The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘He was seen leaving the castle and heading into Pearlis, your majesty.’

  The King’s alert mind was in full swing. ‘Was he acting in a guarded manner?’

  ‘No, sire. I learned this much from some of our own men who were returning from an evening in the city. They met Jorn, recognised him and teased him — as soldiers are wont to do.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The lad seemed in no particular hurry. In fact, he mentioned that he was making a delivery to Lady Helyn, so there was nothing secretive in his own mind about his journey, it appears.’

  ‘All right. Go on,’ the King replied, showing no remorse at the boy’s death.

  ‘I checked with Lady Helyn’s manservant, who concurs that delivery of a gown and cloak was certainly made in the early hours of the morning following our supper. The man, Arnyld, said Jorn did not tarry at the house. He handed over the garments with a simple thank you from Leyen then left immediately.’

  ‘No other detours or errands?’

  ‘Not that I can track down, sire.’

  ‘Ah,’ Celimus said, leaning forward, ‘now we come to it.’

  ‘It seems Leyen did more than finalise her thanks verbally. Arnyld mentioned that a note was found in the pocket of the cloak, almost by chance, much later.’

  ‘You see,’ Celimus said, pacing now, ‘it is the words “almost by chance” that prick my curiosity. Do you think the note was deliberately hidden?’

  Jessom shrugged slightly. ‘I cannot guess, sire. Leyen may not have wanted to bother Jorn with trying to remember anything more detailed than a courteous thank you.’

  ‘So what did that note contain?’ the King asked eagerly.

  The Chancellor shook his head. ‘According to Lady Helyn, nothing of consequence. She said it was merely a polite courtesy and she believes she must have sent it out with the day’s rubbish.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘She very kindly spent some time hunting for the note in my presence, just in case her memory was not serving her correctly, sire. She called Arnyld to task over it and he too searched. There was no sign of it.’

  ‘Hmm, perfectly plausible, I suppose.’

  ‘As I thought, sire, which is why I have not pushed any further.’

  ‘How was she when you spoke with her?’

  ‘Charming. As I said, keen to help you if she could and apologetic for her hasty action in ridding herself of the note. I sensed no guile, sire.’

  ‘I’d still like to speak with her.’

  ‘I anticipated as much, my lord. She awaits your pleasure.’

  Celimus smiled thinly at Jessom’s smooth anticipation. ‘Show her in.’

  Lady Helyn moved gracefully for her size. She sketched a perfect curtsy to her sovereign. ‘Your majesty, this is indeed a rare pleasure,’ she said.

  ‘Come, Lady Helyn, walk a short way with me. Let me show you my new floriana garden.’

  Clever, she thought. He knows how much I appreciate nature’s gifts. ‘Of course, your highness, I would be honoured,’ she replied, thanking the gods who protected her for keeping any trace of anxiety from showing in her voice.

  She took the King’s proffered arm and allowed him to guide her out of the courtyard and into an exquisitely perfumed garden, still under construction in places. ‘Oh, sire, this is magnificent,’ she breathed, genuinely impressed.

  Celimus turned on a dazzling smile for this important lady of his court. He knew he must tread carefully. Lady Bench’s wealthy influential husband would not take kindly to his King browbeating his wife for seemingly inconsequential information. ‘It is not yet nearly finished, of course, but I am glad to show it in its early stages to someone who loves the work of Shar.’ He showed her into a superb rotunda containing a small stone table and benches. ‘I have ordered some parillion juice which I hope you will enjoy?’

  ‘A favourite of mine, thank you.’ She inhaled the perfume about her. ‘The floriana display is magical, sire. Such colours! My, my.’

  Celimus was nothing but charm. ‘Thank you, Lady Helyn. My gardeners tell me they are the most stubborn of plants. What was it one of them said now…’

  He cocked his head in thought and she was instantly reminded of his mother. All cold beauty she recalled, not a skerrick of warmth had helped that woman’s heart beat. But stunning she had certainly been. No woman in Pearlis, or indeed the realm, could hold a candle to that one. And the son carried all of her grace and poise, the heartstopping looks. Yet it was an eternal pity that he possessed so little of his father.

