Mistress of the Solstice (8 page)

To seek a man outside the palace I had to look like a commoner, a
village girl adventurous enough to run away from her parents to attend
her first Solstice. There were always such maidens, girls who act under
the perception that the coming Solstice breaks all boundaries. These
girls are common objects of protection for wandering knights, and easy
prey for passionate men.

Like an artist I painted my new appearance, sparing no detail. My black
hair became reddish brown, shorter—about waist-long—and curlier.
Pretty, but not too beautiful, young, but mature enough for a chance
affair. My eyes remained green, though I gave them a touch of brown at
the edges. I shaped my eyelashes shorter and lighter, aiming for the
subtle look of adventurous inexperience.

A brown dress over a green undergarment, its neckline low enough to show
a little cleavage, completed the outfit. Looking over my final
appearance, I added some fullness and color to my cheeks and decided
that it would do.

Wrapped in a dark cloak, I made my way outside the castle. Guards dozed
near the entrance to the front courtyard. I sent them a calming thought
and made them look the other way as I slid past them, treading
noiselessly on the cold stone pavement.

The tavern I chose was far enough from the palace not to run into any
familiar guards, but close enough for an easy walk and, as I knew from
my previous forays, popular with adventurers and fortune-seekers. Its
huge common room was full, bathed in lantern lights that focused on its
center, leaving the corners in the shadow. Thick vapors of ale,
sweat, and cheap stew hung in the air like a curtain. Bits of
conversations floated up through the background hum that from time to
time exploded here and there with roars of quarrel or thunders of
laughter.

Smells and sounds rushed forth to enfold a newcomer into their
breathtaking cocoon. I paused in the doorway, adjusting my assaulted
senses to a new level of tolerance.

It was the time of night when ale gets into heads, and the boundaries
between acceptable and outrageous stretch to a breakage point. The few
women scattered throughout the room had already lost all reserve,
draping over their chance companions like bundles of wet cloth. A group
of rogues in the proximity of the counter shouted profanities at an
ugly serving wench, laughing so vigorously that the ale in their mugs
spilled across the floor.

Along with everyone else in the room, they turned to look at the new
addition to their late-night merriment. Their gazes slid over me like
thick, oiled fingers, reaching as far inside as my outfit would allow.
The force of the sensation made me shudder.

I ran my gaze over the worst our kingdom’s manhood had
to offer. One good lover was all I needed. There had to be one among
them that I could use. I forced my eyes to move slowly, not to turn
away from anyone, even as the filth of their gazes brought inadvertent
color to my cheeks.

A group in the corner looked somewhat better than the others. Their
clothes, one step above peasant dress, showed a reasonable effort
toward cleanliness. The one on the right looked less drunk than the
others, and as my gaze caught his I saw a gleam of interest that went
beyond plain lust. He was less than I’d hoped for,
though. Certainly not the seducer I needed today.

I ran another hopeless glance around the room. And then I saw him. Late
twenties, dark, lean, muscular. Handsome, but not overly so. He leaned
out of the shadow in the corner, watching me with interest. I met his
eyes, then blushed and looked away.

His eyes bore into me with burning intensity. My heart raced with
anticipation. Forcing the images of cornflowers and straw, of smiles
and sunshine out of my head, I studied the positions of the future
participants in my little play. I measured distances, estimated the
approximate times my actors needed to enter the stage. Excitement rose
in my chest, the tingling feeling a fighter must enjoy when his sword
leaves the sheath to rejoin his hand. It had been a while since I had
gone on a man-hunt. I didn’t realize how much I missed
it.

The rogues at the counter were very drunk by now. The man I was aiming
for was sitting a little too far away for my liking, but it had to do.
I chose a lonely spot in between the counter and my future hero, and
fluttered my hand in a shy, hopeless gesture the servers were bound to
miss. Sure enough, the wench, annoyed by the rudeness of the rogues
near the bar, kept clear of our corner, turning her back with a
determined set of her bony shoulders.

I waved some more, after making sure the wench was otherwise occupied. I
tried not to look at the rogues as I counted under my breath, cursing
the ale for clouding their head. Was my plan going to work? Or were
they all too drunk already?

The nearest rogue swayed and finally turned my way. His red face was so
swollen with ale that his beady eyes almost drowned in their sockets.
He had a glassy look, as if not fully aware of his surroundings. Yet,
as he focused on my face—or, rather, my cleavage—his expression
acquired some sense. He even winked to me, a pitiful attempt at
flirting as he took another swig from his mug.

