Scrivener's Tale (51 page)

Cassien cleared his throat again and forced himself to say it. ‘Forgive me, your majesties, but I believe Tentrell kissed Princess Darcelle, or so the telltale cherry juice suggests.' He expected howls but he was given only frigid silence. ‘I'm sorry,' he added.

Tamas growled and launched himself at Cassien, but fell into the yielding softness of air; the champion had leapt nimbly, dancing back silently.

‘I'm going to flay the very skin from your frame for that accusation.'

Cassien shook his head. ‘And pigs might fly, your majesty. You won't even get close enough to reach me with that Ciprean sword.'

Tamas yelled and drew his sword with a rasping sound of iron. He looked astonished to see a magnificent sword, already drawn, already poised to strike, just a hair's breadth from his throat.

‘I serve the Queen of Morgravia. I have no duty to the King of Cipres, so put your blade away, majesty. I alone have permission to draw a weapon in her company.' Cassien's tone was chilling.

‘Stop! Both of you!' Florentyna commanded. ‘Kill each other later. I have more important matters than watching you two making each other's hackles rise. We're all on the same side here. And Cassien, you'd better be prepared to back up your alarming claim with fact. Why would Darcelle lie for Tentrell? And what has that got to do with his death?'

The men stared angrily at each other. It was Tamas who sheathed his sword first, which again impressed Cassien. Only a confident king would do so in service of the common good. So he apologised, bowing low to the sovereign of Cipres. ‘Forgive me, your majesty. As you say, these are strange times and if I'm overly protective of our queen, you can surely understand why.'

‘Answer Florentyna's question.'

‘I sense Darcelle's protecting him.'

‘He's a stranger. I can say with all confidence that she has never met the man previously. Please, Tamas, believe me,' Florentyna offered.

The king glanced at Cassien. ‘Be very careful.'

‘Let's go to the chapel,' Cassien said. ‘I'll show you what I saw. Make up your own minds. One more thing.' They both looked expectantly at him. ‘This permission from Burrage,' he waved the parchment, ‘makes it very clear that it was for the picnic only.' He looked between them. ‘Tentrell took it upon himself to ease his way past the guards and into this courtyard.'

In her bath, Princess Darcelle allowed the warm suds to soothe away her fears … at least that's what she conveyed to her maids, begging them to leave her alone so she could have just a few moments of peace to gather her thoughts.

They agreed, but said they would be standing on the other side of her chamber door. When the door latch clicked and she heard the key turn in that lock — for they were taking no chances on this strange day — a smile stretched across Princess Darcelle's cherry-stained mouth.

And her smile was heavy with old cunning.

I didn't know you could do that, my love
, Aphra said, her voice full of awe.
The magic has evolved
.

Not really
, Cyricus replied, amused.
It's taken my knowledge to change it. You don't give me enough credit, Aphra
.

Change it? Then why did my form as Angelina have to die? I rather liked it and I know you would have.

You're not thinking, are you? We couldn't have a disturbance in the worlds. The body of Angelina belonged there, not here. I'm more likely to grieve the loss of Gabriel's body. I don't like being female — makes me think of Lyana,'
Cyricus said and spat at the bathwater.

But the kiss. How did you do it? It's so clean; no messy death
.

Cyricus chuckled, his hate for the goddess instantly set aside.
Well, you see, in Myrren's view, when she first cast this spell, she was so full of anger, her need for vengeance so raw, she designed her magic to be spiteful. In every way it was harmful … to its host and to the victims it worked on. It was such a cynical magic, I continue to be impressed by it. But I've had centuries to lick my wounds, Aphra. My anger is so cold, it has turned white in my mind. It's now a thing of pure, hard beauty. It feels nothing but the satisfaction of seeing itself coming to fruition. And it is patient. My revenge will be taken slowly, painfully and without the mistakes that anger prompts. Myrren's magic demanded pain and blood. I don't need to hurt people like Darcelle … she's irrelevant — nothing more than a host. I just want her dead — her spirit gone. Did you feel her fright?

I did, my love. I revelled in her fear
.

And she fled to her god, allowing us to enter her body — so much neater, don't you think, than how we entered Gabe, or you entered Angelina, leaving our former hosts bloodied? This way is neat, painless, soundless. And imagine, the last physical sensation she felt was a kiss … infinitely more subtle than a blade
.

