The Fall of Neskaya

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Taniquel passed by the smaller chair which had been hers and lowered herself on the throne, for a moment grateful that Padrik scorned the softness of pillows. She needed its unyielding support.

  “Stay by me,” she said to Gavriel, and he took up his usual post behind Padrik’s chair.

  More and more of the castle household streamed into the room, each one bowing silently to her, although few approached the throne. Many, she saw, had never appeared in formal court before, had probably known this room only as a place to be polished or dusted. Some bore children in their arms, one a nursing baby.

  Gavriel approached with the scepter which had been so rarely used. “The wounded are being tended,” he said, and detailed the arrangements.

  “Tell the coridom he has done well,” she told him, with a gesture encompassing the brilliance of the room and the presence of the community.

  He bowed again. “Is there anything else we might do for Your Majesty?”

  “No, there is nothing to be done. Our fate is in the hands of the gods. Take your place.”

  Oh, Padrik! came a silent wail at the back of her mind. You will never know about your son! She smothered the words into silence, set her jaw, and lifted her chin. Her free hand she kept on the arm of the chair. She would give away nothing, no trace of agitation or grief, before the invader.

  She had not long to wait before the clatter of boots and the jingle of spurs and harness sounded in the corridor outside. Adrenaline tinged the air. Men in Deslucido colors, swords drawn, swept into the room. Courtiers cringed before them. A few cried out, while others glanced wild-eyed toward the throne. Though her heart yammered against her ribs, Taniquel sat without moving. As long as she held firm, as long as she herself did not break, neither would her people.

  I am comynara and Hastur. I carry the Acosta heir. The thought brought desperation as well as strength.

  She recognized the Ambervale officers by their dress and carriage, the arrogant way they took up positions to the side of the dais without so much as a nod in her direction. Opposite them stood a figure in a long gray robe, hood shadowing the face.

  Laranzu! She knew that she looked now at the source of the compulsion to keep the gates closed. A feeling akin to dread crept over her.

  Horns sounded from outside, a brassy five-note challenge which set the stones ringing. The mass of armed men parted. Two men strode down the center of the room, followed closely by an older, grizzled man in a general’s uniform. The first man moved with unbridled confidence and ease. The armor beneath his black-and-white cloak was modeled with exquisite simplicity and shone with the patina of much polishing. Not until he had approached did she see the lines of his face, for his movements gave no hint of his age. He might have been sixteen or sixty. This must be Deslucido himself, Taniquel realized with a quickly suppressed move of surprise, come to do his own negotiating instead of leaving it to a lieutenant. He must be very sure of himself.

  Her gaze flickered to the younger man, carefully positioned to the side and a half-step behind him. Rarely had she seen a man of such surpassing beauty. Eyes blue as chips of summer sky regarded her levelly, measuring her in a way that sent prickles up the back of her neck. Golden hair glittered as if the room had been created specifically to enhance his brilliance. In her experience, such looks often betokened arrogance and self-centeredness. Although she saw no trace of either in the young man’s bearing, she disliked him immediately.

  Deslucido took a stance a few feet away and gave a short bow, as a gentleman might accord a lady of lower rank. “There is no need to rise, vai domna, as you bid us welcome.”

  “I have no intention of quitting my seat,” she replied stiffly, “and you are hardly well come to Acosta.” Brave words, she told herself. What did she hope to gain by a pitiful delay? Yet . . . there must be something he wanted, or he would have dragged her from the throne and either cut off her head or thrown her into the apple cellars, which passed at Acosta Castle for a dungeon.

  A smile flashed across Deslucido’s features as he caught her play of words. Then his mouth hardened. “Your lord husband lies dead, your forces disarmed, your castle occupied by my men. Even if you had some means to resist, you could not rule this land by yourself, a mere woman. Your only option is a graceful surrender.”

  Taniquel swallowed a barbed retort. The fingers of her free hand dug into the carved arm rest, but she permitted herself no other sign. “What are your conditions, then?”

