Dark Lady_s Chosen cotn-4

by Gail Z. Martin

  have their root in truth.

  Squaring his shoulders, Tris opened the door slowly. Cerise, Alle and Macaria were in the outer sitting room. They rose as he entered, and dipped to a hurried curtsey. Cerise was the first to recover from the surprise. "Welcome back, Your Majesty."

  Tris cast aside his sodden cloak on a chair near the fire. "Where's Kiara? Is she awake? Is she all right? What of the baby?"

  Alle and Macaria stepped aside as Cerise beckoned for Tris to follow her. "She slipped in and out of wakefulness for a few days, while we tried to get the wormroot out of her system." Tris listened with a growing feeling of dread as Cerise told him about the danger at Shekerishet, the decision to move to the safety of the lodge, and the near-fatal attack. "She hasn't lost the baby, although it's been close a few times. As for how the wormroot affected him-I'm afraid we may not know until after the birth."

  Tris swallowed hard. "I understand." He looked past Cerise to where Kiara lay in her bed. "Will she wake if I go to her?"

  Cerise nodded. "She's been alert for the last two days, although she's weak." She paused.

  "If I may speak boldly?"

  "Please."

  "She feared for your safety when you went to war. Of late, she's feared your return." Cerise's eyes met his with a fiercely determined stare. "She's been totally faithful to you, m'lord, and so has Carroway. I'll swear it on any relic. What you decide to do about the rumors is between the two of you. But please, if you mean to send her away, don't tell her just yet."

  Tris moved quietly toward Kiara's bedroom, and closed the door softly behind him. Her long auburn hair was tied back in a braid, and her face looked drawn and pale against the pillow. Beneath the bedclothes, Tris could see the gently rounded curve of her belly. For a moment, he watched her breathe, gathering the courage to speak. "Kiara?"

  She stirred, and turned her head toward his voice as he closed the steps between them. Her expression ran the gamut of surprise to joy to apprehension and finally, he saw a glint of fear. "Tris? Is that really you?"

  "I'm no ghost, though I feel stretched thin as one," Tris said as lightly as he could. He took

  her hand. "Cerise said you were doing much better. She told me what happened at the lodge."

  He was unprepared for how fiercely Kiara gripped his hand. "Read my soul," she said, meeting his eyes. "I know you can."

  Tris felt his heart begin to thud. "I don't have to, Kiara. I love you and I believe you. The palace ghosts told me-"

  Her grip tightened. "Read my soul. It's the only way you'll know for sure. The only way you'll ever trust me-and the only reason you'll ever be certain about Carroway." Tris's gaze held steady. "I had already resolved to stay with you, regardless." "I don't want this between us. Don't make me beg."

  Tris nodded, and reached out to lay his hand lightly over her heart. He felt the shift on the Plains of Spirit and he saw the glowing pulse that was Kiara's soul. He let his power and his consciousness slip against it, and for an instant, they were one. In that moment, he saw her memories, her fears, her thoughts. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had never been unfaithful. He let her see his heart, the horror of the siege, the loneliness and worry, and the reckoning. The strength of her love for him washed across the bond, healing the ache of their separation. Tris knew that his feelings were equally clear to her, and he saw the reassurance ease the strain in her face.

  Only then did he realize that he had been holding his breath. Tris relaxed as he gently disengaged, drawing back on his power. When he came back to himself, he saw that Kiara's eyes were shining with tears. "You know?"

  He nodded. "I know. And I love you" He leaned over and kissed her, laying a hand gently on her belly. "Rest. I'll take care of everything."

  Tris had barely closed the door behind him before Alle stepped toward him. She held out a box. "Carroway's friends found this when they broke into Crevan's office." Tris took the box and opened it carefully, catching his breath as he realized what it held. "The letters," he murmured.

  "Yours and hers," Alle said quietly. "She wrote you every week, and she waited for word from you. Now we know why it never came."

  Tris knew that pain all too well. He closed the box and handed it back. "There'll be time for us to read those when Kiara's well. Thank you." He turned toward the door, but Macaria ran to

  him. To his astonishment, she dropped to her knees and threw herself at his feet. "Your Majesty, please! Don't let Lord Guarov kill Carroway!"