I wonder what they'll make of Gabriel's death?
Aphra remarked.
What if someone knows he's not the real Tentrell?

It was time to leave Gabe's body. I had hoped to hang on to it a little longer, but I have a grander plan about my ultimate host, so I can wait. I suspect Gabe's body will be laid out somewhere and hopefully forgotten about for the time being as the queen has much to deal with. The news of Tentrell's death will still be filtering through and it will be assumed the gardener killed him. Now we have a beautiful new host. It's odd to be a woman, I'll admit, but it makes the cunning of this magic so much more fun. They have no idea who is among them!

That bodyguard of the queen was suspicious
.

I noticed. Cassien is his name. I won't forget it either. But he's suspicious of only things mortal, my love. He has no idea what has come to visit Morgravia
.

He laughed and Aphra joined him as Cyricus dipped Darcelle's beautiful body even deeper into the warm depths of the bath.

King, queen and Cassien arrived at the chapel. There was a ring of stern-looking Morgravian guards around it, who stood to attention at the sight of the trio.

‘Is Father Cuthben here?' Florentyna asked the most senior of the men who approached.

Cassien noticed that she looked relieved when the soldier who greeted them said that the priest had left his apologies. ‘He felt it necessary to accompany the, er … the others to the cathedral, your majesty.'

‘I understand. So the three corpses are laid out?'

He nodded. ‘As you instructed.'

‘Let us in, please,' she said and the guard unlocked the door, holding it ajar while the queen and her companions filed in.

‘Send word,' Cassien told the man, ‘for the boy called Hamelyn to be brought here. The queen's servants know him.' He could use Ham's insightful observations right now and he needed to know if the sword was talking. The idea of a fit man dropping dead in front of Darcelle was not acceptable to him.

The door closed solidly behind them.

Inside, the stained glass was of rich, deep colours, which allowed only a small amount of daylight to leak in. The candles burned steadily and gave off a comforting glow. It was dry and cold — very cold. Convenient for the corpses, Cassien thought, and noticed the queen shiver.

She had moved to stand over Saria's body, reaching to touch the woman's hand. It must feel like ice by now, Cassien imagined. They would have to bury her tomorrow as his keen sense of smell told him it would be hours only before everyone would smell the same bouquet of decay.

‘This is the Dowager Saria,' Florentyna explained to Tamas and as she spoke, Cassien stopped listening to her, looking around.

He saw Burrage, fully robed and bedecked in his chancellor's finery, hair tidied, hands placed neatly across his middle. Cassien looked for the third and most recent corpse and turned to search in the other direction, frowning.

‘Cassien?' the queen queried.

‘Where's Tentrell?' he said. He could now see where the body must have been placed. The pallet was in place, set away from the two more important chapel guests, but it was empty.

‘They said there were three,' Tamas added, swivelling to check he wasn't mistaken.

There was a knock at the door. Florentyna nodded at Cassien. He opened it. Saw Hamelyn waiting with a guard dwarfing him.

‘Come in. Er, Fend, is that your name?' he called to the man who'd first spoken to them, as Hamelyn pushed inside, looking unsure of why he'd been called.

‘It is, sir,' the senior man said.

‘Three corpses laid out, you say?'

The man looked at him as though he were mad. ‘Yes,' he said, reaching for patience. ‘I checked the merchant's laying out personally.'

Cassien closed the door, every muscle on alert and glanced at Ham. ‘Is it talking?'

‘Very disturbed,' the boy said, ‘especially right now.'

Cassien drew the sword.

‘Shar! What are you doing?' Florentyna asked.

‘Behind me, majesty,' he growled, ‘now!'

She quickly moved to his back. ‘Cassien?'

‘Hush,' he cautioned. ‘Tamas?' he said, ignoring protocol.

He knew the king was drawing his sword as quietly as he could, but the sound of the metal echoed off the walls with a piercing ring.

‘Behind the queen. Watch her back,' he ordered and heard the king step into place.

‘What in the name of gods are we looking for?' Tamas murmured.

‘Cassien!' It was Hamelyn.

His gaze swung to the boy, who nodded his head up and into the darkest shadows at the back of the chapel.