  ‘Pardon?’ Celimus said. ‘I missed that.’

  Lady Helyn flinched. Had she spoken aloud?

  ‘Your highness, my apology. I was thinking how incredibly like in looks to your beautiful mother you are,’ she quickly said and diplomatically followed it up with, ‘may Shar bless her.’

  He smiled. ‘That is generous, my lady. I am reminded often of how special she was.’

  His companion nodded her head graciously, relief coursing through her.

  The King continued, ‘Ah yes, it comes to me now. The head gardener calls these flowers Shar’s Folly.’

  ‘Oh, and I can understand why, my lord,’ Lady Helyn gushed. ‘They are impossible to grow and yet look at your glorious display. I admit I did not realise you cared for such things.’

  Now Celimus’s expression became soft, almost apologetic. He sighed. ‘It is true, my lady, that my passion runs to the hunt, my horses, and my realm of course.’

  ‘And your people, sire,’ she added.

  ‘That goes without saying,’ he replied evenly. ‘But more recently I have developed a new passion… for a certain woman, my lady, who makes my heart burn with desire. It is she who has made me appreciate some of the gentler aspects of life,’ he admitted. ‘This new garden is for her. It is one of several I am creating in her honour.’

  There was no avoiding the issue. ‘You speak of Queen Valentyna, my lord?’

  ‘Indeed. I hope we will be married by spring’s close. I know the union will herald great joy to both realms, Lady Helyn, which brings me to why I wished to see you today.’

  Lady Helyn was heartily glad they were interrupted by the arrival of the fruit juice. It was perfectly chilled, the beautifully crafted silver goblet dripping with icy water like dewdrops. ‘So cool and refreshing, your highness,’ she said, eager for a last chance to think over her options.

  Leyen’s note had been shocking to say the least. If what the young woman claimed was true, then Lady Bench was sitting with a madman at this moment. A King out of control. His lust for power, for other realms, for yet more riches, had overruled every sensible thought. According to Leyen, Celimus had plotted the assassination of King Valor of Briavel, leaving his daughter vulnerable to hostilities from Morgravia. An even greater shock was learning that Celimus had also contrived the murder of that fine young man Wyl Thirsk. If ever a son was set to follow in his father’s footsteps, this was him, she thought. To see his life taken so early, so brutally, was a matter for sincere grief for all Morgravians, but to learn that his death may have been deliberately orchestrated by his own sovereign had left Lady Helyn shaken.

  Leyen kept the frightening news coming. Now Celimus was after the sister, the beautiful Ylena. Helyn could barely believe the written accusation that the young woman had not only witnessed her husband’s murder but had been herself incarcerated in Stoneheart’s dungeon.

  Leyen’s prose was brief — like a soldier’s — yet detailed. She had summarised that it was the King’s intention to marry Valentyna and then destroy her and Briavel. Leyen admitted that she was the only one who knew the truth, the only person who stood in the King’s way.

  It went on to ask her to be watchful and to warn that one day the realm she loved might need her family to make difficult choices.

  There were moments since she had read that note when Lady Bench had believed that it was all a terrible hoax. Yet her shrewd judgement of character had told her that
the Leyen she met was an honest woman. Either that or she was a supreme actress, but Helyn Bench could not fathom what she might gain by lying.

  She swallowed another gulp of the delicious juice, not tasting it.

  ‘Not too sweet?’ Celimus enquired, dragging her thoughts back to the present.

  ‘It is perfect, my lord. Where were we?’ she asked, in an attempt to sound innocent of a matter she now felt deeply embroiled in.

  ‘Mmm, yes,’ the King replied distractedly, as if it was not the major topic on his mind right now. ‘I believe we were talking about why I asked you to come today.’

  ‘That is right, you were, my lord. How may I serve you?’

  ‘Well, you see, it is a matter of security.’

  ‘Good grief, I can’t imagine any of my petty gossip or court knowledge could assist in matters so lofty, your highness,’ she said, laughing gently.

  No further parrying; Celimus, she realised, had decided to make his play. ‘You lent garments to a guest of the palace,’ he began.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, a lovely woman by the name of Leyen.’

