Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (51 page)

 
          
She
opened her eyes and rose, smoothing a gown she realized for the first time was
soaked over her thighs. It did not seem that she had achieved much, other than
an elimination of certain aspects, but she felt
more calm
,
and gripped by a resolve she would not allow to be swayed. Practically, she
decided that she would return to her rooms and assuage her spirits with the
simple comforts of hot water and dry clothing. Without a further glance at the
pool she quit the chamber and found her way through the sodden atrium to the
stairs.

 
          
Inside,
the chambers were all light and airy comfort. They emanated a sense of casual
luxury, of security. The rain still fell beyond the windows, but the interior
was dry and refreshingly cool, the withered flowers gone, replaced with fresh
bouquets that imparted a delightful perfume to the air. Kindling was laid in
the fireplace, with tapers and a tinderbox beside, but the thought of fire
brought thoughts of Ashar and she ignored the hearth, turning to bolt the door
behind her before unfastening her gown and removing her undergarments. She went
to the alcove and spun the golden faucets, hot water steaming instantly into
the ornate tub. She watched it fill, the rising water reminding her of the
pool, and eased beneath the surface with a sigh. Stretching out, she let her
head rest against the rim, concentrating on the purely physical pleasure of the
bath.

 
          
Its
warmth made her drowsy and she rubbed her body with smooth soap that gave off
the scent of sandalwood,
then
sought the refreshment
of cold water before rising to towel herself dry. She rubbed at her hair and,
still naked, settled before the mirror to brush it, the drowsy feeling
lingering, so that when she was satisfied she ignored the wardrobe and climbed
instead into the tempting comfort of the bed. Closing one hand about the
talisman she drifted into welcome sleep.

 
          
She
woke with a start, aware of a presence in the room, panic erupting for an
instant so that she gasped as her eyes focused to reveal Eyrik standing beside
the bed, a tray of black lacquer in his hands.

 
          
He
smiled a mixture of amusement and apology and said, “Forgive me, I did not mean
to startle you.”

 
          
Wynett
stared at him, realizing that she was naked, and drew the sheets demurely to
her chin before easing to a sitting position against the pillows. Eyrik’s
gold-flecked eyes passed briefly over the contours delineated by the sheet and
he set the tray across her thighs.

           
“You did not appear at dinner, so I
presumed to bring you food.”

 
          
He
gestured at the tray and Wynett saw that it held platters of meat, salvers of
vegetables, a selection of fruit and cheeses, a carafe and two glasses. Her
stomach registered the savory odors but she ignored the temptation to eat, her
gaze fixed on Eyrik.

 
          
His
glossy hair was held back from his handsome face by a thin gold band that
mirrored the flecks in his brown eyes. He wore a loose surcoat of white held at
the waist by a belt of golden metal, his shirt and breeks maroon, white boots
on his feet. His resemblance to Kedryn seemed increased. His smile was easy as
he added, “Are you not hungry?”

 
          
“How
did you enter?” she asked.

 
          
“Forgive
my presumption in intruding.” Hie ducked his head in apology. “But I was
concerned for you.”

 
          
“How
did you enter?” she repeated, a hand reaching beneath the concealing sheet to
clutch the talisman.

 
          
Eyrik
shrugged. “The door was unbolted. I knocked, but when there was no answer I
thought to leave the tray for you—you awoke before I could depart.”

 
          
Wynett
frowned. Had she not bolted the door? Aye, she was certain she had. Therefore
bolts afforded him no obstacle. She thought for an instant to challenge him on
it, but then thought better of it and turned her eyes to the food.

 
          
‘Thank
you."

 
          
She
had hoped he would leave, but he showed no sign of departing, gesturing instead
at the bed and saying, “May I sit?” Not giving her time to reply, but settling
at the foot, smiling pleasantly.

 
          
“I
believe the rain will cease soon. It is horribly depressing, is it not?”

 
          
Wynett
nodded,
conscious of his weight tugging at the sheets
and of her own nudity.

 
          
“Please.”
He gestured at the tray. “Will you not eat? I would not see you starve
yourself.”

 
          
“I
... ”
She
held the sheet firmly, “I am undressed.”

 
          
The
flecks in his eyes seemed to shift, and she read admiration in his gaze as they
traveled from her face to her exposed shoulders, but then his smile became
grave and he rose, apologetic again.

 
          
“May
I bring you a gown? I would talk with you—I confess to feeling somewhat guilty
at leaving you alone so long.”

 
          
He
moved as he spoke, the words overcoming any opposition she might have offered,
going to the outer chamber, to the wardrobes, from which he took a dressing
gown of maroon silk that exactly matched his shirt and breeks. He returned,
spreading it across the bed, and removed himself once more to the antechamber,
closing the door behind him. Wynett saw that he would not be deterred and
lifted the tray clear, jumping from the bed to swiftly don the gown. Her sense
of vulnerability was mildly assuaged by the texture of the silk against her
skin, though the decolletage was greater than she would have chosen and the
silk was very sheer. It was a gown she might have worn for Kedryn, but not in
the presence of any other man. She regained the bed, seeking the additional
barrier of the sheets, as Eyrik called, "May I enter?”

