Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (15 page)

Fabienne was in Cornelius's suite when we returned, flanked by the Templar and the seamstress. Lisette sat on a low stool not far away, as silent and watchful as ever. The Templar looked up at me when we entered, and the knowledge that a very long and painful discussion on obedience would be happening between us very soon, haunted me.

“Aine, yer services to the Princess are no longer required,” he said abruptly.

“But —” she said on a gasp, and her eyes flew to mine. The question hung between us. How would the Princess make contact if Aine was not there anymore?

He continued. “A wardrobe will be made for ye, an' yer hair addressed. Fabienne has a wig that will make it appear long. Ye will be presented to the King tonight, so come an' be measured. There is much to be done.”

As the Templar passed by me, he said softly, “An' ye will stay in our suite with a guard set a' the door, so that ye are no' tempted to wander.” I felt as though he had landed a blow to my stomach. There was so much I needed to tell him, but I could not address any of it with Fabienne, Lisette, and a seamstress in the suite. The Templar was acting as if I were the enemy. I was confused. I sat on the bench that ran along the far wall, the cold of the stones at my back nothing compared to the chill that had filled my body.

Aine stood before the seamstress with a blank expression. She had not turned my way, nor spoken since our exchange in the Queen's chapel. Her shields were high and I could not sense her emotion, but it was easy to guess that she was still thinking about my dealings with the Princess.

Though I should have, by rights, been thinking of ways to get the carving back from Gaylen, my mind continued to drift back to those moments as well. The kiss we had shared was an oddity I was having trouble reconciling. The Princess had been sad, I reasoned, and I had wanted to give her comfort. She smelled nice and was soft against me, and I could not help but compare her kiss to Aine's.

I watched her now, beneath lowered lids. The kiss of the Princess had been like the flame of a candle, I decided, where Aine's kisses had been like wildfire. Though Aine could not know it, I preferred to be burned.

Dinner with the King was a monumental occasion at court, though if asked, I knew that none of our party saw it as a boon. For the whole of the afternoon, I waited to get the Templar alone to tell him what had happened, but he had left Cornelius's suite soon after we arrived and did not return at all. I waited in frustration, and paced the rooms, agitating both Bran and Aine.

In the end, Cornelius, tired of listening to the barking and bickering, escorted me back to our rooms where a footman of the guard was now stationed. I had no idea what the Templar had told the man or how he had been commissioned, but I had the firm knowledge that his duty was interpreted in one way: I was not to be allowed to leave. I was on edge and annoyed. I was not a bairn to be sent to my pallet.

The Templar had already been here, I noticed. His clothes of the day lay in a pile on the basket of laundry, waiting to be fetched by the palace servants, and the fine linens and silks for court dinners were missing from the wardrobe. I flopped into a chair by the hearth, brooding, where I remained for several interminable marks of the candle.

“Stand aside,” said a voice I recognized from the corridor. My heart leapt and I hurried toward the door.

“But, mademoiselle —” the guard began.

“You will address me as milady or my Princess,” she commanded loftily. “Now remove yourself from this door or you will be turned out for the winter.” She spoke with an authority I doubted any would question.

“
Oui
, milady Princess,” he replied quickly. The clink of a sword accompanied the shuffle of booted feet. I dropped to a bow as the door opened, feeling as skittish as a colt ready to run. What was she doing here? How had she tracked me down in a castle as large and filled as this?

The door swung shut with a creak, and I rose, uncertain what I would see when I did. The Princess was alone. “Ye're resourceful, my Lady Princess,” I said, wondering how it was that I was speaking to her so comfortably.

What might have passed as a smile flitted across her face, but was replaced just as quickly by tightly pressed lips. “You disappeared, as did my manservant,” she said softly. “I had to find you.”

I tipped my head, questioning, and she came to me quickly and seized my hands. My pulse leapt with alarm. “Tormod, he is here. God help him. Your brother is in the lower dungeons and has been there for some time.”

Suddenly, the visions I had come to fear more than any other rose up and filled my world with an agony so deep that I dropped to the floor of the suite and cried out. The Princess was before me, but I could no longer see her.

