by Glenda Larke
“So many of them around the bed there was scarce room to move! The Regal himself came to the solar. His Grace were in the retiring room, he was, awaiting the news with his courtiers. With all that going on, is it no wonder none of us knew till morning that Sorrel’d done gone, vanished? No one noticed her go. No one knew what megrims she got in her head as made her went. That’s Va’s own truth, mynster.” And I pray Va will save me from my lies…
The large man reached under his coat, behind his back, and withdrew a dagger. Carelessly he flipped it in his palm several times. She was mesmerised, watching the blade turn. He placed his other hand on the side of her neck where his long fingers and thumb caressed her skin. She shivered, unable to move. He raised the point of the dagger until it pricked her under the chin. She gave a single sob.
Around them, people scattered, giving them a wide berth.
He leaned forward to speak in a raspy whisper. “Last chance,” he said. “Last chance for the truth.”
“I told you the truth,” she whispered. “All I know.”
There was a long silence. A stillness that dragged on and on. She couldn’t move. She felt damp between her legs, and knew she had wet herself, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was beyond mortification, mired in a fear so deep she thought she would die of it.
“If you have lied,” the smaller man said, and the malice in his tone was like poison, “I will come for you one day. I will see you strapped to a wagon wheel and raised spread-eagled to look at the sky above. The ravens will come to peck out your eyes. The hawks will come to tear out your tongue. And at night, the rats will climb the pole to burrow their way between your legs and feast on your privates…”
She was shaking so hard she thought the knife would stab her through the face. She closed her eyes and waited to die.
Nothing happened.
The fingers vanished. The dagger point no longer pricked. She waited, eyes closed, incapable of moving. Still nothing happened.
She opened her eyes. She was standing on the street, swaying. Around her people continued on their way, apparently oblivious to all that had happened, laughing and chatting. An ordinary day, sunny and warm even. The kind of day that made folk feel all was well with the world.
Of the two men, there was no sign.
Mathilda felt the colour drain from her face, leaving her faint and sick. She stared at Aureen’s white features, and saw a reflection of her own fear.
She drew in a deep breath. I am a Regala. A queen. I am more than any common-born woman and I must always appear to be so…
Her thoughts raced, assessing, discarding, deciding. “You did the right thing,” she said, striving for measured calm. “I commend you. These men–whoever they were–were trying to trick you into betraying us. If you had admitted anything, we would all be dead, including the Prince-regal. You were truly brave, Aureen. Perhaps, though, it would be better if you did not leave the castle for the time being. You are safer within the walls.”
“Oh, I’m not going nowhere, milady! Too scared, I am. But who were they? Not the Regal’s men, surely? Yet they spoke of twins! They knew so much about Sorrel. About her asking the midwives ’bout twins, and her wanting a wet nurse…”
“They’re clever. Pox on them, but they are clever! Still, it seems they are so busy looking for the squirrel, they have not seen the bear in the forest.”
Aureen looked at her blankly.
Mathilda curbed her irritation and said gently, “I think you are right. These men are Dire Sweepers, looking for twin births. The Dire Sweepers work for the Regal, so who is the last person they would suspect of hiding twins? The Regal!” And, I hope, the Regala. “We don’t have anything to fear, Aureen. As long as we keep our heads. We are the bear in the forest, and they can’t even see us because they keep looking at the smaller prey.”
Aureen didn’t appear any happier. “How did they know about Sorrel?”
“It doesn’t matter! Someone must have told them an Ardronese woman was asking about twins and they made a connection to Sorrel. But the important thing is that no one is making that connection to the Prince-regal. And they must never do so!” The trouble was she wasn’t sure that was true. Perhaps they were already drawing the right conclusions and had been attempting to scare Aureen into admitting it.
“But Sorrel escaped the same night he was born! And the next day someone saw her with a babe. How can they not see it?”
