He snapped the remaining bit of twig in two again, tossed half of it into the fountain. A bird sitting on the rim chirped and hopped skittishly to the far side, cocking its head and eyeing Mershayn warily.
Nothing was simple anymore. At Bendeller Keep, it had all been simple. Until his father passed away recently, Mershayn had lived happily there, adventuring with his half-brother, and staying away from any official functions. When Collus became lord four months ago, he had settled into the slightly new role of trying to tempt Collus away from any and all official duties. Mershayn sharpened his swordsmanship on the Bendeller soldiers, his wit on any visiting nobles—in his brother’s name, of course—and visited the nearby villages for drink and companionship. Once in a while, he would sneak into the lands of Lord Framden, visit his villages, sometimes even his keep, to sample different pleasures. Simple. He never left the practice ring without paying for his excellence in sweat and pain. And he never left the ladies without a smile.
But the rules had changed. Everything in Teni’sia was complicated. He didn’t know the rules, and suddenly he was at odds with his brother. Before, he was easily a match for each of his pursuits; now he found himself pitifully inadequate. These nobles at court did not consider him an ineffectual bystander, as they had at Bendeller Keep. He was dangerous, an enemy with the ear of the king. He could not disarm them with a charming smile. They assumed he was after something, because that’s the way they were. That was the way they lived at court.
He snapped the twig again and tossed half of it directly at the woman on the fountain. It thwacked against her head and fell into the water. She didn’t notice, and continued looking toward the horizon with determination, holding her seaweed.
“Mershayn?” came the light whisper through the hedge behind him.
He pressed his lips together in resignation. “Yes, my lady,” he said.
“Are we alone?” she whispered.
“Yes, my lady.”
He heard a slight rustling of satin. Her footsteps were soft, and he tracked her movement around the hedge wall. She rounded the corner, and her smile filled him with a flush of excitement. Tall and slender, she stood with her long gown flowing down her curves. Her cloak brushed the smooth white pebbles of the path as she glided toward him. Her lustrous black hair tumbled out of the edges of her hood. He wondered if she wore the hood for the fetching effect, or if she actually believed she was hiding her identity. The ensemble was alluring, and his heart pounded faster.
He rose and bowed low with a flourish of his hand. It was a custom in Bendeller Keep, and a novelty in Teni’sia. She loved it, probably saw it as part of his provincial charm. When he brought his eyes up, her hand was there. He took it and led her to the bench he’d been sitting on.
“You wished to speak with me?” she said, and then her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Or was there some other, more dangerous purpose for summoning me?” She leaned close and nipped his ear gently with her teeth. “I could not stop thinking about you today,” she whispered. “After watching you wrangle with that wretch, Grendis Sym. He is vile.”
“We’re agreed on that,” he said, drinking in the sight of her. It suddenly seemed so unlikely, that a woman like this would agree to take a man like him to her bed.
What a stunning mess I have made.
She leaned her head against his, and spoke in a breathy tone. “I know of a place here, in the garden, that we could go. The risk is high, but I would take it.” She looked up at him through long lashes, half-lidded eyes.
He swallowed. This would be so easy. Why should he worry about politics? This was what he really wanted. This was what set his imagination aflame. This was what he was good at. Why shouldn’t he do what he always had? She was highborn and charming, smart and adventurous, and she wanted him. What could be wrong with stealing another moment right now, right here in the garden?
He shivered at the thought of it. She knew of a place to go, she said, some place secluded. But her gaze dared him to do more. She wanted him to do more. He could hike that gown right here by the fountain. She would only gasp in surprise, but she wouldn’t stop him. She wanted him to do it.
His hand moved the cloak aside, and he touched the small of her back, moved up between her shoulder blades. His fingers deftly slipped into the tightly tied lace, found the bow. He pulled one long, silken strand. She drew a quick breath.
Unbidden, his mind flew back to just a few hours ago when Grendis Sym smiled at him in the throne room. He remembered the man’s smug satisfaction.
