Starcrossed (50 page)

“We had to let her go,” Lyll said tiredly. “She made her choice; she packed her things and left with the Inquisitor’s men.”

Stupid girl. I knew she didn’t have any ideals, and now she would be deprived of the comforts she prized so much, as well. It would take the army weeks to get anywhere she could lodge in luxury. And more than that, I think the Nemair had genuinely been fond of her, as fond as anyone could be. I knew they felt responsible for her — and look how she’d paid them back.

“The guards also recovered Lord Daul’s body,” Wierolf put in gently. “He, uh — landed just outside their camp. There’s no question he’s dead.”

I let out a sigh and felt my ruined hand unclench. “Berdal?”

Antoch answered. “The lad’s fine. A little embarrassed, but unharmed. We found him tied up in the attic. Don’t judge him too harshly — he took quite a knock on the head.”

“But the Inquisition — Werne — the army?” They may have left the castle, but they were still camped, two-hundred-fifty strong, on our doorstep.

The prince darted a glance, full of meaning, toward Lyll, then back to me. “I have a plan for them,” he said. “It will require the assistance of the Lady Merista, when she’s feeling up to it.”

Meri looked alarmed, but nodded. “Yes, Your Highness,” she said.

Lyll cried, “Absolutely not! I forbid it!”

“You can’t forbid me, Mother, I’m an adult now,” Meri said reasonably, and all of us were shocked to silence.

Finally Antoch broke into a giant laugh that shook the room. “That’s my girl.” He leaned down and patted me on the head in an affectionate way I kind of loved him for. “Come now, ladies, Highness. Give the girl some room to rest.” He ushered Lady Lyll and the prince toward the door, but Meri lingered.

“I’ll stay with Celyn,” she said. She’d had by far a worse day than mine, but here she was, moving smoothly through the room with a calm confidence that was oddly familiar.

As they filed out, Wierolf bent down to my level, though I saw him wincing, and whispered something in my ear. “If you were my sister, I’d have taken better care of you.”

Meri stood beside the bed and poured me a shallow draught of warmed-over wine. Her pale face was whipped with red, her own fingertips spotted white — I’d forgotten she’d been out in the snow for as long as I had — and her wrists were raw from the silver chains.

“Was he really your brother?” she asked.

I took the wine she offered. “Say he’s very like me, and I swear by Marau I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

She smiled a little, holding the goblet to my lips, then stood back and looked at me gravely. “Thank you,” she said, almost whispering.

“Sweet little Meri.” My voice sounded thick and — silly, and after a second I couldn’t remember what I’d said. “Sly little Meri — you drugged me?”

“Poppy,” she said, a note of quiet triumph in her voice. “Prince Wierolf said we’d have to trick you into taking it.”

For a moment I couldn’t fix her in my vision, and then I was too tired to try. I felt something thick and heavy at the end of my hand bounce softly against the bed, and then the warmth of Meri climb ing into bed behind me. Warm arms wrapped around my body, legs tucked behind my own. A soft voice breathed against my ear, “Good night, Celyn.”

I slept through that night, and they tried to keep me in bed the next morning too, but the poppy only brought me nightmares of snow and knives and men with blood in their beards. Besides, there was too much going on. I eased myself out of the bed, wincing as I rediscovered every one of my injuries. My hand hurt obscenely — burning and throbbing, and I gave it about ten seconds before I was seeking out a knife to strip the wretched bandages off again.

The door cracked open, and I started guiltily, spinning round to find the prince standing in Meri’s doorway.

“Wierolf! I’m half naked!” My voice sounded rusty. I gave a cough.

“Fair’s fair,” he said cheerfully. “Leave that alone or
it will never heal
.” He strode across the room and threw open the lid to the clothes chest. He pulled out an ivory damask robe of Meri’s and helped me slip my bulky arm through the sleeve.

“Have you eaten? Here —” He produced a roll from inside his own jerkin. It was flecked with wooly fluff.

“Whose clothes are those?”

Wierolf paused a moment to display a dun-brown coat and buckskin breeches. “Do you approve? It turns out there’s a man-at-arms here who is very nearly of royal stature himself.”

“Berdal.”

The prince snapped his fingers. “That’s the one. A good man.”

Prince Wierolf’s man.
“Yesterday, in the courtyard —”

“Oh, yes. Everyone’s talking about how Celyn just-a-maid was plucked from the snow by the gallant prince of Hanival. He’s quite the hero, I understand.”

“No, I mean —” I sounded impatient. “Why did you come back?”

He lowered himself to the window seat. “Why did you jump off the bailey? We’re not runners, Digger, neither of us. The work was here. The danger was
here.
”

“The Inquisitor is here,” I added pointedly.

“Ah, yes. Your reunion with your brother sounded very . . . exciting.”

I gave a snort. “Meri’s
kernja-velde
was ruined.”

“Oh, come now. I’m sure this is one birthday she won’t soon forget.”

“No, and she’ll stop thanking me eventually too,” I said. “I really should travel more — I spread such good fortune wherever I go.”

“That’s Tiboran’s girl,” he said, grinning and rumpling my hair. Nobs.

Instead of blasting us from the mountain and grinding us to dust, the commander of the Green Army agreed to meet with the Nemair and discuss terms by which we might all achieve a peaceable outcome to this situation. This would be the rebels’ opportunity to present their documented grievances and demands to Bardolph’s representative. I knew how much hope Lady Lyll had for this meeting, and I was concerned. I didn’t believe Werne would listen, much less negotiate.

