by Connie Ward
Sestus chewed his lip, still warring with that part of him suspicious of Valleri. “Do you believe, beyond a doubt, Valleri acts on your behalf?"
"Yes, Sestus. Absolutely."
"You harbour not the slightest suspicion he plots against Bertrand to seize the throne for himself?"
"None. If he does, why would he go to such lengths to help me escape, even contrive my death?"
"Perhaps when the order finally came from Bertrand to kill you, Valleri just couldn't go through with it. Have you thought about that? His love for you may hamper him, just as yours for Val cripples you."
I dismissed the notion. “Regardless of what you and Ginger say, the only thing Valleri is guilty of is loving me. Make no mistake about that, Sestus."
"Nevertheless, Ginger is right about one thing. Whether Valleri wants the throne for you or himself, he still schemes against Bertrand. That much you can't deny."
Sadly, I could not. The oaths I had extracted from Valleri meant nothing. It is a question of who will reach Uncle first. Will Valleri hold the executioner's blade, or some Crusader captain? Either way, will it bring me my crown?
"It's too soon for Bertrand to die. We're not ready. We still have to build our assault teams. In the meantime, Ginger intends to prevent Valleri from doing anything rash."
"As do I. Uncle deserves to pay for his crimes, past and present. He is unfit to rule Thylana. But he does not need to die in order to do penance.” Even after all he'd done to me, I would not stoop to his level of vileness. I would not commit regicide, nor allow anyone else to, whether he be Valleri or Ginger.
Sestus rose to leave. “Well, if nothing else, at least one good thing has come out of this."
"What's that?"
"Ginger believes the Princess Kathedra is dead. That makes your position here a great deal safer. But that doesn't mean you can afford to be careless."
I understood. “Did Ginger happen to find out where Valleri's Twelfth is headed?” Those words cost me dear to say.
"He said the new Gryphon Highlord has orders to harass Naren in Shanasea, but first he has to pick up reinforcements in Church Grove. Bertrand hopes to cut off Naren's food supply. A message has already been dispatched to Shanasea. Naren will be prepared. Why?"
"Just curious."
Once Sestus had left, I crawled into my bunk to ponder the Gryphon Highlord's orders. Naren is the fifth of six outlaw leaders. I recalled a briefing in Castle Gryphon several months ago with Uncle and the available captains, about where to strike next. I suggested Shanasea. Everyone, including my second, vetoed me, claiming Shanasea was too trivial a concern. A small, unremarkable town, it was not important enough on which to waste time and money. If the Crusaders wanted it, they could have it. Let them tie up men and arms in a place of no interest to anyone.
Thus I received orders to rout the enemy at Laurelac, which I did, to Ginger's embarrassment. I consoled my bruised ego with that victory and never gave Shanasea another thought.
Until now. During my last few weeks in Castle Gryphon I had heard nothing to suggest Shanasea had become of sudden importance. What had changed to turn Valleri's attention toward it?
I suppose I should have told Sestus about it, but I merely assumed Uncle had withheld information from me and a shift in strategy had come at a time when I was no longer privy to Royalist secrets. It seemed too minor a detail to mention. At the moment I was more concerned with how I felt about Valleri commanding my Royal. Angry thoughts surfaced. Swift and violent angry thoughts that demolished Repachea's favourite item of plunder, a well proportioned sculpture of a writhing and naked woman.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Some days later I had the opportunity to quiz Biddy myself on the matter of her feud with Sestus. I was in the infirmary, attending to the grim task of trimming Belvemar's toenails, when I heard what sounded like muffled sobs coming from the dispensary. Excusing myself, I went to investigate.
I peeked around the door. “Biddy? Is that you?"
She spun, red-eyed and teary, from the cupboard she'd been leaning against, to swipe at the moisture staining her cheeks. “What are you doing, girl, sneaking up on me like that?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sneak. It's just that I heard—"
"Well, go away. I'm busy."
"Busy feeling sorry for yourself?"
She sped me such a fierce glare that had I been any nearer I'm sure she'd have swatted me. I stepped into the room and closed the door. Though prickly and over-bearing at times, Biddy had a warm heart and a sensitive nature, like most healers. It took only a sympathetic look on my part for her story to pour out.
