She hesitated, and Mavian pressed, "Druam is an honorable man in public, but even he may conceal some dark secret. If you do not take this risk, you will forever live as his gullible wife who blindly accepts his deception."
For a long moment, Gwen sat and pondered. She didn't know if she could tolerate spending her life in ignorance of Druam's secrets, but if those same secrets would tear open her heart...why not remain unaware? Perhaps in time she would fall pregnant, and then her days would be occupied with caring for a child rather than obsessing over Druam's every action. And wondering if any other woman carried his seed to fruition. Her throat closed at the thought of Druam atop another woman in the darkness before dawn.
Mavian took Gwen's hands. "Don't lose your courage now, Gwen. Too many ladies bury themselves in accomplishments and wine to escape their husbands. I would lose all faith and love for you were you to do the same."
His green eyes looked so sincere, and Gwen felt her own curiosity pulling at her. I would rather know than not, she decided.
"Very well," Gwen said. "But if he discovers me, I'm telling him it was your idea."
"Excellent. Now, let's see if we can find anything that would help you." Mavian pulled one of the spell books into his lap, then scanned through its thick pages until at last he said, "Here! A working to be unseen. It says to chant the words 'metti non, urri urri non, ilrenn non' and project a thought of yourself as beneath notice. Try it."
Gwen stood and moved a few paces away, then pictured herself as a scurrying mouse. In a singsong, hushed voice, she chanted the words, moving in a circle around the room. As she chanted, she felt her magic bubbling out onto her skin, coating her in a sheen of energy.
"Go out into the other room, then come back in. I'll close my eyes," Mavian said. Gwen followed his instructions, still holding the working as she chanted. The longer she went, the more she let the words slur together, creating a little song of her own. She walked back into the sitting room, and Mavian sat in a chair facing her. However, as she moved closer, his eyes drifted over her, unseeing. He craned his head, looking all around. Sometimes, his eyes focused on her for a brief second before they went blank and glanced elsewhere. Moving behind him, Gwen let the working fade, then tapped his shoulder. He jumped, then turned around, grinning.
"Very well done!" Mavian said, standing and sweeping her off her feet. "Once in a while I detected a shimmer in the air, but otherwise, I didn't really notice you. And I knew you were there. How did it feel?"
"It took concentration, but became easier the longer I held it. I wasn't even properly saying the words by the end." Gwen stepped away from him, suddenly aware of his closeness. If Druam had heard the accusations, this would only be evidence against her.
"Fascinating. Most wizards must be absolutely precise in their workings else they lose the entire spell." Mavian looked like a child with a new toy. "I have to research this more, to see if there are spells that work better for less rigid casters. Do you feel able to follow Druam now?"
Gwen nodded, but felt herself quite terrified at the prospect. Whenever she'd used magic before, it had been to practice or when no one could see. Would she be able to keep the spell while walking the palace corridors?
Gwen barely slept that night. A sudden emptiness beside her followed by the creaking of the bed told her that Druam had risen. Straining her ears in the darkness, she heard the rustle of clothing as he dressed and the sound of well-oiled hinges on the door not long after. For a moment, Gwen thought to follow him, but her courage failed her. Nausea roiled in her stomach, the back of her mouth tasting sour. She waited instead, her nerves too frazzled to return to sleep.
When the curtains glowed softly with the sun's rising, the door finally opened. Druam slipped inside and carefully shut it behind him, then started to undress before he noticed Gwen.
He went back to unlacing his breeches. "Did I wake you?"
"No," Gwen lied. "I had a nightmare, and couldn't sleep after. Then I wondered why you had left our bed."
"Urgent matters in the council. I am sorry to have been gone when you needed my comfort."
Gwen searched his eyes and thought she saw a glimmer of falseness. His tone had been light, but still she doubted him. I must follow him, she thought. But she smiled and rolled into his embrace, the picture of the perfect wife.
Gwen shifted in the muck, trying not to think what caused the stench beneath her feet. Her boots were soaked from all the puddles she'd walked across, and though she had wrapped her hands in her cloak, they were chilled through. Paper lanterns of all colors crisscrossed the street in front of her, their light doing nothing to brighten the alley next to the tavern where she waited. The whitewashed buildings around her were brown with filth.
