Secrets of the Night Special Edition (62 page)

"Madam, I am so sorry!" Gwern greeted her in the traditional Avadoran manner, his right hand on her right shoulder. Keriam responded likewise, bombarded by images of the farmer toiling in the fields and talking to his wife, but no noteworthy visions enlightened her, certainly nothing to arouse suspicions that this man might betray her. She intuited Gwern was a man she could trust, and the Goddess knew she needed that kind of person.

He smiled and nodded. "Pleased ta meet ya, Deirdre."

Keriam smiled in return, wondering how long she could remember to maintain her silence, how she could prevent giving herself away. She must never forget her new role, for carelessness could well mean death, not only for her, but for these kind people who offered her sanctuary.

The front door opened and closed, and a small, neat woman with frowsy gray hair stepped outside, wiping her hands on her woolen apron. A network of tiny wrinkles stalked her pink face, but she gave the newcomers a pleasant greeting. Her green cotton dress, ragged but clean, scraped the floor, as if made for a taller woman.

"So, Radegunda! I heard the commotion out here and figured we must have company." Introductions ensued again, the healer repeating the same tale of Keriam's--Deirdre's--misfortune and her inability to speak. "Come in, come in. You two walked all the way from the capital? But I guess you did, seein' as there ain't no horses or carts in front."

She opened the door and Keriam stepped inside a small room, its dimensions only a portion of her office at the palace. A sagging horsehair sofa hugged a far wall, two dilapidated chairs nestling the opposite wall. Keriam glimpsed a kitchen beyond the sitting room, with a small stone fireplace, a table, and four chairs, these two rooms completing the first floor. Delicious aromas wafted from the kitchen, of baking bread and roast beef, and her stomach responded. Wooden stairs to the left led to the bedchambers. Judging from the first floor space, she doubted if the chambers above numbered more than two. A tiny but functional house, and not a speck of dust anywhere.

"Got some hard cider for ya," Gwern's wife, Wynne, said, "just the thing after that long walk from the capital." She indicated the chairs. "Take a seat, take a seat. Be right back."

Gwern made a small bow, his hand on the doorknob. "You'll excuse me, ladies. Gotta return to the fields to supervise the workers. We was just pickin' tomatoes and endive to take to the capital tomorrow." He shook his head. "Good workers is hard to find nowadays. The new king keeps draftin' young men. Don't make sense. We need workers on the farms, or else the produce will rot in the fields." He sighed. "Well, who am I to argue with the king?"

Wynne's arrival with the cider offset Gwern's departure as she handed the mugs to the guests, then flopped onto the sofa.

A mundane dialogue ensued--discussion of neighbors and crops, but especially palace gossip. Wynne drained her mug and set it on the floor. "The new queen--I hear she's quite beautiful."

Beautiful on the outside, ugly inside, Keriam wanted to say. She sipped her cider, tempted to down it with one gulp. The tart, fruity drink was just what she needed, but her stomach still begged for food.

Radegunda exchanged glances with Keriam, an indication that they shared the same opinion of Aradia. "The queen?--I guess she’s not lackin’ for looks.”

Wynne smacked her hands on her knees and rose from the sofa. "Well, no doubt you two will wanna git settled. I'll show you to yer room, then best I return to preparin' the midday meal."

Oh, yes, Keriam thought.
Don't let us keep you from your cooking
. Her stomach growled again, her feet tired and aching.

The farm wife preceded them up the creaking stairs, then led them to a small room at the end of the hall. Only one bed graced the room, a narrow one pressed against a far wall, its wooden bedstead cracked and chipped. A long oak chest that occupied another corner completed the furnishings, except for a table under the room's lone window. The table held a tin lamp with a half-burned candle, sharing space with a washbasin of water. At least the room's clean and neat, Keriam mused, steeling herself to get used to life's uncertainties. She'd had plenty of experience already.

