Let us see if we can change that condition.
Ista waited a while for Goram to finish attending to his master's more intimate needs, to get him back to bed, to hastily stuff whatever foods, made soft for a sick man, down his gullet that time permitted. The rope was beginning to thicken slightly. Then noticeably. She reached out and delicately pinched thumb and forefinger around it in an O.
Lord Bastard, guide me as You will. Or, in Your case, whim.
She willed the rope to shorten, running back through her palm like spun wool. More than just sight had been included in the Bastard's gift, it seemed, for the manipulation seemed effortless. At first she mimed drawing it in hand over hand, but soon discovered she could simply bid it to flow. She kept her eye on the arcade opposite, where the passage came through from the next court.
Lord Arhys strode through onto the sun-splashed stones.
He wore light clothing suited to the hot afternoon, his gray linen vest-cloak with the gold trim swinging about his calves. He was clean, his beard new-trimmed. He yawned hugely, glanced up in concern at the corner room, saw her leaning on the balustrade, and gave her a courtier's bow.
Just wake from a nap, did you? And I know exactly how late you were up last night.
With difficulty, Ista tore her gaze from his elegant surface.
His soul was gray, strangely pale, off center, as if it lagged a little after him and left a trail of smoke.
Ah. Yes. Now I see.
Ista stood up straight and moved toward the stairs, to meet him climbing up.
They came face-to-face, with her standing two steps above the tread upon which his booted feet paused. Arhys waited politely, smiling at her in puzzlement. "Royina?"
She took that strong chin in her hand, shivering at the tactile brush of his beard on her palm, leaned forward, and kissed him on the mouth.
His eyes widened, and he made a surprised muffled noise, but he did not retreat. She tasted his mouth: cool as water, and as flavorless. She drew back, sadly.
So. That didn't work either.
His lips twisted up in a confused, enchantingly crooked grin, and he cocked his eyebrows at her as if to say,
What is this, lady?
As if women kissed him spontaneously on staircases every day, and he considered it uncivil to dodge.
"Lord Arhys," said Ista. "How long have you been dead?"
ARHYS'S SMILE GREW FIXED AND WARY. HE REGARDED ISTA WITH startled concern, as if he feared the mad royina was having a relapse right in front of him, and, as her inadvertent host, he would be held responsible. "Madam—you jest . . . ?" An invitation to recant. A clear suggestion,
Please, don't do this. . . .
"My kisses are not usually so scorned!"
"I have seldom felt further from jest in my life."
He laughed uneasily. "I admit, my fevers have been a trouble to me this season, but I assure you, I am far from the grave."
"You have no fever. You don't even sweat. Your skin is the same temperature as the air. If it were not so beastly hot in this climate, more people would have noticed by now."
He continued to stare at her with the same perplexed expression.
Five gods. He really does not know
. Her heart sagged.
"I think," she said carefully, "that you need to talk with your brother."
He grimaced in pain. "Would that I could. I pray for it daily. But he does not wake from his poisoned wound."
"Yes, he does. Each noon, when you have your little nap. Your only sleep of the day. Has your wife not told you this? She goes almost every day to oversee his care."
And sometimes at night, as well. Although it's not exactly
his
care that concerns her then, I expect.
"Royina, I assure you it is not so."
" spoke with him. Come with me."
The disbelieving tilt of his mouth did not change, but when she turned and mounted the stairs again, he followed.
They entered Illvin's well-kept chamber. Goram, sitting watching his charge, saw Lord Arhys and shot to his feet, offering him his jerky, awkward bow, and a servile mutter that might have been, "M'lord."
Arhys's gaze swept down the still form in the bed. His lips thinned in disappointment. "It is all the same."
Ista said, "Lord Arhys, sit down."
"I shall stand, Royina." His frown upon her was growing less and less amused.
"Suit yourself."
The rope of white fire between the two was short and thick. Now that she knew to look for it, she could feel the demon's presence in it as well, a faint violet glow like a channel that underlay everything. It ran three ways, but only one link flowed with soul-stuff. She wrapped her hand about the bond running between the two men, squeezing it down to half its breadth. The constrained white fire backwashed into Illvin's body.