  “My lady, gracious Queen,” this time he bowed in earnest, “I have no desire to molest you or your people. Indeed, it is my wish that all within these walls, all within the bounds of Acosta, live in peace and fellowship. I understand this may be difficult for you to accept, with this rabble,” a jerk of his chin indicating his own men, the quirk of a smile inviting her to share his joke, “occupying your home. Yet in time, you will come to see that no more harm was done than was absolutely necessary and that the greater good, a secure and lasting peace, merited this small sacrifice.”

  A secure and lasting peace? Sweet gods, what is the man talking about? Is he mad?

  “This is what I intend, that your people will continue to live as they have always done, by their own customs, owing allegiance only to Acosta, but an Acosta now bound by unbreakable ties of alliance to my greater kingdoms of Ambervale and Linn. You yourself shall live here, in the manner to which you are accustomed, attended by your own servants. You may bury your husband with all the rites and honor due him, just as if he had won. Because, in the far larger sense, Acosta has already won.” These last words rang through the hall, met with stares of confusion and surprise.

  “What conditions do you demand in return, vai dom? ” Taniquel repeated with as much politeness as she could summon. “What tribute? Are you saying you have no plan to rule Acosta yourself?”

  A smile lightened the seamed features, as brilliant as the sun after a storm. “I have no such plan.” He paused as a second ripple of astonishment swept the room. Cries and whispered comments buzzed like a dozen honey swarms. Taniquel’s heart gave a little jerk despite her suspicions. As quickly, the outcry died down. Every ear turned to what would come next.

  “It is my son Belisar who shall be King of Acosta, with you as his Queen.”

  As if at a distance, she heard the few scattered cheers which went up. Deslucido was offering her an honorable alternative to execution or exile.

  No altruistic motives lay behind this proposal, for the situation would be greatly to Deslucido’s advantage. As Belisar’s bride, her position as Queen and her rank as a Hastur daughter would grant his reign legal and moral legitimacy. The chances of a revolt, even a futile one, would be reduced, for who could claim a loyal rebellion against their true Queen?

  You may have conquered Acosta by magic and by trickery, but you have not conquered me! I would sooner slit my own throat right here than give you and your spawn any true right to the throne.

  Chill sluiced over her skin as if she’d been doused with a bucket of half-frozen water. The figure in the hooded gray cloak—the laranzu—had sensed her reaction and focused on her as if she were a fatted deer. He thrust against her mind, a spear point of ice.

  “Oh, yes,” the leronis who had examined her as a skinny, adolescent girl had said, “you carry the heritage of powerful laran. But your gifts are of no real use to anyone but yourself. You have only a little empathy, which should make you a sympathetic wife and mother, and strong barriers. That is why we bothered to test you, to see if anything lay beyond them.”

  Strong barriers. For the first time, she prayed the leronis had been right.

  Get out! Get out! she screamed silently. The next instant, the pressure withdrew, to be replaced by brooding awareness. Sweet Evanda, she would have to guard her very thoughts as well as her actions!

  Taniquel realized with a blink that the silence had drawn on overlong, that the entire assembly waited for her reply.

  “You must—” she began, then realized she was
hardly in a position to demand anything of this smiling conqueror. But some stubborn core would not ask, would not beg anything of him. “We will retire now—” She meant to continue, to consider these terms, but he cut her off.

  “Excellent!” He turned the word into a jubilant shout.

  Just as Gavriel stepped forward to assist her in rising, for the seat of the throne was deep and the brocade skirts stiff and full, Deslucido bounded up the step of the dais and offered his own arm. His timing was so perfect that she had no choice but to take it or sprawl unceremoniously back onto the throne.

  “I give you into the care of your lovely ladies,” Deslucido said with an engaging grin that brought forth blushes and downcast eyes, “so that you need not trouble yourself further with the affairs of state.”

