“Undeserved, yet borne without complaint. . . .” Laud’s words and story shamed Abramm out of his self-pity, truth tearing away the veils his disappointment, frustration, and selfishness had woven about his soul. His sufferings may have been undeserved, but he’d certainly not borne them without complaint. And compared to what Laud had endured, they were nothing. Even less when laid up against what Tersius went through.
So what if things had been difficult and uncomfortable for a time? So what if he would not see his wife as soon as he had hoped? At least he had hope of seeing her. And his sons. At least he had all his limbs..
After a time Laud removed his pipe. “Nothing that happens in this life is beyond Eidon’s reach. I’m sure you know that. . . .” He turned now, meeting Abramm’s gaze. “The question is, do you live in it?”
Abramm had no answer to that. For Laud was right—though it took effort to admit it. If he lived in what he claimed to believe, then he had no reason for all this misery he was piling upon himself. Even now, he felt the tenuousness of his thoughts—how he could sincerely believe and yet see how, with a simple twisting of perception, he would not. He shook his head. “I want to, though,” he whispered.
“The more you learn of him, the more you’ll understand him,” said Laud. “The more you know and understand, the easier it will be to trust him. In all things.” He tilted his head, the spectacles’ lenses flashing with reflected light. “Perhaps that is why you are here: to learn of him.”
“Surely I could learn as well in Fannath Rill.”
“No. There you would be busy fighting, your mind filled with the distractions of battle. But up here . . .”
Up here Abramm was cut off from everything. He had few responsibilities, no one knew who he was, and even the jobs were menial, allowing plenty of time to think.
“How many times in the old stories do we read of men taken off to a solitary time of learning and preparation before they can fulfill the calling Eidon has placed upon their lives? You are in such a hurry to join in the fighting. But perhaps Eidon has something greater for you, something that can only be carried out with greater knowledge and confidence. . . .”
A current of Light tingled over Abramm’s flesh, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck. Is that what you’re doing here, my Lord? Preparing me? He had only to form the question before he knew the answer. Yes.
Apparently Laud noted a change, for he smiled, stuck his pipe back into his mouth, and giving him a nod, turned again to the window. After a moment he added, “You might consider taking advantage of our baths. They’re free. And they’re quite rejuvenating. If you need some clothes ask Alia. She keeps a supply of ’em clean and mended for folk without a lot of spares, and she’ll see your own are washed and mended, as well.”
He left Abramm standing at the window, bemused and chastened yet again.
CHAPTER
6
After her fiasco with the esteemed gentleman, Maddie never returned to the Inn of the Gilded Ram, partly for fear of running into the man again, and partly because, after walking out without a word, going back would draw more attention to herself than her little charade as Molly could bear without unraveling entirely.
She’d already done the tavern-girl gambit years ago, at the very same inn, with Serr Penchott’s now-senile father. Ignorance, immaturity, and her overweening delight in becoming the commoners’ singing sensation had led to her unmasking. King Hadrich had been so furious he’d sent her to a convent for a year in hopes of instilling some sense of responsibility and decorum in her.
The punishment would be far worse now, with Ronesca part of the triumvirate that commanded her life. And now she had others who relied upon her for their livelihoods, and they would suffer along with her should she bring even more dishonor upon herself than had already come with her pregnancy. It had taken an effort of will for her to stop trying to analyze what had happened and how the eccentric behavior of some Sorian lord she didn’t even know could have unhinged her as much as they had, but she was determined to leave it all behind.
So “Molly” had vanished, and Trap was relieved not to have to worry about Maddie walking unescorted through the streets of Fannath Rill after dark anymore.
In any case, the wind that night had brought in the storm clouds, and the next day the rains had begun. It was still raining over a week later when she dreamed of Abramm again.
