The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Damn the lad’s excellent memory. Wyl’s anxieties increased. How to keep him quiet without provoking suspicion?

  ‘Thank you. I shall make some enquiries.’

  Poor Jorn. He was determined that Ylena’s promise was not forgotten, even if it meant chewing the ear off a visitor who might meet up with her. ‘She said she would send for me, Madam Leyen.’

  Wyl put a kind smile on his face despite his fears for Ylena. ‘Is being in her service more important than serving the King, Jorn?’

  The lad flushed scarlet. ‘I would die for her,’ he stammered.

  This was a shock. Wyl’s immediate reaction was to tell Jorn he hardly knew Ylena well enough to pledge such a lofty sacrifice. However, he himself had fallen in love with Valentyna within moments of her turning that direct blue gaze upon him. From then on Wyl Thirsk had become a man of Briavel, her man. Valentyna knew none of this, of course. She loved Koreldy, and she could never possibly love Wyl, and especially Faryl, even though all three were now one.

  Wyl sighed, noted Jorn was still blushing and uncomfortable. He found a grin for him. ‘Well, let’s hope you never have to, Jorn,’ he said, praying that his sister was safe. ‘But now that you have expressed your loyalty,’ he added, taking advantage of the boy’s weakness for Ylena, ‘I suggest you observe it as sharply as ever. Do you understand?’ He could not help but emphasise it further. ‘Be discreet to the point of silence.’

  Jorn nodded but wore a puzzled expression. Wyl could say nothing more direct; he would have to let the lad figure it out for himself.

  ‘Well, I believe I am expected in the King’s suite. Thank you for coming,’ Wyl said.

  ‘Call upon me any time, Madam Leyen. Please, give my regards to Romen Koreldy when you see him.’

  ‘And what shall I give to the Lady Ylena should our paths cross?’ Wyl said.

  He was relieved to see Jorn grin. So the young fellow did have a sense of humour and was not all earnest effort. Wyl smiled his farewell. Jorn may yet prove useful.

  It was a mild evening, made milder still by the braziers burning in a circle around yet another private courtyard in Stoneheart. The castle boasted at least a dozen, some of which Wyl had been in at one time or another as he grew up, but this one he did not recognise. It was compact, ringed by beds of herbs including several fine bay trees. There were none of the spectacular flowers for which King Magnus had been known. Nonetheless the area was beautiful in its simple, somewhat stark design.

  Its ordered structure was softened by the breathy fragrances of the herbs, which mingled in the warmth to create a sensuous atmosphere. In the centre of the courtyard was a table around which four chairs were placed. The setting was elegant but, again, simple. Wyl was struck by the restraint; he would have expected something more elaborate from Celimus. The King had excellent taste but leaned towards the flashy. What Wyl was looking upon now was understated, more to his own taste in fact, and he felt instantly comfortable in this small square of Stoneheart.

  Aremys was already in attendance. He held a cup of wine and was talking softly with the Chancellor, whom Wyl presumed made up tonight’s foursome. He saw the mercenary turn, heard the breath catch in the man’s throat, and realised in that instant what power a handsome woman held over men.

  ‘Leyen, you look very lovely.’ It was Jessom, giving the rare honour of a bow.

  Aremys gathered his wits and inclined his head. ‘Leyen.’

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Wyl said. ‘One of the noblewomen took pity on me and insisted on dressing me tonight,’ he added, lest they hope this was part of his regular wardrobe.

  ‘She did you proud,’ Aremys replied in a tight tone. He coughed softly to clear it then drained his cup.

  Jessom held out a goblet. ‘May I offer you wine?’

  ‘You may,’ Wyl said, graciously taking the cup. ‘What shall we drink to? Forgiveness, no doubt?’ The dryness of the comment was not lost on his dining companions.

  ‘To duty,’ Aremys replied.

  Jessom gave a cold smile and raised his glass.

  Wyl sipped at the sweetish aperitif and looked around at the garden once again. ‘This is certainly a most beautiful courtyard.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve,’ the King responded airily as he made a majestic entrance at the top of the shallow flight of stairs.

