The Wildkin's Curse
Page 21
‘Suddenly there was a great crash of thunder, and the rain poured down like a river. A mighty brown wave rose up and swept away the peahens and all their chicks, and swept away the nest of the swans. The peacock flew up into the air and took refuge in a tree, hiding his head under his wing, his tail in tatters. The swan and his mate, though, flew up into the air and, with desperate cries, encouraged their cygnets to spread their soft little wings and fly. The wind caught the little birds, tossing them high and tossing them low, but the father swan and the mother swan flew one on either side, together keeping them safe.’
The king sighed, and Rozalina fixed her eyes on him as she spoke, her voice growing softer and deeper. ‘Through the storm the swans flew, refusing to allow the wind to tear them apart. In the morning, as the exhausted swans cuddled their cygnets close, crooning to them and telling them how brave they were, they heard the peacock screaming his despair as he found the drowned and broken bodies of all his wives and children.’
Rozalina’s gaze moved slowly from the king’s face over the crowd until at last she met Zed’s eyes. He could not tear his gaze away.
‘The swan bent his long neck and murmured to his wife, “How glad I am that you are as strong as I, to fly the storm with me.” His wife murmured back, “How glad I am that you are as brave as me, to keep our children safe.” And that is why the swan is now called the king of the birds, and not the peacock with his gaudy tail.’
The crowd applauded politely, but the king pressed his two frail hands together, as well as he could with his immensely long, spiralling nails, and bent his head to his granddaughter.
In that instant, Zed knew he wanted to marry Rozalina, and that he wanted her to be like the wife of the swan king, as strong and brave and free as he was. He also realised exactly how Rozalina had convinced the king to change the law on women, something his own parents had always thought an impossible task. She had done it by telling him a story.
CHAPTER 23
Nightingale Song
‘GRUB TIME!’ ONE OF THE OTHER SQUIRES CRIED.
Eagerly Merry followed him to an antechamber where a table was laden with platters of broken meats, ruined jellies and half-eaten pies. The squires and the pageboys were all jostling to grab what they could, and Merry did the same, engaging the boys around him in conversation.
‘I say, I’ve never seen such a feast,’ he said. ‘Do the starkin lords eat like this every day?’
‘Wait till tomorrow,’ a stocky, fair-haired boy said. ‘The spring equinox feast is always one of the best.’
‘I’ve never seen such a luxurious place,’ Merry said, opening his eyes wide and trying to look like a simple country boy. ‘All those silver mirrors and candlesticks! And everyone’s dripping with jewels. And the diamond in the king’s crown, I’ve never seen anything so huge.’
‘It’s the biggest diamond in the world,’ someone boasted. ‘They call it the Star of Ziva. It’s five hundred and fifty carats.’
‘There must be so many treasures here,’ Merry said, attacking a pheasant leg. ‘What about the Spear of the Storm King? I’d like to see that!’
The squires stared at him blankly. ‘What spear?’ one asked.
The palace steward looked at Merry with a keen gaze. ‘If you mean the spear of the wildkin, which the crown princess’s mother brought with her as her dowry . . . well, I heard our revered prince threw it into a bog. I have not heard it spoken of in many, many years. Why do you want to know?’
Dismay filled Merry, but he said, ‘Oh, no reason. My grandmother told me the story, and I thought I’d like to see it. I can tell her about the crown, though. She won’t believe it’s true. Five hundred and fifty carats!’
Reassured, the steward moved away and Merry quickly gathered together a napkin full of food to take to Liliana. He had imagined finding the spear and presenting it to her on bended knee. Instead he would have to tell her it was lost in a bog!
He took a shortcut through the courtyard and paused for a moment to look up at the Tower of Stars. It rose into the air, its glass walls as smooth and impenetrable as ice. The only way in and out, apart from the gate barring the entrance, was the window at the very top. It seemed tall enough to step through, if the casement was opened wide. Perhaps if Zed climbed the belltower, he could fly across the courtyard to the Tower of Stars . . .
