The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

‘We cannot prove such a thing, lad,’ Liryk replied, his voice gruff with rebuke.

  ‘No. That’s the point though,’ Fynch said, staring at the corpse. As he spoke he suddenly sounded a lot older. ‘You need not be a physician to see that this was an expertly achieved death. Celimus could not be seen to have bloody hands.’

  All three Briavellians noted his casual use of the Morgravian monarch’s name. ‘You sound familiar with the King, boy,’ Liryk said.

  ‘I know him. Certainly enough about him to accept that Romen’s death could easily be by his design. We already know that Celimus thinks nothing of hiring mercenaries to kill a sovereign.’ There was a sharp intake of breath from both men, although Valentyna seemed not to react. Fynch continued as though they were discussing the weather. ‘What makes you think he would not order the death of a troublesome noble? Someone who knows too much about the comings and goings of Morgravia?’ He stopped suddenly, his look defying them to contradict him.

  ‘He’s powerful, son, and more than capable of such commands,’ Liryk said, impressed with Fynch’s grasp of the situation. ‘I just can’t prove the King of Morgravia is behind Koreldy’s death.’

  ‘No, and that’s why we must be very careful about what we say aloud,’ Valentyna warned. ‘Please, all of you — what has been aired here must remain between the five of us.’

  Fynch found an inward smile. It amused him that the Queen counted Knave amongst them. He too believed the dog heard and understood everything. Knave sidled up towards him again and he laid his hand on the large head, glad of the comfort.

  Without warning, a familiar dizzy sensation claimed him. Valentyna spoke again but her words sounded distant. ‘Krell, I know this is unusual, but you and I will wash Koreldy’s body.’

  ‘My Queen! I cannot permit —’

  ‘No, you cannot permit me anything,’ she said kindly. ‘This is my order, although I prefer it be a request of you.’

  The old man nodded, an unhappy expression on his face.

  ‘I am doing this so we may keep knowledge of Romen’s death between as few people as possible.’

  He is not dead! Wyl lives! A voice spoke inside Fynch’s head, which began to throb. He saw only swirling grey mist before him but he heard the words clearly. Then the mist cleared and he saw a small town fringed by fields of hops. He had no idea of its significance.

  Find him. He walks in another body now, the voice urged.

  The swirling sensation dissipated as fast as it had arrived and the voices of the people in the chapel no longer sounded as if spoken from the bottom of a well. Intense pain and shock reverberated through his body as he tried to think about what had happened. He knew now that the voice had come to him through Knave; he just did not know why.

  Fynch felt distracted and nauseated. His mind was in turmoil. If Knave’s information was correct, then they were needlessly grieving over a man who was not dead. He walks in another body now. Had it truly happened again? Had Wyl Thirsk become the person who had killed Romen Koreldy?

  Valentyna deserved to know, but what could he say to her? She would not even hear him out. She was liberal in most ways, and he would describe her as tolerant — she certainly had been of his views on magic — but she was not a believer. The Queen would probably banish him as well if he started talking about transference into another body. No. This he would have to keep to himself for the time being.

  The Queen was still speaking to her Commander and Fynch struggled to bring his attention back to the people around him. ‘Liryk, I want that Hildyth creature at the palace by sunset tomorrow. Bring her before me alone. Did many other people at this place know of the murder?’

  Liryk was grateful for the Queen’s tact. ‘Several, your highness. But none of them would know Koreldy. He was a stranger there. It was not crowded either, so those whose ears have already heard probably do not know his name — simply that a man was killed.’

  ‘Good. Your men will spread the rumour that this man was Briavel’s prisoner but that we had granted him a new life outside our borders. So far this is true. The seed you will plant, however, is that we suspect a Briavellian loyalist took offence at Koreldy’s actions at the tourney and took it upon himself to rid our realm of a troublemaker. Make sure everyone understands how keen Briavel is to pursue the betrothal. No official word, mind,’ she cautioned. ‘Tell the story into a few inns where loose mouths lurk. I will provide coin. Fret not that the story may become warped as it is retold; as long as people believe it was purely an internal problem.’

