The Queen's Gambit (17 page)

“Hush,” he said. “You mean well, child, but don't assume his guilt for him. He willingly embraced evil and threw away his soul. Nothing changes that. And no prayer, no vigil, no ancient text can comfort this father's heart. Somehow the king failed him. And so I brood and search my memories for what went wrong.”

“Perhaps,” she said softly, “all the wrong lay in him.”

Verence's head snapped up. “Nay!” he said sharply. “As a babe, he was sweet and good, such a fine little fellow, so brave and stalwart. He could ride a pony when he was but four years old. How he would crow and shout and pretend to joust with a stick in his hand. He—”

Breaking off abruptly, Verence buried his face in his hands.

She stared at him a long while, saddened to see that all her sympathy had only brought him more pain. Yet this broken, grieving man was not the king she knew and admired. Frowning, she tried one last time. “You have lost your son, sire. Will you lose Mandria also?”

“Pheresa—”

“Will you leave the holds undermanned? Will you go on ignoring the pleas for help from your borders? Will you allow barbarians and savages to insult this realm and do nothing? How can you—”

“Enough!” he shouted, turning on her.

So fierce did he look that she sank into a startled curtsy. He glared at her, his eyes blazing with life now.

“So you will tell me how to rule my own kingdom,” he said in a voice like thunder. Lord Odeil came running up in alarm, only to stop and retreat once more. Verence never
noticed him as he went on glaring at Pheresa. “You go too far. You dare too much!”

She'd wanted to revive his spirit, but it seemed as though his fury would mean the end of her. Wanting to shrink up into a tiny ball and hide, she was desperately sorry she'd opened her mouth. “Sire, I—”

“Silence! I've loved you like a daughter. I've thought so well of you, but nay, you are like your mother, always so certain that your way is right. You are determined to interfere, to meddle, to poke your nose where you are not wanted. You have no knowledge of what it means to rule. None!”

“Sire, I—”

“How dare you tell me what I should do. I thought you the best of my court, a maid sensible and worthy, honorable and good. You are no better than the rest, jackals all, greedy to see my majesty dead and gone.”

“No—”

“You want my throne, girl. Admit it! You worry at the problem like a dog with a knucklebone. Scheming and plotting for the crown, always the crown. How you've changed, and 'tis not to your credit.”

“Please! Your majesty misunderstands.”

“You care nothing for me,” he said bitterly. “Just as you cared nothing for Gavril. How superb you are at pretending emotions you do not feel. So lovely and perfect, so saintly of demeanor, yet you are proven to be grasping and ambitious. You plighted troth with Gavril only to be queen. Admit there was no other reason.
Admit it!
”

Aghast, she found herself saying, “I thought I loved him at first. I did truly want to please him, but I—”

“You wanted to be queen. You rejected an alliance with Nether because you still want to be queen here. Confess to it, Pheresa. I know what lies within your greedy heart.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. His words raked and wounded her. She did not know how to answer such rage as this, such icy contempt. She'd never guessed he felt this way about her. She'd never realized the resentment that festered in his heart.

Knowing that anything she said now would only be turned against her, she bowed her head in silence and refused to answer. Let him take that as admission if he wished, she thought miserably. He would only spurn her further denials.

“No more,” he said. He shook his head, and his face was bleak indeed. “No more.”

She lifted her tear-streaked face and met his angry gaze. “Blame me, sire, if you wish,” she said, knowing she was finished at court. “But I did not put Tanengard in his hand. I did not overlook his faults and absolve him of blame every time he practiced his cruelty on those who could not strike back. I did not excuse him or coddle him. I did not force him to offer me marriage; he did so only for reasons of spite and jealousy. And I did not persuade him to ignore Faldain's guidance when he plunged us straight into Nether's trap. Everything else, yes, I will confess to. But none of that.”

Verence turned his back on her. “Leave.”

The dismissal was final. Her knees were shaking, but somehow she managed a curtsy. He did not acknowledge her as she withdrew, backing step by shaking step from him until she turned, half-blinded by tears, and fled down the path. The sky was golden now. Dew glistened across the garden, filling it with a shimmering radiance. She saw none of the beauty as she ran back to the little gate, yanked it open with both hands, and whipped through it. She pulled it shut with a slam and ran on through the rough grass across the meadow.

