The Queen's Gambit (40 page)

Sir Thum frowned, his mouth pursed in hesitation. Finally he said, “Nay, majesty. He will not live much longer. I thought, since he had been so long in your service and so loyal to your majesty, that you might wish to see him.”

Her head snapped up. Pride shut off the grief welling painfully inside her. “Of course,” she said. Her gaze swept her
attendants accusingly. They should have told her. How dare they let her think him dead, when all this time he'd lain suffering and dying alone?

With a grateful nod to Sir Thum, she said, “You are correct. I will see him now.”

Lady Carolie hurried forward. “Perhaps your majesty should rest a while before—”

“Now,” Pheresa said harshly.

As they left the graveyard, clouds closed the sky, and more snow began to fall. Trudging across the courtyard, Pheresa lifted her face to the swirling snowflakes and let them sting her face. Then she faltered, and her protector lifted her in his strong arms and carried her the rest of the way to a brick-and-stone storehouse. Its contents, apparently dried shocks of fodder, had been cleared away, leaving only a disordered trail of bits and leaves. Pheresa was carried downstairs through a stout trapdoor into what looked like a dungeon except for the lidded crocks standing along one wall and a faint scent of dried onions and apples.

Lowering her to her feet, the protector stepped back out of the way. She realized she did not know his name, but she asked no question. She did not want to know this grizzled, weather-beaten veteran of Thirst's constant dangers. She did not want to care about people anymore, and yet, when the guards opened a door and Talmor's squire popped out, looking startled, the harsh resolves and barriers inside her crumbled anew.

It took effort, but she made herself glance up at her new protector. “Your name, sir?” she whispered.

He blinked in surprise and turned red above his collar. “Kelchel, yer grace.”

“Thank you, Sir Kelchel, for joining the queen's service.”

He bowed, and she walked forward to where the squire and Thirst's physician were arguing in hushed voices.

The squire's round, boyish face held a mixture of recalcitrance, grief, and protectiveness. He looked at her as though she were the enemy, yet no matter what she felt about herself, 'twas Talmor's forgiveness she'd come for, not this man's.

The physician came forward to block her path. “Is this wise, Sir Thum? The danger—”

“He won't hurt the queen,” Thum answered.

Startled, Pheresa looked up, but she realized at once what they were talking about. Until now, she'd shut the memory from her mind, along with so much else. Now there was no need to deny what she'd witnessed. During the battle against the Nonkind, Talmor had suddenly lifted his hand. Flames had surrounded him as though his clothing had ignited, yet he did not burn. He shouted something and hurled fire at the hurlhound just before it savaged him.

Disillusionment curled inside her. Talmor had lied to her about his magical powers. All this time she'd believed him to be a man quicker than most to sense trouble, when in reality he was a heretic who practiced sorcery. Worse, he'd lied in claiming to be half-Saelutian. No doubt Gantese blood ran in his veins, and that condemned him more than anything else. She marveled now that she had ever trusted him so close to her, and told herself she should not be here at all.

“Will your majesty approach the prisoner?” Sir Thum asked.

The gloomy place held the odors of illness. The air felt very hot. She noticed numerous pails of water standing about the room, and fear slid icy fingers along her spine.

The squire darted ahead of her, muttering to himself. He hastily smoothed the rumpled blankets across his master and gently lifted Talmor to slide another pillow beneath his shoulders, propping him a little higher. Then, with a fierce, protective glance, the squire retreated.

The physician and Sir Thum stood together, and Pheresa walked forward alone to Talmor's cot.

Unconscious, he looked diminished, as though all his robust vigor had been struck from him. His bronzed skin held a grayish cast, and a sheen of fever glistened on his brow beneath his tumbled locks of black hair. His left arm lay atop the blankets, and his hand moved restlessly, aimlessly across them. His right arm, his sword arm, was gone. She stared at the flatness of the blankets at his side, unable to get used to it.
His chest and right shoulder were heavily bandaged. Blood had seeped through the wrappings, and there was a sickly smell that she recognized all too well.

Shocked, she looked at Sir Thum, and he nodded without speaking. Sorrow tore at her heart. Why, she wondered, had they not done something to put Talmor from his misery? Why had they let him linger this way, suffering unspeakable torment while Nonkind poison worked its way through his body?

Her hand reached into her pocket to clutch her salt purse as Talmor's eyes dragged open and stared at her.

They were a stranger's eyes, wild and tormented. He opened his mouth, but made no sound. He seemed terrified of her, and his fingers tightened on his blankets.

Somehow she managed to find her voice. “Sir Talmor,” she said softly and unsteadily. “The queen grieves to—to find you so unwell.”

His panic faded. As he shifted his head restlessly, recognition slowly filled his eyes. “Majesty,” he whispered.

She wanted to weep. Despite everything, he was still her dear protector, so faithful, so much a part of her life that she felt bereft without him. All her trust and belief in him came rushing back.

She sank onto the stool at his bedside and reached out to clasp his feverish hand. “Forgive me for taking so long to come see you.”

His eyes drank in the sight of her, yet he seemed wary and unsure. “Come not so close. Not safe.”

She did not release his hand. “I do not fear you, my friend,” she said gently. Although she meant it as mere reassurance, the moment she uttered the words she knew them to be true.

The agony in his eyes lightened momentarily. He tried to smile, yet so pathetic was his gratitude, so vulnerable did he look, that she nearly lost command of herself. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back and kept smiling at him.

“I thank you for my life,” she said. “You have always been the one person I could rely on absolutely. This time, however, you have sacrificed too much.”

He tried to answer, but his strength failed him. All the color left his face, and his eyes closed.

Alarmed, she rose to her feet. The physician came up, leaning over Talmor, while Sir Thum gently drew her back out of the way.

