The Shining City

by Kate Forsyth

  The chancellor indicated as much with an expressive gesture of his hands and shoulders. He, like the rest of Lachlan’s councillors, was at a loss as to the best course of action. They had been at peace for so many years now, and Lachlan had ruled the Privy Council with a firm hand. The events of this long, terrible night were quite outside their provenance.

  ‘Did ye capture the escaped prisoner?’ the chancellor asked.

  ‘O’ course,’ Iseult replied and came to warm her hands at the fire, stripping off her heavy leather gauntlets first.

  ‘What have ye done to her?’ Nina’s voice rose high with distress.

  Iseult found it hard to meet her gaze. ‘She’ll hang at dawn.’

  Nina sobbed out loud.

  ‘If dawn ever comes,’ Ghislaine said, and pressed her fingers against her eyes. ‘I feel as if this night will never end.’

  ‘But why? Why?’ Nina sobbed.

  ‘We found all the evidence we needed in her saddlebags,’ Iseult said coldly.

  ‘What evidence?’ Nina demanded.

  ‘It is late,’ Iseult said. ‘We have all been up all night. I ken how distressed ye are, Nina. Perhaps ye and Iven had better retire? Try to get some rest.’

  ‘I will wait for news,’ Nina said defiantly.

  ‘Very well,’ Iseult said, and accepted a goblet of wine from the Lord Steward. ‘Let us hope it comes soon.’

  ‘Finn will capture Laird Malvern and all his foul minions, and then ye will realise Rhiannon is innocent,’ Nina said, tears running down her face. ‘Oh Eà, please, let her catch up with them soon!’

  Just then there was a knock on the door, and Dide came in, with a boy dressed in the black robe of an apprentice-witch. He was no more than seventeen, but tall and brown-skinned. He was blue and shivering with cold, and panting so hard he could hardly speak.

  ‘I found this lad running down the avenue,’ Dide said. ‘His name is Rafferty, he tells me. He comes from Lewen with news.’

  ‘Your Highness,’ Rafferty said, going down on one knee before Iseult. ‘I … I come from … the Tower o’ Two Moons.’

  Bronwen made a sharp movement, instantly stilled.

  ‘Ye have news o’ my son?’ Iseult demanded.

  ‘Aye.’ He took a deep breath, his chest heaving. ‘It is no’ good news, I’m afraid, Your Highness.’

  Iseult sat motionless, all the colour ebbing from her face.

  Bronwen’s hand clenched tight upon the Lodestar. ‘What has happened to Donncan?’ she demanded sharply. ‘Is he … is he dead?’

  Rafferty turned to face her. ‘I dinna ken, Your Highness. I do no’ think so. We are no’ sure … he has disappeared.’

  He held out his hand and unclenched his fingers. Within was Donncan’s stag brooch.

  ‘Disappeared too?’ Iseult reached out a trembling hand and rested it upon the table. ‘Nay, nay, the White Gods could no’ be so cruel!’

  ‘How? What happened?’ Bronwen said fiercely.

  Rafferty told the news as clearly and concisely as he could, but met a barrage of questions from everyone that he had trouble answering. At last, though, the tale was told. Bronwen sat down and hid her face in her hands, and Maya bent over her, comforting her wordlessly.

  ‘Donncan …’ Iseult whispered. ‘Gone too!’ Her legs could no longer hold her up. She sat down, and then put her head between her knees, sick with horror.

  ‘I must go to the tower,’ Gwilym cried. ‘Where is Isabeau? For the Celestines to be struck down like this when under our care … if the Stargazer dies, and her daughter missing …!’

  The other witches were gathering up their belongings with frantic haste. ‘We need Isabeau,’ Cailean said. ‘She is the greatest healer o’ us all. She will ken what to do.’

  ‘Where could she be?’ Ghislaine asked.

  ‘She had some mad idea o’ proving to me this satyricorn girl’s innocence,’ Iseult said, raising her head.

  Dide said quietly, ‘She has gone to consult The Book o’ Shadows. She believes the goblet Connor carried was a cup o’ truth-telling. If she can find it is so, she plans to ask Iseult to let Rhiannon drink from the cup and tell us the truth o’ all she kens.’

  Iseult snorted in derision, and Nina pressed her hands together and said fervently, ‘Oh, Isabeau, thank ye!’

