“I won’t run away,” said Nan. “I didn’t do anything wrong. People are always trying to take away the things that are mine, and it’s not fair.”
“Did Annerlee try to take away what was yours?”
“She was talking to you. She shouldn’t have done that.”
“She didn’t tell us anything,” Althea told her, propping the Door open. “She was too afraid of you. You didn’t have to kill her.”
“I’ll take her arm,” said Markon, sick to his stomach at the girl’s utter indifference. He reached for Althea’s hand with his spare one.
“All right,” said Althea, as Markon stepped through the Door. “But we’ll have to watch out for–”
Markon arrived in Nan’s room while Althea was still speaking, and found that he wasn’t alone. There was something box-like sitting on Nan’s bed, and at the foot of the bed was Pilburn.
As Althea segued from Faery with Nan, Pilburn said: “Please don’t move. The spell is poised to start at the least quiver of my finger, and I assure you that the fae it summons has more power in her little finger than is in the entirety of this puny kingdom.”
Day Twelve
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” said Althea regretfully, while Nan scuttled away behind Pilburn. She closed the door to Faery with a casual sweep of one hand and added: “He’s the one who gave Nan the summoning spell, aren’t you, Pilburn?”
“Amongst other things,” said Pilburn, with a sharp, toothy smile. “You should take better care of your subjects, your majesty. Dissatisfaction in the court can get very messy, can’t it?”
“So can spells,” said Althea. “I really wouldn’t start up that spell if I were you, Pilburn.”
Nan said disgustedly: “Don’t listen to her, she’s just trying to frighten you.”
“It’s unfortunate,” Pilburn said. “I didn’t want to kill you, your majesty. Not yet, anyway. But at least Parrin is poised to take the throne, even if the poor boy will never be married.”
“Why kill the Doctor?” asked Markon. It was clear that Pilburn was on the point of starting up the spell, and it was possibly best for all concerned that he didn’t manage to do so. “You’re both on the same side.”
Pilburn gave a short, impatient shrug. “That man! He actually thought he could stop the curse! I had to come along to make sure that he didn’t interfere with Nan; which was unfortunate, since it put me back in a position to be discovered.”
“He came into your room that night without knocking, didn’t he?” Althea said. “He was pompous like that, sailing in and out of apartments without notice. I’d say he walked in to find you and Nan with the spell in front of you.”
“Close enough,” said Pilburn. “He would have recognised what it was immediately. The fool thought we were really trying for peace with Montalier! He thought he was helping! At least he was easy to kill: I called him over to look at the spell and slit his throat before he even saw the dagger.”
Nan, fidgeting with her fingers, said: “He shouldn’t have bled all over the rug. There was blood underneath and it wouldn’t all scrub away.”
“You took the sheepskin rug from the opposite room to cover up the stains,” nodded Markon. “Did you carry the Doctor to his room by yourself?”
“He was too heavy,” said Nan. “Pilburn helped me and then he went away with the rug. He should have stayed and slit her, too.”
There was that flat, venomous look again, thought Markon, chilled.
“Nan was arranging Doctor Romalier’s body when Parrin and I walked in,” said Althea, unaffected. “It was a clever idea to pretend to faint: it hid the blood on your apron. It was only this morning when I thought about it that I realised you were a recurring thread in the tapestry. You were there when the doctor was murdered. You were Annerlee’s closest friend—did you know she was holding the quilt you tatted together when she died?—and when I asked Parrin last night about the upper maid who played with him when he was sick, he remembered you very well.”
“He was supposed to be mine,” said Nan. “You don’t understand. We loved each other. We would have been married but the king arranged for an advantageous marriage instead. What was that to our love?”
“Parrin chose his own bride,” Markon told her gently. She looked at him without recognition, and he wondered if she remembered he was the king. “There was no arrangement, just love.”
“Liar,” she said. “I know he loved me. We were promised to each other.”
“All those girls, Nan! The ones that died, or were injured, or stolen!”
“It’s no use talking to her,” said Pilburn, with a rude laugh. “She’s as bent as a cornerstone.”
