Dragon Rose (21 page)

That evening came a diffident knock at the door to my bedchamber. I rolled over in bed, blinking. How long had I been asleep this time? It seemed only a few hours had gone by since Sar last checked in on me.

“Yes?” I managed, pushing myself up against the pillows.

“Rhianne.”

His
voice, but hesitant, as if I were the master here, not he.

Oh, good gods. I knew I must look a mess, my disarray something that could not be cured by a hurried primping. Still, I reached up to run my fingers through my hair and arrange it more or less neatly over my shoulders. The covers I pulled up more tightly about myself, although truly the heavy linen of my sleep chemise revealed very little.

“Come in,” I said. My own voice sounded rusty and dry. I should have poured myself some water before asking him to enter.

Too late, though, as immediately the door to my bedchamber opened and he stepped through. So many days had passed since I’d last seen him that his height and the sweep of his dark robes startled me a little. My breath caught, and I looked down at my hands where they were knotted in my lap.

“Sar said you have been sleeping a great deal,” he said. Although the words were calm enough, I thought I caught an edge of tension to his tone. “Perhaps it is time I called in a physician to see you.”

“Oh, no,” I replied at once. “Surely that isn’t necessary.”

“You are not ill after all?”

“No—I, well, that is, I was. Or I think I was.” How on earth could I describe the lassitude that had overtaken me, the utter weariness which had no connection to any actual exertion? “But I think I am getting better.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

Surprising myself, I asked, “Are you?”

The hood turned toward me. “Of course I am. Do you think it pleases me that you have been ill?”

“No, of course not.” I found myself ashamed of the implication in my previous words. Then it came out in a rush, perhaps driven by the days I had spent not knowing if he were angry with me, “Only that I thought you were displeased with me, and perhaps if I had angered you, then you would not be as bothered by my being ill.”

“Oh, no.” He moved toward me and reached out with one gloved hand, as if to touch my arm where it lay on top of the coverlet. As always, though, something stopped him, and he paused, irresolute. “I have been very worried about you.”

I hadn’t known until then how much it mattered to me what he thought, how he felt. Relief coursed through me, with the return of an energy I had not felt for several days. His hand was only a few inches from mine, and I grasped his fingers, feeling the soft, warm leather like a caress against my skin.

Barely a whisper as he asked, “You do not fear me?”

I didn’t even have to stop to think. “Of course not,” I replied. “You have given me no reason to fear you.”

He made no reply, but only tightened his fingers around mine. I felt again the heat of his flesh through the thin leather, the force of his being. How I wished it could be more than this, but at least it was a start.
 

“Stay with me,” I said.

“Of course. Would you like me to read to you?”

“Very much.” Anything to hear more of that mellow, mahogany voice.

With apparent reluctance he released my hand and went into the other room, where I had left
Tales of the Age of Magic
sitting on the table in front of the divan. I couldn’t help but wonder whether he would read me “The Tale of Alende and Allaire,” but of course he was far too circumspect for that. No, he drew a chair up to my bedside and opened the book to its proper beginning, “Of the Coming of the Althuri.”

I must confess that I was rather more interested now I had Theran reading the story to me, rather than trying to slog through it myself. Truly, it seemed fantastic beyond belief, that beings from a world other than ours would come here and fall in love with our women, thus bringing the gift—or curse—of magic to their offspring. But that is how it was put forth in the book, and I was so caught up in Theran’s reading of the tale that I did not want to stop him and ask questions.
 

At length he came to the end of that particular tale, with the last of the Althuri driven into hiding and those who carried the strain of magic going out into the world and selling their services to whatever kings and lords had the means to pay their prices. Theran closed the book and said, “It grows quite late, Rhianne. I think it is time for you to sleep.”

“Sleep? When that is all I have done for the past three days?”

“Yes. It’s true that you have spent much time abed, but you should sleep now, and try to rise in the morning at your usual time, so you are back in the same rhythm as the rest of the household.”