At the sound of boots on cobbles, Gwen forgot the numbness in her hands. She crept forward, whispering her spell, and saw that Druam had come. He walked slowly, though not ambling, down the street, his eyes uplifted to the lanterns. Blues and reds flitted over his skin as he strode closer, illuminating his peaceful expression. Gwen's stomach churned, but he didn't notice her hidden in the shadows. She heard the tavern's door open, then briefly shouts and drunken songs from those inside before it shut.
For the last two nights, Gwen had followed Druam. The first night, she had reached the bottom of the plateau before losing him. On the second, she dogged him all the way to Fester's Wharves by the sea and saw him go into a tavern called Bertha's Bosun. Fear – for the crowded tavern would no doubt cause her to lose her spell and be seen – had caused her to retreat back to the safety of the palace.
But this third night, Gwen was determined to enter the tavern and discover Druam's secret. Was he gambling? Whoring? Taking poppin powders?
Gwen could barely see beyond the window's steamed glass. Along with a deep breath, she imagined Wullum at her back, encouraging her. Then she opened the door and released her spell.
First she noticed the noise, almost deafening, men laughing and yelling and the sound of flesh hitting against flesh followed by the roar of the crowd.
Then came the stench, sweat and beer, vomit and blood, body odors from scores of unwashed men. Gwen resisted the overwhelming temptation to cover her nose with a lavender-scented handkerchief.
Finally, the people. Sailors, farmers, merchants, and bums pushed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, all of them toting mugs of cheap dockside ale. A harried bar-wench hurried around the room, grabbing four empty mugs at a time and filling them as quickly as she could.
"Two copper pennings." A gruff voice, its owner a gruffer man, accosted Gwen not a second after she shut the door. He cornered her, his hand held out.
"Sorry?" Gwen's mouth had gone dry. The man could throw her out with one hand if he wanted to: he towered over her by nearly two feet, his biceps as large as her waist.
"Two copper pennings entrance fee," he said, sounding exasperated. "To watch the fights."
"Oh, of course," Gwen stammered. Thank the gods she had brought a small purse. She dug out a bronze penning, the smallest coin she had. "Here. Keep the rest."
"Two mugs of ale for ya, then." The man melted into the crowd. Gwen didn't know how he managed it. She pushed, pulled, and finally broke through to find a spot to stand near the fireplace. An empty stool sat next to the wall, so she climbed it for a better look around.
Tobacco smoke curled up to the ceiling. Tables were pushed against the walls, occupied by card players and some few brave men just trying to get a quick meal. An open space in the middle of the tavern held two shirtless men, their bloodied fists raised. The crowd around them erupted as one delivered a blow to the other's cheek, sending him crashing into the wall of bodies. He was pushed back to his opponent, who grabbed his head and thrust it down to collide with his knee. The man reeled. His opponent landed hit after hit, until finally the loser collapsed in a heap. The tavern's walls shuddered with noise as the spectators stomped and cheered the victor. A pair of bar hands stepped in to pull away the defeated man.
The victor left to the bar, no doubt for a hearty drink.
Two more men, clean and unscathed, entered the now hushed circle. The one facing Gwen had tattoos crawling up his bare chest and scars roping across his muscled arms. He towered over the other man, who had lean muscles in his back and slick dark hair. A knot twisted in Gwen's gut.
She gasped when Druam turned to the audience. He basked in their cheers, his arms raised. The larger man cracked his neck. Druam turned his attention back to the ring when a third man stepped between the combatants. This man, slight and wiry but with an air of authority, spoke to the two fighters. His words failed to reach Gwen's ears, but when the fighters assumed position, she guessed that this man was a referee of sorts.
Then the brawl began.
The huge man moved gracefully on his toes, a bear circling his prey. Druam mirrored his movements with catlike fluidity. Even from across the tavern, Gwen could see the determination in his wide blue eyes.
