The Briar King

by Greg Keyes

  Orchaevia's smile broadened until Cazio thought it would split her head. “I shall see what can be done,” she said.

  Z'Acatto finished the bottle of wine in a single long draught. “No good will come of this,” he predicted with a sigh.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AN ENCOUNTER

  “LADY FASTIA?” Neil gasped, in utter astonishment. She stood there in the moonlight, her long hair flowing unbound to her waist, shimmering like silk.

  “I …” Fastia looked confused, then suddenly gaped and put her hand to her mouth. “Sir Neil, you're quite unclothed.”

  Realizing she was right, he grabbed a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around himself. He felt stupid for taking so long to react; what if Fastia had been an assassin, come to kill the queen?

  What had she come for?

  “Have you taken a wrong turn, lady? May I show you to your room?”

  “No.” Fastia looked down at the floor. He noticed then that she wore a dressing gown of silk brocade over a flimsy shift of cotton. “No,” she said, “I came because … I … Elyoner gave me the key. And she— Sir Neil, I must be going mad.”

  Neil knew what she meant. His heart was pounding a war-beat. Fastia's face was perfect in the near dark, all jewels and precious ivory, a mystery of shadow that needed touching, needed more than touching. He felt a profound ache in his chest and an even more profound rush of blood throughout his body.

  “The duchess, she gave us something, made a spell,” Neil said.

  “Yes,” Fastia replied. “Yes.” Then she looked up boldly. “And I am also quite drunk, though I do not care.” Her brows scrunched. “Well, yes, I care, but I don't.”

  She moved toward him, then, or at least so it seemed, and he must have reciprocated, for in the next instant he was looking down into her face and her eyes were inches from his, her lips so near he could smell her breath. Much of him suddenly didn't care what happened, either. Her arms were wrapped firmly about his back, and her head tilted.

  He felt Elyoner's spell overcoming him, and could think of no good reason not to surrender and kiss Fastia, feel those lips against his, and let the emotions coursing his blood have him.

  But there was a reason. He knew it.

  He pushed her gently back, and her eyes suddenly filled with hurt.

  “You will not have me?” she asked.

  “I … think I cannot,” Neil replied. Speaking the words felt like eating shattered glass. Seeing her expression was worse.

  “I am a young woman,” Fastia told him softly. “I am a young woman married to an old man, an old man who does not care the least that I am a woman, much less young, though he finds his sport with those who are even younger. I am so unhappy, Sir Neil. The closest I have come to happiness has been in our conversations these last two months. I want more of it, now, while I don't care, while Elyoner's spell has me.”

  Then she began to weep, which was unfair. It meant he had to reach for her again, to try to brush away her tears.

  “Archgreffess—” he began.

  “My name is Fastia. Just Fastia. At least call me Fastia.”

  “Fastia, you are the daughter of my queen.”

  “I know who I am,” she said, her voice suddenly angry. “Saints believe, I know who I am. Day in and day out I act my part and keep my place, like a vine trained to climb a trellis, like a dog taught to fetch slippers. I never forget myself, I never sin—” Her expression went suddenly ferocious, and she hurled herself at him. This time he was unable to resist. Her lips closed upon his. With her tears on them, they tasted like the sea. “Just this once,” she said into his lips, as they kissed. “Just this once.”

  They fell fumbling to the bed, her dressing gown falling over him like wings as she kissed into his throat, and for a time there was no thought, only sensation and a crazy sort of happiness. But when much of her flesh was bare against his, and their lips had moved from neck and throat to other regions, his heart stopped him again—or at least the tiny bit he still owned.

  “I cannot,” he said. “Fastia—”

  She pulled away from him, sitting up. The moonlight was stronger now, and she looked like a saint hovering above him.

  “I do wish it,” he said huskily. “But I cannot.”

  Fastia stared down at him unreadably for several moments, and then she smiled wanly. “I know,” she said, patting his cheek. “I know. Neither can I.” She swung her leg over and gathered her clothes back about her. But she did not leave.

  “May I lie with you a moment?” she asked. “By your side?”

