The Forgotten War (12 page)

At the bottom of the street the houses disappeared. Ahead of them was a broad space paved with wide slabs leading up to the city walls. Here, the wall was some twenty feet high with a parapet
wide enough for two men to walk abreast. One of the city gates was here. The gate was opened and Cheris could see a drawbridge over a narrow ditch. On either side of the gate was a conical tower
with arrow slits rather than windows; she assumed the gate towers housed the portcullis mechanism as well as a small garrison. As she stared, she realised that her entourage had turned left and was
walking slowly uphill again. ‘By Keth, not another climb.’ She did not have to worry for long. They had gone barely a quarter of a mile before they came to another tower. This one was
also circular, conical and built into the walls but it was much broader, had some windows of glass and could obviously accommodate a lot more people. Above it flew the flag of the thorn. Finally,
they had arrived.

For Ceriana, the next few hours passed in a blur. They still took their meal on the beach but the food tasted like paper in her mouth. She listened to the menfolk discussing
the body. It had been nibbled by many of the denizens of the sea and was putrefying, yet they could still make out that the man must have been strong and vigorous in life and that he had shaven all
the hair from his body. He was clothed entirely in black and the clothes were of good quality, but to Ceriana for all the interest that the dead man held for her they might as well have been
discussing the price of grain. She clutched her prize, feeling it hard in her hand. At the first opportunity, she had slipped the thing into a purse she had asked Berek for, but for some reason she
kept being drawn to the thing, reaching under the table to touch it again and again.

The climb back up the hill was exhausting; her lungs tore at her chest and her muscles burned. By the time she was seated again on the wagon she was red, flushed, sweaty and encrusted with salt,
but it caused her none of her usual consternation. Her mind was elsewhere. Doren, who had stayed at the top of the hill, chastised her for her bedraggled state, as did her mother when she returned
home. She ran the gauntlet of frowning courtiers as she sped back to her room, caring not one jot. Shutting the door behind her, she sat on her bed breathing deeply.

She clutched at the purse, scrabbling to loosen its drawstring.

Pulling the object out, she gently unwrapped the stone from the handkerchief and gingerly held it up to the window. It seemed oval in shape but its base was slightly larger than its tip, almost
like a water droplet. Its sides were glassy and smooth, but as she looked through it she felt she could see little imperfections, like tiny air bubbles deep inside it. She kept staring at it,
squinting until her eyes hurt. Elissa’s blood! Were these bubbles moving? She felt sure they were, though very, very slowly, as you would see with thick sugar syrup. And the thing felt warm,
like it was generating heat. This was no ruby! What in the name of all that was holy had she found?

There was a tap on the door. It was Doren calling her. Quickly she opened her vanity desk draw, pulling out one of several jewellery boxes. She chose one with a key, opened it and shoved the
thing inside, locking the box tight shut. She then opened the door for Doren.

‘Please could you run a bath for me? I smell absolutely terrible!’

She dressed simply for dinner, in a white linen dress covered by a blue silk kirtle. Her parents were there at table when she arrived; she sat with her father to her right with her mother next
to him. He spoke to her in a gently admonishing tone.

‘My dear, I know you were probably distracted but you shouldn’t wander off unattended. Berek and the guards completely lost you for a while today.’

‘There was no danger, Father – the beach was deserted and I just had an impulse to go climbing on the rocks.’

‘You could have fallen into the sea, child,’ her mother chided. ‘Even if you were unhurt, it is unseemly for a duke’s daughter to do such things.’

Ceriana pouted a little. ‘I am not made of porcelain, Mother.’

‘You are about to be married; you could have caught a chill and a chill could lead to pneumonia. If I had been forewarned about your little excursion, I would have put a stop to it even
before you had left.’ Margerete realised she was bristling and tried to modify her tone. ‘You are a thin girl and prone to bad humours; your good health is of the utmost importance
until you are married.’

‘Until I am married, but not after! Are you not worried about the reputation northern men have of using their women roughly? Is there no concern that the lack of meat on me will serve me
ill at the hands of a northern bear?’

