The Quickening
Page 146
‘No!’ the Grenadyne yelled, striding towards his friend. ‘We can escape. If you won’t think about yourself, think about Valentyna and how your presence might reflect on her.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Valentyna said. ‘Why is this meant to be?’
Aremys caught the stern glance from Wyl and knew this was one secret which was not going to be shared. He knew when to keep his own counsel.
Liryk saved them further argument by barging in, all protocol disregarded. He was startled to see Aremys there. ‘Who let you in, Farrow?’
‘Sorry, Commander, I told a lie to your guards.’
‘This is preposterous, your majesty. I am supposed to be taking care of your security and it seems anyone can come and go as they please.’
Wyl had not considered how Celimus might react to finding him here. Aremys was right: he had to leave, if only to protect Valentyna from any suggestion that she was consorting with the enemy behind the Morgravian King’s back.
Valentyna took charge, concerned now that King Celimus might catch her in Cailech’s company. ‘Liryk?’ The tone brooked no further delay.
The commander adopted a formal tone which old Chancellor Krell would have been proud of. ‘My Queen, although this seems rather unlikely, I am here to tell you that King Celimus has just arrived in the bailey.’
Valentyna took a steadying breath. ‘Thank you. King Cailech cannot be seen here and I need to… tidy up.’
Liryk was still flustered at finding Farrow in the room with them. If only he knew, it would have been safer for Valentyna had Farrow been there all along, Wyl thought.
‘King Cailech,’ Liryk said, ‘I will organise an escape route and divert the Morgravian party but you will leave now. You have made your peace with Celimus — now let us make ours!’ The vehemence in his voice surprised them all. ‘Your majesty, please go ahead to your chambers. I will let your husband-to-be know that you are not far away,’ he finished, choosing to emphasise the word ‘husband’ as he took in her dishevelled clothes and the heightened colour in her cheeks.
Liryk had no idea what had transpired during their conversation but he could see for himself that the rug was crumpled and the lavender stalks strewn on the floor were crushed in one spot. Their fragrance overlay another one he knew well from places like the Forbidden Fruit… no, he certainly did not want to take his thoughts down that path. One more day and Queen Valentyna would be on her way to Pearlis where she would marry King Celimus and finally unite the two realms. That was all Commander Liryk cared about right now and he would permit nothing to get in the way of that vision.
Valentyna felt cornered. She nodded at Liryk. ‘Thank you, Commander.’ Then, ‘King Cailech, it has been enlightening,’ she said, extending a hand. The Mountain King kissed it too long and too tenderly for Liryk’s liking.
‘Come, gentlemen,’ the commander urged. ‘Your highness, I will wait for you in the main salon.’
‘Use the secret door,’ she said and he nodded.
Liryk did not miss the long, meaningful glance exchanged between his Queen and the Mountain King, but felt more relieved with every step he and the two visitors took closer to the door and the passageway which would lead them out of the palace.
Cailech turned just before ducking to enter the secret stairwell. ‘Valentyna, remember all that I’ve said. It’s the truth.’ And then he was gone. Gone again from her life. Leaving her to face Celimus and a desperately unwanted marriage whilst her heart’s light burned fiercely for Wyl Thirsk.
THIRTY-SIX
AREMYS HAD PERSUADED Wyl as far as the gates, hurrying Cailech’s bulky form down into the bowels of the palace. The guard accompanying them directed them to a little-used gate, which brought them out into a courtyard near the chapel.
When Aremys cursed their lack of weapons, Wyl remembered that Koreldy’s blue sword was stored in a secret spot in the chapel. Against the guard’s wishes they hurried in, startling Father Paryn.
A familiar voice greeted them. ‘Aremys!’ Turning, they saw young Pil, the monk who had escaped with Ylena from the massacre at Rittylworth.
‘You know these men, child?’ Father Paryn asked the novice.
‘I know Farrow — we met at Felrawthy, Father. But I don’t know his friend.’
‘Pil,’ Aremys said, his voice spilling its relief. ‘This is —’
Wyl would not permit it. ‘I am King Cailech of the Razors,’ he said, bowing.