  Tris winced, looking at Macaria on the floor. "Please, don't do that." He reached a hand down to help Macaria to her feet. "The ghosts met me on the road. I know all about what happened-and I'm going to do something about it." "Please, m'lord. Mercy!"

  Tris's eyes hardened. "It's time for the court to hear from Crevan." Two candlemarks later, Tris adjusted the collar of his satin tunic and fastened on a heavy cloak of velvet edged in ermine. A hot bath had cleaned him up from the road. His blond hair was pulled back in a formal queue, making his newly-grown beard more noticeable. Tris had already decided the beard was worth keeping.

  The court would be scrambling to comply with his command to assemble in the throne room with only two candlemarks' notice. Coalan bustled about, adjusting Tris's cape and fussing over his formal jewelry, then placing the crown carefully on Tris's head. Tris smiled grimly. Let them wonder about my reason for calling the court together. Just as well they're off guard. And for those who think they know what I'm going to do, they're in for the surprise of their lives.

  Four guards, hand-picked from the men who had ridden back from the siege with him, surrounded Tris as he left his rooms and headed for the throne room. He could hear the buzz of conversation at the top of the stairs, but the voices silenced abruptly as a trumpet heralded the king's arrival. Before he moved into sight, he spoke to one of his guards. "Go to where Master Bard Carroway is imprisoned. Have him pack his things. When this is over, we'll see about his hand." The guard nodded and left to follow his orders. The nobles rose to their feet with awkward suddenness as Tris made his way to the dais at the front where his throne awaited. Always before, he'd eschewed the show of power a slow entrance made. Now, he understood the usefulness of increasing his audience's anxiety. The less sure they were of him, the more likely they were to reveal themselves. Two footmen removed his cape and laid it to the side, revealing the sword he wore. For this purpose, Tris brought Nexus. His grandmother's warning did not deter him, even if the sword stole another breath of his soul. This matter will be settled, once and for all. A large space separated Tris from the crowd, an area traditionally reserved for the accused

  to make their pleas. To his right, in raised seats in the place of honor, sat the Council of Nobles. Acton and Dravan were present, their faces grim. Eadoin sat with them, and while she appeared even more frail than usual, Tris knew better than to underestimate her determination. Lady Casset fidgeted with a string of beads. It was impossible to read Count Suphie. Lord Guarov and Dame Nuray looked composed, even a bit excited. The herald signaled for the assembled courtiers to sit. "While I have been at war to protect Margolan from loyalists to the Usurper, certain charges have been made against trusted members of the royal household and the royal staff. You are here to see those charges answered and for judgment to be served."

  Lord Guarov cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, is it not Margolan custom for the accused to be present at these proceedings?"

  "And so they shall." Tris drew Nexus, and the runes on its blade burst into flame as it left his scabbard. With one swift movement, Tris brought the sword down with both hands so that its tip bit into the wooden floor. With a rush of air, a fiery circle swept out from the blade and Tris poured his spirit magic through the sword as an athame. On the Plains of Spirit, he sent the full force of his power seeking for the one soul that had gone to the furthest shadows to flee from him. Crevan.

  In the spirit realm, Tris pursued Crevan's soul until he ran it to ground. Heedless of Crevan's pleading, Tr
is extended his magic and his power moved like ghostly talons, latching onto Crevan's soul and digging into its substance. Damn the consequences. Damn my soul. I will see you pay, and so will they.

  Tris ripped open the boundary to the Plains of Spirit and flung Crevan's ghost into the warded circle shielded by Nexus's power. A collective gasp went up from the audience, and Guarov paled. Tris struggled to rein in his anger enough to extend a civil invitation to the spirits he invoked as witnesses. One by one, they assembled outside the circle of fire. Malae. Zachar. The three men whom Mikhail was accused of killing. The butcher's son. Ammond and Hothan. Bian, and the others who had gone missing over the last few months. The assembled nobles rose to their feet and the racket grew so great that it required the herald to sound a blast from his trumpet to restore order.

  "Let's start with the charge of murder against Mikhail," Tris said. His voice had a deadly note to it, and his eyes were hard. "You three, step forward," he said, addressing the men whose

  bodies had been found with punctured throats. "Is your killer in this room?"

  The three men nodded. "Aye, Your Majesty," said one of the men. "He's right there." He

  raised his arm to point at Crevan, and the others did the same.

