Secrets of the Night Special Edition (56 page)

Her father's precious possessions reposed with him--his sword and bronze shield, his bronze scabbard and drinking cup, even his carriage. All these things he would take with him to the Otherworld, to give his soul joy throughout eternity.

Yesterday evening, she'd swallowed her pride and asked one of the servants to procure vellum and a feather pen, so that she could write a letter to her mother. This her father would deliver when he joined Brenna in the Otherworld. Overjoyed to make contact with her mother, Keriam had written of her life in Avador and how she missed her. Now, she held the letter reverently to her lips and kissed it, then tossed it into the grave close to her father.

Keriam wrenched her attention back to the ceremony as one of the druids began speaking over the grave. Mothla spoke of the joys of the afterlife--"for the king's soul is returning to the
Land
of
Truth
and Eternal Life. We beseech you, Talmora, accept our sovereign's soul and grant him safe passage to the Otherworld. Let us not grieve or weep over the death of our beloved king, for this is a time of joy. A soul is returning to its home. King Tencien is now joined with our dear Queen Brenna, to live with her in happiness until his next earthly incarnation."

Keriam took a deep breath, so fearful she'd soon lose control of her emotions, break down and cry. Despite her efforts, tears streamed down her cheeks.

Looking up, she caught Roric's sympathetic gaze on her, and a slight shake of his head, as if he wanted to convey a message. She turned away, wanting only to escape his presence, wishing he would leave the palace, the capital, the kingdom. Traitor! She never wanted to see him again, this man who served Balor. He had fooled her all along. Her heart hammered in her chest, every muscle taut with anger.

What would happen to her now? Unless she found a means of escape--a scheme that had so far eluded her--she was destined to spend her remaining years at the palace, confined to live and dine with the servants. Or did Balor and Aradia have a different fate planned for her? A shaft of fear hit her midsection, turning her body to ice. Did they intend to put her on trial and convict her--of what? They had no basis for arraignment, for no one knew of her preternatural powers . . . no one except Roric Gamal. Radegunda knew of her second sight, but something told Keriam the enchantress would never betray her.

Had Roric really seen her spirit that fateful night she'd spied on Aradia? He had never said a word of the encounter, so perhaps her fears proved groundless. She hoped and prayed so. Visions of her burning at the stake penetrated her sorrow, but she dismissed her fears, too heartsick to deal with anything but her father’s death.

She fixed her gaze on Balor and Aradia, the fiends! Anger pulsed through her, a muscle twitching in her jaw, hands clenched at her sides. Recognizing the need to conceal her emotions, she relaxed her position and unclenched her hands. She’d get them both, no matter what she must do or how long it took. They would not get away with murder. Someday, Balor and Aradia would both receive punishment for their sins, and she'd gain her rightful place as queen. Fearful that Avador would suffer under these unlawful rulers, she silently wept for her country. She'd save her people from the bastards if it was the last thing she ever did.

Watching as the druids shoveled dirt over her father's body, she realized--as if she needed the reminder--that she had no one to help her, no one to depend on, certainly not Roric Gamal. Very well, then. She would accomplish this mission herself.

* * *

"How long do you think she'll last here?" Midac Balor crawled into bed beside Aradia and pulled the silken sheet up to his chin, deeply inhaling her musk scent, an aroma he never tired of.

"The princess?" Aradia chuckled. "Or former princess, I should say. So far, she's shown no sign of resentment against our treatment of her. She lives with the servants, eats with them. Earlier today, I saw her outside with the gardener, pulling weeds beside the rose bushes." She giggled. "She surely doesn't look like a princess now with her grubby clothes and roughened hands. Since we've forbidden her the use of the library--and believe me, that woman likes to read--how else can she spend her time, unless it's housework? Do you know, she tried to organize a class to teach the stupid dwarf children, but I stopped that nonsense. You haven't seen them idling about with books lately, have you? I've got plenty of jobs for those ugly oafs."