A movement caught his eye. A woman dressed in white stood at the far end of the arcade, beckoning to him. Merry went closer, wondering who it was, and why she wanted him. When he was almost close enough to touch her, she beckoned him again, leading him down a dark set of steps that led underneath the Tower of Stars. Merry tried to remember the map of the palace which he had studied till he knew it practically off by heart. Underneath the palace were cellars and storerooms and dungeons, linked by a labyrinth of passageways. Merry hesitated, not liking to go down into the dark by himself. The woman turned back to him, lifting imploring hands. Wondering why she did not speak, Merry tentatively followed her down the steps.
He came out in a vast, dark cellar, with many doors and hallways opening off it. It was lit dimly by a lantern hanging on the wall. Merry looked about, wondering which way to go.
The woman stood at the far end of the cellar. In the light, Merry was able to see her more clearly. She had bare feet, and long black hair hanging free past her waist. Her face was pale and sad, and the movement of her beckoning hand was slow, as if she was exhausted beyond endurance.
Merry started forward, raising his brows questioningly. She nodded and beckoned again, and so he followed her along the dim corridor, wishing he had Tom-Tit-Tot’s familiar weight on his shoulder. He had left the ferret sleeping in his room, though, not wanting to take him to the king’s great hall. He had nothing to defend himself but his dagger.
The woman in white moved swiftly, occasionally turning to beckon him impatiently. Merry followed as quickly as he could. The corridor led him to another vast cellar, piled high with old barrels and boxes and sacks of grain.
Merry hesitated. The woman in white had vanished. He took a few cautious steps inside, and heard voices. Slowly he went forward.
By the light of a lantern set upon a barrel Merry could see Aubin the Fair and Ambrozius the astronomer in deep conversation. Merry frowned, and crept a little closer. The panther raised its head and looked towards the shadows where Merry hid, and he stilled at once, his heart banging painfully against his ribs.
‘It is an important task I have set you,’ Ambrozius said. ‘Do not fail me.’
‘I won’t, your lordship,’ Aubin said. ‘It’s an honour and a privilege to serve you and His Majesty, your lordship.’
‘It is not just His Majesty you serve so loyally, but also your own lord. He is young and so easily dazzled by the wiles of the wildkin witch. He thinks her fair and innocent, but you and I both know that one can never trust those of wildkin birth. Their blood is black, and no amount of guile and flattery will ever turn it red.’
‘No, my lord,’ Aubin agreed.
‘And who knows how many of our own people have been corrupted by her wiles, and turned rebel?’ Ambrozius went on. ‘For the Count of Estelliana to be attacked and murdered at the very doorstep of the palace! The corruption runs deep. We must take every precaution to keep the king safe, and with him, your own dear lord.’
Aubin nodded, his leathery old face creased with anxiety.
‘We will find a pretty young starkin girl for him to marry, and then, in time, your master’s own unfortunate taint will be diluted and those of true starkin blood will sit the throne,’ the astronomer went on.
‘That will be a happy day, your lordship,’ Aubin agreed with a respectful bow.
‘So you know what to do? Keep your master away from the wildkin witch lest she steal his heart and his mind, and start moving the tanks of fusillier fire here as soon as you can, without drawing attention to yourself.’
‘Yes, your lordship, I’ll start at once, your lordship.’ Aubin saluted.
Merry stayed crouched in the shadows, biting his lip, his mind turning over all that had been said and trying to decipher its meaning. Was it possible that Aubin was their spy and traitor, the one who had betrayed them? Could he have slaughtered all the swans at Levanna-On-The-Lake? And organised the murder of Count Zygmunt, and poor little Annie? The thought made Merry feel miserable. Aubin had always been there at Estelliana Castle, scolding him for not doing his sword practice, showing him tricky ways to overcome attackers twice his weight, as faithful and grumpy as an old guard dog.
Aubin was wounded during the ambush, Merry reminded himself, his surcoat dripping with blood, even his moustache stained red. It could all have been theatricals, though. A few shallow slashes, a lot of other people’s blood . . . and he is always with us, so much that we sometimes forget he is there.
