Summers at Castle Auburn (34 page)

“That's why I did it.”

“So, what did she say? What reason did she give?”

He smiled faintly. “That I had better uses for my life than to throw it away protecting her.”

I thought that over. “A noble reason, I suppose,” I said slowly. “But I would rather she wasted your life than ruined hers.”

He gave me a sardonic bow from the waist. “I shall try not to be insulted by that.”

“I'm sorry. It's just that—what will become of her? I dread this marriage. And I know she does.”

“She will not admit that. She told me she knows what she's doing. She seemed very calm about it.”

“Elisandra is always calm. That is no way to gauge.”

“Perhaps she thinks it will not be so bad—not much different than it is now.”

I stared at him. “She will be
married
to him. Sharing his
bed.
Forgive me for disagreeing, but I think that is much worse.”

Kent glanced at me, looked away, glanced back. “Last night,” he said slowly, “Bryan took to his bed a young lady traveling in the entourage of Megan of Tregonia. Not a noblewoman, mind you, but not a servant, either. She was sent on her way this morning.”

I could not speak for the shock. I had no illusions about Bryan's virginity, not after the episode with Tiatza last summer. Still, I had hoped for some fidelity to a bride so beautiful as Elisandra.

Kent continued, “Elisandra knew about the episode. She knows about countless others. I think she thinks perhaps he will not make conjugal demands upon her.”

“He must,” I said through a strangled throat. “He must have a legitimate heir.”

Kent nodded sharply twice. “Then perhaps once she has produced this heir, he will ask nothing more of her. I think that is what she hopes.”

I passed a hand over my face. “But even so—he will have her watched closely. He will not want her to—to take lovers of her own. For any child born to the queen will be considered legitimate and a potential heir to the throne.”

“I know,” Kent said soberly.

I stared at him. “Then what kind of life is that for her? Ignored by her husband, surrounded by spies, unable to find a moment's affection for the rest of her life—”

“It is a life many of the noble ladies of Auburn endure,” he said quietly.

I watched him for a long time in silence. The light from the red lamp overhead made the right side of his face look ruddy and jovial, but the reflections from the blue light gave his left cheek a solemn, brooding air. “This is my last summer at Castle Auburn,” I said at last.

He nodded. “I know.”

“How did you know?”

“You have been too unhappy here for too long. You do not like us.”

“Some of you I like a great deal,” I said in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “But living here is too painful. I do not think I could stand it another season.”

“And then what becomes of Elisandra?” he asked. “If she does not have you to look forward to, what will she live for?”

“I'll work that out,” I said.

“I think your uncle Jaxon can be counted on here,” Kent said, his voice losing a little of its solemnity. “I'm sure Elisandra can persuade him to invite you both to Halsing Manor. He has much less interest in your political pretensions these days. He no longer cares if he pleases Bryan
or
my father.”

“An excellent idea!” I approved, my own mood lightening a bit. “We shall stay there for months at a time, lolling about and reading badly written romances. We will grow fat eating all my uncle's food, and we will be so lazy that the aliora queen will beg Jaxon to send us home.”

“It sounds idyllic.”

“Perhaps we will allow you to come for a day or two, when we have grown bored with each other's company and require entertainment.”

He smiled. “I was hoping you would invite me.”

“But you must be amusing,” I warned him, “or we will not let you stay for long.”

He stood up and held out his hands to me. I allowed him to pull me to my feet. “People do not generally welcome me because I am amusing,” he said regretfully. “It is because I am sober and well reasoned and do not make hasty judgments that people seek my company.”

“Then perhaps we can have you settle our disputes over which color of embroidery thread looks best in a certain pattern, and ask you to determine who has been cheating at cards.”

“Ah, there I am your man. There I am exactly what you are looking for.”

He had not released my hands. I did not want to pull away, and I did not want to ask him to let me go. I stared up at him in the colorful dark and could read nothing in the patchwork of his face.

“And don't bring Megan with you when you come,” I said suddenly.

He laughed out loud, clearly caught by surprise. “You need have no fear of that,” he said cheerfully. “I will not marry her if you do not marry Ordinal of Wirsten.”

“Then we have a bargain,” I said dryly. “I think I will marry no one, for marriage does not seem like such a good arrangement to me.”

He looked down at me, and I wondered what secrets my face revealed under the gaily colored lamps. “That would be too bad,” he said. “Would you not marry even for love?”

“Love does not seem to bring anyone much happiness, as far as I have observed. So I think the lesson learned is never to love.”

“The lesson is to love wisely,” he replied.

“I'm not sure that is possible, either,” I said.

“You're cynical tonight,” he said.

“Sad.”

“I wish I could cheer you.”

I smiled faintly. “Study your juggling and your sleight of hand. Then you can cheer me when you visit us at Jaxon's.”

“I meant, tonight.”

I was silent a moment. He still had not dropped my hands, and it amazed me how desperately I did not want him to let me go even now. “I cannot be cheered tonight,” I said finally. “I can only be distracted.”

