Melanthrix the Mage (21 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“THEN LET THIS
BE THE BINDING”

Back in Arkády's apartments, the prince was thanking Melanthrix for his ministrations to Arión.

“Sirrah, name but the price, and I'll render it if I can,” he said.

The old philosopher suddenly looked weary beyond his years. He wiped his glistening forehead with a pale hand.

“There is nothing on this earth that you can give us that we would ask for ourselves, Highness,” he finally said, “save that which we have already given you. If you would grant us just one boon, then let it be this:
do thou for me what I have done for thee
.”

“I don't understand...,” the prince said, puzzled at the formal language.

“That does not matter,” Melanthrix said. “
Dost thou agree?
”

Arkády paused. He made it a practice never to take an oath frivolously, particularly when the terms were not clearly stated. In this instance, however, he had made a verbal commitment that he felt obliged to honor, both as a Tighris and as a father.

“I do agree,” Arkády said somberly, holding out his hand.

Melanthrix spat into the palm of his own hand, and extended it to the prince.

“Then let this be the binding,” he said.

Arkády took the proffered hand without hesitation, and shook it. A tingle traveled up his arm to his heart, chilling his very soul.

“Now we must take our leave,” the philosopher said, withdrawing his hand and bowing deeply. “As we promised, we shall return on the morrow. Keep the boy quiet. And rest assured, King-to-Be, that your son has not yet reached the end of his time on this plane.”

He turned and left the chamber with that jingling, swaying gait that so marked his progress, exiting quickly before Arkády could say anything further, and almost run­ning headlong into Arrhiána.

“My most gracious lady,” he said, before dis­appearing just outside the doorway.

“What a strange scarecrow of a man,” the princess said, shaking her head. “There's something about him that strikes me as wrong, somehow. And that
thing
hanging from his nose!

“At any rate,” she said, before Arkády could comment, “I found your daughter, and she's just fine. I also discovered
this
.”

She held out the missing bell.

“Thank God!” her brother said. “Dúra will be so relieved. Was it Rÿna?”

“I promised not to tell,” Arrhiána said, smiling, “and if you punish her, she'll think I didn't keep my promise to her. So you can't say anything. Besides, she didn't know it was anything important.”

Arrhiána paused, trying to decide how best to pre­sent the problem to her brother.

“Kásha, I'm very concerned about something else concerning Rÿna. While she was playing with the bell, the thing ‘stung' or ‘bit' her somehow, leaving a distinctive mark on her palm. An hourglass.”

“Was it magic?” Arkády asked, immediately on the alert.

“Perhaps...,” his sister said, “but if it is, I can't find any indication of a compulsion in her. And
that
con­cerns me even more. I did examine this little trinket, and there's a telltale wrapped into the silver, which we already knew, but it's been, umm,
altered
somehow, I think. I don't have the words for what I sense there. Not evil ex­actly, not good either, just something very, very different from the magic we're familiar with.

“Kásha,” she said, “I really want to take her to see Granny Brisquayne and Sachette this afternoon.”

“Whatever for?” her brother asked.

“First, of course, because I promised Granny last month that I'd bring Rÿna to visit her before she left for the birthing of her great-grandchild,” Arrhiána said, “and second, because maybe one or both of them can tell us something about this mark. Granny's seen more of the world than you or I can imagine. And Sachette? Well, let's just say she's not truly
of
this plane.”

“You'll have to go alone, then. I can't possibly spare the time to visit Kórynthály today,” the prince told her. “Father has scheduled a hunt for Duke Ferdinand this afternoon, and I must be present, along with our brothers.”

Arrhiána snorted.

“And, of course, hunting is more important than your daughter's well-being! Then please let
me
take her, Arkády. Sometimes we womenfolk have more of a sense of how to deal with these things anyway.”

“All right, all right, Rhie.”

Arkády put both of his hands in the air in surrender, as he so often did with her.

“You win, little goose, you
always
win.”

He laughed out loud, a delightful sound to Arrhiána. It was good to hear him laugh for a change.

“Besides, it'll do her good to get away from this place of sickness,” he added.

“And
you
go have your fun with your hunting and horses and men's games, brother.” Arrhiána smiled lov­ingly back at him.

“
Dear
sister, what
would
I do without you?”

He shook his head, still grinning.