Wynne smiled apologetically. "One of you will hafta sleep on the floor. Got plenty of blankets to lay down, so the floor shouldn't be so hard." She rubbed her hands together. "Well, git settled then, and I'll have our meal ready soon."

After she left, Radegunda and Keriam traded looks, Keriam's face set in deliberate nonchalance.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Keriam whispered, dropping her bag beside her.

Radegunda shook her head. "You'll do no such thing. Yer my guest, and the princess, after all."

"Thank you." Unable to resist the bed's beckoning comfort, Keriam sank onto its hard surface, yielding to her bone-weary fatigue, if only for a few minutes. As the enchantress lifted the chest lid to stash her clothes, Keriam caught a sweet lavender scent, her favorite fragrance and a reminder of her life before all the changes. She fought to keep her eyes open, aware she had hours to endure until bedtime.

Her mind brimmed with dire possibilities. What if someone discovered that this innocent farmer and his wife harbored the fugitive princess? Worse, what if these good people were punished for their kindness? A spirit of resolution determined her mood. She would not let anyone suffer for her sake.

* * *

The days passed, Keriam learning something new each day. I'd make someone a fine maid, she thought one morning as she swept the front room and dusted the furniture. Who would recognize her now?

A little less than one nineday after her arrival at the farm, Keriam went to bed one evening as a cold north wind ushered in autumn, a time when trees traded green leaves for red, gold, and brown. She huddled under her blankets, soothed by Radegunda's soft snoring. She considered she'd managed well so far, not only in her pretense of a deaf mute, but also as a servant, capable of performing any household task.

Despite her utter weariness, sleep was long in coming, for Roric intruded on her musings. No doubt he remained privy to Balor's every decision, never sparing a thought for her. Well, she would always remember him--as a traitor! Even though he’d vowed loyalty to her, she considered anyone who served the usurper a double crosser, and yes, that charge applied to several of the ministers, too. She sighed and turned over, her mind still on Roric. She remembered his deep voice with its clipped speech, his dark hair and eyes, his every facial expression. Why couldn’t she drive him from her thoughts? She imagined him holding her, kissing her . . . .No! She changed position again and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, wishing sleep would come.

Night sounds echoed around her--frogs croaking, crickets chirping, an occasional dog barking.

Tangled thoughts yielded to sheer exhaustion, but when she fell asleep, she dreamed of dead squirrels . . . and the plague.

Chapter Twenty-one

"Princess Keriam, you can't be serious! Please tell me you don't mean this."

"I've never been more serious in my life." A day had passed since Keriam's dream, and now, in the silence of their shared bedchamber, she and Radegunda discussed the dream and its significance. Since today was Sacredday, quiet had settled over the house, everyone else having gone to the city temple to pray or to visit friends.

Side by side, they sat on the narrow bed as a swarm of conflicting emotions burgeoned inside Keriam. "Radegunda, I've had many dreams in the past that have proved prophetic."

"Don't tell anyone that," the woman muttered. "The gift of prophecy itself is considered a sign of witchcraft, punishable by death." She gave her a stern look. "And I'm sure you know what the punishment is. I don't doubt you have this gift. So do I. But I would never admit it."

"Nor I. But my dream--so real! I saw people with big black spots, men and women dying!" Keriam shuddered. "And look at the dry weather we've had," she said, waving her hand in an expansive gesture. "All these moonphases, with no rain. Surely this drought will bring fleas--if it hasn't already--so I must warn--"

"I'm not doubtin' yer word," Radegunda said, in her anxiety forgetting that she interrupted the princess. "But to place yerself in danger again, just when you've found safety with me and my brother. So you warn the people, order them to kill all the squirrels. Don't you realize you'll get caught?"

Keriam sighed, fearful of capture but convinced she must proceed with her plan. "In the first place, I can't
order
the people to do anything. I no longer have any regal standing in the kingdom, remember? All I can do is remind the Avadorans of the consequences if we don't rid the kingdom of squirrels."