  ‘She has gone to the Tower o’ Two Moons? We will go and join her there,’ Gwilym said, and drew up the hood of his cloak, preparing to go out into the snow, now driving against the windows harder than ever. ‘Dide, Nina, will ye come with us?’

  ‘I must wait for news o’ my son,’ Nina said quietly. Iseult hid her face again.

  ‘I dinna see the Keybearer on my way here, sir,’ Rafferty said diffidently. ‘Surely I should’ve passed her?’

  ‘She would have flown,’ Gwilym said gruffly. ‘In the shape o’ an owl, I imagine, it is her favourite form. That is one o’ the many advantages o’ being a shapechanger – one does no’ need to slog through heavy snow on foot, like we must do. Come, lad, ye had best come back with us.’

  As the witches prepared to face the storm, the door opened once more, banging against the wall. Captain Dillon came in amidst a swirl of snow, his face graven with deep, unhappy lines, his hand on his sword-hilt. He went down on one knee before Iseult.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked faintly.

  ‘Finn couldna catch them,’ Captain Dillon said heavily. ‘They moved too fast.’

  ‘Finn couldna catch them?’ Iseult repeated his words in absolute disbelief.

  ‘No!’ Nina cried, and pressed her hands against her mouth. Iven put his arm about her, and she sagged against him.

  He shook his head reluctantly. ‘Whoever it was laid their plans well. They had a guide to show them the secret way out through the caves. It seems their guide was a thief who had been condemned to hang, but was released by that prison warden who escaped last week, the one they call Octavia the Obese. The message Finn sent says she almost caught them in the Thieves’ Way, but they had a boat waiting for them on Lucescere Loch.’

  ‘What o’ the Queen o’ the Thieves? Are ye trying to tell me the thieves’ guild collaborated in my husband’s murder?’ Snow rose in an eddy around Iseult’s head.

  ‘The Queen o’ the Thieves swears she kent naught about it, Your Highness.’

  ‘Surely she kens all that goes on in her tunnels?’

  ‘There had been a feast. Much wine was drunk. It may have been drugged. Certainly I found them hard to rouse.’

  ‘More drugged wine,’ Iseult said. ‘Who is this poisoner?’

  ‘The laird o’ Fettercairn’s skeelie,’ Nina said bleakly.

  ‘She was there,’ Captain Dillon said. ‘Finn was close enough to see them all. She recognised the skeelie from her appearance in court. She saw the Prionnsa and Banprionnsa, Your Highness, and young Roden too. They were being carried over the men’s shoulders. She thinks they were unconscious.’

  Nina gasped, and hid her face. ‘My laddiekin,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, what do they want with him?’

  ‘If she was close enough to see them, how could she let them escape!’ Iseult demanded in despair.

  ‘Finn says the laird o’ Fettercairn has some ability with the weather. Despite the storm, he was able to harness the wind and bring it to fill their sails. Their boat took off across Lucescere Loch as if dragged by a sea-serpent. There was naught she could do. By the time she found a boat and set off in pursuit, they were long gone. Finn is on the trail, though. Jay is with her, and some o’ my men. They will catch them, never ye fear, Your Highness.’

  ‘Oh, please, oh, please,’ Nina said and broke down completely, sobbing in her husband’s arms. Dide crouched beside her, stroking her dishevelled chestnut hair, tears in his eyes.

  ‘Come, dearling, let me take ye to bed,’ Iven said. ‘Ye’re exhausted. Let us go and try to get some rest, and in the morning we may have some good news.’

  ‘Sleep? Sleep? Ye think I can sleep?’ Nina cried, but Iven and
Dide helped her to her feet and together led her away. Brun trotted after them, tears running down his hairy face.

  ‘What o’ Donncan?’ Bronwen demanded, as the door shut behind them. ‘We need to be searching for him too!’

  Iseult got to her feet wearily. ‘Captain Dillon, will ye take some men and go to the witches’ tower to search for Donncan yourself? Send me word as soon as ye can.’ She swayed with exhaustion, and had to put her hand on the table to steady herself. ‘For now, a state o’ emergency must be declared. Gentlemen, will ye come to the Privy Chamber with me? We must …’

  Bronwen got suddenly to her feet. ‘I thank ye, my lady, but I think it is my place to be ordering the Privy Council now,’ she said, the Lodestar held stiffly in her hands. Maya stood up too, her pale eyes shining.

