Authors: J. V. Jones
A knock at the
door was followed by the drawing of a bolt. In walked Bailor. He took a long
look at her, and then said, "if you take the gilding from the lily, the
flower still remains."
Melli felt a flush
upon her face. He had seen right through her attempt to make herself
unappealing. Determined not to admit her tactics, she feigned innocence.
"I decided not to wear the red dress, the color doesn't become me."
"Aah. And
your nails, did their length not become you, either?"
"I broke one
and thought it wise to make the rest even."
"And the
rouge?"
"Pale cheeks
are the height of beauty in the kingdoms." Bailor actually laughed.
"You are going to be quite a surprise to His Grace. I can't decide which
is the quicker: your tongue or your wits."
Melli tried to
look indignant. "Are you calling me a liar, sir?"
"You're no
shrinking violet, that's for sure." He gave her an appraising look.
"You will do just the way you are. Follow me."
Now the moment had
finally come, Melli found that she wasn't the least bit excited, just nervous.
She let Bailor lead her out of the room. They walked along a series of galleries
and then down many flights of stairs. The farther they descended, the more
worried Melli became. Surely the duke's chamber would be situated high in the
palace? She stopped in her tracks. "Where are you taking me?" she
demanded.
"For a
bastard daughter, you have quite an air about you," said Bailor, looking
at her sharply. Melli dropped her gaze to the floor. "There's no need to
worry," he continued.
"The duke
values discretion in all things, especially matters of a personal nature. There
is a tunnel in the servants' chapel that leads to his chambers."
"How very
convenient to have both sin and salvation within such easy reach." Melli
was relieved. She didn't doubt his words for an instant. Castle Harvell was
riddled with tunnels, and there was no reason to believe that the duke's palace
would not boast a few of its own.
"Did the
fight go well?" she asked as they approached a low wooden doorway.
Bailor wheeled
around. "Under no circumstances must you mention the fight to His
Grace."
Why.
"He lost his
champion tonight."
"Was the man
killed?"
"Worse than
killed. His brains were smashed out of his skull." Bailor's voice was
grim. "He is barely alive. The Physicians are doing what they can, but
there is little hope that he'll live through the night."
"And the victor,
what has become of him?"
"His fate
plays a stronger tune. The duke appointed him his new champion." Bailor
glanced around before placing his hand on the door. "He had little choice
really, what with the court and the foreign envoys looking on. He is a proud
man and to have his champion defeated in such a way was quite upsetting for
him. So whatever you do, don't mention the fight to him." He looked to
Melli for her assent, but at that instant the door swung open.
"Thought I
heard voices. It's a little late for a service, though." Straight away
Melli recognized the accent of the kingdoms. Instinctively she turned her head
away from the man to whom the voice belonged.
"You are not
the normal guard," said Bailor. "What are you doing in the chapel at
this hour?"
"Me and my
friend here have been doing a little work for the chaplain." The guard
indicated a second man standing behind him. "We were just finishing off
polishing the floor;."
There were a
bucket and some cloths on the floor behind them.
"I would
advise you not to work so late in the future." said Bailor. "Now let
me pass."
They walked into
the chapel, Melli keeping her head bent low toward the floor. Her heart was
beating wildly. She was almost certain that the guards were from Castle
Harvell. They could recognize her in an instant.
"What's your
name, man?" asked Bailor to the one who had opened the door.
"Grift, sir,
and my companion here is Bodger."
"Well, Grift,
I trust you know the value of a still tongue?"
"You can
count on me and Bodger, sir."
"I'm pleased
to hear it." Bailor took hold of Melli's arm. "I think it's time you
gentlemen retired for the evening."
The one called
Grift nodded judiciously. "Of course, sir, say no more. Me and Bodger will
be on our way." With that he and the second guard made their way toward
the main entrance to the chapel.
Bailor waited
until the door was closed behind them. "Drunken fools," he said under
his breath. He then guided Melli toward the altar.
