The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  If only he knew how deep his words cut. ‘Leave me, Celimus,’ she commanded, not trusting herself to say more.

  He impaled her with a stare, which she returned with defiance, and then he nodded. ‘Fine. We shall leave tomorrow as you had planned, and Valentyna, you had better wipe that scowl off your face by then. I will marry you and I will reserve the right to execute my enemies if they are found on my soil.’

  ‘You mean my soil, don’t you, Celimus?’ she hurled back, trembling from the hate that was threatening to overwhelm her and make her do something unwise.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s mine from now on, Valentyna. Get used to the idea. We can marry and please our realms and I’ll provide peace for your people. Or we can do it the hard way and I promise I will slaughter every man, woman and child of Briavel if it comes to it.’

  She had not thought he could shock her but the venom with which he spoke now — in a way she had never been spoken to before — chilled her to the point where she felt the wispy hairs on her arms stand on end. This was no way to speak to a Queen and in her own palace, but she felt powerless to stop him. All she had was words for weapons. She threw them at him now.

  ‘You are a snake, Celimus. Wyl Thirsk was right.’

  ‘Wyl Thirsk is dead, Shar rot him, as you will be if you don’t put on a happy face, come serenely to Pearlis tomorrow and take those wedding vows in a few days, as planned.’

  ‘I think I would rather be dead.’

  ‘It’s your choice,’ he snarled. ‘No more wooing, Valentyna. This is your new life — as my Queen but not my equal. The only good you’ll do me is to give me the sons I crave and, believe me, if you won’t give them to me willingly, I will take my pleasure as I see fit.’

  Wyl sat glumly in the guardhouse. Liryk could not bring himself to have the King of the Razors incarcerated in the palace dungeons. This way it felt less like he was imprisoning him and more like he was offering rustic guest accommodation. Legionnaires were posted throughout the guardhouse — one for each Briavellian soldier.

  ‘Did Aremys get away?’ Wyl asked Liryk.

  The man nodded. ‘You shouldn’t have hesitated, sire.’

  ‘It was wrong of me to run.’

  ‘Your pride aside, this is all very dangerous for our Queen.’

  ‘She handled it well. I won’t make any further problems for her. Thank you for upholding our secret.’

  The old soldier sighed. ‘I’m not sure I understand your coming here, or your calm acceptance of what is certain death at the King’s hands.’

  ‘This is how it is meant to be,’ Wyl said, resigned to his fate. ‘This is Myrren’s gift playing out precisely to plan.’

  ‘Myrren’s gift?’

  Wyl smiled. ‘Take no notice of me.’

  Liryk was baffled by this man but his relief that Valentyna had not told the truth to Celimus overwhelmed his curiosity. ‘How did the King know? He sent men looking for you immediately upon his arrival.’

  Wyl shrugged. ‘It was my horse,’ he replied, grateful to Cailech’s memories.

  ‘What?’

  He pulled Cailech’s hair back from his face and tied it behind his head. ‘I gave Celimus my white stallion as a gift at Felrawthy. He fell in love with it so I insisted he have it because I had its twin back at the fortress. Identical.’

  Liryk understood now. ‘He saw your horse, the twin.’

  ‘He’s probably riding its brother. How could he miss it? You won’t tell him about Aremys, will you, Liryk?’

  The old man shook his head. ‘No, sire. I want no further grief for her majesty. No one needs to know about the mercenary, and the Briavellian Guard can be trusted to keep the secret.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I shall see to your comforts, sire. We leave for Pearlis tomorrow at dawn.’

  Wyl nodded, no longer caring.

  Valentyna escaped her anger and Celimus by taking her horse out, refusing to have him accompany her. This would be her last ride as a single woman through the woodland of Briavel and onto the moors. Next time — if there was a next time, she thought, remembering the King’s threat — she would be married to Celimus. She would have the grand title of Queen of Briavel and Morgravia, but it would be an empty title.