“Comforted?” he suggested and slowly, as if waiting for a protest that did not come, he drew me into his arms. I leaned against his chest and his arms wrapped around me. I felt safe and warm and hopeful as I had not felt in weeks. I turned my face into the cloth of his shirt and felt the tears rise. I knew that I would not be able to stop them, and knew that he would feel their wetness through the cotton to his skin, and knew he would know why I was crying and that he would not care. We stood embraced that way for minutes, hours, I could not guess how long. I cried and he held me and neither of us spoke a word.

The following morning, just four hours after dawn, my sister Elisandra married Prince Bryan of Auburn.

W
e were up at dawn, seemingly hundreds of us gathered in Elisandra's room to make her ready for the wedding. In addition to Elisandra and me, the room was filled with Greta, Angela, Lady Sasha, Cressida, two other aliora women, Daria, the castle seamstress, two of her assistants, and countless other servants coming and going at someone's command. We needed food, hot water, new hairpins, more thread, a completely different petticoat than the one that had been specially sewn for the gown because suddenly it had acquired a rip along the hem. We needed hair ribbons, pearl rings, net gloves, silk shoes—all of which had been procured in advance, of course, all of which had mysteriously been mislaid. I never saw such a whirlwind of energy and purpose, such moments of hysteria and hilarity, and all in one confined space. Through all the commotion, Elisandra stood calm, almost unmoving, arms extended as the women dressed her, head tilted as they combed her hair. She looked serene, at peace, unmoved and rested, and no one would have suspected that she had not slept for even an hour the night before.

I happened to know this, because I had come directly up to her room after leaving Kent at the fountain. I had meant just to check and make sure she was sleeping, and offer to keep her company if
she was not, but in fact, she was not in her bed. She was nowhere in her rooms at all. I quickly searched my own apartments, just in case she had fallen asleep in my bed, awaiting my return, but she was not there, either.

Had she sought solace with her mother? With Cressida? I had never known her to go to the aliora for refuge, but then, she probably did not know how often I frequented that high, crowded chamber. Had she run away? Unlikely as it seemed, I hoped for the last possibility; but just in case she planned to return, I went back to her room and curled up in her bed.

I was dozing when, not long before dawn, I heard her enter. “Where have you been?” I demanded to the shadow in the dark.

“Corie?” she asked, her voice unsurprised. “Light a candle.”

I complied, and she crossed the room to drop onto the bed beside me. “You've been gone all night,” I complained. “Where have you been?”

She made an indecisive gesture with her hand. “Checking on things. The flowers in the chapel. The food in the kitchen. The arrangements in the royal suite. Everything I could think of.”

“You should have been sleeping,” I scolded.

“I couldn't sleep. How long have you been here?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Did you need me for something? I'm sorry I was gone.”

I sat up, pulling the covers around my waist. Did
I
need something—? “I came to talk to you,” I said slowly. “To tell you—if you don't want to marry Bryan, there are options. I have skills that will allow me to start a practice in any town. We could bring your clothes and your jewels and sell them on the road. That would give us enough money to get started. And then we could rent a small house in some little village where nobody knows your name, nobody knows mine. We could live that way. No one would ever be able to find us.”

“Corie.” She leaned over and put a hand on my cheek, as if to reassure herself that I was real, as if marveling that such a miracle could have transpired when she was not paying attention. “What a
thing to offer me. I am touched and grateful. But I will not allow you to give up your life for mine.”

That was what she had told Kent; and I gave her the answer I had given him. “Better to do that than see yours ruined.”

She dropped her hand. “I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing.”

“He'll destroy you,” I whispered.

“I don't think so,” she said.

“He destroys everything.”

“I'll be safe,” she said.

“If you ever change your mind,” I said. “At any time. Married to him or not. Come to me, and I'll make a home for you.”

Now she leaned forward again, this time to kiss me on the cheek. “I'll remember that,” she said.

I don't know if I would have repeated my arguments, useless though I knew them to be, but at that moment, there was a brisk knocking on the outer door followed immediately by Greta's entrance. Elisandra had closely timed her return to her room. She had known when her mother would arrive to begin the day's ablutions.

After that, of course, there was no time for private conversation. The room filled with women, and I was sent off on my share of errands. Angela, who was dispatched along with me to track down the errant petticoat, seemed as delirious as if the wedding were her own. “Isn't this exciting?” she exclaimed more than once. “Your sister is marrying the prince!”

Although Elisandra was the key player in the upcoming tableau, eventually the rest of us had to attend to our own toilettes. While Daria continued fussing over Elisandra, the aliora helped the rest of us dress. I wore a deep-hued gown of gorgeous cinnamon, which brought out the rich colors of my skin and my hair, while Angela was lustrous in shimmering gold. The hues provided a dramatic foil for Elisandra's dress of antique lace, layer upon layer of fragile weblike fabric the exact color of yellowed ivory. Greta had sniffed and said we were dressed for an autumn wedding, not a summer one, but I had felt the colors were appropriate for the event, which seemed to me to mark the withering end of a bitter season.