“You said it, yourself! The Prince-regal was born in the presence of the Lord Chamberlain, Lady Friselda and two of the Regal’s physicians! They all saw it. One child. They will swear till the day they die that there was no twin.” She shuddered. “Ugh, I’ll never forget it! I felt like one of Prince Ryce’s pedigree fellhounds dropping a litter with everyone watching.”
“But—”
“Aureen, even if they were ever to wonder, how could they ever admit it, even to themselves? It would mean their own downfall. But there is no reason for them to doubt. We were careful. None of us will ever say otherwise. Keep your counsel and we are all safe. Do you understand?”
“Of course, m’lady. I will never betray you.”
“Of course not.”
But if you were tortured?
The thought came, unheralded, unwanted, and she pushed it away. “I think you should be less conspicuous for a while. I’ll get another maid. Lady Friselda has been pestering me to take a Lowmian girl for so long. You can be my chambermaid for a while. No one takes any notice of a chambermaid.”
Aureen looked at her, aghast.
“Only for a little while, don’t worry. The less important you appear to be, the less you will be noticed. No one must know we share a secret. No one must know that I trust you with my life. You do understand, don’t you?”
The look on Aureen’s face told her that although she may have seen the reason behind the decision, she didn’t like it one little bit. Mathilda shrugged. “Lady’s maid or chambermaid–what difference does it make? What matters is that no one ever finds out. We must both do whatever it takes to make sure of that. Do you understand?”
Aureen bobbed a perfunctory curtsy. “Of course, milady.”
But the words were sullen.
“Your Grace.”
Mathilda used the fact that she had Prince-regal Karel in her arms as an excuse not to curtsy. Va, how she hated the ridiculous court protocol!
I lie down and fornicate with the man in his bed, and yet I am expected to curtsy to him as if I am an underling?
“I have brought your son with me, Your Grace.” She walked to where he was soaking up the sun in the window embrasure of his retiring room. Several of his attendants politely backed away to give the royal couple the deceptive appearance of privacy. Karel was sound asleep in her arms, wrapped in all the embroidered and lace-trimmed gowns and blankets deemed worthy of an heir to the Basalt Throne. At least he was at last beginning to look less like a wizened prune; now more than three months old, he’d plumped out and his cheeks were fattening up. Still, she wondered sometimes at her own fierce protectiveness.
Like a mother cat ready to scratch the hound to pieces if it comes near…
She subdued her reluctance to hand him to the Regal and asked, “Would you like to hold your son, Your Grace?” She smiled fondly at him, her loveliest dimpled smile. Va above, she practised it often enough.
He inclined his head and she passed Karel into his arms. He held his son awkwardly, but his gaze was intent. “Is he well?”
“Indeed, sire. He thrives. How could he not, given his parentage? He eats well and has a fine set of lungs, lustily crying for his milk when hungry.”
“Good, good.” He peered short-sightedly at the prince. “I do believe he has my chin.”
“I’m certain he has. A strong, princely jawline. Sire, shall we breakfast together this morning? It seems such a time since we dined intimately, husband and wife. I have asked the cooks to prepare your favourite dishes.”
He looked up from the bab
y. “An excellent idea, my dear. Oh, and I have some news for you. Our ambassador at the Ardronese court informs us that your brother’s wife is increasing.”
She inclined her head. “Good news indeed.” And you have no idea how I hate being the last to know anything.
Half an hour later, with Karel handed back to his nurse, with the courtiers and servants dismissed, Mathilda surveyed the food laid out on the table. “What would you prefer first, sire? Sugared pork, perhaps? Or liver braised in wine and topped with cream served on buttered pastry?” She began to offer him titbit after titbit while she chatted.
She knew it was a narrow path she was treading. Now that Vilmar’s mind was no longer confused by the lascar magic of the plume he’d been gifted, he was the astute and ruthless ruler he had been before. Her charm and apparent naivety amused him, and he liked teaching her, but only up to a point. She had to read every nuance of his tone and expression to know when she was close to overstepping a line between what he thought was appropriate interest in his rule and his policies, and what he considered none of her business. The concentration involved was exhausting, but she was learning.
