Secrets of the Night Special Edition (54 page)

”Investigation, madam? On what basis?”

“On the basis that you and Aradia conspired to murder my father.”

“Princess Keriam, Aradia is no longer in Moytura. Don’t you recall,” he said in a voice heavy with sarcasm, “she left for her home in Mag Bregha.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or had you forgotten?”

“I have only your word for that.”

The crowds and ministers grew restless. She caught bits and snatches of conversation, hints of increasing impatience.

The Minister of Commerce stepped forward, speaking in a resonant manner. “General, Princess Keriam
is
the heir to the throne.”

The Minister of Roads added his voice. “With all respect to you, general, I believe Princess Keriam should be heard.”

“Yes,” the other ministers agreed. “Let the princess speak.”

Balor performed a small bow. “Of course.”

As the ministers retreated, Keriam turned toward the multitude and opened her mouth to speak. “My people–“

”Poor Tencien,” Balor muttered at her side. “What a painful death, an arrow through the heart.”

She jerked her head in his direction. “You stinking bastard!”

“No loss to the kingdom, though,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Suppose we leave his body here, shall we? And let it rot. Of course, animals will eat–“

She pounded him with her fists. “Curse Endora, Balor!” Tears of rage streamed down her cheeks. “You Goddess-damned murderer! May the Goddess ban you from the Otherworld. You . . . you . . .” She shook her head, tears blinding her vision.

Placing his hand on his sword, Balor addressed the crowd. “My good people, as you can see, the princess is overcome with grief. I assure you, she will address you in good time. For now, I think it’s best if we permit her to grieve alone.” He nodded to his men, speaking in a low voice.” Escort her back to the palace. You know what to do if she gives you any difficulty.”

“Murderer!” She screamed, twisting and struggling against her captors. “You won’t get away with this, Balor. You fiend!”

“Princess Keriam!” the people cried, the cry becoming a chant.

Balor raised his arms to address them, and soon quiet fell over the square. “People of Avador! Evil lurks in the land.” He gestured toward Tencien, whose body now reposed under a cloak. “At such a time, our country needs a firm hand. I fear at present the princess is not fit to rule. As head of the army, I have the soldiers of the kingdom behind me, the Avadoran army to back me.” He paused, hoping they caught the veiled threat. These people are like sheep, he thought. He could convince them of anything, lead them wherever he wanted.

The prolonged pause allowed him to hear the ministers behind him talking among themselves.

“Balor would be best.”

“Yes, precedence over us...”

“–the army backs him.”

“...a good and loyal servant, but more important, a strong leader.”

Balor concealed a smile as he continued his speech. “We need strength and resolve now,” he said, his voice rising. “I fear the princess is not equal to the task. As must be obvious to all of you, she suffers from delusions.” He shook his head, his face cast in puzzled dejection. “I have ever been a loyal and devoted subject. If you accept me as king, I promise I shall rule with fairness and fortitude. I shall track down the evildoer who committed this wicked deed and avenge the king’s death. I pray to Talmora I do so with your blessing.”

The ministers bowed their heads in acknowledgment. “King Midac.”

The crowds shouted and waved their arms. “General Balor! King Midac!”

Too far away to rush through the crowd when the arrow struck the king, Roric gazed at the death scene. He had failed his monarch. Tears clotted his throat; grief tightened his chest and stomach. One question tormented him. Where had the fatal arrow come from? He scanned the city square, his glance flying from tree to tree, as if he could discover the source of the arrow long after the missile had found its target. Brushing tears from his face, he remained at the edge of the throng. Later this night, after the people had dispersed, he would check each tree in the square, well aware the assassin had shot the arrow from high up.

Sacred shrine! Why had the ministers accepted Balor so willingly? If only one of them had spoken against him . . . Roric shook his head. Too late now.

