The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Kill me,’ she whispered. ‘Before I have to spend a night with him.’

  ‘I cannot do that, your highness.’

  ‘Then I shall kill myself,’ she said, colour flushing her ghastly, almost yellow complexion.

  She saw him flinch. ‘Please don’t, your majesty. I would never forgive myself. Listen to me: I made a promise to King Cailech yesterday that I would offer you my protection. Rest assured, my word is true when given. I am now your servant, your highness.’ He broke with protocol by taking her hand and placing it on his heart. She tried to pull it back, repulsed, but he held it firmly in place. ‘You must trust me,’ he begged her. There was so much to tell her. ‘King Cailech —’

  She cut across his words. ‘Why do you offer your allegiance to me? You are the King’s man.’

  ‘Just trust me, please,’ he repeated. He took her dull silence as agreement. ‘The King is on his way here, your majesty. I have important information to share with you, but let me organise some refreshment so it arrives before Celimus does. I will be only moments.’

  Valentyna did not move, knowing he would not leave her alone long enough to end her life. He had said he would be only moments. It briefly occurred to her that the Chancellor was treating her far more kindly than she would have expected. Perhaps the Mountain King had indeed managed to persuade him to watch over her. Jessom could not protect her, however, from Celimus’s attention tonight. She was surely alone now. She had stupidly clung to a notion of magic being able to save her this final despair, but it was not to be. She had behaved madly and had killed a man in her delirium — and not just any man. She felt bile rise again, thought she might be sick, but beat the sensation back with the hollow comfort that at least Cailech had been killed by someone who loved him. It was clear now that the whole tale of Myrren’s gift was some sort of elaborate, cruel hoax. It mattered not — by tonight she planned to be dead herself.

  Jessom returned. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running. ‘Ah, here we are now, your highness. Please drink this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The King’s favourite wine. It has a rich and full flavour. It suits only the heaviest of foods because it tends to overpower other tastes, but then the King does not take a midday meal and thus favours the heaviness.’

  Valentyna wondered why the Chancellor was giving her such an in-depth description of the wine. Perhaps he thought she needed educating on Celimus’s preferences.

  The door suddenly opened and there stood the King of Morgravia himself. His cheeks were flushed and he looked triumphant. ‘You were magnificent, Valentyna,’ he said and laughed. ‘Do you still have his blood on you, you savage Briavellian?’

  ‘I washed it away, your highness,’ Jessom said softly. He was ignored by both King and Queen.

  Valentyna stood and curtsied. ‘I don’t know what came over me, sire.’

  ‘I do,’ Celimus said, taking the proffered goblet of wine from Jessom without even looking at his Chancellor. ‘It was a wonderful demonstration of patriotism. I am proud of you.’

  Valentyna remained silent, noting that Jessom had a cunning ability to slide away into the shadows almost unseen. She wondered why Celimus had not dismissed the Chancellor, but then Celimus was too filled with his own bloodlust to take much notice of others around him.

  ‘To us,’ he said, raising his glass.

  ‘To us,’ Valentyna echoed. She thought of her father’s small dagger which she had packed and brought with her to Morgravia. It had been for the sake of sentimentality that she had wrapped it so carefully in muslin and laid it amongst her things. Shortly it would serve a different purpose, bringing welcome death when it opened the arteries at her wrists. Thinking about her father, her plan suddenly felt right. She would somehow get through this afternoon and then she would find time to slip away by herself and finish it once and for all.

  Celimus drained his glass. It was swiftly taken away and refilled by Jessom, then returned as surreptitiously.

  ‘Are you feeling up to the feast, my love?’ the King asked.

  ‘I will change, I think,’ Valentyna replied drily, looking at her stained gown.

  The King sniggered at the jest. ‘Of course, go ahead. The nobles can wait. I’ll hang onto the gown for posterity, though; Cailech’s dried blood will make an amusing keepsake.’

  ‘More wine, sire?’ Jessom said, stepping forward.

  Valentyna watched Celimus drain his second glass of wine and knew that by tonight he would be intoxicated and even more determined to keep his promise. Jessom filled the glass for a third time and Valentyna grimaced, wishing the Chancellor would stop plying the King with so much liquor.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, backing into her dressing chamber as she saw the King stagger slightly.

  ‘Are you all right, sire?’ Jessom asked.

  ‘Shar, but I feel odd,’ Celimus said.

