The Queen's Gambit (43 page)

But the man whirled around and ran. She started after him, but the remaining sentry swiftly blocked her path.

“Stand aside!” she ordered, but he did not move.

Wrathful disbelief swelled inside her. She wasted no more breath giving him commands he would not obey and instead rounded on Sir Kelchel. “You—”

“Majesty, forgive me. Whatever spell this Believer's minion is working, 'tis best ye come away now.”

The man's ignorance was appalling, Pheresa thought. Even worse, it was probably going to cost Talmor his life. “You fool! Just when I have found the means of saving him, you dare stop me. You'll answer for this. I despise you! I dismiss you from my service!”

Although his face turned red, he spoke in a calm, measured voice, as though dealing with a fractious child, “Now, yer grace, come away from this den of evil. I'll see ye safe to yer chambers, and—”

“No!” she shouted. “I know what infamy is intended here, and I—”

“Yer grace, I am sworn to protect ye, and that I'll do, even if—”

A commotion sounded outside the door. Several knights, including Sir Thum, rushed into the sick room.

Sir Thum went straight to Pheresa. “Your majesty, how came you by that dagger?”

Contemptuously, she gestured at Sir Kelchel. “Let this craven fool tell you. He witnessed all.”

Kelchel snapped to attention. “She found it in the old physician's turret, sir. In a strongbox that we had the smith break open. The smith did look the dagger over, and said 'twas no magic in it. Yet just now, when I came in, there that bewitched devil stood”—he pointed at Pears as he spoke—“holding up the dagger, and it glowing bright with whatever spell he cast on it. I tried to get the queen away, sir, but she won't come.”

“Indeed I shan't,” Pheresa said furiously.

Sir Thum frowned. “Your majesty—”

“You were a man of honor once,” she said scornfully. “Now I have nothing to say to you.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “Majesty, I am trying to help you. What spell has been worked on the dagger to make it—”

“Nothing has been done to it save bring it here where Nonkind venom makes it shine. Does any magicked blade shine at all times?”

“No, of course not.” Thum's brows lifted in dawning respect. “I beg your majesty's pardon. Sir Alto rushed in with such a babble of—”

She held out her hand. “Return the dagger to me, sir. I must use it to save my protector's life.”

“I'm sorry, majesty.”

All the blood seemed to drain from her, leaving her cold and light-headed.
Is there no end to the disobedience and obstructions in this Thodforsaken place,
she wondered wearily. “So you disobey me, too, Sir Thum. And I believed there was honor and justice to be found at Thirst. How wrong I was.”

The men shifted their feet and muttered. Thum's gaze never faltered. “Your majesty has given us the means by which to try this man.” Glancing at his knights, he gestured. “Take him forth swiftly. By the look of him, there's little time.”

They surrounded Talmor, one man tossing a blanket across him. Pears rushed forward to intervene, but they shoved him back. Together they lifted Talmor, bed and all, and carried him out.

Pheresa watched them in horrified disbelief. “What are you doing?” she cried. “What mean you by this?”

“He's being taken to the Hall, where the magicked blade will be pressed to his wound,” Sir Thum informed her. Outside, the faint sound of the hold's bell could be heard, already tolling a summons. “Before all assembled in witness, he will be tried by spell-fire. If he dies, he will do so as a condemned Believer. His soul will be damned, his remains cut apart, and his flesh salted without burial. But if he lives, he will then have the chance to give an accounting of his innocence before all.”

Pheresa stared at him in disbelief. “You wait until now, at his final moments, to do what I asked of you from the first?”

“Until your majesty miraculously found this dagger, we had no means to obey.”

Pears came up, his eyes wild with worry. “Majesty,” he whispered, “if he should be too weak—”

“He's in Thod's hands now,” Sir Thum broke in sternly. “If your majesty will accompany me to the Hall?”

Compressing her lips, she nodded.

Pears was wringing his hands. “Majesty, he won't intend any harm, but if he should—if he should lash out, like, will they—”

“I don't know,” she said worriedly. She no longer knew what to think. This was what she'd been praying for, but now she feared what the result might be. And what if the dagger were somehow tainted and evil, as Tanengard had been evil? What harm might it do to Talmor? As for these powers he had, would he transform himself into some dreadful monster before their eyes and unleash destruction on everyone present? Pears seemed to think he might.

She looked at the squire, the worry in his eyes mirroring her own, and felt her courage falter.

“Thod have mercy on us all,” she whispered, and allowed Thum to escort her outside.

The ordeal was over. The Hall had been tidied and fresh torches lit. A servant was raking up dirt, while others spread fresh rushes across the floor. The door stood open to allow fresh air to clear out the stench of corruption and burned flesh. In hushed voices, the knights talked in small groups. Cleaned of its grisly task, the Saelutian dagger glittered on a long trestle table next to a basin of salt.

And in the center of the room, Sir Talmor lay motionless, white-faced, but still alive.