“Tell me more about Prince Ryce. The Staravale princess he married–isn’t she very young?” She hadn’t been able to attend the wedding, which had occurred shortly before Prince-regal Karel had been born. In fact, she hadn’t even been asked. How easily they forget.
“Fifteen, I believe,” he replied.
You got yourself a young bride, Ryce. I wonder if you ever think of me.
“I am not pleased with such a union,” he continued. “Staravale shares a long border with Lowmeer. Ardrone thinks to ally itself with our neighbours.”
“Oh, but Your Grace, you need have no fears of Ardrone, for is not Lowmeer more prosperous and its monarch wiser than Ardrone’s? Come, my sweet, will you not try some more of these griddle cakes? They are delicious with syrup and cream.”
“Well, perhaps just a little more. And yes, I regret to say that King Edwayn appears to have lost his edge. And him not as old as I am!” He snorted. “Such a shame your brother is not showing the wisdom required of an heir.” He smiled. “They still struggle to build a spice fleet to match ours.”
“Sire,” she said as she heaped some more bacon on to his plate, “you spoke to me once of what I must do should you not live to the time when Prince-regal Karel is old enough to rule. Va preserve that such a situation will occur! But if such a tragedy should befall us, to whom should I turn to for counsel?”
“Nollen has drawn up the papers,” he said, referring to his Secretary of State. “He and Chancellor Yan Grussblat will be Karel’s advisers and mentors, with the assistance of three others of my own Council, until Karel’s sixteenth birthday, when he will be able to appoint his own Council. Nothing you need worry your pretty head about, my dear.” He patted her hand with his long, dry fingers.
“Oh, I am sure the governing of a country is beyond my capabilities, let alone interest! I just wondered if—” She hesitated. “Oh, I am such a poppethead! Never mind my silly frets, sire.”
He selected a piece of candied liver. “Well, we can’t have Karel’s mother fretting, can we? What can the problem be?”
“You did say once that not even Chancellor Grussblat knows that the Dire Sweepers’ real obligation is to kill as many twins as they can find at birth. He and other councillors, they think the Sweepers’ real concern is to eliminate people with the Horned Plague before they infect others. Nobody minds that because everyone knows it’s impossible to survive the Horned Plague anyway.”
Vilmar nodded, all his attention on her.
“So,” she continued, daintily licking sauce from her fingers, “when Prince-regal Karel is sixteen, I will tell him all he needs to know about Bengorth’s Law. He will be crowned and all will be well. But before that…” She frowned slightly for emphasis. “What if the Advisory Council, not knowing the whole truth, were to enact a law that might affect Bengorth’s Law and somehow restrict the activities of the Dire Sweepers…?”
She allowed the sentence to trail away vaguely before adding, “I thought perhaps it might be better to ensure that every law be signed by someone who knows the real situation before it can be enacted. Someone with Karel’s interests at heart before their own. It is hard to believe that anyone would care as much as Your Grace and I do… But doubtless I am being silly! Come, have you tried this? The cook told me it’s something newly imported through Pashalin, from the Summer Seas. It’s called choclat.”
Deftly, she diverted the conversation away from politics. The seed was planted, and all she could do was hope it would germinate.
6
Perie and the Pitch-men
Gerelda took off the fire-singed boots and put the lad into her own bedroll, where his exhaustion and fatigue finally overcame his grief and he dropped into a deep slumber. She retrieved her tinder, flint and steel from his bundle and, after digging out some dry wood from inside a rotten fallen log with her knife, lit a fire. She spent the rest of the night drowsing fitfully beside it. When she woke in the morning, it was with a hazy memory of lying naked in Saker Rampion’s arms after a sweet climax.
A pox on dreams, she thought. Why can I never quite get that man out of my head? It’s not as if I love him!
He’d been her first lover and she had been his, but that had been a long time ago. Their brief renewal of both physical passion and friendship had felt more comfortable than romantic–yet was now proving surprisingly hard to forget.
