"Love, if you can learn Faerie magics, why shouldn't I learn human spells?"
Why not, indeed? And Ailanna wasn't a naive little fool to get herself into difficulties she couldn't handle with a flick of her will. I yielded with a grin.
"Of course," Ailanna admitted with an answering grin, "it's not all song and laughter. No, I must bear Tairyn's naggings. He thinks I'm mad to deal with any humans, mad to learn anything not of Faerie, mad to wait! And he keeps threatening to drag me back to Faerie like an erring child." She shrugged, a fluid, graceful movement. "We both know he'd never carry out his threat. No matter what, I shall wait. And if I can endure it, you can endure it."
"My lady." I gave her my most gracious bow, and heard her chuckle.
"So-o! My country love has become a courtier! And will he still, I wonder, be happy in the simple woodland?"
I thought of all the tedious, tedious artificiality of the court, the gossiping, the backbiting, the nasty little games of power and prestige, and cried out, "He will, he will, indeed! When he's free to live as he would. But since I can't tell Estmere about you, about us—do thank dear Tairyn for that, won't you?—since things are the way they are, I'll settle for giving Estmere time to recover . . . until the end of the period of mourning would be just, I think . . . before I force either of us into any decisions about me."
"That seems only fair." She hesitated, then added softly, "Don't hate Tairyn too much, love."
"How can I not? He used me, dragged me off to Faerie to help him out of a problem he couldn't solve—"a flick of guilt, I'd been glad to help when it meant rescuing that child and freeing poor, lost Lalathanai— "and then, when I needed his nelp—"
"He did his best! Aidan, listen to me. Listen! Tairyn stayed with me all that time, working his strongest spells to free you. But . . . there are Bans and Wards on that land. And n-neither of us could do anything at all—"
"Cariad, annwyl, dearest heart, it's all right. It's over. I'm safe. And I will have my revenge on Bremor, never fear."
"No! Oh no, don't!"
I stared at her, amazed. The Folk well understand the concept of revenge, and aren't bound by any human thoughts of mercy. "Why not?" I asked, but Ailanna shook her head.
"First swear to me you will not go after him."
"Ailanna, what—"
"Swear it!"
"The man tortured me! I was in his foul prison for two long months. His pet sorcerer may have permanently harmed my mind. And you would have me simply forget—"
"Not forget. I know you can't forget. But—swear it, please!"
The desperation in her eyes pierced through me. "If you insist. I . . . will not go after Bremor to take revenge on him. My word on it. Now, will you please tell me why I had to compromise my honor?"
"When you were a prisoner," she said softly, "when I was hunting wildly for any way at all to help you, I . . . managed a brief glimpse into the future."
"But I thought that was all but impossible!"
Ailanna sighed. "It nearly is. And the one vision I saw was misty and unsure. Yet of this much I am sure:
"Aidan, you will be Bremor's death—or he shall be yours!"
CHAPTER XXII
THE ASSASSIN
Now, of course things didn't settle down so easily, even after Estmere and I made our "good brothers, good friends" appearances. No, the buzzings continued throughout the next month. As I walked about the palace or worked with sword or knife in the courtyard, gradually building my strength back to normal, I was painfully aware of folks giving me nervous glances or falling suspiciously silent every time I passed. They didn't seem to realize I could feel the gist of what they'd just been saying: not a one of them knew for sure whether or not I'd had aught to do with the late queen's death.
If only I knew! The uncertainly, the frustrating gaps in memory, were making me every bit as edgy as they.
And then I chanced to overhear my old not-quite adversary, sly Baron Aldingar, whispering with two other courtiers. At first I wearily took it for more of the ditherings I'd heard from everyone else. But then I realized what Aldingar was actually saying and stood listening in sheer disbelief. What a nasty, filthy swamp of lies! No, not outright lies—those, at least, could be denied—but the subtle type of allegations that are so difficult to combat since they merely hint at sins. And what Aldingar was implying, never quite crossing the line into outright treason, was that there had been something more than kinship-by-marriage between myself and Clarissa, and that her death had involved something much worse than murder.