  She glanced back at the odd medley of guards following her, comprising her own men and Legionnaires. Celimus was taking no chances with her. There was nowhere to run and hide anyway, and it would be unseemly for a monarch to flee her own realm. No, Valentyna was made of sterner stuff. She would face this trial and bestow the gift of peace she had promised upon her people.

  But the memory of Cailech’s touch still burned in her mind and on her body, which had responded so eagerly. It had been such a rushed, frantic episode and yet she could remember each moment of it, relive it in her thoughts in a delicious slow-moving scene. No longer being a virgin was still hard for her to grasp; it had all happened so fast. She could never have planned for this to occur and yet nothing gave her greater satisfaction — nothing! — than knowing her greatest possession had been given to the man she loved, not the one who would steal it from her under false pretences.

  Cailech… no, Wyl, she reminded herself, was such an enigma. She could claim she had known Romen and yet she knew so little about him really, other than that he had loved her, would die for her — had died for her. Poor Wyl, she thought, sympathising at how he had learned to cope as a woman; two women in fact. She could not imagine how he had survived the killing of his sister. Wished she could ask him, have time with him.

  Well, it was up to her now, she decided. She would marry Celimus and she would give everything of herself towards preserving the life of the King of the Razors. Even if she could never see him again, it would be enough to know that he lived. Celimus would not execute Cailech because she would forbid it. She had taken the wrong approach with Celimus, she realised. All she had done was anger him, corner him into making rash statements. Her father had always said she must learn to curb her tongue. Being a good royal, he had cautioned, was about diplomacy, careful choice of words and always giving oneself time to consider. She had ignored his advice with Celimus, but then she had not had time for consideration: she had been put on the spot and it was either lie and save lives or tell the truth and cause bloodshed.

  No, she had done the right thing, but she should never have argued with Celimus later. He had obviously been shocked to find Cailech in Werryl and, like a wounded animal being baited, had struck back. She should have sensed the danger lurking there; Valentyna admonished herself for such clumsiness. If she was going to survive in the court of Celimus, she would have to play him more intelligently than she had today. She must fuel his vanity, make him feel omnipotent, make herself irresistible. Valentyna slowed her horse to a walk, in no rush to be back in the palace, and remembered how powerful she had felt on realising what a woman can do to a man. For all his strength and stamina, his status and bearing, Cailech was so vulnerable. He was only a man, she smiled, and faced with naked desire and a compliant partner, he became putty. Could she achieve the same with Celimus?

  She recalled that Chancellor Krell had intimated that, if she approached the marriage smartly, she could use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. Her revulsion for Celimus aside, if she could play the role of affectionate Queen, impress his people and thus please him, she might be able to enjoy small wins of importance to her.

  Her first priority was Wyl. She understood that there was no changing his status as prisoner; Celimus would want to make an example of him. So be it. But she would put all her efforts into ensuring that was the extent of the punishment. They had lied once already. No doubt Wyl could dream up some clever reason as to why he had come to Briavel. Surely there must be a feasible explanation. Her mind raced towards what this could be, and was pleased to come up with the idea of a secret festival that Cailech wanted to organise with Celimus’s Queen in homage to the magnificent King of Morgravia for forging peace between all three realms.<
br />
  The idea gained purchase in her mind. She would need to get word to Wyl.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE JOURNEY ACROSS BRIAVEL and into Morgravia passed uneventfully. In any other situation, Valentyna would have truly enjoyed the trip and the chance to mix with her people, for they came out in their hundreds to wave the royal procession through their towns and villages. And what a procession it made: the Briavellian Guard was in full formal dress in emerald and violet, whilst the Legionnaires looked dashing in their crimson and black. Trailing the rear came a cavalcade of nobles, dignitaries, servants and attendants, not to mention Madam Eltor’s personal retinue in charge of the Queen’s wardrobe, as well as cooks, pastrymakers and bakers — all the people required to provide a joint wedding feast that blended Morgravia’s culinary specialties with Briavel’s fine foods.

