The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (15 page)

“No,” she said, unable to pull herself out from beneath him. “I am not Rhianne. I am Rhiannead.” But drifting through her mind was the constant thought that,
I am also Rhianne.

A fat and ponderous man dressed in some sort of official palace livery marched out of the castle. He shouted orders and issued commands, contributing to a general sense of pandemonium. Two servants pulled Lord Mortal off her, and under the watchful eyes of the fat fellow, they placed him on a stretcher. Only then did she see the broken stub of an arrow shaft protruding from his chest.

“Get him into the castle immediately,” the man ordered.

Rafaellen helped her to her feet, and they caught up with the servants just as they crossed the threshold into the castle. To Rhiannead’s surprise they stopped there, and placed the stretcher on the dirt of the castle yard, then stood there and looked on as if waiting for something.

She turned to Rafaellen. “What are they waiting for? Shouldn’t they summon a physician?”

Rafaellen looked ill as he said, “My lady, that wound is mortal. There is nothing a physician can do. He will die.”

At Rafaellen’s words the fat fellow turned about and gave them both a scornful look. “He will not die within these walls. He cannot die within these walls, for Sabian will not allow it.”

Rafaellen demanded, “And you are?”

The fat fellow lifted his many chins and sniffed. “I am Kinardin, Lord Chamberlain of Sabian.”

Rhiannead looked down at Lord Mortal, then stepped around Kinardin. She knelt down beside this man she had met in the forest, and her eyes settled on the stub of an arrow shaft protruding from his chest. But as she looked at it the shaft quivered and jerked, and for several heartbeats she feared he struggled in the final throes of death. She reached out to him, but Kinardin leaned down and gripped her wrist.

“No, my lady,” he said. “Allow Sabian to do its work.”

The stub of arrow shaft now appeared to be completely still, and it took her long moments to realize it moved, but so slowly her eye could not discern any motion. Little by little it withdrew from his chest until it stood up like a small branch that had sprouted from his ribs. Then it withdrew the last, final bit and flopped over on his chest. The servants about her sighed in unison.

Kinardin ordered the servants, “Get him to his suites, bathe him. After this ordeal he’ll sleep deeply tonight.”

To Rhiannead he said, “And you, young lady. We have a suite of rooms arranged for you.”

As the servants lifted Lord Mortal’s stretcher Rhiannead straightened. “Will he live?”

Kinardin frowned, didn’t bother to answer her, turned and left her standing there.

15
In the Court of the Unnamed King

From her balcony Rhianne watched the shadows in the city lengthen as the sun settled toward the horizon. She had napped again that morning, napped to return to the Kingdom of Dreams, only to be awakened by Geanna to dine with the King at lunch. She had tried to nap again that afternoon, but Valso demanded her presence at a reception for some of his nobles. At least the day was nearing its end.

Movement down below in the castle yard caught her attention, and again it was Haleen et Decouix. This time she had not covered her head with a hood, but as before she paused and looked at Rhianne for a moment before continuing on.

Behind her she heard Geanna approaching, so she turned to face the girl.

Geanna curtsied and said, “His Majesty is here to see you.”

Valso having himself properly announced; what a surprise! “Then show him in.”

Rhianne stepped off the balcony to await Valso in her sitting room, and when he entered, even she had to admit he could be quite handsome. She curtsied, saying, “Your Majesty.”

“Rise, Rhianne,” he said, casually waving a hand.

She stood. “What may I do for you?”

He wandered over to the hearth in which a small fire burned, for even this time of year the northern climes could hold a chill. He toyed with a vase there, and looking at his back she realized his shoulders were somewhat broad. He was a man of average stature, but he didn’t lack for muscle, and he kept himself trim and fit.

He turned around to face her. “I have a question for you?”

She crossed the room and stopped a few paces from him. “And what might that be, Your Majesty?” She saw why her handmaidens spoke of their handsome king with such admiration. But they didn’t truly understand him, didn’t know enough to despise him as she did.

“Why do you spend so much time in these rooms?” he asked. “You sleep in the morning, then sometimes again in the afternoon. You should get out more. It seems unhealthy.”

“I am surprised you are concerned with my welfare.”

“But I am.” He frowned. “Listen, when this is done, and I rule all the clans, it will be time to put our differences aside. You are a powerful witch, and will be an influential member of whatever clan you end up in. Of course, we’ll have to find you another husband—I might even have a certain Vodah in mind—but it will be time for us all to move forward, not look to the past. So yes, I am concerned with your welfare.”

That certainly sounded reasonable, though it was all based on the premise that Rhianne was no longer wed, that Morgin had died. She couldn’t really blame Valso for his ignorance, though oddly enough she felt a bit disappointed when he’d mentioned some Vodah as a possible husband. It vexed her that he showed no interest himself. She’d certainly take pleasure in turning him down. At least she thought she would, though again it struck her that he was quite handsome, and perhaps she wouldn’t take as much pleasure in that as she thought. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, turned away from him and tried to put that thought out of her mind.