The smell was sharp and all around me: dirt, blood, sweat, and urine. I gagged and the movement stretched the cracked and weeping skin of my back. I screamed deep in my mind as the pain of burns and whip marks stripped all thought from my head.

Ground, damn ye! Tormod, distance yerself!
The Templar was in my mind, and yet I could not pull myself from my brother. I saw him as I felt him, stripped and huddled in the blackness. His fingers and toes were raw where the rats had bitten. His back was afire, the skin broken and weeping. I reached for his mind to give whatever help I might, but was immediately repelled.

No.
The shout in my head was tortured and rasping.
Get far from here. Now, Tormod!
And with what I could feel was the last of his strength, he drew the power beneath the castle into his mind and forced me out.

“By God, no. I'll not leave ye here.” I sat slowly, remembering at last that the Princess was still here, her hands still entwined with mine, her eyes filled with worry. I squeezed her fingers and released them. “I have to get down there. I've got to get him out.”

“I will help you, I swear it.” Her expression was earnest and I nodded.

“And I will need it.” I stood. “But ye must go now. How can I reach ye again?” I had to get her out of here. The Templar would not be long away.

“The boy who serves in the kitchens. Send your messages through him, and I will do the same.” She gathered up her skirts and moved to the door.

“My Lady Princess?” I asked. She paused and stared at me. “Thank ye.”

She nodded and was gone.

“He is here. And I will wait no more for the politics an' the help that would come from all yer meetings an' plans,” I said when the Templar had barely breached the door.

“Rash actions bring severe consequences, Tormod. I know that ye're worried an' frustrated.”

“This is my brother,” I snapped. “He has been beaten, burned, an' bitten by rats. All in my name. I canno' bear it.” I grasped my head in my hands. “I can still hear it. I can feel it, Alexander.”

“Ye must push it aside, Tormod. Ye are not alone in this. We will work together. But ye must control yerself!”

My mind was already far away, thinking of a way that the Princess could get me into the dungeon. I didn't care if I had to take Torquil's place. I would go to him tonight.

“Don't make me lock ye in here,” he said. I was not surprised that he knew my thoughts. He always did.

I met his eye squarely. “Then that is what ye must attempt, Alexander, for I will not be stopped in this.”

He sighed and sat down in the deep chair beside me. “Together, Tormod. We go in together as brothers as we have been from the beginning.” He offered me his hand and I took it.

“We have the Princess with us as well,” I said as the door to the suite opened.

“An' ye have me,” said Aine.

“An' me,” said Cornelius.

“We will find a way,” Alexander said.

I followed the Princess with a screen of blankness surrounding me. Aine and the Templar Alexander joined my efforts, gently drawing power from beneath the castle, each working to offset the other, both hiding me and all trace of their meddling as I focused only on myself and what needed to be done. It was a difficult task for me, for I was shielding not only the physical appearance of my body, but fear for my brother and my anger at his treatment.

“This is quite irregular, my Princess. The dungeons are no place for you.” The guard feared for her safety and so to whisper that he didn't feel that way would not work. I had to dig deeper and come up with a notion he would believe.
You will protect me. I am unafraid.
His hand closed more tightly on the hilt of his dagger and he stood taller and straighter.

The stairs to the dungeon were brightly lit, and scores of the King's guard stood at attention as we passed. I heard the murmur of “milady” and “Lady Princess” said in shocked whispers, and it took everything I had to keep the whisper flowing.

“Lady Princess, the lower dungeons are foul pits. Will you not change your mind and leave the healer to see to those vermin?” The man rubbed his ears vigorously. My whispered suggestion that he allow the Princess below made him itch.

“The healers are busy seeing to the retinue of the Holy Father. All men are God's children, monsieur, even if they are deep in our dungeons doing penance for their mistakes. It is my duty as Princess to show what pity I can.” Her speech was delivered with heartfelt sincerity. Even without the whisper the man would be hard pressed to deny her golden gaze. “We will begin at the bottom and work our way up. I will take no chances, and you will protect me.” She shifted the grain sack filled with bandages, herbals, poultices, and simples.

