Beast (5 page)

“I am sorry,” Philipe said, stepping back. Now, he felt a fool, standing shirtless in the freezing stairway. “I will return to my bed and leave you to care for her.”

“There is no caring to be done.” Wilhelm sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I will come down and have some water. I do not wish to keep you from your bed, but I find it…unsettling to remain there with her.”

“You don’t wake her?” It seemed to Philipe to be the easiest solution. “If it is only her dream troubling her—”

“Waking her will have no effect. She won’t wake. Oh, she might sit up and open her eyes, but she is in such a deep slumber…” Wilhelm went down the steps. “I am surprised you did not hear her last night. She carried on for some time.”

“The potion she gave me after she closed the wound was strong. I confess, I do not think I could have woken if…” He stopped himself before he could finish his sentence. At the palace, a simple phrase like, “I wouldn’t have woken if you’d set my bed on fire,” would offend no one. Perhaps it was not the best to use in front of Wilhelm. “I am still a bit groggy.”

“Our childhood nurse was a talented apothecary. She created that potion by her own hand. I suspect she used it on us often, when we were unruly.” Wilhelm laughed, then sobered. “I am sorry. My fatigue sometimes puts me into a strange humor.”

“Not at all.” Philipe thought that if he had to listen to panicked screaming every night, he might be in a strange humor, as well. “But perhaps your sister could use some of it. So that you might be able to rest?”

In the lower room, Wilhelm poured himself a cup of water and sat at the trestle table. He pushed aside some remnants of dinner. Though Johanna worked ceaselessly to feed her brother, she appeared to do little to clean up. After a long swallow, Wilhelm cleared his throat. “The potion no longer works on her. They used it so often to keep her comfortable after the fire. Eventually it stopped working, which was a terrible thing. She was in so much pain, and…”

Philipe stayed silent, not wishing to intrude on Wilhelm’s dark memories. Not when Philipe knew he was partly to blame.

Wilhelm shook his head. “All in the past. I would have you tell me more of your troubles, Your Highness.”

That took Philipe aback. “Pardon?”

Wilhelm fixed his gaze upon the fire, but his brows flicked at the sound of another of Johanna’s screams. “I have considered your tale. If what you say is true, then your father is no longer fit to rule. Is that what you meant to suggest?”

“I do not suggest it, I say it outright.” Philipe let out a breath. “I was not treasonous before, but I am now. Still, those outside of the palace must know. My father is incapable of running his kingdom. He has become a tyrant within the palace walls, it will not be long before it affects those outside of them.”

“It will not affect us,” Wilhelm said with certainty. “We have not been a real part of this kingdom since the fire.”

“I fear no one is safe from him.” Philipe did not like to lay so heavy a burden at Wilhelm’s feet, but he would not let the man rest in false security. “I had hoped that Lord Feuil would listen. As the richest of the northern lords, he has most to lose should my father decide to redistribute land or wealth. It is not unheard of, when kings run mad, for such things to happen.”

“Fueil will not see past the end of his nose,” Wilhelm remarked sagely. For someone who had spent fifteen years isolated in the harsh valley, he seemed to have a better grip on the current state of politics than many of the other lords in the kingdom. “I am sorry for your troubles. If there was a way I could help—”

“You have helped enough,” Philipe hurried to say. There was no reason to make Wilhelm an enemy of the crown. There was no reason to bring notice to him, at all. If his father found that Hazelhurn was unprotected and prime for the taking, Philipe had no doubt the old man would take it. If he were in a merciful mood, he might exile Wilhelm and Johanna. If he were overcome with his paranoid delirium, he would have them murdered.

Philipe refused to be responsible for such a tragedy.

Wilhelm shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the refusal. To him, it must certainly seem as though Philipe doubted his abilities or his connections. While Wilhelm was certainly disconnected, it did not lend any favors to a nobleman’s pride to assume so. “Perhaps, with your leave, I might bring these accusations before Lord Fueil. It is possible he has no knowledge of the king’s decline.”

