Binding Spell (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) (12 page)

My silence must have told him something of my mood, for his expression sobered. His tone quite formal, he said, “But it seems my lady has had a trying day. Shall we retire for the night?”

I nodded, thankful he had not attempted to continue the conversation. It was not until I had laid myself down on the divan some time later and drawn the covers up to my chin that I reconsidered his previous statement. There had been a ring of truth in his words when he said he had important matters keeping him here in his capital. But was I really to be counted among those concerns…or had he been speaking instead of the mage who even now must be sequestered somewhere in the castle?

I knew better than to ask.

T
hani and Lord Senric
rode out the next morning, at an hour just late enough not to be construed as overtly rude. Their leave-taking was awkward at best. The Duke barely bowed to me, and Thani gave me a quick, rough hug before murmuring in my ear, “Write to Father.”

I knew I wouldn’t; for one thing, a letter was too chancy a means of communicating such vital information. Perhaps my brother, now used to life in the Duke’s household, had forgotten that not everyone had access to private couriers who could be trusted not to tamper with the contents of a letter. Kadar had his own couriers, of course, but I would no sooner give them such a note than stand up in the Hall of Grievances and announce to everyone there that I possessed magical abilities.

But I only nodded at my brother, and smiled, and lifted a hand in farewell as his company wheeled their horses about and rode out through the castle gates. The rain of the day before had stopped, but the morning light was still chancy, sun and shadow fighting for supremacy in a sky that shifted from blue to grey and back again.

Kadar took his leave of me almost at once, and I soon knew why. No sooner had I gained the sanctuary of my tower room than magic surged through the castle once again. This time I stood near a table and was able to grasp its edge to steady myself, but even so Beranne cast an askance look in my direction.

“Is there something amiss, my lady?” she asked, and made as if to set her mending aside and rise to her feet.

Of course there was, but I could never tell her that. I shook my head and summoned a wan smile. “No, not at all,” I replied. “I suppose it’s just that I miss my brother already.”

“Ah.” Her expression appeared to reflect ready sympathy, if somewhat mixed with puzzlement. “All this way, and only to stay one night? Well you should miss him.”

No doubt she was attempting in her gentle way to learn exactly why Thani and Lord Senric had left so abruptly, but I worried anything I told her would only be fodder for servants’ gossip. During my time in North Eredor I had grown to be quite fond of her. That fondness, however, would not allow me to loosen my tongue.

“They could spare no more time away from Sirlende,” I said shortly. “My brother wished merely to reassure himself that I was well and healthy and happy.”

She only said, “Ah,” and returned her attention to the torn chemise which lay in her lap.

Just as well, for another pulse of magic swirled around me. I sucked in my breath and tried not to fight it, but instead to feel its strength and ride with it, the way the sailors back home would allow the breakers to bring their small boats safely to shore. That did seem to help somewhat; at least I could walk more or less normally to the chair by the window and then sit down without Beranne apparently noticing anything amiss in my movements.

Outside the sky darkened, as the clouds that had appeared on their way to breaking up somehow coalesced once more. Within the minute heavy rain began to fall, followed by a crack of thunder so loud Beranne exclaimed,

“That was close!”

Eyes narrowing, I gazed out the window at the downpour. The small leaded panes were not sealed quite as well as they might be, and I heard shouts from the courtyard below as people bolted for shelter. Lightning flashed, and again the thunder answered.

It was wrong. I knew this at once, for although I did not possess the gift of weather magic myself, my father had within him the power to summon the storms, or to send the killing fogs back out to sea where they could do no harm. This, though, somehow felt different. My father always said the safest way to perform weather magic was to learn the patterns of the air currents that surrounded oneself, to know instinctively how to work with the wind and the clouds, rather than against them. But as I sat there, my face raised to the livid heavens, I felt the wrongness of the storm, of how the roiling clouds somehow fought against the air’s natural currents.

Then, as soon as it had come, the cloudburst dissipated, the sky clearing with a speed anyone must know was unnatural. The sun broke out, causing the raindrops on the window to glitter like scattered diamonds.

“Gone already, is it?”

I turned to Beranne and nodded slowly. “It would appear so.”