  He smiled in agreement. ‘That’s her. Did you spend any time with her, madam?’

  ‘Indeed, a few hours. We met at the bathing pavilion and I can’t resist a new face in the palace, your highness. I pride myself on knowing all newcomers within hours of their arrival,’ she tittered, affecting the gossipy voice she used with her ladies.

  ‘What did you learn?’ he asked, ignoring the affectation.

  She stopped her chuckling and allowed a frown of puzzlement to take its place. ‘About Leyen? Not a lot, your highness. She struck me as a particularly private person. I did learn that she was supping with you that evening and had nothing suitable to wear.’

  ‘Yes, the gown you lent was most becoming.’

  ‘My daughter’s. I also sent around my maid that evening to dress her hair. A messenger returned the gown and cloak several hours later with thanks.’

  She decided to take the risk and lead this conversation towards its end. She was not sure her nerves could withstand his penetrating gaze for much longer. ‘I know that Chancellor Jessom was especially interested in a note we found in the cloak much later on the following day.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Do you have reason to suspect Leyen of something, my lord?’

  ‘I do, Lady Helyn. I have reason to believe she may be plotting against the Crown.’

  She knew contrived shock would not work now. The situation required the most delicate of navigation. She looked at Celimus quizzically, deliberately pausing as if to consider before speaking. It all depended on how she carried herself in the next few moments. Either he would accept her explanation or she might find herself a guest of his majesty’s dungeon.

  ‘No, sire,’ she soothed. ‘That young woman had nothing but good to say of you, my lord. She expressed her wish that you would marry Queen Valentyna and admitted to being a courier between the two realms. She would not say more — in fact she admonished my curiosity with a reminder of her loyalty to Morgravia’s King and reminded me that as your private agent she was not permitted to reveal anything further.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘On my word, my King.’ Shar forgive me, she thought.

  The gaze did not falter although she sensed he did not disbelieve her.

  ‘And you trust her?’

  ‘I have no reason not to, sire. I found her to be direct in her manner, determined to serve you well.’

  ‘Did she say farewell?’

  ‘Not in person, sire. It was all in that brief note of thanks — I do wish I’d kept it, just to reassure you that it held nothing more than polite courtesies. If that young woman has any grudge against you… well, I did not pick it up and there are few with sharper instincts than I — if you will permit me to say so, your highness.’

  Please believe me, she begged inwardly as she waited for his unhurried response.

  He took his time, levelling a narrowed gaze at her as if he could see into her soul. She resisted the urge to squirm beneath it. Finally he blinked, graciously took her hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Lady Helyn. You have put my mind at rest. Jessom here will see you out.’

  The Chancellor materialised from behind them, smiling obsequiously in that oily manner of his. Her knees felt weak with relief. She was glad she was still seated. ‘I am pleased, your highness, to have eased your mind,’ she said, finding the courage to test her knees and stand. ‘We all look forward to the nuptials, my lord,’ she added.

  The King gave her a wolfish grin before permitting her to leave. Lady Helyn fought the urge to run as she left the palace, forcing herself to keep an unhurried pace, smiling at people she knew, even stopping once and annoying the Chancellor whilst she passed on a new titbit of gossip to a person she had not seen in a while.

  Now, sitting back in her carriage, she felt her heartbeat finally begin to slow and permitted herself tentative congratulations on the fine performance she had shown her King. It hit her suddenly that she was now a traitor to Morgravia — in lying to her sovereign she was no longer loyal to the Crown.

  I may not be loyal to this man’s Crown, she thought, but to Morgravia I remain true.

  She would need to talk this over with her husband, whenever he deigned to return home. Until then, she would take Leyen’s advice and remain watchful.

  Lady Helyn Bench was not a lover of travel as her husband was. She felt sure that many of the reasons Eryd found to be gone from Pearlis were contrived, but she did not really mind. She had known from their first meeting that he was a solitary figure at heart who far preferred the open road and his own company to the crush of people and his wife’s gossipy intrigues in the capital.