  “That you may,” he said. In truth he wished she would lie there all night.

  She settled next to him and fastened her eyes on the ceiling. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm terribly embarrassed. I'm really not like this. I'm never—”

  “I'm the one to apologize,” he said. “The duchess warned me about her drug. I thought I was prepared to fight its effects. But that's when I thought she was coming, and not you.”

  Her face tilted toward him. “Is this true? You have feelings for me?”

  “I did not know it until tonight. Or admit it.”

  “Perhaps, then, it is just her spell.”

  Neil smiled faintly. “Do you really believe there was a spell?” he asked. “I have my doubts.”

  “So do I,” Fastia admitted. “Tomorrow we shall know, each alone. But we will be ourselves again, either way. I do not think we will speak of it.”

  “Nor do I. But only know, if you were unmarried, and I of proper station—”

  “Hush. If wishes were teardrops, the world would flood, Sir Neil.” Her eyes did glisten with teardrops, and they spoke no more.

  In time, when her breathing became regular and quiet with sleep, Neil rose, gathered her in his arms, and started toward her chambers.

  When he opened the door, he saw a figure standing in the hall.

  “Lady Erren,” he said stiffly.

  “Sir Neil,” she replied. “Do you need help delivering that package?”

  “Think no ill of the archgreffess, Lady Erren,” Neil said. “She was not in possession of her senses. Any blame falls on me.”

  Erren shrugged. “Come. Let us put her in her right bed.”

  They took the sleeping Fastia down the hall and placed her there. Despite Erren, he paused to look at her dreaming face, so youthful in the light of the candle. Then the two of them quietly left.

  Back in the hall, Erren examined him. “You did not do the deed,” she said. “You walked that way, but did not open the door.”

  “How can you know that?” Neil asked, both astonished and somehow grateful that Erren knew the truth.

  “I know,” she said. “It's my art to know such things. Not that I would have disapproved of your bedding Fastia, Sir Neil, not as an act of itself. Saints know she needs that, needs someone like you. Maybe even needs you, specifically. I have watched this family's philandering for most of my life, and I no longer have a moral opinion on it. But, Sir Neil, you are sworn to the queen, do you understand? You cannot be distracted by love. If you need a body to press, one can be found, and discreetly, and I will think none the worse. But you cannot be in love.” Her eyes narrowed. “Though it may be too late for that, saints pity you. But we will see. An enemy might have walked past you tonight. That mustn't happen again.”

  “I understand, Lady Erren.”

  “And, Sir Neil?”

  “Lady.”

  “You are quite right. The only spell Elyoner used on you was suggestion, and the only physic was alcohol. In the future, remember the effects both can have, will you?”

  “My lady, I will,” Neil replied, deeply ashamed.

  The next day, Neil donned his armor and went down with the queen to breakfast. Elyoner was already there, a little bleary-eyed but smiling, wearing a dressing gown of gold lamé trimmed in black mink. She greeted him with a little smile, which quickly turned to an exasperated frown.

  “Oh, pish, Sir Neil,” she sig
hed.

  Neil felt naked beneath her gaze. How could she know? Did everyone know?

  The queen didn't. “What have you done to my knight, Elyoner?” Muriele demanded mildly. “What mischief have you been up to?”

  “Not enough, by the looks of him,” Elyoner grumbled. Then she brightened. “Well, each day brings new hope.”

  As she spoke, her servants brought platters of boiled eggs, soft white cheese and fried apples, clotted cream, scones, and persimmon marmalade. Elseny came tripping excitedly down the stairs dressed in a vivid blue gown, followed by her flaxen-haired maid Mere.

  “What entertainments have you planned for us today, Aunt Elyoner?” she asked.

  “Boating on the Evermere, I think,” the duchess replied, “and quoits in the orchard meadow.”

  “Out of the question,” Erren said.

  “Agreed,” Neil said.

  “Mother!” Elseny protested. “It sounds delightful.”

  Muriele sipped her tea and shook her head. “I think this time I shall defer to my keepers. I fear I have already strained them too much by bringing us here.”