“He has knowledge. I wrote him myself.” Philipe did not wish to argue with his host. “But if you feel a letter might be appropriate—”

“No letters. We have no messengers.” Wilhelm straightened and drained the rest of his water as though it were a cup of strong wine. “I must ride out before the next snowfall for supplies. Our stores dwindle every day, and the addition of a third has, to put it poorly, bankrupted us. I will make the trip to Lord Fueil and buy our food from him. He has always been courteous and solicitous, though I fear that is only because he wants our lands.”

Philipe nodded carefully. “You understand, of course, that if he finds out that I am here…”

“I will be discreet; you may take me at my honor.” He rose, gaze lifting to the ceiling. He pointed a finger. “Ah, see there now? It’s a short one, tonight.”

“Sleep well,” Philipe bade him, pulling the blankets up to his nose. The chill of the night seemed intent on brutalizing him personally. He wrestled with his conscience and weathered the pain of his arm as he tried to go back to sleep. When Johanna started screaming again, he did not race to her rescue. He pulled the thin pillow over his ears and forced himself to sleep.

* * * *

The morning broke over the mountains like water from a blister. Johanna watched the sunlight spilling down the slopes and creeping over the snow-covered valley. Soon, it would reach the blackened towers of Hazelhurn, and there would be light enough for her brother to ride out.

She stood, pushing aside the stool she’d perched upon. Angry as she was, she would not let Wilhelm leave thinking she was still in a sour attitude. “Don’t forget to take a third water skin. You forgot last time and your lips were so cracked…”

Easy as he was to deceive at the best of times, even Wilhelm would have noticed the tremor in her voice. “Understand, Johanna, that I do not do this to spite you.”

“I never would have thought so.” Not with the sensible part of her mind. Her emotions, however, were unruly, illogical creatures that often drown out the sensible part with their wailing and gnashing of teeth. “We are in dire need; I know you would have made this journey with or without our guest’s pressuring.”

“He did not pressure.” Wilhelm shoved a badly folded shirt into his satchel. “You forget, I am lord of Hazelhurn. I have a duty to keep abreast of political unrest. Father turned a blind eye. Too often, I have made the same mistake. Both of us brought that unrest right to our very door; at least I can make something positive of it.”

She went to her brother and caught his face in her hands. He looked so like their father, and Jacob, who’d shared their mother’s womb with Wilhelm. Johanna favored their mother, dark of hair and fair of skin. Would their parents look down with admiration on their children? On Wilhelm, Johanna had no doubt. He was kind and noble, and though all he ruled was a burned down castle with one ugly subject, he ruled with fairness. She brought his head down to her to kiss his forehead. “Father would be so proud of you.”

“You will be well, Johanna?” Wilhelm disliked praise, he would not acknowledge her compliment. “You don’t fear Philipe?”

“I fear a field mouse more than I fear that spoiled prince,” she snapped. “Would that you would take him with you. Let Lord Fueil bow and scrape and kiss his ass.”

“You’ve done precious little of that, sister,” Wilhelm reminded her. “The man lying below, he is not just a lover who spurned you, no matter the concerns of your heart. He will one day be our king—”

“Treason,” she reminded him gently.

“Sense and reason,” he chided. “I know better than to say such things in the presence of a greedy Lord who would seek to win favor by turning over my traitorous head, do not worry on that count. But I wonder if you realize how important your role in this is.”

“I pulled an arrow out of the man who will be king. I suppose I’ll be given some kind of commendation,” she snorted, letting her tone display exactly how pleased she would be with such a reward.

Wilhelm sighed, as he always sighed when he thought she was not being serious enough. “This man’s future is the future of the kingdom. By saving his life, you have likely saved all of Chevudon. This isn’t something to be cavalier about. You must keep him safe and alive while I am away.”

She adopted the grim attitude he required for such a grave situation. “You have my word; he will not come to any harm by my hand.”

Wilhelm caught her hands in his. “Never did I fear you would harm him. Never once. I know your heart is badly wounded from his rejection of you. I, too, weep for your missed opportunities. We were raised by the same man, and I know you are as duty bound as I am. I would never suspect you capable of murder.”

“Well, I’m glad we have that settled then,” she said, too brightly, betraying the tears in her voice. She wiped her hands, which were not dirty, on the front of her ragged black gown, and reached for her veil. She covered her head carefully, and let Wilhelm untangle the long, frayed ends of the shroud over her back. She smiled at him, hoping the veil hid her insincerity. “I am ready for my battle, my lord, are you?”

