The Fire Dragon (21 page)

“What about my wife?”

“Naught, Your Highness. Not a wrong word about her, truly. But that bard, the silver dagger—well, I've heard that he aims above himself, hanging around her all the time as he does.”

“I asked him to guard her myself.” Maryn's voice had grown dangerously low. “If you've forgotten that.”

“Not at all, Your Highness, and I beg your pardon. It's just that I hear things, his being so much in her company and all. That perhaps he has it in mind to take liberties.”

“I can't believe it,” Maryn snapped. “Not Maddyn! He's the most loyal man I've ever met.”

“I'd not believe it of the princess, either.” Nevyn felt himself shaking with sheer rage. “Councillor Oggyn, you'd best have proof of these statements.”

“I never meant a word against the princess!”

“Indeed?” Maryn got up from his chair. “Then why have you even brought the matter up?”

Oggyn went dead-white and sat gulping for breath.

Abruptly Maryn stepped forward and leaned over him, braced himself on the arms of the chair, and leaned the more until his face was a few scant inches from the councillor's.

“What made you bring it up?” Maryn growled.

“There was one night.” Oggyn was gasping for each word. “Her serving women couldn't find her. They looked all over. No sign of the bard, either. Finally, your lady turned up out in the ward, carrying a lantern, but she wouldn't say where she'd been.”

Maryn let go the chair and straightened up, considered Oggyn for a moment, then slapped him so hard across the face that the councillor squealed and writhed.

“I'll ask you again,” Maryn said. “Do you swear this is true?”

Tears filled Oggyn's eyes, but he nodded. “I swear it,” he whispered.

“Very well.” Maryn turned to Nevyn. “Let's have this out right now. Fetch my pages. Get my lady and her women down to the great hall. I want to know the truth of this.”

“You're making a grave mistake,” Nevyn said. “I'd judge this thing in private if I were you.”

“You're not me,” Maryn said. “Tell me, is Oggyn lying about this tale?”

Nevyn hesitated, tempted to the very heart of him. He could lie and dismiss Oggyn's story right there and then. Oggyn had slumped down in his chair and was snivelling as if he feared that very thing. But the gossip won't end, Nevyn thought. “Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “He's telling the truth that he heard it. This says naught about the truth of the tale itself.”

“Very well, then, we'll thrash this out right now. I won't have gossip spreading about my wife. The great hall will witness the true or false of this, and then there won't be any idle gossip.”

“But the humiliation—”

“Maybe it will teach her to watch herself better.” Maryn's face flushed white, then red. “Running about the ward at night, ye gods! Most likely she was just going to find one of her cursed inscriptions or suchlike, but she should
have considered what people would think of it. By all the gods, she's going to be queen! Now go fetch those pages! I'm not going to stand here and argue about it any longer.”

Outside the gathering clouds of a summer storm began to darken the afternoon, but Bellyra felt the first small signs that her birthing madness might be leaving her. For the first time in several months, she found herself thinking about the history of the royal dun. The pages of her book-to-be lay on a table by the window, where she'd left them on the day she went into labor. Elyssa had been dusting them daily and straightening the heap of cut parchments.

“You know, Lyss,” Bellyra said. “I'm thinking I might read over what I've written so far.”

“Splendid!” Elyssa said. “Shall I fetch the pages?”

Before Bellyra could answer, the door banged open, and Nevyn strode in. She had never seen him or any man so angry, his head thrown a little back, his face dead-white with rage, his eyes snapping. It seemed that he exuded rage the way melted iron exudes heat, trembling the air around him.

“My lady,” Nevyn snarled. “Your husband is the biggest fool in the whole wide kingdom of Deverry. Brace yourself and remember that I'm on your side in this.”

Elyssa gasped, rising from her chair. Bellyra felt her heart start to flutter like a trapped bird. She laid a hand on her throat.

“In what?” she managed to say. “Nevyn, what do you mean?”

“That idiot Oggyn has made your husband suspicious of you. He claims that Maddyn the bard is entirely too fond of you.” Nevyn paused, visibly calming himself. “What's this about one night when your women couldn't find you?”

