by Suz deMello
“You hugged the tree.”
“Yes. It must have seemed odd but it works.”
“How long do the emanations last?”
“From moonset to moonrise.”
“Convenient.”
“Very. And if removed correctly, a cut bough will light a dwelling for hours.”
“No wonder the oaks are revered. They are a marvel. But how has this phenomenon escaped our observation in the past?”
“We have not often intermarried with your people and we have kept the trees’ properties quiet.”
“A secret?”
“No, but we haven’t broadcast the information, as the Progenitors might have put it.” He glanced through the window at the tree outside, and it pulsed with a renewed glow.
“Why not?”
“The belief that there is not much of interest on Darkside keeps us safe,” he said.
“Just as the belief that the Shadowlands have much of value has made us a target.”
“Especially the royal family.”
I wrapped my arms around my torso and found myself swaying back and forth. “Have you learned anything else?”
He led me to the red-cushioned couch, eased me down and sat beside me. “Nothing conclusive.”
I bit my lip. “What inconclusive information have you uncovered?”
“It’s said that a fire started suddenly on the barge and that it did not strike a rock at all.”
“Who made such a statement?”
“An elderly boatman in Catura Cove told me this,” he said. “He said he saw the reddish glow of fire eating away at the hull.”
“He could have seen the braziers for food preparation.”
“He was definite that the fire was at the waterline of the barge and not on the deck.”
I rose and paced. “How could such a sabotage been accomplished?”
“I don’t know but have asked Parron to locate the remains of the barge if they yet exist. They may yield some information. In the meantime, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Queen Audryn.”
I managed a smile. “Where have I heard that before?”
* * * * *
I had disobeyed Storne’s admonition, having left Kloutt behind at Castle Remarck and sent Frayn to the north country, but nevertheless planned to set forth to the WestMarch without waiting for Frayn’s return. In the interim, I secretly ordered Lady Mercourie to prepare a boat for my use while I traveled to Catura Cove to hold court. After I had settled myriad matters for the locals, I rode to the shoreline accompanied only by Maia, Parron and Storne.
This day Catura was as flat and silver as a mirror, its stillness belying its fearsome reputation as a killer. The beach upon which I stood was composed of gray granitic cobbles, each about the size of my fist, with the distant shore visible only as a darker ridged line. I contemplated Catura in silence, then said, “I cannot see any rocks breaking the surface of the lake.” I strove to keep my voice calm and conversational.
“I had heard that the boulder which sank the barge is just below the waterline, Your Majesty,” Parron said.
I turned to Storne. “Did you ask the boatman you spoke with the location of any underwater boulders?”
Storne wetted his lips. “He knew of none in this vicinity.”
“Let us go.” I led the way southward along the stony beach to the wharf, which was busy with fishermen unloading the morning catch and loud with merchants hawking their wares, everything from gutted and dried fish to nets and oars. Catura Cove was a vital little community that supplied most of the southern Shadowlands with fish as well as what we called “lake vegetables”, plants with unique properties. Caducia had told me once that there were nutrients in the lake vegetables that were unavailable in any other foods, and I had ordered them included in every meal I ate.
At dockside, Mercourie awaited us with a wizened old fellow in grubby whites who was braiding rope. When we approached he dropped to his knees, stammering a greeting.
“Arise.” I touched his shoulder. “I understand you were nearby when…when…”
He struggled to his feet. “Aye, Yer Maj-majesty.” His voice was rough, and from the miasma hanging about him I realized he smoked toreed, a dried lake vegetable that allegedly had medicinal properties. I preferred to eat rather than to smoke mine and was glad of my choice.
“Accompany us,” I said, “and tell us what you remember.”
Mercourie led us onto a flat-bottomed craft that I realized was the new royal barge. My belly churned, and my unease must have been visible, for Storne and Maia each took one of my hands. Their clasp reassured me. I knew that no harm would come to me in their presence.
I reminded myself that I was a good swimmer. Also, I was clad in a lightweight riding habit rather than a gown. My sister and mother had worn gowns the day they had died. Doubtless the water weight combined with the heavy fabrics had dragged them to their deaths.
