Chapter 27 Lies and Reality
EVERY HEAD TURNEDtheir way as they walked the long, flower-bordered path toward the back gates of Castle Ursal.
It didn't bother Roger Lockless much to see their sour expressions on the occasions when he walked here alone. He was used to having people stare at him with expressions ranging from disgusted to curious to awestricken. Roger had been very ill as a child, had nearly died; and, indeed, all who cared for him had thought him lost on more than one occasion. The affliction had stunted his growth so much that he was now barely five feet tall and was very skinny; because of that, his features -eyes, ears, nose, and mouth - seemed somehow too large for his face. All his life, Roger had been the proverbial square peg, and as such had suffered the stares.
There was more to those churlish expressions than curiosity on this occasion, he knew; and most of the onlookers, particularly the women, were not even looking at him.
Dainsey walked beside him with her head held high, but Roger understood the pain she was undoubtedly feeling. She had been a peasant, living on the tough streets of Palmaris, surviving by her wits and any other means available. Dainsey could deal with a bare-knuckled brawl in an alley and had hidden from soldiers and the monks loyal to Markwart for weeks in terrible conditions. Dainsey could suffer the rosy plague with dignity and with courage, never complaining.
But this kind of subtle injury was far more devastating.
The nobles were looking at them the way they might at a wet, dirty dog that had leaped up on a dinner table. Their eyes screamed "peasant," if their lips didn't have the courage to follow.
And it was true, Roger knew. He and Dainsey were peasants, despite their elevated status because of the circumstances following the war and the plague. Oh, Jilseponie had given them finery to wear, but in truth neither of them knew how to wear such garments. In the fancy clothing, the pair just looked uncomfortable and perhaps even more out of place.
Roger reminded himself why they had come to Ursal so early that spring, as soon as the roads and the river had allowed. They were there to support Pony - not Queen Jilseponie but Pony Wyndon, their dear friend. And seeing these crinkled faces, these expressions disgusted at their mere presence, only reminded Roger more profoundly that Pony needed their support right now.
Everything about her present life was souring around her. Rumors abounded on the streets that she was being unfaithful, or that King Danube was, and that the couple hardly spoke anymore. Jokes echoed in every tavern in Ursal and the nearby communities about the Peasant Queen.
It was all emanating from these folks staring at him now, Roger knew, and he wanted to draw out a weapon and cut them down!
"How can she be doin' it day to day?" Dainsey asked him quietly. "How can she take the looks and not fight back?"
"How could she fight back?" Roger asked in reply. "She would destroy the court and wound her husband deeply. And he is the King, Dainsey, so in the end, she would lose even more. "
"If he's toleratin' these sniffers, then it might do him good to get a good kick in the arse," Dainsey remarked.
Her simple logic served as armor against the stares, and Roger even managed a little smile at Dainsey's lovable ignorance of the ways of court.
If only it were that simple!
"Are there any other strays you wish to take into the shelter of Castle Ursal?" Duke Kalas said to Jilseponie when he found the Queen standing on a high balcony, looking out toward the Masur Delaval.
Jilseponie bit back her curt response, hardly surprised. What a fool Kalas was! What fools were all of them, hardly recognizing that Roger Lockless was more deserving of his room in Castle Ursal than any of the others. How many lives had he saved during the Demon War? Fifty? Five hundred? He had waged battle fearlessly, had gone into Caer Tinella all alone to rescue prisoners of the powries, and then had stood resolutely on principle even though doing so seemingly assured him of a horrible death at the hands of Father Abbot Markwart. And all that time the noblemen and noblewomen sat here comfortably, sipping their wine and boggle, worrying more about fine clothes than a poor old widow who was about to be executed by the terrible powries in Caer Tinella, fighting with their quiet insults whispered behind backs rather than with sword and honest wit.
Jilseponie narrowed her eyes when Kalas moved to stand right beside her, dropping his strong hands onto the balcony railing.
"You cannot understand that some people do not belong here," the Duke remarked.
Jilseponie turned to him, and they locked stares.
"And that other people do," the Duke finished. Now Jilseponie was no longer surprised that Kalas had gone out of his way to find her and confront her. Of late, the Duke, like all the other nobles, had been shunning her outright; but now, it seemed, Kalas was up for a fight. That last line told Jilseponie why: he had just returned from Yorkeytown, from Constance Pemblebury.