These words were so sensible, and so like something Sar or my mother would have said, that I could hardly gainsay them. So I merely nodded and said, “Yes, Theran.”

“That is very meek, and quite unlike you. You do promise not to get up in the middle of the night and paint a portrait of Sar, or some such?”

I laughed then, as much from relief at the teasing note in his voice as from the image of me being driven enough to paint Sar in the wee hours of the morning. Of course, there was no way I could confess to him that I’d had more than one of those nighttime painting sessions, not when the subject was someone he might conceivably see as a rival, ridiculous as that might sound.
 

“I promise. I shall sleep the night through and then eat all my porridge in the morning.”

“Sar actually brings that to you? I shall have to speak to her.”

“No—no. I was only teasing. Sar brings me proper breakfasts of bacon and bread and eggs. No gruel, I assure you.”

“Ah, that is a relief.” He stood, and this time I saw no hesitation as he reached over and touched my hand. “Sleep well, Rhianne.”

“I will.”

The dark hood bent perilously close to the candle flames as he blew out the tapers in the candelabra one by one, but he rose without having suffered any harm. “Perhaps a walk in the rose garden tomorrow, if the weather allows?”

“I would like that very much.”

He nodded and went out, leaving me alone in the dark. I didn’t mind it as much this time, though. A soft wash of dim light still came in through the doorway from the last of the fire in the hearth, and it heartened me somehow. His footsteps sounded across the stone floor, and then I heard him shut the outer door.

A deep breath, then another. I should sleep, so I could walk in the gardens with my husband the next day.

And darkness claimed me.

Chapter Twelve

“Oh, well,” Sar said, as I looked in despair at the snow falling outside. “It’s come this early before, and I daresay it will again.”

“But Ther—but his lordship and I had planned to walk in the gardens today!”

“No reason why you still shouldn’t, if you’re feeling well enough and bundle up. It’s a dry, light snow, by the looks of it. You should have no trouble walking, as long as it doesn’t get any worse.”

These sturdy, no-nonsense words did something to hearten me, but still I found myself angry, frustrated that the snow couldn’t have held off for just another day. Foolish, of course. The weather did what it willed, and all of my cursing would do very little to change it.
 

“You will—you will tell his lordship that I fully intend to still walk with him after I have eaten and dressed?”

“Of course, my lady. Don’t fret about that. Now, finish the rest of your breakfast, and see how you feel then.”

There being little else I could do, I ate the last of the cold chicken and biscuits on my plate, my eyes fixed on the grey skies outside. Was the snow letting up a little? It seemed to be coming in brief flurries, rather than in the steady veils of white I had spied when I first woke up.

“And you are doing better today?” she asked as I pushed the plate away and set it back on the tray.
 

She should have been comforted on that point, since I had taken my meal sitting in a chair and with the tray on the table beside me rather than while still in bed should have told her that much. But just in case she needed extra reassurance, I nodded and replied, “Very much so. Whatever it was, it seems to have gone now.”

“Good,” she replied, but I noticed that she still frowned a little, absently, as if she didn’t quite realize what she was doing.
 

I honestly couldn’t think what had her so troubled. To be sure, after the plague that had devastated Purth and Seldd, and some of the regions of my own country that bordered those two lands, I could understand being concerned over every cough and fever. However, as that had been almost five years ago, and Lirinsholme had never been touched by the disease at all, the chances of my being ill with anything so dire as the plague were very low. Besides, I hadn’t coughed, and I had no fever. My only symptoms had been that odd lassitude and the unnatural amounts of time I had spent asleep.
 

Perhaps some of the other Brides had been sickly, and that was what concerned her now. After all, I had no idea what caused their deaths.

Something else killed them, Rhianne, and you need to find out what it was.

The words sounded so clearly in my mind it was as if I had spoken them myself, but that internal voice was not mine, and I did not recognize it. Somehow I thought I should, for something about the words seemed familiar, but I could not remember why or how.

