“You don’t like Lord Feringal?”
“I don’t know him,” the young woman retorted, “and he’s not knowing me. Not at all!”
“But he’s wanting to,” Dohni argued. “You should take that as the highest compliment.”
“And taking a compliment means giving in to the one complimenting?” Meralda asked with biting sarcasm. “I’ve no choice in the matter? Lord Feringal’s wanting you, so off you go?”
Her nervous splashing of water turned angry, and she accidentally sent a small wave washing over Dohni Ganderlay. The young woman understood that it was not the wetness, but the attitude, that provoked his unexpectedly violent reaction. He caught her wrist in his strong hand and tugged it back, turning Meralda toward him.
“No,” he answered bluntly. “You’ve no choice. Feringal is the lord of Auckney, a man of great means, a man who can lift us from the dirt.”
“Maybe I’d rather be dirty,” Meralda started to say, but Dohni Ganderlay cut her short.
“A man who can heal your mother.”
He could not have stunned her more with the effect of those seven words than if he had curled his great fist into a tight ball and punched Meralda hard in the face. She stared at her father incredulously, at the desperate, almost wild, expression on his normally stoic face, and she was afraid, truly afraid.
“You’ve no choice,” he said again, his voice a forced monotone. “Your ma’s got the wilting and won’t likely see the next turn of spring. You’ll go to Lord Feringal and play the part of a lady. You’ll laugh at his wit, and you’ll praise his greatness. This you’ll do for your ma,” he finished simply, his voice full of defeat. As he turned away and rose Meralda caught a glint of moisture rimming his eye, and she understood.
Knowing how truly horrible this was for her father did help the young woman prepare for the night, helped greatly to cope with this seemingly cruel twist that fate had thrown before her.
The sun was down, and the sky was turning dark blue. The coach passed below him on the way to Meralda’s meager house. She stepped from the door, and even from this great distance Jaka could see how beautiful she appeared, like some shining jewel that mocked the darkness of twilight.
His jewel. The just reward for the beauty that was within him, not a bought present for the spoiled lord of Auckney.
He pictured Lord Feringal holding his hand out of the coach, touching her and fondling her as she stepped inside to join him. The image made him want to scream out at the injustice of it all. The coach rolled back down the road toward the distant castle with Meralda inside, just as he had envisioned earlier. Jaka could not have felt more robbed if Lord Feringal had reached into his pockets and taken his last coin.
He sat wallowing on the peat-dusted hill for a long, long while, running his hands through his hair repeatedly and cursing the inequities of this miserable life. So self-involved was he that he was taken completely by surprise by the sudden sound of a young girl’s voice.
“I knew you’d be about.”
Jaka opened his dreamy, moist eyes to see Tori Ganderlay staring at him. “I knew it,” the girl teased. “What do you know?”
“You heard about my sister’s dinner and had to see for yourself,” Tori reasoned. “And you’re still waiting and watching.”
“Your sister?” Jaka repeated dumbly. “I come here every night,” he explained.
Tori turned from him to gaze down at the houses, at her own house, the firelight shining bright through the window. “Hoping to see Meralda naked through the window?” she asked with a giggle.
“I come out alone in the dark to get away from the fires and the light,” Jaka replied firmly. “To get away from pestering people who cannot understand.”
“Understand what?”
“The truth,” the young man answered cryptically, hoping he sounded profound.
“The truth of what?”
“The truth of life,” Jaka replied.
Tori looked at him long and hard, her face twisting as she tried to decipher his words. She looked back to her house. “Bah, I’m thinking you’re just wanting to see Meralda naked,” she said again, then skipped happily back down the path.
Wouldn’t she have fun with Meralda at his expense, Jaka thought. He heaved another of his great sighs, then turned and walked away to the even darker fields higher up the mountainside.
“Fie this life!” he cried out, lifting his arms to the rising full moon. “Fie, fie, and fly from me now, trappings mortal! What cruel fate to live and to see the undeserving gather the spoils from me. When justice lies in spiked pit. When worth’s measure is heredity. Oh, Lord Feringal feeds at Meralda’s neck. Fie this life, and fly from me!”