  And in the midst of the brightly coloured entourage rode a smiling King and Queen, graciously accepting the crowd’s blessings for their happiness.

  ‘You can almost believe it,’ Valentyna commented and aimed a shy smile towards the King.

  He did not look at her but she heard the softer tone in his voice. Perhaps it was hard work being vicious all the time, she thought. ‘Why not? They love you. And they love me for marrying you and for bringing peace to the region.’

  ‘It is a good thing, Celimus.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  She caught a posy thrown by a young lad and blew him a kiss which won a roar of approval from the happy mob. ‘I regret my behaviour of yesterday, and indeed throughout our courtship.’

  Now he finally turned away from the mass of happy faces and looked at her. ‘And?’

  ‘I wish us to start again, here and now. Neither of us have parents to guide our choices, no family to lean upon.’ She sighed. ‘We are trying to achieve something extraordinary: two young monarchs, new to their thrones, forging peace and prosperity. I did a lot of soul-searching last night, Celimus, and realised that what you have worked so hard to bring about will become a landmark era in the history books.’

  It was clear he could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘But last —’

  ‘Yesterday was different. You frightened me and I was rattled to think that King Cailech had infiltrated Briavel without my knowledge. Did he tell you why?’

  ‘No. I thought I’d find out courtesy of Stoneheart’s clever men of the dungeons,’ he offered unkindly.

  Valentyna did not react. Celimus, like any bully, was always looking for ways to hurt others. He had not changed from the little prince who had smashed a princess’s clay doll simply because he could. Yes, Celimus was still the angry child. Instead she planted the first seed of her lie. ‘Cailech told Liryk that he wanted to meet with me to talk about a surprise festival he wanted to throw in your honour.’

  Celimus had not expected this. ‘My honour!’

  ‘Yes. He wanted to hail you as the region’s peacemaker who is bringing long life and prosperity to the three realms.’ She held her breath through the pause that followed, forcing herself to wave to the crowd, smiling incessantly through her fear.

  ‘That might change things,’ he said softly.

  Instead of leaping on his words and giving away her excitement, Valentyna shrugged. ‘Yes, well, it is of no matter to me but perhaps you can find out more in due course. It would be a pity to lose a friend in the Razors now that you have worked so hard to establish the truce.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said drily, but obviously the notion that Cailech was not in Briavel for sinister reasons had been successfully planted. She would need to water it subtly throughout the journey, Valentyna realised.

  ‘To get back to what I was saying earlier, my lord, you can rely on me to be faithful and dutiful. Let us make this marriage the success everyone wants so badly.’

  He laughed derisively. ‘I know you don’t love me, Valentyna.’

  ‘As you don’t me, sire,’ she countered with care. ‘But that doesn’t mean we cannot be a successful royal couple. Respect, affection, co-operation — surely these are all qualities we can work towards?’

  ‘Surely. But I don’t understand.’

  ‘What puzzles you, sire?’

  ‘The change in heart. One minute a spitting cat, the next a kitten.’

  ‘I dreamed last night of my parents, Celimus. They came to me,’ she lied, trying not to recall her true dream of Cailech’s passionate embrace, his ardent yet gentle deflowering of her maidenhood, his kisses so tender and deep. His declarations of love — she felt herself going hot in all the wrong places.

  ‘Yes?’ the King prompted.

  ‘And… and they urged me that this was a match made by Shar for the good of the realms. They told me that Shar’s angels, if we let them, will guide us to hold our marriage fast and be good to one another. That we will have sons — strong boys — four of them,’ she said, feeling nauseated now at her own creative invention. ‘Are you superstitious, Celimus?’

  ‘Not really,’ he lied, although she knew he was. ‘Why?’

  ‘This morning I found a white rose on the bush my father planted for my mother at her death.’

  Celimus looked at her quizzically although she could tell he was intrigued. ‘What is the significance?’

  ‘Ah, perhaps it is only in Briavel we believe this. Legend has it that if a white rose bush produces a single bloom, which opens before any other buds show themselves, any dream recalled from the previous night is destined to come true.’