As always she sensed him nearby, his strong, sustaining presence filling her soul in almost the same way Eidon’s Light did. A great storm raged outside, wind howling, snowflakes ticking against roof and shutter as she followed him through dark rooms and twisting drafty corridors, calling for him to wait. But the wind drowned out her voice so he didn’t hear her. Time and again she would round one corner only to glimpse him disappearing around the next, until finally she heard a door shut, and the next turn brought her face-to-face with it. When she opened it, she found only a field of white blowing snow and he was gone, never knowing she was there. She’d awakened bereft, consumed by the terrible longing such dreams always birthed in her, and once again the tears came.
After a while, she rolled over, turning her thoughts to Eidon . . . and words flowed into her mind on a haunting melody. Words of sorrow and loss that compelled her to arise and hurry to her music room, where she took up her lirret and began to work out the song. Some time later, Jeyanne interrupted her, reminding her she was to ride with Princess Ronesca to the reception at Tiris ul Sadek’s villa, and they were already nearly an hour past the time she’d planned to arise.
“But it’s pouring rain,” Maddie protested.
“Indeed, and yet Princess Ronesca has just sent over your gown and jewels along with very complex and specific instructions as to how it should all be arranged.”
“So she’s not canceling,” Maddie said.
“I don’t think so, Your Highness.”
Jeyanne wasn’t exaggerating about the specificity of Ronesca’s instructions, nor their complexity. Maddie’s hair alone took over an hour to work into the jeweled and braided patterns Ronesca wanted. And the gown was a nightmare of buttons and ties and sashes, most of them fastening in the back. The waist was too tight to accommodate her steadily swelling womb, so Jeyanne left some of the buttons undone and covered the breach with an artful rearrangement of scarf and gold-braiding. When all was in place—the hair, the jewels, the cosmetics, and the sashes—Jeyanne floated a white silk veil reminiscent of the Sorian style over Maddie’s head and laid a heavy cloak of satin-lined wool over that.
Maddie reached the front foyer shortly before Ronesca and her other attendant for the day, Lady Iolande. Together they stepped out under the covered portico and hurried to the waiting coach as the rain sheeted down beyond the overhang. Gathering her cloak firmly about her, Maddie boarded the coach after her sister-in-law, Iolande entering last. Then the door closed and the coach rolled away. Within moments rain drummed on the vehicle’s wooden ceiling and water splashed around the wheels.
The three women sat in silence, swaying in unison as the coach wheeled around the circular drive and started up over the bridge to the mainland. Maddie eyed her sister-in-law covertly.
Ronesca was in her middle thirties, her features sharp and clean, not particularly pretty, but arresting nonetheless. Beneath her cloak’s loosely fitting satin hood, her dark hair had been pulled up into an elaborate coiffure of tiny interwoven braids, set off with a sparkling net of rubies and topaz. A single dark curl dangled beside her long, pale neck.
She was intelligent, powerful, and persistent. And she was definitely up to something, for normally she wouldn’t think of going out in her finery on a day like this.
But Draek Tiris ul Sadek was the new sensation in town. His men had arrived months ago to buy the old Portelas villa on the eastern edge of town and had been renovating it ever since. Today was the first time anyone other than workmen had been allowed inside since the renovations began.
He was a high draek of one of the
old Sorite dynasties, a fabulously wealthy warlord from the east, whose holdings were said to include a palace with archways cast of gold and halls paneled in the same, furnished with plates and goblets and utensils of gold. Even the breastplates of his royal guard were golden. His mythical holdings supposedly lay somewhere out beyond the Mahishi—the harsh, high deserts and the Great Sand Sea few deigned to cross, save on the trade routes which had made men like ul Sadek their fortunes.
In addition to sponsoring the arts, he was also patron of the weak. Having been an orphan himself, he maintained a great orphanage back in his kingdom. He also had armies that numbered in the hundreds of thousands under his command. He would be a valuable ally should Ronesca somehow manage to acquire him.
That she had insisted Maddie attend with her, then taken the trouble to select her gown and accessories for the occasion, complete with meticulous instruction as to how they should be arranged, argued strongly that Maddie was a part of whatever she was planning. And it didn’t take too great a leap of logic to guess what that part was.
