Children of Enchantment

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  “Has anyone ever considered what would happen if Amanander were to learn the truth? If everyone learned the truth?”

  “I’ve never spoken of it to anyone, except you.”

  “But what if Amanander ever discovered that Roderic was the Queen’s son, but not the King’s?”

  “That’s not something I care to contemplate.”

  “But Amanander does have the better claim. He is Abelard’s son, not Roderic. It’s not just what Amanander would do were he to discover the truth. I think Roderic might renounce the throne if he thought it were the right thing to do.”

  Phineas sat bolt upright, wincing as his old bones creaked in protest. “That is a possibility I never considered.”

  “I have not my mother’s gift, Phineas. I cannot see the future, but I feel things—and I don’t like what I’ve been feeling lately. The thought of going to Minnis makes my blood cold, and I have no reason to think there’s anything wrong at all.”

  “I think you miss Roderic.” Phineas smiled. “Go to Minnis, child. The change will do you good. Write him tonight, tell him you will do as he asks—I’ll see the message goes out at dawn. He only wants to protect you. When I know he’s on his way home, I’ll come there myself. And if you wish, I can order a scouting party to go to your mother’s tower and make sure she’s all right.”

  “No.” Annandale shook her head. “I know she wants to be left in peace. She’s owed that, at least.”

  Phineas shrugged. “As you wish child. It’s your decision. Believe me, you’ll likely be safer at Minnis than anywhere else. The walls of Minnis have never been breached.”

  * * *

  Never been breached. The words echoed over and over through Annandale’s skull as the heavily encumbered party trundled along the forest road. Even here, where the plowed fields gave way to the thickly forested countryside approaching Minnis Saul, the unseasonable heat was intense.

  Sweat ran down her back, and her coif was a tight, confining stricture around her face. In the wagon behind her, she heard Melisande’s querulous wail, a cry of boredom rather than one of distress.

  Annandale’s head throbbed. Her joints ached from the nights spent on the road and her back itched. She had no comfort to offer anyone. Peregrine’s voice rose among the babble of the women, sharp and complaining, an unconscious echo of her daughter’s.

  The sun hammered across Annandale’s shoulders as she stared ahead at the rigid backs of the small regiment of the King’s Guard who served as their only protection on the journey north. There had not been many troops to spare, but surely, she reassured herself, such a thing was unnecessary. Even the Harleyriders had never penetrated so far into the Ridenau domain. Old Garrick, his back ramrod straight despite his years, guided his horse at an easy jog over to her side.

  “Not much longer now, Lady Princess.” He spoke cheerfully, but Annandale could see the exhaustion which ringed his eyes and the sweat stains which marked his clothes.

  “I shall be glad of that,” she answered. “I cannot wait for a bath, to sleep in a proper bed.”

  “This heat’s the worst I can remember. Not even in Missiluse, in the swamps—well, maybe it was worse, but I was a younger man then.” A drop of perspiration ran down the bridge of his nose, and he wiped it with an impatient hand, swiping away a fly. “And the bugs! By the One, lady, I think this year we’ll go after them with bow and arrow.”

  Annandale nodded. She did not envy those who had been left behind: Phineas, his scribes, the soldiers of the garrison, and the servants. And surely, surely, the heat which hung like a miasma over the trees could not last here in the North Woods. “How much farther?”

  “To Minnis? We will be there by nightfall, lady. I have sent a messenger on ahead; they will have our dinner and our baths waiting.”

  “Thanks to the One,” she breathed. She roused herself from her heat-induced stupor and smiled. Garrick was a good man, she could sense his loyalty to his King and to Roderic, his adherence to the rigid code Abelard had demanded of all who followed him. Garrick, too, had had a hand in shaping the prince.