Balor caressed her breasts, excitement burgeoning inside him. "Good for you, darling. I'm so proud of you. But to go back to my question--how long do you intend to keep her at the palace?"

"I want to see how much misery she can take," she said, easing her thigh over his. "Maybe after awhile I'll consider releasing her, but not yet. You have no idea how happy I am to get even with that woman after all the insults I suffered from her." She paused, tracing her fingers across his chest. "Why don't we just kill her?"

He shook his head. "Not a good idea. We already have two murders behind us--have you forgotten Fergus? One more assassination might make the people a bit suspicious. More to the point, I fear it would definitely arouse resentment against me. Just the same, it would relieve my mind to get her out of the palace soon. If we keep her here much longer, she'll become a disrupting influence. We'd best let her go, eventually."

"No!" Aradia shifted her position. "She might stir up trouble among the people."

"She’ll cause no trouble away from the palace. My men have orders to quell any uprising, stamp out the first sign of rebellion. And remember--I have spies everywhere. If she attempts a revolt, she'll learn the true meaning of punishment for a traitor. If she even speaks a word against either of us, she'll be skinned alive. That threat alone should cure her of any treasonous ideas."

"And teach her who runs the country now. But Midac, darling, one thing you must promise me."

"Whatever you want." His fingers traced a path across her stomach, then trailed down to the moist juncture at her thighs.

"Permit me to supervise her execution," she purred.

He rose on top of her and whispered in her ear. "How can I deny you anything?"

Chapter Sixteen

"She'll get what she deserves, and the sooner, the better. Both of them." Hands on her hips, Bertha stood in the steaming hot kitchen, supervising the cooks as they prepared a beef and vegetable stew for the evening meal. Rich aromas filled the room: the stew bubbling in an iron cauldron over the hearth, and acorn bread baking in the brick oven. Two wide windows flanked the east wall of the kitchen, the sun sinking below the horizon.

We all know who Bertha is talking about, Keriam fretted as she leaned against a wooden counter to cut up carrots. The head cook's face and arms revealed a mass of black and blue marks, a result of Aradia's complaints about the palace food--"too hot or too cold, too spicy or too bland--" Bertha enumerated the criticisms, kicking a stool for emphasis, as if she wished it were Aradia's head. The other cooks went about their chores--setting the tables, fetching butter from the larder, settling the dwarf children at their own table--now and then nodding in agreement.

Apparently, Aradia didn't mind where Keriam labored, as long as she worked, and as long as she was under the watchful eye of a palace guard. Her life had settled into a predictable routine--helping Annan with the garden in the morning, and preparing meals in the late afternoon. How she missed reading to the dwarf children, tending to their needs when their mothers were too busy. And how she missed her father. Goddess! She needed him. For a moment, she stared off into space, her thoughts far away, to all the happy times she and her father had shared. Brushing the back of her hand across her eyes, she returned to her job.

She set the carrot pieces aside, then started slicing two stalks of celery, lining them up in a row on the cutting board. Finished a few minutes later, she scooped up the carrot and celery pieces into a bowl, then dumped the vegetables into the cauldron, where the beef and carrots already cooked in a rich, dark broth. The fragrant bouquet of thyme and coriander rising from the pot whetted her appetite, since she'd eaten her mid-day meal hours ago.

Long-handled iron spoon in hand, Ula stood by the wide stone hearth, stirring the stew. Her face shone with perspiration, wet spots staining her dress. Past experience had taught the cooks not to leave the kitchen door open to get a cool breeze, for then the flies swarmed in mercilessly. At the far end of the hearth, Kormlada drew out loaves of acorn bread from the brick oven. A yeasty, nutty aroma floated through the room, further whetting Keriam's appetite. Ula gave the stew one final stir, then set the dripping spoon on a wooden counter and grabbed a ladle from the rack. "Stew's done," she announced to the other servants who waited outside the kitchen. They traipsed into the room, each one casting ravenous looks at the hearth. "Everyone get a bowl for yerselves before I take up a helping for the royal bastards." She smiled at Keriam while the servants lined up in order of precedence and fetched a wooden bowl from a stack on the counter.