He leaned back from Ari’cyiane so that he might look into her dark eyes, glazed with desire. Her lips parted as he started to speak, stalling him. Dark pink lips, so kissable.
He shook his head and looked at her hands instead. He took one in his own. “Ari’cyiane—” he began.
She closed her eyes. Her fingers caressed his. “Say my name again.”
He sighed. “Ari’cyiane, I—”
“Yes...” she cooed. “It gives me shivers. Again.”
“We must talk,” he said. “About our...association.”
“Such a cold word for two people who have been so...warm together.”
All at once, Mershayn had the wild idea that Ari’cyiane had been sent by Grendis Sym to entrap him in a scandal. Why would such a highborn lady be so interested in him? Why pursue him so single-mindedly?
But that was simply the poison of court living. The intrigue drove a person to paranoia until you didn’t know whom to trust. The court made upright men jumpy, constantly turning their head to look for attack. Ari’cyiane was no spy.
“We have to end this,” he said, reluctantly dragging the words out.
Her hand, which had made its way to his thigh, froze. She looked around the garden. “Someone has discovered us?” she asked.
“I think so. I think...Grendis Sym.”
The desire fled from her eyes, and she looked stricken. “How do you know?”
“I don’t. Not for certain, but I have a feeling. Sym has never liked me, yet today in court he was practically beaming as I left. I can think of only one reason for that. I think...he saw the way I looked at you. And...the way you looked at me.”
“My husband cannot know,” she whispered. “Not ever.”
“No.” They were agreed on that, at least.
If Sym knew about Ari’cyiane, he could—and would—make Mershayn pay for it. Or worse, he would make Collus pay for it. He’d make sure Vullieth knew. Mershayn could see it now, Lord Vullieth standing before Collus, demanding that he execute his half-brother for the grave insult dealt to him. Collus would refuse, of course, and then Vullieth would leave, taking his entire retinue with him. Militarily, Lord Vullieth was the mightiest lord in Teni’sia. His lands stretched from the borders of the castle almost all the way to Clete. It was fully one-quarter of the entire kingdom. If he opposed the king, others would follow. Collus’s rule would collapse. Teni’sia would fall into civil war.
All because Mershayn couldn’t do what needed to be done. Why did he have to pick Ari’cyiane?
Because of his monumental ego, that’s why. Because it was a challenge. Because it still rankled that Mershayn was not really a noble himself.
Stupid! Lord Vullieth could make a bid for the throne if he wanted. And he would get it. His standing army was twice the size of any other lord’s, and infinitely larger than the amount of soldiers loyal to Collus. Many nobles and their sworn men would swing to Vullieth’s banner if he called them. They were not impressed by Collus’s hesitant rule. By the gods, Mershayn was not impressed by Collus’s rule! Why would these strangers support him? A coup might be in the making right now. What was surprising was that one hadn’t been tried already.
There was probably only one reason a coup had not been tried, and that was Lord Vullieth himself. He did not stand with Sym, and Sym must clench his teeth at that. To overthrow the kingdom, Vullieth either had to be a co-conspirator, or he had to be eliminated. Vullieth was a man of stiff
principles, and he believed in rightful succession. Whether he liked Collus or not, he would support the rightful king by blood.
Unless, of course, he fell into a mindless rage because he discovered the king’s bastard brother made him a cuckold.
“Mershayn?” Ari’cyiane said, bringing him out of his horrifying fantasy. Wrinkles of worry danced the edges of her eyes. Gone was the bedroom stare she had fixed upon him. She looked like a wary rabbit, and she kept her voice hushed. “What should we do?” she asked.
“We must stop. From this moment forward, we do not see one another. We do not talk, except as public decorum dictates. We must act as though nothing has ever happened. We become acquaintances, as we would have been if we had not... If we hadn’t ever met before except in public.”
Her hand tightened on his. “Yes...of course.”
He nodded.
