“Conduct the rite.” I gestured a dismissal.
“Rodrigo, you mustn’t—”
I gripped her wrist hard enough so she winced. “Know you the rite?”
“It’s to grieve the loss—”
“No, my lady. To put end to grieving.” I let go her arm, sorry for the red fingermarks in her flesh. “Rust knew my tears, my hopes, my failure as a man, and still he loved—” I swallowed. “Think you I’ll set aside mourning? Not while I live!” This last I flung at her, as a sharpened spear.
“Were he among us, how would he bid you?”
“No doubt to carry on. I’ll disappoint him in this, as so much else.”
“As you wish, my lord.” She rose. “You need dress for the burial.”
“I am dressed.”
She crossed to the clothes chest. “I’ll help you select—”
“Madam, you are not my mother!”
She fingered my breeks, stiff with dried blood. “It’s of respect you wear this. But consider, my lord, how your court will see it A king so deranged—”
“I care not!”
“Or that you’ve such disdain, you’d see your friend to earth in stained garb that draws flies!” Red spots fired her cheeks.
I ran to the door, flung it open. “Out of my chamber, this instant!”
“My lord—”
“Out!”
The door slammed behind her with a satisfying crash.
I paced the chamber, savoring my wrath. My heart pounded.
Below, at the place of burial, there’d be erected a canopy, perhaps a tent. Rustin would be set out on a slab, garlanded with blooms. Three times would the ritemaster carry a taper round his still form, perhaps shielding it from wind; it was an ill omen if the candle guttered.
While the ritemaster muttered the sacred words, mourners would each lay a flower on the stony bier, or, if in dead of winter, a green twig, symbolizing the rebirth of spring. The ritemaster’s taper consumed, as flames will, the collected grief.
Rustin would understand my absence.
My youngest brother, Pytor, was buried in the courtyard, under a bronze marker of Uncle Raeth’s devising. Rust had liked him, more than I in my selfish youth. Now he’d enjoy Pytor’s company through the ages. Perhaps he’d teach him to be a man, like he—like ... I hammered my thigh with closed fist.
I flung open the window, peered down. Folk were gathering in the courtyard. I couldn’t see Tresa among them. Foolish woman, who dared to upbraid a king. I was well rid of her. Willful, stubborn, blind to my needs. Stupid, like all her kind, and—
A soft knock.
“Begone! I’ve no need of—”
Not Tresa, but Anavar, peered through the half-opened door. He slipped inside.
“Must I set the bar, to have peace? Out.”
“No, my lord. I beg pardon.”
My hand flashed to my empty sheath. Maddened, I snatched the ewer, pitched it at Anavar’s head. He ducked. A shattering crash.
My voice was hoarse. “Know you what you risk?”
Anavar took deep breath. “Full well.” He came near, tremulous. “Sir, you—”
I slapped him. The sound was a thunderclap. His hand flew to his fiery cheek.
My voice dripped contempt. “You call yourself vassal, and obey not your king?”
“I protect you. From yourself.” His eyes glistened. “Rustin’s to be buried in an hour. It’s time to dress, my lord.”
“Tresa sent you.”
“And Elryc. As would Rustin, if he had speech.”
“How dare—” My mouth worked. Mute, I sank to my cushioned bed.
“Come, sir.” His voice was soothing. He knelt by my feet, pulled loose a boot.
I jumped up, seized his hair, drew him upward.
Teeth bared from the pain, he rose.
“By what right do you defy me, Anavar of Eiber?” I stretched him to his toes, pulled harder.
“For your own sake!”
Abruptly, I released him. Rocking, eyes shut, he rubbed furiously at his scalp. He stamped a foot, rubbed harder.
My rage was doused. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, surreptitiously wiped an eye.
“I didn’t mean to hurt—no, I’d have hurt you more, had I the means.” Wearily, I slumped on the cushions. “Again, my cruelty.”
Anavar opened the door, peered outside. “Tanner, warm water for the king. Be quick.” Back to me. “Hold up your foot. There. Now the breeks.”
I lay still, arm over my eyes.