“So that’s why you were in Annerlee’s room,” said Markon. “You thought she’d hidden the spell there and you were afraid she was getting too unstable.”
“I did the right thing,” Nan said serenely. “I know, because my fairy godmother gave me the spell, and she wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t in the right.”
Pilburn muttered in disgust: “Fairy godmother! You addled little wench, I gave you the spell!”
There was a malevolent gleam to Nan’s usually dull eyes. “You’re a liar, too,” she said. “Open, open, open! You’re summoned!”
They seemed like nonsense words until Markon realised that a Door to Faery was once again opening right there in Nan’s room. His stomach dropped in dismay and he looked instinctively down at Althea, who smiled calmly at him and threaded her fingers through his. She wasn’t afraid. But why–? No, who?
The door opened fully, and when the fae stepped through Markon recognised the Lady of the Revels.
“Here I am again!” she sighed. “Heigh-ho! Did I not warn you of the consequences of summoning me again, humans?”
“You’ll do as you’re told,” said Pilburn. “You’re Summoned and Burdened. You’ll take your instructions from me.”
“No she won’t,” Nan said, with an angry light in her eyes. “She’ll take them from me!”
Althea said: “I don’t think she’ll take them from anyone, actually.”
“What have we here?” said the Lady of the Revels. She was looking at the spell intently, her eyes avaricious and cruel. “Little one, did you do this?”
“Yes,” said Althea. “They’re all yours. If you want them.”
“Oh yes, I think so!” the lady said, her voice coldly amused. “You, come here. You: pick up the spell and come with me.”
Pilburn, who had been watching them bemusedly, picked up the spell with stiff hands and marched toward her on legs that were just as stiff, his face draining of colour. Nan was there before him, her face very red and puffy, her eyes dark with anger.
“You can’t have me!” she squealed. “My fairy godmother–”
“Be silent,” said the Lady of the Revels; and Nan, her eyes bulging, was silent.
Althea said: “It’s no use taking the spell. I’ve already ruined it and it wouldn’t work from your side, anyway.”
The Lady sighed. “I feared as much. Heigh-ho, one must take the day with its successes, after all! Farewell, little one: I appreciate your troubles. Humans: with me!”
She opened the Door again and vanished through it, dragging Pilburn and Nan behind her. The last Markon saw of Faery before Althea shut the Door behind them was Pilburn’s despairing face and Nan’s furious one, lit by the silver light of the Unseelie moon.
“That’s that, then,” she said, with the smallest huff of a sigh.
“You sabotaged their spell,” Markon said, grasping for understanding. “You knew it wasn’t going to work the whole time.”
“Exactly.”
“But I was trying to distract him from starting it up!”
“It was very clever of you,” said Althea apologetically. “And you did a wonderful job, but I must admit the whole affair stretched out a lot longer than I was hoping for.”
“When did you sabotage it?”
“When I finally realise
d that it had to be Nan,” Althea told him. She looked rather annoyed. “I could kick myself, Markon! Imagine being taken in by a pretend faint! By the time it fell into place for me and I’d thought to ask Parrin about Nan, she’d already gone into Faery. She left the spell here in her room, and it seemed obvious that if we got back either she or her benefactor would try to use the spell again to deal with us. So I tweaked it a little bit to make things fairer and came right after you.”
“And Pilburn? How did you know it was him?”
“It wasn’t very exciting,” Althea said. “I went back to his suite late yesterday because it seemed ridiculously unhelpful of him not to give up his rugs to Sal and I, considering he likes to be thought of as helpful. One of the rugs had quite a bit of watered down and dried out blood beneath it. I don’t think Nan knows much about scrubbing.”
Markon found himself smiling. “Possibly not. Nor does Pilburn, if it comes to that.”
“Will you wake Parrin to tell him the good news?”
“Oh, let the lad sleep,” said Markon. He felt suddenly tired and very, very old. “I’d best start on the interminable paperwork if I want to find a tactful way to let Wyndsor know that we found the spy they planted in our court, and that he was the one who murdered Doctor Romalier.”