  ‘Why?’ Krell asked, unable to follow his Queen’s rapid line of thought.

  Liryk could not help a grim smile of appreciation. He bowed: ‘Inspired, your highness.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Because, Chancellor Krell, as it’s supposedly our own work the rumours will die quickly. There is less intrigue, you see, around the death of a prisoner rather than the assassination of a noble, particularly one we supported. More importantly, in designing this plan, our Queen has deflected any potential damage to Briavel. Whether or not the person we suspect is behind this, he can only be privately grateful to her majesty for being so without guile and accepting blame in Briavel’s name.’

  ‘I see,’ the Chancellor replied, impressed. ‘Your majesty has inherited her father’s quick mind for strategy.’

  Valentyna gave a brief, harsh laugh. ‘Oh, I do hope so. We are entering challenging waters, gentlemen, and we shall need all our wits to navigate the safest channel.’

  Both men nodded their agreement.

  ‘What of the body, your highness?’ Krell asked gently.

  The Queen sighed, inwardly proud that she had so far held on to her grief in front of these men. They were obeying her now as they would have her father. She had truly become their sovereign.

  ‘Liryk, to anyone nosing around, you can say the prisoner’s body was buried quickly in an unmarked grave. Make out you left it for others to do, and so it passes down the chain of command until no one really knows who took responsibility. Give the impression that neither do we care.’

  ‘Yes, your highness.’

  ‘Krell, you and I will prepare the body. Whom can we trust to bury him?’

  ‘Father Paryn is a good man, my Queen. He will help us to send off Koreldy with some dignity.’

  ‘Dignity, yes,’ she said, seeing once again her version of Hildyth enjoying her evening’s work with Romen. ‘He will be buried at a private ceremony. No one is to speak of it with anyone other than Father Paryn. Krell, please make arrangements for a site near my father.’

  ‘In the royal crypt, your majesty?’ His tone carried sufficient surprise that she knew he was not happy with such an arrangement.

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘He deserves as much. He fought to save my father’s life; he certainly saved mine. He was also…’ She paused, forcing herself to hold back the words she longed to speak. It would serve no purpose for these men to know her true feelings for Koreldy. She took a breath. ‘This is what I want.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Krell said, bowing.

  ‘Liryk, what of the men who accompanied you?’

  ‘All reliable, your highness. If you will excuse me, I shall round them up now and make our orders clear.’

  ‘Each to be paid double salary for this moon cycle. They are to understand that their silence is appreciated at the highest level.’

  He nodded and bowed before taking his leave.

  ‘Clothes,’ Krell muttered. ‘I should organise some fresh garments for him.’

  Valentyna looked again at her beloved Romen in his dusty travelling clothes.

  ‘He looks best in dark grey,’ she said. ‘It sets off his eyes.’ The sorrow in her voice was thick.

  Krell looked sharply at his sovereign and then away. The expression of pain on her face at that moment was too raw. He knew she needed privacy.

  ‘At once, your highness. I shall go find Father Paryn now,’ he murmured.

  Valentyna heard the door of the chapel clos
e quietly. ‘Lock it, Fynch,’ she begged, ‘I need some time.’ And she broke down, her soft cries heartbreaking as she bowed helplessly over the cold corpse. No longer a Queen having to follow protocol or keep her emotions in check, but a young woman grieving over the death of the man she loved.

  ‘His killer took his bracelet as well,’ she said through her tears. She felt no shame at showing her sorrow with Fynch.

  ‘Yes, highness, I noticed it was missing. But it was worth nothing. He told me his sister had plaited it for him, the beads were hers from childhood.’

  ‘A trinket, yes, but worth everything to Romen, I imagine, and perhaps more to his killer.’

  ‘How so, my Queen?’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose further proof that he is dead. Anyone who knew Romen would have noticed he habitually wore that tiny bracelet.’

  Fynch nodded, remaining silent.

  ‘He looks so peaceful,’ she admitted, her eyes drawn to the damaged hand where a finger had been carelessly hacked off.

  Fynch saw she had refastened the shirt buttons to hide the brutal wound.

  ‘Asleep even,’ he ventured.