He ended his impromptu verse by falling to his knees and clutching at his teary face, and there he wallowed for a long, long while.
Anger replaced self-pity, and Jaka came up with a new line to finish his verse. “When justice lies in spiked pit,” he recited, his voice quivering with rage. “When worth’s measure is heredity.” Now a smile crept onto his undeniably handsome features. “Wretched Feringal feeds at Meralda’s neck, but he’ll not have her virginity!”
Jaka climbed unsteadily to his feet and looked up again at the full moon. “I swear to it,” he said with a growl, then muttered dramatically, “Fie this life,” one last time and started for home.
Meralda took the evening in stoic stride, answering questions politely and taking care to avoid the direct gaze of an obviously unhappy Lady Priscilla Auck. She found that she liked Steward Temigast quite a bit, mostly because the old man kept the conversation moving by telling many entertaining stories of his past and of the previous lord of the castle, Feringal’s father. Temigast even set up a signal system with Meralda to help her understand which piece of silverware she should use for the various courses of food.
Though she remained unimpressed with the young lord of Auckney, who sat directly opposite her and stared unceasingly, the young woman couldn’t deny her wonder at the delicious feast the servants laid out before her. Did they eat like this every day in Castle Auck—squab and fish, potatoes and sea greens—delicacies Meralda had never tasted before?
At Lord Feringal’s insistence, after dinner the group retired to the drawing room, a comfortable, windowless square chamber at the center of the castle’s ground floor. Thick walls kept out the chill ocean wind, and a massive hearth, burning with a fire as large as a village bonfire added to the coziness of the place.
“Perhaps you would like more food,” Priscilla offered, but there was nothing generous about her tone. “I can have a serving woman bring it in.”
“Oh, no, my lady,” Meralda replied. “I couldn’t eat another morsel.”
“Indeed,” said Priscilla, “but you did overindulge at dinner proper, now didn’t you?” she asked, a sweet and phony smile painted on her ugly face. It occurred to Meralda that Lord Feringal was almost charming compared to his sister. Almost.
A servant entered then, bearing a tray of snifters filled with a brownish liquid Meralda didn’t recognize. She took her glass, too afraid to refuse, and on Temigast’s toast and motion, she raised it up and took a healthy swallow. The young woman nearly choked from the burning sensation that followed the liquid down her throat.
“We don’t take such volumes of brandy here,” Priscilla remarked dryly. “That is a peasant trait.”
Meralda felt like crawling under the thick rug. Crinkling his nose at her, Lord Feringal didn’t help much.
“More a trait for one who is not familiar with the potent drink,” Temigast interjected, coming to Meralda’s aid. “Tiny sips, my dear. You will learn, though you may never acquire a taste for this unique liquor. I haven’t yet myself.”
Meralda smiled and nodded a silent thank you to the old man, which relieved the tension again, and not for the last time. Feeling a bit light in the head, Meralda faded out of the conversation, oblivious to Priscilla’s double-edged remarks and Lord Feringal’s stares. Her min
d drifted off, and she was beside Jaka Sculi—in a moonlit field, perhaps, or this very room. How wonderful this place would be, with its thick carpet, huge fire, and this warming drink if she had the companionship of her dear Jaka instead of the wretched Auck siblings.
Temigast’s voice penetrated her fog, reminding Lord Feringal that they had promised to return the young lady by a certain hour, and that the hour was fast approaching.
“A few moments alone, then,” Feringal replied.
Meralda tried not to panic.
“Hardly a proper request,” Priscilla put in. She looked at Meralda and snickered. “Of course, what could possibly be the harm?”
Feringal’s sister left, as did Temigast, the old steward patting Meralda comfortingly on the shoulder as he slipped past to the door.
“I trust you will act as a gentleman, my lord,” he said to Feringal, “as your station demands. There are few women in all the wide world as beautiful as Lady Meralda.” He gave the young woman a smile. “I will order the coach to the front door.”
The old man was her ally, Meralda recognized, a very welcome ally.
