by J F Rivkin
“Corson…”
“Mmro…?”
“Will you take off that rutting sword, or do you want to make a gelding of me?”
“Asye forbid!” laughed Corson, letting her sword belt slip to the floor, and pulling him down onto the bed.
13
no one looked up as Nyctasia entered The Crow’s Nest, or offered to assist her in any way. She went up to a group of idlers gathered around the fire and slammed her stick down across a bench. “Ho, the house! Who keeps this vipers’ den?”
A man and woman glanced askance at each other. The man shrugged. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” echoed Nyctasia. “I want accommodations fit for a queen, of course. I want splendor, gaiety, and lordly fare. Spiced delicacies and ruby wine! That’s what I want!”
Shouts of agreement arose from the other guests. This was the best entertainment they’d seen in some time.
“I could do with some of that myself!”
“Tell us more, woman!”
“I want decent lodgings,” Nyctasia concluded, “but I’ll settle for what you’ve got to offer.”
This sally too was met with cheers. “Best lodgings this side of the gutter, right here!”
“If you happen to be a rat or a roach-”
“Most of you are,” said the landlady, and spat into the fire. She stood and walked from the room, giving Nyctasia a hard look as she pushed past her.
Nyctasia bowed elaborately, sweeping her shabby cloak out of the woman’s way with an ironic flourish.
The group made room for her on the bench, hoping for more sport. “Do you have any money?” said the landlord. “We don’t take clever speeches in payment.”
“Oh, of course I’m carrying a fortune in gold and jewels,” sneered Nyctasia. She tossed him a small silver coin. “Two nights,” she said. She did not intend to stay for a single night, but it might be safer to mislead her listeners.
He examined the coin carefully, then nodded. “Any bed upstairs.”
Nyctasia repressed a shudder. She was prepared to face danger and hardship, but nothing could reconcile her to the prospect of bed-lice. After joking with the other guests for a time, she made her way upstairs, claiming to be exhausted from a day’s hard walking. She entered a large, slant-ceilinged room at the head of the stairs, noting that it had no other door and only one small window high on the far wall. There were several straw pallets in the room, but none that Nyctasia would have lain or even sat upon under any circumstances.
The other two rooms were similar, and she returned to the first, satisfied that she was alone. When she’d latched the door, she pulled a small leather bag from her shirt and took from it a pair of exquisite golden earrings. The lustrous red-gold shone softly, even in the dim light from the gable window. Edonaris heirlooms, they were part of the legacy from her late, unlamented Great-Uncle Brethald.
She smiled grimly. How it must have galled him to know that Nyctasia, a traitor to the name of Edonaris, would inherit the better part of his goods and properties. But he was childless, and inflexible tradition decreed that family property follow very specific lines of descent. It was no wonder he’d tried to ensure that Nyctasia would die before him.
Now she brooded over the beautiful golden earrings and thought how outraged he would have been to know that she considered giving family treasure to a base-born hireling. But Corson had surely earned them. She’d lost her own in Nyctasia’s service, and it would be most appropriate to reward her with a new pair. Nyctasia herself wore only adornments of silver, to accentuate her grey eyes and fair complexion-gold was for honey-skinned Corson, or dark Erystalben.
But still Nyctasia’s blood reproached her at the thought of thus estranging ancient Edonaris property. She weighed the jewelry in her hand thoughtfully.
After all, had she not broken with her family? Why not celebrate her freedom with this gesture, if only to spite the memory of Great-Uncle Brethald?
Suddenly she leapt to her feet, hastily concealing the earrings. She could hear people climbing the stairs. The door was forced open before she could unlatch it, and three armed guards entered the room.
“We have orders not to harm you, my lady, unless you resist us. Will you surrender your weapons?”
Nyctasia at once resorted to the most convincing lie of all: she laughed. “My lady?” she cried, in seeming delight. “Oh, I like that! What would a lady be doing here, you imbeciles?” She minced up to the guard who had spoken, with the affected grandeur of an ill-bred student imitating a noblewoman. “Pray enter my ancestral halls,” she invited. “Lady Maggot of Vermin Hall bids you welcome!”
The guards looked at one another, uncertain. “Maybe-” one of them began.
“Well?” demanded Nyctasia. “Here I am, arrest me! Her Ladyship of Quills and Patches!” She seemed to be having a wonderful time. “Ho, friends!” she shouted, for the benefit of the listeners downstairs, “you people didn’t know you had a great lady in your midst, did you?”
But the laughter that answered her from the stairway was not that of her fellow lodgers. “Forgive me if I fail to applaud such a fine performance, cousin, but you see that I have the use of only one arm.” The guards moved aside, and Lord Thierran ar’n Edonaris entered, smiling. His right arm was bound in a bandage and sling, “Be sure to gag her,” he ordered. “She’ll convince you that no one’s here at all if she isn’t silenced.”
Nyctasia passed from desperation to despair. No one would come to her rescue now, for no one knew where to find her. She had been careful about that, as always. “But not careful enough,” she thought bitterly. Only Corson had known where she was hiding. It must have amused her to be paid for changing sides once again. She must be very well pleased with herself.
