Blood and Memory (16 page)

“A couple.”

“As her guest, no doubt,” Helyn said, unable to hide the irony in her voice.

“Lady Helyn, forgive me. I have mentioned that much of my work is covert between the monarchs. I am not permitted to discuss it.”

“I understand. My apologies. I don’t mean to pry, but as you can understand, we Morgravians are all very excited about this marriage.”

“Are you?”

“Of course! Aren’t you? We all want peace. Valentyna brings it by marrying Celimus. Perhaps she can also temper his wayward pursuits—although if you ever repeat that, Leyen, I’ll publicly denounce you!”

Wyl laughed in spite of his churning emotions. Made the gesture of locking his lips with a key. “How far have they progressed?” he asked.

“Regrettably, not far enough,” she said to his relief. “I believe it will happen, though. Certainly all the nobility is pressing for it to occur by the spring equinox.”

“Spring,” Wyl murmured. Four moons was all he had to save Valentyna.

“So tonight, no doubt, you will be taking another message from Celimus to his beautiful Valentyna?”

“No doubt.” Wyl grimaced.

“It’s very clever that he uses a woman for this role. Who would suspect. Now, let us choose something from my daughter’s wardrobe. We must put him in a good mood.”

This was the last thing he felt like doing. His mind was fraying just thinking about Rittylworth, but Faryl and Romen’s essences kept him strong.

Lady Bench led Wyl to one of the dressing chambers, chatting along the way about the type of woman Celimus usually favored. Wyl allowed her to ramble.

“I think olive green is your color, my dear, with that lovely hair. And perhaps a matching cape? Which reminds me, have they given you a maid?”

Wyl shook his head.

“Right, I’ll send over one of my girls. She’ll dress your hair with some flowers I’ll send with her. Fresh gardenias, from my glasshouse. Hope you don’t find their perfume too overwhelming?”

“No. But your generosity is, Lady Helyn.”

“Don’t mention it. I want to cheer you after your news, and who knows, I may be responsible for helping you find yourself in the King’s bed.” She winked at her friend as a coconspirator, and was alarmed by the look of horror on Leyen’s face. “Oh, my dear, just a jest… a little joke from a silly woman with nothing else to occupy her mind.”

Wyl looked at himself in the mirror after Lady Helyn’s maid had departed. He hardly recognized this person he saw. Before him stood a tall, striking woman. Polished hair was swept up into an intricate design behind his head and interwoven with delicate, tiny gardenias. He would require no perfume tonight, as the fragrant flowers more than compensated.

Helyn had decided against the olive green in the end and chosen a soft cream gown for simplicity. It draped elegantly from his broad, square shoulders, softening the long, muscular arms. His lightly browned skin had been carefully smoothed and creamed by the maid until it too shone, and then, to Wyl’s fascination, she had dusted it softly with a gold powder. The effect was to make his skin shimmer as he moved, and by lamp or candlelight it was a stunning addition for any woman looking to impress a man. For Wyl it was a fascinating insight into the female armory of allurement.

Helyn’s generosity had not abated, for she had also sent one of her own items of jewelry to drape around his neck. A small ruby now hung like a drop of blood at his throat. No additional adornment was required other than a dab of soft kohl at his eyes to deepen their dark intensity and a smudge of tawny color on his lips. Wyl despised the taste and gluey heaviness but knew Leyen looked superb and he dared not wipe his lips clean of the annoying color. The maid had trimmed and buffed his nails until they too shone.

He was complete. Lady Bench had sent a beautiful indigo cape that he tried on but decided he would not need.

As he stared at his reflection, Wyl hoped that the King would not take a liking to what he saw, other than in a professional capacity. He was relying on his own knowledge that Celimus had always tended toward flaxen-haired beauties. He had once overhead Celimus admit that their fairness made his swarthiness look all the more dramatic. Wyl also knew that the new King preferred weaker women, ones he could dominate, which is why he, Wyl, must allow Faryl’s strong personality to shine. It also made the match with Valentyna such a poor choice for Celimus—she did not suit his taste for golden-haired women and her feisty, regal style did not lend itself to his domineering manner.

