Mistress of Ambiguities

by J F Rivkin

  “I should have protected Jade somehow, in spite of herself,” Nyctasia brooded.

  “I never gave a moment’s thought to her safety. Yet how could I have protected her save by dying myself? If I’d died as a child, Jade wouldn’t be dying now, and Mescrisdan and Thierran would still be alive. Jade would be Rhaicime, and Mescrisdan’s wife instead of his widow. The family would have found a wife for Thorn by now-some girl he scarcely knew, who’d not have come between him and Mescrisdan as I did.” Yes, she’d have had to die to save them. Jade had felt cheated of her title, but that alone would not have destroyed her. It was Mescrisdan’s jealousy that had doomed them both.

  While Nyctasia had been a bedridden invalid, Mescrisdan had not resented his brother’s partiality for her, or the time he spent with her. It was Thorn’s duty, Nyctasia was his betrothed. He himself was expected to pass time in the company of his cousin Jade, whom he would one day marry, and he, like Thorn, had been taught his duty to his House. And ’Tasia was weak and sickly and lonely-Thorn felt sorry for her, anyone could understand that. She would probably not live many years longer anyway, though he had learned not to say so before his brother.

  Sometimes he even went with Thorn to visit her, and she always welcomed him warmly. It was pleasant, on a rainy day, to listen to ’Tasia’s songs and stories, to look at the books on falconry or history, with their colorful, detailed pictures. Combing the woods for wormbane or stormcloud mushrooms was a game the brothers could share. And ’Tasia could always tell them apart at a glance, which gratified them both.

  But when she’d emerged from her seclusion, everything had changed, leaving Mescrisdan alone and embittered. At first the physicians had allowed her to be carried out to the gardens where she might sit on the terrace, swathed in shawls, to take the sun. But in time she’d begun to walk along the garden paths, with Thorn beside her feeling very important and responsible, because he’d been told not to let her tire herself. Then before long she was running, slowly gaining strength in limbs long unused to any exertion. And each day it seemed she ran a little farther, and Thorn with her, farther away from his twin.

  The stronger Nyctasia grew, the less Thorn cared for anything or anyone else.

  ’Tasia must be taught to ride, to shoot a bow, to fence. She only knew how to play the harp and write like a scribe-she had years of lessons to make up for!

  She must learn to dance, to hunt. When Thorn wasn’t taking her to ride to hounds, or practicing fencing moves with her, or sneaking off with her to go somewhere forbidden, he was boasting about her or making plans for her.

  Mescrisdan was soon heartily sick of the sight of her, and of the very sound of her name. If he accompanied them on one of their outings, Thorn hardly seemed to know he was there. If he suggested to Thorn that they go hawking or riding, that they visit the market square, he always wanted to bring ’Tasia along. It was hurtful, it was unfair-these were the things he and Thorn had always done together.

  Mescrisdan was too young to be sent on a diplomatic mission, as Nyctasia was later to do with Erikasten, and he received little sympathy from his elders for his resentment and discontent. It was quite proper for Thierran to be taken up with Nyctasia, he was told-but two could play at that game. He too had an affianced. From loneliness and spite he turned to Lhejadis, and in her he found an unexpected ally, for she had her own grievances against Nyctasia. She was too well bred to admit, even to herself, that she was disappointed by Nyctasia’s recovery, which would deprive her of the rank of Rhaicime, but she soon found other grounds for her dislike. Nyctasia was conceited, Jade complained to Mescrisdan. She gave herself airs. She prided herself on her singing and boasted of her learning. She thought herself cleverer than her cousins, and disdained to join in their games. She was only a scrawny, whey-faced little brat, after all.

  To all of which Mescrisdan readily assented. Already, unwittingly, Nyctasia had made enemies.