  Iseult was completely taken aback.

  ‘Am I no’ Banrìgh now?’ Bronwen asked. ‘Do I no’ hold the Lodestar?’

  There was a long, long moment of silence. Iseult could only gaze at her daughter-in-law in utter consternation and dismay.

  ‘Am I not a NicCuinn by blood as well as marriage?’ Bronwen went on steadily. ‘Is it no’ my right to order the Council, and the Yeomen?’

  ‘Ye?’ Iseult said incredulously. ‘Order the Council? What do ye ken o’ such things?’

  ‘The throne is no’ yours, my lady,’ Bronwen said softly. ‘Ye do no’ have the right. With Donncan missing, I am the Banrìgh now.’

  Although she spoke in a low voice, and with an expression of great respect, there were exclamations of surprise from everyone around her, and then a quick murmur of conversation.

  Iseult lost her temper. ‘Ye are naught but a lamb-brained lassie who cares more about the cut o’ her gown than the state o’ the nation,’ she said furiously. ‘How dare ye think to seize the throne?’

  Heat rose in Bronwen’s cheeks. She bit her lip, clenching the Lodestar tightly.

  ‘Go to your room,’ Iseult said icily. ‘I will discuss this with ye later. For now, I have better things to do.’

  For a moment it looked as if Bronwen would obey, though her cheeks were hot with rage and humiliation.

  ‘Ye are no’ the Banrìgh anymore!’ A woman’s voice rang out strongly, filled with vicious joy. ‘Ye are naught but the Dowager now. How does it feel, Iseult?’

  Everyone in the room, from the velvet-clad councillors to the cowering scullery-maid with the scrubbing-brush in her hand, turned and stared. Maya was standing close behind her daughter, her head thrown back, laughing. ‘Oh, Jor o’ the seas, the delicious irony o’ it,’ she said at last, when she could stop laughing. ‘How does it feel, my lady? Your husband is dead and ye are naught, just a poor auld dowager, with no power o’ your own. Ye get to your room, Iseult, and wait upon the pleasure o’ the new Banrìgh.’

  Bronwen took a faltering step towards her mother, whispering her name.

  ‘Maya,’ Iseult hissed. Sudden colour suffused her face. ‘Ye did this! It was ye!’

  Maya shook her head. ‘If I had wanted to murder Lachlan, I could have done so any time these past twenty years.’

  ‘This is the first time ye’ve set foot in the palace since ye were thrown down,’ Iseult said furiously. ‘Ye could no’ have got near Lachlan afore now!’ She looked about her wildly. ‘Dillon! Guards! Seize her!’

  ‘No!’ Bronwen cried.

  Captain Dillon shook his head. ‘My lady, do ye think I would have allowed the Ensorcellor to come within spitting distance o’ His Majesty and no’ had her watched? I had guards placed over her. She did no’ move from her table, no’ once. She was in clear view the whole time. I ken every mouthful she ate or drank, and every word that was spoken to her. She herself did no’ speak, though I ken what she wrote on her slate. I dinna ken she could speak.’

  ‘The nyx ribbon,’ Gwilym cried. ‘Ceit Anna’s ribbon! It dissolved when she died?’

  ‘Aye, o’ course,’ Maya said, smiling. ‘But I dared no’ let anyone ken. Ye would’ve bound me again, would ye no’? Twenty years o’ silence and servitude would no’ have been enough. But my daughter is Banrìgh now! She holds the Lodestar! She willna let ye bind me again.’

  ‘No, I will no’!’ Bronwen’s voice rang out. She held the Lodestar before her like a sword. ‘Ye are right, Mama. I am Banrìgh now.’

  ‘How dare ye!’ Iseult said. ‘My husband is no’ yet cold …’

  ‘Neither was mine, when ye seized power from me,’ Maya reminded her.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ Iseult spat.

  ‘This is about the right to rule,’ Bronwen said, her voice and face hard. ‘I am the Banrìgh, by blood and by marriage. I hold the Lodestar and I will hold the throne. If I allow ye to call the Privy Council, and order the Yeomen, what would I be? Naught but a pretty puppet, just like ye and my uncle have always wanted me to be. Well, I won’t be that puppet! I won’t!’