She heard him take a step toward her. “You seem troubled, my dear.”

He stood close enough to her that she felt the heat of his body, and she thought again of those strong shoulders and his trim waist. She turned to face him, found that he’d stopped at a distance close enough to be intimate, and to her own surprise that didn’t bother her.

She said, “I . . . ah . . .” But looking into his eyes she was at a loss for words, thought only of his unnatural beauty. And though the distance separating them was little more than a hand’s breadth, she stepped forward and stopped just short of pressing her breasts against his chest. She reached up and traced a finger down the line of his jaw, wanted to kiss him with almost desperate desire.

He looked down at her breasts, at the cleavage exposed by her low-cut gown, and she saw the desire in his eyes.

“Yes,” she said, but a part of her, buried deep within her soul, screamed,
Nooooo!

He said, “Turn around, my lovely Rhianne.”

She turned about, turned her back to him, and she felt him fumbling at the laces and buttons on her gown.

Nooooo!

His fingers moved deftly, and the top of her gown loosened to the point where she had to hold the front up with her hands.

Nooooo!

She turned back to face him and saw the hunger in his eyes. She wanted him so badly he didn’t have to prompt her to lower her hands, and the top of her gown fell just a bit more, now showing an indecent amount of cleavage and all but exposing her breasts completely.

Nooooo!

He reached up, hooked a finger into the top of the gown and lowered it even more. Now, basically naked from the waist up, she wanted him, needed him.

Nooooo!

He smiled, reminding her of a predatory animal at the moment just before it struck down its prey. She knew what he was doing only because he allowed her to; it heightened his pleasure to see his prey stricken with terror, but powerless to do anything about it. He leaned forward, squeezed her left breast with his hand and kissed the nipple of her right breast.

Her gut tightened as nausea flooded through her abdomen, then her dinner boiled up and she vomited on the back of his head. He straightened, screaming, “What! What!”

Another wave of nausea hit her, but this time she spewed bile straight into his face. He staggered backward, stomach fluids and bits and pieces of half-digested food dripping from his face and arms and tunic.

Another spasm hit her and she vomited on the floor, then collapsed there, gagging as wave after wave of nausea hit her. She closed her eyes, gulping and swallowing as her stomach slowly calmed, heard Valso shouting at her handmaidens.

The spell had taken hours of preparation. She couldn’t use a charm-based spell, for her spying handmaidens would find it and report it to him, as they had probably done before. So it had to be wholly concocted of her power. It had to be simple, and it couldn’t be defensive, not something that would harm him, nothing like the spells young women were taught to protect themselves. He would watch for that, and easily disable anything she prepared. So she had decided on a very revolting defense, a spell that would merely drive him away. But it had to have a well-defined and carefully chosen trigger point, otherwise it might activate at the wrong moment; it wouldn’t do to spew her lunch all over her handmaidens simply because one of them uttered the wrong phrase. She had settled on her breasts, for his eyes always strayed there. She’d set the spell to trigger when he overtly touched them, and only when she was sexually aroused, for she would never find him desirable unless under the influence of one of his compulsion spells.

She heard him marching across the floor toward her, so she opened her eyes. He’d wiped his face, but the former contents of her stomach still decorated the front of his tunic. He leaned down over her. “It was a spell, wasn’t it?”

She thought of Olivia’s predatory grin when she’d gained a point in some argument, and she tried to imitate her as she smiled up at him.

His face turned a bright, scarlet red. “You’re insane,” he screamed. He drew his foot back and kicked her in the stomach.

It hurt, and she curled up clutching her abdomen. She closed her eyes but kept the smile on her face.

The next time he’d be watching for a similar spell, so she’d have to think of something new, something different, something he wouldn’t anticipate.

••••

Chrisainne wandered out through the open castle gates, walking slowly and trying to appear casual about it. She strolled through the market nestled against the outside of the castle wall, a long row of booths and stalls where one could buy just about anything of a practical nature. She wanted anyone who took note of her to believe she was just a young woman out for a breath of fresh air on a warm summer afternoon.

She glanced about to make sure she was not observed, then lifted her hand to her mouth and faked a yawn, Valso’s magical coin hidden in the palm of her hand. She kissed it, then lowered her hand and continued walking, preparing herself for the king’s displeasure. When Valso spoke she was careful not to react, but to continue strolling casually, glancing about at this and that.

What so abruptly interrupted our last conversation?

Your Majesty, please accept my most humble apology for that. I believe it was one of Lady Theandrin’s wards, or a spell of some nature.

Is she on to you?