Since the morning when Maddie had admitted her pregnancy to the woman, they had not spoken of it at all. But Maddie had been careful to attend as many of Ronesca’s social functions and religious observances as she could bear—and as did not interfere with her own. Not being concerned with showing up at the Gilded Ram had helped, though for a time she’d refused to eat anything prepared on palace grounds, except that which her own people specifically purchased and prepared. It had, she’d heard, raised a bit of turmoil in the kitchens, but so be it. Ronesca had said nothing, and rumors credited her strange cravings to being with child. Eventually she’d talked herself out of the horrible suspicion, for as much at odds as she was with Ronesca, she couldn’t believe the woman would stoop to killing her baby.
“I am pleased to see you have respected my wishes and have adorned yourself properly.” Ronesca’s prim voice intruded into Maddie’s musings.
Maddie met her sister-in-law’s gaze. “How could I fail, Your Highness? You were quite specific.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time my instructions were ignored. Or . . . modified.” Her dark, long-lashed eyes dropped to Maddie’s waist. “I see there was some of that, regardless. The dress is too tight for you, I presume?” Maddie flushed as Ronesca pursed her small lips. “It’s hidden well, though. Don’t you think?” She glanced at Lady Iolande, who agreed.
The crown princess’s gaze narrowed again on Maddie. “I’d like you to see that it remains so.”
“But everyone already knows—”
“They only suspect, my dear. And so long as you say nothing inappropriate, that is the way it will stay. Tell them that you will be moving up to Deveren Dol to stay with the Sisters of the Sacred Graces for a time of spiritual healing and refreshment in the wake of your devastating losses. Certainly you’ve played the part of grieving widow well enough. When you return, we will have a grand ball to welcome you back and officially introduce you to the court.”
Maddie frowned at her. “Sisters of the— I have no interest in going on retreat, Your Highness. And, anyway, what would be the point? It will be obvious I’m not going for spiritual healing.”
“Not if you leave within the week. Rumor to the contrary, no one is certain of the truth. And if they don’t see you swelling up like an old sow, they will remain uncertain. When the child is born . . . well . . . perhaps Eidon will be gracious and give you a girl, which would solve all of our problems.”
“I will not go to Deveren Dol, Your Highness.”
Ronesca cocked a shapely brow at her. “You are not queen here, Princess Madeleine. In fact, you are not queen anywhere, so you would do well to stop acting as if you were. I’ve written to your father about this matter, and he has agreed. You’ll go north next week. If your child is determined to be of royal heritage, we will see about procuring him or her a proper sponsor. Otherwise . . .” She let her words trail off meaningfully.
Maddie felt the old anger smoldering within her.
“Say anything to anyone today,” Ronesca said before she could speak, “and I’ll know of it. In which case you will be leaving considerably sooner.”
“My father agreed to this?”
“I have it in writing, my dear.” She pulled at the folds of her gray woolen outer cloak. “Of course, if you were to accede to my wishes and promise to properly identify your child with the kirik here in Chesedh, the king might be willing to rethink things. But as it is . . . he is concerned, Madeleine. For you, for your child, and for his realm.”
“His realm? My child will be no danger to his realm!”
“Perhaps not at your command, but we have many Kiriathans in Chesedh, unfortunately.”
“Helping us fight for our lives.”
“Some of them, yes.” Ronesca’s gloved hands fell still as her gaze came up to meet Maddie’s. “But others are simply leeches, noble exiles too good to do any real work. None of us is happy about this, for we all know Kiriathans are not to be trusted. If word were to get out that you had given birth to Abramm’s heir, what do you think would happen? They would flock to you, seeking to use the child to regain the throne of Kiriath and throw the usurpers out.”
“He would be a babe, incapable of leading any bid to regain the throne.”
“Perhaps, but your finance secretary was once First Minister of all the realm. And before that, a military leader. He is also the child’s uncle, and at one point his wife was actually Abramm’s designated successor.”
“That was changed when Simon was born.”
“Ah, but Simon is no longer in the way. Nor is your other one. . . . What was his name?”