After the other servants ladled up their helpings, Ula looked around. "Well, it looks like we all have ours. Now I'll add a bit of extra flavoring for the bastards." An exchange of amused glances followed this pronouncement. Keriam smiled, too, although a guilty flush warmed her face as Ula threw in the day's collection of dead flies--those that had slipped into the room with each opening and closing of the outside door--and cut-up cockroaches she’d saved for the occasion. A few minutes later, two giggling servants with trays left the kitchen and headed for the palace dining room.

Placed at the head of the table, Keriam raised a spoonful of stew to her mouth, the beef and vegetables salted and spiced to perfection. "Very good, Bertha. You outdid yourself this time." She reached for a slice of bread and passed the platter along to the others, to the only family she had now.

Bertha took a slice and chewed, then looked at the others gathered at the table. "Looks like I won't see my brother much anymore," she said, seeing she had everyone's attention. "He's a miner, ya know. Visited him last Sacredday. He told me the king's set new hours for the miners--fifteen hours a day!"

"Fifteen hours!" Ula expressed everyone's shock.

"You heard me." Bertha gulped her cider, then set the mug down with a hard thud, spilling drops on the table. "And that ain't all. He's givin' them only one-half day off a nineday.”

"Goddess!"

"Things is like that all over, so I've heard."

"Yeh, everyone's complainin'."

The group sat in silent commiseration, a sorrowful expression on their faces.

After a few moments, Bertha broke the silence. "That's the way it is all over the kingdom, or so everyone tells me. That bastard Balor hasn't even been on the throne one moonphase, but I can't remember when the people's been so unhappy, even when we had the black fever all those years ago." She lifted her hands. "But what can we do? What can anyone do?"

Glum expressions around the table provided the answer. The head gardener spoke for the entire group. "Nothin'."

Oh, no, Keriam mused.
You are so wrong
.
There is plenty we can do, and I intend to do my part.

* * *

"Aradia has lost no time in spending palace funds," Keriam remarked to Kormlada as the two of them opened crates and boxes in the vast storage room next to the pantry, searching for new silver drinking cups the sorceress had ordered for royal dining. The money could have been better spent on the Avadoran people, Keriam fumed, shoving a heavy box out of the way.

"Oh, madam, you should see the new silk draperies in the royal bedchamber, and bedcovers to match. I sneaked up there while the king and queen were away one evening." Kormlada frowned. "I didn't see nothin' wrong with the draperies they already had." With a pry bar, she cracked open a wooden crate and drew out a silver cup. "Ah, here we are." She held it up, and even in the dim light, it shone brightly.

"Pretty, but unnecessary." Keriam looked around her, at the immense quantity of items stored in the room--new sheepskin rugs and blankets, boxes of spermaceti candles especially made for the palace by a candlemaker in Moytura. She spied a long coil of heavy rope stashed in a corner, for use in lifting bluestone to replace broken stones on the second floor of the east side of the palace. Fergus had arranged for their delivery shortly before his death.

Her breath caught, an idea forming in her mind. The rope! If she could only elude the guards, she could simply walk out of the palace late at night. But if she had to, she might need to lower herself down from her room. She hoped and prayed she wouldn't need the rope, but it might be good to have it, to be on the safe side.

Kormlada broke through her thoughts. "
Arad
--the queen wanted these cups especially for the reception they're gonna have soon. Hundreds of guests supposed to come."

"Reception?" Keriam's spirits sank.
Hundreds of guests
. How could she ever escape the palace?

"Yes, madam, didn't you hear? Most of them should arrive any day now and stay for days. I heard tell from one of the other servants that all kinds of activities are planned. People will be comin' and goin' all hours of the day and night."