No, sire. And now that I’ve been alerted to her meddling, I’ve taken some pains to investigate carefully. I’ve found six wards embedded in the walls of Castle Penda, powerful constructs. I’d guess she’s been reinforcing them for decades, and I suspect there are others that I haven’t found.

Stay away from those wards; don’t even attempt to find the rest.

Yes, Your Majesty.

Theandrin is a powerful witch, and no one’s fool.

I’m aware of that, Your Majesty. I think that when you breach the castle wall with your power in this way, it triggers the wards to some degree, and she’s grown suspicious. That’s why I contacted you today from outside the castle walls.

Good thinking, girl. I’ll not contact you again since I won’t know whether or not you’re inside those wards. But try to get outside the castle and reach me when you can.

Yes, Your Majesty.

And what of Lewendis?

He’s ready. There will soon be blood on the border.

Valso withdrew from her mind.

As Chrisainne strolled casually through the castle gates and back into the yard, a young serving girl called out to her. “Lady Chrisainne! Lady Chrisainne!”

Lifting her skirts high, the girl ran across the yard, stopped and bobbed a quick curtsy. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Lady Theandrin wishes to see you immediately.”

Chrisainne said, “I’ll go right away.”

She found Theandrin in her apartments standing by a window, tapping her finger on the sill impatiently. When she entered the room, the older woman turned and said, “Where have you been?”

Chrisainne couldn’t guess what had sparked Theandrin’s ire. “Why . . . just out for a stroll.”

Theandrin spoke to her as if she were a servant. “I need more information about Lewendis. In fact, I need more information about everything.”

Theandrin proceeded to give her a thorough tongue lashing, and Chrisainne now realized she could no longer stall her with bits and pieces of meaningless information.

••••

“Lord Mortal!”

Morgin opened his eyes, saw young Aethon running through the forest toward him, Erithnae walking at a slower pace behind the boy. He took in his surroundings, saw that he’d been sleeping while sitting on the forest floor on a bed of leaves, his back to a fallen log.

Aethon sat down beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the Unnamed King?”

“The Unnamed King?” Morgin asked as Erithnae approached.

She smiled at him, curtsied and said, “Your Majesty.”

Morgin closed his eyes, sensed the forest about him, a part of him. He opened his eyes, looked into Erithnae’s face and saw both Rhianne and Rhiannead there. “Yes,” he said, “the Unnamed King.”

Aethon was relentless. “Why did you keep it a secret?”

“I didn’t,” Morgin said. “I don’t think I was the Unnamed King until this moment.”

He stood and approached Erithnae. “You are my Rhianne, aren’t you?”

She smiled again, and now all he saw was Rhianne. “Of course.”

“And you’re also the flighty, young girl Rhiannead, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her, a soft, gentle, loving kiss.

••••

Morgin awoke a bit groggy, but feeling rather good for a man who should be dying, or, for that matter, already dead. In fact, on second thought, he felt rather refreshed, the way one would feel after a long night of deep, restful sleep: perhaps a little slow to wake, but healthy and whole and ready for the day to come.

He sat up in bed and took in his surroundings. He lay in a four-poster bed with a canopy suspended overhead. The mattress was so thick it almost swallowed him, with white linen sheets and a thick feather-stuffed comforter. Across the room a woman stood looking out a window through which the sun’s rays slanted sharply. He realized it was not morning, but late afternoon.

Someone had dressed him in an elaborately embroidered, soft, cotton nightgown. He threw the covers back and swung his legs off the bed, then stepped down onto the stone floor, which appeared to be polished marble. The woman turned to face him, his Rhianne. She crossed the room and he took her in his arms. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

He said, “Are you Erithnae, Rhianne, or Rhiannead?”

She smiled, kissed his cheek, then brushed her lips lightly across his. With a sly grin on her face she said, “I am all three, but right now I’m mostly Rhianne.”

He kissed her, much like he’d kissed her in the forest only a dream ago, soft and gentle. But he couldn’t resist the taste of her, and as their tongues danced together, the kiss grew hot and passionate.

When they parted he said, “I’ve missed you.”

She said, “And I’ve missed you.”

“Why is it we can only find each other in a dream?”

“We’ll find ourselves eventually,” she said, and he saw the confidence in her eyes. “But right now, I’ll settle for this dream.”

She tugged at his nightgown, so he pulled at the laces at the back of her dress. She laughed, and he laughed with her. She was gowned in the elegance of a lady of the court, and her attire did frustrate them a bit. He removed one layer, then another, and another, and there always seemed one more to be removed. It took quite some time to peel all those fashionable layers of clothing off her. But they persevered. Together, they persevered.

••••

With morning sunlight flooding through the window, Morgin lay in bed with Rhianne sleeping in his arms. Or was it Erithnae, or Rhiannead?