  ‘Well, I imagine that’s the poison I put in your glass, sire,’ Jessom offered matter-of-factly.

  Valentyna’s mouth fell open. ‘Poison?’ she echoed. Her gaze moved from the King’s suddenly haggard expression to the victorious face of his Chancellor.

  ‘Yes, your majesties,’ Jessom replied. ‘Valentyna, you don’t love the King, I most certainly don’t love the King, the nobles despise him and Morgravia will hardly miss him — I decided we were all better off without him.’

  Celimus tried to move towards his Chancellor, but failed.

  ‘Ah yes, I think the paralysis must be setting in now, and because you drank two…’ Jessom gave a soft chortle as he checked the glass decanter in his hand ‘…almost three glasses and a hefty dose of the poison, it will work fast. So let’s talk swiftly. But first I shall wait a moment to be sure you are in fact dying, sire. Do you mind?’

  Celimus made to speak, but nothing of sense came from his lips. He spilled the tiny amount left in his glass down his front, the glass itself rolling off his lap and hitting the edge of the chair before falling to the floor and shattering.

  ‘No matter, sire, we can clean that up along with your corpse. This is a wonderfully lethal potion Jessom discovered just recently. It kills cleanly, without a giveaway smell and no telltale signs left behind on the body. I’m afraid it’s not a very pleasant death for the victim — no doubt quite similar to the one Eryd Bench would have experienced,’ Jessom went on. ‘A hideously agonising end, which is less than you deserve, sire, if I might say so.’

  Valentyna was slowly shaking her head in disbelief: Celimus tried to scream but all he managed was to bare his teeth.

  ‘Not long now, sire, I promise. Your highness,’ Jessom turned to a stunned Valentyna, ‘if you have anything to say to him, say it now. We have about ten minutes at most before his heart stops.’

  She had never been more unnerved. ‘You have really poisoned him?’

  The Chancellor nodded. ‘I had to run back to Jessom’s rooms to get the vial, which is why I was so out of breath, your majesty.’

  She frowned. ‘Why do you speak of Jessom as though he is elsewhere?’

  ‘Oops. How forgetful of me,’ the Chancellor replied, clearly enjoying himself. He gave a sly grin which Valentyna did not understand. ‘Look at me, Celimus,’ Jessom demanded, his voice no longer playful as he moved to stand directly in front of the King. ‘Watch carefully.’

  Chancellor Jessom closed his eyes; Valentyna could swear she heard him softly call the name Fynch. A blue shimmering light appeared around his body, burning him, dissolving him it seemed. Then her hand moved to her mouth to stifle the scream of disbelief, for beneath the shimmering another man was emerging. As Jessom disappeared into the blue furnace, it was Cailech who lifted his proud head, Cailech’s eyes that opened to look into hers, Cailech’s beloved face that looked at her with such love.

  Valentyna felt herself begin to tremble and she wept, unable to comprehend what was happening. Could this be true?

  Thank you, Fynch, Wyl whispered across the miles. And deep in t
he heart of the Thicket a boy smiled.

  ‘It is I, Valentyna,’ Wyl said gently.

  She shook her head, hardly daring to trust him. ‘I killed you.’

  ‘You killed Jessom.’

  ‘How?’ Her voice was a groan through her tears.

  ‘Fynch made it possible for me to swap places with Jessom temporarily, and for the Chancellor to inhabit Cailech’s body — not that he had much say. Fynch called it the Bridge of Souls.’

  ‘Magic?’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s right, my love, a clever glamour and a transference between bodies. Fynch came to me in the dungeon and asked me to trust him. I was not of a mind to grasp what he was offering; I only believed it when I realised Cailech was screaming and yet it was not me making that sound. I was suddenly standing behind everyone, watching the scene through Jessom’s eyes. Fynch gave his last reserves for us, Valentyna. He worked out that if Myrren and her father could weave such a curse, he could reweave it to truly become a gift.’

  ‘A gift of life?’

  Wyl nodded. ‘In the truest sense. I don’t plan on changing again. I hope you like me well enough as Cailech.’

  Valentyna put her head in her hands, overwhelmed by emotion. Wyl took her in his arms and kissed her bent head. Then looked across to Celimus; the King’s eyes were disbelieving and glassy, and he dribbled through lips pulled back in a rictus of anger.