14
steifann entered the room quietly. Corson was still asleep, her hair spread loose on the pillows. He stood over her a moment and then placed his hand on her back. Without opening her eyes she grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him down on top of her.
“Stop that, woman,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Get up.” He slid his arms under her and lifted her up beside him. She leaned against him and mumbled something into his neck.
“What?”
“I’m cold.”
He pulled her closer, cupping her breast in his hand. “Better?”
She nodded, then raised her head and kissed him.
“Will you listen to me? Some madman’s got half the city hunting for you, and all you can think of is screwing.”
“I’m thinking of food, too. I’m hungry.”
“Corson-!”
“Yes. I’m listening.”
“The Windhover leaves with the morning tide. Destiver’s agreed to take the two of you.”
“Oh,” said Corson dispiritedly. “How much will it cost?”
Steifann cleared his throat and mentioned a sum. Corson gasped.
“If you don’t have the money, Corson, I’ll get it for you.”
She was disgusted. The price would take most of what Nyctasia had paid her. All that hard-earned money gone-and for what? Curse Lady Nyctasia and her stinking family! “No, I can pay it. But what about the captain, Steifann, and the crew?
Can they be trusted? What’s to keep them from trying to collect the passage money and the reward too?”
“Don’t worry, I know Destiver. She’ll keep her word.”
“She?” said Corson, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “How well do you know her?”
“We’re old friends,” he grinned. “She’d do anything for me.”
“Old friends? I know what that-”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Annin. “Corson, keep your voice down!
And put your clothes on. There’s no time to lose.”
“What happened?” Corson demanded. “Did you find her?”
“I’m sorry, Corson, she’s been taken. It’s all over the docks.”
Corson cursed softly. “What have you hear
d?” she said, pulling on her breeches.
“Wild rumors, mostly. This woman’s a spy. A faithless wife. A foreign princess-or a prince, for that matter. They took her asleep, or, if you like, she fought like a demon and killed three guards.” Annin shrugged. “But all the tales agree that they found her at The Crow’s Nest and took her prisoner.”
“Where did they go?”
“To Rhostshyl. Or to Liruvath. To a mansion in the center of town! Nobody knows.
The question is, has she told them where you are? They might be here at any moment-we have to get you to the ship now! I’ll fetch the cart. You lovebirds say your farewells, and don’t be long about it.”
As soon as she was gone, Corson belted on her sword. “They won’t be after me, now that they’ve found her. They probably thought I could lead them to her. I’ll be safe enough.”
Steifann caught her in a bear hug and kissed her. “Why don’t you take up some sort of honest work, you worthless wretch?”
Corson broke away reluctantly. “I’ll be careful. Tell Annin not to worry.”
He followed her to the door, trying to bar her way. “Corson, you can’t go after that woman-you don’t even know where she is! Or do you?”
“I might. If I’m wrong, I’ll go to the ship without her.”
“And if you’re right?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll probably go to the ship without her anyway.
I’m not about to try anything foolish. I’ll be back in a month or two, when this affair’s forgotten.” She kissed Steifann on the ear. “And if I find out you’ve been sleeping with this Destiver,” she whispered, “when I come back, I’ll kill you!”
Steifann cuffed her gently and let her go. “Send me word that you’re safe,” he said.
“I will-soon. Nothing will happen to me.”
He watched her cross the courtyard. At the gate she turned and waved to him, then disappeared into the alleyway.
“I must be out of my mind,” she thought. “I’m going to get myself killed!”
15
nyctasia had let herself be taken prisoner without resisting, She was no match for three swords, and it better suited her dignity to surrender than to be seized by force. The one gesture of defiance left to her was to die in her own way, as befitted a devotee of the Indwelling Spirit.
She had known herself for dead the moment she’d heard Thierran’s voice, and she wasted no time on flip replies or futile struggles. Even as he gave his orders, while the guards bound her wrists behind her, she had begun the spell that would end her own life. She had spoken the truth when she told Corson that it was harder to kill with spells than to heal, but magic is always easier to work upon one’s self than upon another. And death itself may sometimes be a healing.
Nyctasia was hardly aware of where she was taken, or how. She did not notice the landlady’s satisfied smirk, or the wondering stares of the others, as she was led out of The Crow’s Nest. She heeded nothing but the voice of the vahn within her as it ceaselessly repeated her name. By the time she found herself alone with her captor, she had already achieved the trance known as the First Consolation-her name no longer held the slightest meaning for her.
Lord Thierran removed the gag from her mouth. “Well, ’Tasia, surely by now you’ve prepared some fabulous lie to persuade me to release you. Perhaps you can convince me that I died along with Mescrisdan.”
His words came to Nyctasia from a vast distance. She considered them dispassionately, judged them unworthy of her attention, and forgot them at once.
In a vague way, she knew that she was bound to a chair, that Thierran stood over her, but she no longer took an interest. She had begun to move towards the Second Consolation.
“Answer me, fool, while you have the chance. I have you and I can break you!”
