Paladin of Souls (Curse of Chalion)

by Lois McMaster Bujold

  His lips twisted up in a confused, enchantingly crooked grin, and he cocked his eyebrows at her as if to say, What is this, lady? As if women kissed him spontaneously on staircases every day, and he considered it uncivil to dodge.

  “Lord Arhys,” said Ista. “How long have you been dead?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ARHYS’S SMILE GREW FIXED AND WARY. HE REGARDED ISTA WITH startled concern, as if he feared the mad royina was having a relapse right in front of him, and, as her inadvertent host, he would be held responsible. “Madam—you jest … ?” An invitation to recant. A clear suggestion, Please, don’t do this… . “My kisses are not usually so scorned!”

  “I have seldom felt further from jest in my life.”

  He laughed uneasily. “I admit, my fevers have been a trouble to me this season, but I assure you, I am far from the grave.”

  “You have no fever. You don’t even sweat. Your skin is the same temperature as the air. If it were not so beastly hot in this climate, more people would have noticed by now.”

  He continued to stare at her with the same perplexed expression.

  Five gods. He really does not know. Her heart sagged.

  “I think,” she said carefully, “that you need to talk with your brother.”

  He grimaced in pain. “Would that I could. I pray for it daily. But he does not wake from his poisoned wound.”

  “Yes, he does. Each noon, when you have your little nap. Your only sleep of the day. Has your wife not told you this? She goes almost every day to oversee his care.” And sometimes at night, as well. Although it’s not exactly his care that concerns her then, I expect.

  “Royina, I assure you it is not so.”

  “I just spoke with him. Come with me.”

  The disbelieving tilt of his mouth did not change, but when she turned and mounted the stairs again, he followed.

  They entered Illvin’s well-kept chamber. Goram, sitting watching his charge, saw Lord Arhys and shot to his feet, offering him his jerky, awkward bow, and a servile mutter that might have been, “M’lord.”

  Arhys’s gaze swept down the still form in the bed. His lips thinned in disappointment. “It is all the same.”

  Ista said, “Lord Arhys, sit down.”

  “I shall stand, Royina.” His frown upon her was growing less and less amused.

  “Suit yourself.”

  The rope of white fire between the two was short and thick. Now that she knew to look for it, she could feel the demon’s presence in it as well, a faint violet glow like a channel that underlay everything. It ran three ways, but only one link flowed with soul-stuff. She wrapped her hand about the bond running between the two men, squeezing it down to half its breadth. The constrained white fire backwashed into Illvin’s body.

  Lord Arhys’s knees gave way, and he collapsed in a heap.

  “Goram, help the march to a chair,” Ista instructed. Hold, she silently commanded her invisible ligature, and it did.

  She walked up by Illvin’s bedside, studying the nodes of light. Go up, she commanded them silently, and made to push them with her hands, concentrate them at the forehead and the mouth, as Cattilara had at … that other theological point. The light pooled as she willed. Stay there. She cocked her head and studied the effect. Yes. I think.

  Goram hurried to drag the chair, made of polished, interlaced curves of wood, out from the wall to Illvin’s bedside. He hauled the startled-looking Arhys up by the shoulders and sat him in it. Arhys closed his mouth, rubbing at his face with a suddenly weak and shaking hand. Grown numb, was he? She ruthlessly stole Goram’s stool and set it at the end of the bed, settling herself where she could best watch both brothers’ faces.

  Illvin’s eyes opened; he took a breath and worked his jaw. Weakly, he began to push himself up on one elbow, until his gaze took in his brother, sitting at his right hand gaping at him.

  “Arhys!” His voice rang with joy. His sudden smile transformed his face; Ista rocked back, blinking, at the engaging man so revealed. Goram bustled to shove pillows behind his back. He struggled up further, openmouthed with wonder. “Ah! Ah! You are alive! I did not believe them—they would never meet my eyes, I thought they lied to spare me—you are saved! I am saved. Five gods, we are all saved!” He collapsed back, wheezing and grinning, burst into shocking tears for five breaths, then regained control of his gasping.

  Arhys stared like a stunned ox.

  The slur was gone from Illvin’s voice now, Ista noted with relief, though his lower limbs lay nearly paralyzed. She prayed that his wits would be likewise clarified. In a level tone that she was far from feeling, she asked, “Why did you believe your brother to be dead?”