I knew I should attempt to determine what had happened to all of Theran’s erstwhile wives. The only way I could possibly prevent the same thing from happening to me was to discover the cause of their premature deaths.

Exactly how I was supposed to accomplish such a thing, when prying the smallest bit of information from either Theran or Sar had already proved to be more difficult than prising a pearl from a particularly stubborn oyster, I did not know. Sar had already told me Theran had nothing to do with their deaths. That should have reassured me. In some ways I suppose it had—after all, one does not want to believe that the man one loves is a killer. However, with the most likely suspect eliminated, that left me with very little to go on.
 

It must have something to do with the curse. But since Theran could not or would not tell me anything of its particulars, and Sar professed ignorance in such matters, I had no idea where I could find such vital information. Even if the details of the curse had been written down somewhere, the most likely place would be in Theran’s library somewhere. I somehow doubted he would give me free rein to go through his things so I might find the vital piece of information I needed.

“I thought your blue wool gown, my lady, and of course your boots, what with all that snow.”

“What?” I had to pause and make myself consider Sar’s words. Then I nodded. “Certainly. It is my warmest gown.”

With that decided, I stood and allowed Sar to take my breakfast tray away so I could get dressed in privacy. And even though the gown was of stout, sturdy wool, and my boots likewise thick and warm, I still gave the leaden skies outside a dubious look. Not that winters in Lirinsholme couldn’t be severe. But at least in town we were somewhat sheltered by the fiercest blasts of the winds, and the snow did not drift quite so deep. Here on the heights, exposed to every gust, we had no shelter from winter’s worst.

That didn’t stop me from fastening my cloak tightly around my throat and slipping on a pair of fur-lined gloves. The gods only knew the corridors of Black’s Keep were cold enough on their own, far away from the hearths that struggled to keep the individual rooms warm. I was not premature in making sure I had bundled myself carefully against the chill.

I hurried down the steps, as much because of a desire to keep warm as because of my eagerness to see Theran again. Since Sar had disappeared as soon as I was done eating, I had to presume she’d gone to tell his lordship that I would be out and about soon.

It seemed my speculations were true this time, for almost as soon as I stepped outside I saw his dark form outlined against the snowy white that covered all the rosebushes and trees, and lay piled thickly on the ground. He turned almost at once; the wind caught at the hem of his cloak, but as always the edges of the hood moved not at all.

“Rhianne. You are quite sure you’re well enough to be out in this?”

“Of course,” I replied stoutly. It wasn’t that bad, actually. Although an icy wind blew, my own cloak protected me well enough, and the snow had stopped falling, save for a wayward flake here and there. “The fresh air tastes wonderful.”

“I wasn’t aware that air could have a taste.”

“Of course it can. Today it is crisp and cold, like mint.”

“Ah.” He turned so he faced into the wind, and I wondered how much he felt within the muffling hood, whether the crisp air I had just described even made it in that far so he could feel or taste it. “There is a bit more shelter from the wind down at the end of this alley, where the oak tree grows. Let us walk that way.”

“Lead on,” I told him and then stepped close, so I could slip my gloved hand in his. I felt a tremor go through him as our fingers twined around one another, but he did not try to pull away. Instead, his grip tightened on mine before he began to guide me to the spot he’d indicated.

The wind did seem to howl a little less here, the oak tree’s spreading branches offering some shelter even though they were bare of leaves. Above us the grey bulk of the castle loomed, a darker shade against the sullen sky. Although the snow had let up for a time, I guessed it would not hold off for much longer, and I was thankful I had decided to meet Theran now instead of waiting to see if the day improved any.

He stood quietly beside me, hand still in mine as he gazed over the now-barren garden. I wondered what he was thinking.

“So is it all true?” I asked.

“Is what true?”

“The story you read to me last night, about the Althuri. Did those who practiced magic truly have a strain of blood in them that wasn’t quite human?”

“So it is claimed.” He let go of my hand and made rather a show of pulling his cloak more closely to him. “Certainly I would like to believe that the perpetrator of my particular curse was something less than human.”