Lord Arhys's knees gave way, and he collapsed in a heap.
"Goram, help the march to a chair," Ista instructed.
Hold,
she silently commanded her invisible ligature, and it did.
She walked up by Illvin's bedside, studying the nodes of light.
Go up,
she commanded them silently, and made to push them with her hands, concentrate them at the forehead and the mouth, as Cattilara had at... that other theological point. The light pooled as she willed.
Stay there.
She cocked her head and studied the effect.
Yes. I think.
Goram hurried to drag the chair, made of polished, interlaced curves of wood, out from the wall to Illvin's bedside. He hauled the startled-looking Arhys up by the shoulders and sat him in it. Arhys closed his mouth, rubbing at his face with a suddenly weak and shaking hand. Grown numb, was he? She ruthlessly stole Goram's stool and set it at the end of the bed, settling herself where she could best watch both brothers' faces.
Illvin's eyes opened; he took a breath and worked his jaw. Weakly, he began to push himself up on one elbow, until his gaze took in his brother, sitting at his right hand gaping at him.
"Arhys!" His voice rang with joy. His sudden smile transformed his face; Ista rocked back, blinking, at the engaging man so revealed. Goram bustled to shove pillows behind his back. He struggled up further, openmouthed with wonder. "Ah! Ah! You are alive! I did not believe them—they would never meet my eyes, I thought they lied to spare me—you are saved!
I
am saved. Five gods, we are
all
saved!" He collapsed back, wheezing and grinning, burst into shocking tears for five breaths, then regained control of his gasping.
Arhys stared like a stunned ox.
The slur was gone from Illvin's voice now, Ista noted with relief, though his lower limbs lay nearly paralyzed. She prayed that his wits would be likewise clarified. In a level tone that she was far from feeling, she asked, "Why did you believe your brother to be dead?"
"Ye gods, what was I to think?
I felt
that cursed knife go in—to the hilt, or I never survived a battle at some other poor bastard's expense— I could feel the push and give against my hand when it pierced the heart. I almost vomited."
Five gods, please, not fratricide. I didn't want this to be fratricide . . .
She kept her voice steady despite the shaking in her belly. "How did you come to this pass? Tell me everything. Tell me from the beginning."
"She
took him off to her chambers." He added to Arhys, "I was in a panic, because Cattilara had heard it from that meddling maidservant, and was determined to go up after you. I was sure she was unnatural by then—"
"Which she?" said Ista. "Princess Umerue?"
"Yes. The glittering golden girl. Arhys"—his grin returned, notably twisted—"if you would please stop falling over backward every time some aspiring seductress blows a kiss at you, it would be a great comfort to your relatives."
Arhys, his eyes crinkling with a delight that mirrored Illvin's, bent his head in a sheepish look. "I swear, I do nothing to encourage them."
"That, I'll grant, is perfectly true," Illvin assured Ista, as an aside. "Not that it's any consolation to the rest of us, watching the women flock past us without a glance in order to hang on him. Reminds me of a kitchen boy feeding his hens."
"It's not my doing. They throw themselves at me." He glanced at Ista, and added dryly, "On staircases, even."
"You could
duck
," suggested Illvin sweetly. "Try it sometime."
"I do, blast you. You've a highly flattering view of my ripening years if you imagine Cattilara leaves me any spare interest in dalliance, these days."
Ista wasn't quite sure how this statement squared with his actions on their first ride, but perhaps he was as charming to all rescued ladies, if only to divert them from weeping fits. With regret, Ista cut across their—obviously practiced, as well as obviously hugely relieved—banter. No doubt the god had sent her into this painful maze, baiting her with equal parts of curiosity and secret obligation, but she had no desire to linger in it. "Then why did you go to Princess Umerue's chambers? If you did."
Arhys hesitated, the levity draining from his face. He rubbed his forehead, and then his jaw and hands. "I don't quite know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Illvin said, "Cattilara would have it that the princess had slipped you a love potion, and you were not in control of yourself. For all my impatience with her fancies, I ... hoped that it might be so. Because the alternative was much worse."
"What, that I'd fallen in love with Umerue?"
"No. That wasn't what I was thinking."