I sprang at him. The two courtiers to whom he'd been spewing his verbal garbage scuttled off into the shadows, but I ignored them, too intent on my prey. Trapping the baron in a corner, I hissed:
"So, my lord! You talk freely enough when I'm not around. Perhaps you would care to make your accusations to my face?"
I'm sure he saw his death in my eyes; y Duwies knows I was angry enough just then. I let him stammer out some tangled protestations, not listening to a word of them, then slammed him up against a wall hard enough to make him gasp, pinning him there, breathless and white-faced with shock, with my stare.
"Hear me, my lord," I growled. "Hear me well. If I learn that you have been spreading such vile lies about me, about my brother, about my poor late sister-in-law again, it shall be your last mistake. You shall learn what 'worse than murder' means! Do you understand me, my lord?" In my fury, I shook him like a child. "Well, do you?"
He was too terrified to do more than murmur, "Yes . . ."
"Then get out of my sight!"
I gave Aldingar a shove that sent him staggering down the corridor. But as the baron hurried off, I began to shake. Damnio, damnio, why had I done such a stupid thing? Using violence and threats—wasn't that a clever way to make folks stop fearing me? And Aldingar was a baron, a nobleman with who knew how many important connections—
No. The man would never confess to anyone how badly I'd frightened him. And at least no one else had seen what had happened.
Or . . . almost no one. Suddenly aware of another presence, I turned sharply, and nearly groaned to find myself facing Father Ansel.
"What's this? Have you come to spread lies about me, too?" But then I rubbed a hand over my face. "Forgive me. That was a childish thing to say."
The shrewd gray eyes studied me without emotion. "I think, Prince Aidan," he said quietly, "we need to speak."
"Och fi." I gestured helplessly. "Your chambers are closer than mine. Lead on, if you would."
Father Ansel's chambers reflected the man: quiet, neat, and serious. The emblem of his faith hung on one wall, and a small stand of books—presumably also related to his faith—proved that he, too, like Estmere, was literate. As I entered, I caught his quick, wry glance and gave him one of my own.
"No, I do not go up in smoke at the sight of holy symbols."
That roused a chuckle. "I hardly thought you did. Will it please you to sit, Prince Aidan? I assure you that what we say here shall not leave this room."
So formal. "Are you about to accuse me, too?"
"Have you done anything worth an accusation?"
I bowed my head to my hands. "Och, please. I am not in shape for word duels."
"So I see." He hesitated. "Are you quite healed?"
I straightened with a sigh. "As much as I'm likely to be. Tell me, Father Ansel, do you think I killed my sister-in-law?"
He never flinched. "No. I never did." At my startled stare, the priest added quietly, "The young man I've watched all these months, the young man who thinks nothing of his status but heals whoever is in need and worries about an injured pot boy, is not a murderer."
"I . . . thank you. I needed to hear that from someone."
"But there is something I still must know. Prince Aidan, there is also the sin of guilt by omission. I know you aren't a murderer. But can you swear to me you had nothing whatsoever to do with the late queen's death?"
How I wanted to lie, to tell him blithely,
of course I didn't! But between Cymraen and Faerie conditioning, I found myself answering honestly instead, "I pray not. I don't know for sure. My . . . my memory is not what it should be."
He sighed softly. "I see. I feared there might be some damage to your mind. So high a fever for so long. . . ."
So intense a sorcerous torment, I corrected wryly. "It was you at my bedside?"
He nodded. "We feared lest you die unshriven. But through God's mercy you have survived."
I was obviously supposed to make some holy response. "Amen," I said, and hoped that would do.
Father Ansel seemed satisfied. "I'm not going to ask who tormented you. If you haven't told your brother, there are surely good political reasons."
An unexpected flash of memory, of war, that raw, red horror . . . Bremor and Estmere at war over me . . . no, Duwies, no! Somehow I kept my face impassive. "There are."
