by K. C. Julius
Roth stopped then and turned toward her, a spark of interest lighting his eyes.
“To confess?”
“Yes. I… I once believed it would not matter to you, but I see now I was wrong.”
She forced herself to raise her chin. “You see, you don’t actually know all there is to know about my mother, Daera Trok.”
A look of boredom replaced the flicker of curiosity, and Roth slapped his riding gloves against his palm. “Truly, Maura? This again? I’ve important affairs to attend to—”
With your cousin? she wanted to spit at him. Instead she said, “Hear me out—please, Your Majesty. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Something in her voice must have swayed him. “Very well. What is it?”
“You know that my mother is not of noble birth. What you don’t know is that she is å Livåri.”
Roth laughed, his incredulity plain to see. ““Really, Maura! What nonsense is this? Do you expect me to believe Prince Storn got a child on a Lurker?”
“He didn’t know about her true bloodlines. Daera was orphaned quite young, and taken into the service of Sir Drenen of Tyrrin-on-Murr. My father met her while on a visit there.”
Roth’s mouth fell slightly open, and Maura could almost hear the wheels of his mind spinning. “If this is true…”
“It is the truth, my lord,” Maura assured him. “If you wish to make inquiries, I’m sure someone at Meadowbrook Hall would remember my mother. She was released from Lady Harrien’s service seventeen years ago to join Prince Storn’s retinue.”
Roth’s expression shifted to one of revolted fascination. “Your mother was his whore?”
Maura stiffened, but she willed herself to sound remorseful. “I… I suppose she was, my lord.” She was rewarded by the sight of Roth’s unguarded delight. He sees his escape from our betrothal. Now we can be free of one another.
But then his expression altered. “You’ve committed a grievous crime, Lady Maura, in lying to your sovereign.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” she protested. “I’ve just told you the truth of my own free will. I thought… before, I thought it would make no difference, not if you loved me.”
Roth shook his head in a show of regret. “Maura, Maura. One forgets your youth and inexperience. But these are no grounds for excuse; I am gravely disappointed. Did you honestly believe that a true marriage of heart and mind could arise from a foundation of deception? Of course, in light of what you’ve just told me about your sullied lineage, one couldn’t expect you to act with honor.”
“But I have done!” Maura pressed her lips together against more hot words. Getting into an argument with Roth would only make matters worse. She attempted a more conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry I’ve so disappointed you, my lord. I understand that you cannot be expected to—that is, that we shall have to call off our engagement.”
Roth’s expression didn’t lighten. “At least you can appreciate this much.”
She chose her words carefully. “I suppose… we can simply say we are not as well-suited as we first believed, my lord.” After all, this was certainly true. “Then I shall withdraw discreetly from the court, until such a time as you have need of me.”
“Need of you?” Roth scoffed. “What makes you believe I would ever again have need of you?”
“You make it sound like I meant to deceive you, my lord. You must believe I would never do such a thing.”
Roth scowled. “Once, perhaps, I would have believed anything that sprang from those fair lips. But now? I have no idea who you are, nor what you may be—or have been—capable of.” He tilted his head to look at the book in her hands. “For example, I would never have suspected your reading tastes to run in this direction.” The hard, exultant look in his eyes made her feel cold all over.
“My lord,” she said. “Roth—”
But the king was already headed toward the corridor. “I suggest you keep to your chamber.” At the threshold, he paused long enough to look back at her. “I shouldn’t like for your deception to become public knowledge through an unfortunate slip of the tongue. I shall send for you, once I’ve decided how and when we will make the dissolution of our betrothal known. Now, however, I must deal with your wizard.”
As the ringing of his boots faded, Maura looked down at the book she still held and read its title. Tales of Treachery. Blindly, she thrust it back onto a shelf and fled the library.
Your wizard, he’d said. She’d only succeeded in making matters worse for her friend. But at least Roth had given her warning. She only hoped she would have enough time to heed it.
* * *
Maura stood outside Asmara’s door in an anguish of indecision. The princess was not alone; from within her chambers the gentle strumming of a lute and muffled laughter drifted out into the hall. The princess’s vows had placed her in cloister, but Maura supposed it was possible other monteras visited her from time to time.
She turned to leave, but the music suddenly stopped and the door swung wide. There was no one on the other side, so she stepped warily over the threshold.
The sumptuous apartment was exactly as it had been on her last visit, except for the ambrosial scent in the air. That fragrance, she realized, inhaling the mossy perfume. I’ve smelled it before, but where?
She heard a soft rustling and turned to see her aunt gliding toward her, regally attired in a crimson gown and cloth of gold overtunic, its sleeves embellished with lace and jewels. Her golden hair was twisted under a delicate netting and her cheeks were flushed with color. Without a word, she enfolded Maura in her embrace.
The warm gesture unleashed Maura’s pent-up anguish, and a sob escaped her.
“There now,” her aunt murmured, “what is amiss, my child?”
Maura drew a ragged breath. “I’m… I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what came over me.”
“Come to the fire, my dear. There’s no need to apologize. You’ve been under a great strain for some time now.”