Threats could not reach Nyctasia now, but the hard slap across her face did disturb her concentration for a moment. She looked up at Thierran without recognition and said the only thing that was in her mind, repeating it over in a flat, lifeless voice.
“Nyctasia ar’n Edonaris nyctasia arnedonaris nyctasiarnedonaris nycta…”
“Stop that!” Lord Thierran struck her again and again, infuriated by her indifference. It was precisely Nyctasia’s indifference that had always enraged him. The blows stopped her chanting, but pain was only another Influence to hasten her towards death. Her eyes slowly closed, and Thierran could sense her calm conviction that he did not exist. For a moment it frightened him.
Like most of the aristocracy, Lord Thierran had been raised as a Vahnite in name only. He had never practiced the Influences, Balances, or Consolations, but he knew of them, and he knew that Nyctasia took the Discipline seriously. She rarely drank spirits. She never wept. There was no doubt in his mind that she was capable of dying from sheer willfulness.
“Nyctasia!” But it was useless to call her by name. He seized her shoulder, shook her. “Listen to me, curse you! I want you alive!”
Though shielded by the profound apathy of the Second Consolation, Nyctasia could not dismiss Thierran’s promises as easily as she had his threats. The vahn would destroy itself only if the alternative were a less desirable death. If Thierran offered her life, she would have to listen.
“Do you hear me? You throw away your life to no purpose, witch! I have no mind to kill you!”
Without allowing a shadow of emotion to disturb the even surface of her impassivity, Nyctasia decided on her response. Eyes still closed, and with the same toneless, unnatural voice, she said, “You tried to kill me only days ago.”
He smiled, triumphant. “No, cousin-I tried to capture you. If I had tried to kill you, you would be dead.”
She considered this with detached impartiality. True, he could have killed her easily enough before Corson arrived, while Mescrisdan still pinioned her arms.
But instead he’d toyed with her, taunted her…
She would hear more. She allowed herself to look at him, but her face remained as expressionless as her voice. “What do you want of me, then?”
“Only two things, my dear ’Tasia. The first, of course, is your hand in marriage.” He leaned toward her. “You know that the family thinks it my duty to take a hand in the management of your affairs. Scholars are a fanciful lot, after all, ill-suited for governing. When we’re wed, you’ll be able to devote yourself to your studies and leave such things to me.”
Reluctantly, Nyctasia accepted the burden of hope. She would have to make an effort after all. “I see. You stand to inherit much more if I die as your wife.”
He had wanted to make her look at him, but now he found her even gaze unnerving.
He walked around behind her, “You might live longer as my wife than as my cousin, ’Tasia,” he murmured, laying his hand lightly against her throat.
Nyctasia controlled her urge to pull away from his touch. Instead, she only stiffened her shoulders slightly, enough resistance to flatter his pride, but not enough to provoke him. If she pretended to consent too easily, he would not be fooled. “And how long do you think you’d live as my husband, Thierran?” she asked coldly.
He laughed. “Oh, ’Tasia, you’ll have to hope that nothing happens to me. While you’re under my protection the family will tolerate you, but if I should meet with an untimely death, my grieving widow would bear the blame, guilty or not.
You wouldn’t live through the funeral, my dear.”
“That would be a pity,” said Nyctasia, “I look ravishing in black.”
She understood, now. She’d be forced to sign a marriage-alliance ceding control of her major estates to Thierran. Then, if she were not killed at once, she’d be held under guard in her own household. She would stay alive as long as it amused Thierran to keep her. “And what is the second thing you want?” she asked, without agreeing to the first.
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “The mercenary.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know very well. Your h
ireling, who killed Mescrisdan and crippled my arm.
It may never heal! Where is she?”
Nyctasia gave no sign of her astonishment. It was not Corson who had betrayed her, then… This meant more to her than she would have expected.
“She could be anywhere on the coast by now,” she said, with a slight shrug. “I sent her away long before I came to Chiastelm. She’d have told my whereabouts to anyone who paid the price. For that matter, how did you know where to find me?”
“I did not know, I suspected. When Shiastred left these parts he took ship from here. Others may have forgotten your upstart lover, but I was sure you’d follow after him. My people have combed the docks between here and Ochram, offering a large reward for you.”
“Of course,” thought Nyctasia wearily, “I betrayed myself.” Aloud, she said, “I see I’ve underestimated you, cousin.” He’d like that, the gloating snake. “I’ll have to be more careful of that in the future, if I have a future.”
“We’ll discuss your future after you’ve told me where to find the mercenary.”
“For vahn’s sake, Thierran, forget about her! I told you I got rid of her days ago. She rode north on the border road and that was the last I saw of her. I don’t know where she is now!”
“And will you pretend that you don’t know who she is, either? Her name?”
“Well, she called herself Brendal, but-”
He chuckled. “’Tasia, I’ve known you all your life. Do you think I still believe your ridiculous lies? You called her Corson that night, have you forgotten? I mean to find her, and I’ll have the truth from you one way or another, I promise you.”
Nyctasia shook her head. “An Edonaris does not take revenge on an inferior. She acted on my orders, and only I am accountable, you know that. If you want vengeance so badly, you have me-and you can strangle me with only one hand!”
