The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Cailech had instantly offered his hand, palm up this time. Aremys knew this was a rare show of friendship from a man who no doubt considered he had no equal, and once again he was struck by how quickly this King’s mood could change.

  ‘I will gladly seal hands on that, Aremys,’ the King had said. ‘I like your confidence that Celimus and I will find common ground.’

  Aremys placed his own hand on top of the King’s. ‘You alone will make it happen, my lord. I have complete faith in you.’

  Cailech had smiled and this time there was no guile; just open warmth. ‘I hope you will choose to stay amongst us, Grenadyne. But I grant you your independence as soon as this deal is done.’

  Aremys had opted for a light-hearted response. ‘I must be free, your highness. My memory tells me I have a woman to find,’ and had winked, much to the King’s delighted amusement.

  And so Aremys Farrow of Grenadyn had been provided with an escort, a fine horse and a message to deliver to Celimus, which he had duly done, emerging out of the Razors with his hands held high, insisting that Myrt and his other two companions do the same.

  Aremys had deliberately asked Myrt to lead him as close to Felrawthy as they could get, having learned from Wyl that these Legionnaires were the least likely to shoot arrows first and ask questions later. They had entered Morgravia via a pass known as Haldor’s Tooth, which had led them into the duchy of Felrawthy, to a village mainly inhabited by soldiers about ten miles from Brynt proper. Captain Bukanan’s men were well drilled to take prisoners for interview. Aremys believed he could thank Jeryb Donal for this mercy.

  He had nodded gently at Myrt to allow the Mountain men’s hands to be bound. His too had been tied, and whilst the men of the Razors were led into a small dwelling, Aremys had been taken before Bukanan, who had listened to his story with an intense interest.

  ‘A parley, you say?’ the ruddy-faced Captain had repeated.

  ‘Yes, sir. That’s the message I bring,’ Aremys had confirmed, his hands still tied.

  ‘You understand how odd this is?’

  ‘I do, sir. It’s why I was chosen to deliver the message. I am known to the King and he will trust me.’

  Bukanan had studied him closely and finally replied: ‘You will remain in our care until we hear back from Pearlis.’

  ‘I understand,’ Aremys had said, smiling at the nicely couched words which really meant they were prisoners of Morgravia. ‘You must understand, however, that these men of the mountains are not to be harmed in any way and are to be released the moment you receive word from King Celimus.’

  ‘Who makes these conditions?’ the Captain had enquired politely, although Aremys heard the edge in the tone.

  ‘Cailech of the Mountain People. He insists his men are not to be compromised by King Celimus.’

  ‘And he’s in a position to make such demands?’ the Captain had asked, somewhat surprised at the audaciousness of the Mountain King.

  ‘Captain Bukanan, I am merely the go-between for two powerful men. If my attempt to bring them together works, then it means you and I can continue our lives in peace. I think Morgravia wants peace, and what I want is to return to my life as a free man. Let us make this happen, you and I. If Cailech’s men are harmed or kept beyond a time frame he considers fair, he will call off the parley and you may well be fighting a war on two fronts — with the King of the Mountains and the Queen of Briavel — which would be a shame, don’t you agree?’

  Bukanan most certainly did agree when it was put like that. His wife had just given birth to a son after two daughters and the Captain had every intention of remaining alive to raise the son he loved with such ferocity. ‘We’ll accept these terms, Farrow. Although you will have little to bargain with once Cailech is on Morgravian soil — for you may be sure Celimus will not agree to go into the Razors.’

  ‘Leave that with me,’ Aremys said cryptically.

  The Captain shrugged. ‘As you wish. We will despatch our rider this instant. Make yourself comfortable amongst us. It will take a few days.’

  EIGHT

  LIRYK HAD PERSONALLY escorted the woman who called herself Ylena Thirsk to a small reception room. She was dishevelled and communicated little more than basic responses, insisting that her business was with the Queen, who was expecting her. Liryk had no idea whether this was truly Ylena Thirsk or an impostor and he therefore had her thoroughly searched for even the smallest of weapons. The woman gave no protest and, in fact, carried nothing with her except the riding clothes she stood in. It was all quite baffling really, but then every one of the recent Morgravian visitors had brought colourful stories — why should this one be any different Liryk reasoned with a soft sigh.