  The men bowed; Wyl was forced to attempt the more traditional curtsy now that he was dressed in a gown. He couldn’t imagine how clumsy he must look. Still, Celimus seemed not to notice. Instead he was appraising the woman who stood before him. He remained on the stairs for the moment, preferring not to come down to their level, and in those few seconds Wyl was reminded that Celimus cut the most dashing of figures. He was resplendent in superb garments tailored perfectly to show off his tall, lean physique. Even bathed and groomed Aremys still looked like a scruffy bear by comparison.

  Wyl felt the familiar hate curdle within. All the old feelings returned, threatening to unbalance him, but he reminded himself that he was no longer short and stocky with orange hair and freckles. He was tall and lithe, certainly not pretty, but with his own beauty — or rather, Faryl’s. He had nothing to feel inferior about. He was the only woman in the company tonight; he must use that power wisely and negotiate a passage as far away from Stoneheart as possible.

  Celimus finally descended the stairs. Instead of proffering his own, he took his guest’s hand and, leaning over, kissed it, shocking Wyl. The feel of those cruel lips, which ordered the execution of Alyd, against his own flesh made it crawl. Wyl controlled his inclination to shrink away from the touch.

  The dark gaze met his own. ‘I designed these gardens myself,’ the King continued. ‘In honour of my bride-to-be, who, I am assured, loves herb gardens and simplicity in all design. Good evening, Leyen.’ His eyes sparkled.

  ‘Your highness,’ Wyl said, bowing his head, hating the King’s confidence that Valentyna was already his.

  The others followed suit, bowing low once again.

  ‘What are we drinking, Jessom?’ Celimus asked, all ease and charm.

  ‘The Cherenne, sire, your favourite.’

  ‘Ah, indeed. Come, let us sit.’ At the King’s nod a host of servants descended to lay platters of savouries on the table.

  Small talk accompanied the food until a delicate fish course was served, then Celimus banished the servants. None of his guests needed to be told that what the King had to say from here on was private.

  ‘So, Leyen… I understand you are Morgravian?’

  Wyl nodded carefully at the King, the sweet sauce that set off the fish so magnificently suddenly souring in his mouth.

  ‘From where exactly?’

  Wyl needed to keep the truth from Celimus, but remembered the story he had told his new friend, Lady Helyn. He would have to stick to that. ‘Rittylworth, your majesty.’ He decided to go on the offensive: ‘Although I have heard since arriving here of its demise.’

  At this the King stopped in the act of swallowing from a goblet of wine. ‘I am sorry to hear that you were raised there. It was a necessary lesson being taught.’

  Wyl appreciated Celimus’s candour; he had expected lies. ‘What lesson is that, your highness?’ he asked innocently, taking a small mouthful of the fish and avoiding eye contact with the King.

  ‘That traitors and those who harbour them shall be hounded down and dealt with.’

  Wyl simply nodded, his expression blank. Inside, his blood boiled. He felt Aremys watching him carefully. The mercenary knew Faryl was from Coombe not Rittylworth; Wyl had told him as much during their ride.

  ‘Do you know of this village, Aremys?’ Celimus said.

  ‘Yes, your highness. I have passed through it on occasion but mostly around it.’

  ‘A sleepy enough place,’ Jessom commented, not wishing to be entirely left out of the conversation.

  ‘And one stupid enough to protect those who would betray their sovereign,’ Celimus said.

  ‘May I ask who wa
s important enough to have so many good people put to death, sire?’ Wyl asked as nonchalantly as he could.

  ‘Ylena Thirsk.’

  ‘A woman?’ Aremys blurted. Jessom glared at him.

  Celimus did not react. ‘Yes,’ he said mildly. ‘As Leyen here testifies, women can be so much more subtle than men in their intrigues.’

  Wyl smiled at the King, hating him. ‘How was this Ylena a problem for you, your highness?’

  The King sighed, as though being pressed on the subject was troublesome to him. ‘The whole Thirsk family were traitorous, to be truthful. My father, may his soul rest in Shar’s safekeeping, protected them for too long. This is all rather tedious but probably worth you knowing,’ he said expansively, reaching for his goblet before leaning back in his chair. ‘Old Fergys Thirsk was my father’s best friend… apparently.’ The final word was loaded with irony. He grinned, white teeth perfect. ‘He was a villain of the highest order and would have stabbed my father in the back at the first chance, although I guess he found it easier to poison him instead — metaphorically speaking, of course,’ Celimus added, chuckling softly at his own remark.

