Secrets of the Night Special Edition (47 page)

"Why were the thugs beating you?" Keriam asked, although she was sure of the answer.

"They called me a witch, and--"

"And are you? Radegunda, if you practice
good
magic, your secret is safe with me."

"Only good magic. Never evil."

"Ah, now we are getting somewhere. As long as you do no harm--"

"Never, madam.” She shook her head fiercely. “As I say, only good."

"Something I must tell you--Roric Gamal still retains his officer's rank and has influence with His Majesty. He may cause trouble, since he greatly fears witchcraft. Stay away from him." Keriam wished she could follow her own advice. But something drew her to him, as though her mind–and her heart–had no will of their own. “Best you stay away from Roric Gamal,” she repeated.

"Oh, madam, I will."

Another thought hit Keriam. "If you have the second sight, why didn't you know that Roric Gamal works for the palace?"

"Like I said, I was too upset to catch that fact at the time he saved me. Anyway, my ability don't always work when I want it to. Sometimes it comes to me unexpected-like, especially in dreams."

"Ah, yes." Keriam nodded. It was the same with her, but she'd never admit it to anyone, least of all the druids, who held the power of life and death over all the people of the kingdom. Satisfied with the information she'd gathered, she pushed away from the counter. "It is agreed then. I'll say nothing of your skills, and I hope you realize it's to your advantage to say nothing of mine." She regretted the threat immediately.

"I'll keep quiet, princess. I promise."

"That's settled, then." She sniffed appreciably at the aromatic scents wafting from the wooden bowls. "Your customers must enjoy your toiletries. They surely do have tempting scents."

"Indeed, madam. I'll send some lilac soap and talcum powder up to your room tomorrow."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to using them.” She turned to leave. What if Roric Gamal discovered her powers? Even though she knew no magic, he could easily accuse her of witchcraft. What if he saw her specter on one of her nightly sojourns, or discovered she had the second sight? She shuddered at the thought. If only she could follow her advice to Radegunda and stay away from him. But circumstances and concern for her father had thrown them together. And something else she was afraid to identify, an attraction that grew stronger every day, more intense each time she saw him.

Even if Roric suspected Aradia, what could they do about the steward's widow? Since Fergus had been buried several days go, Aradia had shown no desire to return to her village. The sorceress should be an actress, Keriam fumed, recalling the woman's tears as Fergus lay in his grave. What kept her here, if not Balor? King Malachy's advice about the evil woman returned to haunt her.

Kill her if you must.

Chapter Nine

Dressed plainly, oblivious to the noise and laughter around him, Roric sat at a corner table in The Hungry Bear, nursing a mug of malt corma. Mostly farmers, drovers, and a few craftsmen patronized this clean but humble tavern where a multitude of aromas filled the air--the smoke from countless pipes, the yeasty smell of corma, the tantalizing fragrance of beef sizzling in the stone hearth. Lit glass lamps hung from wall hooks, relieving the room's somber dullness, masking scratches and burn holes on the furniture. Young and old customers, men and women, occupied every table of the common room. Narrow, worn stairs at the back of the room led to sleeping quarters above.

Talmora's bones! He needed a pleasure woman now. When was the last time he'd procured the services of one of those wenches?
If you can’t remember that, you’re in bad
s
hape,
old man.
Mindful of diseases, he kept a pregnancy shield in an inside cloak pocket. Besides, he didn't want to leave any unwanted children behind.

Raising the mug to his mouth, Roric reflected on his new position as palace steward, a responsibility that kept him engaged from dawn and throughout the day, often until the early morning hours. The king had finally insisted he take a day from his duties every nineday. And that was a suggestion he couldn't refuse, he thought, setting his mug down. Still, he missed his parents and the rest of his family, writing to them whenever time permitted, enjoying all their news from home. He sighed. Maybe someday . . .

Thankful none of the military officers or palace staff frequented this tavern, he basked in his temporary anonymity. Soon enough, he'd return to the palace, once more embroiled in all its machinations. Not that he minded the obligations his position entailed, far from it. Yet he walked a perilous path as the palace steward, but also one who must pretend to join in the plot against the king. How much longer would his luck hold out? How much longer could he lead this double life? He drummed his fingers on the oaken table. Sacred shrine! What if Balor found him out?

If Balor should succeed in his assassination--the Goddess forbid!--Roric would consider a plan that had brewed in his mind for a long time. Best if he, Roric, took part in the general's government, hoping to thwart him and eventually overthrow him, then restore Princess Keriam to the throne. Possibly he could even moderate Balor's plans and tame his excesses. What would happen if the general were permitted to run roughshod over the people of Avador? His hands clenched on the table, as if wringing Balor’s neck. If only he could!

Radegunda still resided at the palace, damn the witch! He kept his distance from her, but he wished Keriam would send her away. After Balor was arrested for treason--and he would be--Roric would approach the princess again. He would convince her that Radegunda posed a different kind of threat, but one every bit as menacing.

Draining his mug, Roric contemplated ordering another. He looked around for the serving wench, a pretty, buxom lass with blonde hair and blue eyes, not to mention swaying hips that promised untold pleasures.

She caught his glance and approached his table, a beguiling smile on her face. "May I offer you anything else, sir?"

Roric grinned. "That depends on what you have to offer."

She jerked her head in the direction of the stairs. "Let's find out."

* * *

Three evenings later, Roric left the king's study after a consultation with Tencien concerning a new bridge over the
Nantosuelta
River
, its cost estimate and feasibility of construction before the start of the rainy season, several moonphases away. Now would be a good time to explore the dungeon, while the rest of the palace slept and before he sought his own room. After he traversed the long hallway and hurried down the stone steps to the first floor, he strode past the main hall and the extended walkway until he reached a heavy oaken door beyond the kitchen, one that warded the dungeon.