  ‘Yes. Except Romen was never still, was he? He had a special energy. We shall never hear his laugh again, or that way he mocked everyone with gentle affection.’

  Fynch took a chance. ‘If I suggested this was simply a dead body and not really the Romen Koreldy you loved, what would you say?’

  Valentyna looked at him, disturbed, wiping away the helpless tears. ‘I would call you cruel. Why should you suggest such a thing when you know how I feel… felt about Romen?’

  It was pointless pursuing this conversation but he tried anyway. At least later he could reassure himself he had made the attempt. He swallowed. ‘Although Romen’s corpse lies here before us, I don’t believe that the man you knew — the man you loved, your highness — is dead.’

  She looked at him aghast. ‘Fynch, whatever are you talking about? Stop now. This is hurtful.’

  He sighed, dropped his head. ‘My apologies, your highness.’

  She wanted to retain his friendship so much and yet here she was pushing him farther from herself. Valentyna moved swiftly to be beside him and then crouched so she could look directly into his large, serious eyes. ‘No, I am sorry. He is dead because I banished him. This is my cross to bear — not yours. You would never have done this to a friend, but oh, my dear Fynch, I am bound by duties and royal protocol.’

  ‘I understand. Really. I think I’ve got it straight in my mind why you did what you did.’

  ‘It’s your forgiveness I seek. I don’t want to lose you, Fynch. You and even your strange dog there are my closest friends in the world.’

  Her words touched him. ‘Then you must trust me.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And understand what I must do.’

  She noted the grave tone. ‘What must you do?’ she asked, frowning now.

  ‘I am leaving, your highness.’

  The shock of his words stopped her tears. ‘No! Why?’

  ‘There is something I must pursue.’

  ‘Fynch, speak plainly. Tell me,’ she commanded, searching his guileless face for clues.

  ‘You cannot understand.’

  ‘Make me.’

  He smiled. It was shy and rare, full of kindness. ‘I cannot, your highness. I have tried before.’

  She took a deep breath, then laid her hands lightly on his shoulders. ‘Is this about Wyl Thirsk… and — what was it? Romen taking on his duties… his desires? You said you felt his presence.’

  Fynch nodded. His expression was sombre. ‘More than that, but I cannot explain yet.’

  ‘Magic.’ She spoke the word as if it was poison in her mouth.

  ‘Just trust me,’ Fynch repeated.

  ‘But where will you go?’ There was a plaintiveness in her voice.

  ‘To track down Romen Koreldy’s murderer.’

  The Queen rubbed a hand over her face. He could not tell whether she felt frustration, anger, despair or a combination of all.

  ‘You are a child,’ she said, hating to state the obvious and working hard at keeping her voice level.

  ‘All the more reason I shall go unnoticed, your highness. Who would bother with a child?’

  ‘And your purpose?’ she blurted, irritation spilling over, sarcasm evident in her tone.

  If Fynch noticed he did not react. He spoke evenly. ‘I mean to see his killer with my own eyes.’ He kept as close to the truth as possible for lies did not come naturally to him.

  ‘And?’

  Fynch was silent. She waited, knowing he was considering how best to answer her. He was always very careful in how he spoke.

  ‘I will decide then,’ he answered.

  The cryptic reply annoyed her further. She stood and turned away, her voice hard. ‘It is your decision and you will be missed. Will you remain for the burial?’

  ‘There’s no point,’ he said quietly. ‘I prefer to leave immediately, unless you wish it differently.’

  ‘I do. We must honour him.’

  ‘But it is not him any more, your highness.’

  ‘Stop it, I beg you!’ she beseeched, the pain of his words cutting through her.

  Fynch’s gaze was unblinking and honest. ‘Once again I ask for your faith. I will not let you down. Neither will he,’ he said, nodding towards the corpse.

  Valentyna wanted to scream at him, shake his bony shoulders and force some sense into his head. She did neither. ‘I shall spend some time with him alone now. I insist on your presence at the burial.’

  Fynch bowed but she had already turned away from him.

