Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (28 page)
The knight blinked. “No?”
“Mor has insulted me, Lukien. He’s threatening my peace with Reec. I won’t let him ruin all my work, or make a fool of me.”
“So what will you do?” asked Lukien.
Akeela looked away. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to tell Lukien his plans. He let his eyes linger on the library site, and a thin smile came to his face.
“It will be very grand when it’s done,” he said. “You’ll see, Lukien. So will Cassandra and Baron Glass and everyone else. This library will be something special.”
Lukien studied their bleak surroundings. “It doesn’t look like much now, though, does it?”
“Not yet, maybe. But soon.”
“Akeela, I’ve been thinking . . .” Lukien leaned back on the rock. “Maybe Glass is right about the library. Maybe you should stop pouring money into it.”
Akeela raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Until this business with Norvor is over, I mean.”
“No, Lukien,” snapped Akeela, getting to his feet. “Glass is not right. Not about the library, not about anything.”
Lukien put up his hands. “I’m just making a suggestion, that’s all.”
“This library is going to be built. Damn Norvor, and damn Baron Glass.” Akeela pointed a finger in Lukien’s face. “And damn you, too.”
“What?” Lukien leapt to his feet, swatting Akeela’s finger away. “I’m not one of your little serving wenches, Akeela. Don’t you ever say that to me again. I’m on your side, remember.”
Akeela scoffed. “Are you?”
The knight’s expression tightened. “Yes. Why don’t you know that any more? Why don’t you trust me?”
Seeing himself in a losing argument, Akeela shook his head and sighed. “All right. I shouldn’t have said that to you.” He sat back down on the rock. “I have too much to deal with, I guess. It’s maddening me.”
The explanation appeased Lukien, who nodded. “I know you’re worried about Cassandra, too. How is she?”
Akeela couldn’t help himself. He asked, “Why do you ask that?”
“Because I haven’t seen her for days,” said Lukien.
“She isn’t well,” said Akeela. “Something with her stomach; I don’t know.”
“Then she should see a physician.” Lukien’s tone was brittle. “Quickly, don’t you think?”
“She doesn’t want to see a physician, Lukien. She doesn’t do everything I tell her, you know.”
“You’re her husband. You can insist on it.”
Akeela laughed bitterly. “I’m her husband! I don’t think that makes much difference to Cassandra.”
“Akeela, what are you talking about?” asked Lukien in exasperation. “You’re not making sense.”
Akeela waved him away. “Go back to Lionkeep, Lukien. Tell Baron Glass to leave his declaration with all the others. When I’m ready to talk,
I
will send for
him
.”
I
will send for
him
.”
“Won’t you come back with me?”
“No. I’m not done here yet.”
Lukien stared at him for a moment, but Akeela would not meet his gaze. Finally the knight turned away. Dejected, he returned to his horse and rode off. Akeela watched him go. He didn’t like shunning Lukien, but he didn’t know if he could still trust the knight.
“Damn it all,” he muttered. “I have to know!”
His brief time with Cassandra had taught him something about her. She loved trinkets, and never got rid of anything. If there was any evidence linking her to Lukien, she would still have it, squirreled away somewhere.
Sure that he would go mad without the truth, Akeela resolved to find it.
An hour later, Akeela was once again inside Lionkeep. Still in his damp clothes, he went straight to the private wing he shared with Cassandra, skirting his underlings along the way and refusing to speak to anyone but Warden Graig, who told him that Baron Glass had gone. When Akeela asked the Head Warden about Cassandra, Graig reported that the queen was gone, too. Apparently her handmaid Jancis had convinced her to leave her sickbed behind and get some air. Relieved, Akeela headed toward his lavish rooms, telling Graig not to disturb him. He was nervous suddenly, and wondered if his furtiveness showed. But Cassandra was out of their chambers very rarely lately, and Akeela knew he had to move fast.
The hallway leading to their wing was empty. His boots fell hard on the floor, echoing through the hall. The servants had gone, for without Cassandra to look after they had a much needed break, letting Akeela make his way undisturbed to their bedchamber. It was an elaborate, many-chambered room featuring a high ceiling and wide hearth. A canopied bed draped with linens stood against the western wall. Akeela didn’t bother to strip off his wet things. He could smell sickness in the air, the staleness of Cassandra’s lingering breath, and for a moment he felt ashamed. She was ill, and he still loved her, no matter what she might have done. But illnesses passed. Adultery was forever.
He looked around the room, studying the shelves and mantle. Both were lined with trinkets Cassandra had collected from her years in Reec. There were urns and pretty plates, etched glassware and statuettes, all in feminine patterns and colors. But none of these things were unusual or new, and Akeela knew any evidence against his wife wouldn’t be on public display. Studying the room, he took stock of the furniture. She would keep her private things very close to her, he decided. Discounting the bed, his eyes came to rest on Cassandra’s wardrobe in the dressing room. He had never been into her wardrobe because there had never been a need to, and that made it the perfect hiding place.
Akeela listened for a moment then, sure that no one would disturb him, went into the dressing room and opened the wardrobe. The tiny chamber smelled of perfume. Unsure of what he was looking for, he began rifling through Cassandra’s garments. She had brought a lot of clothing with her from Hes, and many more items had been given to her by the noblewomen of Koth. The wardrobe bulged with garments, making the search difficult. There were tiny drawers filled with jewelry and shelves with hairpins and brooches. Akeela searched these, too, finding nothing extraordinary. He even found the bracelet Baron Glass had given Cassandra when he’d met her. It was a pretty thing, but Cassandra hadn’t thought so, relegating it to her wardrobe with her less cherished items. Akeela felt suddenly foolish. There was nothing in the wardrobe linking Cassandra and Lukien.