“Oh that!” Bellyra rose, smoothing down her dresses. She found it surprisingly easy to tell a half-truth. “I couldn't sleep. I went to Otho's forge to watch him make a little gift for Maryn. I want to give him somewhat when he becomes king. I'd found Otho the silver, you see, and I gave him a pair of red stones from my mother's legacy. I didn't tell anyone
because Degwa would have let it slip, and I wanted it to be a surprise. Is Maryn on the way here?”

Nevyn growled, so doglike and fierce that she stepped back.

“He's not,” Nevyn said at last. “He's commanding you to come down to the great hall and explain yourself in front of everyone.”

For a moment Bellyra was afraid that she would faint. The room seemed to have grown very large, and herself very small. The light turned painfully bright and harsh. Elyssa sprang forward, caught her arm in one hand, and slipped her other arm around her shoulders to steady her.

“I'm all right,” Bellyra whispered. “But how could he shame me this way?”

“Just so,” Nevyn said. “That's why I'm calling him a fool.”

Elyssa muttered something foul enough for a silver dagger. “My lady,” she said to Bellyra, “we'll put on your best dresses, and I'll do your hair as well, so he can see what a beautiful wife he's slandering.”

Bellyra looked down at the dress she was wearing and ran her fingers over linen stained and shiny with age. “We shan't,” she said. “I cannot bear to wait that long. I'll go as I am, bare feet and all. It's good enough for a suppliant.”

The door to the inner chamber opened, and Degwa came out, white and shaking on the edge of tears. “Your Highness,” she blurted. “Forgive me! I never thought Oggyn would repeat—”

“You don't think, Decci!” Elyssa snapped. “That's your whole trouble in life, inn't? You just don't think!”

Degwa started to answer, then merely snivelled.

“Redeem yourself,” Nevyn snarled. “Go find Otho the smith and bring him to the great hall.”

“The silver daggers' smith? I can't go mucking about the ward looking for a smith.”

“You can and you will, you empty-headed little dolt!” Nevyn took one step toward her. “And you will do it now.”

Degwa shrieked and ran for the door. Nevyn waited till
she'd gone, then offered Bellyra his arm. “Shall we go, Your Highness?”

“We will. I'm so glad you're here.”

Elyssa followed as they left. The corridor stretched unnaturally long in front of her. With every step she told herself, “You can do this, you can do this.” She would be strong and firm, she decided, puzzled that Maryn would slight her so, but never anger, never tears, not and let him see how deep the wound he'd given her ran. When they reached the staircase, she could hear voices buzzing below in the great hall.

“It's full of people,” she whispered. “All come to watch.”

“Good,” Nevyn said. “They'll see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears that you're innocent of all wrongdoing.”

When they started down the stairs she could see that indeed, servants and riders, servitors and noble-born vassals had all crammed themselves into the hall. Most stood for a better view of the table of honor, where Maryn stood waiting, his arms crossed over his chest. At his feet knelt Maddyn, but there was no sign of Otho or Degwa.

They reached the floor of the hall, and the crowd parted to let them through. As they passed, silence fell behind them. Bellyra felt as if the great hall had swollen as large as the dome of the sky; she was tiny, creeping along, all cold and sweaty at the same time. At last they reached the table of honor. Maryn looked at her with eyes as cold as the silver they resembled.

“You may kneel,” Maryn said.

“I shan't.” Bellyra took a deep breath and spoke as clearly and loudly as she could. “You're not yet high king, but my equal in rank. It's only through me that you even have a claim on Cerrmor.”

Behind her she could hear the crowd whispering. When she glanced at Nevyn, she saw him suppressing a smile. She knew that she couldn't risk looking at Maddyn, kneeling with his head down, as if he couldn't risk looking
at her. The memories of his mouth on hers, of his hands upon her back—she forced them away.

“That's true spoken.” Maryn's voice dipped to a growl. “Very well, stand then.”

Her hands were shaking so badly, and so cold, that she clasped her arms over her chest and tucked her hands inside them.

“I want to know, my lady,” Maryn said, “about this night when your women could find no trace of you.”

“So your councillor told me, my lord. I was in the forge of Otho the smith, where I was watching him make you a gift to celebrate your kingship. I gave him silver and the two rubies I had from that bracelet my mother left me. I told no one because I wanted to surprise you.”

Maryn winced. The gesture made her decide that she might perhaps be able to forgive him one day.