Out here, the air hung sweet and heavy with the scent of dew-laden grass. The fog still lingered in low-lying spots, tendrils of it hanging in the air. She ran through them, heedless now of anything save her own sobs, and thought only of hiding herself in the woods, where she could cry unseen and unheard. Stumbling at the edge of the woods, she caught herself against a tree and gripped it, weeping.

Why had she gone to him? She wished she'd left everything as it was, for now all was ruined and broken. The king blamed her, hated her. His scorn hurt still. Now she understood why he'd avoided her company, why he'd refused to see her. He wanted no comfort from her, for he despised her. She
wished she'd known from the start. She would never have returned to Savroix at all.

Swiping angrily at her eyes, she ducked her head and pushed herself away from the tree, walking rapidly, without heed for the twigs that snagged her cloak and gown. She stayed near the edge of the woods, skirting them, for now that she was here she found she did not want to venture deeper. Still, she hardly cared where she walked, as long as she did not return to the palace.

She was aiming vaguely for the park when a figure suddenly sprang out from behind a thicket, rushed at her, and caught her harshly by one arm.

She screamed and shrank back, striking out with her fists before she even glimpsed who it was.

The man was clad in a dark robe of coarse cloth, hooded so that she could not clearly see his face. Fearing that at last she'd landed herself in Sir Brillon's clutches, she jerked back with all her strength, trying her best to wrench free.

His grip tightened so harshly she feared he might break her arm. Crying out in pain, she struck out again, hampered from kicking him by her long skirts. In the struggle, his hood fell back, and for the first time she clearly saw his face.

He was the man in her nightmare, the one who'd attacked her in her dream's bedchamber before she pelted him with salt and drove him away. Astonished and horrified, feeling the blood drain from her face, she stopped her struggles abruptly and stared at him.

He smiled at her, and it was a fanatic's smile. He said, “At last, Pheresa, you have come to my hand, as I bade you. From dream to reality, you have come, enspelled by me, ready to do my bidding.”

Shrinking back from him, she screamed.

“Pheresa!” the man said, his eyes glowing with fervor. His face was as white as marble, gaunt and beardless. “Be at peace, good lady, and fear me not, for I come to offer you everything you desire.”

“Release me!” she shouted, still struggling. “Let me go, assassin! Let me go!”

“Cease your cries and bide quietly. I am here to give you aid.”

“Ruffian,” she said scathingly, panting in her effort to pull free. “Unhand me at once!”

“When you are quiet and will listen, I shall release you.”

“Do so now! I warn you that if you do not—”

He laughed at her threat. “What soldiers do you command, good lady? Where is your protector? What authority have you?”

Bitter and furious, she fell silent.

“Ah, that is better. Will you now heed what I have to say?”

She remembered the dream where he'd come to her chamber and attacked her. Only it hadn't been entirely a dream.
And had he truly worked a spell on her? What else could have compelled her so strongly to venture outside the walls this morning? What had compelled her to speak so rashly to the king, wrecking her future with foolish, heedless words?

As she gazed at this stranger, she felt a cold clutch of fear. Her heart began to pound, and she thought her knees would buckle.

“What are you?” she whispered. “What do you want?”

“I am Kolahl. And it lies within my power to give you the throne you seek. That interests you, yes? Oh, I see that it does. Come and walk beside me, good lady, and we shall talk of these matters.”

She dug in her heels, resisting with all her might as he tried to lead her deeper into the woods. “I'll go nowhere with you. You're naught but an abductor or assassin. No doubt you're in league with Theloi!”

“The cardinal and I have no dealings,” Kolahl said angrily. “Quieten your fears, and listen.”

She abruptly pushed at him and twisted her arm. Although it felt like her wrist might break, she managed this time to get free. Staggering back, she whirled around and ran for the meadow. If she could get into the open, she thought, one of the sentries might see her and give her aid.

Kolahl caught up with her in two paces, gripped her by the back of her cloak, and spun her around to pin her against a tree.