The creak of my clothes chest. “Rustin must have liked these; he laid them out for you often. And this shirt. There’s no time for a bath, sir, but we’ll have water to wash. This scented soap was Rustin’s. He won’t mind your using it.”
“I don’t ... I can’t ...”
“I’ll help, sir. That’s all right, let yourself cry. Lord of Nature knows you have cause.”
Half an hour later, we descended the stair. As I’d clutched Nurse in my sorrows when a toddler, now I held tight to Anavar, afraid to catch an eye, to take a step beyond his.
In the windswept courtyard we laid Rustin into the earth, wrapped still in my cloak. Groenfil and Soushire, Tresa and Tursel had all gathered, along with the nobility of the place.
I watched in silence, my mind in flight. I was wondering how to make amends to Tresa, when unexpectedly, she slipped her hand in mine. Grateful beyond words, I stood dumbly between her and Anavar, and let them steady me when the first earth was thrown.
After, we walked to Raeth’s sunlit dining hall, where viands had been laid.
I cleared my throat. “Lady Tresa ... I know not what I do. I haven’t slept in ...”
“Two days.” Anavar.
“I’m not fit to be king.”
Tresa frowned. “Whyever not?”
“When Margenthar slaughtered. Rust, I ought have turned in fury to Verein to oust him. Instead, I bid Tursel proceed to Cumber.” My lip curled. “Duties of state.”
“You need save your kingdom.”
“To what end, if foul murder goes unpunished?” My voice was shrill.
“It’s been barely a day.” Her tone was soothing. “In good time you’ll—”
“Rust cries for vengeance. Can you not hear him?”
Across the hall, Groenfil paused at his plate.
Tresa glanced at Anavar. “To his chamber, I think. I’ll have food brought. Come, Roddy.” Weeping, I let them guide me.
All afternoon I lay disconsolate. Anavar and Tresa spoke calming words. From time to time they fed me morsels. Dutifully, I ate.
I dozed, waking suddenly to nightmares and panic. Soft voices coaxed me back to my sleep.
I woke snuggled in Rustin’s embrace, an arm thrown casually over his flank. For a delicious moment I drowsed, basking in his warmth.
Anavar stirred. “Good morn, my lord.”
Galvanized, I sat. Rage tore the cobwebs of sleep. “Out!” An ankle, at the small of his back. I propelled him to the floor. A thump.
“Ai!” He clutched his knee, rolled back and forth. “Why’d you do that?”
“How dare you take his—you’ve a bed of your own!”
His eyes were reproachful. “You begged me not to go. You clutched my wrist ...”
I flushed at the unwelcome memory. “That’s as may be. I was ... agitated.” He deserved more. “Forgive me, if you have it in you.”
Cautiously, he perched on the edge of the bed, shivering in naught but a loincloth. “Tresa and I sat ’til past twelfth hour.”
“I recall, now.”
“Your sleep was fevered.”
It would long be so.
“Twice in the night you called out—”
“Enough!” My tone had an edge. I rubbed my eyes. The welts from my scratches itched, and I had a great hunger. Still, I hesitated. “Anavar, shall I abdicate for Elryc?”
He snorted. “Don’t play the fool.”
“Think on it. He’s ... sedate. And wis
e.”
“He’s a child, and you’re my liege.” His voice was firm. “Sir, I’d speak of things beyond my station.”
I nodded.
He wrapped a bedcover around his bare shoulders. “My father is a fair man, but strict. When I was young my mother Janna shielded me from his ire, and taught me a child’s ways.”
He took deep breath. “I was eleven when my mother passed from life. For months after—in truth, sir, years—I went about as if thrown from a horse, dazed and hurt. I wept without reason and shied from friends. Oft father was irked. But with time ...” He blinked rapidly. “I learned to smile anew. You could not love Rustin more than I Janna. But Lord of Nature demands life go on.”
“How long ...” I swallowed. “Before it eased?”
His eyes glistened. “Every day I miss her, to this hour, as you miss Lord Rustin. But one grows accustomed.” He turned away, and was silent. Then, “Be not alone in your grief, sir.”
After a time I cleared my throat. “Did I hurt your knee?”
“It’s a trifle.”