Father Paryn drained of all colour. To his credit, young Pil recovered quickly and bowed. ‘Why are you here, your highness?’
‘We’re running from King Celimus,’ Aremys growled, hurling an angry glance Wyl’s way.
‘King Celimus is here?’ Father Paryn asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Wyl said calmly. ‘We must not be found or it will look bad for the Queen, you understand?’ Clearly neither of them did, going by their confused expressions. Wyl pushed on; confusion was good in this instance. ‘Anyway, we need Romen’s sword.’
‘No fighting in the house of Shar, King or not,’ the priest cautioned.
‘There won’t be, Father. We just want to take the sword and leave. I promise no blood will be spilled.’
It was too late. There were shouts outside and the guard accompanying them shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, sire,’ he said, ‘I shall have to turn you in. I’ve been briefed by Commander Liryk not to risk the Queen’s reputation.’
Wyl nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘What?’ Aremys roared. ‘Wait!’
‘Be quiet, Aremys,’ Wyl commanded and suddenly everyone paid attention to King Cailech. He turned quickly to Father Paryn and Pil. ‘Hide him,’ he said, indicating the Grenadyne, ‘and help him escape the palace compound. I ask no more than you give him Koreldy’s weapons. Queen Valentyna will thank you for it,’ he said firmly, adding, ‘She has sanctioned it.’ It was a lie, but he no longer cared at this point.
Both holy men nodded dumbly then watched King Cailech of the Razors stride out to meet the Legionnaires and the Briavellian Guard.
‘Quick!’ Pil said, and, with no choice left to him, Aremys Farrow hung his head and followed the novice.
A few minutes later he heard the soldiers walk in and receive a predictable roasting from Father Paryn for bearing arms in the chapel. They tried to explain but achieved nothing but the threat of damnation in Shar’s eternal fire if they did not leave at once. ‘Curse you all for disturbing a man at prayer,’ the priest called after them.
Pil left Aremys in a small room behind the main chapel while he went for news from Father Paryn. ‘Where did they take the King?’ Aremys asked when Pil returned, wondering how he might free Wyl from a company of Legionnaires and the Briavellian Guard.
‘I gather he’s in the gatehouse. There are soldiers everywhere. Is he really the King of the Razors?’
Aremys looked sorrowfully at Pil and nodded before adding, ‘He was also Ylena Thirsk, Faryl of Coombe and Romen Koreldy.’
The boy’s eyes widened. ‘Wyl Thirsk!’ he exclaimed in a hushed tone of wonder.
‘That’s right. And now the King finally has him in his clutches.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Pil asked, terrified.
Aremys decided that trying to rescue Wyl right now was pointless. He needed time to think it through, and Celimus would not do anything too risky on Briavellian soil just a day or so before his wedding. No, he would save Cailech for some sort of spectacle after the marriage ceremony, no doubt.
‘You’re going to stay here and keep our secret,’ he told the novice. ‘And I’m going to take Koreldy’s sword and make my way to Pearlis.’
‘That’s where he’s being taken, I gather, to Stoneheart.’
‘Good work, Pil,’ Aremys said, knowing the praise would help the frightened young monk.
‘Is there anything else I can do?’
‘Lead me out safely and then let the Queen know that I’ve escaped.’
‘What about a horse?’
‘There are plenty of nobles and merchants headed for Pearlis, Master Farrow,’ Pil said excitedly. ‘I’m sure you can get a lift with one of them.’
The Grenadyne tried to smile but failed. ‘That’s what I’ll do then.’
Most of the nobles making the journey to Pearlis for the royal wedding had their own men for protection but Aremys was counting on the strata of society below the nobles not having reliable security. A number of middle-class families had decided the opportunity to witness the marriage ceremony combined with a sight of the great city of Pearlis was irresistible and were also preparing for the trip.
After lying low in the northern part of Werryl for a couple of hours and carefully watching the procession of travellers, Aremys offered his services to three couples who were obviously travelling together. Aremys knew he possessed one of those inherently honest faces, which was certainly a helpful asset in his more secretive assignments. In this instance it won favour with the ladies — along with his suggestion that although Briavel was relatively safe, Morgravia was riddled with bandits who preyed on wealthy merchants.