The princess settled opposite her, her violet eyes reflecting her concern. “What has prompted you, niece, to return here on your own accord.”
“I have to get into the low dungeons where Master Morgan is being held. Can you help me?”
Asmara’s fair brow arched in surprise. “The low dungeons? That is no place for you.”
“You don’t understand. It’s urgent that I speak with Master Morgan, before… before something happens to him.”
Asmara reached for her hand. “You’re frightened! What is it, child? What is it you must say to him? Perhaps I can get a message to him.”
“Thank you, but I must speak with him alone.”
Asmara shifted her gaze to the fire. She was silent for so long, Maura wondered if she’d gone into some sort of religious trance.
“I see,” the princess said at last. She continued to stare at the flames, as if something in the flickering light spoke to her. “Very well. If it is to be done, it should be at once.” Her expression grew pensive; she seemed to be listening to something only she could hear.
When she rose abruptly, Maura also got to her feet.
Asmara smiled at her, as if they’d been having a light and friendly conversation all along. “It seems there is an uproar in the Great Hall,” she said briskly. “We must make use of the distraction. Wait here.”
The princess disappeared into the inner chamber and shut the door behind her.
In the sudden stillness, the fire crackled and popped, spilling a cascade of sparks onto the hearth. Maura jumped at the sound. Her nerves were frayed almost beyond bearing, but she would soon feel better, once she saw Master Morgan and had his wise advice to guide her.
But when the bedroom door opened again, a tall, veiled woman stood on the threshold.
Maura felt a sudden sense of misgiving. “Llwella?”
The maid sile
ntly held out a cloak to her.
Maura reminded herself that Asmara trusted Llwella. She would have to as well. She slipped on the dark garment.
Without a word passing between them, Llwella preceded her out of the apartment and down a set of stone stairs. These led to a covered walkway beside an unfamiliar muddy courtyard. A freezing rain had begun to fall. The wind tore at her cloak as they started across the yard, and her kid boots were quickly soaked through in the slushy mire.
Bent nearly double, Llwella hurried ahead. Maura caught the mingled odors of hay and dung, and realized they’d come to the back side of the stables. Abruptly the older woman came to a halt, and Maura nearly ran into her as Llwella’s fingers swept over the dripping stones. She must have found what she was looking for, because when she laid her palms flat against the façade, a section of it swung silently inward.
Llwella gestured Maura through into a darkened passageway.
A low light sprang up ahead, and she wondered if friend or foe awaited them. Llwella’s hand rested on her back, gently urging her forward. With a growing sense of uneasiness, Maura followed the rapidly narrowing tunnel. The ceiling began to drop, and soon she was forced to her hands and knees.
“Is it much further?” she whispered.
Llwella’s only reply was a soft, drawn-out “Shhh!”
As the walls closed in, Maura felt her heart contract, and she battled a surge of panic. But just when she thought she could stand the cramped tunnel no longer, she arrived at its end and emerged into a circular tower. A steep, narrow staircase led upward; there was no way down to any dungeons.
She turned back, only to find herself facing the hard, blank surface of an unbroken wall. The tunnel through which she’d crawled had vanished entirely, along with the maid. For a frenzied moment, she scrabbled at the stone, searching for a fissure with which to part it, as she’d seen Llwella do on the outer wall, but all she got for her efforts were torn and bleeding nails.
She leaned back against the cold stone, willing herself to calm down. The only way out was up the stairway. Was it possible that this was a trap—that Asmara and Llwella were in league with the Nelvor? She realized anything was possible. Anything, she amended glumly, except escaping from this turret. She was a prisoner now, and the one most likely to have consigned her to this place was the man who wielded the highest power in the land. If Roth wanted her out of the way, he had every means to achieve that aim.
I should have returned to Mithralyn with Leif, she thought belatedly. But even if she had, she’d still be bound to serve Roth. The oath she’d taken was as unbreakable as her binding to her dragon, unless Master Morgan were to release her from it.
A muffled thud from above made her nearly jump out of her skin. “Is there someone there?” she called.
There came no answer.
There was nothing for her to do but climb the stairs and see for herself.
Keeping her eyes on her sodden slippers, Maura ascended, silently counting her steps until she reached the landing at the top of the tower. A solid pine door stood before her. Cautiously, she placed her palms against the wood and wondered if she would live to regret crossing this threshold—indeed, if she would continue to live to regret anything at all. At the thought, she wrenched her hands away, but the door had already begun to swing inward.
The interior of the modest solar revealed nothing sinister—a desk, stacked high with books, and two narrow chairs. The floor was spread with fresh rushes, and there was even a small hearth in which a merry blaze crackled. If this was to be her prison, at least she would be warm.
Then a figure stepped from behind the door, and for the second time that day, she was taken into an embrace.
Chapter 29
Morgan
“We shall have perhaps one hour, no more.” Morgan drew Maura to one of the straight-backed chairs at the table. “After that, I will be returned to my cell in the dungeon and you to your chambers.”
The wizard took the measure of the dragonfast maid. He discerned a newfound maturity and poise, but the pallor in her cheeks was concerning, and he noted how slender she’d grown. The separation from Ilyria was sure to have come at a cost to her.
