Authors: Deby Fredericks
“
But I wanted to tell you...
”
Therula said, following him.
“
This can't wait.
”
Pikarus paused with his hand on the latch. With a trace of his old warmth, he said,
“
I'll see you again soon.
”
The door closed. Therula stood helplessly, feeling terribly alone. When her beloved was with her, she could hardly think what to say. Now a hundred words crowded her mind. She leaned backward, slinging to the back of the settee for support. The wood was still warm from Pikarus's hands.
Therula had thought, earlier, that she could never be repudiated. Now she wondered how she could have been so wrong.
* * *
He had left the court for his own rooms, but the chambers seemed small and stuffy after so long away. Once Brastigan was out of his filthy harness, and in control of his emotions, the baths were the first place he wanted to go. Not even the wonderful sensation of cleanliness could lift Brastigan's spirits. Bathed and washed and famished, he prowled his quarters, waiting for the meal he had ordered.
The bath had been empty by the time Brastigan got there. It was too bad. He had hoped to find Pikarus, or even Javes. It seemed they had something more to talk about, after all.
Oskar's taking the throne did explain a few things. Like why the men on the walls seemed so bewildered. Losing your king on the eve of battle would do that. Oskar was well known, but he had always kept himself to Harburg, letting Habrok handle the bloody stuff. The soldiers didn't know Oskar as a battlefield commander.
Well, maybe they didn't have to. It looked like Oskar planned to keep Habrok on as Champion of Crutham. That was basic good sense. Good politics, too, making a point of family unity by summoning their brothers during the crisis. Then Brastigan snorted to himself. It also brought a convenient force to hand, if Oskar needed someone to do his fighting for him. Unferth's sons were a small army in their own right. The risk was that one of them might make a hero of himself—a potential rival.
Still no supper. Frustrated, Brastigan found a comb and dragged it through his damp hair. He smiled without humor. Oh, Alustra had to be furious with Unferth for widowing her! A dowager queen was nowhere near the same as a reigning monarch. The fact that Oskar had removed his mother's throne told that tale. But he had to do it, of course. A man couldn't rule when he was ruled by another, not even a doting mother.
Absently, he began to braid his hair. Transitions of power were always a time of vulnerability. Brastigan had to wonder if Sillets was somehow involved in Unferth's passing. The timing of their invasion seemed a little too convenient.
A tap at the door distracted Brastigan from his brooding. He turned to call,
“
If you have food, come in! Otherwise, go away.
”
The door opened softly. Margura entered, balancing a tray loaded with covered dishes. A delightful aroma came with her as she glided to the table where Brastigan sat. Despite the welcome presence of food, he felt his stomach drop. Why Margura? Why now?
The contrast with the shadow girl was like a blow to his gut. Maybe it wasn't fair to compare them, but he couldn't help it. They were both blonde beauties—the true gold of Crutham, as poets would say. That was the only thing the two women had in common. Margura seemed brazen and sensual after the silent, gentle girl-child. Only now that he'd been away from her did he understand how much more there could be. It was hard to believe she had ever attracted him.
As always, Margura smiled coyly. She bent forward to slide the tray onto the table.
“
I wanted to see you,
”
she murmured softly.
Brastigan cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“
I'll bet.
”
Margura hadn't changed a bit, but her gown had. It was deep green velvet, still low cut but the shoulders and waist puffed out more. A delicate golden chain dangled a fiery yellow gem into the garment's plunging neckline. Although she was still lovely, her face had a sallow tone beneath the cosmetics.
A slight frown puckered Margura's smooth brow when Brastigan failed to greet her as she must have expected. He glanced toward the door.
“
Shut it,
”
he said.
“
I need to talk to you.
”
It wouldn't be easy to tell Margura he had no interest in her any more, especially when she had a romantic reunion planned. Still, he didn't want to alienate her too soon. She might be useful.
The courtier's blue eyes glinted with suspicion, but she dipped in a curtsey. Her gown rustled as she went to the door, which creaked as it swung closed. Brastigan didn't watch her. He took lids off dishes, revealing half of a cold roast chicken, buttered bread, baked apples drizzled with cream. The bread tasted wonderful, though his stomach still churned with tension.
Margura slid another tray onto the table. This one held a flagon and a short brown bottle. Ale!
“
Ah, that's what I need!
”
It wasn't so hard to smile now.
His companion poured smoothly, raising little foam. Her measuring gaze was fixed on Brastigan as she gave him the glass and sank into the chair opposite him.
“
Was it a difficult journey?
”
she asked.
“
Frustrating.
”
Brastigan took a long, bitter draft.
“
A lot of time wasted running hither and yon, when I really wanted to be here.
”
For a moment, Margura's expression lightened. Brastigan decided to prepare her for disappointment.
“
The last few days have been tough. We fought hard, and I'm dead tired.
”
Margura glanced aside momentarily.
“
It's been difficult here, too.
”
She spoke defensively.
“
Yeah, tell me about that.
”
Brastigan fixed his dark eyes on Margura.
“
We came all the way through town, and no one bothered to mention that my father had died. I had to walk into the hall and see Oskar sitting on the throne.
”
It wasn't her fault, but Brastigan couldn't keep the anger from his voice.
“
An unpleasant surprise, I'm sure.
”
Margura smiled with sympathy, but also, he thought, a trace of mockery.
“
It was.