“Now I must run, or father will
really
be mad!”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

“A MEDIUM RAT”

After their noonday meal, the Princess Arrhiána and her niece, the Princess Grigorÿna, prepared to transit to Saint Ióv's Church in Kórynthály.

Arrhiána shooed Márissa away, and supervised her niece's choice of dress herself. Together, they settled on a favorite of Rÿna's, a pale blue satin dress embroidered across the bodice with delicate pink rosebuds, and trimmed about the waist and sleeves in fine Bremenburgan lace. The effect was charming, setting off her bright blue eyes and golden-red curls.

Arrhiána had brushed Rÿna's hair out carefully, combing through the tangles, and smoothing her charge's wild tresses.

“Ouch!” the little princess said, as Arrhiána applied the brush. “Ooh, Auntie, that hurts!”

“That was a
big
rat's nest, wasn't it, Rÿna?”

Arrhiána tried to be a little less vigorous in her at­tack.

“Is this one for a baby rat or a medium rat?”

“That was a medium rat,” the little princess said, then added, “Oh, I wish I didn't have to comb my hair out ever, or wash it, neither. Márissa always hurts when she washes it. Sometimes I wish I was a boy, so I could cut my hair short, like Ari and Siggy.”

“Ssst, dearest, you don't wish that at all. Girls are much more special than boys, don't you think?”

Arrhiána gave her niece a final pat, and let her get down from the chair.

“Ready, now? Shall we go?”

Arrhiána had chosen a gown in royal blue today, sedately cut and trimmed in a pale cream which emphasized her alabaster complexion. She had thankfully given up black, more than a month having passed since poor Dolph's death. With all that had happened, she had decided not to return to a brighter palette just yet, however. She was an arbiter of fashion and decorum at court, and she took this role seriously.

Arrhiána wrapped herself in an ecru shawl knit from the fine Arrhéni wool gathered from her own flock of sheep. She bundled Rÿna in a miniature pink version which she had brought her niece as a special gift when she had returned to court in February.

Holding her niece's tiny hand tightly in her own, Arrhiána guided her onto the transit alcove, and twisted the leys for their short journey. A few moments later, the two stepped out into the vestibule of Saint Ióv's Church in Kórynthály.

“Thank you, Captain Kérés,” Arrhiána nodded, as the
Gardes Élites
sprang to attention.

Giving him a letter marked with Arkády's seal, Ar­rhiána explained her request to the young officer, and she and Rÿna exited from the church through the great bronze doors and out into the brilliant afternoon sunlight. In the distance to the east, Arrhiána could see clouds beginning to roll in from Arrhénë. It promised to rain later.

Surrounded by their bodyguards, they stepped from the brick-paved courtyard to a broad, tree-lined avenue be­yond. From there they set out to walk the short distance to the house of Dowager Queen Brisquayne. As they strolled, Arrhiána pointed out some of the landmarks to Rÿna, chat­tering happily with her over the beds of sweet-smelling spring flowers beginning to push their brightly-colored heads through the rich, dark loam.

Kérés in the meantime dispatched several of his men and a
jinrikisha
to the convent to fetch the Princess Sachette hence in response to the order signed by the hereditary prince.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“IT FEELS LIKE A BUTTERFLY”

“My dears!” said Granny Brisquayne, as she welcomed her two young guests with kisses and hugs, “oh, what a pleasant treat this is for me. Oh, let me look at you both. What a pretty dress, Rÿna. Why, Rhie,” the old woman burst out in amazement before thinking, “I do be­lieve she's the image of Mösza, isn't she? She's going to look just like her, don't you think!”

Arrhiána stiffened, and looked from her grand­mother to her niece.

“I, I'm not sure, Granny,” she said, hesitating. “I never really knew her.”

“Who's Mo-Moëssa, Granny?” the little girl asked.

Granny laughed a little uncertainly, recalling what she had told Arkády and Arrhiána during their earlier visit.

“Why, she was your great-great-aunt, my dear. That was a very long time ago, of course.”

“Where is she now?” Rÿna asked.

“Why, I just don't know!” Brisquayne said, less vibrantly this time. “She didn't tell me where she was going, did she? Now,” she added, changing the subject, “I wonder if we might have some sweets around here for good little girls. Hmmm. Emöke!”

“Yes, lady,” said the servant, abruptly appearing at the door to the salon.

She was a rather plain little serving girl with a pinched, frowning face, wearing a dark, severely tailored gown and crisp, white apron.