She snorted and stood up, yawning.
The day had dawned damp and misty. She boiled water with a generous handful of oatmeal before waking Peregrine. As she handed him a mug of the gruel, she asked, “Why did you come back? You should have gone on, sought help and rest in the valley.” She was still dumbfounded by the knowledge that he’d removed his father’s boots from his severed feet. That had taken a fortitude she would not have expected to find in most men, let alone a lad of his age.
He stood by the fire and took a sip of the hot liquid before answering. “I’m not going to Twite.”
“Pardon?”
He thrust his shoulders back, but when she looked into his eyes, the emotions drowning there were unreadable. He said, “I want to know why. I want to know who these haggards are. I want to know why they killed my da. You be sending me away, I’ll still follow them.”
She stared at him, lips parted in surprise. “Have you any idea how dangerous—”
“I’m not daft.” His scorn was searing.
“Ah. No, I suppose not. But I don’t wear this sword for decoration, you know. I know how to use it. But you? You’re unarmed. You’re not even grown yet. Moreover, I have a horse.” She nodded at her mount grazing in the clearing. “You don’t.”
He shrugged with chilling indifference. “I saw all the fires. I saw all the hoofprints. You’re not going to fight them; you’re just following them. I can do that. I can walk too. My da and me–we walked everywhere, we did. Tucker, that’s our donkey, he just carried our stuff.”
“Listen, boy, I don’t want to play nurse to a cub young enough to wipe his nose on his sleeve.”
“I got something you need.”
“Like what?” She was scornful, but tried to sound neutral. “Nothing short of a witchery will help with this lot. These men are evil. They killed your pa without even thinking about it because he saw them when they didn’t want to be seen. That’s all the reason they needed. They killed without even thinking about it. They see us, they hear us, we’re dead.” That feeling of dread, the taint they’d left behind: she shivered.
“I can… taste them.”
Oh, pox on’t; he’s lost his wits. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He paused before replying, as though hunting for the right words. The look in his eyes was coldly intense. “Summat happened to me down there, where they slaughtered my da.” He swallowed and looked away, taking care not to catch her eye. “But even before that I… I tas
ted their darkness. The dread was like… was like breathing in dirty smoke. I breathed it in, and I was made… different. I’m not like I were.”
She was silent, not knowing what to say, remembering how she’d felt, the seeping dread that had attacked her rational thought. Blister it, what have we stumbled into?
“Anyways, I’ve been gifted a witchery,” he added. “Down there, by the fires.”
“Va grants witcheries to adults. I’m told you have to swear an oath to Va. Or at least to an unseen guardian of a shrine. Or something like that. I’ve never heard of a child with a witchery.”
“I didn’t swear aught. I’m not a child either, not any more, but I know what I have to do. Follow them. The pitch-men. I can warn you if they’re about.”
She found his vagueness disconcerting, coupled as it was with determination. “Pitch-men?”
“They’re as dark as pitch inside. I know I can find every one of those men who did this. I’ll know ’em by their stinking pitch. They ate my father.”
Sweet acorns. She took a deep breath. “What do you mean you can taste them?”
“Not sure I got the words to say what I mean. Bit like… smelling something rotten, so foul you want to gag. It’s not smell really, though. Not really taste, neither. It’s like… I feel the pitch. The dark. Here.” He tapped his chest, then pointed up the track. “They went that way. Reckon there be about a hundred of ’em.”
“They could hardly have gone any other way.”
His bravado vanished at her sarcasm and for a moment he was just a lad, grieving his unimaginable loss. “I need to come with you,” he whispered.
No tears, though. He ought to be wailing his heart out, not keeping it inside. He’s like a barrel with its bung jammed tight. “I’m going to follow these men up and over the mountains,” she said. “On the other side of the pass, I can take a different road. You’ll be a hindrance because I have a horse to ride. I can’t wait for you.”