“Barman!” he yelled at the top of
his lungs.

Everyone in the proximity turned their heads to us. My future hero in
his corner raised his head and I prayed he wasn’t going
to rush to my rescue before time. I settled deeper into my chair,
pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

“This beauty here needs a drink!”
The rogue’s thunderous voice shook the air, too loud
for my heightened senses. “Come here,
wench!”

I blushed, putting on a look of uneasiness. He
struggled to his feet and swayed, to the laughter and cheers from his
comrades. My heart raced.
It’s not going to
work
.
He’s too drunk.

I waved my hands in pretended agitation, making awkward attempts to push
away without getting up from my seat and in the struggle letting my
shawl slide off my shoulders to the floor. As I bent to pick it up, I
revealed a glimpse of my breasts to the rogue, at the same time looking
up at him with the helplessness that this type of man finds inviting.
That gave him the necessary boost. He fought his way out of his seat
and rushed toward me, bumping into tables and chairs, his drunken
companions laughing at his back.

His condition worked in my favor. Barely able to walk straight, he posed
no real threat, but he would look sufficiently dangerous to a
frightened village girl. I backed away to the nearest wall, pressing
against it, leaving myself open for him to do his worst.

I pretended to struggle as he tore at my dress, leaving a gaping hole.
He reached for my hair, grabbing the comb that held it in place and
freeing my hair to flow loose, the reddish-brown curls tumbling down to
my waist. I didn’t resist as he savaged my carefully
prepared outfit. The only thing I didn’t let him do was
leave any marks on me. I had to look my best for later.

I hadn’t realized that the man I’d
picked for myself was such a good fighter. He jumped from his corner,
swift as lightning, and struck down my attacker with a single blow.
Three rogues came to the aid of the fallen man, and he knocked each of
them down with quick punches, aimed so expertly that none of his
opponents even let out a sound. Not bothering to see if any of them
would rise, he turned to me as I was standing against the wall
trembling, tears running down my face.

“You are so brave…sir,” I
whispered, holding my scarf over my torn blouse.

“You shouldn’t be alone in such a
place,” he said with concern. “Let
me walk you home…or wherever it is you’re
staying.”

“Thank you, sir.” I reached out for
his offered hand and drew back again, as one of the tears in my dress
gaped.

He kept his eyes discreetly lowered.
“You’re in no shape to go
outside.”

“I have my needlework with me,” I
whispered. “If I could only find a place to repair my
dress, I could do it in no time.”

“I’m staying in this
tavern,” he replied gently. “Would
you consider going to my room? I promise you will be safe
there.”

I looked into his eyes and smiled. A smile of trust. Of hidden promise.

“You are my savior,” I said.
“I trust you with my life and
honor.”

 

Ivan

L
eshy’s voice echoed clearly through the night forest as
he recited his first riddle:

“A delicate basket, I shimmer with light.

Yet I am so strong, it is useless to fight.

The longer you struggle, the tighter my hold,

And when I release you, I also unfold.”

Ivan paused, recalling everything he had learned about the game.
“There’re rules to these
riddles,” Wolf had told him.
“First, the answer is a common, everyday thing that
everyone knows. Second, each riddle has only one answer that fits
everything in the rhyme. And, third, to compensate for the ease of the
first two, some of them are very confusingly phrased. Think before you
answer, boy.” The warning didn’t
seem necessary. Ivan was willing to think as hard as he could to avoid
Nikola the Wise’s fate. Yet, no matter how hard he
thought of it, there seemed to be only one answer.

“Spider web,” he said.

Leshy’s look held mischief, but deep inside, Ivan also
saw disappointment.

“The Fool, the boy calls himself,”
Leshy mused. “A tricky fool.” His
eyes shimmered in the eerie swamp light. “I always
use the easy one first,” he added.

Ivan knew this didn’t have to be true. Yet, he also knew
each new riddle would be harder than the previous one. Leshy liked to
play. And he didn’t like to lose.

“Listen, fool boy,” Leshy said.

“I flow like a river, I wash like a sea,

I circle and circle, and never I flee.

The aim of your life is to keep me contained,

For death will you meet if I roam undetained.”

Ivan thought hard. Common, everyday things, Wolf had said. What sort of
a common, everyday thing could flow like a river, yet mean death if it
roamed undetained? Water?