  “Thank you, Majesty,” Neil said.

  “Yes, praise the saints,” Erren grumbled.

  “But my dear,” Elyoner said, frowning. “It's all planned! I assure you, there is no danger, here on my lands.”

  “Nevertheless,” Muriele replied, “I must think of my children.”

  “As you were thinking of Anne?” Elyoner asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Anne is my affair, Elyoner. I did what was needed.”

  “You've sent a perfectly wonderful, spirited girl off to be broken into a nag,” Elyoner retorted, “like that old killjoy jade Erren, there.”

  “I have protected her from herself,” Muriele replied. “And we shall no longer talk of this.”

  As they spoke, Charles and Hound Hat had descended, the prince still in his nightclothes.

  “Apples!” Charles exclaimed, sounding like a child. “Aunt Elyoner, my favorite!”

  “That's right, child, I always remember,” Elyoner said. “Have as many as you want. I fear it's the only entertainment you'll get today.” She sighed and fingered her chin. “I suppose I could have my players do something for us, if you don't consider that too threatening, Sir Neil. Elseny, you might do a scene with them, if you wish.”

  “Yes, I suppose that would be better than nothing,” Elseny pouted. “Though the boat ride would be more dear by far.”

  Audra came down the stairs, alone.

  “Where is the princess Fastia?” Elyoner asked the maid.

  “She is feeling unwell, Duchess,” Audra replied. “She's asked me to fetch something from the kitchen.”

  “I see. Well, the cook will make whatever she wants. And do take something for yourself, child.”

  “Thank you, Duchess,” Audra replied. “It all looks wonderful.”

  Neil bit into a boiled egg, relieved that he didn't have to face Fastia yet, ashamed for feeling that way. She probably hated him for taking what advantage he had. He ate glumly as the family chattered around him and the house awoke.

  A footman entered and interrupted his worries.

  “There's a rider here, Duchess,” he announced. “From Eslen.”

  “Indeed? What news does he bring?”

  The footman bowed. “News of war, Duchess. Liery has declared war on Saltmark.”

  “It's beginning,” Erren muttered. “Muriele—”

  “Quite right,” Muriele said. “Sir Neil, inform the guard. We are returning to the safety of Cal Azroth. We depart in one hour.”

  “That's ridiculous!” Elyoner said. “You are quite safe here, I tell you. It isn't as if Crotheny is at war.”

  “It took the rider at least five days to get here,” Muriele reasoned. “This news is old. If Liery is at war, Crotheny cannot be far behind, and if we enter, so does Hansa. It is probably done as we speak. Children, have your things packed.”

  “But we just got here,” Elseny protested. “Cal Azroth is so unutterably dull.”

  “Yes, it is,” Muriele acknowledged. “Pack your things.”

  Despite himself, Neil felt only relief. War was less dangerous than Glenchest.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MEETING ON THE HEADLAND

  THE SUN ROSE SMOTHERED IN FOG, paling the headland of Aenah with the color and feel of frost, so that William pulled his cloak tighter, though the sea breeze still had summer in it. His gaze searched restlessly down the cliffs to the shatter of rocks there, and beyond to the unsteady lines of water and sky. Around him, fifteen knights sat their horses silently. Robert, his face creased in unaccustomed severity, had dismounted. He, too, gazed out at the sea.

  “Where are they?” William growled.

  Robert shrugged. “You know as well as I that the sea roads are uncertain,” he said. “Saint Lier cares little for the punctuality of mariners.”

  “And even less for that of pirates. You are certain this is arranged? Lesbeth will be returned to us?”

  “We've kept up our bargain,” Robert replied. “They will keep theirs. Austrobaurg knows he has extracted all he can from us by her captivity. That's been made clear.”

  “But why this clandestine meeting? Why insist that we two come along?”

  Ananias Hargoln, captain of the lancers, spoke up. “My very thought, Sire. This seems most transparently a trap.” His blue-steel eyes traveled the line of the coast suspiciously.

