“My condolences,” she interrupted in a steady voice, never taking her gaze off his face, as he turned about this way and that, raining his fists down upon the tops of the crenels and merlons that interspersed the walls, and scattering snow. “But it might encourage you to know that your forsworn son will meet his retribution at your hands soon enough, as Her Brilliance’s plan is enacted on this side of the world. The part that you must play will be divulged shortly. Do not turn away any messenger, not even in this bitter hour of your familial . . . loss.”
“Loss, you say? It is not a loss but a calamity! Chidair is done with! I had but one son, and now I have none! No son of mine will bear progeny, no more little whelps running around the stones here, and thus the long honorable line of Chidair comes to an end!”
He glared in strange stilled madness, a colossus of a mad god fixed in the raving moment of his highest point of passion. Hs frozen jaw drawn, his teeth bared with difficulty, he was close to bursting into an avalanche of stone.
But the living sight of her, radiating so much repressed energy, so much creamy living flesh, that great thick mass of up-swept fiery hair, soothed him yet again, even if for a moment.
“It may seem a calamity indeed, and yet, Chidair does not have to end,” she said. “You are Chidair. And as a vassal of the Sovereign, you will remain Chidair for as long as this firmament stands beneath your feet.”
Hoarfrost exhaled one long shuddering breath, with a hiss of broken ice and winter.
“Such pretty things you say. . . .”
He approached her, moving his legs like thick tree-trunks, and stopped, towering over her. She watched him steadily, and did not move back, not even an inch.
And her lips were set in that interim place between a smile and nothing, where the curves of her cheeks quivered into hollows at the corners of her mouth. She did not smile just yet, waiting for him to say something else.
And he did.
“Such pretty things . . .” he repeated, his monstrous face near her own. Had he been living, his panting breath might have washed over her cheeks.
“The message,” she repeated. “You will receive a message with instructions to gather your forces and advance.”
“Is that so, comely lady? And where should this old rotting carcass advance?”
In that moment she smiled, deeply, allowing the dimples to bloom forth and her plump lips to shape themselves into irresistible things.
“South,” she said. Her gaze slithered downward demurely, and his fixed eye-marbles could not turn in their sockets, so he craned his neck down slowly, until he was staring directly at the globes of her breasts rising gently against green velvet with each breath.
She was boundless, compelling; the sight of her evoked rolling waves upon the ocean.
“I am a dead man,” he said, quieter than anything he uttered all day. “Unfortunately, little bird, all I can do is advance my armies. But I see, that is what you intended to say?”
“It is all I intended to say, Your Grace. South, to Letheburg.”
She continued to smile.
And the dead man recalled for a moment—through the layers of his suspended distance, past the unresponsive flesh—what it had been like to be alive.
Their room was small, perpetually dark, filthy, and unheated, complained Lady Amaryllis Roulle, a slim elegant beauty, standing in a monastic chamber of bare stone before a small arch window that had the view of nothing but peasant rooftops and a bleak sky.
The young man, Lord Nathan Woult, seated on one of the two thin cots moved against each opposite wall, raised his own pale thoughtful face that he’d been holding between his hands. “Ah, my dear,” he said, “how I would kill for an herbed chicken cutlet, dressed in Burgundy and fennel sauce. . . and a goblet of rosy-gold summer wine!”
“Fie, my dear, if you could kill, I would suggest you start with something or someone else, far less delectable.”
“Killing, even if one could manage to do it these days, requires a modicum of effort. Purportedly, one is required to lift a finger; maybe even flex a wrist. I suppose I will have to console myself instead with sipping icy water from this woeful little wooden cup—or is it a miniature horse-bucket? What would you call this thing? A trough?”
And he looked dejectedly at the floor near his feet where a pair of small plates and cups sat directly on the stone slabs lacking even the tiniest peasant comfort of strewn rushes.