Apparently, once upon a time, when the organization dubbed the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency was still just a daydream, she and Sestus had been sweethearts. Her brother, Cadwell, an aspiring Crusader, introduced them. As the story went, Cadwell and Sestus took a trip into the woods to hunt deer. Uncle's deer, mind you, but I forbore mentioning it. Anyway, they came upon a wild boar, unwittingly cornering it. Such a beast is dangerous and best left alone, but before the men could retreat, the boar spotted them and charged. It went after Sestus first, bearing him to the ground. Cadwell came to his rescue, putting every arrow in his quiver into the boar, but still the beast did not relinquish its hold. In desperation, Cadwell dove onto the animal's back and fumbled for his hunting knife. It's attention diverted, the animal left off Sestus to battle Cadwell. A monumental struggle then ensued between man and beast. Although Sestus had lost his arrows in the battle, he still, of course, had his magic. But according to Biddy, he didn't use it.
"Why not?” I asked, recalling the flashy telekinesis spell he had unleashed that day in the glade when he'd saved me from Averi and his men.
Biddy looked up at me, blew her nose into her apron. “Because the Regent had forbidden it."
Oh. All this had occurred at some time after Uncle's pronouncement outlawing the use of magic. Nevertheless, the revelation came as a shock to me. Perhaps as a former Halberdier captain Sestus had felt some sense of duty to obey the Regent's edict. To Biddy, however, it seemed like out and out cowardice. I certainly was no one to judge Sestus's action. Or inaction. It had taken me years to summon the confidence to defy Uncle, and then only upon Valleri's encouragement.
Thus, frozen with indecision, Sestus watched as his friend was gored by the boar. Only Cadwell's cry of pain prompted Sestus to act; he hurled a mindspell at the beast and while it lay dazed by the blow, thrust his dagger through its heart. But it was too late. Cadwell had been mortally wounded.
"Things change, I know,” Biddy continued, dabbing at her eyes. “Now there's open rebellion against Bertrand and Sestus uses his powers almost daily. So why not then? What was the difference? He could have used them for something good. Now he just uses them, as does every other Umagi, to help get himself killed. I can't forgive him, Ruvie. I just can't."
I put an arm around her in sympathy. Wracked with sobs, she finished her story, telling me that Sestus had brought her brother home to her, where she had employed all her healer's skills to save him, but it wasn't enough. At last, I understood.
Wasn't it true, that from that day forward Sestus continued to bring her home casualties, wounded Crusaders one after the other, and her efforts never seemed to be enough? But Sestus alone wasn't to blame. Repachea did it, and so did Ginger. The woman's needle and thread knew no rest, her potions and poultices always in demand. This wasn't just about Cadwell. Sestus and his cronies were just too blind to see it.
Right from the beginning, Biddy was not a staunch supporter of the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency. She didn't understand their principles, nor their greater purpose. Biddy was here simply because she was needed. She tended to the starving, the bleeding, and the dying. As far as she was concerned, the world would be a much better place bereft of both Royalists and Crusaders.
"Well, ‘nough of my blubbering,” she said with forced cheer, patting my knee.
“I've got something for you. Give this to Repachea when you see him later."
With that, she plucked a vial from the cupboard above us and pushed it into my hand. Nonplussed, I stared down at the container of shimmering fluid. “See him? I have no plans to get together with him. He cancelled our sword practice for today."
"That's probably because he's busy packing."
"Packing? Is he going somewhere?"
"Only clear across the countryside. You mean he didn't tell you?"
No one told me anything around here! It wasn't much different than being in Castle Gryphon.
"You will say good-bye to him, won't you? I dare say Repachea would be insulted if you didn't. He fancies himself something of a heartbreaker, he does. He'd be quite hurt if you didn't drop your ice shield and fall swooning at his feet."
"But ... Belvemar's toes—"
"Oh, leave those daggers of his to me. Just go.” And she sent me on my way with a saucy wink and not so gentle shove.
* * * *
As Biddy had suggested, Repachea was packing when I arrived in the quarters he shared on occasion with Ginger. He turned to greet me with his usual grin. “Ahh, Ruvie. Come to see me off, have you?"
