Secrets of the Night Special Edition (41 page)

Keriam sat to tug off her leather riding boots and cotton stockings, then strode toward the wide, winding river, the grass warm and dry beneath her bare feet. A bridge spanned the water farther down, but her ritual would mean little if she took such an easy means of execution. The burbling sound of the rushing water cloaked all other noises--the birds' singing, the insects' buzzing. Clusters of trees lined both sides of the river.

Tucking her dress and shift inside her belt, she headed down the sandy bank where sun- light glistened on the rippling azure water.

Unlike the moderate air temperature, the river felt ice-cold when she first stepped in. She gradually became accustomed to the temperature as she waded farther out, the water undulating against her bare legs. Toward the middle, she found the river swift-flowing and deep but continued on. What would the riverine goddess think of her if she'd stopped at the shallow end, unable to brave the current? The violent force of the current nearly knocked her down, but she kept her balance. When the water reached her waist, she stood in silence for a few moments, then bowed her head in prayer.

Aventina, please keep my father safe from all danger. Guide him well, that he may always do right by his people. Let no misfortune come to him, and let him continue to rule for many more years. Watch over our people, that they may live in harmony, peace, and prosperity. May we always live by the teachings of the Earth-mother goddess, and honor her and you for the rest of our lives.

Keriam eased her gold torque from her neck and tossed the adornment out, the sunlight glinting on its shiny surface, the torque landing with a tiny splash. Praying further that the offering would satisfy Aventina, she headed back to shore, releasing her wet clothes from her belt, letting them fall to her ankles.

She brushed the soles of her feet, then retrieved her stockings and boots and sat to pull them back on, then made her way toward a rowan tree. She sat down and spread her dress out evenly across her legs, hoping the sunlight would soon dry her clothes. As always, Balor sent a shaft of hatred to her stomach, where it settled like a cold ball.

Would her prayer and offering protect her father? But Balor wasn't the only threat, she worried, shifting her position. What about Aradia? Or were the steward's wife and Balor working together?

She tightened her jaw. Aradia would bear watching.

Chapter Six

The light of a full moon shone through Keriam's bedchamber window, the night air cool with a southerly wind. Unable to sleep, she focused her thoughts on the steward's wife, fearful Aradia would bring discord to the palace . . . and the king. Indeed, she'd caused enough trouble already. A vague disquiet nudged her mind, a sensation that soon became a roaring suspicion. She had often wondered why these feelings of intuition came to her, but had gradually accepted that they were part of her strange powers. And she had learned never to doubt these warnings. What was Aradia doing now? Possibly I am wrong this time, she thought, and my fears are for nothing. No doubt the steward’s wife lay in bed with her husband, where she belonged. But if she was elsewhere?

She must discover what Aradia was up to.

Closing her eyes, she kept her mind clear. She breathed rhythmically, her mouth slightly open as she lay quiescent, then drifted into a twilight state, with only a vague awareness of her surroundings. Minutes or hours later, a numbness crept over her body, her limbs paralyzed. She departed her body, and she looked down to see herself in bed, asleep.

The steward's suite occupied a portion of the floor above, and Keriam floated along the walls, then upwards until she reached their bedchamber on the next floor. After she listened outside their door for several moments, she slipped through the thick walls, stifling qualms about this intrusion on their privacy. The steward's snores told Keriam he slept soundly, but alone. Where was his wife? Outside the palace?

Quick! Find her!
Chafing at her slow progress, she drifted through the palace walls, then floated above the earth. From her high vantage point, she could see the entire grounds below: the magnificent bluestone palace and the stables. Bushes, flowers, and an occasional tree bordered a lake close to the royal residence, opposite the stables. The royal cemetery occupied a small space close by the lake.

About a half-mile to the west stood the army barracks and a cluster of military housing for the officers, including Balor's, his mansion set apart from the others. A small woods of rowan, ash, and oak sequestered the palace grounds from the military housing. Meadows and open fields extended beyond.

The smell of pungent, musky smoke drew her downwards to the far edge of the woods, a smell carried north by the wind. Chanting urged her nearer, and she skimmed along the wet grass, always within the trees' concealment. To be certain no one would see her
arracht
she hid behind an oak. Clouds drifted in front of a full moon, hindering her vision, then gradually floated across the sky to reveal a woman beside a fire. Keriam blotted out the night sounds, all her concentration on the woman, now visible by the bright moonlight.

Aradia danced in a circle around the fire, her silvery hair streaming down her back.. Her chanting intensified, blending with the crackling of the flames. Face gleaming by the firelight, she shook a wooden rattle, her dark bedgown fluttering around her ankles. A knife glinted in her other hand. A knife!
Talmora, why?

Motionless behind the tree, Keriam listened to the chant.

“Goddess of darkness, demon of the night, the night, the night! Endora, grant my wish, my wish, my wish!”

Aradia knelt and grabbed a bird from the ground. Its wing broken, it flopped helplessly in her hand, its loud squeaks echoing through the trees. Eyes aglow with menace, Aradia chanted over it in a strange language, then slit its neck. Holding it over the fire, she let the blood drip onto the flames with a sizzling sound. Flames leaped, a red cloud spewing upwards. A noxious smell, like rotten eggs, polluted the air. The wind increased, whipping Aradia's hair across her cheeks, molding her bedgown to her body. A sudden hunger flickered across her face; her eyes shone like pinpoints of light, yellow in the night blackness. Long, lank hair hung in front of her eyes, her teeth gleaming like daggers.

With feet spread wide apart, the woman raised her arms.

“I am the eagle that soars through the sky

I am the viper that slithers along the ground

I am the fox that prowls the night

I am the wolf that stalks its prey

I am the lion for courage

I am the jackal--for death!”