"But surely you have told him of your lost memory?"
"No."
"No! Why ever not?"
Because I don't want his pity? Because I don't want him thinking I use memory loss as an excuse? Because I . . . don't want him thinking I'm lying to him . . . and that I really am guilty . . . "I have my reasons," I said lamely. "I wish we could find a way to settle all questions, but . . . well . . ."
"We can't know till your memory returns. When or if it does is, of course, God's will."
"Of course," I echoed uncomfortably, and rose to leave.
"One moment more, please." Suddenly his voice was very gentle. "You don't have to be afraid. I know it must seem as though the whole world has turned against you. But in truth, very few people here believe you any sort of monster."
"Why are you being so kind?"
He laughed shortly. "It ts my job."
"No, really. Surely you know—"
"That you are a magician, and almost certainly not even of the faith?" He smiled at my start. "Prince Aidan, I'm not a fool. You've been very careful and very tactful, but there are hints for anyone hunting them."
"Ah. Particularly when I was too ill to properly guard my tongue."
"Exactly. I'll admit I have spent hours in prayer about you, and come to no clear conclusion. Were I to blindly follow the rules, I should be speaking out against you to the king and to my superiors."
Och fi. In my . . . well, call it naivete it had never occurred to me that he might have superiors, that there might be a whole hierarchy of religious command in the world beyond Estmere's lands of which I knew nothing, that indeed Father Ansel's rightful title might be a good deal higher than merely "priest." As I stared at him in dismay, seeing in my mind wild images of heretics brought to the stake, he smiled at me and continued softly:
"But that poor little pot boy speaks in your favor, as does your love for your brother. You are as you are, and have broken no laws that either of us know about. Let us leave it at that for now."
"I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble!" I said, and only half meant it as a jest; I was only now realizing how fortunate I'd been that Estmere's priest should be such a civilized man—and that I was a king's brother. With a polite bow, I turned to go.
"By the by," Father Ansel added casually, "did you
know that one story wandering the palace has it you were in Hell for those missing two months, battling the
Devil?"
"What?" It came out as an incredulous burst of a laugh. "No, I hadn't heard that one! What's supposed to have happened?"
He smiled. "Why, you won, of course. God give you a good day, Prince Aidan."
Estmere glanced up as I entered the little audience chamber. "Ah, Aidan, here you are."
I bit back a sigh. After the almost warmth of Father Ansel, it hurt to see the unease still in Estmere's eyes. And I—I, who had been able to speak so openly to the priest, had nothing better to say to my brother than a lame, "You sent for me. Your messengers caught up with me just outside."
"I did. I'm leaving on a short . . . errand."
"Now? With the weather turning chill?"
"Oh, I'll be back before the first snow, never fear! You've heard me complain about Lyle and Westen?"
"Those two young hotheads? Of course I have!" They were both barons, both just itching for a chance to fight. And unfortunately for peace and quiet, their lands Bordered each other. "What now?"
"It would seem that a small flood dislodged certain boundary markers."
"And of course it would never dawn on them to do the sensible thing and appeal to the proper authorities to restore them."
"Of course not. Word had it that they're taking up arms against each other. So," Estmere continued, getting to his feet, "I am going after them."
"You? I mean, you, yourself?"
"How not? I've warned them before. I've commanded that there be peace. But since they have refused to obey their liege lord's messengers, I do believe being faced by the royal presence might finally end their defiance."
"But it's not safe!"
"Nonsense. Lyle and Westen may be idiots, but they're not traitors. Besides, it's not as though I'm going alone! My personal guard will be with me, I assure you. And I will be wearing mail."
"But there's always mischance. A sword could slip, or someone accidentally loose an arrow—Estmere, I'm going with you, just in case—"
"No."
"But you—"
"Aidan, I will not have it look as though I am willing to settle things only through the force of magic."