The man was arrogantly handsome, and of the same high-contrast dark hair and tender pale skin combination as the lady, which made them a fitting pair to rule the faerie court. They could have been brother and sister, with their sharply chiseled, perfect features—he with lean angular lines and she with delicate polished roundness. And yet they were unrelated, and unattached, except for bonds of courtly friendship and a mutually shared sarcastic disposition. As a social threesome with Lady Ignacia Chitain, they had been the League of Folly at the Silver Court, and rained barbs of wickedness upon the entirety of le haut monde.
That they had been betrayed so unspeakably by one of the own, none other than the blandly complacent Ignacia—who, it must now be admitted, merely parroted them and their wit and vivacity—was a shock that still lingered between them. After Ignaica had made the revelation of her true nature and purpose before that brute Duke Hoarfrost whose “hospitality” they now enjoyed, they were forcibly separated from Amaryllis’s Curricle of Doom and its team of splendid thoroughbreds. Amaryllis was limping from her sprained ankle, and Nathan assisted her in his best gentlemanly fashion, despite the gruesome undead soldiers shoving them every few steps along the iced and slippery cobblestones. They were led through a wintry sludge-covered courtyard and then indoors, then through a winding hive of corridors of the old Keep, directly up to the doors of this solitary chamber. They were shoved inside, the door locked and bolted, and then, in the twilight, they had lost all track of time.
For the first hour, Amaryllis refused to even touch her cot much less sit on it, or—God forbid—lie down, calling it “unfit for humanity” and the faded wool blanket “distasteful rags.” She stood stubbornly leaning against the wall, pale and near-faint with exhaustion, yet expecting any moment to be called forth and relocated to better quarters, or in the least, expecting a personal visit from the Duke. However, no one came, and moments turned to hours. Amaryllis had to sit and rest her injured ankle, but only after Nathan first spread her burgundy winter cape on top of the servant’s blanket, repeating the same with the other cot upon which he spread his own dark and expensive winter greatcoat.
Now they could at least sit, without touching the squalor, and pretend that all was well. Eventually as the room grew even colder and went fully dark with night, they lay down and wrapped themselves in their outer clothing and slept fitfully along each wall.
And now it has been at least a day and a half, possibly two or even three. Who was counting? The night had fallen at least twice and no one bothered to provide them with a proper candle or even a decent hot meal. If one stared through the miserly small window, there was only bleak sly, a few dingy roofs, and perpetual winter haze. There were occasional hurried footfalls in the corridor beyond their cell, and sometimes faintly heard speech, as servants or guards moved around the Keep.
Twice a day their door was opened, and some slovenly, harried maidservant accompanied by a silent guard would bring them two small wooden plates with bread and possibly cheese, and a pitcher of water. The food was surprisingly edible, so that even Nathan did not complain, though he did consume his portion ravenously, while Amaryllis pecked at hers and hardly ate at all.
The maid also took their chamberpot to empty, which was another horrid discomfort, since the room afforded no privacy, and Amaryllis was understandably a highborn prude. She insisted each of them turn to the wall and shut their eyes and ears when the other made use of the unmentionable item.
And thus they slept or sat around or paced the few steps, while hours ran forward without respite.
>
It made no difference that each time someone came to their chamber they both expressed their outrage and demanded to be let out and to see the Duke, and invoked the name of the Emperor. The guard outside the door remained impassive, and the poor maids—a different girl each time—merely curtsied painfully, and hid their faces, shaking their heads in silence or mumbling something sufficiently full of mortification.
“Really, why do you bother?” said Nathan, after Amaryllis started to stomp her foot, then recalled she had a sprained ankle, and instead nearly threw the empty plates at the latest servant.
“Because I refuse to die here!” hissed Amaryllis, turning her back to him and striding to the window with only a minor limp (her ankle was healing reasonably well during this enforced period of inactivity). Her slim shoulders, clad in now-rumpled dark red velvet, shook in fury.
“The circumstances are a bit beyond anyone’s control just now. Besides, if you recall, these days there is no death, and thus neither you nor I may have the fortune to abscond from this grandiose dull torment of a mortal coil. Be glad they are feeding us at all. Think of the alternative!”