A lantern hung on the wall outside the dungeon. Using a torch from a wall sconce, he lit the lantern, then opened the creaking door. By the dim light, he passed through and closed the door behind him. He descended the stone stairs, his footsteps cautious on the dark, mold-slippery steps. The lantern light did little to dispel the stygian darkness, the floor jolting him as he reached the bottom.

The stench overwhelmed him, all but making him gag.

Setting the lantern down for a moment, he brushed spider webs from his hair and tunic, his eyes trying to penetrate the darkness. As he moved on, rats scurried out of his way, and a rank odor assailed him, a blend of stale urine and excrement. Cockroaches climbed the walls and skittered along the floor, crawling across his boots.

Roric slapped at the pests. "Damn it, get off!" Walking on, he nearly slipped and fell on the slimy floor but caught himself. He moved more slowly, gaining time to acclimate himself to the layout of the cells.

Under Tencien, the prison had found few occupants, but wisdom warned Roric that situation would change if ever Balor gained the throne. Since the cells remained empty, no guards were posted, but he noted a chair for one guard, and a key rack nailed to the wall above .

Holding the lantern closer, he examined the row of keys, observing they were numbered to correspond with the numbers of the cells. He grabbed a key at random and headed for the matching cell. There, an iron door faced him, with only a tiny opening at the top and one at the bottom for passing in food and water. A simple twist unlocked the cell door, and he stepped inside, his gaze covering a straw pallet--flea-ridden, no doubt--next to the wall, an iron bucket in the corner, and manacles chained to the wall. Anxious to escape the cell's foul odor, he left and closed the heavy door behind him. Four more cells lined this side of the room, an equal number of cells on the opposite side.

A wide wooden door at the end of the dungeon beckoned, and his footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he headed for the door. At the end, Roric raised the iron bar and pushed the door open, only to find a long stone tunnel, reached by descending a few steps. More rats scuttled out of the way as he proceeded along, the tunnel walls dark and slimy. After walking about twenty yards, he came to another set of steps leading upward, a hinged door above his head, no doubt concealed from the outside by a cluster of bushes. With one hard push, he opened the door and caught a cool night breeze, but more than that, information that might prove useful in the future.

How many people know of this tunnel? He'd wager not even the princess knew of it, for royalty didn't concern themselves with such crude matters.

Recollections of Princess Keriam taunted him as he emerged onto the first floor of the palace and strode across the main hall, on the way to the stairs that led to the upper floors. He knew their mutual concern for the king's safety would bring them together more often in the coming days, a prospect that sent his mind racing in different directions. Anticipation grappled with reluctance, for much as her calm, confident demeanor always lightened his mood, he feared enthrallment by her charm.

And it would be a long, long time before he forgot his wife . . . if ever.

* * *

"A moment of your time, Aradia." Keriam waited by a stone statue of Seluvia, the forest goddess, as the steward's widow approached her along the hallway. Fury blazed inside her, but despite Malachy's advice, Keriam could never murder Aradia, even if murder of a witch were possible.

"Yes, madam?" Aradia raised her eyebrows, her musk scent overpowering. Her green silk dress clung to every curve of her body, its neckline much too low for daytime wear.

Keriam tensed, but she would proceed with her plan. She must get the sorceress out of the palace. "Now that Fergus is . . . is dead, I should think you'd want to return to Mag Bregha, to your family."

"Oh, madam, I find I like it quite well here at the palace."

"Well, I find I'd rather have you gone from here. Aradia, I won't pretend I've ever had any fondness for you. And I don't understand why you've remained here so long after Fergus's death."
Balor, obviously
. "But it's best that you return to Mag Bregha. I'm sure you'll be happier there, away from sad memories." Keriam struggled to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "So I want you to leave no later than the day after tomorrow." Keriam paused, waiting for a reaction from the sorceress, a reaction she didn't get. "Will you need any help with packing your belongings or transporting them?"

"I have few possessions, madam, my clothes and a few trinkets. I can pack them in a case and use the palace carriage, if I may."

"Yes, of course." Keriam paused, at a loss to know what more to say. She dared not touch the witch for fear of the images her touch would invoke. "Well, then, I wish you good fortune in your future endeavors," she said, looking forward to the day she'd be rid of the woman.

But what about Balor? Keriam wondered as Aradia glided down the hallway. Surely Aradia still harbored an affection for the general. King Malachy's warning about the steward's widow returned to trouble her. Keriam couldn't believe this was the end of her association with the sorceress, but apparently it was so.

Keriam frowned. Aradia had agreed to return to her home much too hastily. Why hadn't she threatened to go to the king, to ask his permission to stay? She might do that yet, Keriam considered. If so, she'd have to convince her father that Aradia must depart.

* * *

Keriam headed for the stables the following day, intent on visiting the library to obtain more books for the palace children. Maudina was busy elsewhere, thank the Goddess. She found Traigh inside Liath's stall, bent at the waist, his back to the horse, the horse's hoof between the man's legs. Frowning, he released the horse's leg and straightened as she entered. The stall smelled of fresh hay and pine shavings, with tack and saddle hanging from wall hooks.

"Madam, we have a problem with the horses--all of them." He scratched his head. "Their hooves--they all have a stone bruise and--"

"A what?"

"Madam, all the horses' hooves are stricken with a stone bruise. I can't understand it. Now and then, a horse may develop this malady--but all of them?" He brushed his hands on his tunic and shook his head.