She realized tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she did not care. “Is he dead? Is this the end?”

The physician shook his head, and she pressed her fingers to her lips in relief. At that moment the room grew suddenly hotter.

Sir Thum escorted her out of there, but as she crossed the threshold she heard Talmor shout something incoherent. A metal basin went flying off a table to clatter on the floor. The squire, looking grim and heartsick, shut the door firmly.

Pheresa fought her emotions in an effort to keep her composure. “When he dies, he'll become Nonkind. What can be done?”

Thum frowned. “A lesser man, an entirely human man, would have been dead already, his body salted and purified, then staked in the river to freeze.”

“Your majesty!” Lady Carolie cried out, hastening to her. “Pray come away and listen to no more. You are too ill to hear such—”

Pheresa turned on her angrily. “Silence! If you cannot compose yourself, leave me at once.”

White-faced, Carolie retreated and stared at her with stunned, incredulous eyes.

Pheresa turned back to Sir Thum. “Is there no way to save his life? No way to purify the wound that he may live?”

“Aye, although as weak as he is now, the procedure might kill him.” Thum frowned at her. “But considering what he is—”

“And what is that?” she asked in frustration. “I keep telling myself what I saw, and I cannot believe it.”

“Only Believers wield fire as weapons, majesty,” Thum said. “All the witnesses agree that he used his dark powers against you—”

“He used them to save Sir Bosquecel's life, as well as
mine,” she said sharply. “And had the commander any gratitude he would be here, seeking some means of saving Sir Talmor, rather than condemning him.”

“The commander lies abed with a broken leg,” Thum told her. “And the whole squadron saw the hurlhound take fresh strength from the magic Talmor gave him. These wily Gantese agents are able to deceive anyone—”

“Can a Believer deceive
you
?” she asked. “Can you look at someone with Gantese blood and not know the truth?”

Sir Thum frowned.

“You live in the service of a king with special gifts, and yet you condemn this man,” she said in growing anger, forgetting that a few minutes before, she'd entertained similar suspicions. “Are you such a hypocrite?”

“Faldain is part eldin, not Gantese—”

“Is Talmor Gantese?” she demanded with a furious gesture. “Is he? Has he the look of that race?”

“No,” Thum replied with obvious reluctance. “But with arts and enchantments, many of them conceal their true visage.”

“Could he do that while in such pain?”

Thum sighed. “I think not.”

“Nay, sir. I think not as well.”

“But your protector is
not
Mandrian—”

“He is half,” she said quickly. “He told me in private that his mother was Saelutian.”

Thum's brows drew together, and he looked thoughtful. “ 'Tis rumored sorcery can be found in the islands. Merchants from afar often bring such stories. Sulein, the old physician who served here when I was fostering, came from Saelutia. He dabbled in the forbidden arts.”

“Then—”

“But I have never heard of anyone save a Believer using fire as a weapon,” Sir Thum said firmly.

Despite her exasperation, Pheresa knew this argument was futile. “If he lives—if he can be helped to live—we will determine the truth of this. I do not wish him to die, Sir Thum. Order the physician to save him.”

He hesitated, his frown deepening.

She wanted to shake him. “Did you not yourself escape Nonkind poisoning and the horrible fate beyond it? Would you not extend the mercy shown you to another?”

“But I am no
sorcerel
, majesty. I do not pose danger to others, as he will, if he survives.”

“I have known the man these past two years and more,” she said stubbornly. “Never has he offered me danger.”

Wild laughter, followed by sobbing, came from within the sickroom. It grieved her to hear it. But Sir Thum stared at the door with an ever-deepening frown.

“You judge him unheard, sir,” she said angrily. “You condemn him without trial and let him suffer torment that is indecent and cruel. I thought better of you, sir. I did indeed!”

Anger sparked in Thum's face. With snapping eyes, he said, “Your majesty is taking a risk—”

“If you did not intend for me to save him,” she retorted, “why did you let me know he still lives?”

“I meant it kindly, that your majesty might have a chance to clear her conscience and bestow a blessing on a dying man.”

“Bless this faithful retainer who has served me so well, but not seek treatment for him? Visit him, here in this squalor,” she said contemptuously, “before I turn my back on him and leave him to rot condemned in unspeakable agony? This is a harsh sentence indeed.”

“He is faithful to your majesty, but to the rest of us he poses danger.”

“And why do you mention the queen's conscience?” she demanded, going back to what Thum had said. “Do you also dare judge me, sir?”

“You brought yourself here to be judged!” he said with a sharpness equal to her own. “Every monarch is judged, aye, and should be!”

“I—”

“Does the queen deny her part in this tragedy? Does the queen deny that she willfully put herself in mortal danger, costing the lives of four men, plus the injuries and—”

“Stop!” she shouted, awash in guilt. “You have said too much, sir.”

“Nay, majesty, I have not said enough.” His face was now as red as his hair, his wrath as fiery as hers. “Forget not that I rode to Nether with Dain and the others who sought to save you. I saw the courage of Dain and Alexeika as they fought their way back from Gant. I witnessed the valor shown at the Battle of Grov. I saw King Verence come in time, with the finest army in the world at his back. These, my lady, are sovereigns. These, my lady, are people that men gladly bend knee to. But you, in your quest to be queen, have felt sorry for yourself, have endangered yourself, have believed in the lies of fools, and have ignored the sage council of those wiser and more experienced than you.”

She could not believe he was saying such things to her. Trembling with fury, she longed to order her guardsmen to silence him. But they were not with her, and this hold was not under her sovereignty, and this man owed her no allegiance. She was alone, save for a handful of attendants and servants, and the only warrior in all Mandria who was on her side now lay dying, accused of being a traitor and enemy agent.