  Eryd was wealthy, indeed powerful. His voice counted at court — with both kings, old and new — and when he put his weight behind a particular matter it was considered worth taking note of. Moreover many nobles listened to and took guidance from the steadfast, seemingly incorruptible Lord Bench. He had made his riches through buying and selling exotic spices and magnificent gems from the northern islands. He could, in truth, procure virtually any merchandise from anywhere, ranging from high-quality tobacco to a magnificent horse if that was what was required.

  Eryd was the complete opposite of his plump, stay-at-home wife who enjoyed spending his wealth on everything from lavish parties to her prized pond fish. They were an oddly matched yet loving couple whose affection for each other had never waned. Her constant chittering might have driven most men of his ilk to their grave, yet Eryd rather enjoyed Helyn’s comforting noise when he returned home, as well as her fussing. Likewise, Helyn did not mind her partner being so elusive; she was more than capable of handling the most formal of occasions without a husband’s support and she relished the time alone to pursue her own interests.

  And so the Bench household was usually one filled with love and laughter, music and reading, intrigue and storytelling. Power throbbed in the Bench family, which was as generous with its money as it was with its time for friends and acquaintances. The couple seemed to want for nothing and were envied for their secure relationship as much as their wealth.

  However, anyone passing beneath Lady Helyn’s window on this particular evening might have told a different story at the bathing pavilion the next day. Eryd was not happy and raised voices carried on the still night — thankfully unintelligibly, for the argument had ensued in Helyn’s dressing room which was well cocooned by her dozens of gowns and wraps, skirts and coats.

  ‘This is sheer madness,’ Eryd roared. ‘I have never heard such folly.’

  ‘Haven’t you, darling?’ Helyn responded in the distracted tone she reserved just for him. Realising he was not to be put off so easily, she stopped her search through her wardrobe and looked at him, exasperated. ‘Don’t wave that pipe at me, Eryd. I am not one of your workers to do your bidding.’

  ‘No,’ he said, less loudly. ‘But you are my wife and you will listen to
me.’

  ‘Of course I shall listen. I don’t have to do what you want though.’ She flounced out of the dressing room into her chamber.

  Eryd, still shocked by her news, tried a less dictatorial approach. ‘Helyn, my love… I beg you not to meddle in the politics of this realm.’

  ‘Why not? You do!’

  He looked at her with a pained expression. ‘That’s not fair, my love.’

  She made a sound of disgust, cutting across whatever martyr-like statement was coming.

  ‘This is madness,’ he repeated, feeling suddenly helpless.

  ‘I agree. I will do no more than keep my ear to the ground for information that might assist.’

  ‘Towards bringing down your King!’ he said, aghast.

  ‘Hush!’ she cautioned, speaking more quietly now. ‘You of all people should grasp the import of what we have been told.’

  ‘If it’s true,’ he countered, frustrated by her easy acceptance of the word of a stranger.

  ‘Yes,’ Helyn answered, ‘if it’s true. And that’s what I’m going to find out, because if it is… oh, Eryd, what will become of our realm?’

  He sighed and sat on her bed next to her. ‘Civil war.’

  ‘That’s right. I think Leyen is trying to prevent that, although it all seems so odd.’

  ‘Working against the Crown,’ he said sadly. ‘It’s treachery, Helyn.’

  ‘So is the murder of innocent high-ranking nobles — not to mention the King of Briavel,’ she hissed. ‘I can’t stand by with this information and not do anything.’

  ‘You don’t think it could be some sort of horrible mistake?’

  She smiled sadly. ‘I hope it is.’

  ‘How can you trust a stranger?’

  She shrugged. ‘Years of experience with liars, my love. Call it intuition — my very own and particular talent. Leyen struck me as very direct; nothing dishonest about her. Secretive, but not dishonest. There was something very vulnerable about that woman. She knows things. Is scared by them. I know she’s working for the King, and I also know, following what stopped just short of an interrogation, that the King is determined to find out what she might have told me. Now firstly, why would she tell me anything — a complete stranger, as you say — unless it was true? Why would she risk writing something so damning — it could easily have her executed — if she didn’t know it to be true? Secondly, and even more intriguing, why would Celimus have me especially called in on the pretext of a chat when really he was fishing for information on Leyen? What she knew, what she might have shared with me. His behaviour virtually attests to his guilt.’