The Shining City (17 page)

“Well, ye are welcome to join us if ye wish, Your Highness,” she said, dimpling. “We have town leave and are just trying to convince Lewen he should come too. We have the whole night planned, and it should be such fun!”

“Why, we‟d love to, wouldna we, Olwynne?” Owein responded at once, smiling down at Fèlice with a great deal of warm admiration in his eyes. “We havena had a chance to go into town for weeks. It‟s all work, work, work for us fourth years.”

“That‟s too bad,” Fèlice said sympathetically. “Surely it canna be good for ye, all work and no play?”

“A lass after my own heart,” Owein cried. “I couldna agree more. Lewen and Olwynne, though, they‟re no‟ such fun. Always worrying about school and studying. Auld afore their time, they are.”

“
Responsible
is the word ye are looking for, I feel,” Olwynne said. She looked Fèlice up and down, and the dark-haired girl blushed, dropped her eyes, and curtsied gracefully.

“Olwynne, Owein, this is Lady Fèlice, daughter o‟ the Earl o‟ Stratheden, and this is Maisie, granddaughter o‟ the cunning man o‟ Berkeley, a village near Ravenscraig, and this is Landon MacPhillip, from Magpie Wood. We call him the poet, for he‟s always scribbling away.”

Owein and Olwynne both inclined their heads, and Owein glanced again at Fèlice, who was looking prettier than ever with her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “Do we no‟ ken your father? Is he no‟ one of the MacBrann‟s men?”

“Och, aye, I was raised at court, at Ravenscraig. It is no‟ at all like Lucescere, though. The MacBrann—the auld one, I mean—he was sick for so long, and there were no‟ many parties or balls, and then he died, which was very sad, o‟ course, but—”

“But rather boring for ye, with the whole court in mourning,” Owein said sympathetically.

Fèlice flushed rosier than ever, and her dimple flashed briefly. “We were all very sorry. The MacBrann—Malcolm MacBrann—he was our laird for ever so long. I ken my father misses him very much. But the new laird, he‟s a good man and canny too, they say, and when the mourning period is over, I‟m sure the court will be gayer. But no‟ like Lucescere! Never like Lucescere!”

“It sounds like ye‟ve been enjoying our city,” Owein said.

“Och, aye! Indeed I have. We all have, havena we, Maisie? I canna wait for tonight. There‟s a new play on at the Mandrake Theater that‟s meant to be very good. We were thinking o‟ seeing that first, and then going on to the Nisse and Nixie. We were there last week and had an absolute ball. I danced with a seelie! And there were ogres there! One got so drunk he tried to dance on a table and it broke underneath him. It was hilarious!”

“The Nisse and Nixie is always good value,” Owein said, “though ye should be careful, ye ken.

No‟ all faeries are friendly.”

“And I am naught but a country lass, and no‟ at all accustomed to such a place,” Fèlice said sadly, causing Maisie and Landon to look at her in surprise. “That is why I need someone aulder, and more sophisticated, to accompany me and make sure I do nothing harebrained.”

“Like drink fuzzle gin,” Owein said, smiling.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I really feel it is my duty to accompany ye young things then,” Owein said. “Since I am so much aulder and so much more sophisticated.”

“Och, that is so kind o‟ ye,” Fèlice said, flashing him a look from under her eyelashes. “I do declare, I shall feel much safer with ye there.”

Landon was still staring at her in bafflement, but Maisie‟s expression was half-scandalized, half-amused, while Olwynne was looking Fèlice over very closely.

“Will ye come too, Olwynne?” Owein said. “Come on! It‟ll be fun. How long is it since ye‟ve seen an ogre trying to dance on a table?”

“Far too long,” Olwynne said dryly. She glanced at Lewen. “Are ye going, Lewen?”

“I dinna think so,” he answered. “I‟d better no‟.”

“Oh, come on! We‟ve hardly seen ye since ye came back from Ravenshaw,” Owein protested.

“And look at ye! Ye‟re as wound up as a fob watch. Come on! A night on the town will do ye good.”

Lewen hesitated.

Olwynne laid her hand on his arm. “Please? We‟ve hardly seen ye.”

“I canna,” he said. “Really I canna.”

“But ye‟re not on duty tonight, are ye?” Owein asked, puzzled. “I thought Fymbar and Hearne were.”

“It‟s no‟ that,” Lewen said. “It‟s just . . . Rhiannon . . .”

“Surely she can do without you for just one night,” Owein said, exasperated. “I dinna ken how ye can spend so much time at Sorrowgate. It‟s such a blaygird place.”

