It had been a miserable two weeks since she had run away from Kaymar. Menders had a bad black eye from his fight with Kaymar. He had been very quiet and rested in bed a lot. Eiren had explained that the blow to his eye had caused some damage and that he had to allow it to heal. Kaymar talked to himself more than ever and now he had hurt himself – and Menders didn’t try to help him.
“It’s hard to explain so you can understand, Little Princess,” Menders answered. “There are people who want to run Mordania – and they would do terrible things to reach that goal. If your mother were to die, your sister, Aidelia, would take the Throne. If something happened to Aidelia, you would be Queen.”
“I don’t want to be Queen!” Katrin said abruptly. Trouble shuffled his hind feet in a dancing step and she had to tighten the reins to make him stop.
“And I hope you will never need to be Queen,” Menders replied. “It’s a heavy burden for anyone, but there are people who long for power, just like some people long for food.”
“If it turned out I was going to be Queen, they could have it,” Katrin scowled. It was hard enough being a Princess and not having any freedom. What would being Queen be like? Her mother never left the Palace!
“I wish it was that simple, my dearest,” Menders sighed, pulling Demon up and reaching out, catching Trouble’s reins though Katrin had been mutinously riding on. “You know that I, Eiren, Kaymar and everyone else love you very much, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Katrin answered, feeling a deep darkness inside her heart as she thought of people who wanted to run the country so badly that they might try to come here and take her… or hurt her.
“Then you must understand that when we forbid something, or restrict you it’s because we want you to be safe.”
Katrin looked away at the bare trees. The woods were dull and gloomy this time of year, with a heavy grey sky overhead, all the brilliant leaves fallen and brown. She felt frightened and sad – and angry.
“I understand,” she sighed.
“Good. Come on, it’s cold – let’s get back home and have a hot drink.” Menders tried to sound hearty but Katrin could tell he didn’t feel it. She urged Trouble into a jog again, but there was no fun in the ride. She couldn’t stop thinking about people who wanted to take her away and Kaymar cutting himself.
It was as if all the shine was gone from everything and now the world was different and would never be the same again.
***
Dear Cousin Menders,
Thank you for the news regarding Kaymar - it saddens me greatly, of course, having seen his suffering for so many years. He is so changed from the much cherished and lovingly spoiled little boy that he was during my youth, though we found out afterward that even that was not a happy time, as he was being corrupted and exploited by that freak, Hartzen Trentov.
There is little insight that I can give you in dealing with Kaymar when madness is upon him, as he always stayed away from the family during the worst periods of his illness - probably in an attempt to protect our mother. She is a fragile woman who cannot bear much tragedy. I know that Commandant Komroff found taking a firm hand with Kaymar worked well for a time, but eventually that became useless as Kaymar realized his own power and began to respect no authority. His regard for you is very powerful, however, and I believe that he would stop short of provoking you to the point of you sending him away from the only home he accepts.
I will write to Kaymar and suggest that he visit here. I am certain he will decline, as has been his habit when he is ill of mind. I would be more than willing to come and see him and try to speak to him, but I have found in the past that this only worsens his despair.
I was fearful of this when Mikail died so suddenly. He was a stabilizing influence in Kaymar's life. Kaymar is a soul who must have a rock to cling to - if he has that, he is able to withstand no end of adversity and tragedy. When he is adrift, as he is now, he descends rapidly into madness. He is very much like our mother, sensitive and high strung. I am more our father, a rather stolid, calm man who functioned as an anchor not only for our mother, but for Kaymar as well. It was his untimely death when Kaymar was only fourteen that made Kaymar so unstable.
Sadly, because of the difference in years between us, I have never become an anchor for my brother, dearly as I would have liked to. His personality and nature are a mystery to me, and we have so little in common since he declined my offer to live at Moresby and manage the estate with me. The nature of his work requires secrecy and privacy; he confides nothing to me.
Please keep me apprised. In the past I have made arrangements to have Kaymar confined if it became necessary, and will renew them, though I truly hope that such measures will never have to be taken.
My best to you and all your family.
Your affectionate cousin,
Dorsen
Menders set the letter on his desk and closed his eyes.
He was tired. The autumn had been bleak, the winter promised to be a “soft” one, so there would be no visit from the Thrun to break the long dark season. It was Winterfest, but there was tension in the house because of Kaymar’s behavior. Katrin had been subdued since he had explained, in a limited way, why she couldn’t roam at will. That had been the first rift in her innocence and it was difficult to see. Inevitable, of course – but painful to watch her struggle with it.
Kaymar was closed away in his room. Three weeks back he had gone after a new Menders’ Man who had referred to him as a pederast. It had led to a violent scene. Kaymar was barely restrained, the new Man immediately dismissed. Kaymar’s previous behavior had already made the Men wary of him and now the group was divided, with some fiercely offended by Kaymar’s actions, others sympathetic but scornful of his inability to control his temper.
Not the atmosphere to have around a Winterfest table. Kaymar would likely not appear, but his absence would make the situation even more uncomfortable.