  She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the walls of Minnis rose before them a few hours later. The rough gravel road opened up to the high narrow gates, and though those gates were open, no guard was visible upon the ramparts of the high towers before them. Garrick reined his gelding beside her. “Is there a problem, General?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure, lady,” he replied, frowning at the keep. “I don’t see the guards—surely they have not become so lax—“

  “It’s the heat, General Garrick,” interrupted Peregrine from her perch beside the wagon driver. She shifted the heavy child in her arms. “Probably they watch from the shade—look there—I see a guard.” She raised her arm and pointed, and Annandale, following the line of vision, caught sight of a thin dark shape above the top of the wall. A cold sliver of fear and loathing sliced through her—a reaction so strong it nauseated her and took her breath away. She pulled hard involuntarily on the reins, and her horse shied and whined a protest.

  “General—” she stammered. “General, we must turn back—“

  “Turn back?” He stared at her as though she had suddenly taken leave of her senses. “Turn back from Minnis? Lady, the heat affects us all—we will be fine once we arrive.”

  “No!” She caught his arm, and this time his horse nickered and her mare pranced. “We must not go—“

  The walls of Minnis loomed closer and closer. The deep shadows at the base of the structure seemed like inky pools in which terrible things writhed and swarmed. The nausea grew, snaking through and around her, comprised of fear beyond all reason, and complete and utter despair. Without another word, she leaned over her saddle and vomited into the road.

  “Lady, dear lady,” cried Garrick. “Lady Peregrine—Lady Tavia, Lady Jaboa, please, come here—” He called back over his shoulder, gesturing wildly, and caught at Annandale’s reins, forcing the mare to halt.

  Sweat beaded her forehead and laced her upper lip, and her skin was clammy. She was vaguely aware of Tavia helping her from the saddle, of the other women clucking and chirping amongst themselves. They helped her into the shade of the covered wagon and placed a damp cloth on her head. With a jerk, the wagon started forward. Annandale struggled to sit up. “No, no,” she said weakly, but firm hands pushed her back.

  She struggled away from the women, crouched in the opening and peered over the high front seat of the wagon behind the driver. The gates of Minnis swung wider, and the guards marched into the outer ward, the dust of the road swirling in a cloud about their feet, the wagons lurching behind them.

  “Lie back, dear,” urged Jaboa.

  “Leave me be!” she cried, and knelt over the seat. Her blood turned to ice at the sight of the tall man dressed all in black who stood on the steps in the center of the gate which led into the inner ward. She heard Peregrine gasp, saw Tavia turn white. As the driver reined the team of horses to a halt, Annandale forced her way onto the seat of the wagon in time to hear Garrick demand: “What is the meaning of this?”

  But the man on the steps ignored Garrick, and instead strode unerringly to the wagon where Annandale sat stricken.

  He extended his hand, and Annandale saw he wore leather gloves so finely fit they might have been a second skin. “Lady Annandale? I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Amanander.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  His voice was like the leathery scuttle of a large insect across old parchment, and his eyes were flat and very black, as though they trapped and absorbed light within their depths. Deep within, her internal impulse to heal fluttered, ready to right the balance this man so dangerously tipped.

  This was the man who wanted the throne of Meriga so much, who, if ever it were possible, would kill Roderic with no more thought than he might a flea. This man was the result of Abelard Ridenau’s singleminded insistence that the future be hammered into a form shaped b
y his desires, irrational and unjust though they might be. Amanander and his thwarted ambition was like a knot upon a tree, and her healing impulse flared and wavered. This was a blight beyond her ability, and despite her fear and her revulsion, pity for him stirred deep within. And this was the man who should be King. She understood in an instant why the Magic was wrong, what happened when one man’s will was brought to bear upon the eternal order.

  She paused only a moment before she accepted his hand. When she stood before him on the ground, she raised her chin and their eyes met and locked. Something flickered in those inky depths, some vestige of the man he could have been, and for a fleeting moment, Annandale thought there might yet be hope. Then something else replaced that momentary gleam, something blacker than the color of his eyes and harder than obsidian, something which would swallow her pity whole. For the first time in her life, she was truly terrified.