  Mescrisdan sought out Lhejadis’s company more often, and her evident pleasure at his attentions soothed his wounded feelings. Indeed, consoled by one another, the two might well have outgrown their childish jealousies in time, but within a few years Nyctasia had made more powerful enemies among her kin, and their disapproval of her fanned the embers of Mescrisdan’s and Lhejadis’s rancor. By siding against Nyctasia over the question of the sovereignty of the Edonaris, they won the favor of the Lady Mhairestri and her faction. They willingly joined in the conspiracy against her, which cost Mescrisdan his life, and with his death Lhejadis’s resentment of Nyctasia had grown to a seasoned, unrelenting hatred, the hatred that had proved her undoing.

  “The vahn knows I never meant her harm,” Nyctasia said to herself, “but she lost title and husband because of me. She mustn’t lose her life as well!” Curse them, they had chosen their time to strike well, when she was not there to work a spell of healing! But she would spare no effort to save Jade, she determined, if it was not already too late.

  When she arrived at the palace of the Edonaris, she ran straight to Lhejadis’s chamber, ignoring everyone, courtiers and kin alike, who tried to report various matters of urgent concern to her. A petition of redress required her attention.

  Certain distinguished scholars had arrived from the east. Lord Aithrenn was in the city. Emissaries from Heithskor awaited an audience with her. “I’ve no time for that!” she snapped. “Corson, see that I’m not disturbed!” She admitted no one but the court physicians, and then, having consulted with them, dismissed them as well.

  “Don’t let anyone but them near me,” she instructed Corson. “Only you and they are to watch over me-and Greymantle, of course.”

  “You mean to do one of those healing-trances of yours, eh?” Corson said with a frown. They always left Nyctasia weak and exhausted, sometimes dangerously so.

  “There’s nothing else to be done, I’m afraid. The physicians are right, it’s bloodbane poisoning, there can be no doubt.” She lifted Lhejadis’s limp hand and showed Corson the grayish tinge at the base of her fingernails. “It’s a silver-poison-the same that killed Mhairestri. They’ve not neglected any detail that might bear witness to my guilt, the swine! Still, it’s to my advantage that bloodbane’s a slow-working poison.”

  “Slow? It killed the matriarch quickly enough.”

  “Yes, but she was old and ill. Jade’s in her prime. That’s why she’s living yet.

  I commend the physicians-what can be done they’ve done, but that doesn’t amount to a great deal. Only spell-healing can turn the tide now. You didn’t object to it when I did it for you, as I recall.”

  “I was in no condition to object to anything! Besides, that was different. I wouldn’t have been dying if not for you and your rutting poisoned earrings.”

  “And Jade wouldn’t be dying if not for me,” Nyctasia said sadly, “though I no more poisoned her than I did you. That’s why I must do the same for her.”

  “That’s no reason. It’s one thing to risk your life for a friend, and another thing to do it for an enemy.”

  “So it is,” agreed Nyctasia, “for the first risk is undertaken for one’s own sake, and the second for the sake of another. Is not the latter the nobler deed, then?” As she spoke, she never turned her gaze from the still, waxen form of Lhejadis, and Corson could sense that already she was withdrawing from the world of the living, to seek the world of the dying.

  At no time in her life had Nyctasia more wanted to live than she did now. Her plans for the city seemed daily nearer to being fulfilled, and new possibilities had presented themselves, beyond what she had imagined when she’d first returned to her homeland. And now Erystalben had returned as well…

  But Lhejadis’s death would jeopardize her position, and with it all her hopes for Rhostshyl’s future. And she owed Jade this chance, surety, whatever the danger. She would take what precautions she could, but her duty in this matter was manifest.

  “If I’ve not come to myself by morning, separate us, and summon the physicians to me,” she
said to Corson.

  “And suppose they can’t rouse you, what then?”

  “That will depend,” Nyctasia said distantly, “on what happens to Jade.” She sat on the bed beside Lhejadis and began to pull off one of her own boots. But then, unexpectedly, she chuckled and instead held out her foot imperiously to Corson.

  In reply, Corson made an unladylike gesture with which Nyctasia was not familiar, though it was not difficult to interpret its significance. She grinned and shook her head reprovingly as she tugged at the boot again. “I can’t think why I tolerate your disrespect, woman.”

  “I’ll tell you why,” said Corson. “It’s because you’re so fond of me, remember?”