Menders glanced at the letter again and then tossed it into the fire. He couldn’t bear the thought of Kaymar coming across it. The thought of his young cousin being confined was as painful as seeing a rare wild animal in a small cage. People like Dorsen, well meaning, would think it a kindness. Kaymar would be better off dead than locked up.
Which left it to Menders to attempt to reach him. If Kaymar could be brought out of his present misery, if he could begin to break free of the pain that dogged him, he might gain a foothold on health.
Menders left his office, passing through the dining hall where a committee of the Men were engaged in hammering up greenery and laying the table.
“Is Shvalz going to be here tonight?” one of them asked, his voice genuinely concerned.
“Yes, there’s been no sign of him,” Menck, crowned with a wreath and holding three others for Haakel, who was tapping at a tack, chimed in.
“I’m going to talk to him now,” Menders responded.
“Good, we need him for the descants,” Haakel said. “He’s the only one can sing the falsetto lines in the carols.”
“Thank you, brothers,” Menders said with a sudden smile, feeling his spirits lift. The Men were going to forgive – now to speak with Kaymar.
He passed Ifor in the hallway of the Men’s Wing, just as he was preparing to tap at Kaymar’s door.
“Best of luck,” the big man murmured.
“Yes, I’ll need it,” Menders whispered to himself as he knocked and, after a considerable silence, heard Kaymar’s permission to enter.
***
My darling son, Kaymar,
I wanted very much to send you greetings at this Winterfest, as I know you are still mourning your dear Mikail. I am much concerned for you, little Kip. I have it from Dorsen that Cousin Menders has written to him about your melancholia and madness.
Kip, I am knowing that your dear Papa and you boys have always protected me, but I understand more than you might suspect. You are the child who is most like me. You have inherited my fragility as well as your Papa’s
mother’s tendency to melancholia. Mikail’s death is a terrible blow, but you are young and you must continue, though that is probably hard for you to believe. Though the heart is broken, we keep on living. It is what you make your living into that matters.
You protect your cousin, the little Princess Katrin. You know well how sick this country is at heart. Having come from Fambre where revolution tore the country apart, I know how important it is that this child be kept safe. She may be the salvation of Mordania. I know more of your work than you might think, Kip. You were meant to protect and preserve this royal child.
Though your heart is broken and your mind is in turmoil, it is time to watch for your opportunities. Comfort will come if you will grant it entrance. You must take steps to accept that comfort when it presents itself.
Now then, Mahmay has lectured enough. I have Winterfest preparations to make. Know that I think of you often, my youngest.
Your loving mother,
Dorlane Cheval-Shvalz, Princess of Fambre
Kaymar had read his letter over twice and was sitting on his bed, thinking of his lovely mother, a true Fambrian Princess who gave lie to the many women who claimed to be such. She was frail and high strung, but she had an inner core of steel and truly ruled the roost at Moresby in an elegant and loving way.
A tap on his door startled him. He had been drifting in thoughts of Mahmay, as the Fambrians lovingly called their mothers. He considered not answering, not being in the mood to be dutifully invited to join the Winterfest gathering. Then his eyes fell upon his mother’s exquisite handwriting.
“Enter,” Kaymar said quietly and waited for his cousin to come in.
(29)
Katrin’s Birthday
Dear Aylam,
The tools you sent have been very helpful and the trouble we’ve had from the pests I told you about is much less. Hopefully the pests will go back to their old haunts soon and leave us in peace.
The ice bridge is not forming this year, with the soft winter, so we will not be able to see you. Please pass my greetings on to Katrin. Tell Golden Heart not to be despondent, as the time I will spend here will give me a chance to accumulate enough bride goods to buy her for my seventh wife.
We are all well and I have a new son to occupy the winter months. It is as well we cannot travel, as there have been many new babies this summer. Thira is clamoring for me to send her best greetings to Katrin. I will spend some time this winter teaching her to read and write Mordanian, as she is very keen. Then she can write her own letters and stop commanding her old father to her will.
You may send a return letter through your tenants at Stettan. The warrior who is carrying this letter is leaving us to live in Erdstrom, which is something that saddens me greatly, as you know too well the fate of so many of our people who try this. Perhaps a well placed word from you will dissuade him, or at least guide him away from harm.
Let me know all your news. I think of you often, my brother.
Tharak
Menders rolled the thin, animal hide parchment into its delivery tube and put it aside. He began to write a response.
Dear Tharak,
I had suspected the ice bridge would not form, as the winter here is mild compared to previous years. Eiren has been able to keep school open with the exception of a few very nasty days. She was dejected over not seeing you this winter, and wanted to let you know that she’s practiced chewing hides to soften them all summer, in preparation for becoming your seventh wife. I doubt, however, that the entire Thrun nation could come up with enough bride goods to make me trade her to you!
Though a soft winter is drab, it does make a lot of social visiting possible and we’ve been quite busy with a round of dances held here at The Shadows, as well as a visit from my old friends, Cahrin and Olner, who brought their two lively boys along with them, providing welcome company for Katrin and Hemmett. Things have seemed a bit flat since they returned to Erdahn.