  Jessom gave his usual cold grimace in response, whilst Aremys remained motionless and watchful, unsure of his place at this table. Wyl only maintained his composure by clasping his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  The King continued. ‘I was thrilled beyond my wildest dreams when I heard old Thirsk had been cut down. He could not have died quickly enough for me.’ Celimus sipped the Cherenne. ‘I know what you’re all thinking — how could a child hate so much? — but I hated that man for taking all of my father’s love and his friendship, not to mention land and wealth, whilst all the time working against the realm.’

  ‘Forgive me, sire,’ Wyl said, unable to remain silent any longer, ‘I thought I had heard that General Fergys Thirsk took the sword slash meant for King Magnus? It was told in the taverns of the north where I was travelling at the time that Thirsk sacrificed his life willingly for his sovereign.’

  The King shrugged, a rueful smile just touching the perfectly shaped lips. ‘Who knows what truly happened on that battlefield, Leyen? My father might have protected Thirsk’s name to the very last. For all we know it was a conspiracy and someone from our own side killed the General for his devious ways. I would reward that man if I knew him.’

  Wyl let out a choked sound which he quickly checked with a swallow of wine. Celimus’s contrived story was too ridiculous to feel any further insult. The King had nothing to substantiate his vile and slanderous claims, all but making up the story as he told it. Yet there was nothing Wyl wanted to do more right now than pick up the fruit knife and stab it into the King’s throat, for the pure pleasure of the kill.

  ‘You are amused, Leyen,’ Celimus said, missing nothing. ‘How so?’

  ‘Apologies, sire. It was not amusement — one of these scrumptious dried figs has stuck in my throat.’ He swallowed several more mouthfuls of the wine. His glance strayed to Aremys, who was watching him carefully, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘Please, your highness,’ Wyl said, ‘forgive my interruption and continue.’

  Celimus did so, outlining the burgeoning of his hatred with the arrival at Stoneheart of Fergys Thirsk’s son, Wyl; the two lads’ tumultuous childhood; and finally the story of the younger Thirsk’s betrayal in Briavel. ‘Oh, how I wished we ran our army on the merit system,’ Celimus said. ‘This tradition of handing down a title through a warrior family may have suited the shrunken men of olden days, but these are modern times and simply because the family produced one hero in an ancient Thirsk it does not necessarily mean it breeds them.’

  ‘Hear, hear, sire,’ Jessom muttered, signalling to a watchful servant out of earshot that the plates could now be cleared.

  A magnificent spread of cheeses, glacé fruits and sweet fudges were laid out, the serving staff moving deliberately to be away from the table almost as quickly as they arrived.

  When it was just the four of them again, Aremys cleared his throat. ‘Your majesty, I’m not sure I understand why I have been privy to this intriguing tale, but I’m wondering how a young woman, a nobleman’s daughter whose head is no doubt more filled with visions of lace and satin than politics, could be of any threat to your sovereignty.’

  The King nodded. ‘Indeed, Aremys, well said. It is complicated and I don’t wish to bore present company any further with those complexities.’ I bet you don’t, Wyl thought. The King kept talking: ‘Suffice to say Ylena Thirsk continues a fine family tradition of treachery towards the Crown. It is my belief that she is currently on her way to the powerful Duke of Felrawthy to stir up trouble.’

  Wyl could hardly believe the joy he felt at hearing this statement. ‘So you didn’t find her at Rittylworth, sire?’

  ‘No, indeed we did not. Which brings me to why we are here tonight,’ Celimus said, his tone suggesting he would brook no further interruption. He stood, preferring to deliver his orders from a vantage point.

  ‘I want you, Leyen,’ he said, inclining his head, ‘and you, Aremys, to travel to Felrawthy. Hopefully you can intercept Ylena Thirsk’s journey there.’

  ‘And?’ Wyl asked, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘Kill her,’ Celimus replied. ‘It’s what you do, isn’t it?’

  Aremys and Wyl nodded, both stunned for different reasons.

  ‘Good,’ the King said. ‘Jessom, make the usual arrangements. Provide them with horses, coin, whatever they need. No one, and I mean no one, is to know of this mission.’ He eyed each of them, a threat behind the look.