  “Ye gods, what was I to think? I felt that cursed knife go in—to the hilt, or I never survived a battle at some other poor bastard’s expense—I could feel the push and give against my hand when it pierced the heart. I almost vomited.”

  Five gods, please, not fratricide. I didn’t want this to be fratricide … She kept her voice steady despite the shaking in her belly. “How did you come to this pass? Tell me everything. Tell me from the beginning.”

  “She took him off to her chambers.” He added to Arhys, “I was in a panic, because Cattilara had heard it from that meddling maidservant, and was determined to go up after you. I was sure she was unnatural by then—”

  “Which she?” said Ista. “Princess Umerue?”

  “Yes. The glittering golden girl. Arhys“—his grin returned, notably twisted—“if you would please stop falling over backward every time some aspiring seductress blows a kiss at you, it would be a great comfort to your relatives.”

  Arhys, his eyes crinkling with a delight that mirrored Illvin’s, bent his head in a sheepish look. “I swear, I do nothing to encourage them.”

  “That, I’ll grant, is perfectly true,” Illvin assured Ista, as an aside. “Not that it’s any consolation to the rest of us, watching the women flock past us without a glance in order to hang on him. Reminds me of a kitchen boy feeding his hens.”

  “It’s not my doing. They throw themselves at me.” He glanced at Ista, and added dryly, “On staircases, even.”

  “You could duck,” suggested Illvin sweetly. “Try it sometime.”

  “I do, blast you. You’ve a highly flattering view of my ripening years if you imagine Cattilara leaves me any spare interest in dalliance, these days.”

  Ista wasn’t quite sure how this statement squared with his actions on their first ride, but perhaps he was as charming to all rescued ladies, if only to divert them from weeping fits. With regret, Ista cut across their—obviously practiced, as well as obviously hugely relieved—banter. No doubt the god had sent her into this painful maze, baiting her with equal parts of curiosity and secret obligation, but she had no desire to linger in it. “Then why did you go to Princess Umerue’s chambers? If you did.”

  Arhys hesitated, the levity draining from his face. He rubbed his forehead, and then his jaw and hands. “I don’t quite know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  Illvin said, “Cattilara would have it that the princess had slipped you a love potion, and you were not in control of yourself. For all my impatience with her fancies, I … hoped that it might be so. Because the alternative was much worse.”

  “What, that I’d fallen in love with Umerue?”

  “No. That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

  Ista’s gaze upon him sharpened. “What were you thinking?”

  Illvin’s face grew introspective, grave. “Because she’d had the same effect on me. At first. Then she saw Arhys and forgot me. Dropped me to earth like a sack of bran. And … my wits came back to me. I finally remembered where I’d seen her before, except that it wasn’t quite her—Arhys, do you recall my little trip down to Jokona about three years ago, when I went disguised as a horse dealer? The time I brought back Goram and the ground plan of Castle Hamavik.”

  “Yes …”

  “I bought some stock fr
om the lord of Hamavik. Paid too much, which made him happy and loquacious and inclined to take me for a fool. He treated me to dinner at his seaside villa, by which I might have guessed how much he’d skinned me if I hadn’t known already. He showed off all his best possessions to me, including, briefly, his wife. A princess of Jokona, granddaughter of the Golden General himself, he told me, as if she were a pretty bit of blood stock he’d done a sharp trade for. Which I gather he must have, for the Regent Dowager Joen is not reputed to spend her children cheaply. Five gods, but he was a repulsive old goat. Golden she was, but she was the saddest silent mouse of a woman I’d ever seen. Drab. Fearful. And she didn’t speak more than six words of Ibran.”

  “Not the same princess, then,” said Arhys. “The prince of Jokona has a pack of sisters. You mistook one for another, perhaps. Umerue’s tongue was bold and witty.”

  “Yes. She made bilingual puns. Yet unless she has a twin sister of the same name, I’d swear her for the same woman.” Illvin sighed, then his brow wrinkled. “Catti went ripping up to the princess’s chambers in a fury, and I went charging after her. I was afraid of—I knew not what, but I thought, if nothing else, I might somehow warn you, and prevent a scene.”