  ‘I think we have just enough time left for me to tell you a story, Celimus,’ Wyl said coldly. He settled Valentyna in a chair and held her hand, but stared directly at the dying King as he spoke briefly and succinctly, starting in the dungeon of Stoneheart where a young woman called Myrren was being tortured and a boy called Wyl Thirsk offered her pity and was thus given a gift.

  Valentyna felt awed at hearing the story in its entirety. Somehow it was fitting that its full telling should take place before the man who had been the source of it all. Myrren was truly avenged now.

  ‘And Jessom?’ Valentyna asked when Wyl was finished. She needed to understand how the Chancellor’s fate had become so closely linked with her future happiness.

  ‘Jessom was a parasite, Valentyna. He might not have made the cruel decisions himself but he saw that they were carried out. The blood of too many people was on his hands. It was fitting he should suffer for his sins. I suspect he was ready to swap allegiances but instead the Bridge of Souls saw to it that he swapped bodies. Fynch turned the Quickening back on itself.’

  ‘He mocked Myrren’s gift, you mean?’

  Cailech’s face broke into a smile, the first in a long time. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what he did. He made a mockery of it.’

  ‘So you knelt there and let me kill you,’ she said, aghast.

  ‘It wasn’t easy. You must know I was happy to die, and I had hoped to die by Celimus’s hand,’ he said, glancing at the King. ‘Fynch warned me once of the power of random acts to affect the Quickening, but I could never have foreseen that you might make such a sacrifice. Fynch could see these things and he took appropriate precautions.’

  ‘He knew I would kill you?’

  Cailech’s head shook sadly. ‘None of us did. Not even you, I imagine. Fynch just seems to see the whole picture. I think he accepted that an unpremeditated action might change the pattern of fate, and he put his Bridge of Souls in place so that I might be saved come what may.’

  ‘That child is too clever by half.’

  Wyl fixed her with his green gaze, knowing he could not hide the truth from her. ‘I believe Fynch is dead, Valentyna.’

  Her throat swelled with new grief. ‘No!’

  ‘He used what little was left of his spirit to help us. It is a long story, my love; one I shall share with you later. First I must finish my task here.’

  Celimus groaned. His fingers had shaped themselves into claws and Wyl had no doubt that the King would have given anything for a few more seconds of fluid movement. ‘It’s over, Celimus,’ he said, feeling very little satisfaction at seeing the once-proud body arch in its death paralysis. ‘Let Shar’s Gatherers take you now, and may our god alone have the generosity to show you mercy.’

  Celimus found one last spurt of energy to gurgle his fury and suddenly Wyl felt a new sensation. It was a sharp pain, like a blade of ice, cutting through Cailech’s body and forcing a cry from him.

  ‘What is it?’ Valentyna said, grabbing his arm. Wyl barely felt her touch or heard her, his vision dimmed and he could no longer see the chamber around him. But he knew where he was. He was with Celimus.

  You! Celimus whispered.

  And Wyl understood: this was Myrren’s parting gift. She was showing Celimus the truth. It was her final vengeance.

  I’m glad you can see me at last, Celimus. It was no longer Cailech before the King, but a short, red-headed man. Wyl Thirsk, General of the Morgravian Legion.

  The Legion and the nobles will not permit it, Celimus screamed into the mind of his nemesis.

  You forget, they do not see me; they see only a crowned monarch whom you yourself have forged a truce with. Very few know I was captured and incarcerated, and even fewer know of my death.

  Celimus hung on his last hope. You will not take my throne. Morgravia will never accept a Mountain King.

  I don’t have to, it’s already gone. You gave it to Valentyna the moment you married her, Celimus. She is the ruler of both realms now. But I will become sovereign of Morgravia too, when I marry her. I have to, you see, to fulfil Myrren’s gift and rid myself fully of the Quickening. It demands that I be sovereign.

  The King of Morgravia screamed his despair into his rival’s mind as he sighted Shar’s Gatherers approaching.

  FORTY-FOUR

  THERE WAS A KNOCK AT the door. ‘Chancellor Jessom?’ a voice called.

  ‘It’s Aremys,’ Wyl said, closing the eyes of the dead King. He had hoped to have a few minutes alone with the Queen, but the Grenadyne had obviously done his duty quickly. He strode to the door and pulled it open. Instantly the colour in the two familiar faces before him vanished. They were seeing the ghost of a man they had watched die just moments before.

  ‘What in Shar’s name —’ Aremys began.