  The woman certainly did not resemble the famed Thirsks. Apart from the golden hair — an obvious difference — she was beautiful, not a quality the Thirsk men had been known for. He noticed that she carried herself erect and proud — clearly of noble status — and her defiant gaze when he tried to question her at the guardhouse had told him she was not in any way intimidated by him or his men. Finally he had agreed to send a runner to the Queen.

  ‘It is up to her majesty whether she will see you,’ he had cautioned.

  ‘Rest assured, your Queen will see me,’ the woman had replied and had followed the soldier in silence to the chamber. The commander had no idea of what this sudden visit would mean to the Queen or to Briavel’s future; he recognised, however, that it was fraught with danger for the marriage plans which balanced so precariously now on the mood of the Morgravian King. The nobles had called for Ylena Thirsk and it seemed Shar had answered Valentyna’s dearest prayers.

  ‘Lady Thirsk, my men tell me they found you in the woodland bordering the palace?’

  ‘Yes, this is true,’ Wyl replied. ‘I was lost, Commander Liryk, and grateful for their guidance. I have already explained that my horse was lamed in Beeching,’ he lied, still a little shocked from his arrival via magic into the Werryl woods. Rasmus had not been toying with him when he had offered to ‘send’ him to his destination. ‘I left it there,’ he added, realising too late this was a mistake as the commander could easily check up on his story.

  ‘And you walked from Beeching? Could you not buy another horse?’

  ‘To tell the truth, I did not have sufficient funds in my purse for that purchase, sir. It wasn’t so far.’

  ‘Most noblewomen would find five miles a difficult journey on foot.’

  ‘You forget I am a Thirsk,’ Wyl parried. ‘Even our women are tough,’ he added, working hard to keep vexation from his tone.

  Before Liryk could reply the doors of the chamber burst open and Queen Valentyna strode in, her complexion slightly flushed from her hurried passage through the palace.

  Wyl had been anticipating her arrival with a hammering heart, which might account for his undue arrogance with the commander, and he felt it lurch now at the sight of her again. He hurriedly dropped a low bow, glad that he had the excuse of riding breeches to avoid the more feminine curtsey. ‘Your highness,’ he murmured, his feminine voice catching in his throat. He could smell her soft scent of lavender. All he wanted to do was hold her, kiss her. He could do neither.

  ‘Please, Ylena,’ Valentyna said, equally nervous but for different reasons, ‘be at ease.’

  Wyl looked at the woman he loved whose hand was extended towards him. He could not help himself: he took the Queen’s hand in his own elegant, recently washed one and kissed it — an unusual action for a woman. He looked up and saw her frown slightly. Was it from consternation or had she recognised something in his eyes? He knew he was clutching at straws with such a notion. Surely all she saw before her was a ragged noblewoman.

  ‘Thank you, your majesty, for permitting me an audience,’ he offered. It was all he would trust himself to say at the moment, and he was relieved to be rescued by the arrival of a servant with a tray of refreshments.

  ‘Truly the pleasure is mine, Ylena,’ the Queen said, bafflement still evide
nt in her expression. ‘Let us move to the balcony, shall we? It’s a lovely morning.’ Valentyna led the way. ‘Liryk, you’re most welcome to stay,’ she added, which of course was his cue to depart.

  ‘I shall take my leave, your highness,’ he said, and saw his Queen’s face relax at his decision. ‘I will leave a man outside the door should you need me again,’ he added, glancing towards Ylena Thirsk. His couched message was unmistakable. The Queen nodded at him, smiled her thanks at the servant and offered to pour her guest a glass of sweet wine. Liryk was already forgotten. He departed unhappily, his mood evident in his sour expression.

  If Wyl’s own sense of awkwardness was anything to judge by, then Valentyna also needed help easing into the conversation. He decided he should lead it as he was the one with all the secrets.

  ‘You have been expecting me, haven’t you, your highness?’ he said, taking the cup of wine.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Valentyna began, then shook her head slightly. ‘It’s an odd thing, Ylena — may I call you that?’