”
Brastigan swallowed his bread and took another long drink. Then he started picking the roast fowl apart.
“
So when did he die?
”
“
Seven days after you left,
”
she answered,
“
give or take a day.
”
“
And he just died in his sleep?
”
Brastigan tried to keep the suspicion from his tone.
“
No reason whatsoever?
”
“
I heard that he complained of indigestion to his valet, Jesprey,
”
she said.
“
He retired early. Princess Therula found him the next morning.
”
Brastigan winced. Therula must have taken it hard.
“
Who examined his body?
”
“
Eben was summoned, but the king had already been dead for several hours.
”
Margura seemed to study him.
“
At his age, it didn't seem unusual.
”
“
What's he been doing since then?
”
Brastigan remembered Yriatt complaining that she couldn't contact the wizard.
“
Eben?
”
Margura seemed surprised by the question.
“
Yes, Eben. The king's own wizard,
”
Brastigan retorted.
“
What does he say about the invasion?
”
Margura frowned, as if she had to think hard about this.
“
I haven't seen him,
”
she finally said.
“
You haven't seen him?
”
Scowling, Brastigan took a bite from his chicken leg. He wasn't paying attention, and bit his own finger.
“
Ow!
”
“
What's wrong?
”
Margura asked, all concern.
“
Nothing.
”
Brastigan brushed her worries away.
“
So you haven't seen Eben at all. Since when? Before or after Father died?
”
“
After. He was at the coronation.
”
From Margura's expression, she had no idea why Eben was so important.
Maybe he wasn't, but Yriatt and Ymell seemed to feel he was. Rather, his silence was. Brastigan wished, now, that he had some way to reach the two dragons, if only to let Lottres know what had happened. The pup shouldn't have to walk into the shock, as Brastigan had.
Margura was looking at Brastigan oddly. He waved a chicken bone at her.
“
So Oskar stepped right into the gap, did he?
”
“
He has, indeed,
”
she answered with a hint of emotion he couldn't identify.
“
How's Alustra taking it?
”
Brastigan asked with some irony.
“
The queen is devastated,
”
Margura answered sadly.
“
She supports Oskar, of course, but it is difficult to interest her in anything.
”
“
She misses the old man?
”
The sarcastic question went down with another draft.
“
Me, too.
”
“
Really?
”
she murmured.
“
I didn't think you were close.
”
“
Not as close as we should have been,
”
he muttered, and took another drink.
“
It wasn't my decision.
”
“
I am sorry, Brastigan.
”
Margura briefly laid her hand over his. Her touch felt heavy and sweaty.
It was the first overt expression of sympathy he had received from anyone. For a moment, Brastigan's grief threatened to choke him. He managed a smile.
“
Thanks.
”
Then he took his hand away and reached for more ale.
“
The coronation was three days later,
”
Margura remarked with honeyed tartness.
“
It was quite interesting with all your brothers and sisters here at one time.
”
Brastigan grunted. The details of Oskar's fete were of no interest whatsoever. What mattered was the count of days in Harburg as compared to his journey. Had Sillets invaded before Unferth died, or after? He was too tired to figure properly, but it nagged at him.
“
The relay rider arrived from Caulteit a few days after.
”
Margura unknowingly answered his question.
He asked,
“
Are all of them still here? My brothers, I mean.
”
“
Only the oldest sons,
”
Margura said.
“
The king... That is, King Unferth, had sent some of the princes away for training just before he died. Kesper is in Praxium, Imric is in Fanglith, and Bartole is in Maduras. Tellek and Gorthar were both in Firice. I don't know if they will return to fight.
”
Brastigan nodded. This accounted for the younger lads, and it held with Unferth's plans to spread his sons around for their safety. But it did leave out one brother.
“
What about Alemin?
”
he asked.
“
I saw most of the older ones in the hall today, but not him.
”
“
Prince Alemin left suddenly. A sea voyage, they say.
”
Margura paused, fire in her eyes. She added in a brittle tone,
“
I heard he got a girl pregnant and had to get away from his wife's brothers.
”
“
Fool.
”
Brastigan shook his head and rolled his eyes. He never had thought much of that particular half-brother, but he hadn't realized Alemin was a coward. A man and a woman might part ways, but he should never abandon his child. It was probably the only thing Unferth had taught Brastigan that was worth anything.
Margura startled Brastigan by placing her hand over his. She pressed hard this time, and her mouth was thin with tension.
“
Tell me the truth,
”
she said.
“
What do you mean?
”
he asked, distracted by too many memories of Unferth, of his brothers.
“
Did you think I wouldn't notice?
”
Margura accused. She leaned forward, and her nails dug crescents into the back of his hand.
“
You won't look at me or touch me. There's someone else, isn't there?
”
“
Yeah.
”
Such a small word, surprisingly easy to say. With a bleak elan, Brastigan added,
“
She's dead.
”
Margura sat back then. Her lips trembled with anger and hurt, but she didn't try to hold Brastigan's hand any longer. He lifted his flagon and drained it.
“
And my father is dead.
”
Brastigan stared at the foam on the bottom of his flagon.
“
And Lottres...
”
“
Lottres is dead?
”
Margura interrupted.
“
Might as well be. He isn't here.
”
Brastigan glanced at the leavings on his plate. He pushed it away. Loneliness made a painful band around his chest, but even now he knew better than to tell Margura anything so personal.
“
I'm alone. Maybe that's the way I want it.
”