Wyl realized, though, it was not Valentyna whom Celimus loved but the riches she brought and the peace their marriage would achieve. Should Morgravia join Briavel, the whole region could grow wealthier still and Celimus’s heir would rule over two great realms. Wyl grimaced at the thought of Celimus siring an heir to Valentyna. And then it occurred to him that perhaps the King was looking even further afield. With peace achieved across the southern realms, the new union could deal with the people of the Razors and their upstart mountain king.

Spring equinox
. The thought nagged repeatedly.

There was a soft knock at the door that turned out to be Jorn.

“Too late,” Wyl said. “I’ve already chosen.” He added, “Do you approve?”

“My lady.” Jorn said, blushing. “What could there be to disapprove of?”

“Well-spoken, Jorn. Come in. You’ve been busy, I gather?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jorn replied, stepping carefully into the chamber and leaving the door ajar.

“Close it, would you?” Wyl said.

The lad did so, clearly uncomfortable.

Wyl sensed this. “Jorn, let me put your mind at rest. We have a mutual acquaintance.” This won the lad’s attention. “I am a friend of Romen Koreldy.”

At this, the young man’s eyes lit up. Wyl was pleased Romen had made a sufficient impression.

“I’m honored, then, to know you. He is someone I admire.”

Guilt raged through Wyl. The truth would not work, however.

“Tell me, how are you getting on here?”

“Did he ask you to inquire after me?” Jorn said, his eagerness heartbreaking.

“Yes, in a way.”

“And the Lady Ylena. Tell me she is well, Madam Leyen?”

“In truth, I have not seen Ylena in a long time. I—”

Jorn cut across his words. “Because I have worried myself sick over hearing recently that Rittylworth has been ransacked, knowing she had gone there.”

Wyl felt a twist in the pit of his stomach as a piece of the jigsaw slotted into place. It was Jorn who had told them. Innocent, eager Jorn had unwittingly led Celimus to Ylena like a cat to cream. He felt sick, thinking again about the kind and wise Brother Jakub, the young lad, Pil, all those monks murdered so cruelly in Celimus’s pursuit of the Thirsk line.

A vision of his sister lying broken and dead somewhere hit his thoughts like a clap of thunder.
She is alive
, he told himself.

He took a steadying breath, working hard not to betray his fright. He could not blame the boy. “Jorn, did you know specifically where Koreldy was headed when he left Stoneheart?”

“Not really, madam. He mentioned something about the northwest and possibly Rittylworth, but he wasn’t sure at that time, as I recall.”

Wyl remembered wanting to bite out his own tongue when he had let that slip. “And did you mention this to anyone?” he asked, casually turning to look in the mirror and busy himself with checking his appearance so as not to arouse any suspicion in Jorn.

“I…um. I might have, yes. I think Chancellor Jessom was making some inquiries.”

“Ah, yes, I know Jessom,” Wyl said in a tight tone.

“Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” Wyl reassured, forcing himself to keep his voice even. “In fact, I have promised Koreldy that I’ll visit the Lady Ylena the next time I passed through the region.”

“She’s not at Argorn, then?” Jorn asked sadly.

Wyl recalled how Ylena had promised Jorn that she would send for him once she returned to her family home.

He shook his head. “I can’t be sure, Jorn.” Anything to keep the truth from getting out.

“Oh,” the lad said, deflated. Then his eyes lit again. “You might care to try the duchy of Felrawthy, then, madam. Her husband’s family are the Donals and she might well be visiting the far north. I gather it’s really not that far from Rittylworth.”

Damn the lad’s excellent memory
. Wyl’s anxieties increased. How to keep this boy quiet without provoking suspicion? “Thank you. I shall make some inquiries.”

Poor Jorn. He was determined that the promise not be forgotten, even if it meant chewing the ear off a visitor who might meet up with Ylena Thirsk. “Because she said she’d send for me, Madam Leyen.”

Wyl put a kind smile on his face despite his fears for Ylena. “Is being in her service more important than serving the King, Jorn?”

The lad flushed scarlet. “I would die for her,” he stammered.