“Not a battle,” he corrected softly. “I will be fine, Johanna. You worry for nothing.”

Perhaps he spoke true. She let herself begin to believe it, felt her spirits rising with every step down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, where burned, fallen timbers blocked the rest of the stairs, and she entered the wide, round room at the bottom, those same spirits sank. Philipe lay contemptuously abed—yes, the man even
slept
contemptuously—and she remembered that her brother rode out in defense of a man who had abandoned them before, that he risked the cold valley in servitude to a kingdom that no longer acknowledged their existence.

She went to the hearth and stocked the coals under the porridge pot. There was precious little barley left in their stores. She threw in a handful and scraped the burned crust from the sides, then poured in more water than she would have liked. They would break their fast on soupy porridge that tasted burned, they would drink the melted snows instead of pleasant wine, and they would freeze, until Wilhelm returned. And when he did, things would be much the same. She could not afford to hope otherwise.

Philipe stirred in his bed, perhaps disturbed by the noise she’d made. She took sick pleasure from it, at the same time it angered her. Who was he, to be disturbed? He should have risen with the sunrise, even if his arm prevented him from being any real help to her. Wilhelm rode out on his behalf, the least he could do was appear grateful. Feeling particularly peevish, she lifted a broom and used the blunt end of the handle to nudge at his ribs.

He was awake at once, the coverlet thrown back in a fury, and he grabbed the broom handle before she could withdraw it. Never had she seen his face so fierce. Strangely, it suited him.

“Let go,” she ordered sternly, wrenching the broom away.

He passed a hand over his hair-shadowed jaw. “You startled me.”

“You didn’t seem particularly startled. You seemed asleep.” She turned away and made a pathetic mummery of sweeping. She’d swept the rushes and replaced them the day before, she could not afford to do it again. “Wilhelm is preparing to leave for Lord Fueil’s. No doubt you’re pleased.”

“I am grateful to your brother for his help.” Philipe blinked and widened his eyes to force the sleep from them. “Might I have a cup of water?”

“If your arm hurts so badly that you can’t get your own water, then no. You’ll have a tea for the pain.”

She turned away when he pushed back the blankets. She’d seen enough of his bare chest to last her for quite some time. No doubt she’d have nightmares about it. “I’ll mend your shirt today, so you can stop parading around like some stag in spring.”

“A stag?” The teasing humor she remembered in his voice now only sounded cruel. “I appreciate the comparison. It means much that you find me so…hale and attractive, even while infirm.”

Her curse was audible, like a crack of thunder through the sudden silence. Philipe moved to her side at once, laying his hand on her arm. “Johanna, I am so sorry, I never—”

“Don’t touch me!” She pulled away from him and staggered back, only the threat of the hearth stopping her feet. “Do not, ever, lay a hand on me!”

“What is this?” Wilhelm shouted, running into the room. He threw his satchel on the table and headed for Philipe.

“I meant only to comfort her, I swear.” Philipe insisted, backing up until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he sat, hands held up before him. “I would never harm your sister.”

“He speaks true, Wilhelm.” Johanna smoothed a hand over her chin through the veil, her breath tight in her lungs. “It was nothing, I overreacted.”

“You are not harmed?” As though her word was not confirmation enough, Wilhelm came to her side and lifted her hands in his, looking them over, then her face, then darting his gaze around the room before pulling her into his arms protectively.

“I would never hurt her!” Philipe stood, angrily pulling on his ruined shirt. “Do you think I would take advantage of her? When you’re riding out this very day on my behalf? Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

“It’s the kind of man Prince Philipe of Chevudon is,” Wilhelm said, his shoulders sagging, adding heavy weight to the arms that crushed Johanna close. “Forgive me. I know better than to listen to the wild tales of peasants.”

“The porridge,” Johanna said, stepping out of her brother’s fierce embrace. Wilhelm’s charge to protect her, while born of brotherly love, could be stifling. “If it burns, you’ll have nothing before you go.”

“A piece of bread is all I need,” Wilhelm said, a thread of tension unspooling from his words. “Philipe, I apologize–“