“Ah, there you are, Mokey! I haven't seen you for hours and hours,” the old lady said. “Bring some cakes and candies for my little great-granddaughter, and tea for the princess and me,” she added, glancing at Arrhiána, who nodded.

“Very well, lady,” Emöke said dully, ducking her head as she plodded her way down the hall.

“I give up on her,” Brisquayne said, with a resigned shrug of her narrow old shoulders. “Heaven knows I try to teach them some manners, but it's quite impossible. And do they ever thank me for it? No, of course not.

“Oh,” she said, quickly changing the subject again, much to Arrhiána's amusement, “did I remember to tell you that I'm leaving next week?”

Arrhiána nodded affirmatively.

“Of course I did, silly old me,” Granny said. “I must go south, you know, for the birthing of my great-grandchild. Let me see, that'd be your second cousin, Rÿna,” pulling the little girl to her side and pat­ting the child affectionately.

There was a sudden commotion at the front of the house, and the queen's doorman appeared to announce the arrival of Princess Sachette, called Sister Vibiana in con­vent. She entered accompanied by Captain Kérés, who guided her to a chair, then withdrew, bowing respectfully to the ladies.

“Chette!” Arrhiána said, “how good to see you again so soon.”

“Oh, thank you, Rhie, for getting me out of that place, even for a brief time.” Her sister smiled. “Thank you, thank you.”

Arrhiána moved to her sister's chair, and embraced her fondly for one long moment.

“I don't think you've talked with Kásha's daughter Rÿna in quite some time, have you?” Arrhiána said.

She stepped to one side and urged her niece for­ward.

“Is my little angel truly here?” Sachette stretched out her arms. “Oh, may I see her?”

“Of course you may, dearest,” her sister said. “Rÿna, stand very still, please, and let your aunt touch your face with her hands.”

Like a sculptress feeling the shape of the clay that will soon become a work of art, Chette ran her hands gen­tly over the child's soft, flowing locks, then moved to the front of her head, quickly outlining her brow, eyes, nose, cheeks, and mouth, and leaving nothing but love behind.

“Oooh,” said Rÿna, “it feels like a butterfly.”

Sachette giggled.

“You have such a beautiful face,” she told the child. “I can
see
you in my mind's eye.”

“Now, touch her right palm, Chette,” Arrhiána said.

The young woman allowed her two hands to flow down, following the contours of Rÿna's arm, until they fi­nally settled on her outstretched fingers.

“Well, Rÿna,” she said, “I think all five are still there.”

The little girl laughed gaily, a sound like the tin­kling of silver bells.

“But what's this thing here?” Sachette asked.

“Oh, something just stung me in the garden today,” Rÿna said.

“Well, that wasn't very nice, now, was it?”

Sachette continued to explore with her fingers the curves and valleys and swirls of her niece's palm, the leys of her life.

“It cuts across
everything
, Rhie, her whole line, here and here.”

She held the tiny hand open so that Arrhiána and Granny could examine it more closely.

“So I see,” Arrhiána said quietly, centering herself and keeping careful control over her emotions.

“
Who
could have done such a thing to her?”

“It's a making,” Granny said, in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

“A
what?
” both the younger women asked simulta­neously.

“A making. It's a kind of magical working they do somewhere in the east,” the older woman said. “I've only seen a few of them in my lifetime, and that was many years ago. Here, we'd call it a
geas
or a compulsion, but it's not the same thing, really. It binds to the flesh and then stays there until called upon, if ever. Certain condi­tions have to be met for it to act. That's about all I know of such magics, except that there are more things under the sun, Arrhiána, than you may have dreamt of in your phi­losophy.”

“Can you remove it?” Arrhiána asked.

Granny sighed and shook her head.

“Only the one who imposed it can take it back. Eventually, of course, it will work itself out, do whatever it will do, and then fade away.”

“
What
will it do?” Sachette asked.

“Well, that I can't answer, my dears,” Brisquayne said. “I wish I could.”

“I'm scared, Granny,” Rÿna said. “I didn't do anything bad, really I didn't.”

The old lady folded the child into her arms, patting her comfortingly for a moment or two.

“I know you didn't, child, and I don't want you to worry about it. This will probably be nothing. It won't hurt, it won't change you, and when it acts, you won't even know it happened. Now, let's just see if we can find some of those sweets. Mokey? Where are you, girl? I swear, she's as slow as syrup in January, that one.”