She cried out, and he shook her so roughly the back of her head bounced against the trunk.

“Hush, I tell you! Hush and listen. There is little time before you are missed, and I have much to tell you.”

“Let me go!” she insisted, struggling.

He slapped her hard. Her head buzzed with pain, and her knees failed her. She would have crumpled at his feet had he not held her propped against the tree.

“Forgive me for being harsh, but you force my hand,” he said, sounding exasperated. “If you do not quieten, I shall be required to employ dark arts to make you listen. That, I do not
wish to do. Not here where we might be seen. It is too dangerous.”

She barely understood him. Pain engulfed the left side of her face. Her head throbbed and she wanted to be sick. Somehow, she managed to fight for self-control. Now that her initial panic was over, she felt more afraid than before.
Who is he? Who is he?
The question would not stop circling through her mind, but she had other things to think about first, chiefly escape.

Kolahl's eyes were dark and compelling, filled with a fervor that scared her, for he looked even more fanatical than Sir Brillon. He smelled of herbs, bitter and burned. His hands, still gripping her hard, were filthy, the nails rimmed with black.

“Pheresa, you have come to my hand, as I compelled you. But put aside your fear, for I mean you no harm,” he said urgently, glancing over his shoulder before he turned his gaze back to her. “I can give you all that you desire. I can give you the throne.”

She frowned, hating him. “Don't lie,” she said harshly. “My chances are finished. I doubt I ever had any. I've made a fool of myself, and now I'm to be banished from court.”

“Are you certain of this?”

“Oh, yes. You'd better ensnare another victim, for I'm of no use to your wicked plans.”

“You know nothing of my plans,” he said with a smile. “And why are you so certain they are wicked?”

She frowned, realizing belatedly that he was working some kind of mysterious influence over her senses. What was she doing, standing here meekly, confiding in him? Swiftly, she averted her gaze from his and refused to meet it again. She trembled in his grasp and tried desperately to think what she should do.

“Are you ready to listen?” he asked.

It occurred to her that as long as he talked it was likely he would do nothing else. The delay would give her a chance, however slim. Well, then, she would let him talk, she decided, and surreptitiously slid her hand toward her pocket.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“I am Sebein.”

She gasped, but such was the terror that flashed through her she could not utter another sound. How in Thod's name, she asked herself, had she fallen into such trouble? It had been a Sebein member who ensnared Gavril, training him in the use and control of the tainted, evil sword Tanengard. No doubt, thanks to that contact with Sebein evil, Gavril had taken his first, early steps toward madness. And now she found herself in the clutches of this creature, a subscriber to darkness so abhorrent she could not bear to think of it.

She fought off a bout of dizziness.
Keep your wits,
she told herself desperately, and reached in her pocket for salt.

“Come, do not feel such terror,” Kolahl said to her now. “Look into my eyes and see for yourself that I will not harm you.”

She frowned, fighting the urge to obey him.
Don't look,
she told herself.

“You think me evil, but truly I am not. Pheresa, I can help you. I can put wondrous powers at your disposal. I can clear a path before you, lead you to all you desire. Tell me what it is that you want, Pheresa. What do you thirst for, as a plant thirsts for water? Tell me, Pheresa. Tell me.”

His voice was gentle, hypnotic. Her lips parted, and her throat made a strangled noise. She closed her eyes, terrified at having come so close to answering.

“You want to be queen,” he said to her. “You were destined to rule this land, good lady. It has been foretold.”

Tears stung her eyes. “I don't believe you,” she whispered.

“As queen of Mandria, you will control the most powerful kingdom in the world. All men will bow down to you. Great jewels and tribute will flow into your coffers. Your name will be revered across the land. Do you not want it, Pheresa? Do you not yearn for it?”

“I—I want to serve. I want to do my duty to—”

“Service. Duty. What are these things but dust and ashes? Do you not crave more, good lady? Do you not want accolades? Do you not want the people's worship?”

She stiffened with shock. “No! That's blasphemous! How dare you suggest anything like that.”

He smiled. “I see into your heart, Pheresa. I see much hurt. How deeply the courtiers have hurt you, misunderstood you, insulted you. They scheme against you and talk lies behind your back. You can punish them when you are queen. Would you not like that? Would you not like to crush all your little enemies?”