"Where are you going?"
"Just away. For a while. I'll be back."
"Where?” I persisted. His evasiveness irked me.
"Hmm ... I can't tell you that."
"You're going to Bolta. You're taking over for Belvemar, aren't you? That's insane, you know."
I knew about Bolta, the site of Belvemar's injury, the place where he and nearly fifty other Crusaders were wounded or slain by a combination of Tock's strategic brilliance and dumb luck. Now Repachea was going back.
"I'm taking over for Belvemar, yes. His men need leadership and encouragement. I can't tell you where I'm going, but it's not Bolta. We're moving on from there."
Un-huh. I lifted his hand and slapped the vial into his palm. “Biddy asked me to give you this."
Frowning, he looked down at the tiny decanter then shoved it into his sack. “Biddy's extract of ... oh, who knows what. Truly, I don't know what I'd do without it. The road turns me into a homicidal insomniac."
I shoved the coin that he flipped me into a pocket. Despite myself, I could commiserate with him. I remembered the long, sleepless nights spent in strange towns and siege camps, lying awake, staring at the ceiling or tent roof, whichever the case may be, my over-tired mind full of dread and doubt, wondering what the next day would bring. A victory. A defeat. Or even death.
"I know what you mean. The night seems to bring out all the uncertainties that never see the light of day. It's like me, trying to sleep here, in these drafty wooden barracks when I'm so used to the stone and mortar of Castle Gryphon."
"No, Ruvie. You've got it all wrong.” Repachea chuckled and threw me a come hither glance. “My problem is, I just don't like to sleep alone."
That, I was certain, was an invitation. I sidestepped it. “Do you know anyone who does?"
He seemed to give the question considerable thought. “Ginger. Ginger likes to sleep alone. Not me. I don't like to be alone. But you must understand that. Surely, you've left behind a sweetheart at Gryphon."
It was the first he'd ever broached the subject to me. No doubt he'd come to conclude that I spurned his advances because I was unavailable. I must have looked guilty, for he smiled and said, “Do you miss him?"
"Sometimes.” It was a lie. I missed Valleri with an intensity that bordered on grief, his absence something akin to death.
"Was it serious?"
I shrugged. “It was never a romance. More of a recreation, a pastime. A way to forget the daily grind, to shut out the ugliness of the world and ease our troubles. When a relationship is meaningless, it is somehow simpler, more carefree. But if it's allowed to continue too long, invariably it will grow complicated."
I paused, considering my relationship with Valleri. It had started simply enough, then had evolved into a full-blown love affair. We should have ended it long ago, when we first suspected our attraction was something more than physical. Now, torn from him, I had reaped more grief and pain than I had purged.
"As it happened, it never had the chance to go that far,” I finished.
Repachea hefted his pack and strode to where I stood near the door. “I think I understand you. We are alike, you and I. Two kindred spirits.” He tipped his head, wistful. “No demands. No commitments. No restrictions. Keep it simple. My style exactly."
Then suddenly, he asked, “Would you like to come with me, Ruvie?"
"You won't tell me where you're going, yet you'd invite me along? Sounds like you don't trust me enough to leave me behind."
"You know that's not true. Really, luv. It's your swordplay. It's terrible. I'll live in fear for your safety every day that I'm away."
I laughed at that, as he'd intended, for he knew that little Ruvie the librarian was fast becoming a proficient swordswoman. Though Repachea could not possibly know how badly I wished to cross swords with the nearest Royalist, it was not safe at all for me to be by his side. Therefore, I tried to let him down gently. “Sestus and I have much work to do here."
"You could be just as much help to me. I could use your knowledge and expertise, too."
"What about Biddy and Belvemar? They need me as well."
Laughing, he held up a hand. “No excuses, please. You're right. It's better this way. No harm in asking. Take good care of Belvemar while I'm gone."
I leaned against the open doorway and watched as Repachea mounted his black gelding before bidding his farewells to Sestus and Ginger. A crowd of well-wishers lined the main thoroughfare to wave and shout farewells. As he drew abreast, he gave me a smart salute, his blue eyes sparkling behind his helm's visor. I could not know then, when next we met, the circumstances would not be as favourable.