Fèlice gave a theatrical shudder. “Horrid, isn‟t it?” she asked. “Poor Rhiannon. I‟m glad it‟s no‟

me shut up in there.”

“That‟s why I really have to go and see her,” Lewen said. “She canna stand being enclosed in such a small space. She‟s no‟ used to it, and her spirits have been very low. She needs me.”

“Well, we need ye too,” Olwynne said. “Ye‟ve been away for months and months, and then when we finally get ye back again, ye spend all your time at the prison. Did it never occur to ye that we may want to see your bonny face occasionally too?”

“I‟m sorry,” Lewen said miserably. “I ken I‟m no‟ much fun at the moment. I canna abandon her, though. She has no one else. Canna ye see that?”

Owein rolled his eyes and said with exaggerated emphasis, “I suppose so.”

“Ye do no‟ have to spend all evening with her, though, do ye?” Olwynne asked. “How about ye go and see her after dinner, and then come out and meet us later? Ye‟re in the city anyway, at Sorrowgate. It‟ll only take ye another few minutes, if ye grab a corrigan cart.”

“Go on!” Fèlice pleaded. “Ye canna waste a city pass! Besides, this inn we‟ve been telling ye about, the Nisse and Nixie, it‟s all the rage now. Anyone can get up and sing a song, or tell a joke or a story, or perform a trick, and Landon‟s going to read his ballad, ye ken, the one he‟s been writing about Rhiannon. Ye canna miss it! I swear, he‟s going to take the town by storm.

He read it to me and Maisie and the boys last night, and it brought tears to my eyes. Ye have to be there for its first public performance. If the crowd likes it, we‟re going to have it printed up, aren‟t we, Landon, and sell it on the streets a penny apiece.”

“I dinna ken,” Landon said gloomily. “I‟m sure it‟s no‟ any good. I‟ll probably get booed and hissed off the stage.”

“Rubbish! It‟s marvelous. It‟ll be a sensation.”

“I dinna think it‟s a good idea to read it in public. No one here seems to like Rhiannon.”

“That‟s why it‟s so important that ye set them straight on what really happened,” Fèlice said.

“Tell him, Lewen! His ballad is the best way o‟ changing public opinion. Everyone here believes the sort o‟ rubbish Edithe‟s been spreading around, because they havena heard the whole story.

We could talk till we were blue in the face, and it wouldna have anywhere near the effect o‟

hearing your ballad. Besides, it‟ll make your name as a poet! Is that no‟ what ye dream o‟?”

“I‟ll probably get sued for slander,” Landon said, “once the Laird o‟ Fettercairn hears what I‟ve written.”

“It‟s no‟ slander if it‟s true,” Fèlice said, “and we can all attest to that. We were there! Oh, come on, Lewen, ye‟ve got to come. Landon‟ll never get up on stage if we are no‟ all there, encouraging him.”

“All work and no play makes Lewen a very dull dog,” Owein said.

“Oh, all right,” Lewen said. “I must admit a few ales would go down well.”

“That‟s the lad,” Owein said, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Where is this inn?” Olwynne asked, her eyes still on Fèlice.

“It‟s down in the faery quarter, on the corner o‟ Avalon and Cormoran streets,” Landon said diffidently.

“Och, aye, I ken,” Owein said. “We‟ll meet ye there, what, about nine? We have to be back afore the palace gates shut at midnight, remember.”

“Remember last summer, when we all got locked out, because Lewen had to try to stop that bearbaiting?” Olwynne said.

“Och, aye, and we snuck in through the secret way, the auld drain? And Lewen got stuck, being too broad across the shoulders?” Owein said.

“And we thought we‟d be stuck there all night, and expelled for sure, for being out past curfew?”

Olwynne said.

“And ye lot slathered me all with the stinkiest mud ye could find. . . .” Lewen smiled at the memory.

“At least we managed to get ye out eventually. And we were all filthy by the end o‟ it,” Olwynne said.

“No‟ to mention stinky.” Owein grinned.

“There‟s a secret way into the palace grounds?” Fèlice asked.

Owein and Olwynne exchanged glances. “Sorry! Canna tell. It‟s a family secret.”

“But it might come in useful one night,” Fèlice pleaded. “Go on! Canna ye tell us where? Ye showed Lewen.”

Owein grinned. “Aye, but Lewen‟s practically family himself. No, no. No use begging. We willna tell ye, even if ye tied us up and tortured us with feathers.”

“That doesna sound like torture to me,” Fèlice said with a flirtatious glance at Owein from under her long lashes.

Owein grinned and was about to respond in kind, but Olwynne slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and said, “Well then. The Nisse and Nixie at nine. See ye there! Dinna fail us, Lewen!”

