Blackveil (80 page)

Authors: Kristen Britain

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #fantasy, #Epic

BOOK: Blackveil

13.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

N
aturally the five witnesses, including Richmont, were all men, if she judged their stature and builds correctly beneath their hoods and cloaks. They seated themselves in a row of chairs at the foot of the bed.

Zachary lay unaware of all that went on around him.

“How is he?” she asked Destarion.

“About the same, which is really more hopeful than it sounds. He has not declined, and if his wound remains clean and continues to heal, we may see more improvement before long. I think it’s the poison that has held him back more than anything. It was not a large dose he received, but harmful all the same.”

Estora nodded. “Thank you.”

Destarion then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “My lady, your presence with him here tonight may provide him comfort. If he reacts, do not be afraid to fulfill his needs. I’ve not given him his soporific this evening. In fact, I’ve given him a slight stimulant of a sort that may make him . . . more responsive. I could not say, however, when or if the stimulant will make him more wakeful.” With that, Destarion bowed and excused himself from her presence.

The Weapon, Ellen, then came to her and said, “I will be posted right outside the door, my lady. If you should need anything at all, just call me.”

“Thank you,” Estora replied. Ellen bowed again and left her. If only, Estora thought, she could follow her out. Instead, the witnesses watched her and her maid waited expectantly. Estora squinted at one of the men in the middle whom she thought might be the priest who conducted the marriage ceremony. The moon priests were celibates, but probably took their opportunity to get an eyeful when they could.

Her maid helped her remove the robe, and then as the rite required, her sleeping gown and underclothing. She might have rushed to get beneath the blankets to conceal her nakedness as a modest young woman should, but she was angry. Angered by Richmont’s threats, angered by this crass tradition. Instead of hiding, she faced them and allowed them all a slow, good look.

“This is what you’re here for, isn’t it?” she asked them. “To see your queen at her most vulnerable? Do you like what you see?”

“My lady, please . . .” Definitely the priest. He glanced away, but not for long.

She had, she decided, nothing to be ashamed of. She knew many men coveted her body. These five must feel very privileged. Would they brag to their friends? Fellow priests? Even embellish what they saw? Let them look. F’ryan had thought her body beautiful, and it made her feel powerful to force them to stare.

It was, however, also very chilly. After she felt they had gotten enough of a look, she climbed up into the bed next to Zachary, her maid helping her arrange the blankets. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, my lady.”

“Thank you, Jaid.”

Jaid curtsied, dimmed the bedside lamp to a low glow, and then left, bearing away Estora’s clothes. Part of the rite was to prevent her access to her clothing so she could not, ostensibly, leave the bedchamber.

Richmont stood and rounded the bed, and brought to her a cup of wine. “Your marriage bed cup,” he said. “Drink up.”

She took it from him with a scowl. Another part of the ritual. Very often the wine was laced with an aphrodisiac or an herb to promote fertility. She supposed Zachary had gotten his ritual wine as medicine. She sighed and drank. If the wine was dosed, it was very subtle. Richmont stood over her until she drained the cup and he took it from her when she finished.

She sank into the mattress and gazed into the dark ceiling overhead. At least with the light so dim, if there was anything for the witnesses to see, they’d be able to make out few of the fine details. In time her body began to feel very relaxed, relaxed and yet aware of every texture against her skin, of how the movement of the sheets sent vibrations to her very nerve ends. Her body thrilled to the sensations and she wondered how it would respond to Zachary’s touch. Yes, the wine had been dosed.

Zachary remained a warm, unmoving presence beside her. She reached out and brushed his arm with her fingertips and that simple contact sent such waves of pleasure flooding through her that she almost cried out. After that, she refrained from touching him. She would not allow herself to get overwrought for the benefit of the watchers, and so far Zachary was showing no signs of being able to reciprocate. She remained still and hoped to sleep, but the circumstances made it difficult, and the revelations about her cousin battered her mind.

Eventually she did doze off, dreaming something of her father standing at a ship rail trying to peer through a fog bank.

“Arrows,” he said.

Yes, an arrow had killed him. She surfaced to wakefulness with tears burning her cheeks, at first disoriented. She was not in her old bed, nor was she in her new bed in the queen’s chamber. She blinked through the darkness to where the watchers should be sitting, but she could not make out their figures in the dim light. She hadn’t a clue to the hour, but they must have grown tired of watching two people sleep and left for their own beds.

“Arrows,” Zachary muttered.

Startled, Estora turned to face him. It must have been he who had awakened her. His eyes were open, aware. “Zachary?” she whispered. She caressed his warm, damp cheek, each contact with his skin sending tingles through her body. Whatever they’d dosed her with had not yet worn off.

“Arrows,” he said again, looking at her.

She should call to Ellen to summon Master Destarion, but Destarion said Zachary might awaken, that it would be all right.

Instead, she said, “Yes, it was an arrow that wounded you.”

The muscle in his cheek ticked. “No . . . battle. The arrows . . .” He gazed at her and the dim light shone in his fever-bright eyes.

“What battle, Zachary?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Has it happened?”

“There has been no battle.”