Maddie stared at her stonily. “His name was Ian.”
Ronesca shrugged. “No matter. Neither is an issue any longer, which leaves Meridon as the perfect candidate to serve as regent while your child grows to maturity.”
“I can’t believe you think these things.”
“You deny they are truth?”
“The facts as you’ve outlined them are all true. Yes, Duke Eltrap would be the logical one to head a regency. But he would never do that. At least not right now. He knows the importance of winning the battle for Chesedh before we can even think about Kiriath again.”
“Does he? I’m not so sure. Nor is King Hadrich.”
The coach began to slow, then came to a stop, and soon the door creaked open. Maddie stepped out after Iolande into a white silk tent, erected at the villa’s entrance alcove to protect guests from the weather. She guessed there must be two layers, for the walls of the inner barely stirred despite the stiff wind gusting outside. The rain was so effectively blocked, the only moisture that dampened the pavement was that carried in by the coaches themselves.
Servants in short white jackets and blousy black trousers guided them to a long, upsloping corridor with a high, arched latticework ceiling of stone and glass. Warmed this chilly, wet day by tall bronze braziers full of coals, its length was lined with other guests making their way up to Tiris ul Sadek’s famed Grand Salon.
Ronesca was fashionably late, so the salon was already crowded, the rumble of their conversation competing with the minor key refrains of a cadre of balcony musicians.
Vast sheets of silk draped the great hall, reminding Maddie unnervingly of the night she’d served the Gilded Ram’s esteemed guest. Huge orbs hung about the room—not kelistars, but glass filled with swirling, dancing colored lights, mostly in shades of amber and blue. Their illumination reflected off great winged creatures rendered in brushstrokes of silver and gold and sparkling crystal on the silk draperies, benevolent beings watching over the crowd.
A golden fig tree stood at the room’s midst, encased in a glass dome, and beyond it a modest dais had been set up for a great gilded chair on which the draek sat to receive the compliments of his guests, the line as long as the room itself. Ronesca and her attendants were immediately escorted to the front, of course, and Maddie was only about ten feet away when she final
ly got a clear look at their host.
He was a man in his prime—tall, straight-backed, and well-built—in impeccable white robes sashed in gold. A swag of loose gold netting set with jewels and precious stones swept across his chest and a white turban covered his dark hair. A gold ring glittered in his ear against a closely trimmed dark beard. More gold stippled his cheekbones beneath liquid brown eyes lashed in black. It was the eyes that keyed her recognition and drove the breath from her chest. For this was the same man she’d served at the Gilded Ram, the one who’d caught her wrist and smelled it, who’d offered to buy her unborn child. Tiris ul Sadek, gone slumming while he waited for his villa to be prepared. . . .
He stood and stepped off his dais to greet them.
“Draek Tiris.” Ronesca dropped a deep curtsey, Madeleine doing likewise at her elbow. “It is a pleasure to finally meet so esteemed a man as yourself.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness.”
The dark, liquid eyes fixed upon Maddie and, to her vast relief, showed no sign of recognition. Of course. As many times as she’d experienced the same phenomenon, why had she even doubted?
“May I introduce you to Princess Madeleine, my sister-in-law,” Ronesca purred, “the First Daughter of Chesedh, and widow of the slain Kiriathan king, Abramm Kalladorne.”
Maddie held out her hand, and ul Sadek took it, the touch of his fingers on hers sending a tremor up her arm. He’d lost the grotesque claws, she noted. “My sincerest condolences on your loss, my queen,” he said soberly. She had not noticed how wonderful his voice was when he’d spoken to her in the inn’s back room, but now it made her breath catch.
Ronesca frowned, having noted his inappropriate title for Maddie. She didn’t dare correct him though, so she diverted his attention back to herself and introduced the Countess Iolande Cheriqual. Ul Sadek greeted her with a cool disinterest that bordered on rudeness, and immediately returned his gaze to Maddie. “Your husband was a great man,” he said. “I was shocked to hear he had passed on.”
Return of the Guardian-King Page 8