  “My faithful flank man.”

  “This went beyond the bounds of duty, I thought. You were going to owe me, and I meant to collect, too. I begged Catti to at least let me go in first, but she ducked under my elbow. Our tumbling entry could not have been more ill timed. Speaking of bold tongues.”

  Dead men, Ista noted, couldn’t blush. But they could at least look shamefaced.

  “Even I couldn’t blame Catti for going into a frenzy,” Illvin continued. “But if that overdecorated dagger had been sitting at the bottom of that pile of gear instead of atop it, I might have grabbed her quicker. She went straight for the princess, screaming. Wanted to cut her face off. For understandable reasons.”

  “I remember that part,” said Arhys slowly, as if unsure. “It comes back …”

  “You pushed the golden slut out of the way, I seized Catti’s knife hand, and between us we might have saved the moment if you hadn’t tripped, lunging out of bed. Were you in such a whirl of lust that you couldn’t wait to undress? If I’d had such an opportunity—never mind. But the best swordsman in Caribastos, hobbled by his own trousers—five gods, Arhys! Catti wouldn’t have had the strength to drive that big blade home if she had been trying for you, if you hadn’t toppled into us with your ankles twisted up.” His indignation faded, and his excited voice slowed. “I felt the blade go in. I was sure we’d done you, among us all.”

  “It wasn’t Catti’s fault!” Arhys said hastily. “Oh, the look of woe upon her face—it was like being stabbed again. No wonder she … After that … after that, I don’t remember.”

  “You fell at my feet. The fool girl yanked the blade back out of you—I shouted, No, Catti! Too late. Though I’m not sure if leaving it in would have staunched anything, the way you spurted. I was trying to get one hand pressed to your wound and hang on to Catti’s sleeve with the other, but she twisted right out of her overrobe. Umerue was shrieking, climbing back over the bed to try to get to you—I wasn’t sure why. Catti plunged the knife straight into her stomach. Umerue grabbed the hilt, then looked up and gave me the saddest look. And said Oh, in this lost little voice. Like … like her voice when first I ever saw her.” His voice faded further. “She just said Oh. Catti’s face took on a very strange air, and after that … I don’t remember.” He sank back on his pillows. “Why can’t I … ?”

  Ista’s hands were trembling. She hid them in her skirt. “What do you remember next after that, Lord Illvin?” she asked.

  “Waking up here. With my head buzzing. Dizzy and sick. And then waking up here again. And again. And again. And again. And—something must have happened to me. Was I hit from behind?”

  “Cattilara said Pechma stabbed you,” said Arhys. He cleared his throat. “And Umerue.”

  “But he wasn’t there. Did he come in after us? And besides, I am not”—Illvin’s hand went to his chest, beneath the sober linen, and came away smeared carmine—“ow! … stabbed?”

  “What was Pechma like?” asked Ista, doggedly.

  “He was Umerue’s clerk,” said Arhys. “He had a disastrous taste in clothing, and was the butt of her retinue’s jokes—there’s always one such feckless fellow. When Cattilara told me he had attacked Illvin, I said it was impossible. She said it had better be possible, or we’d have a war with Prince Sordso before the body was carted home. And that no one among the Jokonans would stand up for Pechma. And indeed, she proved right about that. She also said to be patient, that Illvin would recover. I was beginning to doubt, but now I see it is so!”

  Ista said, “You’ve eaten no food for over two months, yet you didn’t wonder?”

  Illvin glanced up from his smeared hand to stare at Arhys, startled, his eyes narrowing.

  “I ate. I just couldn’t keep it all down.” Arhys shrugged. “I seem to get enough.”

  “But he’s going to be all right now,” said Illvin slowly. “Isn’t he?”

  Ista hesitated. “No. He’s not.”

  Her gaze traveled to the silent auditor of all this, half crouched by the far wall. “Goram. What did you think of Princess Umerue?”

  The noise he made in his throat sounded like a dog growling. “She was bad, that one.”

  “How could you tell?”

  His face wrinkled. “When she looked at me, I was cold afraid. I stayed out of her sight.”

  Ista considered his ravaged soul-stuff. I imagine you would.

  “I would like to think that Goram helped bring me back to my senses,” said Illvin ruefully, “but I’m afraid that was just the effect of Umerue’s inattention.”