‘Ceriana!’ her father snapped, she realised she had spoken out of turn.

‘Sorry, Father; sorry, Mother.’

‘I am as unhappy about this match as anybody else,’ her mother continued. ‘More so in fact. I would much rather have kept you within one or two days’ journey like the
other girls, not the weeks it will take to visit you now. But this is a match the Grand Duke himself has proposed and it is your – no, it is our
duty
– to comply.’

‘Surely no one has suggested that I will not do my duty?’

‘No, my dear.’ Her mother gave a rare smile. ‘You are a Hartfield and a fine example of the line. None of us doubt you.’

Such praise was rare. Ceriana felt a little shame at her truculence. Perhaps her mother was more afeard of losing her than she let on.

‘Thank you, Mother’ was all she could manage to say before turning her attention to her meal.

In bed that evening she was restless – sticky, too, for the night was warm and close. She was tired. Catherine had been right – the climb up the cliff had been exhausting – yet
she felt sleep was still some distance away. She kept glancing at her vanity drawer. She desperately, desperately wanted to tell somebody about the ruby that was not a ruby but there was something
so ... odd about it that it was compelling her to silence. She hadn’t realised it earlier but the longer she shared a room with it the more she could perceive the strangest feeling of ...
wrongness about it, something unnatural that she couldn’t quite shake off. Perhaps it had magic... She shuddered at the thought – even the educated classes held a deep suspicion of such
things.

And whose was the body on the beach? She had barely given the poor man a second thought after making her find but on listening to her father speak of him at dinner he seemed almost as odd as the
object in her jewellery box.

‘We can only assume he was a shipwreck victim,’ he had said. ‘I have sent a dispatch to the city for any details of ships recently lost at sea. Some minor flotsam was reported
as coming on shore a mile or two further up the coast, but no one is going to report anything of value that they could keep for themselves. As to the man himself, someone suggested that he had the
malady that makes a person’s hair fall out, but there were signs of stubble on his chin: his hair was shaved, not merely absent. His clothes were thick and would have drowned him pretty
quickly; it seems like it was some sort of uniform, but the uniform of what order no one here appears to know. He had a ring on his finger, silver, depicting a double-headed snake that maybe the
university could identify, but I fear that the answer as to who this man was will remain closed to us. I have written to the university in any case.’

Flotsam from the shipwreck. That there was a connection between this man and her find seemed fairly obvious to Ceriana. Why hadn’t the stone sunk straight to the bottom of the sea though?
The matter was getting ever more perplexing.

At length she could resist it no longer – she pulled back the covers and clambered out of bed, the night air cooling her damp skin. She pulled open the drawer, took out the box, turned the
key, lifted the lid then took two steps back in horror.

The thing was glowing.

It was dark in the room but a light came from the stone, the deep-rich colour of blood. It wasn’t a strong light but could be seen clearly – the mirror, the jewellery box, her face
as she stepped back towards it, were all backlit by an eerie red glow. It was not a constant light either – one second the light would die, the next it would flare back up again. It did this
for at least five minutes while all the time Ceriana stared at it, eyes like dinner plates, completely rooted to the spot.

Then suddenly, without warning, the light went out. She stretched out a nervous, trembling finger and gave it the lightest of touches. It was still warm.

Shuddering, she slammed the lid back on to the box, locked it, pushed it to the back of the draw and jumped into bed, covering herself with the sheets. Suddenly the wedding seemed to be the
least of her worries.

The wedding day itself drew ever closer. The plan now was for the wedding to take place at the Grand Cathedral of Artorus and Camille in Tanaren City and for it to be presided
over by Grand Lector Josephus XVII himself. This was at the instigation of the Grand Duke who wanted this most political of unions to receive as high a profile as possible. The only thing stopping
it from being a full state occasion was that he had not declared the seven days of grand revelry for the populace, limiting it to a meagre three. Once the nuptials had been completed, they were to
travel by carriage from the cathedral, skirting the base of the Loubian Hill to the Grand Duke’s staging post on the river Erskon. From there they were to take the ducal barge to Erskon
House, a trip of some three to four hours. Most of the other guests would have to ride there, a quicker journey but one that gave many of the nobles a chance to reacquaint themselves with each
other and to enter into all types of politicking. Ceriana would spend her wedding night at the house before starting the long journey, of some ten days’ duration, to her new home.