Snarling, the large man pounced. His right arm hooked toward Druam's head. Druam ducked back and away, his left hand delivering a quick punch to the other's gut. The huge man barely grunted. He swung again, this time his blow connecting with Druam's chin. A spurt of blood fell on the closest onlookers. The crowd's thunderous roar shook the floor.
Druam smiled a feral smile. Red dripped down his chin onto the floor. His tongue darted out, smearing the blood across his thin lips.
Something stirred in Gwen, something far and below, a tingling excitement spreading from her nethers to make all her limbs tremble.
"Get 'im, Fris!" someone called out. The large man threw his head back in a primeval scream. But when his chin snapped back down, his eyes had a cold gleam to them. In the span of a second, he tucked his shoulder down and rammed it into Druam's stomach, his arms coming around to grasp Druam.
Druam vaulted over his back. Fris crashed into the crowd, carried by his momentum. He turned around dazedly. Druam did not wait for him to recover. He pressed forward, his left fist catching Fris's jaw. The large man teetered, but did not fall. Druam's right fist hit his shoulder. His left struck again at Fris's chin.
But Fris was ready. His face had turned from shocked to beet-red angry. He caught Druam's fist in his own, his hand nearly enveloping Druam's. Druam grunted. Fris grinned, and swung his free hand at Druam. The first hit connected, snapping Druam's head back. Druam caught the second, his smaller hand gripping Fris's wrist, knuckles white with the effort. They struggled, locked, turning in a slow circle. Fris pulled his head back, preparing to knock into Druam's crown.
Druam's forehead bucked up, striking Fris squarely on the underside of his jaw. Fris reeled, releasing his grip on Druam's hand. But Druam did not release him. He clung on, twisting Fris's arm around behind his back. The crowd cheered. With his free arm, Druam pulled the man's head back and locked it with his elbow.
Both panted. Sweat steamed from their bare chests. Fris yelped as Druam wrenched his arm back. Druam shouted, "Yield!"
Fris didn't answer. His meaty hand scrabbled at Druam's arm, but Druam did not release him. Fris's face slowly turned blue and he gasped for air. His eyes rolled back in his head. Druam let his unconscious body drop to the floor.
For a moment, the crowd was quiet. Then Druam raised his arms, victorious, and the tavern swelled once more, the rafters shaking.
Gwen's heart beat hard against her ribs, her mouth dry.
She had never wanted her husband so much before that moment.
It was incomprehensible, the rush of blood to her face, the dragonflies in her stomach churning and churning, the only thought in her head the wanting of him, no, the needing of him, inside her, right then, still bloodied and halfway broken.
The gruff man from the door materialized in front of her, two mugs of ale in his hands. "For the generous maid."
Gwen tore her gaze from Druam, at first not understanding the man's words. He stared at her and she gawped back before remembering. She held out a silver talent. "I want a room for the night, please. And I want that man who just won the fight to join me. Take him one of the mugs as my favor."
To his credit, the man barely flinched. He exchanged one of the mugs for the coin, then called over a maid before vanishing back into the crowd. The maid took Gwen's hand, led her through the mass of raucous men, and then upstairs. Beneath their feet, the floor shook with mens' shouts as another fight started. Gwen followed the girl down a dimly lit passageway to a grubby door which the maid unlocked and opened.
The room held a grimy bed, a small table, a washbasin, and nothing else. Still clutching her mug of ale, Gwen sank onto the bed while the maid said, "Your man may have gone to the back rooms, miss. Master Barles will get him up 'ere as soon as he can, never you worry."
"Thank you." Before the maid could escape, Gwen asked, "What's in the back rooms?"
"Just the private rooms, miss, for the better folk and the winners. Usually there's a girl or two, but most of the men just want the poppin."
"Oh." A picture sprang up in Gwen's mind of Druam sitting on a lounge sofa, a beautiful foreign girl dancing for him and sharing poppin.
The maid left and Gwen quaffed her ale. It had a horrible bitter flavor, but she needed it now. Her mind wandered back to the fight, to the feelings she had experienced watching Druam choke the other man into a faint. When she reached a curious hand between her legs, she found herself nearly dripping.