  "Tell your story."

  The man who had spoken before cleared his throat. "'Twas during the festival, Your Majesty. I was an assistant to the wine master, and I'd gone to fetch more casks from the cellar. On my way back up, I felt a stinging in my back, like I'd been bitten by a fly. It was a dart, poisoned to bring me down like a wild boar. That's when I saw him," he said with a nod toward Crevan. "My body wouldn't move and I couldn't breathe. He pulled out a ring from his pocket and stabbed me in the neck, and caught most of my blood in a basin. When he knew I was dead, he pitched my blood down the garderobe and carried my body to where they found me."

  "You're certain this is the man?"

  The victim nodded. "You don't forget something like that, m'lord."

  The other two men gave stories that followed the same tale. Both had been unlucky enough to be in a deserted part of the castle when Crevan sought his victims. Throughout their testimony, Crevan's ghost remained on his knees as he had fallen, with his head bowed, defiantly refusing to show his face to the king. When Malae and Bian came to tell of the poisoned kesthrie cakes, Tris turned his attention for a moment to Crevan. You need to show the witnesses a little more respect. With a flicker of power, Tris jerked Crevan to his feet and tightened his grip on the man's soul, forcing his head up so that his face was visible. Crevan fixed Tris and the ghosts with a hateful glower, but said nothing. One by one, the ghosts testified. The court exclaimed in outrage as Bian told of the poisoned cakes and the herbs Crevan's helper in the kitchen mixed into Kiara's food to bring about miscarriage. Their mood turned even uglier as the young son of the butcher recounted how Crevan had chased him with an axe out onto the treacherous ice until he'd fallen through to his death, and as Ammond and Hothan identified their poisoner and told of Carroway's desperate battle to save Kiara. Macaria, Alle and Cerise all willingly recounted Crevan's attempts to kill Kiara, attempts that the other ghosts corroborated. "I'm the one who got away." The court turned in shock as Lady Eadoin rose to point a trembling finger at Crevan's ghost. "He sent me linens that carried sickness. My healer confirmed it. Half of my household died of the fever, and I came close enough myself to hear the Lady

  singing for me." She turned toward Lord Guarov, who seemed to shrink in his chair at the intensity of her anger.

  "Guarov and Crevan struck a deal. Crevan would remove me from getting in the way, one less protector for the queen, and Guarov would finally have Lady Nadine's revenge on Bard Carroway." A small silver dagger appeared in Eadoin's hand from beneath her sleeve, and before anyone could move, Eadoin had the point of the blade under Guarov's chin. "You started the rumors about the Queen and Carroway, didn't you?" She jabbed him with the blade, and a thin trickle of blood started down along his throat.

  "I and my people," Guarov said in a strangled voice, careful not to move against the knife that pressed against his flesh.

  "Tell them that it was all lies." Then in a voice only Tris and Guarov could hear, Eadoin added, "I'm an old lady. My hand trembles, see? If it slipped, I could claim palsy." "The rumors were lies," Guarov said, and repeated it louder as Eadoin prodded him with her blade. "All of it. There was no affair. Neither the Queen nor Carroway betrayed the king." "Tell them why you did it." Tris's voice was harsh and completely without mercy. Guarov's fear was visible in his eyes. "Crevan promised me he would restore the contracts I held with King Jared."

  Tris's attention returned to Crevan's ghost, standing in the fiery dome. "Time to make your confession," he said quietly. "Make it good."

  Crevan fixed Tris with a disdainful glare. "You want my confession, Your Majesty? Here it is. I was recruited to be King Donelan's court spy. Don't blame him. He didn't realize that Alvior of Brunnfen had put my name out, knowing my sympathies were with the divisionists. Yes, Curane paid me. He had his own reasons to be rid of an heir to the throne. Want the truth? I don't give a damn what happens to Margolan so long as you keep your hands off Isencroft. "I couldn't stop the wedding, but killing the Queen would have eliminated the heir to the joint throne, and it might have made Donelan declare war on Margolan. Only she didn't die easily," Crevan sneered. "So I thought I'd let the court see her the way those of us loyal to Isencroft do: like a prize bitch put out to stud for the highest bidder. "My only regret is that I wasted my dagger on that damn bard instead of skewering the whore and her brat like I intended."