All these arrangements meant the rehearsals for the ceremony would have to take place within the cathedral, so, three days before the wedding, she was to travel to the city, where she would
remain at Loubian Hall. Her betrothed was summoned to do likewise but would stay in the Grand Duke’s palace as an honoured guest. Her departure from Edgecliff would therefore be sooner than
she had anticipated.

There had been no reoccurrence of the incident with the stone. She had checked every night but it had remained cold and lifeless, much to her relief, and so it had been pushed to the back of her
mind somewhat, although she had been careful to include the box in the list of items to take with her.

One day before she was due to depart to the capital, with the sun beginning to set behind the Archers’ Tower, she sat pensively in her room chewing her lip to distract her from the
butterflies in her stomach. Her sister Leonie, having travelled down from the country that day, was with her. She was a fuller version of her little sister with fewer freckles and a broader,
homelier face. Marriage and childbirth had led her to put on some weight, a situation she found most disagreeable. Doren sat quietly nearby, almost unobserved in the corner.

‘The doctor said I should forego cakes now,’ her sister chafed. ‘Cakes! At this rate I shall be eating little more than rye grass and water.’

‘You haven’t put on that much weight,’ Ceriana replied for the umpteenth time. ‘Besides you look healthy with a fine complexion. Mother always says I look one stage away
from consumption.’

‘Mother is always prone to over-egging the pudding. There, I have done it again! There is not one conversation I can have in which I do not constantly mention food! It is bad enough that
whenever I host formal occasions these days conversation is usually accompanied by my rumbling stomach.’

‘What does your husband say?’

‘It amuses Morton terribly; he will often make a huge joke out of it, in front of guests furthermore! It is most humiliating.’

‘You haven’t done too badly out of him, though.’ Baron Morton Lewengrun was well known for indulging his wife. ‘And at least you knew him
before
your
wedding.’

‘He does spoil me, I know,’ Leonie admitted. ‘Now, to the purpose of my visit: tell me, do you know anything about your husband?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ceriana with a roll of her eyes. ‘Father has barely met him.’

‘Then let me tell you this: Morton is acquainted with him; he has some trade connections with the northern barons and on some occasions has to travel up there. They lack some of
life’s finer things, silks, spices and the like, so Morton supplies some of the baronial estates. It is a lucrative sideline of his.’

‘Aaaand?’ said Ceriana, impatient at her sister’s prevarication.

‘Oh yes, your husband, sorry, your husband-to-be. He is the chief baron on a large island; his estate is the best and largest Morton has seen up there. Many of the men there are a little
rougher, coarser than those we are acquainted with, but Wulfthram is not like that. He is quiet and very self-possessed. You know the sort, the kind who speaks only when they absolutely have to.
His first wife died of illness and they say he has never recovered from it fully. Imagine, a northern baron mooning over the death of a woman! He was very devoted to her by all that I have
heard.’

Ceriana pursed her lips slightly. ‘So he will probably resent me?’

‘I doubt that. He is much older than you; you will probably seem little more than a child to him. Probably the only time you will spend in his company will be in the bedroom when the urge
takes him. Make sure you never say no to that either; they can get most tetchy if refused.’

‘I will do as you suggest; he would probably only force himself on me if I said no anyway.’

‘Oh you do not know that. Sister, you are so very gloomy today! Think of the good things about this arrangement; think of the freedom it will entail! Here you cannot make a trip to the
garderobe without being followed by courtiers wracked with concern as to the comfort of your seating.’

Ceriana nodded slowly. ‘So I should take a good book with me then.’

‘Indeed!’ said Leonie enthusiastically. ‘And do not forget your embroidery.’