* * * *
Since my sword practice with Repachea was at a standstill, I was able to bask in the luxury of some free time. So taking advantage of the recent spring-like weather, I decided to explore the ghost that was Idyll, to acquaint myself with a part of my history, a part of my family I never knew. Though there was little but bones left of the original keep, I was undeterred. A single stone watchtower remained, but proved uninteresting as the entire bottom floor now housed livestock. I avoided altogether the empty ruin that had been the kitchen, unwilling to disturb the site where so many had died, Uncle's beloved Pepet and Ivor among them.
As I navigated the rubble that was the main keep, I tried to get a sense of Uncle in this place, tried to conjure his image here, and failed. Of course it was a task made more difficult by the fact that nothing of his remained. Not a stick of furniture, not a single tapestry or piece of crockery. Looters had ransacked the wreckage, followed by scavengers, long before the Crusaders had staked a claim to it.
Idyll was a relic from the past, a monument to the dead, which Uncle would accuse the Crusaders of desecrating, if he knew. Subscribing to the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ theory, he had left it untouched, forgotten. Nevertheless, I found it amusing to tell myself that perhaps it could be restored. Upon my coronation as queen, I could bequeath it to my most loyal champion. Sestus, perhaps. Not Val. Instinct told me he would not care to have it.
Chill splats of rain forced me to seek shelter, encouraging me to seek out subterranean entertainment. I poked around some in the armoury, where I really wasn't supposed to be without reason, astonished by the stash of weapons the Crusaders had accumulated. Lances, swords, axes, bows, and daggers of all description and degree of repair nestled snug in their racks and crates, protected from the dampness by oilskin rags and leather sheathes. A shame that so many Crusaders had no idea how to use them.
From there I tiptoed past the dungeon, where Sestus snored over a stack of duty rosters, and headed down a passageway that in Castle Gryphon would have taken me to the wine cellar but here led to the crypt. Not exactly a desirable destination on any tour. Dark. Dusty. Dreary. Here,
with the weight of Idyll's skeleton bearing down on me, I realized it was no accident that had brought me there. Before me rested a sarcophagus, one smaller than the rest, that of a child's. Carved onto the face of the stone lid was the effigy of a boy, his eyes closed in a semblance of peace, a bouquet of flowers clasped in his hands.
Even before I saw the name etched in the stone lid, I had no doubt that the tomb belonged to my cousin, Ivor. Reaching out a tentative hand, I placed it on the cold, unyielding slab ... and all at once became aware that I was not alone in that place. A living, breathing, flesh and blood entity shared that musty space with me.
I looked up, off toward the deeper shadows. Movement stirred the cobwebs there as Ginger stepped into the torchlight. Despite my conviction that I had every right to be here, more so than even him, I froze. My initial thought was that he spied upon me, but then realized it was I who had intruded upon him.
"What are you doing here?” he demanded in a low, unhurried voice.
I couldn't tell him the real reason, of course, so I replied with a half-truth. “Just exploring.” Then, emboldened by his silence, I asked, “What are you doing here?"
"Paying my respects to the dead.” His tone of censorship was unmistakable.
Then I understood. Ivor had been his childhood friend. Perhaps he did have a stronger claim than I. The situation was rapidly growing awkward. Searching for conversation, I observed, “The sarcophagus is new.” It had to be. Uncle had not lingered in Idyll long enough to see his family properly honoured before fleeing to his sister in Gryphon.
He touched the first letter of the name carved in eight inch characters at the foot of the sarcophagus, allowing the distraction. “A stone-carver owed me a favour. Ivor was my friend. I figured it was the least I could do for him."
"It's lovely.” It really was. The workmanship was exquisite, the detail and precision far beyond any I had seen elsewhere. It must have been one hell of a favour, or a ton of guilt on Ginger's part. After all, he had survived the maelstrom of magic when Ivor hadn't. In fact, I bet he spent a good deal of time wandering lost around Idyll, in a manner not all that dissimilar from mine. And why shouldn't he? It had been his home at one time.
