Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (36 page)

 
          
“Why?”
asked Kedryn.

 
          
“Because,”
said Brannoc with elaborate patience, “the water is very cold and it will clear
your heads.”

 
          
Kedryn
and Tepshen nodded solemn agreement and shed their clothes.

 
          
“Now
into the river,” said Brannoc, punctuating the sentence with a hearty
double-handed shove that sent them both tumbling down the bank into the Alagor.

 
          
He
was right: the water was cold and the shock of immersion dispelled the violent
effects of the liquor. Kedryn rose spluttering, flailing against the current as
he felt himself sober. Tepshen, he saw, was closer to the bank, closing his
eyes as he let his feet go from under him to sink beneath the sun-sparkled
surface. He rose shaking his head, his queue swinging from side to side, his
features set in an expression of stoic acceptance. Kedryn swam to his side,
dunking his own ringing head until he was confident the last vestiges of
drunkenness were gone. Brannoc lounged on the bank, grinning.

 
          
“I
should have warned you,” he remarked as the two shivering men climbed out and
began to dry themselves. “The Caroc are renowned for their liquor.”

 
          
The
wine that Eyrik poured to accompany the fish was superb. So pale as to be almost
colorless, it sat light on the palate, its bouquet delicate as the scent of the
spring flowers that filled the chamber. Wynett acknowledged that she had tasted
none finer, studying the play of candlelight on the crystal of the goblet as
she sought to conceal the confusion that filled her mind. She sipped the
vintage, but it offered no insights and she set her glass down, barely aware
that Eyrik spoke.

 
          
“You
seem far away,” he repeated. “Is something amiss?”

 
          
Wynett
was tempted to laugh at the mundanity of the question, knowing that it would be
bitter humor.

 
          
“I
am in a strange place—I know not where,” she murmured. “You say that you seek
to return me, or that Kedryn will come for me, but you cannot set a time on
either thing. I am lost!”

 
          
“No!”
Eyrik was on his feet in the instant, coming around the table to kneel beside
her, cupping her hand in both of his. “You must not say that.”

 
          
“Why not?” she demanded.
“It is the truth.”

 
          
She
blinked, fighting the tears that threatened to well, feeling his grip tighten
as he stared at her, his flecked brown eyes alight with concern. Candlelight
rendered his hair glossy as ripe chestnut and the teeth that showed between his
slightly parted lips were white and even. He looked very handsome, reminding
her of Kedryn; which memory filled her with fresh waves of bewilderment.

 
          
“You
are not lost,” he said, his voice deep and confident. "You are here, safe.
I know this appears strange, but it is merely another aspect of the world and
not something that should frighten or upset you. Had I not intervened to save
you from the leviathan, you would be in a far worse place than this.”

 
          
“But
where
is
this?” she demanded, the
turmoil that consumed her lending an edge to her voice.

 
          
“It
is a place separate from all you know,” he said. “Ashar cannot touch you here,
but because the leviathan was his creature I cannot easily return you to your
world. Mayhap it must take Kedryn’s coming to achieve that, I am not sure.
Mayhap it is necessary the two parts of that talisman you wear must be joined
to return you, and for that Kedryn
must
come.
I cannot give you some geographic location for such laws do not apply
here, but you must trust me. Believe in me, Wynett.”

 
          
There
was
a tenderness
in his voice that promised only
safety, honest goodwill, and she forced a smile, aware that it was camouflage.
“I am poor company this night. I think perhaps I should retire.”

 
          
“You
have barely eaten,” he protested, indicating the nibbled trout that sat on her
platter.

 
          
“I
have no appetite.” She shook her head. “If you will excuse me, I shall find my
chambers.”

 
          
“Of
course, if that is your wish.” He was on his feet before she rose, courteous as
ever. “But believe that I do all I can to reunite you with Kedryn.”

 
          
His
tone was sincere and she felt churlish that the only response she could muster
was a disconsolate, “Aye,” but her mood allowed for none other and she made no
further attempt at conversation as he opened the door of the dining chamber and
led her into the courtyard.

 
          
The
air was humid, sullen with the threat of rain, the perfume of the climbing
plants that wound about the colonnades become overpowering and sickly. The
splashing of the fountain seemed dulled by the oppressive weight of the air, no
longer musical but somehow
morbid,
and the moon was
hidden behind heavy rafts of menacing nimbus.

 
          
“I
believe a storm approaches,” Eyrik remarked, and Wynett found herself
surprised, for the weather had seemed fixed, as though this place knew only
summer. It was almost reassuring that the climate did
change,
for it made her circumstances seem fractionally more normal.

 
          
She
crossed the atrium and climbed the stairway to the balcony, Eyrik at her elbow,
gallant as ever as he flung open her door and bowed.

 
          
“Shall
I leave food?” he inquired, gesturing at the antechamber. “Perchance you will
regain your appetite.”

 
          
“Thank
you, no.”

 
          
Wynett
felt no desire for sustenance, wishing only for solitude and the opportunity to
assess her disordered thoughts. She stepped across the threshold, halted by
Eyrik’s touch. He bowed, lifting her hand to his lips. His mouth was dry.

 
          
“It
distresses me to see you so melancholy,” he declared, retaining his grip.