“While I was there,” Bellyra continued, “the man you'd set to guarding me came in as well. He'd seen me crossing the ward alone and was mindful of his duty to you.”

At that Maddyn looked up and caught the prince's eye.

“So I did,” Maddyn said, “Your Highness. But when your lady left the forge, she ordered me to stay behind. Her women were coming to fetch her, you see.”

The prince glanced at Lady Elyssa.

“We did, Your Highness,” Elyssa said. “We called to her, and she answered, and so we hurried over to escort her back to the women's hall.”

Caught, the prince opened his mouth and shut it again. He glanced away, glanced back to Nevyn, who merely stood looking back at him.

“Can this be true?” Maryn said at last. “If Otho can confirm—”

“Cursed right I can!” Otho was bellowing at the top of his lungs. He strode into the hall through the doorway behind the prince. “What is all this rot and nonsense?” He was looking at Nevyn as he spoke, not the prince.

“Someone's filled the prince's ear with poison,” Nevyn said. “This person wanted him to believe his wife had been unfaithful to him. It's that night she came to your forge.”

“Worms and slimes!” Otho spat on the floor, then looked at the crowd, pressing in behind her. “I want everyone to hear this, I do.”

Otho bowed to the prince, then climbed up on a chair and from there to the table. He stood with his hands on his hips and glared down at Prince Maryn, who seemed too surprised to protest this unseemly behavior.

“Now then,” Otho said. “Your Highness, I was working on a gift for you—for you, I repeat—when the lady came in, much distracted. She couldn't sleep, she said. The silver dagger there came hurrying after her, afraid she'd lost her wits or suchlike, from the pain of birthing your—I repeat, your third son. Or are you daft enough, Your Highness, to think she was dallying with me, four times her age and ten times as ugly?”

“Not in the least.” Maryn sounded as if he was choking. “Not in the least.”

“Good.” Otho paused, thinking. “One more thing, Your Highness. That you'd suspect your lady—ye gods! If this is the kind of wits you have, a fine king you're going to make.”

Everyone in the great hall gasped, flinched, so that the crowd seemed like a field of grain, bowing and rustling in a sudden gust of wind. Maryn stared speechless, his mouth a little open. Otho turned his back on him and clambered down from the table. He paused in front of Bellyra and bowed, but he said nothing.

“My thanks,” Bellyra whispered, but her dry mouth refused to form any more words.

Otho turned to look at the prince. “Well, Your Highness?” Otho said. “And what is your royal judgment on the matter?”

The hall went dead-silent again. For a long moment Maryn stared at Otho with eyes that revealed nothing. Otho scowled and kept looking him full in the face. At last Maryn smiled, a crooked sort of smile.

“My judgment?” Prince Maryn said. “That I've done my lady a great disservice by listening to foul gossip about her.”

Riders, servants, court people—everyone leapt to their feet and cheered. Maddyn sat back on his heels and wiped his eyes on one sleeve. Bellyra felt tears gather, but she forced them under control and looked squarely at her husband. The booming noise, cheer after cheer, sudden laughter, talk and the clapping of hands, rolled around them both like thunder—but of a departing storm. As the noise began to still, Maryn held out his hand to her.

“My lady, can you forgive me?”

Bellyra wanted to blurt, to say “of course” or “I already have,” but she forced herself to keep quiet for a long, haughty moment.

“I shall try, my lord,” she said at last. “Out of the love I bear you.”

“I deserve no better. Let me escort you upstairs.”

Bellyra nodded and took his offered arm. Councillor Oggyn stood at the door, plastered against the jamb, half in and half out of the hall. When she caught his glance he turned and rushed outside, disappearing among the clutter of the ward. You swine! she thought. Her anger kept her strong up to the top of the stairs, but there her terror caught up with her. She stumbled, nearly fell, let Maryn put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. She could feel herself trembling, and once again the dim light of the corridor seemed to rise until she could barely see.

“Here,” Maryn said, “let's get you to the women's hall, where you can sit down. I've been the biggest fool in all of Deverry, and ye gods, I'll beg you again to forgive me.”

She merely nodded, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. But I'm safe, she told herself. I'm safe now. Maryn opened the door to the hall and helped her inside. She collapsed in the first chair she came to.

“I'll kneel in front of you,” Maryn said and did so, sitting back on his heels. “I don't think you realize what envy you bring out in people.”