At that moment, a knock came at the door, and Druam opened it with a bewildered expression. He saw her and quickly came inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Gwen...? What are you...? How did you...?"
Gwen rushed to him, knocking the empty mug to the floor. She pulled his face down to meet hers and kissed him sloppily. He pushed her gently away.
"You're not bleeding anymore," she blurted.
"No," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to know where you went," Gwen said. "I needed to know if there was another woman."
"No, no, my love, of course not." Druam's nose crinkled. "How much have you had to drink?"
"Only a mug, though I drank it quickly."
"We should return to the palace. I can't...you can't be seen here." Druam made to move, but Gwen stood firm, her hand gripping his tightly.
"I want to stay, if just for a candle or two. I saw you fighting, Druam. I saw you defeat a man in combat."
"You shouldn't have watched; you shouldn't have–"
Before Druam could protest more, Gwen blocked his lips with a kiss, tasted the copper still lingering there, and relished it. She pressed a finger to a bruise on his arm, and took pleasure from the groan in the back of his throat. Taking his hands, she pulled him to the bed. He seemed too shocked to stop her. Her kisses turned into bites. She ordered him to make love to her.
She had never before known such ecstasy.
Lying in the bed afterwards, their limbs entangled, dark against pale. Gwen's head snuggled in the crook of Druam's shoulder, and she asked, "Why do you fight?"
Druam's arms encircled her, squeezing her. "Because it makes me feel alive."
"You don't feel that way with me?" Gwen's half-drunk mind supplied the insecure words.
"Of course I do, love, but...brawling provides an entirely different thing. When I'm with you, and we're alone in the dark and the quiet, I feel safe, happy, secure. Being with you is a pleasure I had thought myself incapable of feeling again. But the fighting...you are a gentle girl, you couldn't understand the feeling as my own fists connect with another man's flesh. Of driving him to submission."
"You could do the same in the tourneys," Gwen pointed out.
Beside her, she felt rather than saw Druam smile. "Perhaps once, in my youth, I longed for the glory of the tourneys. But you saw how I fare in the sun, and being in mail on the field would far worsen that. No, I prefer the intimacy and anonymity of these brawls. No one here scrapes to me, nor do they care about my peerage. If I win, I am celebrated. If I lose, then I must earn my way bac
k to victory.
"But you mustn't come back here, Gwen. There are too many dangers lurking on the streets at night. I promise you, I do not partake of poppin or the women; I only come for the fights."
Too sleepy and full of delight to argue, Gwen simply nodded against his chest.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cara
SANDU STILL shivered and mumbled, his hands tight around his blanket. Cara glanced back at him often, worried that he might run off again. But Alex held her friend tightly as they rode slowly through the swamp, their lanterns dim against the gloom. It hadn't taken long to notice Sandu's disappearance, but the fog had prevented searching for him. When it lifted at last, Cara had nearly run straight into the swamp. Thank the gods Alex was with me, she thought. He had the foresight to light their lanterns before sunset, and to mark their trail with dagger cuts on the trees as they followed Sandu's unpredictable path. Without him, she knew that Sandu would have died in the swamp.
Darkness had fully descended by the time they made it back to the main road. Alex dismounted, then carefully helped Sandu down from the saddle. Cara held Sandu and tried to warm him as Alex made camp. Their fire seemed pitifully small compared to the night's chill. Once Alex had it as large as it would burn, Cara settled Sandu close to it and wrapped another blanket around his shoulders. The three huddled together as they shared small bites of supper. Cara let her fingers linger on Alex's hand as they passed the wineskin. She gave him a furtive smile, her heart leaping when he returned it. For now, they would care for Sandu, but perhaps if they had some moments along the road...
"Where's the caravan?" Sandu asked between clacking teeth. Cara drew back from Alex and rubbed Sandu's shoulders. She hoped he would warm by the morning.
"It'll wait in the next town for us," Alex assured them. "If we don't appear in two days, then they'll move forward without us."
They finished their jerky and bread, and though Cara rifled through her pack, she couldn't find any more. "We're out of food unless one of you packed something."
The Lantern-Lit City Page 20