Fierce hatred for Balor and grief for Keriam churned inside him, a painful fusion that blocked all rational thought. Just think how Balor’s toadies had manhandled the princess! Goddess, he’d like to kill them all! Yet me must think clearly, must devise a strategy to counter Balor’s cruel betrayal, and certainly, he must see that the king’s body was treated with respect and escorted back to the palace. Above all, he must pretend to participate in the usurper’s devious plans. Only then could he save the kingdom. Only then could he help the princess, this woman who meant so much to him.

* * *

On the outskirts of Moytura, Keriam tried to maneuver past her captors, but hemmed in by four attendants, she found escape impossible. The horses’ hooves stirred up clouds of dust and dislodged pebbles, their manes flying behind them. Dust blew in her mouth and eyes and coated her face. On the way to the palace, the group rode past towering corn stalks and clusters of strawberry bushes, many crops ready to harvest. Talmora, she lamented, how can everything look so normal when my whole world has turned upside down?
My father, oh, Goddess, my father!

She heeled her horse, trying to maneuver past the soldiers. “Let me pass, you bastards! How I hate all of you! May Talmora punish you for your sins.”

The head officer laughed. “Oh, no, madam. We can’t leave you. We enjoy your company too much.” The others joined in the laughter.

Now and then, the officers had to ride single file as farmers headed for the capital with their horse-drawn carts, blocking the road. She’d never escape at this rate. A shepherd led his sheep along the road, another hindrance that detained her for long minutes.

She made one more desperate attempt to shove past the officer to her right. “Let me go!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” He grabbed her reins in a viselike grip, his hand and arm muscles standing out in knots. He called to the soldier to his left. “Henwas, you know what to do.”

“Right you are, sir.”

While one man pinned her arms to her side and another wrapped his arm around her neck, Henwas pressed an acrid-smelling cloth to her nose.

“No!” Keriam twisted and cried, jerking at her arms, struggling to shake off her antagonists. To no avail.

* * *

Returned to the palace later, Keriam awoke to find herself on the third floor, in a small room used to house one of the head servants. Dizzily regaining consciousness, she looked about the room as it tilted and rocked around her. What would happen now? Would the people accept Balor as their new king? How could they!

And her father–would Balor leave her father’s body on the platform, with no one to mourn his death? Would he really let it . . . let it rot? She pressed trembling hands to her eyes, afraid to accept that possibility. Father, father, she moaned.
Father, I miss you
. By the dim light of one small window above, she took in her surroundings. Besides the narrow bed she lay on, the room held a washstand and a two-drawer chest; a simple utilitarian room, nothing more.

Gripping the edge of the bed, she struggled to her feet but fell back again, landing on the bed with a hard thud. Stars burst in front of her eyes. The room spun around her, nausea plaguing her stomach. She tried to rise again inch by inch, grasping the bed’s edge until assured she could stand by herself. On her feet, she stood still for silent moments as she waited for her dizziness to pass. Confident she could walk, she shuffled to the door.

The door was locked.

Again and again, she yanked and twisted the doorknob, with no success. Wildly, she looked around the room, her aim to find a pin, anything to unlock the door. And found nothing. Desperately, she felt in her hair, finding one hairpin left and tried it in the lock. Still, the door didn’t open. She trudged across the room and sank down on the bed to ponder her dilemma. Surely someone would rescue her. Fear hit her like a blow to the head. Did Balor intend to imprison her for the rest of her life? He wouldn’t succeed, but foiling him would challenge all her concentration and energy.

A key turned in the lock, jolting her. The doorknob turned and Aradia stepped inside, a triumphant smirk on her face. Aradia, the witch, Aradia, the assassin.

The sorceress shook her head in mock dismay. “Poor little princess. I fear grief has unsettled your mind. You–“

”Be quiet, you Goddess-damned scum! Before long, the entire kingdom will learn of your wickedness.”