“Yes, but for how long will they continue to feed us?”
“Who knows? Really now, what does anything matter, darling girl? The world has all gone to hell and there’s no chicken cutlet to be had. Soon, all that is edible will be gone and done with. Might as well make merry while we still can.”
“This, in your opinion, is making merry? You disappoint me, dearest boy.”
The young man yawned tiredly, mussing his once perfectly groomed hair that he had worn, without a wig, underneath a fur hat that he had long since removed and had been using for a pillow.
“Oh, I am so infernally bored . . .” he drawled. “Remind me why we bothered to come on this Cobweb Bride adventure? Good lord, whatever were we thinking?”
“If I recall, we were thinking of steak. Or was it you or she that had been thinking of steak?” By “she” Amaryllis of course meant Ignacia.
“Do you suppose that even then, this whole thing was planned in advance? That is—did she orchestrate a clever machination of sorts, to get us to come out here in the first place? If it had been her intention to make contact with the Duke Chidair all along, she likely used us, playing on our very frivolous nature, to get us to drive her here! By God, what a nasty little vixen she has turned out!”
“Well, yes, I dare say she has been playing us for a very long time,” Amaryllis said softly. “I can never forgive this. Never. She has made us into unspeakable fools—”
“Now, why in all Heaven would you want to forgive her, dearest?” Nathan raised his hands up nearer to the spot of faint day-glow from the window and fiddled with his well-groomed fingernails that had in the last few days acquired a bit of dirt.
“Oh, but I don’t want to forgive her at all,” replied the dark beauty, standing before the window and looking out. “What I want is to be placed in a position where I am at my leisure to forgive her—or not. I want her to beg.”
“That would be highly unlikely now.”
“Yes, I am aware, Nathan. But you must allow me to dream. While we languish in this dungeon, a lady must have some dark passion to occupy her mind lest she lose all decorum and begin to grow soft in the head and sing ditties, or worse, prance around in a courtly dance with no partner but herself.”
“Good thing about your hurt ankle then, for it prevents you from such a display.”
Amaryllis was about to retort something, when there was a peculiar soft sound at their door. It was different from the usual sequence of “pair of footsteps, servant and guard,” then “dull thud of the bolt and the lock being turned.” This sound was careful, secretive, and there had been no other noise to signal anyone’s approach, only a tiny click of metal, and then the door opened.
A messy, red-haired, freckled girl’s head peeked inside. Then there was the striking of two flints together, and a tiny candle bloomed with golden radiance.
Nathan and Amaryllis both squinted, their vision overwhelmed after days away from direct light.
“Hello, Your Lordships!” sounded a vaguely familiar voice, speaking in a loud whisper. “No need to be alarmed! Tis me, Catrine! Remember me? I fixed your wheel!”
Amaryllis recognized the voice as belonging to one of the girls on the road who had helped them with reattaching the wheel of the wrecked curricle.
“Catrine, you say?” Nathan raised one brow and stared, actively thinking.
“Oh, I do remember you,” Amaryllis said. “Were you not a robber’s child? Something about your father robbing carriages, and so you gave us a bit of a fright. Or at least Nathan here had a bit of a fright, if I recall.”
“Why, yes that’s me and my sis Niosta! See, I knew you’d remember, Your Ladyship! Not that we were gonna really rob’ya or anything!” Catrine continued in the same whisper, grinning widely with her little face of crooked and missing teeth. And then she put one finger to her mouth in a “hush” gesture and softly shut the door behind her and entered the room all the way, holding the candle before her. The moving flame cast wildly flickering shadows against the walls.
“Now, Your Lordships’re all probably thinkin’, what is Catrine doing here?”
“Why yes, we are.” Nathan continued observing her, far less bored than he had been a few moments ago. “But what interests me most is how you managed to get in here without being seen, and whether you have a key and a way to get us out.”