"She sits broken in the shadows," Kalas went on, staring back out across the city. "Everything to which she ever aspired has been stolen from her -all her life has been taken away. And all because of the petty jealousy of a woman who should not be queen. "
Jilseponie turned on him sharply, her eyes shooting daggers; and he turned and met her stare.
She slapped him across the face.
For a moment, she thought Kalas would respond in kind, and Jilseponie, ever the fighter, hoped he would!
He composed himself and merely chuckled, though, staring at her. "Is it not enough that you have taken her man - her true love and the father of her children?" he asked. "Do you have to destroy her utterly?"
"I do nothing to Constance," Jilseponie replied.
"Then she is free to return to Castle Ursal?"
Jilseponie chewed on that for a moment. "No," she said.
Kalas gave another chuckle - more of a snort, actually - shaking his head. With a wave of disgust at Jilseponie, he turned and started away.
"You think me petty and jealous," Jilseponie called after him, and she could hardly believe the words as they came out of her mouth. Why did she need to explain herself to Duke Kalas, after all?
The Duke paused and slowly turned back to face her.
"There is much more I could have done to Constance," Jilseponie went on, needing for some reason she did not quite understand to get this out in the open. She had suffered too many jokes, too many hurtful rumors, too many sneers and looks of disgust. "In response to her own actions. "
"Because Danube loves her?" the Duke asked.
"Because he does not," Jilseponie was quick to respond.
"He loves Jilseponie," Kalas said sarcastically. Those words hurt her most of all, because in truth, she wasn't sure she could deny the sarcasm. Things between the King and Queen had not been warm of late. Not at all. Jilseponie told him, then, though she had previously decided that she would not, of Constance's tampering with her food, of the herbs Constance had garnered from Abbot Ohwan, and of the way she had coerced the chef into sprinkling them on the Queen's food in huge quantities.
Duke Kalas stared at her blankly throughout the recital, hardly seeming impressed. "If she tried to keep you from having King Danube's child, a new heir to the throne, then I agree with her," the Duke stated flatly. "And so, apparently from your own words, do many others, your own Church included. "
"That alone is a crime of treason," Jilseponie reminded. "But, no, Constance went beyond that goal. She tried to poison me, to kill me, that she could find her way back to Danube's bed. "
Duke Kalas snorted again. "So you say," he remarked, unimpressed. "And again, I have to remind you that there are many who would agree with her. "
Jilseponie's full lips grew very tight.
"After all these years, do you still really believe that you belong here?" the Duke asked her bluntly. "Do you harbor any notions that any children borne of you could lay claim to the throne? Better for the kingdom that you remain barren, whatever the cause. "
/> Jilseponie could hardly believe what she was hearing! She knew that these words had been spoken often by the nobles, and, indeed, since the barrage of rumors, by many of the common folk, as well. But never would she have believed that any of them, Kalas included, would be so bold as to speak them to her!
"Constance Pemblebury's children are properly bred," Duke Kalas went on, his square jaw firm and resolute. "Their bloodlines are pure, and in line for the crown, a responsibility to man and to God that you, as a peasant, cannot even begin to appreciate. If called upon to ascend, either Merwick or Torrence would rule with the temperance of nobility and the proper understanding of the natural order of things. They were bred for this!" He stared hard at Jilseponie, then gave a deprecating chuckle. "Any cubs from you, wild things that they would be - "
She moved again to slap him across the face, but he caught her hand.
A subtle twist easily disengaged his grip, and Jilseponie finished the move with a sharp slap.
Duke Kalas laughed as he rubbed his chin and cheek, both dark with stubble, as he had just returned from the road.
"Sharp words," Jilseponie warned him, "unbefitting a noble of King Danube's court. "
"Pray, will you go to your husband the King and have me banished?" the Duke taunted. "Or will benevolent Queen Jilseponie have me stripped of rank, perhaps even tried for treason and executed?"
"Or will I take up my sword and kill you myself?" Jilseponie added, not backing away a step, and reminding Kalas clearly that she was no courtesan queen, but a warrior seasoned in many, many battles. "You chide me by implying I would hide behind my husband's royal robes. It is unbecoming, Duke Kalas, of the noble warrior you pretend to be. "
"You are not the only one who has seen battle," the Duke reminded her.