Ista's gaze upon him sharpened. "What were you thinking?"
Illvin's face grew introspective, grave. "Because she'd had the same effect on me. At first. Then she saw Arhys and forgot me. Dropped me to earth like a sack of bran. And . . . my wits came back to me. I finally remembered where I'd seen her before, except that it wasn't quite her—Arhys, do you recall my little trip down to Jokona about three years ago, when I went disguised as a horse dealer? The time I brought back Goram and the ground plan of Castle Hamavik."
"Yes ..."
"I bought some stock from the lord of Hamavik. Paid too much, which made him happy and loquacious and inclined to take me for a fool. He treated me to dinner at his seaside villa, by which I might have guessed how much he'd skinned me if I hadn't known already. He showed off all his best possessions to me, including, briefly, his wife. A princess of Jokona, granddaughter of the Golden General himself, he told me, as if she were a pretty bit of blood stock he'd done a sharp trade for. Which I gather he must have, for the Regent Dowager Joen is not reputed to spend her children cheaply. Five gods, but he was a repulsive old goat. Golden she was, but she was the saddest silent mouse of a woman I'd ever seen. Drab. Fearful.
And she didn't speak more than six words of lbran."
"Not the same princess, then," said Arhys. "The prince of Jokona has a pack of sisters. You mistook one for another, perhaps. Umerue's tongue was bold and witty."
"Yes. She made bilingual puns. Yet unless she has a twin sister of the same name, I'd swear her for the same woman." Illvin sighed, then his brow wrinkled. "Catti went ripping up to the princess's chambers in a fury, and I went charging after her. I was afraid of—I knew not what, but I thought, if nothing else, I might somehow warn you, and prevent a scene."
"My faithful flank man."
"This
went beyond the bounds of duty, I thought. You were going to owe me, and I meant to collect, too. I begged Catti to at least let me go in first, but she ducked under my elbow. Our tumbling entry could not have been more ill timed. Speaking of bold tongues."
Dead men, Ista noted, couldn't blush. But they could at least look shamefaced.
"Even
I
couldn't blame Catti for going into a frenzy," Illvin continued. "But if that over decorated dagger had been sitting at the bottom of that pile of gear instead of atop it, I might have grabbed her quicker. She went straight for the princess, screaming. Wanted to cut her face off. For understandable reasons."
"I remember that part," said Arhys slowly, as if unsure. "It comes back ..."
"You pushed the golden slut out of the way, I seized Catti's knife hand, and between us we might have saved the moment if you hadn't tripped, lunging out of bed. Were you in such a whirl of lust that you couldn't wait to undress? If
I'd
had such an opportunity—never mind. But the best swordsman in Caribastos, hobbled by his own
trousers
— five gods, Arhys! Catti wouldn't have had the strength to drive that big blade home if she
had
been trying for you, if you hadn't toppled into us with your ankles twisted up." His indignation faded, and his excited voice slowed.
"I felt
the blade go in. I was sure we'd done you, among us all."
"It wasn't Catti's fault!" Arhys said hastily. "Oh, the look of woe upon her face—it was like being stabbed again. No wonder she . . . After that. . . after that, I don't remember."
"You fell at my feet. The fool girl yanked the blade back out of you—I shouted,
No, Catti!
Too late. Though I'm not sure if leaving it in would have staunched anything, the way you spurted. I was trying to get one hand pressed to your wound and hang on to Catti's sleeve with the other, but she twisted right out of her over robe. Umerue was shrieking, climbing back over the bed to try to get to you—I wasn't sure why. Catti plunged the knife straight into her stomach. Umerue grabbed the hilt,
then looked up and gave me the saddest look. And said
Oh,
in this lost little voice. Like . . . like her voice when first I ever saw her." His voice faded further. "She just said
Oh.
Catti's face took on a very strange air, and after that...
I
don't remember." He sank back on his pillows. "Why can't I . . . ?"
Ista's hands were trembling. She hid them in her skirt. "What
do
you remember next after that, Lord Illvin?" she asked.
"Waking up here. With my head buzzing. Dizzy and sick. And then waking up here again. And again. And again. And again. And—something
must
have happened to me. Was I hit from behind?"