“I willna,” he answered and watched as Olwynne drew Owein away, the Prionnsa shooting a quick rueful smile at Fèlice over his shoulder.

“Ye really are the most shocking flirt,” Lewen said to Fèlice.

She laughed. “Am I? Really? Oh well. How much trouble can I get into with ye and Landon and Maisie all frowning at me every time I open my mouth? And Cameron and Rafferty will come, no doubt, and Edithe too, I bet, once she hears who else is coming.”

“Do no‟ tell her, please,” Lewen begged. “I willna come if that sourpuss does.”

“Mmmm, hard choice,” Fèlice said. “Ye or her? Mmmm, what shall I do?”

“Cheeky arak,” Lewen said. “All right, I‟ll meet ye tonight at the Nisse and Nixie. Try no‟ to get into any trouble afore then.”

“I‟ll try, but I canna make any promises,” she said, smiling over her shoulder as she left him, flanked on either side by Maisie and Landon, both grinning despite themselves.

Lewen was smiling too as he went back to his room and shed his black robes, which always irked him with their confining folds. Dressed in his usual breeches, boots, and soft white shirt, he made his now-familiar way through the gardens, past the palace, and into the maze of dark, crowded streets that led him to the grim stone gateposts of the Sorrowgate Tower, so named for all those heads that had hung upon its lintel.

Lewen knew the guards in the entry foyer well enough to nod and smile at now. They did not ask his business, just jerked their heads to indicate he might pass.

He made his way unerringly through the labyrinthine corridors and up the stairs to Rhiannon‟s room, at the very top of the tower. Corey, the youngest of the prison guards, was on duty, along with Henry, one of the oldest. They grunted at the sight of Lewen and laid down their cards.

Corey unlocked the door and let him in to Rhiannon‟s room with a sympathetic moue of the mouth to indicate that all was not well.

Rhiannon was lying on her bed, her fists clenched under her chin.

As soon as Lewen came in, she came to her feet in one fluid movement and flew across the room to fling herself into his arms. Lewen held her close. Her hair smelled sharp, like an animal‟s fur.

She drove her head hard into his shoulder, shaking with tears. He felt stiff and unhappy and woefully ill-equipped to deal with her distress.

“Why ye take so long?” Rhiannon accused. “Where ye been?”

“At school,” he answered. “Ye ken I have a late class on Friday. I came as soon as I could.”

“It‟s nearly suppertime,” she said, pointing at the long lozenges of light on the wall, red and faint. “The guards will bring it soon, and ye‟ll have to go.”

“I‟m sorry. I couldna come any earlier. Really, I couldna.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “The day goes past so slowly. I thought ye were no‟ coming.”

He put his hand up under the midnight fall of her hair. Her nape felt soft and vulnerable. “I wouldna fail ye,” he said. He felt like he was suffocating. It was an effort to draw a breath.

Rhiannon dashed the tears away from her eyes. “No one cares,” she said pitifully.

“I do. Ye ken I do,” Lewen answered as he had many times before.

She stared at him with shadow-haunted blue eyes. She had lost a lot of weight since being imprisoned. Her bones were hard under her skin. Her hands looked frail, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

“Have ye been eating?”

She shrugged one angular shoulder. “The food is horrible.”

“Ye need to keep your strength up.”

“Why? What‟s the point?”

“Ye canna lose faith now. I ken it‟s hard—”

“Do ye just?”

“Aye—”

“Ever faced being
hanged
,
drawn,
and
quartered
?” She spoke the words with a peculiar intensity, as if she had rolled the words over her tongue so many times they had gained a certain sweetness, a poetic rhythm.

“Nay, but—”

“Ye canna even begin to ken what it feels like. Do no‟ speak to me o‟
hard
.”

“I‟m sorry. I just—”

“Do no‟ talk! Stop talking!”

“What do ye want me to do?” Lewen raised his hands in helplessness.

“Dinna talk!” She took his hand and put it to her breast. “Dinna waste time!”

He let her kiss him, his love for her and his feeling of utter helplessness and failure meeting each other, like stags locked antler to antler and unable to step either way. Even allowing his hand to close upon her breast was almost too hard, and for the first time ever he felt no instant rush of desire. He roused himself with an effort, kissing her neck, brushing his hand across her nipple, and was rewarded with a sigh and a rush of tears. He let her draw him down on the bed and strip away his shirt. She was frantic with need. She could scarce draw breath, and her face was wet when she pressed it into his bare shoulder. He stared across her head to the stones of the wall, so damp and grey and drear. He could smell the chamber pot under the bed. He pressed his face into her bare shoulder and closed his eyes.