  ‘Hush, come in quickly,’ Wyl said. He felt sorry for their shock but there was no time to spare for niceties. ‘Shut the door behind you. Hello, Crys. Oh, I think I should say “carving knife”.’ He grinned.

  The newcomers entered the chamber tentatively and, at the same moment, spotted a familiar figure slumped in a chair.

  ‘Celimus is dead?’ Crys whispered, his gaze moving to Valentyna and then returning with fresh fear to Cailech.

  Wyl nodded.

  ‘Wait!’ Aremys demanded. ‘What’s going on? Cailech is dead! I watched it happen. I waited for the Quickening but saw no evidence of it. I feared you had died for good.’

  ‘As you see, I’m very much alive,’ Wyl replied, taking a grim pleasure in his friend’s shock. ‘It was Fynch. He worked out a way to channel his own magic to save me without disturbing Myrren’s gift.’

  ‘How?’ the two men asked at once, awe in their voices. Then Crys nudged Aremys and both bowed to their Queen. ‘Your majesty,’ they said, embarrassed at their lack of etiquette.

  Valentyna smiled and shook her head. ‘I am too unsettled to even notice any lapses in protocol.’

  ‘Tell us,’ Aremys said, turning back to Wyl. ‘What exactly did Fynch contrive?’

  ‘He swapped my spirit with Jessom’s.’

  ‘So Jessom was executed?’ Aremys said, his wonder obvious.

  ‘Fynch called it a Bridge of Souls,’ Wyl answered. ‘He came to me in the dungeon, although it was not truly him. Just a sending,’ he said wistfully. ‘He begged me to trust him and mentioned the Bridge of Souls, but he did not explain it and I didn’t ask him to elaborate. My mood was grim and, much as I treasured seeing him once more, I didn’t think anything could change the course I was on.’

  ‘I thought you’d become the Queen,’ Crys finally said, his rel
ief evident. ‘No disrespect, your majesty,’ he added to Valentyna.

  And then suddenly Aremys had King Cailech in a bear-like hug. Wyl reached out a long arm to encompass Crys into the embrace. Valentyna had to look away, the rush of emotion she felt at witnessing their relief echoing her own. She wished she could join them, but sensed this was a special moment between the three men. There would be time ahead for her and Wyl to share their feelings.

  Finally the men pulled apart and the newcomers had to see for themselves the cooling corpse of King Celimus.

  ‘What happened?’ Aremys asked, delight obvious in his voice.

  ‘Jessom poisoned him — I mean, I did. And the King was as good as dead, I was released from the glamour and could reveal the truth to him.’

  Aremys scratched his head, unsure of what to say or do. He followed his gut instinct and knelt before the two royals. ‘Your majesties, my sword is yours to command. Although do not ask me to use it on you now, Wyl.’

  The King laid a hand on his bowed head. ‘I won’t, Aremys, my great friend. Only we four know of what has truly occurred today. No one else need ever find out.’

  ‘So you will remain as Cailech, is that it?’ Aremys asked carefully as he stood. He realised now why Jessom — or rather, Wyl — had given such curious orders to himself and Crys. ‘But Myrren’s gift demands that you become sovereign of Morgravia, surely?’

  Valentyna spoke now. ‘We shall marry as soon as it is feasible, but it must be with the nobles’ permission. Most would have accepted that my marriage to Celimus was strategic, so why not a second union in the name of peace?’

  Crys Donal nodded. ‘That’s true. And there are rumblings amongst the true Legionnaires about a civil uprising backed by key nobles. It doesn’t seem to be idle gossip any longer. But how will you explain the King’s death?’

  Wyl began to pace the room. Shocked and overwrought as she was, Valentyna could not help but smile to see Cailech’s large hand tug at his earlobe in a gesture unique to Wyl Thirsk.

  ‘Jessom poisoned the King and then fled,’ Wyl said. ‘The only other person in the chamber was Valentyna, but she had retired to her dressing room to change into her gown for the wedding banquet. She saw the Chancellor pour the wine for the King before she left the room — and we still have the wine in the decanter to prove that it was poisoned. When Valentyna returned, ready to attend her wedding feast, she found the King in his death throes and raised the alarm. You and I, Aremys, had come to pay our respects to the newly married couple, and so were on hand to hear the Queen’s cries. We hunted down the Chancellor and despatched him quickly and without honour, as befitting a traitor. That will also explain his corpse’s headless state, should news of it get out.’