  Again Aremys cleared his throat softly. He had noticed the shock pass across Faryl’s face although she had covered it adroitly. What was going on, he wondered.

  ‘Any questions?’ Celimus asked.

  Aremys sat forward. ‘Your highness, may I ask why the duke would protect her? Surely he would support the Crown rather than risk all for an old friend’s daughter?’

  ‘There are reasons. Please trust my judgement on this. I am hiring your services not your understanding, mercenary.’

  Aremys nodded politely yet persisted. ‘Then may I enquire why the task requires two of us?’

  ‘The duke is well protected with his own men — one of Fergys Thirsk’s cronies, I’m afraid, who has grown fat and rich at the Crown’s expense. If Ylena Thirsk has succeeded in reaching the duke, things could turn ugly. I’m sending you as a special support, Aremys, although I suspect Leyen is more than capable of pulling this off, considering her last successful task for me.’

  Celimus smiled slyly, his glance sliding from Aremys to Leyen, whose face was a blank mask. ‘I want proof of her corpse — more than a finger this time, Leyen,’ the King cautioned.

  Wyl’s lips thinned and he stood. ‘Then we should leave tomorrow, sire,’ he said, no longer able to spend another minute in the King’s company. ‘I accept the commission, your highness. I shall away to my rooms to make my preparations.’

  ‘So soon, Leyen? I thought we might take some more wine together,’ the King replied.

  ‘Er, forgive me, your highness.’ Wyl took in Jessom’s aghast expression at his audacity at denying the King his company. ‘I need a good night’s rest and a clear head. My intention is most certainly to intercept the woman before she reaches Felrawthy.’ He became businesslike. ‘How many days does she have on us, sire?’

  ‘Three, as I understand it.’ Celimus looked towards Jessom who confirmed this with a brief nod. ‘She escaped on foot — we found this out from one of the villagers who saw her fleeing, accompanied by one of the monks. One so new his pate was yet to be shaved.’

  Shar bless you, Pil, Wyl thought, recalling Koreldy’s young friend at the monastery.

  ‘Then we should waste no further time,’ Aremys said, pushing back his chair. ‘Leyen is right. We must leave at first light to have any chance of catching them.’

  Celimus shrugged. ‘So be it. Remember now, I want a corpse. For this I will pay you each a
fortune in gold. The Chancellor will discuss terms. Perhaps that should be attended to now, Jessom, as our guests seem determined to leave Stoneheart almost as soon as they have arrived.’ He held up his hand. ‘But I understand and applaud you for it. You shall be well favoured by me if you rid Morgravia of the Thirsk curse.’

  Aremys was at Leyen’s side. He bowed, putting pressure on her arm to force her to follow suit. Wyl curtsied as best he could.

  ‘Oh, and Leyen,’ Celimus said, as an afterthought. ‘I have another mission for you when this is done.’

  ‘Yes, sire?’ Wyl said, his voice tightly controlled.

  ‘Mmm. If you have a moment?’ he said. ‘You may go, Aremys, Jessom.’

  Wyl watched Aremys leave. There was something in his expression that told Wyl to be careful.

  The King returned his gaze to Leyen. ‘When you are done with the Thirsk woman I want you to go straight to Briavel.’

  Wyl nodded, wondering what terrible deed Celimus was going to ask of him next.

  ‘I want you to take a document to Queen Valentyna which I shall have delivered to you tonight. It is my final proposal of marriage. You will bring back to me her signed agreement that our wedding will take place at the close of spring.’

  ‘And if she should refuse me, sire?’ Wyl asked matter-of-factly, careful to keep his voice devoid of all emotion.

  The answer was delivered in an identical businesslike tone. ‘You will kill her and I will invade Briavel and destroy its Crown once and for all. See that you succeed with both women. You are free to go now.’

  As Wyl left the beautiful courtyard, he called on all his training to keep his emotions in check. Aremys and Jessom watched, concerned, as the tall woman in the beautiful gown all but ran past them.

  THIRTEEN

  WYL HAD NO INTENTION of waiting for Aremys or until dawn. The three women he cared about were under threat from the same man and it was a terrible decision who to try and help.