And so Aremys found himself sitting alongside Mat, a purveyor of fine foods to the nobility, who was driving the carriage that carried the rest of the party whilst another man, Bren, brought up the rear, riding one of the two fresh horses they had brought along.
‘I’ve never seen a sword tinged with blue like that one,’ Mat commented.
‘Aye,’ Aremys answered, more sadly than he meant to sound. ‘It belonged to a friend who gave it to me as a gift.’
Mat whistled. ‘Some gift. Must have set him back a penny or two. My brother’s a craftsman in weapons but I’ve never seen him work on anything like that.’
‘I believe it was made by Master Craftsman Wevyr.’
‘At Orkyld,’ the man said in awe.
Aremys nodded. ‘He was a good friend.’
‘I guess so,’ Mat agreed, some irony in the grin he cast the Grenadyne’s way, then the two men settled into a comfortable silence as the carriage cleared the city and headed onto the main road which led to Morgravia.
Aremys appreciated the quiet to be alone with his grim thoughts about how he had lost Wyl in the panic of Celimus’s arrival. It had been his panic alone, if the truth be told; Wyl had not so much as raised an eyebrow in distress. He remembered Wyl’s chilling words: It is meant to be, he had said. This is it, the culmination of Myrren’s gift.
Mat’s voice brought Aremys back to the present as the carriage bumped along the road.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, you’re very quiet. Is everything all right?’
‘Sorry, when I’m concentrating on the road I can lose myself.’
‘No bandits this close to Werryl, Farrow. Relax, join us in a song,’ Mat urged.
Singing was the last thing Aremys felt like doing as he imagined what Celimus had in store for King Cailech.
THIRTY-SEVEN
VALENTYNA DESCENDED THE staircase to the main salon, feeling as though she were now two people: the one who was gliding in a soft blue gown to welcome her betrothed, whom she despised; and the one who — in mind, certainly — was fleeing with King Cailech and Aremys Farrow.
The truth of the Mountain King’s identity had still to fully sink in. It was all she could think about, her mind moving back through time spent with Wyl when he was himself, with Romen, with Ylena. And as much as she wanted to find holes in the story — just one would do — it was complete. There were too many arguments in favour of Myrren’s gift being the truth. She had never really got to know the real Wyl, but comparing Romen with Cailech yielded frightening similarities and when she threw Ylena into the mix it left her numb. Why had he never tried to tell her?
She answered her own question: she would never have believed it. Not when he was Romen; not even with the miraculous arrival of the chaffinch, which seemed to herald Ylena’s visit. She had considered the finch’s song as a timely coincidence, not magical, but it had been magic of some kind she now realised. Wyl had not had time to tell her about Fynch; how he was, where he was, nor enough of his idea of how she could avoid marrying Celimus. What would she not give to hear it now? She had considered every scenario possible and had not been able to find a way out. Only a few more steps now, she realised, emerging from her disquieted thoughts, and Celimus would be kissing her hand and offering sugary platitudes. What could he be doing here? Well, he could just turn around and go home. She still had one more day before she had to leave for Pearlis.
She took a deep breath and nodded at the guards outside the salon as the doors were pushed open for her entry. Valentyna had already pictured King Celimus bowing elegantly, then striding majestically forward, smiling widely with those perfect teeth. She had already planned her own contrived expression — a delicate balance of surprise and feigned pleasure that he was in Briavel. But she did not have to contrive any surprise. It came up and slapped her hard in the face when she swept into the room to be confronted by a snarling, struggling Cailech and a smugly grinning King of Morgravia.
‘Valentyna, my love,’ Celimus said, expansively, ‘look what I found sneaking out of your palace like a rat.’
She stopped all movement and was convinced her breathing had stopped too, such was the shock. She saw Cailech shake his head, knew what he wanted her to do. Her heart broke. Again; it was happening again. Once more he was offering himself up to save her.
Everyone was waiting for her to speak.
‘I’ve already explained,’ Wyl yelled, shaking off his captors’ hands, ‘that I never got to speak with the Queen.’ Valentyna noticed the manacles around his arms and ankles.