I sensed Parron’s reassuring presence behind me, took a deep breath and stepped aboard the barge. My boots clattered on the wooden decks as I followed Mercourie forward. She, at least, held none of my concerns, wearing a red woolen cape that opened to reveal a matching gown with black trim, the colors of my house. I was heartened by her show of loyalty and confidence.
In the prow, she turned and smiled at me. “By your command?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She waved a hand at the pilot, aft, who gave the order to cast off.
The boatman said, “I watched the royal barge leave the dock that day. Oh, it was a grand sight, all the fine lords and ladies. The king and queen wore green, as I remember. Like new leaves they were. And Princess Beryla was all in gold. She gleamed like the sun.”
“Yes, I remember her dress.” The weighty metallic fabric had no doubt hastened my sister’s drowning, but I was now sure that this man was telling the truth. He had seen what had happened. He did remember my family’s deaths.
“You have seen the sun?” Storne asked, his curiosity evident.
“Aye, long ago,” the boatman said. “I gots a yen to travel, and crossed through the WestMarch with a caravan, for trade. We sold dried fish to the DesertDwellers.” His lip curled.
I wondered why he held the Children of Light in contempt but decided not to pursue that topic. “You saw my sister Beryla. And then?” I prompted.
“I was curious, see, and followed in my boat. I gots a little coracle, just a runabout, that I use for short trips, when the lake was flat and calm. An’ at first I was right. Dead calm, ye might say ’twas, Yer Majesty.” He glanced at me.
He was clearly enjoying the attention. I could not imagine that many listened to the tales this wanderer told, half-mad with age, stinking of toreed. But to me, he had proven his veracity.
“The dead calm that’s always before a storm. The sky, see, she gets these yellowish clouds, and the air’s heavy and still. Then the wind starts, the merest chilly strand floating from the mountaintop. And the breeze from the lake rises to meet it with a clap of thunder so loud your eardrums otta break. Where the winds clash, the waves do rise. Whirlpools and waterspouts form.”
“Is that what happened that day?” I asked.
“I saw the signs, I did, and sailing closer to the royal barge, shouted a warning. No one heard me, for the musicians were playing and the wine flowed. Then the princess, rest her sweet soul, turned and beheld a waterspout. She screamed and grabbed the king’s sleeve. When he saw the storm, he ordered the barge to turn about. When it did, it tore apart, there.”
He pointed to a spot that was innocent of a single ripple.
“Are you sure of the location?” I asked.
“Aye. But I swear on my life, Yer Majesty, there be nothin’ beneath the water there. We dragged the lake, found bodies, finery, clothing—even timbers from the barge. No great underwater reef that could tear the guts out of a boat.
“Anyhoo, when the hole opened in the hull, I saw it. There was a fire set down below and that was w
hy the boat stove in so easy. The fire chewed away the hull.”
My vision blurred. I swayed, grabbing for the barge’s rail. Behind me, Storne took my shoulders in a gentle grasp, and I leaned against his chest. Maia and Parron also moved in to support me. “Did you take aboard survivors?” Storne’s voice was soft and even.
“Beggin’ your pardon, madam.” The boatman flicked a concerned glance in my direction.
I flapped a limp hand, believing that I ought to just get through this appalling narrative. “Pray continue.”
He cleared his throat. “Aboard the barge, pandemonium. When the princess went over the side, she sank right ’way.”
I closed my eyes. Pain clutched my belly.
“The king went in after her without a moment of hesitation. Oh, he was a hero, your father.”
I opened my eyes and stared at the boatman.
“He was a hero,” he repeated. “When he saw he couldna rescue her, he dragged others to the surface, to my boat, to safety. He refused help.”
“He saved lives,” I whispered.
“Yes, he did that, did King Mangor the Great.” The boatman’s voice was proud.
I blinked away tears. “What of my mother, the queen?”
“I didna see her. She musta bin on the other side o’ the boat.”