  She struggled not to flinch as Amanander traced the back of his hand down the side of her face to her jaw. “By the One, lady, you are fair. The fairest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Lord Amanander.” Garrick had dismounted and now he strode up beside the taller man, his thumbs hooked in his sword belt, his shoulders rigid. The sheath of his dagger slapped against his thigh, and his footsteps raised small puffs of dust. “What’s the meaning of this? Where is the garrison commander?”

  Amanander’s expression did not change as he slid his eyes off Annandale’s face. She felt as if she’d been released as his relentless stare fell on Garrick. “He’s indisposed, General Garrick.”

  “Why aren’t you in Dlas?”

  Amanander drew a deep breath and turned his eyes back to Annandale. “I had other plans.”

  “What other plans?” Garrick’s hand slid over his dagger, pulling and tugging at it as though he’d like to remove it from his sheath, and out of the corner of her eye, Annandale saw the soldiers of the King’s Guard come to attention, slowly reaching for the weapons they wore at their belts.

  Amanander held up his black-gloved hand, beckoning. Immediately, dark shapes coalesced out of the shadows around the walls, tall and slim, soldiers dressed in black leather armor, who bore broadswords. The sight of those guards made the breath stop in her throat and for a terrible moment, she thought she might vomit once more. Then the feeling passed as the King’s men drew closer together, muttering to themselves, and Amanander extended his hand to Garrick. “My plans don’t concern you in the least. However,” he continued, turning to look at Annandale, “they do most assuredly concern you, my dear.”

  Annandale drew herself up and met his eyes with the same defiance as Garrick. “I very truly doubt that, lord.”

  “Do you?” He raised his left eyebrow a fraction. “We’ll see, my dear.”

  “Don’t take that tone with her, you insolent puppy.” Garrick said. “You must—“

  In less than a breath, Amanander was upon him, his hand wrapped in the fabric of Garrick’s tunic. “Little man, remember to whom you speak. ‘Must’ is not a word used to princes.” He gave the older man a shake, and Garrick pulled away, his shaking hand clenched around the hilt of his dagger.

  “I insist that you take me to the garrison commander.”

  Amanander narrowed his eyes. “As you say, General.” Before anyone could move, or react, Amanander thrust his dagger into the space between the old man’s ribs. Garrick’s eyes widened in shock and terror, and Amanander pulled the blade out. “Give him my regards.”

  As Garrick’s body crumpled into a heap, Amanander wiped his dagger on Garrick’s cloak. Amanander resheathed the dagger.

  There was a silence, complete, shocked, broken only when Tavia, leaning out of the wagon, Melisande cradled in her arms, spat in the dirt at his feet. “You despicable monster. I’m ashamed to think you’re my brother.”

  Amanander raised his face, his mouth twisted with disgust, his dark eyes cold and flat as deep water. “Your brother?”

  Annandale touched Tavia’s hand and gave the older women a little squeeze. “This is your sister Tavia, Amanander. Don’t you remember her? She was there when Jesselyn died. She was forced to watch while you killed her sister. Will you do the same to all of us?” asked Annandale, wondering at her own bravado.

  For the first time uncertainty flickered across Amanander’s face. Amazed, she realized her words had confused him, caught him off guard. But how? she wondered. Why?

  Then he was speaking, his speech clipped as though he sought to cover up his lapse. “I offer you all the opportunity to change your allegiance, my dear. And if you do, I’ll welcome you with open arms.”

  “And if we refuse?”

  His eyes narrowed. Something licked at the edge of her awareness, a mental tap, and Annandale recognized with a shock that Amanander was attempting to use the Magic. Energy surged again, stronger and faster, but less focused, and Annandale realized that Amanander was still no master of the art. She took a step backward, shut her eyes and braced herself against the onslaught. All around her, the weapons of the King’s Guard clattered to the ground, and some of the men fell screaming to their knees, holding their heads. “Stop it, Amanander,” she cried. “You can’t win.”

  Amanander nodded, his thin mouth curved in a chilling semblance of a smile, sweat beading his forehead. “So it’s to be war between us, lady. As you will.” He made a quick motion and the dark soldiers closed in upon the King’s men. “Take them to the guardhouse. Gartred—see to our guests.”

