Children of Enchantment

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  They lapsed into silence, standing side by side. Thunder rumbled once more in the distance, and the first few fat drops of rain fell with a loud splash on the windowsill.

  The knock on the door startled Gartred. “Who’s that?” she asked sharply.

  There was a silence, and then the low voice of the guard answered. “May I enter, lord?”

  Amanander glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “Enter.”

  The door swung open, and one of Amanander’s special guards stepped into the room, holding Peregrine Anuriel by the upper arm. “This prisoner requests to speak with you, lord.” The flat monotone sent a chill down Gartred’s spine as always, and she glanced up at Amanander. His reaction surprised her even more.

  He smiled, a genuine smile of welcome, and bowed courteously. “Of course, lady. Lieutenant, take the lady to my sitting room. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  “What do you want to do with that little drudge?” demanded Gartred as she folded her arms across her bosom. “Why—what—“

  “Silence!” He raised his hand as if to slap her, and she shrank away, a bitter scowl twisting her features. “That little drudge, as you call her, may be very useful to us. She may love her dear Prince Roderic, but she hates—she despises—his little wife. And she might have some use—but I won’t know that unless you keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me, my lady? Or must I gag you or knock you senseless?”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Gartred with a sidelong pout. She knew he was more than capable of beating her senseless, for she had seen him do it to servants who’d displeased him for far less.

  “Because I might not have been able to reach that little witch, but that one—” he jerked his head in the direction of the sitting room “—is an open book for anyone to read. Let’s see what she has to say, shall we?”

  Hatred burned bright in her eyes as she stared at him, then she dropped her eyes and clenched her hands together. “If I must.”

  “Then come, my dear. We mustn’t keep the lady waiting.”

  Standing beside the cold grate, Peregrine was startled when the two of them walked back into the room. They were so perfectly matched, and yet so opposite, the plump, bosomy woman in sheerest white, the tall man all in black. Gartred took a chair in the corner, folded her hands and dropped her gaze. Peregrine glanced nervously at Amanander. “Will you not sit, lady?” His voice was soft and not unpleasant, she thought, low and resonant, like a great bell.

  Another flash of lightning split the night sky, and thunder echoed in the distance. He smiled. “Please.”

  She slipped into the chair he indicated, a deep chair with a high back and arms. In it, she felt protected, as though she might sink into its soft depths and be hidden away from his dark eyes, which seemed to probe her own. “Thank you for seeing me at this hour.”

  “I’m happy to oblige you in any way I can, Lady Peregrine. How may I be of service?” From the corner, Gartred made a sound which might have been a hiss, and Amanander shot a look in her direction.

  Peregrine drew her upper lip between her teeth. This was the man who was Roderic’s sworn enemy, the man who wanted Roderic’s throne. This was the man who thought he should be King. But maybe, she thought, they were all wrong about him. Tavia said that he had killed Jesselyn and tried to kill Vere, but maybe she’d been wrong. After all, in the state Tavia’d been in, who could say? And besides, he certainly didn’t look very threatening as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his long legs. A little smile played at the corners of his mouth, and she thought he looked a little—sad. “I know that this means war between you and Roderic.”

  Amanander raised one eyebrow and made a little sound of protest. “That will be his choice, lady. I am hopeful that we will be able to work out our differences peacefully. Without further bloodshed.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said, “I know that we are all hostages, should war be inevitable. And I came to ask you to send my daughter, Melisande, away. Please. Let her go—I’ll do anything—help you any way I can—“

  “You would betray your Prince?” Amanander spoke softly, guilelessly.

  “I don’t see it that way,” she stammered, her words tripping over each other. “I only need to make my baby safe—surely you understand?”

  “Of course, Lady Peregrine. Of course I do. May I call you Peregrine?”

  “Yes,” she answered, twisting her hands in the fabric of her gown. “You may.”

  “It’s a beautiful name. Very unusual.”

  “I was named for my father. He was an unusual person.”

  “Oh?” Amanander cocked his head. “How so?”