Hanging behind the
altar were several painted panels charting Bore's progress from shepherd to
hero to god. Bailor went straight to the middle panel and pressed against the
left side. The whole thing swung open like a door. Startled, Melli jumped back.
Her nerves were on edge; the incident with the guards had left her badly
shaken.
"Follow
me," said Bailor.
They traveled up a
narrow, spiral staircase. They must have been expected, thought Melli, for the
stairway was lit with torches. Up and around they went, burrowing into the
heart of the palace. Eventually they came to a door. Bailor knocked lightly and
the door was opened by a guard wearing military blue. The man nodded curtly and
let them pass. They walked through the small anteroom and into a large but
sparsely furnished chamber. One man stood alone by an unshuttered window.
Bailor cleared his
throat. "Your Grace, may I present Melli of Deepwood."
The man turned and
looked at Melli. Never in all her life had she received such a look: cold and
appraising, it seemed to strip her bare and then discard what was left.
"Take her
away," he said. "But, sir-"
"I said take
her away."
Anger rose within
Melli. No one dismissed her so brusquely. "Do what the man said, Bailor.
After all, he's had quite an upsetting evening-best to let him mourn his
champion alone." She spun around and began to walk back the way they'd
come.
The duke was on
her in an instant. He slapped her across the face. Melli reeled with the force
of the blow. She struggled to keep her footing. Once she was stable, she drew
herself up to her full height, looked the duke straight in the eye, and said:
"It's a pity your champion couldn't muster such a blow, else the fight
might have ended quite differently."
Flint gray eyes
reappraised her. Without looking at Bailor, he said, "Leave us
alone."
Melli heard the sound
of footsteps receding into the distance. Determined not to be the first to look
away, she held her gaze firm. The duke took a brief step forward and Melli
couldn't stop herself from flinching.
"Not as tough
as you seem," said the duke with a stretch of lip that might have passed
for a smile.
"Well, I'm
sure you're looking to make someone pay for tonight. I've probably come at just
the right time." She tilted her chin. "If you're going to beat me, I
should wam you, I will fight back."
"I don't
doubt that you would." The duke turned and went over to a large wooden
table. He poured a single glass of wine. "Here," he said, "take
this."
Melli was out of
her depth, but determined not to show it. "I think I'll have to
refuse," she said. "After all, it's probably poisoned and I have no
intention of making it easier for you to overpower me."
The duke brought
the glass to his lips and took a mouthful of the wine. Melli thought he would
offer her the rest, but he merely returned the cup to the table. " There's
no such place as Deepwood," he said.
"You are
obviously unfamiliar with the kingdoms."
"I know every
inch of it like the back of my hand." The words were more statement than
boast. It frightened Melli to hear them.
"Why are you
so interested in the kingdoms?"
The duke's
response was as quick as a lash. "Why are you lying about where you are
from?"
Melli looked
around the room. She spied a wooden desk in the corner and walked toward it.
She needed to give herself time before replying. Such a bare room; the stone
floor was beautifully cut, but there were no rugs to warm the foot or please
the eye. The walls were hung with nothing but swords. It was not going to be
easy to fool the duke. His wits were sharp and he was the sort of man who was
used to getting answers. She was determined to rise to the challenge. "I
lie and say I'm from Deepwood because it shocks people less than telling them
the truth. I'm a bastard from the wrong side of the bed."
"You have a
bastard's temper, I'll give you that."
"You slap a
woman like one."
The duke laughed
outright. "Do all women in the kingdoms have nettles for tongues?"
"You tell me,
seeing as you know the place so well." Melli wondered if she'd gone too
far. The duke's knowledge of her country was no laughing matter. Lying on the
desk there were maps and charts. The forests of the kingdoms were circled like
treasure.
The duke saw where
her eyes had rested, yet made no attempt to cover the charts. "It is not
unusual," he said, "if you are about to ally with a country, to make
a study of its geography."
"And
resources?"
