Binding Spell (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms)

by Pope, Christine

  “I must apologize, my lady, for not having made any preparations for your arrival.” Althan paused by the fireplace, a diffident expression on his lean features. “I hope you find these chambers adequate.”

  “Very,” I replied. The rooms were more than adequate, and offered the comforting side benefit of obviously being guest chambers, and not Kadar’s private rooms. So perhaps I would have enough breathing space to see if I could find some way out of this mess.

  Althan asked delicately, “And your baggage…?”

  “I have none,” I said, not bothering to temper the bluntness of my words. “I come to you as you see me now.” Resisting the impulse to lift my skirts so he could see my dirty bare feet, I added, “A hot bath would be most welcome.”

  He bowed. “Of course, my lady. It will be seen to immediately. I will gather what items I can to lend you comfort for now, but of course tomorrow I will have seamstresses come in to provide you with a suitable wardrobe.”

  “Thank you, Althan.”

  Again he inclined his head, before taking his leave of me and shutting the doors behind him. I waited for a moment, then crossed the sitting room and tried the lock. It wouldn’t turn.

  So for all his courtesies, Althan was disinclined to trust me…or somehow Kadar had managed to convey more information to his steward about my situation than I had thought. For all I knew, the attitude of mild bemusement Althan had assumed at my arrival could have been false.

  Well, locked doors were certainly not enough to hinder me, but a castle full of people loyal to Kadar was. I could escape the suite, but I doubted I would get more than a few feet before being marched straight back to my rooms. Besides, I was exhausted and dirty and barefoot. It seemed obvious enough that Kadar Arkalis had no intention of coming in and ravishing me in the immediate future, so why not allow myself a bath and a good night’s sleep in a real bed with sheets and pillows and blankets? I would be much better prepared to face whatever came my way on the morrow.

  Thus having reassured myself of the wisdom of my decision, I sat down on the chair closest to the fireplace and awaited the arrival of the bath. It was only weariness, after all, that led me to feel the first heat of unshed tears in my eyes and a curious constriction in my throat.

  I swallowed, and told myself to take heart. My world had not yet ended, and the next day would offer its own possibilities.

  I had to satisfy myself with that.

  Chapter 3

  To my surprise, I did feel better upon awakening the next morning. For one thing, I had spent so many nights in a row in strange beds that it took me half a moment to realize I was not at the Sedassa manor house in the Black Hills, or even one of the inns I had patronized during my journey from South Eredor to Sirlende. My muscles still had the faintest ghost-trace of weariness about them, but other than that I felt remarkably refreshed.

  But then I sat up and looked about me, and remembered that this comfortable chamber was located in Kadar Arkalis’ castle, and that I was no better than his prisoner, no matter how luxurious my cell. I pushed myself off the tall bed and made my way over to the window so I might get a better view of my prison.

  My suite appeared to be located in a tower at the rear of the castle. It did afford a fine view of the lake, which I had to admit looked somewhat more inviting in the morning light. While a few high clouds traced their way overhead, the sky was a deep, serene blue, that same hue reflected in the waters below me.

  As far as I could tell, the city followed the curve of the lake to the east and almost halfway to its more northerly banks, but its western edges remained wild and free, the trees there showing the first flame-colored hues of autumn. The dark shapes of fishing boats dotted the lake itself; apparently some sort of freshwater fish were to be found there.

  A knock came at the door, and I hurried back over to the bed. Although from somewhere a clean sleep chemise had been found for me, I had not been provided with any sort of dressing gown. And while Kadar had already seen me in my chemise, I preferred to avoid a repeat of that experience. At least in bed I could pull the covers up to my chin.

  But after I called out, “come in!”, the door opened, and the same woman who had brought the chemise and the bath and my supper the night before stepped in. She carried another tray, this one laden with a large slice of some sort of pie and a steaming mug of tea.

  “Your breakfast, my lady,” she said, and brought the tray to me in bed.

  I took it from her and settled it on my lap. “Thank you.”

  She bobbed her head. “The Mark wishes for you to eat and then dress. He will see you within the hour.”

  Her words made the food before me smell far less appetizing, but I made myself pick up the fork and scoop out a good portion of the pie. It appeared to be some sort of egg and cheese mixture, dotted with small pieces of green onion and ham.

  I lifted the forkful of pie to my mouth and chewed. At least the food was excellent. “Am I to go see his lordship in my chemise?”

  Her dark eyes widened. She was a round, comfortable-looking sort of woman, although she appeared far from comfortable at the moment. “Of course not, my lady! Althan is sending up a gown, although you will also meet with the seamstresses later today.”

  “Very well,” I told her, and she bobbed a curtsey and departed.

  There was nothing for it except to finish the pie and drink the tea — which wasn’t true tea, but some tisane tasting of rose hips and chamomile. Still, it was refreshing enough, and my stomach seemed relieved that it had finally gotten enough to satisfy it.

  Along with the chemise, I had been provided with some necessary toiletries the night before, and I went to the little mirror above the side table and combed my hair before using the washstand to clean my face and teeth. If I must be forced to face Kadar Arkalis so soon after breaking my fast, at least I could do it while looking as respectable as possible.