“I could have you tortured for those treasonous remarks,” Aradia snapped, eyes narrowed, arms folded across her chest. Her silvery hair was braided and coiled atop her head, her deep green gown clinging to her sensuous figure. A beautiful woman was Aradia, but her evil knew no depths. “However,” she said in dulcet tones, “I’ll be lenient . . . for now. But tell me something–how do you intend to inform the people of my so-called wickedness?”

“I don’t need to tell them anything. You’ll give yourself away in no time. Oh, I’ll admit you may fool the people for awhile, but soon enough they’ll catch on to your cunning ways. You can’t pretend to be something you’re not.”

Aradia laughed, a soft, throaty sound. “I have so far.”

“But how long can you maintain your deception?” Keriam’s insides spasmed and she swallowed hard, fighting her sickness. The drug still fuzzed her brain and hindered concentration. She had an important question she must ask the sorceress, but what was it? “Once the people see through you, they’ll discard you like a rotten apple.”

“I think not. Have you forgotten that Balor rules the kingdom now? He has already declared himself king. We will wed soon, and with his support, I can do anything I want.”

The question erupted in Keriam’s brain. “My father’s bod–“

“His corpse? It’s been returned to the palace. Even now, the druids are preparing it for burial. We’ll have a period of mourning, of course, before and after the funeral.”

Tears hazed Keriam’s vision, but she fought her sorrow. Would they allow her to attend the ceremony? She refused to inquire, denying them the satisfaction of rebuffing her.

“Maudina–where is she now?” She didn’t care about herself, but she worried about her maid’s fragile nature.

“That little winch decided I can use her.” Aradia leaned against the wall, resting her hands behind her. “After all, I do need a maid since I sent my other one back, that good-for-nothing lazy girl.”

Misery tore at Keriam’s insides. “Please don’t mistreat Maudina.”

Aradia’s eyes widened. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She snickered. “At least, I won’t beat her if she performs her duties correctly. I promise.”

The drug still impaired her, but Keriam strove to keep her eyes open, her senses alert. She saw no point in further pleading. Appeals would only thwart her.

“And Radegunda?”

The sorceress waved her hand. “I sent her away. We don’t need her here.”

“Sent her away–where?” Keriam forced herself to sit up straight.

Aradia shrugged. “Just sent her from the palace. Where she goes is her business, as long as she causes no trouble.”

Keriam laughed with mock humor. “‘Causes no trouble’? Oh, that’s funny.
You
should know about trouble.”

“I’ve had enough of this senseless discussion.” Aradia pushed herself away from the wall. “And you’ll be allowed to stay at the palace as long as
you
don’t cause trouble. That’s why I’m keeping you in a room by yourself. You can join the servants for meals.” She snickered. “I’ll tell them to expect a
royal
guest. Oh, and remember to always take the servants’ stairs at the back of the palace.” Aradia pointed a finger at her. “Don’t even think of escape. We have guards everywhere.”

Shock stabbed Keriam in the gut but she blinked her eyes in false humility. “Oh, I’ll be as meek as a squirrel.”

Aradia glared at her, then jerked the door open and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Unable to fight her grief and nausea any longer, Keriam lay down in a fetal position, giving rein to suppressed tears. She mustn’t cry, for the people of Avador celebrated death, when the soul returned to the
Land
of
Truth
and Eternal Life. But she couldn’t stop her sobs, and the tears flowed relentlessly, streaking down her face, dampening the cotton bedcover.

What more could she have done to prevent her father’s death? Now, when it was too late, she realized she should have commanded his guards to take him to a safe refuge. She should have obtained a more powerful drug from Radegunda to give him the night before the Lug Festival, one that would have incapacitated him for a full day and night. She should have . . . But “should haves” won’t bring him back, she lamented, clenching her hands so hard her nails broke the skin. Nothing would return her father to her.

She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling, gasping for breath. What about her poor subjects? How they would suffer under Balor! Talmora, she prayed, please watch over my people. Anger ousted grief. How she wanted to kill Balor, and yes, Aradia, too. She thought hard, searching for a way to thwart them both, get rid of them! But the drug still dulled her brain.