I put the heavy bolts of linen, wool, and silk back into one of the trunks, and all of my prince’s weapons and armor into the other. A pair of blue vases decorated with leaping white flames of crushed pearl went onto the mantel above the wide fireplace, as did all of his books. I spotted the hefty silver cubes and decided they would make excellent bookends. I did not find the falcons engraved upon them very attractive but hoped my prince would have some fond memory of them. The small collection of combs, soaps, and perfumes went into a drawer beneath the basin, and his ink-stone, blank journals, silver goblets, eating knives, and all the other small things I had jammed into the trunks ended up in, on, or around the large desk. The other pair of fine vases was amongst the collection.
I sat next to my prince. “Will you let me give them to the reeve? Or are you going to throw them at me?”
His sleep was still too deep to be disturbed. What a state of mind he must have been in to go on such a rampage. Urnedi was delightful to me, but what was it to a Zoviyan prince? If he was very prideful, being cast into Enhedu must have nearly split his body with rage. I prayed he was not hateful and petty, just hurt and shamed.
I discarded my concerns. He would wake to my face and a warm room filled with familiar things, and whatever enemies he had would fall before him, me by his side.
Someone began chopping wood outside, and the sound was as refreshing as the look of the well-settled apartment. I decided to take that bath. The warm water made me giggle as I climbed in, a comb pulled the road out of my hair, and the soap erased it from my flesh. It took some doing, as did the task of fixing my torn and ragged nails. One I would lose, I could tell. I would just have to keep them closed in fists for a while.
After I pulled the drain and stood naked by the fire, I got another look at the stranger in the mirror. I walked in a circle and wondered at how the shape of my body had changed. I could see the muscles in my arms, legs, and backside. Such features were not in fashion, but my thinned waist and full breasts certainly were. I looked better, I decided.
A light knock at the door startled me, and I danced toward it.
“Who is there?” I asked.
“Gern, milady. I have brought breakfast.”
“Thank you, Gern. Please leave it in the hallway,” I replied, and added before he departed, “Can I ask a favor?”
“Anything, milady.”
“I have no fresh clothing. Could you borrow something from one of the other women for me until mine can be cleaned?”
“Certainly, milady. I will send someone right away.”
He trotted back down the hallway, and I peeked out to make sure no one was there. Satisfied, I snatched the tray, sat on the bed, and began to devour the food. I glanced at my prince, but let him sleep. He needed rest. I needed food.
I was still attacking the tray when there was another knock at the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Fana, milady. Fana Sedauer. You needed clothes?”
I opened the door and looked around at her. She was a beautiful young thing. Her arms and shoulders showed the same ruggedness I was so surprised to have seen in my own body. She did not meet my eyes, her gaze fixed upon my prince. She was flushed and looked ready for tears.
“Come in,” I said with a wary eye. She stepped through and handed me the clothes, still oblivious to my nakedness.
“You and he have spent time together?” I questioned.
“Yes,” she replied and looked across at me for the first time. She averted her eyes. “You are very beautiful, milady.”
“As are you,” I replied and began to put on her clothes. She moved nervously from one foot to the other, and her welling tears broke down her face. “What is wrong, Fana?” I stepped in beside her and put an arm around her. The situation was too familiar. I could all but read her thoughts.
“I am so sorry, milady,” she sobbed. “I did not know you were coming.”
Anger and jealousy rose, but I stamped it down. He’d not known I was coming. I took her hand. “You shared his bed?”
“No,” she shouted, and we both looked to the prince. He did not stir and she continued in a whisper. “No. We were going to take a bath together though, but then you arrived, and, and then he was wounded.”
I wanted to throw her on the fire and Barok out the window.
She started to trembled. “Please do not send me away, milady.”
The words of my instructors circled in my head, and they were very sticky. I had no right to him. I did not even know for sure I was welcome in his room, little more than a washerwoman and perhaps nothing to him at all. He had called out my name as Leger dragged him through the trees, but he had said so many other strange things. I would not be the Lady of Urnedi or even a scullery maid until he woke and bid it. I smiled at Fana. The young, tasty girl might be just what I needed to make it the former.
“Do you sew?” I asked.
She slapped away her tears. “Pardon, milady?”
“Please, call me Dia. I was asking if you know how to sew.”
“Not very well. My mother is better than anyone, though.”
I led her toward one of the trunks and opened it to reveal the bolts of silk, wool, and linen. “The three of us should make some new clothes for you and I.”
She dried a hand on her skirt and reached down to touch the red linen. Her eyes went wide, and she yanked her hand away. “Oh Dia, I could never.”
“You can, and you will. You need to help me with something, though.”
She looked ready to weep again. “I will stay away from him, I promise.”
I smiled at her. “You do not need to do that. I might want him for myself, but a Yentif prince would never be happy with just one wife. His father has a hundred. You and I will make the prince as happy as we can. If he wants you, he will have you, if he wants me, he will have me. Together we might be able to keep him satisfied—take our places as his first and second wives. Are any of the other girls as pretty as you are?”