“Shall I come with you?” asked Althea. She was looking rather thoughtful, and her blue eyes rested on him with a questioning air he didn’t understand. “I think it may be time we discussed our contract.”
“No!” said Markon, more harshly than he’d meant to. More carefully, he said: “You should get some sleep, too. Bring Parrin to the library at ten o’clock this morning and we’ll discuss anything you want to discuss.”
The morning sped by in a series of bells from the internal clock system until Markon, who was still doggedly working on an official report for Wyndsor’s edification, realised that it had just sounded ten bells.
With the last bell the library door opened and Althea entered in a decisive kind of way, trailing Parrin behind her. She was too pale again, with deep purple crescents beneath her eyes. That, coupled with the fact that she was still wearing the same unassuming frock she had been wearing earlier in the morning, told Markon that she hadn’t been to bed at all.
What had kept her awake? It occurred to him that his brusqueness earlier in the day might have led her to think that he wasn’t going to honour the contract, and a searing sense of remorse burned through him. Was that what she’d spent the morning fretting about?
Willing to atone for his mistakes, he said with a smile: “Ah, the affianced couple! Shall we make the announcement tonight, or are there to be special arrangements for a celebration?”
“Ah,” said Althea, exchanging a look with Parrin. “So that’s– I don’t think you quite understand.”
Parrin, meeting her gaze with what seemed to Markon to be distinct horror, said: “Good grief, no! I’m not marrying Althea!”
“There was a promise made,” said Markon sharply. “You won’t refuse to honour your obligations!”
“Actually,” said Althea, her eyes light and bright; “You might want to look over the contract again. You can go, Parrin. I don’t think we’ll need you after all.”
Parrin left swiftly: too swiftly, in fact, for Markon to either call him back or dismiss him as well. While Markon was still staring perplexedly after his son, Althea wandered away to the window and gazed out at the view with her back very straight. Without looking at him, she repeated: “You might want to look over the contract again, Markon.”
He looked at her back with narrow eyes and strode over to his desk. The contract was at the top of the first drawer where he would catch a sight of Althea’s neat handwriting every time he opened it: one of those things that he’d not consciously done and now regretted.
“Read the last section,” Althea said.
“I’ve already read it,” said Markon, but he read it again nevertheless. “‘In the event that the aforementioned Althea of Avernse shall break the aforementioned curse and succour His Royal Highness Parrin of Montalier, she shall be recompensed as follows: at a time of her own choosing, to be made Queen of Montalier by marriage to the–”
Markon stopped abruptly, his mind spinning.
Althea said: “Keep going.”
“‘–by marriage to the king.’ But this is nonsense: Parrin is to be king. You are to be queen.”
“That’s not what the contract says,” said Althea, to the window. “It says at a time of my own choosing. I choose now.”
Markon, his breath coming a little faster than he was used to, said: “Why me?”
“In Avernse there’s word of a coming trouble,” Althea said, still to the window. “Something so vast that it would reach even to the corners of the wild lands. Avernse and Montalier have always been good friends and the Queen thought it would be helpful to have one of us here when the trouble comes. She suggested that Parrin and I might do well together. Then I met you and you were rather nice, and I’ve never much cared for boys so I decided I’d rather marry you.”
Markon felt a dull pain at the back of his throat. He said flatly: “You decided that you’d...rather...marry me?”
“I didn’t expect you to be so lovely,” said Althea, and Markon thought he saw the smallest trace of a smile in the reflection she cast in the window. “I thought we’d suit very well. And then I thought that maybe you were a little bit fond of me and that was nice and a little bit odd.”
“Fond,” repeated Markon slowly. “You thought I was fond of you.”
“Well, I hoped so,” said Althea’s voice, through the pounding in his ears. “I got rather fond of you, you see, and that made it harder to tell. I did draw some redundancies into the contract, just in case you’d rather not marry me. The– the contract– well, it mentions the curse, and since there never was a curse as such–”
“You thought I was fond of you?”
Althea, her shoulders very stiff, said: “The Queen will be happy enough just to keep an Avernseian in your court. You needn’t feel that you have to marry me if you’d rather not.”