  The burial was swift. The body was surrounded by small candles which would be permitted to burn out. A few spoken words, a quick prayer, and then Father Paryn was asking them to lay their gifts next to the body. Koreldy’s spirit would move beyond, whilst his body remained surrounded by possessions from those who had cared for him.

  Liryk laid down a blade. He now dearly wished he had given Koreldy one — perhaps he might have saved himself if he had. Krell laid down a quill, the symbol of his duties for Briavel. It was all he could think of to leave with a man he had not known well but had respected. Fynch cut off a twist of his own hair and some from Knave. He laid it on Koreldy’s chest. It was the most personal item which would travel with Romen into the next life.

  Finally, Valentyna placed her offering of a small wreath of mint, basil and lavender she had bound with one of her own ribbons intertwined with a thong Romen had used for his hair — beneath his crossed hands. That the wreath was heart-shaped was missed by no one. May it remind you of where love’s tentative touch first embraced us, she cast silently, hoping his spirit might hear.

  Two soldiers, trustworthy men who had accompanied Liryk and Koreldy on their fateful trip into Crowyll, slid the heavy stone slab across the tomb in which Romen had been laid. It was unmarked.

  Valentyna lifted her head. ‘No one is ever to speak of this.’ She eyed each of the men who stood with her. ‘Or I shall have his tongue cut out. This is a secret which Briavel shall hold.’

  They nodded as one.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ she said, relieved she could trust them, even without the threat.

  Fynch was the last person to leave the crypt. As he stepped out into the brightness of day he was momentarily blinded, but as his eyes adjusted he noticed a soldier making fast passage towards the chapel.

  ‘What news?’ Liryk asked, all formalities dispensed with. It was one of his most trusted men.

  ‘Your majesty,’ the man said breathlessly, going down on one knee. ‘Sir,’ he added, addressing his Commander, ‘may I speak freely?’

  ‘You may. Please report.’

  ‘The woman is no longer at Crowyll. She left her lodgings during the night of the attack or possibly the next day. None of the people who live nearby remember seeing her that morning.’

  Liryk’s brow twitched in annoyance. ‘You checked her pla
ce of employment?’

  The man was sucking in air; he had obviously ridden at speed. ‘Yes, sir. Everywhere else that we have been told she frequented. There is no trace of her.’

  ‘The plot thickens, Liryk,’ Valentyna said as she strode away. She was convinced now that the whore had been in on the deed. ‘Fynch, a word.’

  Fynch hurried behind her until they had reached the quiet herb garden.

  ‘And so you leave me now?’

  ‘Yes, your majesty. I must.’

  ‘Then I shall miss you until I see you again.’

  ‘Likewise, your highness.’

  The Queen pulled a pouch from one of her pockets. ‘I don’t understand this journey of yours, Fynch, but I see I have no choice but to let you go.’

  He shook his head sadly, unsure of what to say.

  ‘I know,’ she said more quietly. ‘I must trust you.’

  When he looked up she was making an effort to smile. He knew it did not come easily to her after what they had just done. No doubt she was in great personal pain and his leaving only magnified her loneliness. He hastened to offer some reassurance. ‘As soon as I have found out what I need to know, I shall return, your majesty.’

  ‘I wish I understood what it is you need to know.’

  Sensibly he remained silent.

  ‘Here, Fynch. Please take this,’ she said, holding out the pouch. He took it and it rested heavily in his hand, suggesting gold and silver within. He hesitated and looked at the Queen, who immediately said: ‘No, don’t fight me on this. You will have need of it. This is a dangerous person you go headlong to meet. I wish I could stop you.’ She forced herself to pull her hand away, although every instinct told her to grab him and hold him, to stop him leaving as everyone she had ever loved had left her.

  ‘You cannot. But you must be strong, my Queen,’ Fynch replied. ‘Koreldy would expect it of you.’

  She gave him a sad smile. ‘Everyone expects it of me, my friend. Shar speed you safely, Fynch.’

  Valentyna allowed him to kiss her hand, then walked away, too fearful to hug him farewell. He recalled how she had turned from Romen in the same manner. Now they had both hurt her. He left quietly to find Liryk, Knave padding silently behind.