She was so flustered she couldn’t find words—shook her head instead.
I wiped her eyes with my thumbs. “Where is your mother? We will have to talk to her about making clothes.”
“She and father are away.”
I recalled the surly and wounded pair upon the road. “You are the reeve’s daughter?”
She nodded. “He does not like Barok.”
“I imagine not. Neither must your mother. We will have to change their minds.”
Fana pet the linen. “She has never made clothes from material like this before. I know she has many patterns she has never used. She talks about them all the time.”
“And what about your father? I am already planning to give him a set of vases, but we should come up with something special for him. What makes your father happy?”
“He likes to eat.”
I chuckled. “We’ll have to do a little better than that. It should not be too difficult, though.”
She hugged me. Her body was soft and warm. My prince would like her.
However, I wanted very much to break her pretty little neck.
I found my soiled clothing instead and asked her to clean them.
21
Arilas Barok Yentif
I heard an axe fall. I did not feel it. I heard it again. I saw Solon’s cleaved face. I did not want to dream it again. The sound came a third time, but the smack was the scream of wood not flesh.
I came awake with a start in a small, warm room. It smelled familiar. A woman was there, also very familiar. Memories of many women throbbed and collided. They were all dead. The Hessier had murdered them all. Who was this one?
“Dia?”
The sound of my voice startled me. She sat next to me on the bed and put one soft hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and felt warm tears roll down my face. I opened them, and she was still there, quiet and beautiful.
“Did the ghosts hurt you?” I asked.
“No. We are safe now.”
Upo
n the mantel was a pair of blue vases, my vases, as well as a score of my favorite books propped up by the falcon rocks I had earned when I became a master of sword and spear. Seeing the heavy cubes used for such a base purpose was as surprising as how beautifully they accomplished the task.
“Am I dreaming?”
“You are not. This is Urnedi, and you are safe. I was able to pack your things and Leger helped me escape.”
The crack of an axe startled me again.
“Easy,” she whispered. “You are safe.”
I was not sure. I still felt hunted. I remembered the long carriage ride over the Daavum Mountains and a long retreat along the same road. The Zovi and their Hessier were everywhere behind us. Our ships had been taken by treachery, and an ambush killed our wives and children. They laid siege to Katat, our mighty city. It fell, and we fled into the yew.
How long ago had it happened? How could all record and memory of Edonia and the Vesteal be lost? I had studied the histories.
Who am I?
I tried to sit up. My body refused me, and I fell back into the bed.
“Be still. You took quite a tumble. Do you remember?”
It returned to me in a flash. The race, my fall, and the ghosts of my family. My mother’s family.
The sudden understanding shook me. I had not thought of my mother in years. She had died when I was still so young. I was not even sure how she had died. I had been so busy learning the sword and reading books. Geart, perhaps, had told me of her death one morning before an exam. What had he said? I had not cared at the time. I had hated her. She was the most beautiful of my father’s wives, but she had no family, no nobility. I suffered for it. My brothers taunted me and sometimes beat me for it. I suffered them for years while spending my mornings upon the lawn with the swordmaster until the day Yarik taunted me in public during a parade.
The crowd thought it comical at first, two eleven-year-olds stepping out of line to fight a duel. It had given me enough time to draw a dozen red ribbons across his legs, arms, and chest. I was one good thrust away from piercing his heart when a dozen Hemari pulled me away. It was the last time anyone spoke my mother’s name to me.
Alisa.
She had died so shortly after that. I could not remember how.
Did I have a new reason to hate Yarik? Had his family killed my mother? They would have wanted revenge. Why had I not realized it before?
I had been glad, truth told me. Her death had been good news. None of my skills were hers, and I lacked so much because of who she was.
I searched for memories and felt her hands touching my head and rubbing my chest—so long ago, before I could ride or swing a sword. Her eyes had been so loving, her touch so warm.
I remembered the alsman and Hemari who came the morning after my fifth birthday—taking me from her arms. It was the last time I saw her, and forgetting her had been easy.
Why did you take me away from her, father?
“Are you all right?” Dia asked.
“My brothers killed my mother.”
“What was her name?”
“Alisa,” I said and got lost in a tumult of men’s memories—visions of wives, mothers, and daughters. So many. Too many. Zoviya had murdered them all. Zoviya was my enemy—every last one of my brother-princes and yes, most of all, my dear, dear father.
As my anger surged, I felt the power of the trees around me. Zoviya did not know what it had left behind, what the trees still hid. I would see them all die. I would see Bessradi burn. I swore it to my kin.
I felt Dia’s lips upon mine. I was quaking and sweating, but her lips were so sweet, her smell so alive. In a single beat of my heart, I relived a thousand moments of other men’s memories of passion. The heat and hunger of it blazed through me. I was in rapture, lifted by a thousand memories of love.