“You have been missed in Mithralyn,” Morgan said. When he saw a flicker of guilt cross Maura’s face, he hastened to add, “I’m certain you had good reasons for your decision to stay here in Drinnkastel. Which reminds me—I understand congratulations are in order?”
He was surprised by her bitter laugh. “If you mean my engagement, it is newly broken off. The king will make our decision public when he feels the time is right.”
So that accounts for her pallor. “I am sorry, my dear, if—”
“Don’t be. We found we were not… well-suited.” She looked down at her hands. “And there is, of course, Roth’s revulsion of my å Livåri blood.”
Morgan frowned. “You sound as if you don’t blame him. The only thing that separates your mother from your father is the opportunity of their births. There is no difference in their blood.”
Maura shrugged. “It can’t be changed.”
Morgan wished he had time to talk this through with her, but he had more pressing matters. “I want to tell you about how your uncle died.”
Maura’s fine brows shot up. “Surely you don’t think I believe the ridiculous charges lodged against you?”
He gave her a little bow of gratitude. “I’m honored by your trust, Maura. But you see, in a way, I am responsible for the manner of Urlion’s death. His illness was actually the result of his long struggle against a dark enchantment. When I told him this, he summoned the strength to fight it, and all the memories the spell had repressed came back to him. Alas, the shock of it all was too much for his heart to bear.”
“My uncle was under a spell? Why would anyone do such a thing? Who could do such a thing?”
“Indeed, I hope I will be given the time I need to discover the answers to these questions.”
“When I met Roth earlier,” Maura said softly, “he said you’re…” Tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m to be found guilty?” Morgan sighed. “I’m afraid this was a foregone conclusion, my dear. The High King has already given me the pretense of a trial, and I will likely pay the utmost penalty.” He cupped her face gently between his hands. “Come now. All hope is not lost. You are not to allow regret to sap your spirit. You will require all your energy to meet the challenges awaiting you.” He gave her what he hoped was a brisk, reassuring smile. “Now. How may I help you?”
Maura pushed back a loose tendril of hair. “I… I find myself in an untenable position. It’s about the oath I took, back in Mithralyn. Once, I thought Roth to be a worthy man, and that the Nelvors might prove to be a loving family to me. That was before I realized that since the day I met them, everything they’ve done has been calculated to attain one goal alone—to put Roth on the High Throne and to found a Nelvor dynasty.” When Morgan didn’t comment, she plowed ahead. “Over the past weeks, I’ve witnessed a darker side of this clan. They’ve shown themselves to be ruthless and deceitful. Why, I’ve even overheard them discuss slitting a child’s throat!”
Nothing the girl said was surprising. “What was this child’s crime?”
“I don’t know. Roth said something about Vetch coming across this boy in Restaria—what is it?”
Morgan found himself on his feet, a sudden warmth in his old bones as he seized her hands. “When? When did you hear this?”
Maura rose as well, alarm in her eyes. “Shortly after the coronation.”
“Did Roth say anything else about the boy? Where he might be now? Think, Maura! It’s of the utmost importance.”
Maura frowned in concentration. “He didn’t, but Grindasa did. The boy and his mother—she said Vetch brought them back to Drinnglennin because they both spoke Drinn.”
Morgan felt a sudden
misgiving. Old Snorri had shown them where the child’s mother was buried. “Are you sure?”
Maura nodded. “Who were they talking about, master? Do you know these people?”
“No, but it’s possible I know of them.”
If the boy was with his mother, it meant he couldn’t be Fynn. But Morgan intended to find him and be sure. Until then, he wouldn’t tell Maura that the lad might be Urlion’s lawful son—this was too dangerous for her to know at present.
“Thank you, Maura. You may have just given me the best news I could have wished for.”
Maura gave an uncertain smile. “I’m glad. But—master, about my vow to serve and protect Urlion’s heir… I wanted to ask you—to beg you—to release me from this oath. Under the circumstances, I find it—”
“Out of the question!” Morgan clapped his hands together, causing the girl to jump.
“I don’t understand—”
“After what you’ve just told me, there is all the more reason to hold you to your vow.”
“But I don’t—”
The swoosh of something black flitted between them, cutting off Maura’s protest. They both looked up at a small squeaking bat circling the turret. As Morgan listened attentively to its disquieting report, his newfound hope drained away, leaving a cold pit in his stomach in its place.
“Master Morgan?” Maura laid her hand on his sleeve. “Master, what ails you?”
“Grave tidings from Egydd,” he muttered. “They concern us all, but you and Leif more than any.” He covered her hand with his own. “You must be strong, my dear.”
Her eyes darkened with fear. “What is it, master? Please—tell me what has happened to make you look so grim?”
“Dragons,” he said, his voice hollow in his ears. “Dragons have been ravaging in the north over Valeland, Branley Tor, and Fairendell.” He paused as the bat chittered on. “Some say there are two, while others report dozens.”
Maura clutched at his sleeve. “Surely there’s been some mistake. Why would Ilyria and Rhiandra reveal themselves after all this time and go ravaging? It’s unthinkable!”