  She stared at him in surprise. No one, not even Roderic, in all the time she’d been in Ahga, had ever asked her anything but the most cursory questions about her youth, her family. She understood Ahga was the center of the country, the center of everything. Nothing that happened outside of it was ever as important as what happened inside it.

  “You look surprised,” he said when she did not answer.

  “I—I cannot believe what I see in you.” She raised her chin as another flash of lightning illuminated the room, and far away, a distant peal of thunder echoed. A fat drop of rain fell upon the sill. She shivered as the wind howled around the building.

  Amanander rose and crossed to the window. “Don’t let the storm frighten you. It’s beautiful, I think, rather like music. Listen.” He held up his hand.

  As if on cue, the wind gave a mournful wail and the rain began to fall faster. Thunder rolled like a great drum, and just as she met his eyes, lightning cracked and the room was lit by its bluish glare. Her heart began to beat faster. He smiled again and pulled the window shut. The latch clicked as it fell into place like the spring of a mousetrap. When he turned back, he spread his hands. “I know what the others have told you about me,” he said. “I know what Roderic believes.”

  “They say you want the throne.”

  He did not answer her immediately, but a pained look crossed his face as though her words had hit a very sore spot. “I took an oath of allegiance. We all do—you know that?”

  Mute, she nodded, waiting to hear him continue. His voice rose and fell with a lyrical rhythm, so entrancing, just listening filled her with a curious pleasure.

  “And in the oath of allegiance, we swear to uphold the kingdom and the King, with our lives, if we must.” He was watching her face very carefully. His eyes pinned her to the chair, and the sound of his voice was like a caress, deftly coaxing all thoughts from her mind. “And sometimes, inevitably, what one man perceives to be in the best interests of the kingdom is not so perceived by others.” He paused, and she found herself waiting, willing, wishing for him to continue. He gave her just the merest suggestion of a smile. “I know you love Roderic. I know he is the father of your child. I know she must mean more to you than even life itself.”

  Peregrine nodded.

  “I know you would never, ever, wish any harm to come to her. And I know that it must grieve you greatly to know what her father is capable of doing.”

  “He—he had to marry,” she managed.

  “Marry?” Amanander looked surprised. “Oh. I was speaking of Atland.”

  “Atland?” Peregrine felt as though a warm mist had pervaded her entire body. The rain had settled into a steady drumbeat, and the thunder had faded to a low rumble. The candles burned steadily, and the room was filled with their hot, waxy scent.

  “Atland. Of course he told you. It must have shocked you greatly to think that the father of your child could be so cruel—“

  “Cruel?”

  Amanander’s voice unfurled like a velvet cloak. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me? Tell me what? What happened in Atland?”

  “I would rather not speak of it.”

  Peregrine craned her neck around to Gartred, sitting quiescent in her corner. “What? What happened?”

  Amanander shrugged. “He tortured the Mutens to de
ath. And their deaths were neither easy nor clean. That’s how he brought about the peace there. That’s why it’s so tenuous. You see, my dear, even Phineas knew that Roderic’s not really capable. And when I saw with my own eyes what he did, and how callously, how cruelly he did it, I knew that if I were to honor my oath, I had to oppose Roderic’s taking the throne.”

  Peregrine shifted in the chair, sinking deeper into the high cushioned back as Amanander continued, lulling, soothing, explaining. The rain had ended, long ago, and somehow, the window was open once more and a soft breeze, tender as a lover’s caress, fluttered over her skin. When he touched her, she stirred, frightened, opening her eyes, gazing into the darkness she could not fight. “Melisande,” she whispered. “Melisande.”

  He smiled, a slow, gentle smile, which spread across his face as easily as the last drops of rainwater slid down the windowpanes. “Of course we’ll send her away. This is no place for a child—not your child. But you do see, you do understand, how very much I need you? How much I need your help?”

  She stared at him, mesmerized. “Annandale,” she murmured. “I can tell you what she is.”

  “Yes?”

  She wasn’t certain if he actually spoke. “She’s—she’s a witch. No one’s supposed to know, but the servants all talk. She worked her Magic on Tavia, and on Roderic, too. He was never the same after that. After she uses it, she’s weak. You could make her use her Magic. And when she’s weak, maybe she’d help you then.”