“But tell me, my lord, how I am to accomplish that? These times with you... It has been as though I can fly, after years of scuttling upon the ground. My lord, I think that I—”
“No,” he cut her off quickly. “Don’t say that. You don’t love me, so don’t say it. You don’t even know me. I’m not some dashing, shadowy prince. I’m a selfish, wenching fool. I’ve stepped somewhere I should not have, and now it could cost...everything.”
“If you are so ignoble, then why would you try to stop? Why would you care about what happens to me, to my marriage?” she said softly.
Because I don’t care. I care about my brother.
“Ari’cyiane, you are a wonderful woman. But there is more going on here than just you and I.”
“I understand that. I know why we must stop,” she said. “Sym and his serpents coil around the king, and my husband despises them. But will he support your brother if he catches us?” She shook her head. “I think not.”
So she did understand. He felt a surge of respect for her, and with it came an even greater desire. He tamped it down.
“But how can I see you at court,” she said, “and know that I can never touch you again? Love you again?”
“Don’t use that word. What we have is lust. Easily started and easily ended,” he said in a monotone.
“Not so easily,” she whispered. She brushed her hand across his forehead, tucking his long hair behind his ear.
His gaze dropped to her knees. “It must be so. For all our sakes.”
“Very well,” she breathed. She closed her eyes and delicately wiped tears away with one slender finger. “We must do what is right. For the kingdom.”
He held her hands tight in his. “Thank you, Ari’cyiane.”
She blinked her eyes open, gave a bittersweet smile. “You have been a fire in my life, Mershayn of Bendeller. I thought my days were numbered before you came, each day to resemble the last. You reminded me what it was like to be alive again, vital and passionate.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry that I—”
“Don’t. Please. I am thanking you in the only way I can. You brought something to me I didn’t know I was missing.” She leaned forward and kissed him. Her hands went into his hair, and the kiss turned passionate.
She finally pulled away. Her breath was sweet upon his face, and that desire glowed in her eyes again. “Could it be so wrong?” she whispered. “For us to love each other one last time? The place I spoke of, no one knows of it.”
“Ari’cyiane, I think it best if we just—”
“Let us say goodbye properly, without the weight of a kingdom on our shoulders.”
His heart thundered in his chest. They had made the break. He should just return to the castle, return to Collus, but...
But they were alone. They would never be alone together again.
His blood rushed hot, and he stood, then bowed low. “As you say, my lady. Let us caress this guilt from our bodies one last time.”
She beamed, took his hand in both of hers, and pulled him down the path.
He laughed. This he knew. This, he was good at. The rules were simple, and the joy was certain.
She pulled him around a tight corner in the hedge maze—
—and froze.
Lord Vullieth stood in the middle of the garden pathway, and Grendis Sym stood behind him.
18
Mershayn
Ari’cyiane dropped Mershayn’s hand like a hot coal. Lord Vullieth stared at her. He did not move. The skin around his eyes tightened, and his lips pressed into a hard, thin line.
Lord Vullieth was a good deal taller than Mershayn, and though he was thin, his shoulders were broad. A black cloak swept down from wide, black enameled shoulder clasps. His long red hair was pulled back tightly against his scalp. That carrot color blended with his complexion such that he almost looked bald. His eyebrows were so slight that he almost had none. It gave his black eyes a piercing quality. Vullieth’s black and silver doublet, flared at the shoulders, made him look even larger than he was.
“M—My lord...” Ari’cyiane dipped a quick courtesy, bringing a courtly formality to the shocking awkwardness. But despite her grace, it looked comical. She realized this as soon as she finished, and blushed. Her tongue stumbled, and she stopped talking.
The silence hung in the air like a frosty breath.
“My lady,” Lord Vullieth finally said in his deep voice. “Will you come with me?” He extended his hand, and it shook as though he was barely in control of his rage. She walked forward and took it. Her head began to turn, as though she would look back at Mershayn, but she stopped herself.
Thank the gods for that, at least.