“I’m sorry. I always am.” Awkwardly, I patted his shoulder. “Come, let us dress.” A new day was on us, and I must rise to play at king.
Ten
THRUSTING CAYIL ASIDE, I strode into the cave, my bedchamber fading to mist. “Why didn’t you warn me?” My voice trembled. “Have you only shades of passion? Think you I’d not have given life itself to prevent it?”
Mother rose quickly. “What has passed?”
“Rustin’s dead, madam, by your brother’s hand.” I whirled to Tryon. “May your Mar burn forever. May demons take his soul.”
Instead of the rage I expected, Tryon cleared his throat uneasily. “Why berate me?”
“You spawned him. Better you were struck dead.”
“Enough, Roddy.” Mother sought to guide me to the fire.
“Bah!” I flung off her hand. “For this babble, this endless fire, I’ve given up manhood? I’ll lie with Tresa and put an end to it. You gulled me, madam, to believe the Still had worth.”
“Leave us then, if you won’t listen.” Mother crouched by the fire, rubbing her hands. “You were always willful.”
Despite myself, I sank reluctantly at her side. “Speak on.”
“What cause had Mar to slay Rustin?”
“They had no quarrel.”
“Why, then?”
“To destroy me.”
“Aye, he’s half done that.” Her appraisal was cool. “It’s for you to hand him victory or defeat.”
I flushed at her rebuke. “I have no calm in this, Mother.”
“Devise one. The kingdom demands it.”
“What care I now of Caledon?”
“Little enough, it seems.”
Cayil loomed over us, touched my shoulder lightly with a withered claw. “Recall you not grief, Elena? Slacken his fetters.”
“He’s king, and must set sorrow aside.” Nonetheless, Mother paused, reflective, exploring me with troubled eyes. “When you were three, and Rustin five, he taught you a game of ball and blocks. As seasons passed, I held my breath while the two of you rode to hunt.” Her fingers brushed my arm. “You’ve reason to mourn him.”
“Thank you.”
“But not to berate us. If you want foreknowledge, seek the Ukra, though little good it does their Empur. Did ever I tell you the Still brought prescience? Chide us not for a gift beyond our giving!” Her eyes glinted.
“I ask pardon.” The words came hard, but were merited.
Queen Elena seemed to weigh the boon. “Granted.”
I held out my hands, in futile effort to take warmth from the cold flames. “What now, Mother? I’m without restraint.”
Grandsir Tryon stirred. “You’re weakened, and all know it.” He scored the dust with a dry stick. “First, you lost a valued counsellor. Second, you’re bereft, and act it. Third—” He jabbed at the dust. “—Mar tweaked you with impunity.”
I started. “Tweaked?”
“Jabbed.” Tryon waved it away, as if of no consequence. “Tantroth will know, and consider. And Hriskil will be emboldened.”
“Grandsir ...” I girded myself. “I’d have your advice about Margenthar. Surely you know the blood between us can never be expunged. But he’s your son. How shall I know you speak to my benefit, not his?”
“I speak for Caledon.” Tryon’s tone was acid. “Neither you nor Mar signify. Only the realm.”
“If you think him preferable ...”
“You’re crowned, and will join us after your day. We exist to guide you.”
“How can I know that?”
“Because we say it. If you doubt, leave us!”
“Very well.” I surged to my feet. “I shall.”
My assembled nobles pored over a map drawn on sheepskin, while I sat lethargic and worn from my wield of the Still.
Elryc pressed my unsteady hand to his cheek. Until our meet of this sunlit morn, I hadn’t realized how my derangement had alarmed him. Even Genard, usually my goad, refilled my watered wine and attended me as if I were his liege. I did my best to set my mind to our business.
“Grandfather blocks the Caled Pass at Pezar. Tantroth is here, across Eiber.” Tresa stabbed at lines drawn in dye. “Hriskil is determined to hold them apart, though he needn’t take the trouble. Tantroth has no longing to join his allies.”
Groenfil frowned, arms crossed. “Outnumbered as we are, there’s no great benefit in joining force.”
I frowned. We’d left Stryx only to unite the armies of Caledon. Why question that goal now?
Tresa’s tone was tart. “If we fear battle, why take the field?”