 
          
Feeling
that she had little choice she replied in the affirmative and he entered again,
resuming his seat at the bed’s foot. Wynett nibbled on roasted veal, as much to
conceal her nervousness as from hunger.

 
          
"Some
wine?”

 
          
Eyrik
lifted the carafe, filling both glasses, the movement bringing his face close
to hers. Wynett forked a vegetable, disturbed by his proximity, sensing a
subtle change in his attitude. She found it hard to define, but he appeared
more confident, his solicitude now less diffident, more assertive. He raised
the goblet, savoring the bouquet, then took a mouthful and sighed.

 
          
“Excellent.
Will you not taste it?”

 
          
She
raised her own glass, taking a small sip. It was, indeed, as he described it,
light and mildly effervescent,
tingling
her palate as
she swallowed.

 
          
“What
drove you to retirement?” he wondered; and Wynett debated whether the question
was
so
innocent as it appeared, or if he knew the
answer.
If he did manipulate the pool, then the latter.

 
          
She
said, “I was fatigued.” There seemed no point to concealing her activities, so
she added, “I went to the pool.”

 
          
Eyrik’s
finely arched brows rose questioningly. “And did you apply the talisman as I
suggested?”

 
          
Wynett
nodded.

 
          
“Am
I to assume from that doleful mien that the results were not to your liking?”

 
          
There
was nothing in his tone to suggest duplicity; rather, his face assumed an
expression of concern.

 
          
“Aye,”
she said, “they were not.”

 
          
“What
did you see?”

 
          
“Do
you not know?” She surprised herself with the question, not sure from whence it
sprang, but now experiencing a degree of irritation that she sought rapidly to
conceal.

 
          
“How
should I?” His eyes narrowed, the gold flecks dancing against the brown,
furrows marking his brow as he frowned: an expression of uncomprehending
innocence. “The pool shows what it shows. I have no control over its
revelations.”

 
          
Wynett
raised her glass, seeking a moment in which to order her thoughts. She had no
wish to reveal her suspicions,
nor
to anger him. “I
thought perhaps,”
she
said carefully, “that you were
aware of them.”

 
          
Eyrik
shook his head. “How could I be? I was not there.”

 
          
Wynett
shrugged. “Forgive
me,
I am confused by what I saw.”

 
          
“Which
was?” he prompted.

 
          
“Alternatives, as before.”

 
          
“The
talisman did not impose a singular reality?” His frown grew deeper, his eyes
thoughtful.

 
          
“It
did not,” she said when she realized he waited for a response.

           
“Then I was wrong.” He shook his
head, his tone grown mournful. One hand reached out to touch her arm in a
gesture imbued with sympathy. “I am sorry, Wynett. I was convinced the stone
must work as I had thought.”

 
          
He
shook his head again, removing his hand from her arm to cup it about his glass.
So troubled was his gaze she wondered if her suspicions were misguided, her
doubts unfounded.

 
          
“What
did
you see?” he asked.

 
          
“Many
things,” she replied.
“Some horrible, some incomprehensible.
Alternative overlaid alternative until there was only confusion.”

 
          
“My dear!”
He clutched her arm again, radiating distressed
concern. “I am sorry—I had truly believed the talisman would show you the true
reality, but obviously I was wrong.” His frown grew deeper, his grip a fraction
stronger, as though he sought to impart comfort from the touch, his voice
dropping to a murmur as he said, “Mayhap its power is weakened here.”

 
          
“How
should that be?” she asked nervously, reaching for the carafe, less from any
desire for the wine than the need to remove his hand.

 
          
He
shrugged, leaning slightly forward as if in thought, looking first down at the
glass he held,
then
up again at her face. “We occupy a
curious realm—as you already know. The power that imbues the talisman is great
in the natural world, but here we exist surrounded by Ashar’s magics. Mayhap
that power reduces the strength of the talisman. The Lady’s domain is that
world you know, not the realms of the netherworld, and perchance her puissance
is overwhelmed by Ashar’s might.”

 
          
He
voiced the very fears Wynett had felt as she considered her situation and his
pronouncement filled her with dread. She willed hands that threatened to
tremble to stillness, the food she ate become tasteless in her mouth. She
swallowed and lifted her glass to her lips, drinking deeper this time.

 
          
“But
that does not mean hope is lost,” Eyrik declared, surprising her. “It means
simply that the pool must continue to show all that is possible.”

 
          
“I
shall not consult it again,” Wynett declared firmly.

 
          
Eyrik
nodded as if in sympathy: “If it reduces you to such dolor I may only applaud
that decision. And seek some other means by which you may obtain news of
Kedryn.”

 
          
“Is
there another way?” she asked, hope rising again despite all her doubts.

 
          
“Perhaps.”
Eyrik
straightened,
his
face solemn as he stared at her, something in his eyes that she could not read.