"Sacred animals, protected by royal decree!"

Keriam lifted her hands. "No choice, Radegunda. Certainly, I will leave this house and the sanctuary your brother and his wife have so kindly given me. Will you please give them an excuse for me? Tell them I'm leaving to visit my sister in Gairech. I fear this will seem ungrateful, after all they've done for me. But I must leave to accomplish my task."

"And then where will you go?" Radegunda asked with a worried frown.

"To the capital. I'll speak to anyone who might listen . . . the merchants there, for instance," she said, the idea just coming to her. "They surely would heed my warning, if only from a mercenary standpoint. Look at all the business they'd lose if the plague strikes again, like it did all those years ago. And don't forget, none of them will recognize me as the princess." Keriam's gaze covered her torn and stained dress, the scuffed shoes. "No one outside the palace recognized me, even when I dressed in my fine clothes."
Except Roric
. She examined her calloused hands and brown arms, laughing without humor. "If I told anyone in the city that I'm the princess--which I won't--they'd only laugh and tell me I'm touched in the head.

"I can't be true to myself and ignore the meaning of my dream." She clutched the witch's hand, desperation infecting her voice. "Hundreds of people may die from the black fever, thousands! I can't have that catastrophe on my conscience. If I'm able to do something to prevent this calamity, then that's what I have to do."

"Madam, listen! Let me perfect my magic first, see if I can rid the city of the plague, if it comes to that. I haven't had a chance to practice my talent here at the farm, but whenever I go back to Moytura, I swear I'll work riddin' the city of the plague.” She scratched her head. “Never been able to understand it, but fer some reason, it’s easier to control the elements than it is to destroy a plague. Guess the demoness don’t care about the rain or snow, as long as she can kill people with a disease. And I ain’t even been able to practice controllin’ the elements, or we would’ve had rain in the first place.” She paused. "Something tells me I can defeat this sickness, if given enough time."

"Radegunda, we don't have time! I fear this epidemic will hit very soon."

"Madam, you are taking such a big chance. What if someone recognizes you?"

"I already said no one will.”

Radegunda sighed. "At least, let me dye your hair. I c'n color your hair a drab brown. You'll be less likely to be noticed."

"Very well, but I still feel sure no one would recognize me." She nodded. "I know it!"

"And take a dagger for protection. I keep one here that you c'n use."

"But what if you should need it?"

"Madam, you need it more than me." Radegunda stood and paced the floor. “But where will you live?" she asked, fixing her gaze on Keriam.

Keriam smiled with wary confidence. "There's much I've learned about survival within the last few moonphases. I'm sure I can live on the city's outskirts and manage on my own, especially if I have your dagger." She gave her a steady look, much of her confidence slipping, but determined, nonetheless. "Better that I face capture and . . . and death than that thousands of people should succumb to the plague. If I can prevent this epidemic--"

"But can you, madam?" Radegunda came and sat beside her again, speaking in low, earnest tones. "What if the black fever has already infected the people? You know how quickly the disease spreads."

"I've made up my mind."

* * *

"Your Majesty, we have Delbraith!"

After gaining admittance to the Blue Royal Conference room, two city sentries announced the capture of the former king's elusive secretary. In the midst of a meeting with his ministers and Roric, Balor looked up from his papers, a savage gleam in his eyes.

A shaft of fear drained the blood from Roric's face. A sickening surge of horror roiled in his belly. He must save Conneid, but how?

Always cautious of Balor, Roric steeled his features against showing his emotions. He sat to the right of the king in this meeting with the ministers that had lasted throughout the evening into the late night hours. The light from low-hanging oil lamps suspended from black iron chains cast wavy shadows across the room and revealed the somber expressions of the men.

Balor's gaze circled the table, and his face held a look of immense satisfaction, as if to say, No one escapes me. He addressed the sentries, a lieutenant and a sergeant, and motioned them closer to the table. "Well, then, where is he?"