“To seek the moment we might prevail,” said Groenfil. “It warrants patience.”
Captain Tursel looked stubborn. “Cumber’s the key to Caledon. A strong base in the north prevents Hriskil from lunging with his whole might through the kingdom. Duke Tantroth must know our force here in Cumber prevents his annihilation. It’s essential he join us.”
I bestirred myself. “What say you, Anavar?”
My ward shot me a grateful glance. “Trust not in Duke Tantroth.” A pause. “But summon him, to augment your strength and fight under your eye.”
“Hriskil’s overrun the west of Eiber,” I said. “If Tantroth retreats east to join us at Pezar, we cede the Norlanders the rest of his duchy.”
Tursel scowled at the map. “Not if we advance westward and give battle in Eiber.”
“Abandon the pass?” Tresa was indignant. “Grandfather fought all winter to keep—”
“Just so.” Groenfil’s tone was sharp. “If Hriskil maneuvers behind us, not only are we cut off from return, but Cumber and all Caledon are open to him.”
I wondered, “If I summoned Tantroth, would he heed?”
At that, silence.
“We’ll soon know.” Wearily, I stood. “My lady, send couriers to Tantroth. He’s to meet us at the Caled Pass and fall on the Norlanders from the rear, ’til our forces join. We ourselves leave for the hills at dawn. Tursel, make ready.”
Murmurs of assent.
“Roddy ...”
“Later, Elryc.” I strode to the stone-decked veranda, but Uncle’s abandoned flowerbeds held no interest. I turned back through the keep, to the massive wooden door and the stairs to the courtyard. Reluctantly, I let my steps take me to the bronze monument. Soon Rustin’s name would be placed alongside Pytor’s. We’d need set another marker too, on a road three leagues from Fort.
I stared at the fresh-piled earth. Someone had placed a flagstone near. I brushed it clean and knelt.
Ah, my prince ...
I started. “You’re here?”
So long as you remember me. His tone was sardonic.
“Oh, Rust, what will I do without you?”
Carry on.
“Do you really hear me?”
Silence.
“Rustin?”
A long while passed. A familiar lithe form settled at my side. “It�
��s a nice grave, m’lor’. Plain, but where folk will see it. Who were you talking to?”
“Rustin.”
Genard nodded wisely. “The Still serves you well.”
“Not the Still, you toad! I imagine him!”
“Who’s to say what—”
“I say. Think you I don’t know the distinction?”
“I’m sorry, m’lor’.” For once, the stableboy sounded abashed. “You’ve such great Power, I think you can do all.”
“If it were so, Hriskil would be dead, and Mar flayed alive.”
The venom of my words took Genard aback. “That’s beyond me, m’lor’.” He picked at a clod of earth. “When we leave in the morn ...”
“What now? You would ride at my side?”
“Not me. Lord Elryc.” Genard’s glance beseeched me. “He’s lonely, and takes fright. I do my best to ease him by talking of small things—”
I snorted.
“It’s all I know to do, m’lor’. I have no great mind.”
“At least you know it.” Then, after a moment, “Were Rustin alive, he’d beat me for that. I know no bounds.” Tentatively, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s foolish speech, and cruel. I vowed you better.”
“I don’t hold you to it. You meant well.”
“Demons dance on good intentions.” I sounded cross, and was. “Before today, I was civil, was I not?”
“Yes, m’lor’. For a half fortnight.”
“Then I’ll resume.”
He toyed with a fallen bloom. “It’s that I know not what to say. When I would bring ease, I vex you. When I would vex, I enrage you. Old Griswold urged me to silence, but even he had to admit it wasn’t my way.” Reflectively, he rubbed his rump. “Only Elryc understands.”
“I do, too,” I said, surprising myself. “You mean no harm.”
Genard settled himself closer. “Let’s think of Rustin,” he said presently.
Fingering my scar, I paced the soft-draped chamber, while Lady Tresa sat placidly. “I don’t know how. Rust said I ought speak as to any man, and not take heed that you’re a woman.” That wasn’t quite how Rustin had phrased it, but I was too flustered to do better.
“In your scrolls you do so, my lord.” She studied the stone flagging.
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 14