This was a shock. Wyl’s immediate reaction was to suggest that Jorn hardly knew Ylena well enough to pledge such a lofty sacrifice. But he himself had fallen in love with Valentyna within moments of her turning that direct blue gaze upon him. He sighed, noted Jorn was still blushing and uncomfortable.

Wyl found a grin for him. “Well, let’s hope you never have to, Jorn,” he said, praying that his sister’s life was safe. “But now that you’ve expressed your loyalties,” he added, taking advantage of the boy’s weakness for Ylena, “I’d suggest you observe them as sharply as ever while not speaking of it to anyone. Do you understand?” And then he could not help but emphasize it further. “Be discreet to the point of silence.”

Jorn nodded, but it was accompanied by a puzzled expression. Wyl would have to let the lad figure it out for himself. He could say nothing more direct.

“Well, I believe I’m expected in the King’s suite. Thank you for coming,” Wyl said.

“Call upon me anytime, Madam Leyen. Please give my regards to Romen Koreldy when you see him.”

“And what shall I give of yours to the Lady Ylena should our paths cross?” Wyl said to the boy’s back.

He was relieved to see Jorn grin. So the young fellow did have a sense of humor and was not all earnest effort. Wyl smiled his farewell. Jorn might yet prove useful.

It was a mild evening, made milder still by the braziers burning in a circle around yet another private courtyard in Stoneheart. The castle boasted at least a dozen such courtyards that Wyl could remember being in at one time or another as he grew up, but this one he did not recognize. It was very compact, ringed by beds of herbs and greenery, including several fine bay trees. There were none of the spectacular flowers that King Magnus had been known for, but this area was nonetheless beautiful in its simple, somewhat stark design.

Its ordered structure contrasted with the breathy fragrances of the herbs that mingled in the warmth, creating a sensuous atmosphere. In the center of the courtyard was a table, around which was placed four chairs. Once again Wyl was struck by the restraint shown in the table’s setting. He had expected something more overt from Celimus. The King had excellent taste but leaned toward flashy. What he was looking upon now was far too understated, more to his own taste, in fact, and he felt instantly comfortable in this small square of Stoneheart.

Aremys was already in attendance. He had a cup of wine in his hand and was talking softly with the Chancellor, whom Wyl presumed made tonight’s guest a foursome. He watched the mercenary turn, saw the breath catch in the man’s throat, and he realized in that instant—perhaps for the first time—what power an attractive woman held over most men.

“Leyen, you look very lovely.” Jessom gave the rare honor of a bow.

Aremys gathered his wits and inclined his head. “Leyen.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Wyl said. “One of the noblewomen took pity on me and insisted on dressing me tonight,” he added, lest they hope this was part of his regular wardrobe.

“She did you proud,” Aremys replied in a tight tone. He coughed softly to clear his throat then drained his cup.

Jessom held out a goblet. “May I offer you wine?”

“You may,” Wyl said, graciously taking the goblet and raising it. “What shall we drink to? Forgiveness, no doubt?” The dryness of the comment was not lost on either of his dining companions.

“To duty.” Aremys replied.

Jessom gave a cold smile and raised his glass.

Wyl sipped the sweetish aperitif as he looked around at the garden once again. “This is certainly a most beautiful courtyard.”

“I’m glad you approve,” the King responded airily as he made a majestic entry at the top of the shallow flight of stairs.

His guests bowed, Wyl forced to provide the more traditional curtsy now that he was dressed in a gown. He couldn’t imagine how clumsy he must have looked. Still, Celimus seemed not to notice. Instead he was appraising the woman who stood before him. He remained on the stairs for the moment, preferring not to come down to their level, and in those few seconds Wyl was reminded that Celimus cut the most dashing of figures, resplendent in superb garments that were tailored perfectly to show off his tall, lean physique. Even bathed and groomed, Aremys looked like a scruffy bear by comparison.

Wyl felt the familiar hate curdle within. All the old feelings returned, threatening to unbalance him, but he reminded himself that he was no longer short and stocky with orange hair and freckles. He was tall and lithe, certainly not beautiful…not even pretty in the accepted sense of the word. Memorable, though. He had nothing to feel inferior about. He was the only woman in the company tonight. He must use that femininity wisely and negotiate his passage as far away from Stoneheart as possible.