‘I heard you the first time, Cailech,’ Celimus spat, turning back towards his bride. ‘My dear, is this true?’
Don’t hesitate, Valentyna, just agree, Wyl prayed.
For Briavel then, she decided, rapidly assessing the helplessness of the situation. She summoned her most regal tone and hurled it back at Celimus. ‘Of course it’s true,’ she answered tersely. ‘Who is this man?’ She pointed towards Wyl — presumably Aremys had escaped, ‘And how dare you hold anyone against their will in my court, King Celimus.’
That startled him. He was not prepared for her wrath, having already decided she was as guilty as the Mountain People, conspiring against him. His first instinct not to trust Cailech had been right; it was a mistake he would never make again.
‘Your majesties.’ It was Liryk. ‘Allow me to escort the prisoner to a secure place and perhaps then you might discuss —’
‘Yes, why don’t you do that, Commander,’ Valentyna agreed, cutting across whatever else he was going to say and so seizing control. ‘This is unforgiveable, King Celimus. You called him Cailech. I still don’t know who he is.’
Celimus had also regained some equanimity. ‘Don’t you? Let me introduce you to the treacherous King of the Razors, who just days ago was signing a peace treaty with Morgravia at Felrawthy.’
Valentyna feigned shock, which hid her despair as the man she had loved through so many lives was led away.
Cailech turned his head, spoke over his shoulder. ‘I’m glad you have finally met me, your majesty.’ The word ‘me’ was loaded with meaning only she would grasp. ‘We’ll meet again,’ Wyl said to her alone.
‘Oh, I’m sure you will,’ Celimus said. ‘I shall insist my wife is present for your execution.’
She saw Cailech’s sad smile and did not understand it. Dismissing everyone, she swung around on Celimus the minute the door had closed. ‘How dare you, sir!’
‘Valentyna, please,’ he cajoled. ‘I came with only romantic intentions. My Chancellor suggested that it would be wonderful for both our peoples if we could be seen together. His idea was that I bring an escort to accompany you on this symbolic journey across our two realms. I know I should have sent word but it sounded like such a w
orthy plan I was excited and in a hurry to catch you here before you left Werryl Palace. I’ve had a special carriage made, my love, emblazoned with our new heraldic device which my craftsmen have been designing for months now. It flies the colours of Briavel and Morgravia, sweet Valentyna, and no, they don’t clash. We have woven the crimson with the emerald and violet so beautifully, it seems we were always meant to be one,’ he gushed.
Valentyna was taken aback by his enthusiasm. She could see how the idea had great merit for the people of their realms but she hated surprises being sprung on her at the best of times, let alone by the hated King of Morgravia.
She had promised herself one day. One final day to mourn the loss of her status. One night to remember with love the touch of Romen, of Cailech… of Wyl Thirsk. Now Celimus had taken that from her too.
‘What do you plan to do with Cailech?’
‘I’m not sure yet. I shall be taking him with us to Stoneheart.’
‘Surely you don’t mean a trial and execution?’ she wondered, a new terror chilling her. He could not die again. She could not lose Cailech as she had lost Romen.
‘I said I don’t know. Death would be my choice.’
‘Why must he die?’ she demanded.
‘That you need to ask such a question baffles me, Valentyna,’ Celimus replied calmly but followed it with a condescending smirk.
‘But you said yourself that you’d just signed a peace treaty.’
The King’s famous temper began to stoke. He had done well to get this far without losing his patience. ‘Which he broke by setting foot into Briavel — and that, I might add, is a whole new mystery. How the King of the Razors can infiltrate your realm and cover almost its entire length without being noticed is a puzzle.’
‘It certainly is,’ Valentyna replied abruptly. ‘Which is why I don’t agree to any decision on your part, sire. He is my prisoner on my land. I will decide his fate.’
A new note crept into Celimus’s voice, one she had not heard before but one she was very sure was more true to this cruel King of Morgravia. Gone was the affected brightness, the sugary tone. ‘I’m sorry, Valentyna, you will not. I’ve noticed how you deal with treachery — you send it off to a brothel for the night.’