  I had just finished my ablutions when the servant woman reappeared, this time carrying a length of deep wine-colored velvet that proved to be a quite elegant gown trimmed with pale fawn-gold embroidery. She also provided a clean chemise and other underthings, finely knitted wool stockings, and — wonder of wonders — a pair of low indoor slippers.

  In a brisk, no-nonsense fashion, she helped me into these items, then produced from her apron pocket a pair of finely carved combs, which she used to pull some of my hair back from my face, although she left most of it loose.

  “Thank you…” I trailed off, realizing I had never asked for her name.

  “Beranne,” she supplied. “Never mind that, though. He is waiting for you.”

  Her brisk tone told me she would allow no delaying tactics. I had none in my arsenal, anyway. My face was clean, my hair done. At any rate, I found myself wishing to get this over with. Once I knew of Kadar’s immediate plans for me, I would be in a better position to craft a counter-attack.

  With that thought to buoy me, I followed Beranne out of my suite and down the stairs, through a long corridor filled with servant girls, couriers, men-at-arms, scribes, and others I couldn’t begin to identify, and then finally up a set of wide, shallow steps. Although we faced a pair of double doors, Beranne opened only the one on the right and stepped aside. Her meaning was clear enough: I was expected to enter alone.

  Which I did, head high and chin up. The gown was a good enough fit for me, if a trifle large. The slippers pinched my feet, and I hoped a replacement pair that actually fit would be provided at some point, but for the moment I would endure the discomfort. At least now I felt as if I looked like a lady and a Sedassa.

  These rooms were grander than my own, the ceilings higher and with intricate coffering instead of the plain beams of my own chambers. Rather than hangings, painted frescoes of hunting scenes covered the walls. To my surprise, one wall boasted a large bookcase filled with a number of volumes in varying shapes and sizes. The Mark of Eredor had not struck me as a reading man, and I wondered whether someone else had put that impres
sive collection together.

  At the far end of the space, the main chamber narrowed into what was obviously another tower room. Arched windows similar to those in my chambers let in another view of the lake, although from a different perspective. From here one saw only forest and water, with no trace of the town visible. Standing silhouetted against those windows was Kadar Arkalis.

  He turned as I approached, and gave me an appraising look. “You appear recovered from your journey.”

  “Sleep does have amazing restorative properties.”

  “So it would appear.”

  He seemed to make no attempt to hide the admiration in his gaze, and I found it difficult to keep from glancing away. I did not want him to admire me. I wanted him to let me go.

  Perhaps he noted my discomfiture. Whatever the reason, he moved past me to a large table that was scattered with pieces of paper. A pen of chased silver rested in an inkwell, and he leaned over and picked it up.

  “I’ve been composing a letter,” he said. “After all, your relatives should know that you are safe.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Apparently the word ‘safe’ has a different meaning in North Eredor than where I am from.”

  He paused, pen still clasped in his fingers. I noted that he appeared to be left-handed. “Are we to continue this game? What is the point? In all true meanings of the word, you are safe. You are fed, and clothed, and housed under my protection.”

  “One might say the same for the prisoners languishing in the gaol beneath the Imperial palace in Iselfex,” I retorted. “But I daresay if you stopped to ask their opinion, they would not tell you they were safe.”

  His only reply was a snort. Then he asked, “Is Lark your full name? It seems a bit…unusual.”

  In point of fact, it was not; the nickname I had taken for my own was a shortening of Larkhenna, just as my brother Thani went by something infinitely more manageable than his given name of Sorthannic, which he had always hated. But I saw no reason why I should provide Kadar with such information. “Lark will do,” I told him.

  It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at me, but he said nothing, and only pulled out the chair that faced the table and began scratching away on the parchment. Although I dearly would have liked to see what he was writing, I forced myself to feign indifference. As I waited, I began making a surreptitious survey of my surroundings.

  The suite appeared to have only the one main entrance, but there were all those windows. Breaking the leading that separated the panes would be no easy task, although I guessed it could be accomplished by hurling a chair through them. Of course, that would make quite the racket, one that someone would be sure to investigate, but I knew of a sound-deadening spell which might work. I wished I could go closer to inspect the ground beneath those tower windows, for from this angle it looked almost as if the lake came right up to the building. That would never do. I could swim, as could most citizens of my seaside town, but the water in that lake looked dreadfully cold.

  A doorway on the far side of the chamber led into what appeared to be Kadar’s sleeping quarters; I spied an enormous green-hung bed through the partially open door. More windows in there, probably, and perhaps ones that didn’t directly overlook the lake. But of course it would not do to show any interest in his bedchamber, or that might lead his thoughts in undesirable directions.

  I began to sidle toward the bookcase, only to have his voice stop me.

  “Should I send this to your aunt, do you think? Or to your brother?”

  “I cannot say for sure,” I replied, then crossed my arms and faced him. “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether the investiture went on as planned, even with my kidnapping. If my brother now is the Duke of Marric’s Rest, then it should go to him, of course. But I fear I have been rather out of touch the past few days.”

