Brokedown Palace (28 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Brokedown Palace
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“What are you doing?” repeated Vilmos.
“Hold her,” she said.
He set Bátya’s body down, very carefully and, perhaps, reverently. His hands trembled. Húga came over, sniffed the other norska, and began chittering. Vilmos took Csecsem
’s ears with one hand and put the other hand under the norska’s stomach. Mariska took hold of the bottom of the injured foot and pulled. Csecsem
chittered in what was plainly an agonized scream as Mariska tried to align the bones. In a moment, the baby norska’s screams were drowned out by Vilmos’s sobs. In another moment, she was nearly blinded by her own tears.
It seemed to take hours.
When they were done, Vilmos sat in the rubble holding Csecsem
in his arm. With his other arm he held Mariska, who clutched him with both hands, her face buried in his shoulder.
 
 
NIGHT HAD FALLEN BY THE TIME VILMOS HELPED HER BACK out of the cellar, holding Bátya’s body in one hand. They didn’t speak. Vilmos left the Palace to bury the norska while Mariska remained within. A pair of boards had been stretched across the hole in the floor to the doors of the Palace.
She tried to decide if she needed companionship or solitude. The thought came to her that if she were in company with others, she must hold to her role as future Queen. She started. Hold to her role? She glanced down into the cellar. The idea seemed ludicrous.
She was still standing there when Miklós came in through the doors. His face was covered with sweat. As he walked across the boards, it seemed to Mariska that he was near tears.
“I’ve seen Vili,” he said. “Thank you for helping him. I wish—” He stopped and shook his head.
She squeezed his shoulder. He continued around the corner of the hall toward the room he was sleeping in. Mariska pushed down a compulsion to follow him. He was handling his own grief. Perhaps it was only grief on Vilmos’s behalf, perhaps there was more to it, but it wasn’t her place to intrude. She leaned against the wall and allowed herself two deep breaths, then began the long walk back up to the Great Hall.
Rezs
and Sándor were deep in discussion in one corner, Viktor napped in another. Mariska found a third. She carefully seated herself and nodded to a servant. “Brandy,” she said.
When the liquor arrived, she forced herself to sip it, suddenly hating the mannerisms she had adopted over the years. She wished for nothing more than to toss the drink down her throat like Vilmos did, but it was less effort to do as she’d always done.
Rezs
and Sándor came and sat next to her.
“Yes?”
Rezs
said, “How is Vilmos?”
She studied him. Rezs
always struck her as more careful than anything else. He knew a lot more then he ever let on. He was an observer, and, when he acted, it was through others. She said, “He’ll live. It was quite a blow to him, of course. I did what I could.”
Sándor nodded. “Then he’ll be up to helping us tomorrow?”
Mariska stared at him. Had he no idea what this meant to Vilmos? No, he probably didn’t. How could he? She turned away and didn’t answer.
“Is something wrong, Countess?” asked the wizard.
She wanted to say, “Just go away,” but she couldn’t. Anything else would have been wrong, so she said nothing. She heard Rezs
whisper something to him. The King’s advisor said, “Perhaps later, Countess,” and they walked away.
Goddess, what is wrong with these people?
Andor entered the room from the other side. Mariska stood up quickly, knowing that, above all else, she did not want to speak to him just then.
She left the room quickly by the nearest exit, and only after walking through the doorway did she realize that this way led up to the King’s Tower. She stopped, not wanting to go where she wasn’t wanted, yet unwilling to expose herself to what Andor might—no,
would
do to her. After a moment, she continued up the stair. It was only lit with one lamp, and this did little to illuminate the stairway. But she could see that the walls were dirty and, like the rest of the walls in the Palace, cracked in some places and crumbling in others. She shuddered. The stairway was long, the steps high, and the walls were so close together that her shoulders brushed against both sides as she climbed.
The stairs ended in an actual door, like the main entrance, with leather hinges. She knocked softly. The wood of the door felt thick and heavy; the dullness of the knock seemed not to penetrate. She
knocked harder, but still had the feeling that the door defeated her efforts to be heard.
At last she lifted the latch and pushed it part way open. She called, “László? It is I, Mariska. Are you there?” She looked through, but couldn’t see anything. There was a very faint luminescence coming from just out of sight. She stuck her head through the doorway.
László lay on the floor, naked, spread-eagled. Hanging in the air above him there seemed to be a gently glowing ball. As she looked closer, she thought she could almost see a face in it. She continued staring, and the features became clearer. She knew the stories that were told of the Kings of Fenario, and László spoke of these same stories as if they were everyday occurrences. The face could only be that of the Demon Goddess.
Then something inside of her stirred, and she suddenly knew that she must not look at that face. She tightly shut her eyes and closed the door. She found that she was trembling as she leaned against the wall.
She made her halting, stumbling way back down the stairway, grateful for the close walls which kept her from falling. She stopped just inside the door to the Great Hall and caught her breath.
I need a bath
, she thought, and almost laughed at herself for it.
She stepped out into the Hall and found Viktor staring at her. His eyes traveled past her to the doorway she had emerged from; then he raised an eyebrow. She turned away. In the center of the room, Andor was speaking to Sándor in hushed tones. The wizard seemed bored; Andor seemed excited. She tried to make it to the doorway that would lead to her rooms, but Viktor caught up to her.

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