  Without pausing for her acknowledgment, he settled into the empty throne and gestured to Gavriel, “Attend me, counselor.”

  Taniquel’s muscles went rigid and her face felt as if she had stuck her head into the oven, as she had one time on a dare from Padrik when they were both children.

  Gavriel would not look at her; he had no power to help her. Somehow, she found herself at the private side door, her body moving like a wooden puppet. As the door closed behind her, she heard Deslucido’s voice ringing out in golden tones, telling her people of the glories that awaited them under his son’s reign.

  15

  Taniquel lowered herself onto the ornately padded stool where she had sat just a short time ago, having her hair looped and plaited, her face touched with paint.

  She shivered, although the room was not cold. Shock, she thought, shock and grief.

  Her ladies fluttered around her like billowy summer wind-roses adrift on an icy stream. Their perfumes caught in her throat. She could not think with all this noise and fuss—and she must, she must!

  She must give the ladies something else to do. She roused herself to issue commands—to help her from the brocade gown which now seemed more a cage than armor, and into an old skirt and tunic of undyed fawn-colored chervine wool, to comb out her hair and plait it simply, to fetch hot jaco and lady-pies, to light a small fire.

  A short time later, she was able to draw a free breath. Her old, comfortable clothes, her house boots worn to buttery softness, the low tapestried stool which had been Padrik’s mother’s, and a cup of steaming jaco cradled between her icy fingers all helped steady her nerves. She sipped and gazed into the lightly flickering fire, no longer trembling. Here in her own quarters, she no longer sensed she was being watched by the hooded laranzu. For the moment, she was safe. But she must go carefully, for every action would be watched.

  Verella, noticing Taniquel’s mood, offered to play the rryl. She sang only passably, so Taniquel took up the instrument herself and cradled it on her lap, trying to remember the chords of Padrik’s favorite song. It had been far too long since she had played, and her fingers were stiff as old women on the strings. Slowly the words came to her.

  “Over the mountains

  And over the waves,

  Under the fountains,

  And over the grave,

  Under floods that are deepest,

  Over rocks that are steepest—”

  Taniquel broke off, aware of Verella’s stare. She’d forgotten it was a love song. Or rather, she thought as she put the rryl aside, a song of lost love, of promises that could not be kept.

  When that song and the next, a pastoral ballad, some lovelorn nonsense about a shepherd’s love for a lady, came to a close, Taniquel bade her ladies withdraw. They would not go far, but at least she had a small measure of solitude. Let them think her the broken, weeping widow. Let them carry that message to Deslucido. It would buy her time to gather allies and resources.

  What allies? Gavriel’s first loyalty must be to Acosta, his efforts focused on softening the conqueror’s grasp. If he could help her, he would, but it would not be soon, not until his own position was secure. She could look for neither advice nor succor there, any more than from her ladies.

  Alone, Taniquel crawled on to her bed, nestling between the pillows and comforters. Her eyes ached, although she had not wept. Perhaps she dozed a little; half-formed images like waking dreams flickered across her mind.

  Padrik’s great white horse pawing the air, slipping into the mass of fighting men . . . bells ringing . . . rain misting over green grass . . . a man’s face, copper-bright hair framed in blue fire . . . Belisar reaching for her with that arrogant smile . . . over and over again, the white horse falling . . .

  Slowly she went over the facts in her mind, forcing herself to think instead of feel. There would be time enough for mourning once she was free. First, Deslucido now ruled Acosta. She had no power to challenge him. Second, he meant to marry her to his son, to use her as a path to legitimacy. Nothing she could say or do would alter that.

  She had never hoped to wed for love. Fortune had been generous once, for her family chose a husband who offered both companionship and kindness. Only a fool would expect that much a second time.

  How could she possibly marry this golden prince, son of the father who had murdered her childhood companion and seized her homeland by deception?

  And what of her son? Blessed Cassilda, guardian of babes in their mothers’ arms, what of her unborn son?