  “Yes.” The word shivered through her and she pressed her eyes closed, giving herself up to the dark. When he reached for her, her bones felt disconnected from her flesh, so that she hung as limp as a ragdoll in his embrace. She scarcely knew that Gartred had come forward, had drawn the coif off her head and pulled the pins holding her braids in place. She let the hands hold her, feel her, touch her. She gasped when she felt the air on her breasts and realized that somehow she had moved from the antechamber to a softly lit bedroom, where the windows were opened to the cloudless, moonlit sky, and the insects chirped a chorus. She was naked and she twisted around, her mouth shaping a protest, but Amanander was there, easing her down on the yielding mattress, drawing her breast into his mouth, even as Gartred loosed the bindings of her underlinens. She was floating, falling, giving in to searing sensations, powerless to resist. She arched her back, offering herself up to the intoxication of it, as another mouth, another tongue, encircled her other nipple. Peregrine moaned, wrapping her arms around both dark heads, spreading her legs to both sets of questing hands. This was where she belonged, beloved, cherished, not the cast-off of a puppet princeling. As readily as an unpleasant dream, all thoughts of Roderic and Annandale vanished, while above her, Amanander and Gartred chuckled with shared delight.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was close to dawn when the voices roused Annandale from fitful sleep. She opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented. Jaboa slept fully clothed on the other side of the great bed, and between them, Melisande was curled in a little bundle, her tiny fist securely tucked in her mouth. With Tavia and Jaboa, Annandale had whispered late into the night, mulling over their predicament, at last explaining her ability, half-afraid of their reactions. But they had only listened, and when she was finished, Jaboa had gathered her in her arms as if she were no older than Melisande, murmuring words of comfort and support. Now Annandale sat up, listening to the heavy tramp outside the door, the rough voices of men, the softer answering tones of a woman.

  As the door swung wide, Tavia bolted upright from the hearth rug, her dress creased, her coif askew. “What is it?” she asked, even as Peregrine stood on the threshold.

  In the grayish light, Annandale saw that the girl’s gown had been laced carelessly, that her lips were swollen and purplish, like overripe fruit. Deep shadows smudged the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her coif was crumpled carelessly in one hand. “Peregrine?” whispered Annandale, afraid to wake the baby. “Are you all right? What’s he done to you?”

  Peregrine came closer. There were reddish marks on the creamy skin of her throat, and she moved slowly, Ianguorously, as if through water. “Melisande? Is she with you? Give her to me. He’s going to let her go.”

  “Go?” echoed Tavia, getting to her feet. “Go where? With whom? What happened to you last night? Are you all right?”

  “Amanander’s going to let you leave?” Annandale tried to hide the revulsion she felt as Peregrine came nearer. There was a smell about the woman, a musky, salty odor, and with a start, Annandale recognized it. It was the smell of lovemaking, the smell of sex, of hot bodies pressed together, of the sticky fluids binding them together.

  Peregrine’s eyes flicked over Annandale, hatred so clear her gaze was like a whip. “Not me. Melisande. He’s going to let her go. And you, Tavia. You’re going to take her.”

  Tavia put a hand on Peregrine’s arm. “How can you trust him? You saw him kill Garrick last night. This is Roderic’s child. Her life means less to him than Garrick’s did.”

  Peregrine’s face did not change expression. “Get ready. He’s going to let her go.”

  All three women exchanged glances.

  “All right,” said Tavia softly. “Tell him we’re getting her ready. Go on.” She gave Peregrine a little push out the door, and with a venomous glance at Annandale, Peregrine went.

  Annandale looked at the other two with fear in her eyes.

  “What do you make of that?” asked Jaboa as Melisande whimpered and stirred.

  “Amanander seduced her last night,” said Annandale. “He must have promised her Melisande’s safety in exchange for her cooperation.” She looked out the window, where the sun was rising over the treetops. The heat had forced an early spring, and the forest was in full leaf. Why Tavia? Amanander had not been able to hide his shock. She had surprised him with her presence. Was it only that she was a reminder of Jesselyn, or was there another reason?