The air changed as we descended the old and broken stairs that led to the deepest levels of the dungeons. Cold dampness warred with the rotted smell of bodies, sickness, and human waste. The remainder of my dinner lodged itself in the top of my throat, and I fought the waves of nausea that pummeled me at the scent. The Princess had blanched a sickly shade of white, but to her credit she continued the descent.

The dim light of only a few torches broke the darkness below. The cells were cast in almost total blackness and as we came on the first, the soldier warned the Princess back. “Hold, milady.” He moved ahead toward the iron grate and thrust his torch into the first of the cells. “On your feet! You have a visit from the Royal Princess.” The old man in the cell was covered in filth, and the stench of him watered my eyes. His hair had grown so long that it hung in filthy ropes over his chest and down to his waist. An odd chittering sound came from his mouth, and he huddled close on himself, rocking back and forth.

“Your pity is wasted on that one, Princess,” the guard said. “He's already got a foot in the other world and his mind is gone.”

She stood at the grate holding the bars. The cell was barely large enough to hold him lying flat, and there was no way the low ceiling could allow him to stand at his full height. “Leave him this bread. And double the water.”

The soldier grimaced but answered, “As you wish, my Princess,” and we moved along. Each cell was as bad as the first, and the Princess was moved to enter several. None of the prisoners tried to harm her — most were so badly starved that they could barely lift their heads. To these she called for a bucket of water and ladle to administer the drink herself. She seemed to care naught for the muck that muddied her dress nor the rank filthiness of the men to whom she ministered. As for myself, I was desperate for her to advance. I could feel Torquil ahead and though I would have moved past her and on to him alone, I didn't want to raise alarm.

Sweat rolled down my neck as I steadily pulled the power to continue. I was light-headed, and my knees shivered with the effort. Torquil was badly wounded. I could feel his pain and to help him endure was drawing it into myself. The burns were the worst. My feet felt as if they were twice their size and pulsed with agony.

He was in the fourth cell that we came to and I nearly sobbed at the sight of him. Torquil was barely alive. His face was grotesquely broken and swollen as he lay in the mud where he had fallen. His clothes were stuck to the open and seeping lash marks on his back, and his breeks were dark where he had wet himself beneath the torture. The skin on his legs was black, and his feet were red and covered with blisters.

“Dear Lord, this man needs help,” said the Princess. “Let me in.”

“I beg your pardon, milady, but this one is overseen by the Councillor de Nogaret. It is by his order that none are to go near.” The man was nervous, afraid to get between the Princess and de Nogaret.

“Last I knew I outranked the King's Keeper of the Seal, monsieur. Open the door. Now.” The Princess stood tall and imperious, every inch a royal personage.

The door to the cell was quickly opened, and I circled her as she entered and dropped to his side, holding back the tears that, if allowed, would banish my shielding. I sent a tentative probe into his mind.
Torquil. Can ye hear me?

His eyes fluttered but did not rise and his voice did not greet mine, even mind to mind. I looked to the Princess and motioned that she drop the bag and kneel to cover me. Then quickly I fished inside for the vial that the Templar had Fabienne purchase in the markets. The black liquid had no smell, but of its properties I had been taught. Just a drop, beneath the tongue. I unstoppered the vial and dipped my finger inside, then quickly I opened his mouth and applied it. The Princess took clean linens from her bag and soaked them in water from her flask. Carefully, she stripped the tunic from his back and gently cleaned the welts and applied salve. The legs were beyond her ability and so she was only able to apply ointment to his feet.

All the while the Princess worked on Torquil from the outside the Templar, Aine, and I worked on him from the inside. Power flowed in an unending stream through the floor of the dungeon into my body and out through my fingertips. There I directed it with my mind to the areas most damaged, focusing most on the skin and muscle of his legs.

“I fear this is for naught, Princess. This one is beyond help and I for one do not want to face the Lord Councillor if he should expire while we are about.” I had stopped the whisper of the guard to help Torquil and the suggestion was wearing off. “I think you have done enough good for one day.” He was lifting her bag and drawing her up from the ground.

She looked at me and I nodded. Together we quit the cell without a word.