"And it has been years since I have engaged in any true fight, whereas you practice with your Allhearts constantly," Jilseponie readily agreed. Her tone made it quite clear that she didn't think any of what she said would make any difference should Duke Kalas ever choose to wage battle personally against her. Jilseponie could feel the old fires burning within her again. All of the many battles of her daily life now had to be handled delicately, by diplomatic means; surely, on many levels, the battles of words were preferable to bloodshed. But a part of Jilseponie, the part that was Pony Wyndon, missed the old days, when the enemy was more easily definable, was clearly evil and irredeemable. There was something cleaner about speaking with her sword. In truth, Jilseponie was more easily able to wipe the blood of a slain goblin or powrie from her sword than she was able to wipe her harsh words to Constance Pemblebury from her conscience. For while she knew that Constance had brought her fate upon herself, Jilseponie felt much more sympathy for the woman than for her enemies of old. Here then was Duke Kalas, speaking words to elevate the bitterness to explosive levels. And here then was Jilseponie, was Pony, embracing those words.
"Constance will return to Ursal," Kalas said flatly. "I will see to it. "
Jilseponie paused and thought on that long and hard. "I care little," she replied, though she knew it was not the truth. "But warn her, as her friend, to beware her actions, and pray, Duke Kalas, beware your own. My tolerance has expired, I fear, and my sword is not as rusty as you hope it to be. "
"Threats, my Queen?"
"Promises, my Duke. "
Kalas gave another chuckle, but it was obvious to Jilseponie that she had rattled the man. "And all for speaking a truth that Queen Jilseponie cannot bear to hear," he did say, and he bowed and turned to leave.
This time, Jilseponie was more than ready to let him go.
She turned back to look at the city, to the sparkling river and the white sails of many ships. She was glad that Roger and Dainsey had come to spend the summer with her, was glad to have two friends, at least, in this prison of stone walls and pretty gardens.
"Two friends," she said quietly, and her gaze inadvertently and inevitably turned to the doorway that led to the corridor and stairwell that would take her to the private quarters of the King and Queen, a bedroom and a sitting room that had been especially cold of late.
From the look on Dainsey's face, Roger understood that they had company at their private apartment as soon as he entered. And from the defensive manner in which Dainsey stood, her arms tight at her sides, Roger could guess easily enough who had come calling, even before he followed her gaze to the diminutive figure standing in the shadows at the side of the room.
"Greetings, Kelerin'tul," he said to the elf. The small creature stepped out to the center of the room, and Dainsey predictably shrank back from him.
"You have taken the next step?" the elf asked, not bothering with any niceties.
"Spoken with Jilseponie?" Roger replied. "Bluntly? Yes. As you instructed. "
The elf nodded, motioning for him to continue.
Although all his information was in Jilseponie's favor, Roger hated this. He wasn't pleased with the Touel'alfar's attitude, their insistence that he travel to Ursal and lay to rest once and for all their fears concerning the new queen of Honce-the-Bear.
"It is as I told you it would be," Roger assured Kelerin'tul, his tone edged with anger. "Jilseponie has understood her responsibility since the day Elbryan taught her bi'nelle dasada. Your lady knows as much, and yet you insist on this?"
"Insist upon watching over her?" Kelerin'tul replied. "Indeed, and ever shall we. "
Roger nearly spat with disgust.
"You believe that a friend should be more trusted," Kelerin'tul reasoned.
"You have been spying upon her for years," Roger replied. "Watching her every move as if you expect her to launch an army to attack your homeland at any second - an army trained in your ways of battle!"
"Expect?" Kelerin'tul echoed. "No, that is too strong a word. "
"But you fear it," said Roger.
"We are a cautious people," the elf admitted.
"Yet Jilseponie was long ago named elf-friend," said Roger. "Does that mean nothing?"
Kelerin'tul laughed at him, a sweet and melodic, yet mocking, sound. "If it did not, she would have long ago been killed," the elf assured him. And Roger had no doubt that Kelerin'tul was speaking the truth. "And surely she would never have been allowed to travel to Ursal to sit by the side of the human king. "
"Because Lady Dasslerond so decrees it," Roger said sarcastically.