  Annandale heard Peregrine’s soft gasp, and a short, full-breasted woman swept up, clad in a long gown of fine-spun linen, so light and airy it seemed made of mist. Her lips were very red and her hair, which fell unbound to her waist, was long and straight and dark as Amanander’s. She looked Annandale up and down as though she were a prize mare and put her hands on her hips. “Even Roderic’s brat?” She gestured to Melisande. “Even that?”

  “Even that.”

  Gartred nodded. “Come with me, all of you.”

  “Gently, Gartred,” warned Amanander. “This lady is our most honored guest.”

  Gartred threw a look at Amanander, dark and full of meaning, and Annandale was instantly aware of resentment and jealousy.

  Gartred made an impatient noise, and together, followed by Peregrine, who cradled Melisande close, they walked into the fortress of Minnis Saul in the shadow of the walls which had never been breached.

  The candle flickered in the dark, wavering uncertainly as a cool breeze blew through the window. Amanander’s boots made no sound at all as he stalked into the room and paused just inside the threshold. Gartred stopped brushing her hair and smiled at him over her shoulder from her seat in front of her dressing table. “You’re late, my prince.”

  The hollows and the arches of her face were lit dramatically, giving her features a depth and a beauty they did not in reality possess. Amanander watched her turn back to the mirror and resume brushing, her hair crackling under the strokes of the brush.

  “Reginald sends good news. Although the Senador in At-land refuses to forget his Pledge of Allegiance, the lesser lordlings there are ripe for rebellion.”

  “And what about Everard? Isn’t he a thorn in Reginald’s side?” Gartred asked, watching Amanander in the mirror. She put down her brush and leaned closer to the glass, examining the feathery lines at the corners of her eyes. She picked up a glass jar full of scented cream.

  Amanander waved a hand in dismissal. “That fool? Everard continues to believe the best of people. He can’t see what’s happening beneath his very nose. With Harland in Missiluse on our side, and the lesser lords in Atland and Ginya, Reginald’s attack on Ithan will come at just the right time.” He met her eyes in the mirror and smiled. “All our plans are coming to fruition. There’s only one thing.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and she leaned back, rubbing her head against the bulge in his groin. “Stop that,” he said impatiently. He went to the window and stood looking out over the gardens. In the distance came the low rumble of
thunder, and a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the budding branches of the trees. The weather was about to break. “I must find a way to see that Roderic’s little bride will help me.”

  Gartred made a little sound of protest and replaced the crystal lid. Her surprise was evident on her face. “Can’t you force her?”

  Amanander did not glance her way. He doubted he would ever be able to explain to the hen that there were certain things one couldn’t accomplish by force. “No. I can’t.”

  “You mean she must be willing?”

  Amanander gave Gartred a stare, and she shivered. “I’ve explained this to you more than once. The empath must give consent—the Magic will not work any other way.”

  “Then use it without her.”

  “Only if I must.”

  “But, why—“

  “Don’t be stupid, woman,” he snarled, his rage finally getting the better of him. “We have to find a way to compel her consent, and then we may use the Magic as we like. Surely you don’t think I would be so foolish as to use the Magic to bring me the throne, only to have it destroy half the country, as it did in Armageddon. Even Ferad hesitates. Why do you think he’s been content to wait and bide his time?”

  Gartred rose to her feet, her garments swirling and floating like mist, and went to stand beside him in the shadows. “Forgive me, Lord Prince. I know there’s much I don’t understand.”

  Her use of that title brought a grudging smile to his lips, as it always did. “Even if she will not consent to help use the Magic, her ability will be useful to us in the coming months.”

  Gartred raised her eyebrows, and he knew she didn’t dare ask him the obvious question.

  The knowledge of her fear satisfied him. “In the coming battle, my dear. Surely you understand that Roderic will not surrender without a fight?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “You mean her healing—but that must be done willingly, too, no?”

  “From what I have learned from Ferad, the empath’s very nature makes it nearly impossible for her to refuse to heal. Pain is intolerable to them.”