  I’d prefer you to call me Wyl, he thought. ‘Of course, your majesty. Please go on.’

  ‘Your letter said to wait for you and to trust you would come. My nobles insisted that without you they would not believe any of the recent claims against the Morgravian King so I prayed for you to come. And, curiously — please don’t think me silly —’

  ‘I would never do that,’ Wyl confessed, leaning forward and taking her hand. It felt so natural to do so and yet, he realised, it would strike the Queen as odd for her guest to be so instantly familiar.

  Valentyna did not appear to be discomfited by his forwardness. ‘Even dishevelled you’re really so beautiful — not at all like Wyl,’ she exclaimed, and then burst into wonderful laughter and Wyl was once again reminded of how it felt when the sun broke through clouds to shine down with all its warmth. He never wanted that smile — just for him — to leave her face. He laughed too. How could it be that this woman could say words which would normally offend and yet seem like playful affection coming from her?

  ‘Wyl was not handsome, your highness… and he knew it,’ he admitted.

  ‘Ah,’ the Queen interrupted, ‘but Wyl, even though I knew him so briefly, was probably one of the most beautiful people on the inside that I will ever have the good fortune to meet.’

  Wyl felt himself glowing at the words. ‘I think if my brother could eavesdrop on this conversation, your highness, he would be more thrilled than you could ever know.’

  ‘Blushing from head to toe, no doubt,’ the Queen added and laughed again. ‘Oh, I am cruel but Wyl struck me as too easy to tease,’ she said, before adding more sombrely, ‘He was so generous to my father and me. I can’t quite shake the guilt of his death knowing that he could have saved himself.’

  ‘It’s probably not right of me to speak so openly, your highness, but Wyl was in love with you. I don’t mean just a little either.’

  It was Valentyna’s turn to feel a hot blush stealing up her throat. ‘How can you know this?’

  ‘Romen told me,’ Wyl answered and watched the Queen blink at the mention of her lover’s name. It was wrong of him to do this but he felt a little out of control in her presence. It was a dangerous sensation, as though anything were possible. He reined in his spiralling emotions.

  ‘How well did you know Romen?’ the Queen asked tentatively.

  ‘We were together for several days, travelling across country to Rittylworth and its monastery. I got to know him well during that time, as people do when they eat together, sleep together, and share thoughts that two strangers might not otherwise.’

  ‘Romen spent time here too. Did you know that he made a promise to your brother?’

  ‘To protect us both. Yes, he told me.’

  ‘I — I would be honest with you,’ Valentyna struggled. ‘I was in love with Romen — I am still.’

  Ylena could not know this and so Wyl framed an expression of gentle surprise on her face. He nodded, wanting to make it as easy as possible for Valentyna. ‘I can understand that, your highness. Romen was very tender towards me and I know he was a good man despite his occupation. I can see what a fine match the pair of you would make.’

  Valentyna’s eyes shone at the compliment. ‘Truly?’

  Wyl nodded, hating himself and yet loving that he could lift her spirits so.

  ‘No one else would agree with you, Ylena,’ the Queen admitted drily. ‘Romen might have been noble but my realm has its collective heart set on a union between two royal households. But forgive me bleating on like this. I’m aware of your shocking losses, Ylena, and feel ill at heart for you over them.’

  Wyl lowered his head but Valentyna reached over and clasped Ylena’s hand. Her touch sent a tremor of joy through him.

  ‘I have also heard about your courageous exploits since and I know your brother would be so proud of you.’

  ‘How have you heard this, your highness?’

  ‘Through Crys Donal.’

  Wyl moved free of her touch, surprised at such news. ‘Crys is here?’

  The Queen nodded. ‘I’m sorry, perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. There’s so much to tell and his presence signifies tragic news from Briavel’s north.’

  Wyl sat back, his pulse racing not with love now but with fear. What had occurred? ‘Please, tell me,’ he said.

  ‘The Donal family were murdered.’

  Wyl stood abruptly, staggering slightly and gripping the balcony rail. He forced himself to breathe deeply. ‘You have proof?’ His voice came out as a groan.