Pheresa sat in a tall-backed chair, her hands white-knuckled where they clasped the carved arms. Her feet were propped up on a tiny footstool to keep them off the cold floor. Her ladies stood behind her, with Sir Kelchel close by. Her court physician, wearing long brown robes, eyed Talmor with fascination even as he offered Pheresa a restorative cordial in case she felt faint.

She feared she might collapse at any moment. Drained of emotion, she felt too spent by what she'd witnessed even to wave her physician away.

Talmor had survived the trial of spell-fire, as they called it. In front of the assembled knights, all standing armed as though they expected to do battle with a shapeshifter or worse, the flat of the glowing dagger blade had been pressed to Talmor's wound. There had not been, Pheresa discovered, any need to heat the blade. The magic within it provided fire enough.

Now, Pheresa gazed at Talmor's face. How drawn and gray it was. Even his lips looked bloodless. He lay as though already dead, his breathing so light it barely lifted his freshly bandaged chest.

The vigil had begun. Whether he would live or recover sufficiently to stand the second part of his trial was as yet unknown, but the purification ritual was finished.

Talmor's screams of mortal agony had been so horrific she felt as though she would hear them echoing forever in the depths of her soul.

The quiet now was a blessing. Pheresa shifted her gaze to her lap, where she held her jeweled Circle clutched tightly in her hands. She was still trembling.
My fault,
she thought in fresh guilt.
If I hadn't defied all orders and common sense and ridden out that day. If I hadn't ventured across the river into Nold. If only I had stayed where I belonged. If only I had never listened to Lervan and my council but had instead stayed at Savroix, none of this would have happened. I would have my son alive and Talmor whole. If only . . . if only . . .

“Your majesty, come away,” Lady Carolie said softly. “Whether he lives or dies, there is nothing now to be done. Your majesty needs to rest and sup. Come away now, please.”

“I must know,” Pheresa said.

The priest walked over to where Pears knelt beside Talmor's bed and touched his shoulder with compassion.

“Majesty, please.”

Fighting a surge of exhaustion, Pheresa frowned. “I must stay here until I know,” she said grimly.

“Word will be sent to your majesty of any change—”

“ 'Tis too cold here. He will perish of these drafts.”

“They're bringing braziers to keep him warm,” Lady
Carolie said. “See, majesty? They're caring for him. You need not worry.”

Servants filed in, carrying heavy iron braziers and hods filled with hot coals. While the fires were being prepared, Sir Bosquecel limped up, struggling awkwardly on his wooden crutch. He looked tired and in pain, for he had stood throughout the procedure.

“I owe your majesty an apology,” the commander said with a bow. “It seems I may have misjudged your man, although what I saw him do troubles me. I do not understand it.”

“Nor do any of us,” she replied wearily. “But what he did was save your life, sir, and mine.”

“Aye.”

Relief sagged through her as she realized the general air of fear and condemnation against Talmor had faded. He might still be regarded as a creature of strange powers, but he was no longer considered a monster.

“Your majesty,” her physician said officiously, “I really believe there will be no change in him for several hours. Please allow your ladies to persuade your majesty to retire. For the sake of your health—”

“Very well.”

She rose to her feet and let herself be ushered upstairs to her chambers. There, in the snug privacy of well-heated rooms, she ate the food set before her and allowed herself to be bathed before the fire. Swathed in a warm bedgown, she lay down to sleep, while the countess and Lady Carolie curtsied good night to her, and Oola drew the bed hangings closed.

“Dear Thod,” Pheresa prayed, “have mercy on us. Let us begin anew, with our hearts honest and clean before thee. Have pity, gracious Thod, and let thy hand rest on us with compassion.”

She closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. The truth had to be faced. It had been looming at her now for quite some time, but she could deny it no longer.

She was in love with Talmor. She thought that perhaps she
always had been, from the day he rescued her from the Sebein and carried her indoors to safety.

From the hour he joined her service it had seemed natural that he should be with her almost every moment. The pleasant sense of ease and reliance that she felt in his presence had been with her from the start. He'd become a part of her, somehow woven into the fabric of her existence, and now she felt lost and unnatural without him. She needed him.

Sitting up, she stared wide-eyed into the night.
Needed him?
Aye, she thought, needed him as she needed her heart to beat or her lungs to draw breath. Needed him as a plant required the sunshine to live.

But was that love? Where was the giddiness and the urge to giggle? Where was the silly rush of infatuation so dizzy and fast that it left confusion in its wake?

She felt no such emotions, only a terrible, aching, empty sense of loss at the thought of losing him forever. If he died, she did not know how she would be able to continue. Today, she had felt his suffering so intensely it might have been her own. She had wept for him inside, her nails digging into her palms as she fought not to scream with him.

I love him,
she thought.
I always have, and did not know it.

But this should not be, she told herself with alarm. No lady of honor let herself fall in love with her protector. At least not respectably.

After all, he was a bastard son, born of a chevard and a foreign woman of mystery. This was no man worthy of a monarch's love.