“Do you know the personage of Lord Kloutt?” Maia asked.
“A fellow with longish iron-gray hair, dressed in black and red?” the boatman asked.
“I do not know what he wore that day,” I said. “Perhaps.”
“Mayhap. I saw such a man.”
“Where?” I asked.
“I canna remember.”
“Not by the queen’s side? Or helping the princess or the king?” Maia wanted to know.
“Nay.” The boatman shook his head. “Truth ta tell, there were so many o’ the nobility that I didna know them all. But I knew them—the king, the queen and the princess.” He stared at me. “They were the ones that mattered.”
I covered my face with my hands and sank to my knees. “Take me home,” I whispered.
Chapter Eleven
I bathed and lay on a couch with a tired sigh, drained of all energy. At the foot of the couch, Maia shaved between my widespread legs with perhaps a shade more than her usual care and concern, while Storne, kneeling near my head, massaged my temples with tender fingers, occasionally dotting kisses on my cheeks, my lips, stroking away my tears.
I was sad, yes, but also doubts gnawed. Had Frayn deliberately tempted me to eat the unripe berries so I’d not sail with my family on Catura? Had he relied upon our long friendship to conspire with his father to place me on the throne and then seek marriage?
If I couldn’t trust Frayn, my first lover and childhood friend, who could I trust? Storne? Despite the urges of my body and heart, he was really a stranger to me.
Kloutt’s betrayal bit deeply. Had he helped my father rescue others, the boatman would have seen him, I reasoned. Had my uncle plotted with my cousin to kill his sister, the queen, and his brother-in-law, the king? Beryla had also been close to Kloutt—closer than I had been, for he, as well as the King, had instructed her on matters of statecraft. Why had Kloutt failed to save Beryla? Why had he failed even to try?
And what should I do? With my travel plans set, I could not with any diplomacy cancel the visit to Lightside in order to bring Frayn and Kloutt to trial.
But justice to my family’s memory demanded no less.
When Maia finished, I felt the swipe of a damp cloth over my pussy and mound before her warm mouth latched onto my clitoris. I sighed into Storne’s open lips and relaxed into their combined tenderness.
Maia’s tongue lengthened, snaking into my open slit until its tip caressed the sweetest spot, deep inside my channel. Shivers ran through my body as my mood transmuted from sorrow into a burgeoning sexual heat. Storne’s lips slid along my neck, then dropped to my breasts, raising a renewed shudder of desire. He nibbled and sucked my nipples while I stroked his head and played with his hair, enjoying its silky drift through my fingers.
Maia’s upper lip wrapped completely around my clit, caressing its entirety. Storne pressed my breasts together and rubbed his face over the mounds, then sucked my nipples into hard, aching points that sent me racing toward completion.
He lifted himself onto one elbow and I tensed. If he turned his head, he’d see Maia’s face flowing like wax as she transformed into another kind of entity, solely for my pleasure. An orgasm was not worth the risk of her exposure.
I poked Maia in her side with my foot. She drew away from me, her final hard suck shoving fierce darts of pleasure through my clit. The beginnings of my climax wrenched me, and Storne flung himself atop me, pressing his lips to mine to capture my cries in his open mouth.
He thrust in his tongue and, moaning, I quivered beneath the delicious weight of his body. We were naked together and his slick flesh slid along mine, his male aroma rising to my nostrils. His cock pushed against my cleft, pulsing against my clit. Blood pounded through my veins, urging me on toward our inevitable joining.
’Twould be easy, so easy and sweet just to lift my hips a trifle and take his lovely length inside me…but was it right?
It would feel so very right and true. Need seized my limbs as I imagined Storne’s thickness inside me, opening me, pleasuring me, then flooding me with his seed…
I tensed and pulled away.
He rose above me. I was afraid to meet his gaze but did so nevertheless.
His eyes were calm, gray, serene, yet a spark of intense need lit their depths. “I want you, Audryn, and I’ll have you.” He thrust two long fingers into my pussy and I gasped. He ran slippery fingers over my clit and rubbed until I twisted from side to side, groaning, desperate to come again.