  ‘No matter whether it is good or bad?’ he asked.

  ‘Apparently. We all believe it. That is why I went looking for the rose, because my dream was so profound, so vivid. I could see our sons, Celimus — dark, strapping boys, like their father.’

  He grinned. ‘That’s very interesting, Valentyna. I’m pleased that you feel so positive suddenly.’

  ‘I intend to be a good wife to you, sire. I will make you proud and happy.’

  Celimus looked into her clear blue gaze and saw no guile. He reached across the distance between their two horses, his white, hers black, and took her hand. The crowd gasped, then cheered uproariously when King Celimus bent to lay his lips against the back of the hand of his Queen.

  Valentyna felt nothing but revulsion. She was relieved she had chosen to wear gloves this day.

  King Cailech was travelling amongst a different cavalcade but towards the same destination. Tied, gagged and thrown in a covered wagon, he was driven hard. There were no stoppages for food or rest. Fresh horses took over at various points until, just by the smell of the air, he knew he was approaching the city of Pearlis. Wyl had lost track of time and thought. His mind felt like a skein of tangled wool and it was easier to give up on the business of separating all the threads of thought than to fight it and keep thinking of ways of escape.

  He imagined how Stoneheart would be looming up ahead of them now — proud, dark, defiant. Its famed gargoyles would see them first, he thought, recalling a fanciful notion which had struck him the very first day he arrived at the Morgravian palace. He’d been just a young lad then, Gueryn by his side, some of his father’s retainers riding with them to add weight to the arrival of the new General of the Morgravian Legion. How much older he felt now. Not just because of the body he was in or those he had travelled through, but old in his mind, weighted with despair and a savage sense of loss.

  Those early months at Stoneheart had been happier times, especially when Alyd arrived, even though it had felt so bleak to be forced away from Argorn. Barely thirteen and still capable of being lost in daydreams, Wyl had looked up at the daunting stone monolith that first day and had spotted the gargoyles. Three of them. He had given them names and fancied that they were the King’s private lookouts who could spy friend or foe long before the Legion’s scouts could.

  ‘Can you see me now, Bauz?’ he whispered to the leader of the gargoyles, the one with a beak. ‘It’s me, Wyl Thirsk, returning.’

  ‘Stoneheart ahead!’ he heard a soldier cry and sm
iled to himself. Death was upon him. Myrren’s gift was reaching its climax and the Quickening would come to an end.

  He hoped Aremys had managed to make his own way to Pearlis and that his friend would keep his solemn promise to end the life of King Celimus the moment the change occurred. He thought briefly on Fynch’s caution of randomness, and took solace from it. It was randomness that had given him Valentyna by the fireside not so long ago. Nothing could ever take away that time of exhilaration, that delicious loss of thought and control, that intense passion which had sealed his love for her.

  Valentyna was his. They were one, coupled in love and desire; it had been like an exquisite pain when they reached that final dizzying, breathtaking pleasure in one another. He would take that sort of pain over and over if he could, but if he could only have it the once, that was enough too. He had known her in a way no other had. Her maidenhood had been given gladly, lovingly, to him and he had taken it with a trembling, feverish joy. Celimus might marry Valentyna but the Queen of Briavel belonged to the King of the Razors … to Wyl Thirsk.

  If he was permitted only one experience of Fynch’s randomness, then he would not swap his lying with Valentyna for anything — not even in exchange for his life. He could die happily now, for he was loved — and loved as Wyl Thirsk. She had uttered his name.

  His thoughts were interrupted by soldiers unfastening the hood of the cart. He cast a final thought towards Knave, wished he had had a chance to say goodbye to the faithful dog, then did not struggle as rough hands dragged him from the cart and led him to a place in the depths of Stoneheart. A place from which few people returned.

  For the first time in his life Knave had neither mission nor magic to call upon. He was still driven though, urged by a force more complex than anything he had known before. It went by the name of sorrow.