He waited until all was quiet, and then slowly crept out of his hiding place. As he came up the last turn and stepped out into the courtyard, a tall figure emerged out of the darkness and grasped him by the arm.
‘Master Merrik, is it not?’ a cold voice said. ‘What on earth are you doing skulking around the wildkin’s tower?’
It was the astronomer.
Merry went bright red and for a moment could not speak at all. ‘Got lost,’ he stammered. ‘Looking for the kitchens.’
‘My dear boy, the kitchen wing is at the back of the palace, well away from the sleeping quarters. Let me show you the way.’
‘No, thanks . . . that’s all right . . . I’ll find it . . .’ Merry broke away from those steel-strong fingers and hurried away, all too conscious of the astronomer’s eyes boring into his back.
Merry found the kitchens without any trouble, but had some difficulty wresting a bag of corn from the very fat and very fierce cook. In the end he succeeded by putting his nose in the air and saying haughtily, ‘I do not question the orders of my master, and neither should you, churl. Get me a bag of corn!’
He then went as quickly as he could to his room, where he found Tom-Tit-Tot curled up fast asleep in the middle of his pillow. He gave the omen-imp a scratch under the ears. ‘I must say, you are much more peaceful as a ferret, boy! Do all ferrets sleep so much?’
The ferret yawned and sleepily rolled over and turned into the ugly, black-winged, orange-furred creature Merry was so fond of. ‘Changing shape makes me weary, blurry-eyed and bleary.’
‘I’m going out to the forest, do you want to come?’
Tom-Tit-Tot yawned again, stretched his front legs and then his hind legs, and then slowly rolled back into a ferret-shaped ball.
‘I guess not,’ Merry said.
Merry changed out of his livery into his usual drab, comfortable clothes, grabbed his hat and the cloak the Erlrune had woven for him, packed the food he had brought into his pack and slung it and his lute over his shoulders.
Then, feeling rather blurry-eyed and bleary himself after the long day, Merry made his way to the postern-gate. The guard let him out, after accepting a small bribe, and Merry walked into a velvet-soft, velvet-black night, stars bright in the sky. Below him the city slept, the jutting lines of roofs and spires and chimneys illuminated by the light of the moon. The harbour glittered with silver where the moon’s path lay, but the forest was an impenetrable blackness. Merry stopped and took a deep breath, feeling new strength and resolve steal into him.
‘What took you so long?’ Liliana snapped, coming out of the darkness cast by the immense flying buttress. She too had changed, and was almost invisible in the Erlrune’s grey cloak. ‘I’ve been waiting forever!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Merry said. ‘I got waylaid. I was asking about the spear.’
‘What did you find out?’ she asked eagerly.
‘It’s not good news. The steward said Prince Zander threw the spear into a bog . . . I guess to stop Shoshanna’s prophecy from coming true.’
There was a long silence, then Liliana said in a low voice, ‘Well, that’s that, I suppose. I should’ve known it was no use. Come on then. I’ve no desire to hang around here all night. I keep being afraid I’ll see a ghost.’ She swung her bow and her satchel onto her shoulder and set off at a great pace along the narrow pathway, away from the place where they had been ambushed and towards the road that led down into the forest.
‘I think I did see a ghost tonight,’ Merry said, following along behind her.
‘Really?’ She glanced back at him in surprise.
‘It was all rather strange and spooky. One minute she was there and the next moment she had just vanished.’
He told Liliana what he had seen and heard that night, as they reached the road and then made their slow, careful way down its steep zigzag to the forest.
To his relief, she did not question his story or his sanity, but said slowly, ‘But who could the ghost be? And why did she show you Aubin and the astronomer?’
‘I thought perhaps it was the ghost of Shoshanna. She looked a lot like Rozalina, only older and sadder.’
‘As fair as a flower, you mean?’ Liliana said caustically. ‘The most beautiful girl in the world?’
‘She was very beautiful,’ Merry admitted. ‘You can see why Prince Zander kept her locked up for so many years.’
