morning light, I scowled into the water and imagined blurting every thing out, just to see what Lyll would do. What’s with the guns in the wine cellar? Ever plan to let the prince out of that little cell? Do you know that Daul hates you? Was your husband the Traitor of Kalorjn?
I gave the water a frustrated splash. She might not even know the answer to that last one; I remembered that she hadn’t even married Antoch until after the war. Back at Favom Court, Morva had told me their marriage was “His Majesty’s doing.” The idea that Lyll could have married the traitor without realizing it made the hot steamy air hard to breathe.
When Lyll returned, she had a fresh white shift and a clean kirtle draped over her arm. Mine had gotten covered with Wierolf’s blood. As she sat beside the bath, I saw in her face a reflection of all my own thoughts. I braced my legs against the copper wall of the tub to stop from sinking below the water.
Lyll fussed a little, testing the bathwater, refolding the shift, adding a few drops of oil to the tub. Finally she looked at me gravely. “Thank you for your assistance last night, Celyn.”
“Last night, milady?” I said, and for a wild moment even I wasn’t sure what I was doing. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. I was with Lady Merista all evening, as you know. We were abed early, but milady woke in the night with a cough. Yselle brought us some mead to soothe her throat.”
The edge of Lady Lyll’s lip twitched as she watched me, her expression shifting slightly.
“And I am certain you will find no one to dispute that account. I remember the hours quite clearly, in fact.”
Lyll eased back into her chair. “And how fares my daughter this morning, Lady Celyn?”
“Very much improved,” I said smoothly. “I’m certain she’ll be able to make her morning ride with her lord father.”
“I see,” said Lyll. After a long pause, she added, “Has my daughter suffered many such episodes?”
I nodded carefully. “And it would not surprise me should she suffer them again in future.”
“Celyn —” She braced the heel of her hand against her forehead. “He has demanded that you be allowed to continue to visit him. But by all the gods, please use discretion. I cannot overstate the delicacy of our situation here. You know we are expecting a representative of the king for Meri’s kernja-velde, and I hope I don’t have to tell you how critical it is that our — guest remain anonymous and invisible. Everything depends on him, Celyn.”
Her words gave me a chill despite the steamy water. “I understand, your ladyship.”
Lyll watched me one long, hard moment, then gave me one of her crisp nods as she rose from the stool. “Thank you, Celyn,” she said — and, inexplicably, I wanted to hear that warm low voice speak my real name.
I climbed out of the tub, and Lyll left me to towel off and get dressed in private. Her dressing room was a snug, warm space with paneled walls and no windows, filled with cabinets and chests and lovely little ladies’ things. I pulled open a drawer in the dressing table, look ing for a hairbrush, and saw a tiny face looking back at me. I dipped my fingers inside and retrieved two miniature portraits, carefully set in delicate bejeweled frames. One was of a boy who could be Meri’s twin — round-faced and pale, solemn. The other was of a much younger child, scarcely more than a baby, done up in a brocaded frock and posed stiffly, a golden rod clutched in chubby fists.
Lady Lyll returned just then, and I started, questions poking at me from all directions. Lyll, a shadow crossing her face, smiled faintly. “Those are Meri’s brothers.” She gingerly took the miniatures from me. “My sons from my first marriage, Ralth and Sandur.”
“Where are they now?”
“With their father,” she said, and I was surprised. “It’s all right. When I was very young, my parents married me to a nobleman who had more ambition than virtue. Our families were not rich, and he was the younger son; at the time neither of us expected to make any better match. He and I got along; by all accounts it should have been a successful marriage. I bore him two healthy, beautiful boys, a feat I have not been able to replicate for Antoch. And then his brother died, and suddenly he stood in line to inherit not only his own family’s estate, but that of his brother’s betrothed — and she was wealthy. He cast me aside, and that was that.”
“But you were married to him
.”
She smiled bitterly. “Not anymore. Not under Bardolph’s new decree that only marriages performed in a Celyst temple were valid. My family had let him persuade us to be married by a priest of Mend-kaal. At the time I thought it was quaint, perhaps even a little romantic. But one swipe of Bardolph’s green pen, and suddenly I had never been a wife, and my sons were bastards.”
“Why aren’t they with you now?”
Her lip twisted in a way that was not quite pleasant. “His new wife proved . . . disappointing in that regard, and after a time, my former husband agreed to legitimize his sons — if I surrendered any claim to them.” She sighed, stroking the face of her older son. “I had lived two hard years in my father’s house with two small boys who hated me for leaving their father. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. I haven’t seen them since. Meri has never met them.”
I watched her soft pale hand draw circles on the face of her boy, and I wanted to squeeze her hand or hug her or something. “I’m sorry,” I said — because I couldn’t think of anything else, and because it was true.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk. She placed the portraits back inside the drawer and snapped it shut. “Let’s get you dressed.”
But I watched her out of the corner of my eye, and I wondered. I remembered something else Morva had said, back at Favom Court, about Lady Lyll’s children being taken away from her, for being married to a rebel. Well, she had some of the details wrong, but the gist right. It seemed to explain a great many things about Lady Lyllace Nemair.
I was a little surprised that Lyll didn’t keep me close the next few days, but she had an injured prince to tend and must have decided against a repeat per for mance of our late-night drama. It was just as well; I didn’t know what I would do with both of them there and conscious together. So I wandered a little aimlessly through the halls of the Lodge, trying to remember what it was like when I’d first arrived here last month — when carpeted corridors and rich mountain breakfasts were enough excitement for one lost Gersin thief.
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