“I would rather,” said Markon, slightly incoherently. “I would very much rather marry you.”
That made Althea turn around at last, a flush of pink in her cheeks. “Are you sure? You don’t have to feel obliged–”
“I don’t feel obliged,” Markon said, moving closer. There was a ridiculous gladness surging through him.
“And you shouldn’t feel that you have to–”
He took another step forward. “I don’t.”
“Are you–”
“I’m sure,” said Markon, taking advantage of the fact that he was now close enough to embrace Althea by wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her once, soft and glad, delighting in the way that her arms immediately curled around his neck, and said: “I’m very sure.”
The second kiss was longer and decidedly more forceful, broken only to allow Markon seat them both on the couch and murmur: “In fact, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
And since he didn’t like Althea to feel uncertain it seemed expedient to take the next few minutes to continue showing her exactly how sure he was.
***
Coming Soon....
Fire In The Blood
A princess in a dragon-guarded tower. The prince who is to rescue her. The prince’s ensorcelled dragon. And one enchanted keep that might just be enough to kill them all...
It’s widely known that Princess Kayami Koto is held captive in the Enchanted Keep by a dragon of great ferocity and skill. So when the bold, daring and crafty Prince Akish attempts to rescue her, it seems only sensible to bring his own dragon, Rafiq.
But the Keep’s dragon is only the first Circle in the Keep’s Seven Circles of Challenge, and both Rafiq and the prince will have to keep their wits about them if they’re to survive and rescue the princess.
There to help them is the princess’ serving maid, Kako. But why does Kako seem s
o familiar to Rafiq? Will she really help them, or does she have her own agenda? Rafiq isn’t sure, but he knows one thing: Kako may be the only person who can free him from his bondage to the prince, and that’s worth any amount of risk.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of the second novella in the Shards Of A Broken Sword Trilogy,
Fire In The Blood.
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Prelude
By and large, slavery to Crown Prince Akish was actually quite boring. It was true, thought Rafiq, observing the prince from high overhead, that Prince Akish was vicious, overeager for a fight, and inclined to treat every life but his own with a careless abandon. In spite of that, he was the best swordsman the Kingdom of Illisr (and most likely the surrounding kingdoms) had ever seen, he had a serpent’s cunning for his campaigns, and he very rarely called on Rafiq to assist him for any but his most dangerous ventures. Thus it was that Rafiq, after fifteen years of slavery, had only ever been called upon to assist the Prince in a handful of his operations. He had been young when the prince’s father captured him: young but already formidably strong, with his first battle-scars beginning to whiten on him. And although in time he began to forget what it was like to be free, he never forgot that he had once been free. Prince Akish, while he didn’t choose to enlist Rafiq’s superior strength for most of his campaigns, liked to have Rafiq accompany him everywhere– a sign both of his power and his nobility.
And Rafiq, doing what dragons do best, allowed his anger to simmer beneath the surface like dragonfire, molten, deadly, and ready to be called upon at the right time.
There was always a false kind of freedom to flying. Rafiq, wheeling left to keep the prince in sight and ease the burden of the incorporeal thread that bound him, bared his teeth to the wind. The prince had only tried to ride Rafiq once, when Rafiq’s sudden desire to display his skill with barrel-rolls, needlessly sharp turns and sudden plunges for the ground had the prince simultaneously throwing up and tumbling to the grass in an undignified heap. That had ended the appalling humiliation of having a human rider, but it did make things unpleasant when it came to keeping in range of the prince. By dint of painful experimentation, he’d since discovered that the bond would allow him a distance of roughly three miles before in any direction before it clawed at him to return. There was also the added advantage that if the prince forgot to attach his communication spell to Rafiq’s ear, Rafiq wasn’t able to hear any Commands. The spell that bound him to the prince only bound him to obey spoken Commands, and if Rafiq took to the air without the communications magic, he was able to fly in the constrained freedom of his three miles for as long as he chose while Prince Akish danced in helpless rage below. He paid for it afterwards, of course, but every tiny rebellion was worth it.
Twelve Days of Faery Page 13