But such snobbery shamed her.
I am not a queen tonight,
she thought.
I am a woman afraid for the man I love.

A deep flush rose up her throat into her cheeks, and she gathered the bedclothes close, telling herself that she'd let the upsets of a very long and trying day confuse her. After all, what did she know about love except that it brought pain and unhappiness?

She had fallen for Faldain years ago, or had she? Was it love she had felt after the Battle of Grov, or an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his having saved her life?
Did I
persuade myself that I should love him,
she wondered, feeling suddenly disconcerted.
Was I that young and foolish?

Faldain had seen right through her, had seen the lie in her heart as clearly as though it were written in her face, but she had refused to believe him. What a fool she'd been for clinging to fantasies like a child.

As for Lervan . . . her emotions remained deeply tangled. She had married him, lived with him, borne his child. Such experiences had created some kind of connection between them. But love him? Nay, she never had. And she realized that in his case, as with Faldain and even Gavril, she had persuaded herself to feel the way she believed she should—dutiful, obligated, bound by ties ordained in the sight of Thod.

But it was not gratitude she felt toward Talmor, although Thod knew he had saved her life often enough. It was not duty or obligation she felt, but something stronger—a heated rush through her blood—something that made her heart suddenly race and her skin tingle. She rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow, wishing it was his body her arms encircled.

What would it be like to love a man like him, and know he loved her equally in return? What would it be like to come to him eagerly, from a sense of joy rather than duty? To be cherished in full measure, for herself rather than for her position?

Was it possible, despite all that had happened recently, to feel happiness and hope and delight again?

Faithful Talmor, she thought, so quiet and self-controlled, so dependable. Dear Talmor, with his handsome eyes that saw so much and judged so little. How she longed to feel his muscular embrace, how she wondered what the taste of his lips would be like.

Please live,
she prayed, knowing she could not bear to lose him now.
Please, please live.

Before dawn she awoke with a start and lay there listening, certain someone had called her name. All was still and peaceful inside her chamber. From their adjoining room, her attendants were not yet stirring. Yet she felt a sense of unease, a sense of something having changed.

Abruptly she sat up and scooted out of bed, throwing on a
heavy robe over her bedgown and thrusting her feet into slippers. Wrapped in her cloak, she slipped out of her chambers, with a sleepy-eyed Sir Kelchel—not yet forgiven but accepted back into her service—tagging at her heels.

It seemed a long way downstairs to the Hall, with a yawning page lighting the way before her with a candle, and the rooms and passageways dim, empty, and quiet.

Inside the Hall, gloom and shadows lay everywhere. Burned-out torches hung in their sconces. Icy drafts stirred the long tapestries, and the hearth lay cold. No fires burned in the braziers. The place was empty. Sir Talmor was gone.

Pheresa stared through the gloom like one demented. Grief clawed its way into her throat, and had she been a simple peasant woman without a lifetime's rigorous training in self-control, she would have wailed aloud. Instead, all she could do was stand frozen and horrified.

“Majesty,” Sir Kelchel said quietly, “let me—”

“Is he dead?” she asked, her voice hoarse and strained. “Is he?”

“I know not. But it appears—”

“Find out. At once!”

He bent and spoke to the page, who went running out of the Hall. Shivering, she paced about, clasping and unclasping her cold hands together. She knew she should not have left him. What evil had been done in her absence?

The steward, one side of his face creased red from his pillow, his livery pulled on awry, his hair tousled, hurried in and bowed deeply to her. “He lives, your grace. He was taken to the infirmary, where he can be tended properly.”

She closed her eyes against a sharp rush of feeling. “Take me there.”

More gloom-shrouded passageways. More stairs. More icy drafts pouring in through arrow slits in ancient walls. She paid no notice to where she went or how she got there.

Eventually she was ushered through a rectangular room filled with cots, two of which held sleeping occupants, and into a tiny chamber closed off from the rest with a curtain of linsey. A small fire burned in a brazier to keep the air warm.

By the ruddy light of the fire, she saw Pears propped up awkwardly in one corner, swathed in a blanket, his age showing as he slept. The boy Lutel lay curled on the floor like an overgrown puppy.

And Talmor lay on a cot, propped carefully with pillows, his bandages clean and white. A bowl of fragrant liquid rested on the stool, with a cloth folded neatly over the edge. Setting the bowl aside, she sank onto the stool and dismissed Sir Kelchel with a wave.

In this rare moment of privacy, she smiled at Talmor as though she had never seen him before. His face was manly, with well-molded cheekbones and a straight nose. Asleep like this, he might be any Mandrian knight, wellborn of noble lineage. It was when he was awake, and his golden-hued eyes were alert with a directness and fire uncommon, that he seemed exotic and different from most men. His dark hair curled and waved across his brow, as unruly as ever, and in the strong line of his throat she could see his pulse throbbing steadily.

A tremor passed through her, and she longed to touch that place with her lips. Yet she dared not wake him.