She smiled and went back to her mending, the quick movements of her needle catching sparks from the candelabrum sitting on the table next to her. I wondered at her placid countenance, but realized of course she hadn’t felt anything wrong about that sudden storm. Just another quirk of the weather, which always was a bit unpredictable at the change of the season.

Only I knew it had been much more than that. I stood and gazed down into the rain-soaked courtyard as people began to come out from beneath overhangs and doorways and went about their business once more. No harm, really, save for some dampened hems and possibly a few ruined hairstyles for those ladies of the court who hadn’t managed to reach shelter in time.

Perhaps it had been only an exercise, a flexing of a muscle in need of use. Even mages required practice, after all. But I felt a chill in my bones that had nothing to do with the drafts leaking in around the window frame, and wondered what on earth was to come next.

T
hat night
at supper Kadar seemed in high spirits, and I watched him carefully. Was he so lighthearted because he knew he no longer faced any threat from my family, or did he smile and laugh because his mage had demonstrated his powers in a very real and tangible way?

I could not ask, of course, and so ate what I could, although my appetite seemed to have deserted me, and I smiled at Kadar when the occasion seemed to warrant it. I had no way of knowing whether those smiles reached my eyes, but at least he seemed not to notice anything wrong.

Some players had come in to entertain the court with their tumbling acts and a few carefully chosen scenes from the comedies that dominated the local houses. I had never been one to find amusement in pratfalls and dancing dogs, but the rest of the court did not share my tastes. Somehow I managed to laugh in the correct places, but in truth I only wished for the evening to be at an end.

At length the entertainment concluded, and Kadar led me to our suite as he did every evening. By then we were used enough to staying out of one another’s way as we prepared for sleep that we almost unconsciously wove in and out of the other’s steps — he washing his face as I gathered up my bedclothes, I slipping into my warm sleeping chemise as he was occupied with removing his boots and placing his doublet in the wardrobe.

It was a good thing that Northerners stood on far less ceremony than their counterparts in Sirlende. I knew that even my brother, after years in the Duke’s household, would never have agreed to fold his own clothing. But Kadar, for all his faults, had very little of pretense about him. Truly, the household rubbed along with far fewer servants than I might have imagined a royal court could. The Dowager Empress of Sirlende had, it was rumored, fifty ladies-in-waiting, and my own Queen Carinne a more modest fifteen, but apparently the consort of the Mark was expected to make do with only the one maidservant. Not that I minded, as I found it exhausting enough trying to keep the truth of Kadar’s and my sleeping arrangements from Beranne and the other members of the household staff who kept our apartments clean and brought up our breakfasts.

We bade each other goodnight as we always did. To his credit, Kadar never pressed me, never tried to coax me to make our marriage true in something more than merely name. It appeared he intended to keep his promise not to force me, although I wondered how long his forbearance could possibly last. This state of affairs had gone on for more than a month. I would be a fool if I thought it could continue forever.

At any rate, I was able to lie down on the divan and pull the covers up to my chin, secure that this had been an evening much like any other. Throughout the day I had found myself worrying at the problem of the mage and the spells he’d apparently cast, but there had been no repetitions of the unnatural storm, and as evening approached I allowed myself to let the matter rest.

Sleep always came easily to me, and this night was no different. I closed my eyes and let myself slip into the darkness, comforted by the welcome oblivion of slumber.

But that serene dark tide turned into the harshest of undertows. In my sleep I gasped, fighting for air, somehow knowing it had been stolen from me. Cold washed over my limbs, dragging me down, seeking to drown me forever in a black so bottomless its depths could never be measured. I screamed, and icy water filled my mouth, choking me, crushing my lungs, devouring every bit of life and warmth and —

“Lark!”

Strong arms went around me, holding me close. Awakened from my terror, I did not stop to think it was Kadar who held me thus, only that his body was warm and reassuringly real. I clung to him, felt him stroke my hair as I burrowed my face into his shoulder and laid my cheek against the rough linen of his nightshirt.

“Was it a nightmare?” His voice sounded calm, soothing, so unlike his usual ironic drawl.

I nodded.

“Do you want to tell me?”