  ‘Ye expect me to just stand aside and –’

  ‘While ye stand here arguing and clinging to your power like a greedy auld witch, my husband is missing and in all probability is in danger,’ Bronwen said passionately. She shook the Lodestar, and a searing white light sprang up in its heart, dazzling their eyes. ‘Must I raise the Lodestar to prove my right?’ she cried. ‘I am the Banrìgh now! Ye are naught but my mother-in-law, and dowager to the dead Rìgh. Stand aside, my lady.’

  ‘I will no’! How dare ye?’ Iseult cried.

  ‘I think ye forget who ye are addressing. Have some respect for your Banrìgh,’ Maya said. Her voice rang with vengeful glee.

  Iseult stared at Bronwen in a white, icy rage that shook her from head to foot, but Bronwen stared back, not quailing. Iseult glanced at the Lord Chancellor, and he bowed very low, raising his shoulders in an eloquent shrug.

  ‘I am sorry, my lady, but the law is clear. Whoever holds the Lodestar holds the land.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose it is,’ Iseult said at last. She then bowed her head and said with utter precision, ‘If ye will excuse me, then, Your Majesty. I would be alone with my husband.’

  ‘O’ course,’ Bronwen said and gathered up her silvery skirt in her hand, sweeping towards the door to the palace.

  There was a moment’s indecision, no-one else quite sure what to do. Bronwen turned. ‘Come, gentlemen,’ she said imperiously. ‘There is much to discuss.’

  Gwilym bowed. ‘If ye will excuse me, Your Majesty, I wish to attend upon the Celestines at once.’

  ‘Aye, please do,’ Bronwen said. ‘I will need to speak with them as soon as possible.’

  Gwilym bowed and led the witches out towards the garden. Captain Dillon made as if to follow them.

  He was recalled by Bronwen’s sharp voice. ‘Captain Dillon, I require ye in the Privy Chamber! Please attend upon me at once.’

  He hesitated, looking between her and Iseult.

  ‘Go on then,’ Iseult said, arctic blasts of air swirling up from her skin and clothes. ‘Go! All o’ ye! I would be alone.’

  ‘But, Your Highness … my lady …’

  ‘Go,’ she said coldly and turned away.

  One by one, everyone went out, all bowing to Iseult respectfully. She ignored them, sitting by the candle-lit bier and taking up Lachlan’s limp, grey hand in both of her own, bending to press her face against it.

  There she stayed, alone, while hail clattered round the doors and windows of the palace, piling up in frosty swathes across the lawn where yesterday laughing couples had gathered to watch a procession of fantastical animals made of painted silk.

  Isabeau crouched before the fire in her room. She could not get warm, no matter how many faggots of wood she threw on the fire, or how many cloaks she wrapped about her. The world slipped in and out of focus. Her pulse thundered.

  I will live again, a deep insistent voice whispered in her mind, and ye shall be the one to raise me. Come to me now. I will live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me. Come to me now …

  The voice had tormented her ever since she had read the word
s of the spell for raising the dead. All through the wedding and the feast that followed, all through the dreadful events that had followed Lachlan’s murder, she had heard the voice in her mind, commanding her, imposing his will upon hers, sapping her strength and vitality until she had been giddy on her feet with the effort of withstanding him. Never had she felt such a strong compulsion. It was like a hunger, a lust in her, to give in, to succumb her will to his and do as he demanded.

  Come to me now. I will live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me.

  She hardly dared glance at The Book of Shadows. She was so afraid her pulse hammered in her ears. I am the Keybearer, she told herself sternly, and lifted her maimed hand to cup the talisman hanging around her neck. Its familiar shape comforted her and gave her courage. I will no’ be your puppet, she told the voice. I can withstand ye. I will withstand ye.

  She lifted both hands and laid them on the worn red leather of The Book of Shadows. She breathed in and out, in and out.

  I will live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me.

  ‘Stop it!’ she cried out loud. ‘Leave me alone!’

  I will live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me. Come to me now.

  Isabeau slammed her hands down. ‘I will no’,’ she said. ‘I will no’!’

  The blood sang in her ears. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out.