Liliana’s stride lengthened. ‘Come on,’ she snapped. ‘If we don’t get those last two feathers, dear sweet Rozalina will be “waiting for the hour” for the rest of her life!’
It was clear from the sarcastic intonation that she was quoting Merry’s song back to him. He lagged behind, feeling sore around the heart. He did not often sing and play his own songs to people, afraid of their laughter or contempt, and it cut him to the quick to have Liliana so scornful of his admittedly feeble attempt.
In silence, they plodded through the forest. It was very dark, and they had to find their way around rocks and over logs and through brambles, with no other light but the faint glow of the moon gleaming through the canopy. The path led them at last to a clearing, where they carefully scattered the corn under some hazel bushes and set the trap, working more by feel than sight.
‘And now I guess we wait,’ Liliana said, sitting back on her heels. ‘I wish we’d had the sense to bring some food.’
‘I did,’ Merry said, and pulled open his pack to show her his spoils from the feast. There were two thick wedges of rabbit pie, cold ham, soft white bread, and apple turnovers sprinkled with sugar.
Liliana was silent for a moment, and then she laughed. ‘I should have known!’
They had a starlit picnic under the trees, and gradually the sense of cold distance between them faded away. In the darkness, Merry found the courage to say quietly, ‘Why did you call me a fool? I only meant . . . I was worried for you . . .’
There was a long moment of silence, and then Liliana said violently, ‘You thought I was upset because Zed has fallen in love with my cousin! You’re not only a fool, Merry, but a blind fool.’
‘Why? What do you mean?’ Merry was both hurt and furious.
For answer, Liliana leant forward and kissed him on the mouth. For a moment, it was only their mouths that touched, but in the next heartbeat they had swayed into each other’s arms. Her mouth was unbearably sweet, the curve of her body unbearably beautiful. His hands were twining in her curls, cupping the delicate curve of her skull, tracing the arch of her back. She moved away only long enough to laugh and say his name, before again their mouths met. He pressed her close, saying ‘Lili, Lili . . . but I didn’t know . . . I thought . . .’
‘How could you not know?’ she whispered, her voice shaken with soft laughter.
He held her face in both hands, wishing he could see her eyes, kissing them instead. ‘But . . . when?’ he d
emanded.
She laughed and whispered, ‘Always, always. Right from the start. Well, almost, anyway.’
‘Me too,’ he whispered and bent his face to hers again.
Time passed in a sweet delirium. ‘I never thought . . .’ Merry murmured, and later, ‘I love you, Liliana, I love you!’
‘I love you too,’ she whispered back, and Merry thought it impossible that his body could contain his joy.
Somewhere a bird began to sing in exquisite cadences. Liliana stirred and drew away. ‘A nightingale,’ she said.
They listened in silence, thinking of the trap laid only a few feet away, the corn scattered on the ground, the net suspended above. ‘It’s almost dawn,’ Merry whispered in surprise. ‘I can see the sky growing light.’
She turned to look at him. Slowly the shape of trees and leaf and frond rose from the darkness, and her face grew clearer. He wished he could somehow capture this moment forever, the nightingale singing in the silver dawn, the slender angle of her neck and shoulder, the dark tangle of her curls, and those grey eyes, for once filled with light and joy instead of storms and darkness. She bent her face and he rose to meet her, mouth to mouth in a kiss of unbearable sweetness.
The nightingale’s song died away and for a moment there was silence. Then they heard a wild, anxious twittering. In an instant Liliana was on her feet, racing across the clearing. Merry was seconds behind her. A small brown bird was caught in their net, struggling and calling. Liliana knelt and gently freed it, cupping it in her hands.
Merry bent his head over it. ‘The bird of love,’ he said, lifting his eyes to Liliana. She flushed and very carefully plucked one feather from its wing. The bird quivered in surprise, but then lay quietly. Merry could see its heart beating frantically against its breast. Liliana opened her hands and the bird sprang free, flying away into the trees. A few moments later, it began to sing again. Merry leant forward and kissed her.