  “We've covered this ground before. My spies have secured the region,” Robert stated tersely. “Does Sir Ananias doubt his prime minister?”

  Sir Ananias shook his graying head. “Not in the least, my prince. But I do doubt the duke of Austrobaurg. First he takes captive one of the royal family, and now he will exchange her only in the presence of the emperor himself on this saint's forsaken heath of a headland. Though we agreed to allow only fifteen men apiece, the emperor has it right. This is king-slaying begging to happen.”

  “Austrobaurg will have only fifteen men, as well,” Robert pointed out.

  “So he promised. That does not make it so.”

  Robert pointed to the winding cliffside path that led up from the sea. “We shall have ample time to notice if he brings more. No, Austrobaurg's motives are far less clandestine. He wants to throw his piss in our face and laugh when we can do nothing in response.”

  “Yes, that fits,” William muttered. “I remember him all too well. A puffed-up fellow, a braggart.” He leaned in close to Robert. “Let him enjoy his moment,” he whispered. “But when this is done, and Lesbeth safe in Eslen—then, Robert, we shall discuss Austrobaurg again.”

  Robert arched his brows. “Indeed,” he said. “Perhaps we'll make a politician of you after all, Wilm.”

  “Assuming he comes at all,” William added.

  But Robert was nodding at the waves and lifting a finger to point. “There,” he said.

  William's eyes weren't what they once had been, but only a few moments later he made out what Robert had seen—the long silhouette of a galley cutting through the whitecaps toward the stony shingle below. Over the crash of surf, he began to make out the pulling chant that went with the long, even strokes of the oars.

  “How many men do you make?” William asked Sir Ananias.

  The knight leaned his lanky frame forward in the saddle and studied the approaching ship.

  “Narry more than fifteen, Sire,” he said at last. “Same as promised.”

  “Might there be more belowdecks?”

  “That there might be, Sire. I advise you stay here on the clifftop whilst I make certain there's no trickery. Let me keep you safe as I can.”

  “Sound advice, brother,” Robert said.

  “Very well. Meet them on the landing. Tell them you've come to insure that the terms of the meeting are kept—on both sides. Tell them they may send an emissary to verify our numbers, as well.”

  He watched as Ananias wound down the narrow trail cut into the white
face of the cliffs, shrinking in perspective until he and his mount might have been a silver beetle. He reached the shore just as the ship was beaching, and a figure in gold-chased armor stood in the prow. They spoke, and a few moments later, the knight boarded the galley. A horse was brought up from the hold, and soon a knight of Austrobaurg's was ascending the headland. As he did so, more horses were brought from the ship to the shore.

  The Austrobaurg knight introduced himself in stilted king's tongue as Sir Wignhund Fram Hravenfera, and proceeded to search the headland for any troops William might have concealed there. It didn't take much of a search; the headland was where the plain of Maog Vaost stooped to the sea. It was sheepland, clear of trees and gently sloping, with no concealing ridges or crevasses in any direction.

  Ananias returned presently.

  “They are as agreed,” Sir Ananias said. “Fifteen, no more and no less.”

  “And Lesbeth? She is well?”

  The knight's long face pinched into a frown. “I did not see her, Sire.”

  William turned to his brother. “What's going on here, Robert?”

  Robert shrugged. “I do not know. More posturing, no doubt.”

  “I don't like it, Sire,” Sir Ananias said. “I suggest a withdrawal. Let the prime minister ask the questions.”

  “Indeed,” Robert said. “Let someone with a full set of stones do the talking with this ‘puffed-up’ fellow.”

  “I am thinking only of the emperor and his safety, Prince Robert,” the knight said stiffly.

  “No one is withdrawing,” William said. “I want to speak to Austrobaurg myself.”

  He sat impatiently as the opposing company drew nearer. They were caparisoned in high Hanzish fashion, silver and gold bells jangling on the manes and saddles of their horses, horsehair or feathered plumes streaming from their helms. William had kept his company plain, to avoid recognition on the ride to the cape. But Austrobaurg was shouting to the world who he was, knowing only William and his knights would see.