  Kadar set the pen back in its inkwell and considered me for a moment. Now, in the shelter of his own castle, he had discarded his riding leathers for a long doublet of fine wool in so deep a brown it appeared almost black, and his dark straight hair, which for the ride had been pulled back away from his face, just brushed his collarbones. His mother had supposedly been a great beauty in her day. It did not take any great effort for me to see echoes of that beauty in her son’s face, in the high cheekbones and straight, sculpted nose. What a pity his soul did not match his handsome countenance.

  “The wisest thing for you to do,” I went on, “would be to write them both and ask for whatever ransom you deem fit. I have no doubt that either of them would agree to any amount you request, as long as it is not completely out of reason.”

  “Back to that, I see.” He smiled, but no warmth touched his eyes. “A temporary solution at best. No, I think my plan the better one.”

  Thinking quickly, I said, “Why settle for the sister of a duke, when you might yet make a royal connection? I have heard the daughters of the King of Purth are quite fair…”

  “…And promised to various princes from the cradle, none of them me, unfortunately. But thank you for reminding me.”

  I retorted, “It was your choice, my lord, to attempt to make do with what is a poor substitute at best.” I didn’t much like referring to myself in such a fashion, but it was the simple truth.

  To be sure, I didn’t know exactly how much a connection with me would even bring him, save perhaps a measure of security for his borders. He should have been content with the knowledge that at least the Sirlendian Empire hadn’t decided to gobble up his country along with all the others it had swallowed over the centuries. Its ongoing independence did owe something to the ferocity of its warriors, but rather more to the reality that North Eredor was a poor country with very little to offer a conquering empire. It had no mineral wealth beyond a few tin mines in its extreme northeast, and it did not produce crops beyond those which fed its own people. Why fight a war over such negligible scraps?

  I guessed the Mark would not like to hear such reasoned arguments, even if they were based on cold truths. Somehow he had convinced himself that marrying me would bring him status and connections he did not currently possess, and I was beginning to realize even the most logical assertions to the contrary would most likely be ignored.

  He had shot me a sharp look at the phrase “poor substitute,” but his tone was mild enough when he replied, “One learns to make do.”

  How those words were any less insulting than the ones I had applied to myself, I wasn’t sure, but I refused to allow him to upset me. I had a long way to go before I achieved the true stillness of spirit my father said magic required, but I hoped that what I had acquired so far would aid me in my dealings with Kadar Arkalis.

  I added, “At any rate, you should be glad you missed your mark in this…enterprise. While I believe the Emperor will not trouble himself on my account — he will no doubt expect my family to take care of the situation — I cannot say the same would have happened if you had actually succeeded in kidnapping the Crown Princess. He would have been sure to send some force against you.”

  “For what?” Kadar laid down his pen and sprinkled some sand over the document he had apparently just completed. “Can an army restore a woman’s virtue? The shell on that egg would have already been broken. He would have had to make the best of the situation, as so many other relatives in similar situations before him have.”

  “Indeed?” I allowed myself to smile. “Your intelligence is lacking, my lord, if that is your measure of Torric Deveras. He is not, I am led to understand, the type to endure what he would most certainly see as a slight against his house. He would surely retaliate, even though such an act would do nothing to restore the Crown Princess’s lost honor.”

  Kadar pushed back his chair and stood, then lifted the now-dry letter from the tabletop. “And do you know him so very well?”

  “Not at all,” I admitted. That was no more than the truth, as all I knew of the new Emperor were a few chance comments from my aunt, who appeared to have
no great regard for the man who now occupied the throne. However, I had heard enough to guess that he was a difficult man, haughty, quick to see slights even when none had been intended. “But the little I do know seems to indicate he is not the sort of man to calmly make the best of a bad situation. You may have dodged an arrow by taking the wrong woman.”

  “Your concern for my welfare does you credit.”

  I raised my eyebrows and gave a small, bitter chuckle. “Do not flatter yourself, my lord. I have very little concern for you…but I would hate to see innocent people lose their lives in a conflict over something so poorly planned and ill-conceived.”

  “Poorly…?” For the first time I saw a true flash of anger in those golden eyes. The sooty lashes almost obscured their feral gleam as he shot me a narrow look. “As far as I can tell, the whole scheme was managed well enough. It is not my fault the lady in question fell ill at the last moment, or that you occupied the chambers which had been intended for her.”

  “And precisely how did you gain such knowledge? The details of my visit were not known to those outside my aunt’s household staff.”

  “North Eredor is a poor country, but my meager resources are still enough to buy a few well-placed spies.”

  To that I had no real response. I supposed I was being naïve if I thought all servants in all noble households were above taking bribes. Quite likely they viewed such dealings to be an accepted way of supplementing their wages, and it was entirely possible they believed the information they passed on to be of no real significance.

  Kadar smiled a little at my silence, as if pleased that he had been able to best me on at least that one point. Still smiling, he held out to me the letter he had just written. “What think you of this? I will make a second, addressed to your brother, if you think it necessary.”

  I looked down at the paper and saw he had written the missive in perfect Sirlendian. My estimation of his scholarship increased slightly, although I could not say the same for his character.