"You cannot appreciate our position, Roger Lockless," said the elf. "Jilseponie is elf-friend, yes, and so are you, but you misunderstand the meaning of that title. Paramount are the needs of Touel'alfar, and nothing about Jilseponie, nothing about you - not your desires nor your needs nor your very life - rises above that. We ask little of you, and of Jilseponie, in these days, but we will have our assurances, do not doubt.
"Many years have passed since our last involvement with humans," Kelerin'tul went on. "In the short memories of humans, we are already being relegated to legend or myth. That is how we prefer it - that is what we demand from those whom we name as elf-friend. "
Roger stared hard at the elf, and believed every word. The Touel'alfar were not a sympathetic bunch, especially concerning the pains of humankind. And they were not a tolerant people concerning the foibles of humankind. Not at all.
"I must report to Lady Dasslerond," said Kelerin'tul. "What am I to tell her?"
"Queen Jilseponie mentions the Touel'alfar not at all," Roger answered. "When I asked her directly, I believe it was the first time she had given your people thought in years. She will not allow any discussion of any kind concerning the Touel'alfar to enter the court in any way. Lady Dasslerond need not fear her, or her secret of bi'nelle dasada, in any way. "
If Kelerin'tul was convinced and reassured, he did not show it.
Roger gave a helpless laugh. "Do you not even understand the relationship that Jilseponie holds with these . . . these fools?" he asked. "She would not teach them anything of any value, let
alone break her word for them. The head of King Danube's army is her avowed enemy. The only way that he, or any of the others, would ever see Jilseponie perform bi'nelle dasada would be at the wrong end of her sword!"
Kelerin'tul stared at him long and hard, then nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Of the other issue, you have asked her?" the elf asked.
"I insisted," Roger replied. "I will tell you the result as soon as Jilseponie gives me an answer. "
"We will know before you do," Kelerin'tul said with typical arrogance. Then he gave a slight bow, melted back into the shadows, and silently slid out the window in the adjoining room.
Dainsey moved to Roger and took his arm, recognizing that he needed the support.
"Will she come with us?" the woman asked.
Roger stood there with his eyes closed in sympathetic pain. For his friend was surely hurting, and he didn't know how to help her.
"Every day must be a battle," King Danube said disconcertingly, following Jilseponie back to their private quarters after a rather heated debate with Duke Kalas and a couple of others concerning the present situation in the city of Palmaris - a quiet and peaceful situation, by all accounts. Thus, Kalas' insistence that Danube revisit the matter of Palmaris' governing structure, specifically, that he reconsider the agreement allowing Braumin Herde to serve as bishop - a title combining the duties of abbot and baron - echoed in Jilseponie's ears as a diversion to keep her occupied and on the defensive, a distraction from the other matter: the return of Constance Pemblebury.
And so she had embraced Kalas' bait and engaged him in a heated argument. Only after the initial barrage did she understand that she had played right into Kalas' hands, that his constant whispering into Danube's ear had reached a level where all Jilseponie's arguments had begun to blur into one aggravating noise.
"Braumin Herde serves you well," Jilseponie replied.
"And you seem to believe that I could not discern that on my own," said Danube. "At least, not without your engaging Duke Kalas in open warfare in my court!"
"He is intractable!" said Jilseponie.
"And stubborn," Danube agreed. "As are you, my lady. "
His words, and his apparent detachment, took her response right from her lips. She sat back on her couch and sighed, too tired to muster up the argument again.
"Roger and Dainsey have invited me to winter in Palmaris," she said after a while, and she noted, and not to her surprise, that Danube didn't bat an eyelash at her surprising news.
"I am considering their offer," Jilseponie pressed.
Still Danube didn't blink. "Perhaps that would be for the best," he said calmly.
Too calmly. Jilseponie studied him carefully, and she knew. It had all bubbled up around Danube too deeply; he was immersed in the lies and the sneers.
"Constance Pemblebury is on her way back to Ursal," Danube remarked, "with Merwick and Torrence. It is a move, not a visit. This is her home, and so she returns. "
"That has always been her choice to make," Jilseponie replied, and Danube merely nodded.
She stood up, then, walked over to him, took his hands, and looked into his eyes.
He looked away.
The next day, without fanfare, without an announcement, without an entourage other than Roger and Dainsey, Jilseponie rode north out of Ursal, a long and winding road back to Palmaris.
Ascendance Page 28