We’ve been hard pressed to find sufficient occupation for Katrin. Winter coming on has helped, as everyone’s freedom is restricted and it isn’t possible for her to run down to the river or into the woods. After one good snowfall, Eiren and I took her for a sleigh ride to the village, which was an enormous success, as she has never been anywhere but The Shadows. We hoped to stay overnight, but the weather threatened to turn and we had to hurry home.
Katrin is learning quickly and is ahead of her age in reading and other subjects. She is becoming quite skilled at the spinet, and loves to dance. I have not made much of it, but she is also acquiring some of the skills of an apprentice assassin. If nothing else, the exercises will challenge her mind and give her good balance. They could also be lifesaving, if certain circumstances arise.
I am enclosing a little letter from Katrin to Thira. Let’s encourage this correspondence, as it will be good practice for them both.
I have children making a great deal of noise upstairs with the new toy soldiers that Lucen carved for Hemmett as a Winterfest gift, so I shall go and quell the insurrection. I think of you often, my brother.
Aylam
After quieting the children, Menders stopped by the kitchen to raid the cookie jar and began one of his frequent winter occupations, walking up and down the first floor hallway. His steps fell into time with the ticking of the great clock in the entryway below.
Katrin’s birthday was next week. When he’d suggested that receiving gifts from the nine members of the household and all fifteen of Menders’ Men, to say nothing of Eiren’s family, various estate farmers and other people who knew her would swamp the playroom and her wardrobe, he’d been vigorously shouted down. The village shops had started to keep lists so that no-one would commit the gaffe of giving the Princess the same present someone else had.
Eiren had chosen to make a dress for Katrin as her gift. It was a work of art, white with gold embroidered snowflakes scattered over it. Eiren was running short of time and pressed Menders into service, laughing with delight when she found that he was able to embroider the snowflakes skillfully once she demonstrated the technique.
“How on Eirdon?” she laughed.
“What if I had to pose as a tailor on a mission?” he reminded her. “All assassins and spies learn to sew, most out of necessity because they’re infamous clothes-horses and have to alter their clothing to conceal weapons. You can’t go to the local tailor and tell him to sew hidden pockets in your coat that will hold a set of throwing knives or a pistol.”
“I’ll let you mend your own socks then,” she teased.
“I can and have for years. I’d be glad to, you have enough to do.”
“Faw. I can manage to mend my own man’s socks,” she said, finishing off another golden snowflake.
“She’s going to be thrilled with this,” Menders said, spreading the skirt of the little dress. “And I see you were very clever and made it to let out when she gets bigger.”
“A trick all farmers’ daughters know,” Eiren smiled. “We could make a dress last for four years, if we were clever, and we got into the habit of wearing them plain for a year, embroidering designs on them for the next year, adding new cuffs and collars the third year and then piecing them with contrasting fabrics the last year before they were cut up for other projects. That pillow is covered with the skirt of one of my old dresses,” she said, pointing to a tawny beige cushion embroidered with stars. “We wasted nothing.”
Menders took another turn down the hallway, considering what to give Katrin himself as well as what might be done to change the usual winter routine and to replace the Thrun carnival. Getting up competitions wasn’t very appealing, because they went on all the time at The Shadows now. Marksmanship, footraces, horse races and wrestling were very popular with Menders’ Men. It helped them keep their skills sharp and worked off energy, of which they all had a plentitude. Organizing more wouldn’t have any particular glamour or novelty.
He stopped pacing and looked out the window. Sunlight reflected from the frozen su
rface of the stone lions that flanked the front door.
The idea dawned suddenly and was so exquisite that he grabbed his coat and hat and headed for the woodlot.
A quick inventory yielded everything he would need. He made some sketches and detoured by the toolshed to be sure that there was plenty of twine available. Then he took a trek into the woods, studied the sky for a while, spat on several branches and watched how long the spittle took to freeze. Thoroughly chilled, he made his way back to the house.
Later that evening Eiren was going over school papers when Menders told her he was going outside for a while.
She glanced quizzically at the frozen window and then at him.
“Ah me, another woman,” she joked.
“Yes, a liaison in the toolshed. I so enjoy being naked in the freezing cold,” he grinned, bending to kiss her. “It’s a secret, but you’ll like it. I’ll be late.”
Outside he followed his earlier footprints into the woods. Once there, he built a fire, then began trudging back and forth to the woodlot for long flexible saplings that had been cut during the summer. Journeys to the toolshed produced huge balls of twine, wire, a bucket, a ladder, the sledgehammer and several saws as well as a pair of work gloves to wear over his own elegant leather ones.
A frenetic hour and a half of sawing, bending, tugging and wrapping rendered a skeletal armature of a grundar, the giant elk of the northern Mordanian forests, eighteen feet high at the shoulder. He’d secured it to the ground, driving metal pegs into the earth with a sledgehammer. After warming his numbed hands at the fire, he returned to the armature and packed it with snow. He flung water over the structure. It froze immediately.
Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series Page 35