  She had not missed her woman’s cycles, not yet. Desperately she thought if she were forced to marry this Belisar, if she permitted him to bed her and then presented the pregnancy to him as his own . . .

  I would as soon couple with a cralmac!

  The very idea brought a rush of bile to her mouth. Her muscles shook with revulsion. She could not even seek her own death as an honorable escape, because she carried another, innocent life. No matter what the odds, she must survive.

  She calmed herself, digging her nails into the palms of her hands hard enough to leave little blood-dark crescents.

  The hushed crumple of a falling log brought her to her present surroundings. The room had grown dark and cool with the setting of the sun. Piadora slipped into the room to light a branched candelabrum. In the soft light, Taniquel saw that she had been weeping.

  At least one of us has, she thought with a pang of guilt.

  Meanwhile, there was much work to do. There was an old proverb about the wisdom of thrusting a stick into a nest of scorpion-ants. Just so, she must avoid arousing any greater suspicions than already existed.

  Taniquel had helped arrange the funeral for Padrik’s father, old King Ian-Valdir, five years ago. She at least ought to keep vigil and ride with the body to the family burial area. Acosta was too far from Hali and the rhu fead to bring Padrik to lay in an unmarked grave there, as was the custom among the Comyn. Besides, there was no chance Deslucido would simply let her ride out of his control and back to her own powerful family. Not if he truly intended her as his son’s bride.

  Tomorrow, she told herself, there would be a proper ending to Padrik’s reign. She would bid farewell to him and stand as witness as his closest friends and advisers shared their memories of him.

  And I, what will I say? She prayed to whatever god would listen that something would come.

  Meanwhile, there were arrangements which would not make themselves. Taniquel got up, brushed the folds of her tunic into smoothness, gestured to the girl to follow her, and went to the door. It would not move; the latch could not be locked from the outside, but had been jammed in some way.

  She stared at the handle as if it had suddenly turned into an iron snake. Trying it again brought only the same result. It would not budge. In a spasm of sudden panic, she pounded on the door itself. “Open up! Open this instant!”

  The door swung open. She jumped back, heart racing. Outside stood a young officer, but not one of her own. The face above the black-and-white diamond surcoat bore the marks of little sleep and hard riding.

  “Vai domna.” When he spoke, she realized he was not as young as she’d thought. The voice was firm, the dark eyes wary but confident. He blo
cked the opening with his body, turning only to make sure he had room to draw his sword.

  “Are you my escort?” she said in the iciest tone she could manage. “I will now go to the chapel to see that my husband’s body is resting as is proper.” As your King Damian promised me, she thought but did not add.

  The soldier’s expression did not change, not even the tensing of the smallest eye muscles. “Regretfully, His Majesty has not given permission for you to leave these chambers. If you wish, I will send a page with your request.”

  A page! My request! So that is to be the way of it.

  But there was nothing to be done except withdraw with whatever grace she could muster and to wait. She was not a helpless prisoner, as Deslucido might think. This part of the castle, the oldest, was riddled with secret passageways which she and Padrik had delighted to explore as children. Some of them had been created accidentally as a result of centuries of repairs and additions, but others were quite deliberate, she thought, ways for the lord to discreetly visit his mistress or spy upon his counselors. Very untrusting souls, those Acosta ancestors. But she must not risk anyone else finding out until the right time—when Deslucido had relaxed in his victory, when her absence might not be noticed immediately, so that she had a decent chance of escape. She would keep the passageways secret until she needed them.

  Meanwhile, she would play at submission and find out more about Deslucido’s plans.

  Half an hour later, Taniquel found herself alone in Padrik’s quarters, in the comfortable sitting room where they had passed so many winter hours since he had become King. Verella and Rosalys attended her only so far as the antechamber, where the guard, too, had withdrawn. A table had been set for dining. Candles gleamed on the utensils and copper-chased goblets.