 
          
“Mayhap
it is this change in the weather,” she said wanly, extricating her hand.

 
          
“Mayhap,”
he nodded, accepting the tacit dismissal with grave face. “Sleep well.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” she replied, and closed the door.

 
          
For
some moments she leaned against the wood, hearing his footsteps retreat and
fade as he descended to the lower level, then she crossed to the ornate table
and filled a goblet with pale wine. She settled herself in one of the chairs,
sipping the vintage as she concentrated on the events of that strange day,
forcing herself to review what had transpired for all its heart-sickening
unpleasantness.

 
          
She
had risen and performed her toilette as usual, no longer sure how long she had
been here, for one day blended into the next with a seamless regularity that
leeched all sense of time, the dimensional contradictions of the palace
continuing to bewilder her senses, adding their own confusion to her
perceptions. She was not certain if it was merely the few days she thought, or
longer since she had awoken in these rooms and found Eyrik awaiting her. He had
been there again that morning, seated as usual at the breakfast table in the
courtyard, greeting her with apologies that he must absent himself for most of
the day and the—vague, she now realized—suggestion that it had something to do
with Kedryn. Consequently she had been left, for the first time, to her own
devices.

 
          
At
first she had seized the opportunity to explore, attempting to seek out the
servants, if such existed, who so regularly provided such excellent food,
changed her bed linen,
performed
the sundry tasks that
must be involved in the maintenance of the fabulous palace. None had appeared
after Eyrik left her, although she had waited long at the table, until her
patience dissolved and she rose, wandering to the nearest door. That, for all
it was overhung by the balcony, opened on a chamber of glass and sunlight
filled with plants. The floor had been green marble, verdant as spring grass,
interspersed with trenches of rich, dark soil from which grew such a profusion
of plants and flowers that the chamber was more akin to a garden than an interior
room. Light filled it, shining down from a vast cupola of clear glass supported
on unbelievably fine golden beams, gossamer delicate as they arched above her
head. She had wandered there a while, examining the vegetation,
then
returned to the courtyard to find the remnants of
breakfast cleared away, the table set with a decanter of wine and a single
glass. She had gone in search of kitchens, but found none, nor any sign of
other beings, loneliness mounting as her quest revealed only one fantastic
chamber after another. Before long her mind had spun with the wonders of the
place and she had found herself increasingly convinced that she was alone with
her mysterious host.

 
          
She
had decided to seek him out then, and entered the chamber of the oracular pool.
It had been empty, but even as she determined to investigate the farther rooms,
she had felt herself drawn to the silver disk at the center. Eyrik had told her
it would respond to her alone now, and she had knelt beside it, staring into
the bottomless well as she willed it to show her some image of Kedryn.

 
          
She
shuddered as she recalled what she had
seen,
her mind
withdrawing from the picture presented her, then, with an effort of will, made
herself study it again in memory.

 
          
The
pool had remained translucent at first, then shimmered as it had done before,
seeming to shift within its depths, outlines forming to become slowly clearer
until a definite manifestation became visible. Wynett had stared, scarcely able
to credit what she saw, her mind rebelling even as her gaze was held,
transfixed by the scene.

 
          
Kedryn
had sat within a stone-walled chamber, lounging in a high-backed wooden chair,
a tall window to one side revealing rocky walls that darkened toward night. She
had recognized, or thought she recognized, the delineaments of High Fort, and
assumed that he had reached the citadel and rested there preparatory to seeking
her. He held a goblet, and a decanter sat upon a table at his side, and he had
drunk deep as she watched. Then he had
risen
, his
mouth curving in the smile she recalled so well, turning to greet whoever
entered the room. He had set the goblet down and she had anticipated sight of
Tepshen Lahl, or Brannoc, or Rycol. But then Kedryn had opened his arms and
Wynett had gasped, a fisted hand flying to her mouth as Ashrivelle came into
view, and into Kedryn’s arms. She could remember clearly that she had said.
“No!” as her husband enfolded her sister in tender embrace, Ashrivelle’s head
tilting back to spill blond tresses over her shoulders as her lips parted to
receive Kedryn’s kiss. They had remained like that for long moments as Wynett’s
heart drummed against her ribs and she fought panic, unable to tear her eyes
away even when Ashrivelle moved out of the embrace and walked smiling into a
bedchamber, Kedryn on her heels, his hands moving to the fastenings of his
shirt. She had watched in horrified fascination as they disrobed, Ashrivelle
standing before Kedryn in a wanton display that visibly aroused him. She had
felt nausea roil in her stomach as Kedryn stepped toward her sister and they
fell together onto the bed, their limbs entwined, their mouths exploring. She
had closed her eyes as Kedryn pushed Ashrivelle onto her back and rolled
between her legs, no longer able to watch.

 
          
When
she had opened her eyes again the vision had gone and she was trembling, tears
coursing her cheeks. She had crouched beside the pool, willing herself to be
calm, only dimly aware that she clutched the talisman as she prayed to the Lady
that what she had seen be false.

 
          
Yet,
she thought now, had Eyrik not said the pool showed only the truth? So if what
she had seen was false, then Eyrik lied.
Or understood the
pool less than he pretended.
But if he
had
told the truth, then what she had seen was true: Kedryn and
Ashrivelle had become lovers.