Once Ari’cyiane’s hand was in Vullieth’s, the lord snapped a brief, powerful look at Mershayn. He couldn’t tell if Vullieth was more angry or disappointed. Both emotions waged war on his face. Mershayn dropped his gaze to Vullieth’s polished black boots, unable to meet the stare. He had no practice at hiding guilt. He’d never had any guilt before this. He’d always been proud of his dalliances, proud to flaunt his advantage over every noble he could. But Vullieth might be the only Teni’sian lord who could save Collus’s reign from being subsumed by Sym. Mershayn had just shot an arrow into Collus’s heart.
Lord and lady turned and left the garden without a word. Mershayn watched them go, wishing there was something he could say, something he could do. But none of his charming banter could change what had just happened. No cynical humor about nobles would aid him. What he required was honesty and integrity, and he had none. How did one apologize to a man for sleeping with his wife? He’d never even contemplated such an absurdity before. What could he possibly say that would make anything better?
“That is a shame,” Sym said. The slithery lord watched Vullieth and Ari’cyiane turn a corner in the labyrinthine garden as though he was watching a pleasant sunset. His white and green doublet was tucked neatly into his golden belt, and he rested his hands there.
“You brought him here,” Mershayn growled.
“Of course not,” Sym said. “I simply had business to discuss with Lord Vullieth. I thought the fresh air might be nice. How was I to know that you would be sinking your claws into the noble Lady Ari’cyiane in such a public place?”
“You knew...” Mershayn growled.
“How would I know?”
“Because you’re a rat sneak and a spy.”
Sym took a small cloth from the sleeve of his shirt and held it up to his nose as though he didn’t like what he smelled. “Do not blame your immoral choices on me, bastard. One does not need to follow the droppings of a fox to know that he can be found in the henhouse. And you are not a very cunning fox, to be out here in the open. Not very cunning at all.”
“Better a careless fox than a dead rat.” Mershayn lunged across the distance, batting aside Sym’s hasty block, and grabbed the lord by his perfect doublet. Sym shoved at Mershayn, but he used the momentum, spun around, and threw the lord to the white gravel path.
Sym went down flailing, and rolled onto his back. He lurched upright to a sitting position. “Y
ou insolent swine! I’ll—”
Mershayn drew his sword and tucked the point underneath Sym’s chin.
“You’ll do what, Sym?” he whispered. “What will you do before I carve your lying head off?” He bared his teeth. “Did you think I would not draw upon you because you have no weapon? The crown executes traitors. I’ll be doing Collus a favor.”
“You won’t k-kill me.” Sym said, trying to sound brave, but his hands were stiff and unmoving at his sides, as though he didn’t dare move lest the blade accidentally slit his throat.
Mershayn spat on his white-and-green doublet. “I’m a bastard, remember? Uncouth. Uncontrollable. Who knows what I might do in a fit of rage?”
“This will be seen as an act of war,” Sym said, his voice high-pitched.
Mershayn shrugged. “It’s all so complicated, you and your courtly ways,” he said. “A lie here, a truth there. Build trust, then undermine. I confess I don’t understand it all...” He spun the hilt in his hand perfectly, twisting the blade like a corkscrew. That drew a nick of blood from the lord’s neck. “But I understand that when a sword goes into a man’s throat, that man dies.”
Mershayn stepped forward, pushing gently with the blade and forcing Sym to scrabble backward like a crab until he hit the stone bench.
“I think you underestimate what I’m capable of,” Mershayn hissed, and he struggled with himself. The swordsman in him told him to kill Sym. Now. That was simple. That was swordplay. In swordplay, you fought your enemy, you killed your enemy, and then the fight was over. But it wasn’t the same in politics. If he killed Sym, he’d have to run.
Would it be worth it? It might. It was the honest man’s path, not this indecipherable political muddle. If someone attacked you, you attacked him back. You didn’t give him a second chance to hurt you or the ones you loved. Did it matter that Sym’s attack wasn’t with a sword, but a devious machination instead? Did it matter that—
Mershayn heard the quiet footstep a split second too late. He dropped low, but a splitting pain exploded in the back of his head. He heard his own sword clatter to the gravel.
The GodSpill: Threadweavers, Book 2 Page 14