He stood. “Later, beloved.” Smiling, he tugged on his tights and tunic, then left.
But I could not rest. “Maia, bring me a messenger.” I wrote orders directed to Lord Geoman, who had remained at Castle Remarck. He would see to the confinement of Lords Frayn and Kloutt pending trial.
* * * * *
Kaldir had not been idle while I had been involved with the mystery of my family’s passing. When we set forth from Windrush Manor toward the WestMarch, his procession took pride of place with mine, their steeds mingling with our horses. Appropriate, since our mounts had been bred from Lightsider stock.
We descended from the mountains rather more quickly than we’d climbed, not only influenced by gravity but my need for swiftness. Windrush had become unpleasant to me and I wished to shake off my moodiness as easily as my palomino shook her mane.
As we approached the WestMarch, the terrain itself provided distractions. Though the land was flat, it held other treacheries. In the hills we saw, below the mountains’ feet, a green so vividly bright that it seemed somehow unnatural, sickening. I halted my horse beside Kaldir’s to stare.
Maia reined in her mount behind me. “Marshes,” she said quietly. “Quagmires.”
“Only the most desperate of creatures dwell in the fetid swamps,” Kaldir said. “The fluid isn’t pure water, but foul and undrinkable. The marshes are infested with allicrocs, fierce insects and other vermin.”
I glanced at Maia, whose gaze caught mine.
“Poisonous snakes inhabit the mire and the desert beyond,” Kaldir continued. I tolerated his lecture, for the information was of value. But by the three moons, the man was pedantic. He concluded, “Have a care, Queen Audryn.”
The lowland air was warmer and humid. The mire’s stench rose to fill our nostrils with a noxious humour. Worse, the marshes did not provide sure footing for the mounts. The DarkDwellers’ taqqa especially suffered. One seemed to have been lost to the swamp, having been caught by quicksand. Storne did not want to leave the beast, and said to me, “Abandoning this taqqa would be a betrayal of all we believe in.”
I placed my hand on my breastbone, where a pitying ache burgeoned. “But what can be done? The poor creature is
well and truly stuck.”
The taqqa bellowed and thrashed, beating its great limbs in frustration and fear. Its shoulders heaved, lifting the ochre mud even higher on its hump. Tendrils of swamp grass and algae coated its brown pelt. Weighted with cargo—tent rolls, I believed—it was going down fast.
Storne spoke with effort. “There must be something I can do. To leave an animal to suffer a terrible death…” He shook his head somberly.
“You feel a kinship with the animals and plants, don’t you?” Kaldir’s tone was edged with contempt.
Storne bent his head. “Yes.” He spoke without resentment, glancing at me. “As I have said, life in Darkside is hard. Reverence for life—all life, no matter how trivial—is a foundation of our culture and belief.”
“But I have heard that your people are savage in battle.” Now Kaldir sounded argumentative.
“We do not deprive our enemies of an honorable death.” Storne’s voice was silken, belying the hardness in his eyes.
I sucked in a breath, wondering if violence would follow.
“But I cannot abandon this taqqa to suffer and die. Maersan!” Storne called his brother.
The youth dashed to Storne’s side, then kneeled. “My lord?”
“Bring ropes, two taqqa, and our strongest men.” He stripped off his doublet, exposing a thin linen tunic. He unlaced the ties that held it to his lean, muscular form and dropped his clothing onto the ground.
I grabbed his arm. “Storne, no!”
He smiled at me. “Worry not, my queen. I do not plan to die today.”
“What about the allicrocs?”
“A valid concern, but if there were allicrocs in this pit they would have already attacked the taqqa. May I?” Storne took a coil of rope from the back of Maia’s saddle.
I nodded and she said, “Of course.”
Rope in hand, he took a run at the bog and leaped clear across it to land, sprawling, atop the thrashing taqqa’s hump.
He lay there, gasping, grabbing handfuls of the taqqa’s shaggy mane. “He’s hurt,” I breathed, my heart clenching in my chest.