"Odd. We've never had anyone accuse you of that before. In fact, up to this point, people have seemed rather pleased to see me with you, as though they're looking to you for honest judgment and to me to be sure everyone else is honest as well."
"Are you saying I'm not capable of making judgments on my own?"
"Och, Estmere. You know I didn't mean that."
"No. Well. At any rate, the situation is different this time. Lyle and Westen are too hot-blooded to be logical. They would not appreciate a magician's presence."
Sensible enough, I suppose. But the coldness in his
voice hurt me. "Then why bother telling me about this
at all?"
Why, indeed? He hesitated for so long a time I thought we might at last get to dealing with some of the trouble between us. "You are my brother," Estmere said at last, turning away. "You have a right to know what I'm about."
Dyri Uffern! But I couldn't think of anything useful to say either, and muttered a curt, "So be it." And, with an equally curt little bow, I left him.
The wind up here on the castle ramparts was sharp and cold, a northern wind bringing with it a hint of snow and the early changing of the season into winter. But it was also a clean wind, invigorating, at least to someone like myself who, unlike the sourly muttering guards, was out in the open by choice.
My head needed clearing after too much time spent peering into a magic-treated mirror, and the top of my own tower was too narrow to afford much satisfactory
pacing. Estmere might be away, but it hadn't stopped me from keeping an eye on my brother, just in case. And what I had seen:
Estmere had looked elegant and impressive, still in full mourning, but with mail, of course, hidden beneath the black garb. When he had thrown back the hood of his riding cloak, revealing the drama of golden crown and golden hair, I hadn't blamed the baron of Lyle, caught in the act of marching on Westen, for blanching. He had probably pictured his own head ornamenting Lundinia's Traitors' Gate.
With the Lyle men-at-arms sent meekly home again and their baron in royal hands, Estmere had gone on to Westen. Now, while it's relatively easy for a magician to see scenes from afar in a properly prepared mirror, it's difficult to catch the sounds that go along with those scenes. But it wasn't difficult to guess at the dialogue that followed when the baron of Westen had found his king at the foot of his castle.
"Ah . . . will you come up, sire?"
"No, milord baron. You will come down!"
I would have loved to hear what came n
ext, with the two feuders before Estmere like two small boys before their irate father. His warning, I'm sure, was something like this:
"Be wary, gentlemen. My father created your titles. What he created, I can destroy."
Well. Quarrel resolved, peace firmly restored (and, I learned later, a quite regal fine imposed on both barons), Estmere was even now riding back in some personal triumph to Lundinia.
Aie, but it was cold up here! A knife-edged gust of wind cut right through my thoughts, and I ducked into the shelter of a watchtower, pulling my fur-lined cloak about me. (A princely gift, that cloak, literally, a present from Estmere in more comfortable days.)
Curiosity moved me to find out if my brother was close enough for me to sense his presence without the focus of the mirror. For a moment I located the familiar aura, even caught Estmere's image in my mind's eye—
And that saved my life. If I hadn't had my magical awareness so heightened, I might never have felt the sudden chill of danger. As it was, there wasn't time to do anything but desperately twist to one side—and then a heavy body was crashing into me and hurling me off my feet!
CHAPTER XXIII
NEW SORCERIES
Aldingar! He's getting his revenge—
For one wild, tenifying moment, I was sure my attacker and I were both going right out through one of the embrasures to the ground so frighteningly far below. But my desperate twisting brought me hard up against the side of the rampart instead. Pinned against the rough stone by the other's weight, tangled in my cloak and expecting a knife between my ribs any second, I called up a desperate, savage surge of Power that would sear right through my attacker—
But suddenly his weight was gone and I was staring up not at Aldingar but at a white-faced, horrified guard held in the determined grip of two others.
"Your Highness!" one of them gasped. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." Not trusting myself to say anything more just yet, I disentangled myself from the folds of my cloak and got to my feet, letting the fierce focus of energy dissipate back throughout my body and hoping I didn't look half as badly shaken as I felt.
King's Son, Magic's Son Page 19