  Valentyna’s reply was soft. ‘Yes. Their deaths were confirmed by a witness.’ She paused to allow him to collect himself before she continued. ‘Crys was escorting Elspyth to the Briavellian border, which is how he escaped being killed too.’ Valentyna’s voice was trembling thinking on it again. ‘It was Pil — the novice… You know whom I speak of?’

  Wyl nodded without turning to look at her. He could not bring himself to explain that Ylena and Pil had travelled together. It was no longer relevant after this shattering news.

  ‘It was Pil who found Elspyth and Crys and alerted them to the tragedy, and Elspyth insisted the new Duke of Felrawthy accompany her to Werryl.’

  Wyl could not make his throat work to respond. It felt closed and as dry as tinderbush.

  ‘My apologies, Ylena, I should have started from the beginning,’ Valentyna said. ‘It has been a shock for us all.’

  ‘Was it Celimus?’ Wyl croaked.

  ‘Apparently so. The men wore his colours, according to Pil and Lady Donal.’

  He swung around. ‘Lady Donal lives?’

  Valentyna shook her head sadly. ‘I’m sorry, no. She died of her wounds, but the brave woman got herself as far as Brackstead, bringing the —’ and she stopped abruptly, realising what she had been about to say would only upset Ylena more.

  ‘Bringing what?’ Wyl insisted.

  Valentyna stood, offered her hand and ended up gently embracing her guest. She spoke softly. ‘Ylena… let me start again and tell you everything I know.’

  Wyl nodded glumly.

  ‘Let’s walk. I’ll find it easier to revisit this painful story if I’m moving.’ She found a thin smile but it was not returned by her guest. ‘Come, let us stroll in the gardens if you’re not too tired?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Wyl said, glad for any time he could share with this woman, although the shock of the news had numbed him. ‘Where is Crys now?’

  ‘I’ll send for him so you can meet after our walk.’

  ‘And Elspyth — she’s here too I presume?’

  At this the Queen paused and searched for the right words but found nothing of comfort. Instead she told it to Ylena in a straightforward fashion. ‘She disappeared during the night. You missed her by hours, Ylena.’

  Wyl could no longer be shocked. He raised weary eyes to meet the searching blue gaze of the tall woman before him. ‘She’s gone after Lothryn then,’ he said, resigned.

&
nbsp; ‘You know of him?’

  He nodded. ‘What a mess,’ he murmured. ‘What a shocking mess my life is.’

  Valentyna did not understand the depth of his comment but she nodded gently and took her guest’s thin arm. ‘Come, the gardens will revive you even though what I have to tell you might not.’

  ‘Your majesty, perhaps it would be best to keep my presence here as quiet as possible for the time being.’

  ‘Oh? But the nobles asked me to deliver you, they —’

  ‘I know, but they probably didn’t think you ever could or would. They aren’t going to change their minds, your highness, no matter how much I explain to them. They want this marriage to go ahead come what may — as do all Morgravians.’

  It hurt him to see the pain etched in her face as they departed the chamber.

  The two women, strikingly different in appearance, strolled quietly through the peaceful herb gardens. The dark of Valentyna’s hair contrasted perfectly with the gold of Ylena’s. Both were in riding clothes and Valentyna was quietly delighted that the noblewoman walking alongside her had not so much as blinked at her appearance. It struck her as odd, because most women she met were surprised that she preferred this masculine garb, and Ylena seemed the kind of fragile beauty who would be horrified to appear in anything but a perfectly tailored outfit. And yet here she was, entirely unself-conscious in dusty trews, her hair tied back, her face smudged and fingernails hastily but not successfully cleaned. It did not seem to match up with the woman she had imagined. Fynch had given her such a detailed description of Wyl’s beautiful sister, how elegant and sophisticated she was, that it hardly seemed this could be the same person walking beside her. Then, Valentyna reminded herself of all that Ylena had been through in recent weeks, and that she was of Thirsk stock. The bloodline had to prevail, she reasoned. In fact, Ylena reminded her more and more of the Wyl she had known so briefly.

  She had spared the young woman none of the details and told her everything she knew of what had happened in Morgravia as it had been related to her by others, also fleshing out the sorry tale with all that she had personally gleaned.