  The door shuddered under a sudden blow, and Annandale pulled the pearl ring off her finger. “Here,” she said, holding it out. “Take this, Tavia. Take the baby and get to Phineas. Tell him to send this ring to Roderic. He must not come here unaware.”

  Tavia nodded, placing the ring in the bosom of her gown as Melisande began to cry. “I’ll do my best.”

  “It’s our only chance,” said Annandale. “You have to try.”

  A merciless sun beat down on the ramparts as Amanander, flanked by Gartred and Peregrine, watched the little party leave the shelter of the garrison walls. Tavia clutched the child to her breast, her face stoic. She did not glance back, her eyes fixed on the back of the black-clad guard who guided her horse away from the shadowed walls. They headed south down the gravel-covered road, toward Ahga and freedom. And death, thought Amanander, smiling inwardly. He glanced at the two women by his side. Gartred’s mouth had the self-satisfied smirk she always wore when she found their love-making particularly satisfying. She had enjoyed their escapade with Peregrine last night very much, though he thought she was more pleased with the thought of debauching Roderic’s woman than the sexual pleasure it gave her. Peregrine stared after the diminishing figures, disappearing now beneath the cover of the forest, her fingers white-knuckled as she gripped the battlements. He touched her cheek with the back of his gloved hand and chuckled when she flinched. She had been horrified when she had awakened before to find herself in the midst of one of his more exotic plays. But he had tapped deep into the well of jealousy which had festered in her for a long, long time, and her protests hadn’t lasted very long. Besides, she had given him an excellent idea.

  It pleased him to think that Roderic’s woman, Roderic’s child, and Tavia, whom he thought of as Roderic’s sister, were all so totally lost. Three down, he thought, employing the parlance of ancient Meriga, as Ferad sometimes did. One to go.

  The thought of Annandale, naked and helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy, as Peregrine had been the night before, gave him the beginnings of an erection. He breathed deeply, enjo
ying the fantasy.

  “… shall we, Lord Prince?”

  How like the hen to interrupt his most pleasurable thoughts. “What?”

  She met his eyes calmly, a spark of amusement deep within. He knew that sometimes, more times than he liked to think, the mindlink between them enabled her to catch a flavor of his thoughts. “I asked you if you had any ideas as to how to force the little wife to your service.”

  He smiled at Gartred, good humor restored. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “Peregrine gave me a wonderful idea. I can’t wait to get it started.”

  “Are you going to share it with us?” asked Gartred, as Peregrine glanced at him with surprise.

  “Force her to heal,” Amanander began, and in the bright hot light of the noonday sun, he outlined a plan so diabolical in conception it made him smile just to think of it. Peregrine had proven her worth already.

  Under the shade of the trees, the air was cooler than in the brutal glare of the open road. Tavia rocked Melisande, murmuring as the child twisted and squirmed. Melisande was a healthy toddler, and she did not understand why she should have to stay on the gently swaying horse. The shadows deepened beneath the trees, and Tavia grew concerned. “Sir.” She leaned forward in the saddle. “Are you certain this path will take us to the road to Ahga?”

  The guard did not reply. He had not said one word all morning, not since she had first seen him in the courtyard, not since they had mounted the horses Amanander had provided, not since they had ridden from the fortress. She wondered if he were one of the garrison guards Amanander had corrupted to his own use, or if he were a recruit from somewhere else.

  There did not seem to be many guards at Minnis, and Tavia suspected that a fair number of men had elected to join their commander in death, though whether by choice or by default, she couldn’t say.

  Debris crunched underfoot, and the branches of the trees reached out like twisted fingers, grasping arms to tangle in her hair. As the morning wore on, deeper and deeper into the forest they rode. Melisande fussed, then slept. Finally, as the sun was beginning to dip down in the sky, Tavia reined her horse abruptly. Melisande woke and began to cry. “Soldier, we have to stop. The child needs food, water, dry clothes. And I need a rest.”