“Who’s betraying whom?” he wondered. He shook his head, laughing. “What a fool I am.”
He was about to close the wardrobe when a slim, white item at his feet caught his eye. There, barely visible beneath the wardrobe, was a piece of paper. Akeela’s heart stopped. His eyes lingered on the sliver.
Not in the wardrobe,
he told himself.
Under it.
he told himself.
Under it.
He went to his knees and reached beneath the hulking furniture, barely able to squeeze his hand into the space. With his fingers he tried prying out the paper, but found that it wouldn’t yield. Lowering his head to the floor, he peered beneath the wardrobe with one eye and discovered why. There were dozens of similar papers, all stacked upon each other and corded together with yellow ribbon. Each had been carefully folded in the same exact fashion. Akeela struggled to get his hand into the space. Finally he seized the bundle and pulled it forth. Sitting up with the papers on this lap, he undid the yarn and unfolded the first one. What he read made his heart sink.
It was a love note. It described a brief and beautiful interlude in an apple orchard, using words like “honey” and “rapture.” Akeela’s hand trembled as he read. Cassandra’s name was all over the page, but Lukien’s was nowhere. Even the signature was furtive. Lukien had simply called himself “your adoring servant.” But it was unmistakably the knight’s script, and it proved Trager’s every detail correct. Unable to stop himself, Akeela read another letter, then another, all written by the same treacherous hand.
He felt sick. He had believed the worst, but only partially. There had always been hope, and that had kept him alive. Now he was truly alone, and he was enraged. There were no tears this time, only an endless ocean of madness. He slammed the letters down into his lap and clumsily began tying them together again. When he was done he shoved the packet roughly under the wardrobe. Let Cassandra wonder if she’d been discovered—he didn’t care.
“Bitch!” he spat. “After all I’ve done for you.”
And then there was Lukien; sweet, deceptive Lukien. What could be done with a man like that? Akeela closed his eyes, imagining punishments. He could execute Lukien for what he’d done, but he knew he could never order such a thing. Like Cassandra, he still loved Lukien.
“Betrayal,” he whispered. “It is everywhere.”
Very slowly he got to his feet. He heard voices in the distance, footsteps coming closer. He straightened. It would be Cassandra, returning from her walk. His anger cresting, he stepped out of the dressing room and into the bedchamber, resolving to confront her. Jancis’ voice rang down the hall, coming closer. Akeela went to the door and flung it open . . .
. . . and saw Cassandra’s death-white face.
“Cassandra!”
Cassandra’s body hung limply at Jancis’ side, propped up by the maid’s arms. She was stooped and groaning, holding her midsection and straggling toward the bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” Akeela demanded. “Cassandra?”
Cassandra shook her head, able to speak only in moans.
“She’s very ill,” said Jancis. “Help me get her to bed.”
Akeela took over, carefully lifting Cassandra into his arms. She let out a wail, closing her eyes. Tears squeezed past her eyelids. Akeela rushed her into the bedroom.
“Jancis, what happened? What’s wrong with her?”
As Akeela placed Cassandra into the bed, Jancis explained, “We were in the garden, talking. I thought she should get out for a while, get some air. Then she started moaning.” The girl looked at her mistress, her eyes full of worry. “I’m sorry, my lord. It’s . . .” She stopped herself.
Akeela whirled on her. “What?”
“It’s an old sickness, my lord. She’s been this way for months.” Jancis bit her lip. “I think it’s getting worse.”
“Months?”
Akeela erupted. He turned to Cassandra, who was breathing hard. “Cassandra, is that so?”
Akeela erupted. He turned to Cassandra, who was breathing hard. “Cassandra, is that so?”
His wife nodded weakly. “I’m sorry, Akeela.” She began to sob. “Please help me. It hurts . . .”
Akeela hurried a hand onto her face. “All right,” he soothed. “I’m here, love. Don’t worry.” He turned to Jancis. “Get Gwena in here. And send for my physician!”
The maid raced out of the room. Akeela took Cassandra’s fragile hand in his own. It was bony from lack of food. Her eyes were sallow.
“Cassandra, why didn’t you tell me you were so sick?” he begged. He was angry again, this time at the thought of losing her. “Tell me why.”
“I . . .” Cassandra swallowed. Her voice was thin. “I wanted to come to Koth. If I was sick, my father wouldn’t have let me.”
The confession rattled Akeela. So did her sunken cheeks. She began crying in earnest.
“Akeela, I’m frightened.” She put her hands to her stomach. “My insides . . .”
“Don’t worry,” said Akeela. He stroked her hair. “The physician is coming soon. It’s going to be all right.”
She opened her eyes. “Will it, Akeela? Do you promise?”
Akeela’s smile was inscrutable. “I promise. I’m never going to let you go, Cassandra.”
14
A
cancer.
cancer.
Physician Oric had been with Cassandra less than an hour before making his diagnosis. The dreadful conclusion turned Akeela white. He knew what tumors were, of course, but up until that moment he had only heard it used in regard to strangers. No one meaningful to him had ever perished from such growths, and it seemed impossible that it should strike so young a woman. Physician Oric had come out of Cassandra’s bedchamber looking gray and harried. Akeela had been waiting in the hallway. Gwena and Jancis and some of the other castle women were with him, and when he’d heard it was a tumor the young king had fallen against the wall, nearly collapsing. In that moment, he could have forgiven Cassandra anything, and the adultery she had done was as nothing compared to the love he felt for her. Barely able to speak, he had made old Oric repeat the word again to be sure he’d heard it.
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