  To Nyctasia’s surprise, she came over and pulled off the other boot for her, then suddenly caught her up in her arms and kissed her roughly. “Be careful, Nyc, you mooncalf, will you?”

  “Don’t worry, sweeting, I will.” Nyctasia returned the kiss, but as Corson laid her gently back on the bed, she could see the faraway look in her eyes once more. Nyctasia turned to Lhejadis and drew the motionless figure to her, pressing her lips to Lhejadis’s temple, where the heart’s beat makes itself felt. As Corson watched uneasily, Nyctasia settled back with her arms about her cousin, and gradually grew as still and lifeless as she. Corson suddenly saw the family likeness between them, which had never been apparent to her before. With a shudder, she cursed and drew the curtains about the bed.

  ***

  Lhejadis discovered that the nearer she approached to the waterside, the closer and more heavy the air around her was becoming, until she seemed to be moving against an almost substantial pressure. It was not easy even to draw a breath of this dense, different air, but she found that if she breathed and moved very slowly, she could continue her progress, little by little, through the thickening atmosphere, toward the sea. The air was gradually turning to water, she realized, and at the shoreline there would no longer be any difference between the two.

  She understood, now, that her slow approach to the sea was necessary to allow her to enter it, that by the time she reached the shore she would be prepared, able to dwell beneath the waves as she had dwelt hitherto above the earth. Such a transformation could not be accomplished suddenly; one must grow accustomed to the new element slowly, by degrees. She would stop here for a time and rest before going on. There was not far to go.

  She had been aware from the first of the boat, guided by two oarsmen, that had been slowly moving towards land from across the water, even as she had been moving across the land towards the oceanside. But now she saw that this vessel did not so much skim atop the sea as pass through it, as a bird passes through the air, and now it sat offshore not floating on but in the water, as a fish rests, hanging suspended in the depths. This boat would not bear her over the waves but down into them, slowly descending through the shafts of green light that pierced the water, ever lower, carrying her to her new home. She longed for that serene, silent journey, but she knew that she could not hasten to it; she must wait until the sea-air had done its work. She was content to sit and rest for now, breathing deeply, languidly, drawing the sea into herself along with the air, and feeling it enter her as she would soon enter it. Soon they would be one. There was no hurry. The boat would wait for her, and already each breath was a little easier than the last.

  When she heard someone call from far behind her, she turned slowly, with a drifting motion, to look back at the distant figure struggling through the sand towards her. But what lay behind was no longer of interest to her, and she soon turned away, a little more quickly than before, to gaze once more towards the still, calm waters.

  Nyctasia called again, but it was useless-she would never reach Jade in time.

  She was too far ahead, and it was too difficult to move. Not only did the deep, soft sand impede her, but the very air sought to hold her back. Whence this Resistance, what did it mean? Her own limbs seemed to weigh her down, and it was all she could do to raise her head or put one foot before the other. She, who was said to be light as thistledown!

  “Float, if you’re tired, float,” suggested a calm voice that seemed to come from near at hand. But no one was there. And how could she float when she was so heavy? “I shall never get on,” she thought confusedly, “unless I leave myself behind.”

  But had she not already done so? “Neither shore nor sky,” she whispered,

  “Neither earth nor air.” Yes, she need not go to Jade, she had only to remember that she was already with her. And then she was.

  “Sister,” said Nyctasia, embracing her, “come home with me.”

  But the other stood and pulled away from her. “Let me be. You have no hold on me.”

  “I have. I love you,” Nyctasia answered, and the truth of her own words took her by surprise. “I’ll not leave you.”

  “No? Then I shall leave you.” Lhejadis laughed and made for the water’s edge, moving almost swiftly now, with an easy, effortless grace.

  And only then did Nyctasia understand what task she had undertaken. Lhejadis had not been poisoned-she had taken poison. She did not want to live, and it would therefore be far more difficult and dangerous to save her… But there was not time for Nyctasia to consider the consequences of her decision, for Lhejadis was even now stepping from the shore and raising her hand to summon the waiting boat. Don’t hesitate, act! Nyctasia thought wildly. She would not have entered those dark waters by choice, but she willed herself once more to join Lhejadis, and seized her arm to pull her back to shore.