“It was a wonderful meal, was it not?” Lord Feringal asked, moving quickly to take a seat on the chair beside Meralda’s.
“Oh, yes, my lord,” she replied, lowering her gaze.
“No, no,” Feringal scolded. “You must call me Lord Feringal, not ‘my lord.’”
“Yes, my—Lord Feringal.” Meralda tried to keep her gaze averted, but the man was too close, too imposing. She looked up at him, and to his credit, he did take his stare from her breasts and looked into her eyes.
“I saw you on the road,” he explained. “I had to know you. I had to see you again. Never has there been any woman as beautiful.”
“Oh, my—Lord Feringal,” she said, and she did look away again, for he was moving even closer, far too close, by Meralda’s estimate.
“I had to see you,” he said again, his voice barely a whisper, but he was close enough that Meralda heard it clearly and felt his breath hot on her ear.
Meralda fought hard to swallow her panic as the back of Feringal’s hand brushed gently down her cheek. He cupped her chin then and turned her head to face him. He kissed her softly at first, then, despite the fact that she was hardly returning the kiss, more urgently, even rising out of his chair to lean into her. As he pressed and kissed, Meralda thought of Jaka and of her sick mother and tolerated it, even when his hand covered the soft fabric over her breast.
“Your pardon, Lord Feringal,” came Temigast’s voice from the door. Flushing, the young man broke away and stood up to face the steward.
“The coach is waiting,” Temigast explained. “It is time for Lady Meralda to return to her home.” Meralda nearly ran from the room.
“I will call for you again,” Lord Feringal said after her. “And soon, to be sure.”
By the time the coach had moved over the bridge that separated Castle Auck from the mainland, Meralda had managed to slow her heartbeat somewhat. She understood her duty to her family, to her sick mother, but she felt as if she would faint, or vomit. Wouldn’t the wretch Priscilla have a grand time with that, if she found that the peasant had thrown up in the gilded coach.
A mile later, still feeling sick and aching to be out of all these trappings, Meralda leaned out the coach’s window.
“Stop! Oh, please stop!” she yelled to the driver. The carriage shuddered to a halt, but even before it had completely stopped the young woman threw open the door and scrambled out.
“My lady, I am to take you to your home,” Liam Woodgate said, leaping down to Meralda’s side.
“And so you have,” the woman replied. “Close enough.”
“But you’ve a long dark lane before you,” the gnome protested. “Steward Temigast’ll have my heart in his hand if—”
“He’ll never know,” Meralda promised. “Don’t fear for me. I walk this lane every night and know every bush and rock and person in every house between here and my own.”
“But …” the gnome began to argue, but Meralda pushed past him, shot him a confident smile, and skipped away into the darkness.
The coach shadowed her for a short while, then, apparently convinced the woman was indeed familiar enough with this area to be safe, Liam turned it around and sped away.
The night was chill, but not too cold. Meralda veered from the road, moving to the dark fields higher up. She hoped to find Jaka there, waiting for her as they had arranged, but the place was empty. Alone in the dark, Meralda felt as if she were the only person in all the world. Anxious to forget tonight, to forget Lord Feringal and his wretched sister, she stripped off her gown, needing to be out of the fancy thing. Tonight she had dined as nobility, and other than the food and perhaps the warm drink, she had not been impressed. Not in the least.
Wearing only her plain undergarments, the young woman moved about the moonlit field, walking at first, but as thoughts of Jaka Sculi erased the too recent image of Lord Feringal, her step lightened to a skip, then a dance. Meralda reached up to catch a shooting star, spinning to follow its tail, then falling to her rump in the soft grass and mud, laughing all the while and thinking of Jaka.
She didn’t know that she was in almost exactly the same spot where Jaka had been earlier that night. The place where Jaka had spat his protests at an unhearing god, where he’d cried out against the injustice of it all, where he’d called for his life to flee, and where he’d vowed to steal Meralda’s virginity for no better reason than to ensure that Lord Feringal did not get it.
here’d you put the durned thing?” a frustrated Arumn Gardpeck asked Josi Puddles the next afternoon. “I know ye took it, so don’t be lying to me.”