He started to sit up, but she feared he’d try to leave the bed and stand and she thought he would be too weak to bear it. She pressed his shoulder so he would sink back into his pillows. He relaxed, but she found she could not, that she did not wish to remove her hand from his shoulder, but instead trailed it along his powerful chest, over the contours of his stomach, his muscles quivering in reaction to her touch. Each variation of texture, each hollow and rise that was the landscape of his body, quickened desire through her.

When he responded, he touched her in kind, the agony of need rolling over her like a molten wave. She could feel it taking him, too.

“Do you love me?” he breathed into her ear.

Stunned, it took her moment to respond. “Yes. I believe I do. Yes.”

He levered himself above her. “Good. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

The velvet brush of Zachary’s lips against her throat made Estora think that she was the delirious one, but the touches and sensations were real, present, and she became greedy, impatient, craving more, wanting it all, and he showed her he was just as eager to provide what she required, his mouth questing across her flesh, her breasts, to secret places. She grew fierce in response, straddled him, wanton and demanding, sheathing him in her with a cry of triumph.

There was no stopping the journey they were on, and despite injury and illness, the strength was in him. He burned and drove hard. He was fire against her skin.

As their pleasure crested, however, even as she rode him into brilliance, the name upon his lips was not her own.

When they parted she lay again on her back breathing hard, staring into the dark, her body thrumming, asking for more, part of her mind, however, unnerved by the revelation of who it was Zachary truly loved.

Finally, as the dark of night dulled to the subtle gray of dawn, he lay slumped by her side deeply exhausted, his arm draped across her belly. She kissed his forehead but there was no response. She too, felt tired, but sated. Every touch no longer incited flame, and she realized whatever herb Destarion had used had worn off. It was time now for rest.

Someone applauded. Estora half sat up, heart thudding and suddenly fully awake. She held the blanket to her breast. Zachary remained insensible beside her.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

“I believe you can guess,” Richmont replied, moving from the deepest corner of the chamber to stand by her side of the bed. He plucked at her blanket. “Why so modest now, my dear cousin? Your performance this night shows otherwise.”

“I thought . . .”

“We were all gone? No, I alone remained as the sole witness. I was more patient than the others, and it paid off. You were my good little cousin and completed the rite. I enjoyed it very much.” He cupped her chin in his hand. She slapped it away and he chuckled. “Still full of feisty energy after all that. And you exhausted the king. The parties concerned shall be pleased by tonight’s results. Speaking of which . . .” He pulled something, a small vial, from a pocket. “A little pig’s blood for the bed. I should not want the servants speculating as to why there was no virgin’s stain upon the sheets when they go to change them, and you know how obsessive about such details members of the court can be if they catch wind of ... irregularities.” He placed the vial on her bedside table.

Estora listened to his footsteps as he crossed the room to the door. Before he opened it, he laughed once more. “Do not worry about that other female. She will be no competition.”

She did not want to give him the satisfaction of her asking, but she could not help herself. “What do you mean?”

“A dead woman is no competition. Do remember all I do, I do for you.” With that he was through the door and it closed behind him.

Estora fell back into her pillow, now cold after her exertions, made colder still by the vile monster Richmont revealed himself to be. What additional danger had Richmont put Karigan in than what she already faced in Blackveil? All at once she was concerned for her friend, but a very human part of her almost hoped it was true so that Zachary would be hers, and hers alone.

She shuddered, and sheltered herself in the warmth of his body.

SHEDDING BLOOD FOR THE REALM

L
ater that morning, Estora paced in the cold light of the solarium. Zachary had given her the room in the fall as a place to call her own, a place of refuge from relatives and courtiers and endless wedding preparations. It felt a hundred years ago, the problems back then much more simple. It had been such a generous gesture. Zachary had known exactly what she needed, this retreat. And yet, she’d done little to make it her own. A few chairs, a table, some wall hangings, but nothing personal. She used the room rarely, instead spending time shadowing Zachary as he moved through his days, performing his duties as king. That had enlivened her more than hiding away.

The fireplace was dark and rain splattered the windows, blurring her view of the courtyard gardens. The gardens held such promise. It was too early in the season to see growth, but it was there beneath the mulch and fallen leaves of last autumn. All was barren now, but time would bear the fruits of rain and sun and warmth. Some birds had already returned from their wintering grounds and darted about the trees and shrubs, hunting for wrinkled berries, seeds, and grubs.

She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, missing the warmth of Zachary’s bed, of him. He’d been strong during their coupling, but so exhausted after that he hadn’t awakened. He would get well. She knew it, she believed it. He must. She’d simply wished to stay with him all morning, but there were tasks she must attend to. This first was
not
on the official list Cummings had handed her while she broke her fast.

A tapping came on the door.

Finally,
she thought.

Fastion opened the door and stuck his head in. “Lieutenant Connly is here, my lady.”

“Let him in.”

Fastion stepped aside so the Rider could enter the solarium, then closed the door to resume his post out in the corridor.

Connly bowed, his posture hesitant, his gaze uncertain. She could not blame him.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I’ve come as you requested. How may I serve?”

“You told no one where you were going, whom you were seeing?”