We gathered inside the east tower, overlooking the courtyard and the valley. We didn’t have the Green Army’s numbers, but we had the advantage of height — particularly Wierolf’s. They’d found him a set of clothes that more or less fit, a nob’s suit, all velvet and fur and damask, but it was Wierolf himself that made them look regal. All the Bryn Shaer Sarists were there — Wellyth, Sposa, Eptin Cwalo, and the Cardom, who were looking very pleased with themselves. And Meri, dressed in sober gray, her hair braided round her head and tucked beneath a caul, looking every inch Nemair: the grown-up, in de pen dent daughter of this house, though she’d had rather a different coming-of-age than anyone had planned. I saw that she’d left her necklaces off this morning.

Lyll and Antoch arrived last, leading with them a party I scarcely recognized, without their ragged bandits’ clothes. Reynart stepped forward, absolutely splendid in brilliant violet robes, a silver star blazing at the breast, his longish hair billowing. He gave me a bow, and reached out for my good hand. A thrill went through me as my fingertips touched his, and his hand blazed up in a flash of glittering light. Following behind Reynart were Stagne, Kespa the healer, the Giant and his little daughter, even the
dog
— all in purple (the dog wore an improb able star-embroidered kerchief round its thick neck). They were twenty-one strong including Meri, who turned back the sleeves on her gown to reveal their purple silk lining. Suddenly, I was fiercely proud of her.

Were these all the wizards in Llyvraneth? Reynart had told me they weren’t very strong without power like Meri’s, Channeling the magic so the Casters could shape it into some useful form. The brief display I’d seen, of Meri and Stagne playing with light and fire, hadn’t seemed that threatening — but Werne might think otherwise. Any magic provoked him, even my slight trace, and I doubted that the Confessors, much less the average Green Army soldier, had even a fraction of Reynart’s understanding of Sar’s gifts.

“It’s almost midday,” the prince said cheerfully. “Let’s see if they’ve sent their men. Lady Nemair, if you’ll lead the way?”

The thirty-odd of us climbed to the top of the tower. Below us, the two dozen liveried Nemair guards — including Berdal — were conspicuously stationed throughout the courtyard and armed with firearms instead of pikes. Among them, wearing makeshift black or gray sashes, were the men Berdal and Lord Antoch had recruited. Overnight, somehow, they had pulled out the artillery, pointing the cannon muzzles down on the ridge below, so it looked like we might well be hiding a much greater force.

I looked at the prince, tall and fierce behind those cannon, the Sarists a wall of violet behind him, the black-and-silver Nemair guards like a strong chain around the courtyard, and my pulse quickened. Lyll and Wierolf knew how to bluff.

The Nemair guards threw open the siege gates, their brisk boots making the first prints in the fresh snow. Waiting outside on the ledge stood a knot of soldiers and horsemen in green, Werne like a dark flame at their heart.

Lady Lyll’s impassive face was turned down upon the soldiers marching on her home. The plan had changed, I realized — if the Nemair were up
here
, not down in the courtyard below, they must not be planning to parley after all.

Bardolph’s men rode in, and a soldier riding beside Werne — their commander, I’d gathered, a man called Llars — looked around the courtyard, his expression growing dark. He leaned over in the saddle to speak to the Inquisitor.

Werne looked up at us, contempt briefly flashing across his composed face. “Celys commands us to be merciful in our correction of Her wayward children,” he said. “But correct them we must. Residents of Bryn Shaer, the Goddess gives you this one chance to deliver unto Her servants the woman Merista Nemair and her waiting woman, called Celyn, and the rest of you will be spared. If you refuse, Celys’s justice will be swift and —”

“I think we’ve heard enough.” Wierolf’s voice was soft, but it carried, halting Werne mid-sentence. Clearly not used to being interrupted, he just
stared.

“Do you know who I am?” the prince asked, almost conversationally.

Werne squinted up at him. “The Holy Church does not recognize you or your authority in these proceedings!”

“Well, what about the army?”

“Your Highness,” the commander said. He sounded grudging, as if he was trained to respect those who outranked him, and yet as a soldier in the king’s army, he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge Wierolf’s exis tence or position.

“Good. Are you authorized to speak on behalf of Bardolph?”

Llars paused, and his men grew restless. The Nemair guard eased forward gently, almost imperceptibly. Lyll and Antoch, flanking Wierolf, watched the commander become more uneasy.

At last he said, “No.”

Lyll was expressionless. They never meant to parley, then. The rebels’ document would have been useless.

“I speak for the Goddess!” Werne said. “And I demand you produce the two heretics before we destroy you!” He kicked his mule forward, but Llars grabbed its reins.

“But you
don’t
speak for this army,” the commander said harshly. “Keep to your own purview, your Grace.” Werne turned to him, a look of stunted hatred on his face.

“Gentlemen, please.” Wierolf stepped forward, leaning lightly on the tower wall. “Your quarrel with me is so much more entertaining. Now. Let’s discuss the situation in which we find ourselves. These good people” — he gestured toward Lady Lyll and her rebels — “came prepared for a civilized and productive negotiation, but as no one here seems able to represent His Majesty’s views in this matter, you’ll simply have to convey a message on our behalf instead. I presume you
are
authorized to do that.”