“N—no.”

“And you want friends, loved ones, people around you whom you can trust. I can give you allies, Pheresa. I can turn stubborn hearts in your favor. Would you not like to have friends, loyal and true only to you?”

She frowned, astonished by what he said. How did he know such things? “Everyone wants friends.”

“Yes.” His dirty fingertips gently stroked her cheek, and she shuddered. “The king has maligned you today. He has broken your heart. But think of the satisfaction of having his throne. Such sweet and ultimate revenge. Don't you want it?”

She battled with herself. He would have her speak treason, she warned herself. She must fight him, with all she had.

“What do you want?”

He smiled. “Very little. The simplest act on your part would bring a wondrous result to my people. You know how we of the Sebein are persecuted throughout Mandria. We are hounded, driven out, stoned wherever people find us.”

“The k-king has ordered it,” she said.

“But when you are queen, Pheresa, you can order a halt to such cruelty. I have traveled to many lands, and I assure you that nothing anywhere compares to Mandrian bigotry. We are forbidden to practice our religion here on pain of death. Do you know how brutal that is? Our teachings require us to serve. Our blood burns within us to obey the teachings, and yet we cannot. You cannot imagine our suffering.”

“I cannot help you.”

“Oh, but you can, Pheresa.” He spoke persuasively, his dark eyes compelling her. “You know that your mind is filled with doubts. Wisely, you have begun to question the precepts
of Tomias. You are ready to be reborn, Pheresa. Drinking from the Chalice was but the first step. Now you must shed your old beliefs, your old convictions. Embrace what is new and right and good.”

“I shall not renounce my faith,” she said shakily.

“Ah, but have you not already done so?”

“Nay! I have not!”

“The king might say otherwise.”

“How do you know this?” she demanded. “How came you to spy on us this morning? Where hid you?”

“You have angered many officials, and already made yourself enemies among the churchmen. If you can question Tomias and the teachings of Reform, good lady, you can open your mind enough to grant us mercy. That is all we ask.”

She felt cold to the depths of her soul. Kolahl knew too much. He somehow could peer into her heart and mind and see all that was bad and petty in her, all that was shameful and base. He triumphed in it, and yet Writ said that a good man governed his heart against wicked urges. It was not taught that to be good meant having no wickedness at all. 'Twas one's behavior, she assured herself, not one's temptations that made the difference.

“I will not renounce my faith,” she said angrily.

“We do not ask that,” he replied, but she knew by the way his eyes tightened that he lied. “Simply show us mercy. Allow us to return and practice our ways openly, without harm. We ask no more than that. Of course, should you ever wish to learn our teachings, we would rejoice.”

“I suppose this is how you corrupted Gavril,” she said furiously. In her pocket her hand closed on the salt purse. “You promised him something he wanted, then you destroyed him.”

“We did nothing but teach him the arts of swordplay—”

“He knew those. Nay, you twisted his mind, taught him to embrace darkness. That is what you worship. And what you want me to worship. You are evil, and I will not help you. Never! No matter what you promise.”

Kolahl's smile vanished, and his expression grew cold and harsh. “Will you be queen without us?”

She trembled, but met his cruel eyes. “I will not be queen.”

“Indeed not. You angered the king this morning. What chance have you now of being named his heir?”

Her disgust grew. “If the Sebeins possess such mighty powers, why do you not use them to reinstate yourselves? Why do you need me?”

Kolahl frowned. “Mock not what you do not understand.”

“No, I don't understand it. How can you persuade the king to favor me? You've failed to make him end official persecution of your cult. You're just a shadow, whispering evil in my ear and hoping I'm foolish enough to believe your ploy.”

Anger twisted Kolahl's features. He released her arm and drew back to slap her again. This time, however, Pheresa was ready for him. Pulling out her salt purse, she flung the contents in his face.

He screamed, reeling back, his hands clapped to his face.

She ran into the open before he caught up with her and grabbed her by one arm. She turned on him, striking hard with the little dagger. The tip raked him from shoulder to elbow, slicing cloth and bringing blood.