  “Let me go! You cannot hold me!”

  “I must,” cried Nyctasia, gripping her tighter. “It’s my duty! Come with me-please-wait!”

  But suddenly it was no longer Lhejadis who fought to escape her, but a hissing serpent whose coils slid freely through her hands. Neither form nor feature, Nyctasia gasped, as, almost without thought, she made of her hands powerful talons to clutch the creature fast. A great sea-eagle rose from the shore, with the serpent caught in its claws.

  And then the serpent too had vanished, and a tiny white moth fluttered from the raptor’s grasp. But even as the eagle became a bat and swooped after it, the moth was gone, and Nyctasia saw Lhejadis herself beneath her, not falling but slowly sinking down through the liquid air.

  At once Nyctasia was beside her, but now it was she who was seized and held, and Lhejadis laughed at her, exclaiming, “Why, if you won’t let me go, you’ll come with me, cousin!”

  And as the black waters closed over them both, Nyctasia, despairing, saw the boat gliding swiftly toward them. In the; bow, a dim, misty figure leaned forward, his arms outstretched, reaching for her. In the moment before the darkness claimed her, she knew him for Thierran.

  16

  when she’d heard Nyctasia cry out desperately, Corson had torn open the bedcurtains to find the two women locked in a death grip so fierce that their nails had drawn blood from each other’s arms. Which of them was trying to escape she couldn’t tell, and didn’t care-she meant to take Nyc away now. It still lacked some hours till dawn, but her instructions could rot, as far as Corson was concerned. She’d seen Nyctasia’s healing-trances before, and they’d never resulted in a struggle of any sort, much less a savage conflict like this. This couldn’t be what Nyc had intended. And even though Corson was far stronger than both of them, she was hard put to force open their rigid hands and separate them.

  Once released from Lhejadis’s cruel embrace, however, Nyctasia yielded and fell limp and motionless. She scarcely seemed to be breathing as Corson carried her through the torchlit corridors, sending the first guard she passed to waken the palace physicians.

  Now she lay in her own bed, sometimes as still as stone, sometimes lost in dreams and delirium, whispering words too soft for Corson to hear, reaching out for something or someone only she could see. Once she sobbed heartbrokenly for a few minutes, but then fell silent and seemed to sleep peacefully for a time, with a half-smile playing about her lips. Greymantle lay at her feet by day and
night, despite the physicians’ orders that he be removed from the Rhaicime’s bed. When anyone but Corson tried to take hold of him, he growled very convincingly, displaying his long teeth, and when Corson tried it, he whimpered so pathetically that she hadn’t the heart to put him out.

  “He’ll let you be, now he knows your scent,” she assured the physicians. “He doesn’t interfere with anyone who attends to Her Ladyship. Besides, if I don’t let him stay, he’ll sit outside and howl, and that will disturb the Rhaicime, No, it won’t help to take him to the kennels, or anywhere else. If that dog gets to howling, he’ll disturb all of Rhostshyl, believe me.”

  Corson felt like howling herself, less from sorrow than frustration and helplessness. She watched over Nyctasia almost as steadfastly as Greymantle, but she knew that there was nothing she could do to help her. She was afraid for Nyctasia but couldn’t protect her-it was maddening! She thought of going back to Chiastelm, since she was doing no good in Rhostshyl, and Steifann had expected her to return in a few days, but she knew she wouldn’t leave until Nyctasia’s fate had been decided one way or the other.

  “She’s been in this state three days,” she wrote to Steifann, “and the rutting physicians won’t say yes or no about her, or tell me how long she’s like to stay this way. I don’t believe they know any more about it than I do. They just poke her and listen to her heart and look in her mouth and feel how cold her little feet are. Then they mutter together and say she’s no worse and no better. I could do that myself. So I don’t know yet when I’ll be back-” Corson paused to shake her cramped hand, then read over what she’d written. It didn’t satisfy her, but she found writing too much of a chore to start over again. Finally she scratched out the last word and carefully wrote “home” in its place, adding,