Keriam sank to the ground, her spirit-brain working. She must rid the palace of this evil sorceress.

She waited long moments, until much later, the fire died out and Aradia left to make her way back to the palace. Seconds later, Keriam drifted back to her bedchamber as desperate questions taunted her mind. What wickedness was Aradia planning? Did the sorceress, too, plot evil against the king? One idea after another crammed her brain, Roric Gamal's suggestion the most promising. She must persuade her father to leave Moytura, for weeks, if necessary. Her thoughts blossomed into ambitious schemes. Since it had been years since her father had left the province, they could tour the country together.

She'd propose her plan to her father the following morning. He must agree. There was no alternative.

* * *

Rather than broach her plan during the morning meal, Keriam waited until later in the day, when she found her father at the wide oaken desk in his office, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Numerous daggers and spears from many countries decorated the walls, interspersed with shields and swords. The rest of the room stood in stark simplicity, with only a long oaken table fronting a plain leather sofa in the middle of the room. Green silk draperies at the wide window wafted in a gentle breeze.

He looked up as she entered the room and set the papers down. "Ah, Kerry." Books, stacks of papers, a feather pen, and an ink bottle occupying every space evidenced the many duties that kept her father busy from dawn until nightfall, and often through the night. Of course, he had Conneid Delbraith to perform these duties for him, but such was his interest in royal affairs that he wrote many letters himself.

"Sit down," he said, holding an oaken chair for her. "Always glad to talk to you."

He tapped the vellum sheets. "A long letter from King Barzad, elaborating on the marriage agreement between him and your Aunt Edita. You may read it if you wish." He rose and moved about the room in shuffling steps, his back bent over, face set in a grimace.

Keriam frowned. "A backache again, Father?" A common occurrence lately.

Tencien pressed his hand to his back and groaned. "Been sitting too much lately." He smiled feebly. "This is what happens when you get old."

"Forty-five isn't old. You have years and years ahead of you." Goddess, she prayed, please let it be so. Tencien stood by the open window, where sunlight streamed into the room, accentuating the gray hairs sprinkled throughout his head. Aiming to cheer him, she changed the subject. "Let me explain the reason for my visit."

"You never need a reason, daughter."

"Thank you. But I've been thinking--you've been laboring so hard, what with the treaty--" She pointed to the sheets on his desk--"all your other duties. Why not take a vacation, tour the country--"

"Can't. Too much work here. We must improve the roads, as I promised during the Bel Festival. Other improvements, too. I have papers to sign, ministers to confer with.”

No, Father, you must leave. You’re not safe in Moytura.

Frowning, he looked out the window. "More bridges, more silos for storing grain . . ." He turned quickly, wincing with the movement. "Many of our people often go hungry, did you know that?"

"A sad situation which I hope we can rectify." She spoke in a strained voice, resigned to deal with mundane matters. "Father, I do follow the kingdom's affairs."

He opened his hands wide. "Then you see why I can't leave now. In truth, I don't know when--or if--I can." He headed for his chair, wincing again as he eased down. "May even have to raise taxes, much as I hate that possibility."

"Father, for your own good, please leave the kingdom. You have enemies here." Including Aradia, she wanted to say, but would he believe her? That sorceress ran roughshod over the women but charmed the men, who would never believe anything ill of her. "How often must I warn you?"

"Kerry, let's understand one thing. I will not run away from trouble or any imaginary--"

"Not imaginary, the danger is real."

"If I have definite proof of a plot, then of course, I'll have the collaborators arrested." He pointed a finger at her. "But they will get a fair trial. I have yet to see signs of a plot. Until I do, I will stay here. I will
not be intimidated, not by Balor, not by anyone. Now, let's hear no more about it."

Yet she saw through his brave words. She'd learned to read her father well over the years, and something told her he would investigate the threat to his life, if he hadn't already.

Forcing a smile, she tried to speak in a normal voice. "Well, for now, let's see what we can do about your condition. My maid has spoken of a woman, skilled in herbs. Her house in the country burned to the ground, so she lives in Moytura now. Has a shop, makes and sells herbal lotions. Let us see what she can do about your back.”

Tencien nodded, grimacing as he pressed his hand to his back. "It's worth a try. Do you know her name?"

"Radegunda."

* * *

Bright mid-morning light penetrated the window in the back room of a shop on
Perfume Lane
, providing plentiful light for the old woman to prepare a lotion with care. She knew that even a few drops of an ingredient could make a big difference, whether it be a burn salve or face lotion. Frowning in concentration, she skimmed off a layer of sheep's wool grease from a pot of warm water, then mixed the grease in another pan of water, aiming to warm the resulting lanolin over the hearth fire. Blended with beeswax and lavender, then stored in a stoppered bottle, this compound would make a pleasant and beneficial body cream.

Bowls of dried lavender, lilac, and rose petals awaited her attention on the wooden counter, the breeze from the open window wafting delicious scents throughout the small space. She was especially grateful for these pleasant aromas that helped erase the smells of the small stable at the end of her street.

Despite a vent that carried hearth smoke through the roof, a stifling heat enclosed the room. Radegunda raised her apron and dabbed it across her face, then continued stirring. Her legs and feet ached from standing so long on the hard stone floor, but she would never complain, she vowed, shifting her position from one leg to the other.

Since moving to Moytura, she hadn't regretted burning her house down. She'd never have found safety or happiness in her former village, where people feared and shunned her, calling her a witch. Since she hadn't been able to carry all her belongings to the city, she'd rather have her house burned to ashes than to have strangers rummaging through her things, searching for signs of witchcraft. And yes, she
was
a witch, but she cast only good spells, always striving to help others. If they refused her help, too bad. Their loss. Besides, what if that young man--she wished she knew his name--had turned her over to the druids for interrogation, as he'd threatened? She shuddered at the possibility