The duke shrugged.
"It is no secret that Bren needs timber. What is the point of allying with
a country unless there is something to be gained at the join?"
"So what do
the kingdoms gain?"
"Access to
the most powerful army in the Known Lands."
Melli shuddered.
The heat left her face. A gap opened up in her consciousness and she struggled
with all her might not to spiral toward it: in its middle lay prophecy. Just
like the time at the pig farmer's cottage when she had lost herself to its
guile, it beckoned her forth with all the promise of what the future would
hold. Only she didn't want to see it. A future where the most powerful army in
the Known Lands played a part would not make for a pretty picture. Melli forced
her mind to focus on the present, and the breach that held the future collapsed
upon itself unseen.
She was holding on
to the desk so tightly her knuckles were white. The marriage between Kylock and
Catherine went so much deeper than nuptials and wedding feasts.
"Go
now," said the duke. "The guard will show you back to your
chamber."
Melli was weak and
disorientated. The desk was the only thing that kept her standing. The duke's
cold dismissal didn't seem to make any sense. Or had he seen something in her
face? Seconds had passed, yet it felt like she had run up a high hill and was
now breathless at the top. The duke was waiting, impatient for her to be gone.
She risked a step
forward. Her legs did not fail her. There was a large door with bronze carvings
at the opposite end of the room and she made her way toward it.
The duke stopped
her. "You will go the way you came," he said.
Melli could barely
remember. She needed to be alone, to rest, to sleep-to forget. The duke guided
her toward the small side door where she had first entered. The same guard
waited in the anteroom. He took hold of her arm, and when she next looked round
the duke had gone.
The journey back
to her room seemed endless. She forced her feet to find the steps. By the time
they had arrived at the chapel, her thoughts were racing. The jolt she'd
received from the foretelling might have left her body weak, but her mind was
quick to recover.
The night had not
gone at all as she planned. The knife was still in its place by her side, yet
not once had she considered pulling it out. The very idea seemed ludicrous. The
duke was much more solid and intimidating than she had counted on, not to
mention the fact that his chambers were obviously well guarded. There would be
no chance for a quick escape. Her plan would need rethinking. Still, it had
been an interesting encounter: the most powerful man in the north was no fool,
yet she had managed to fool him all the same. She was not surprised that Jack
hadn't liked talking about his family, for the mention of the word bastard
seemed to bring most inquiries to a halt.
The guard led
Melli to her room. The minute the bolt was drawn on the other side of the door,
she threw herself on the bed. Melli hugged the pillow to her body. It had been
exhilarating to trade words with the most powerful man in the north.
The tavern was
emptying out for the night, only drunks and fools remained. Bitter smoke rose
from cheap tallow and the rushes were alive with vermin. Traff crushed a rat
beneath his boot; the bones made a pleasing cracking noise when kicked. The
creature landed on the opposite side of the room. Right by the feet of the man
he was going to murder.
He hated the
Halcus. They were dirty, dog-eating scum. A week back he had been jumped, and
the bastards had stolen his horse. They beat him and left him for dead. Now it
was time to return the favor. Already this evening he'd eaten a large and
overpriced meal, drank three skins of ale, and had just ordered a bed for the
night. What he needed now was the money to pay for it. And that fat and greasy
Halcus merchant slouching drunkenly across the room was the one who was going
to oblige.
Traff stood up and
made his way to the merchant's table. "Good evening, my friend. Fancy a
cup of ale?"
The merchant
looked him up and down. "Not from round here, are you?"
Traff nodded as he
sat down. "From Silbur originally."
"What you
doing here, then?"
He wanted to put
his fist into the man's fat, nosy face. "Looking for action against the
kingdoms or Bren."
"You're too
far east for the kingdoms," said the merchant, " and it's too early
to tell if there's a war coming with Bren."
Dangerously close
to losing his temper, Traff said, "You caught me out, my friend. I'm on a
mission for a certain wealthy lord."