“Be glad that I took it,” an unrepentant Josi countered, wagging his finger in Arumn’s face. “Wulfgar would’ve torn the whole place apart to kindling with that warhammer in his hands.”
“Bah, you’re a fool, Josi Puddles,” Arumn replied. “He’d a left without a fight.”
“So ye’re saying,” Josi retorted. “Ye’re always saying such, always taking up the man’s cause, though he’s been naught but trouble to yerself and to all who been loyal to ye. What good’s Wulfgar done for ye, Arumn Gardpeck? What good ever?”
Arumn narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the man.
“And every fight he stopped was one he started,” Josi added. “Bah, he’s gone, and good enough for him, and good enough for all of us.”
“Where’d ye put the warhammer?” Arumn pressed again.
Josi threw up his hands and spun away, but Arumn wouldn’t let him go that easily. He grabbed the little man by the shoulder and whipped him around violently. “I asked ye twice already,” he said grimly. “Don’t ye make me ask again.”
“It’s gone,” Josi replied. “Just gone, and far enough so that Wulfgar couldn’t call to the thing.”
“Gone?” Arumn echoed. His expression grew sly, for he understood Josi better than to think the man had simply thrown so wondrous a weapon into the ocean. “And how much did ye get for it?”
Josi stuttered a protest, waved his hand and stammered again, which only confirmed Arumn’s suspicions. “Ye go get it back, Josi Puddles,” the tavernkeeper instructed.
Josi’s eyes widened. “Cannot—” he started to say, but Arumn grabbed him by the shoulder and the seat of his pants and ushered him along toward the door.
“Go get it back,” Arumn said again, no room for debate in his stern tone, “and don’t come back to me until ye got the hammer in hand.”
“But I cannot,” Josi protested. “Not with that crew.”
“Then ye’re not welcome here anymore,” Arumn said, shoving Josi hard through the door and out into the street. “Not at all, Josi Puddles. Ye come back with the hammer, or ye don’t come back!” He slammed the door, leaving a stunned Josi out in the street.
The skinny man’s eyes darted around, as if he expected some thugs to step out and rob him. He had good cause for concern. Arum
n’s Cutlass was Josi’s primary affiliation and, in a sense, his source of protection on the streets. Few bothered with Josi, mostly because he wasn’t worth bothering with, but mainly because troubling Josi would shut down all routes to the Cutlass, a favorite place.
Josi had made more than few enemies on the street, and once word spread that he and Arumn had fallen out….
He had to get back in Arumn’s favor, but when he considered the necessary task before him, his knees went weak. He had sold Aegis-fang cheaply to a nasty pirate in a wretched drinking hole, a place he visited as rarely as possible. Josi’s eyes continued to dart all around, surveying Half-Moon Street and the alleys that would take him to the private and secret drinking hole by the docks. Sheila Kree would not be there yet, he knew. She would be at her ship, Leaping Lady. The name referred to the image of Sheila Kree leaping from her ship to that of her unfortunate victims, bloody saber in hand. Josi shuddered at the thought of meeting her on the very deck where she was known to have tortured dozens of innocent people to horrible deaths. No, he decided, he would wait to meet with her at the drinking hole, a place a bit more public.
The little man fished through his pockets. He still had all the gold Sheila had paid him for Aegis-fang and a couple of his own coins as well.
He hardly thought it enough, but with Arumn’s friendship at stake, he had to try.
“It’s wonderful to be with ye,” Delly Curtie said, running her hand over Wulfgar’s huge, bare shoulder, which drew a wince from the big man. That shoulder, like every other part of his body, had not escaped the battering at the Cutlass.
Wulfgar muttered something unintelligible and rose from the bed, and while Delly’s hands continued to caress him, he continued to ignore the touch.
“Are ye sure ye’re wantin’ to leave already?” the woman asked in a seductive manner.
Wulfgar turned to regard her, stretching languidly on the rumpled bed.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he grumbled as he pulled on his clothes and headed for the door.
The Spine of the World Page 9