“They grabbed me an’ the other Cobweb Brides in the forest, same as you, I warrant. But they don’t keep the likes of us locked up, only the fancy ladies and lords such as Yourselfs. We—they got us workin’. I’m supposed to be carryin’ stuff.”
“Oh, is that so?” Amaryllis stepped forward, favoring one foot. “Do they not think you can simply run away?”
Catrine snorted. “There’s nowhere to run. Sure, it’s the forest out there, but to get to it you have to get past them high walls, and there is no way to climb that far down. The gates are guarded. And all the girls are too scared to try anything.”
“But not you,” concluded Nathan.
“Hell, no, I’m scared too—beggin’ Your Lordship and Ladyship’s pardon for the foul language an’ all—but I know better. I ain’t no fool! I seen some girls try to run. Two or three of ’em take off every day, after they give ’em work to do around the Keep. But they all get caught, and the ones that do, get thrown in the dungeon—the real dungeon they got down deep below.”
“You mean this is not a dungeon? This horrendous icy wine cellar we are being forced to endure?” said Amaryllis, only partly in jest.
“Oh, hell, no! Beggin’ pardon again!” Catrine whispered then rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, while the candle in her other hand flickered lightly. “This here you got is some fine quarters! Nuttin’ pretty of course, but at least it’s got beds an’ a dry floor.”
Amaryllis shook her head.
“So how did you find us, girl?” Nathan said.
“I heard the servants talkin’, and then they told some of us to bring around dinner to all the fancy ’prisoned ladies. We all know where each one of you is locked up! Cause the crazy ole’ dead Duke an’ his men an’ his servants don’t have time to feed the Cobweb Brides, so they make all of us do it.”
“So what does the Duke plan to do with all of us?”
Catrine’s expression immediately reflected fear. She shrugged, then after a pause, muttered, “I dunno, an’ nobody knows! He just keepin’ us back from Death’s Keep, they say, an’ then, who knows? I don’t want to find out!”
“How many Cobweb Brides would you say are there?” Amaryllis said.
“Dozens, ’undreds!” Catrine’s eyes widened. “The fancy ones locked up are takin’ up most of this floor and there’s them three more long corridors, and there’s two more stories above, an’ one below!”
Nathan frowned.
“So anyway—” Catrine paused momentarily, liste
ning to the sounds outside, because there were footsteps in the hallway, but then the sound receded. “Anyway, here I am, cause I recognized they were talking about you and your fancy bit’o carriage—”
“Curricle,” said Amaryllis.
“Yes, currey’cul, beggin’ pardon,” Catrine amended. “So anyway, I got thinkin’ that I come by here an’ see what is what, maybe even help.”
“A brave sentiment. But—why exactly might you bother to help?” Nathan folded his arms together, watching the little chit. “You do realize I no longer have gold coins on me, since the villains confiscated my purse? Thus, there’s nothing to pay you with.”
“And even if there were coins, how could you help?” Amaryllis added. “Since you say that escape is impossible.”
“Aha! But I didn’t say that, Your Ladyship!” Catrine’s dark eyes glittered with energy, reflecting the light of the candle. “I said there was nowhere to go, not with the high walls and the guards everywhere, an’ the forest out there. But now that I’ve been all over this Keep, carryin’ stuff, I know there’s a way out. It ain’t easy. And I can’t go alone. So, I figure, I get you out too, and we all run together. That is—both Your Lordships, an’ me, an’ also them two Letheburg girls, Sybil an’ Regata who’re down here too.”
“If you have other girls to run away with, why do you need us?” Amaryllis pursued the thought. “Mind you, I am pleased to be so generously included in this adventure, but you are not telling us everything, are you?”
The candle flickered minutely in the girl’s skinny, grubby hand. She wet her lips with her tongue, made a smacking noise, as if it helped her think.
“Well?”
“All right,” Catrine said. “Tis true, I do need Your Lordships to come along, in order for this to work. . . .”
“For what to work?”
Cobweb Empire Page 8