  Ista studied Goram briefly. His soul-scars were a distraction in this reckoning, she decided; they were an old injury, old and dark. If, as she was beginning to suspect, he’d once been demon-gnawed, it was well before this time. Which left …

  “Umerue was a sorceress,” Ista stated.

  A brief, fierce grin flashed across Illvin’s face. “I guessed it!” He hesitated. “How do you know?” And after another moment, “Who are you?”

  I have seen her lost demon, Ista decided not to say just yet. She desperately wished dy Cabon were here now, with the theological training to unravel this tangle. Illvin was staring at her more warily of a sudden, worried—but not, she thought, disbelieving.

  “They say you were seminary-trained in your youth, Lord Illvin. You can’t have forgotten it all. I was told by a learned divine of the Bastard’s own order that if a demon’s mount dies, and the departing soul has not the strength left to drag it back to the gods, it jumps to another. The sorceress died, and the demon is in neither of you, I assure you. Who’s left?”

  Arhys was looking sick. For a walking corpse, this ought to have been an improvement, Ista thought, but it wasn’t. “Catti has it,” he whispered.

  He wasn’t arguing with her about this one, she noticed. Ista nodded approval, feeling absurdly like some tutor commending a pupil for getting his sums right. “Yes. Catti has it now. And her bidding is for it to keep you alive. Well, animate. In as far as its powers may be forced to work that way.”

  Arhys’s mouth opened, closed. He said at last, “But … those things are dangerous! They consume people alive—sorcerers lose their souls to them. Catti, she must be treated—I must summon the Temple theologians, to cast it out of her—”

  “Hold a moment, Arhys,” said Illvin, sounding strained. “I think we need to think this through …”

  A thumping sounded on the gallery outside: running feet. Two pairs. The door was yanked open. Cattilara, barefoot, in disarrayed riding dress, her hair wind-wild, tumbled through gasping. Liss followed, nearly as out of breath.

  “Arhys!” Cattilara cried, and flung herself upon him. “Five gods, five gods! What has that woman done to you?”

  “Sorry, Royina,” Liss mut
tered to Ista’s ear. “We were in the middle of this field when she suddenly cried that there was something wrong with her lord, ran for her horse, and galloped off. There was no diverting her with anything short of a crossbow bolt.”

  “Sh. It’s all right.” Ista quelled a twinge of nausea at her trick on Catti, effective though it had been. “Well—sufficient. Wait by Goram, but do not speak or interrupt. No matter how strange what you hear may sound.”

  Liss dipped dutifully and went to lean on the wall by the groom, who nodded welcome. She cocked her head dubiously at Lady Cattilara, sobbing in Lord Arhys’s enfeebled grip.

  Cattilara grasped his hand in turn, tested its weakness, and turned her tear-stained face up to her husband’s. “What has she done to you?” she demanded.

  “What have you done to me, Catti?” he asked gently in turn. He glanced at his brother. “To both of us?”

  Cattilara looked around, glaring at Ista and at Illvin. “You tricked me! Arhys, whatever they say, they lie!”

  Illvin’s brows went up. “Now, there’s a comprehensive indictment,” he murmured.

  Ista tried to ignore the distracting surfaces for a moment. The demon was as tightly closed as Ista had yet seen it, dense and shiny, as if, all other routes blocked, it was trying to flee inside itself. It seemed to tremble.

  As if in terror? Why? What does it think I can do to it? More: What does it know that I don’t? Ista frowned in mystification.

  “Catti.” Arhys stroked her wild hair, patting it smooth, absorbing her sobs on his shoulder. “It’s time to tell the truth. Sh, now. Look at me.” He took her chin, turned it to his face, smiled into her wet eyes with a look that would have made Ista’s heart, she thought, melt and run down into her shoes. It had an even less useful effect on the hysterical Catti. She slithered out of his weak grip and crouched at his feet, weeping on his knees like a lost child, her only clear words a repeated, No, no!

  Illvin rolled his eyes ceilingward, and rubbed at his forehead in exasperation with an equally weak swipe. He looked as though he would gladly trade what was left of his soul at this moment for escape from the room. He glanced up to meet Ista’s commiserating gaze; she held up two fingers, Wait …