I, we, pulled the women close and kissed them all. We had loved them. I stroked their bodies, and they pressed themselves upon me. They slid aside the blankets, then our clothes. We kissed and moved through a hundred distant falls of the axe. I remembered all their names, saw all their faces, and felt their warm flesh. I wept from their touch and we made love through the fall of another hundred. With each crack of axe, the visions faded and waned. One ghost after another let go until only Dia remained. She pressed herself down upon me and gasped. The sight and feel of it inspired me to the same. We wept and held each other close. I was enthralled. I had never known or cared for the feelings of others and could never have dreamt the depths of another man’s emotions or the endless flavors of love.
It was such a simple thing—a giving without reservation, a calm, and a quickening. Lying there, holding Dia in a room she had made for us, I was at peace. We had found each other and we had escaped them. We were home. We were safe. I felt it in my bones.
“I love you,” I said and fell asleep in her arms.
22
Lady Dia Esar
The cool breeze atop the keep pushed through my borrowed clothing and dried my wet eyes. My prince had found peaceful sleep below, but I could not lie still from the lightning bolt that was his words. All of my doubts, all of my fears, all were gone.
Leger’s heavy boots moved up the stair.
“It is getting colder,” he said as he wrapped a cloak around my shoulders. The heavy cloth smelled of wood smoke and its warmth sent a wave of exhaustion through me.
We looked out at the fiery forest. The leaves were starting to turn and the yellows and oranges danced in the breeze—the shimmer of it all was a joyful laughter. Far to the north I found one wide and solid spot of green.
“There are the yew trees,” I pointed.
He nodded, shuffled a bit, but said nothing.
“I am not very good at saying thank you either,” I offered.
He chuckled warmly. “Am I that obvious?”
I wrapped the cloak tighter around my shoulders and smiled at him. “Thank you, Dia Esar,” he said with a proper bow. “I would not have survived yesterday without you.”
“And thank you, Leger Mertone,” I replied and offered him my hand. “My last fifteen days are all due to you. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
He kissed my hand, and I would have preferred that the morning end there, but it could not.
He asked, “Besides borrowing the horse, is there anything else you did on the way we need to guard against?”
It was the question I was expecting, and the weight of all my worry returned. I sighed. At least the world had allowed me to enjoy the perfect moment for a short time.
“Sahin noticed my horse?”
“Yes, but we have taken care of that. Thell changed his shoes. If anyone ever asks, the horse belongs to Barok. What of your journey here?”
“I poached from fields a great deal but was never caught. There is nothing else.”
“Is there a document somewhere that pledges you into someone else’s service?”
I grimaced. “There is. Barok’s last alsman told me to sign one to Prince Yarik, but that was just before I escaped. Yarik wants me dead now.”
“How do you know that?”
“While I was in the carriageway tunnel, I overheard Yarik and his alsman,” I replied and recounted the heated conversation I had witnessed. “Do you think they will send someone to claim me?”
“Fortunately, no. As far as I can tell from the documents that traveled with us, Barok paid for your time at Dagoda, and the gold he had on account with the Chancellery was enough to pay all his outstanding debts. You both seem clean on that score. Whatever deal Yarik and Barok’s alsmen had cooked up fell apart when Barok survived. If we were still within the Kaaryon, my advice would be for you to get as far away as fast as possible, but there is not much farther for you to go, is there?”
“That road is not for the squeamish.”
“No. I heard the driver talk about it on the way. He was worried more than anything about an early storm blocking the road.”
“Close it completely? I like the sound o
f that.”
“Me, too. Once it starts to snow, Barok will not have any visitors until after the spring thaw. How is he, by the way? Have you spoken with him?”
“He is well. He told me he loves me.” Saying it aloud made me dizzy.
“We are going to be all right here, I think. Tomorrow I am going to write a new pledge of service for you. Would you accept the post of matron?”
“Matron?” I laughed. “Me?”
“You are the one who has been calling yourself the Lady of Urnedi.”
“Yes. I am sorry, Leger. I know that was foolish.”
“Not so much, it would appear. We will put your name on a new pledge in case anyone will ever come looking for you. That should be more than sufficient until you are married.”
My heart skipped a beat. Leger was such a blunt rock of a man. For him such things were somehow so easy. I choked on a dozen different words, but before I could say any of them, he told me about his conversation with Sahin. By the time he had explained the ghosts and the Chaukai, my little speck of morning happiness seemed as distant as the capital.
And stacked right on top of all those worries, I was left suddenly to wonder if mangor root grew in Enhedu. Part of me dreamt the Yentif would no longer care if Barok had children, but I was no fool. The thought of willingly eating the vile plant made me want to scream, but it was preferable to taking the priest’s concoction which made its effects permanent. I set my desires aside. Children would have to wait.
Resolved to it all, I considered Sahin. “You and he have declared a truce of sorts then?”
“Yes, though I hope he will give us both the oath of the Chaukai before too long.”
“Me? A Chaukai?”
“You are either a friend or a foe. Barok is an heir to two thrones. We serve a man like no other in all the history of Zoviya. The Chaukai would kill you without hesitation if they felt you might reveal to anyone what you know about the yew. Do not forget that and never once speak to anyone of these things—even to me. We are the enemy here until we prove ourselves otherwise.”
Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 13