  Tris felt himself shaking with anger so overwhelming that his magic coursed through him

  like lightning at the peak of a storm. With a crack like thunder and a flash of blue-white mage light, Tris's power shot through Nexus until the warded dome became blindingly bright. Torn between the realm of the living and the Plains of Spirit, Tris felt his power rip through Crevan's spirit, burning him from within with a fire that could consume the soul. An ear-splitting shriek wrenched from Crevan's spirit.

  Tris fought for control of his rage. I… will… not… make… Lemuel's… mistake. The light died and the dome became transparent. Crevan's spirit slumped to the floor, released from its torment.

  "I don't have to kill you," Tris said raggedly as he struggled for composure. "Did you forget that you invoked the Old Gods when you worked your blood magic? You promised Shanthadura a sacrifice. You'll do."

  And with that, Tris stretched out his power, once more completely in control of his magic. Nexus became both athame and shield, guarding him and protecting the others as he opened up the gateway to the Nether. Crevan's spirit screamed in utter terror. What awaited Crevan on the other side bore no relation to the Sacred Lady. Far more ancient, Shanthadura was the roiling chaos in which stars die and from which no light escapes. Tendrils of darkness snaked out from the Nether, stripping Crevan's soul like meat from a carcass. Crevan screamed again, the sound of madness joined with unendurable pain. Shanthadura was in no hurry.

  Beyond the wardings, nobles retched and fainted, sliding to the floor from their chairs. No one dared to move. Tris felt the primal terror in his own soul, and knew that even his power was scant protection should Shanthadura turn his way.

  Crevan's torment seemed to last forever. No matter how much of his soul Shanthadura consumed, consciousness remained. As the last glowing wisp of Crevan's soul disappeared into the fathomless darkness, Tris's magic confirmed what the others did not know. Within the belly of the monster, Crevan's soul remained conscious.

  The gateway to the Nether slammed closed with an abruptness that nearly blacked Tris out. Fighting a sudden, staggering headache, Tris dismissed the wardings and warily returned Nexus to its sheath. With a word of thanks, he dismissed the ghostly witnesses, too spent just now to see them to their rest. Instead, he turned toward the Council of Nobles. "To those who showed their loyalty to the crown at great risk to themselves, you have my
thanks. Dame Nuray and Count Suphie: You are banished from this court and removed from the

  Council of Nobles. Lord Guarov. For treason against the crown, you are condemned to hang from the gallows you constructed." He looked out over the silenced audience. "Justice is served. This court is adjourned."

  Chapter Thirty-six

  From his tower cell, Carroway watched the king's return with a churning mix of emotions. Maybe he can save Kiara and the baby. The heir's what matters. A bard's life means nothing to history.

  Candlemarks passed. Carroway found that he was too nervous even to pace. He sat in a chair watching the fire in the fireplace, his stomach knotted. How will it be? A soldier sent to escort me beyond the city walls, or beyond the kingdom's borders? One of the Sisterhood, to take me into custody? Or maybe a brace of guards to lead me to the gallows. He could feel the blade of Harrtuck's dagger against the small of his back where he had hidden it in his belt. He looked to the parchment and ink, sent by Lord Guarov for his confession. If I make the confession Guarov wants, maybe I can save Kiara and Macaria. I won't care what people believe of me after I'm dead. There's still time to cheat the hangman. The door opened, and Carroway jumped from his chair, his heart pounding. A lone guardsman entered. "The king sent me. You're to pack your things." Carroway was shaking so badly he didn't trust his voice for a moment. "So that's to be it, then," he said. It took him less than half a candlemark to gather his belongings and secure his two trunks. He slipped his lute into its leather case and carefully fastened the shoulder strap. "Shall I get my boots and cloak?"

  The guard shrugged. "The king didn't say. I'll report that you're ready. Wait here." With that, he was gone.

  Carroway sagged against the wall and covered his face with his right hand. Despite a splint he had made to try to straighten out his crippled left hand, the fingers were still stiff and weak, straightening only slowly and not all the way. I can't grasp a fork with my hand, let alone play. Perhaps if I can get the fingers not to curl up it won't distract a patron from my looks. But he knew the truth. Without his ability to play and made less desirable by his injury, banishment was only execution postponed.