Cassien followed Ham's line of sight and although fear was not a word that held many connotations for him, he felt it now, like a cold wind blowing through him, forming itself into a mass to settle in his gut. Staring back at him from the shadows, suspended on a ledge, where he'd presumably hoped to remain hidden, was Tentrell.

Cassien hissed with the anxiety that suddenly released itself. How had he missed the demon's presence in the palace when he'd roamed? ‘Show yourself, demon!' he snarled.

The man dropped to the floor, stumbling. The queen gave a low, short cry and Cassien was aware of Tamas pulling Florentyna behind him.

‘What the —?' the king breathed.

Tentrell took a stumbling step forward, his hands held up in defence. ‘Wait!' he said.

‘I will strike you down, Cyricus,' Cassien promised. ‘And send you back to —'

‘Cassien, listen to me!' It was Hamelyn. He must have been yelling at him, but he hadn't heard. Cassien only had eyes for the demon, who was babbling. All he could hear was the sound of his pulse pounding and the slower rhythm of his heart and breathing as he prepared himself.

Ham shook him. ‘Listen!'

He glared at the boy.

‘The sword is not frightened of him,' Ham must have repeated. He looked vaguely exasperated.

‘What?'

‘It's welcoming him, like it welcomes you. This is not the demon.'

Cassien's gaze narrowed as he let go of the urge to hurl himself at the resurrected body.

‘I am not Tentrell,' the man yelled at them. ‘Hear me out. I know this is frightening, but I'm just as frightened. Please put away that sword.'

‘It stays right where it is,' Cassien promised.

The man nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Then, please, just listen to what I have to say.'

The queen emerged from behind her keepers. ‘Speak, I will listen.'

‘Thank you, your majesty.' The impostor staggered. ‘Forgive me, I am very weak. I have much to explain. Do not let us be interrupted.'

‘By whom?' Tamas joined in. ‘No-one is —'

‘By your betrothed, King Tamas. Your sister, Queen Florentyna. She is now one of the damned … My name is Gabriel.'

At the queen's recognition of the name that Pel had mentioned, she permitted him to begin his tale. He told them a story of such incredible breadth they each stared, incredulous, until he finished, his head hung low. He was visibly shaking from the retelling and the cold, and what seemed to be the powerful magic he'd used to not only keep himself alive, but to reinvigorate his body.

They were so silent with shock that Cassien could hear the flames of the candles burning and the sigh of the oaken doors that settled now and then against the chill.

It was Hamelyn who broke the stillness and smashed through the frigidity of the four others gathered there. He stood up from where he'd crouched to listen and wrapped a blanket that had been folded at the feet of Burrage around the shoulders of the shivering man.

‘You need this more than Chancellor Burrage,' he said kindly.

‘You say you're not from this place,' Florentyna repeated, frowning, ‘but a land called Paris.'

He nodded, gave a wry smile. ‘So very far away, majesty.'

‘But magic brought you here,' she qualified.

‘Evil, trickster magic. As I explained, I have been a host for two demons. I brought the swan quill, which was given to me by a man called Reynard.' The queen gasped. ‘Good, I'm glad you know him. I hoped it would make you curious and try and learn more because I didn't know how to reach out to anyone from the secrecy of my own body. But this man who calls himself Cassien seems to know exactly what I'm talking about.'

Cassien took a breath. ‘I can't lie. What you say rings true.'

‘Then you must know that they think I'm dead. They've killed to get here. They'll keep on doing it.'

‘Is Reynard dead?' the queen asked.

Gabe shook his head. ‘Not when I last saw him.'

‘Shar's grace,' she whispered and wiped a tear. ‘Thank you.'

Tamas's deep voice came from the back of the chapel, where he'd sat brooding. ‘They've killed Darcelle. Is that what you're telling us?'

Gabe nodded, and spoke softly but firmly so neither Florentyna nor Tamas would hold out hope that Darcelle might resurrect as he had. ‘Yes, your majesties. I can confirm it. She is as dead to you as Burrage over there. I am sorry for you.' Florentyna sucked in a breath of shock, and Cassien hated to see that no matter how she fought it, she couldn't contain the mewling sounds of grief. He wanted to comfort her, but she naturally leaned toward Tamas — almost family — who immediately and equally naturally put an arm around her, he too looking ashen. ‘She did not wish it, sire. Cyricus is so persuasive; he seduced her, and in kissing her was able to move into her with his loathed companion, Aphra.'