Truly I didn’t, as if the mere act of describing the dream to him might somehow give it a life of its own. I said, my tone short, the words muffled by his shoulder, “Drowning. The ocean.”

“Ah, well, I can guess that would be unpleasant.” He lifted a tangled curl from my brow and added, “But as we are a good three hundred miles from the sea, I believe you have little to worry about.”

I almost pointed out that while we were very far from the ocean, the lake just outside our window offered ample opportunity for drowning. But I held my tongue and instead wondered at how it could feel so good to have the strength of his shoulder against my cheek, the warmth of his arms around me.

I told myself it was only because I would have welcomed any human contact at that moment, even Kadar Arkalis’. Although the lingering dregs of my nightmare had begun to fade away, I could not quite dispel that sensation of inexorable, icy death. I shivered.

“Still cold?”

“A — a little.” How I wished my voice hadn’t shaken. I added, trying not to sound too piteous, “Perhaps if we stirred up the fire?”

“I have a better idea than that.”

And he pulled me closer as he stood, lifting me, blankets and all. He carried me into his bedchamber and pulled back the hangings on the bed before depositing me therein.

At once I sat up, spluttering a little and kicking my unneeded bedclothes aside. “A transparent ploy, my lord! Surely you do not believe I will stay here!”

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his expression amused. “Dear wife, this is no attempt to ravage you. Two bodies are warmer than one, and when the hangings are closed, it is quite cozy in here. You have my word I will not touch you — at least, not intentionally. I cannot speak for what I might do in my sleep. Tanira used to complain that I kicked a good deal.”

The casual mention of his former mistress only served to increase my ire. Did he honestly expect me to sleep in the bed he had shared with that woman? Without bothering to reply, I reached out and prepared to haul myself off the edge of the bed.

His hand clamped down on my wrist. “You seem quite recovered.”

“Yes, I am.” I jerked my arm free of his grasp. “Please do me the courtesy of not manhandling me like that. I will do very well to return to the divan.”

He gave me a careful, measuring look. “What are you so afraid of, Lark?”

“Afraid?” I repeated, my blood boiling anew at the question. “I am afraid of nothing!”

“Are you? Because it seems to me your behavior would suggest otherwise. I have already given you my word that I shall not touch you. Do you believe that counts for nothing? Or is it that you do not trust yourself?”

Oh, he was impossible. To suggest I would fling myself at him, merely because we shared the same bed? “You flatter yourself, my lord.”

“Perhaps I do. It is true that I have a good deal of experience with women throwing themselves at me. Perhaps I do you a disservice by expecting the same of you.”

“More than a disservice,” I replied. “At any rate, I’m not sure there would be room for me in this bed, as you and your vanity seem to take up a good deal of space.”

He laughed then. The dim candlelight seemed to twinkle in his gold-colored eyes. “You may have a point. But look — do you not feel better? Tell me I have at least distracted you.”

That was true enough. The heat of anger had done excellent work in dispelling the last shivers of my nightmare. “Perhaps.”

“Then do me the service of staying. It could be that it is I who will next need comforting after a bad dream.”

I fought to keep my lips from quirking. It would not do to show that he had come very close to making me laugh. “The Mark of Eredor admits to having bad dreams?”

“On occasion, and particularly if I have had cheese too close to bedtime.”

I heaved an exaggerated sigh, and, without immediately replying, drew the covers on my side of the bed back and slid beneath them. “I will stay — although I did not see you eat any cheese at all tonight.”

“I thank you for your solicitude.” He, too, climbed beneath the sheets and blankets, then leaned over and blew out the candles on his bedside table before drawing the hangings closed.

It was very dark then, but, as Kadar had promised, I was warmer in the bed’s confines than I had been on the divan, even positioned as it was in front of the hearth. I lay on my back and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the movements of the bed as he shifted his weight, or the way the heat of his body seemed to flow out from him, surrounding me in its warmth. Several hand-spans separated us, and yet he seemed so very close.

“Goodnight, Lark,” he said.

“Goodnight, Kadar,” I replied.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep. What else could I do? Surely it was a kind of madness which had led me to think, only a second or two before he spoke, that I would have liked to reach out and twine my fingers in his, feeling the comfort of his touch as a shield against the darkness.