Greta and Lady Sasha were dressed in much livelier colors, amethyst and sapphire, joyous jewel tones. I wondered how anyone could find this an occasion to celebrate.

Once we were all dressed, we observed the ritual that, among the highborn and the low, was common between the bride and her attendants. One by one, we approached Elisandra and gave her a simple gift, something of personal significance, though it need not be expensive. Angela, for instance, gave the bride a handkerchief embroidered on every square inch with intertwined
E
s and
B
s. Lady Sasha gave her a prayer book to kiss when she spoke her vows. Greta gave her a simple locket in the shape of a heart, on a chain so long that the pendant slipped out of sight into the décolletage of the dress.

“A heart so you know my heart goes with you,” Greta said, kissing Elisandra on the cheek and wiping her own eye with one gloved finger. I had never seen Greta cry before. I tried not to stare, though I found myself uncharitably wondering if the emotion was real.

When it was my turn to give my sister a gift, I handed her a small, flat sachet bag made of white silk and lace. “Slip it into your bodice, next to your heart,” I told her.

She did so, giving me a quizzical look. “And what magical herbs have you mixed in this little bag?”

I smiled. “Too many to name.”

“What are they meant to bring me?”

I came close enough to touch her, laying one finger upon her lips for each gift I had given. “Courage. Strength. Protection.” I dropped my hand and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Love.” I kissed her on the cheek and backed away.

Greta glanced around the room as if she had never seen it before, as if she would never see it again. “Are we all done here?” she asked. “Then it is time to go.”

Greta, Angela, and Lady Sasha were already outside the door when Cressida stopped Elisandra with a hand on her arm. “I wish you would take a gift from me as well, Lady Elisandra,” the aliora said.

“Gladly,” Elisandra said. “But your good wishes are enough.”

The others were in the hallway. I could hear their high voices and nervous laughter, but I stayed to watch this exchange. Cressida handed Elisandra a small net bag tied with a bit of string—a sachet, much like mine, but less fancy.

“It is something the aliora keep beside them at all times, even in captivity. I have my own bag, that I carry in my pocket by day and place under my pillow at night.”

Elisandra took the sachet and sniffed at it before tucking it into one of her dripping lace sleeves. “And what is the herb, and what will it bring me?” she asked gently.

“It is a common flower, found on the forest floor. You have another name for it, but we call it haeinwort. It is said that, when you are lost or confused, you need merely take a breath of it, and it will remind you who you are. It brings you back to yourself.”

Elisandra smiled. “Then, as my life becomes so strange and so demanding, I will welcome such a gift. I am sure I will often want a simple way to come back to myself. Thank you, Cressida.”

“You're welcome, my lady.”

But I knew haeinwort, and I knew Cressida was not telling the truth. Oh, some herbalists did tell you that its secondary benefit was restorative, that it would help you focus your mind and, as Cressida said, “bring you back to yourself.” But it was primarily sold as a more active and optimistic drug: It conferred hope. It was a hedge against despair. I could well believe that all the imprisoned aliora needed such a potion, but I was amazed that Cressida had found the resources to produce such a charm for Elisandra. For it was
not
a common flower, and Cressida did
not
live in the forest where she might harvest it for herself. My only guess was that she had given her own portion to Elisandra, deeming that the bride would need it more than she.

“A generous gift,” I said to the aliora, meeting her gaze with a level look. She gave me a small, private smile; she knew I was witch enough to understand the symbolism.

“The lady has always been generous to me,” she replied. “Good luck to you all.”

* * *

T
HE CHAPEL WAS
full to overflowing. Before we began our ceremonial procession down the center aisle, I peeked in through the back door to get a glimpse of the throng. The audience was arranged by rank, all the great nobles sitting in the front pews and the lesser gentry behind them. You could have done a genealogy chart of the eight provinces just by writing down who sat where to observe the wedding.

Bryan, Kent, and Holden of Veledore were waiting for us outside the chapel door, as were Roderick and Damien. Greta reared back in dismay when she saw the latter additions to the party.

“What are
they
doing here? This is a wedding, not a brawl.”

“My personal guard goes with me everywhere,” Bryan replied coolly. “What better time to make an assault on the prince than when he is at his most happy—and his most unguarded?”

“Fine, very well, then, at least he gives you some consequence. But this little man—your taster—”

Bryan regarded her out of very measuring eyes. “The ceremony is sealed with wine and sealed with water,” he said. “I do not put anything in my body that has not been tested first.”

I wondered, not for the first time, if Bryan had any idea how many slow-acting poisons were available to do him in long after Damien had survived the first few bites. Now did not seem like the time to bring it up.

“You arrogant boy,” Greta hissed. “You will make a fool of yourself and my daughter before every noble of the eight provinces if you do not even trust yourself to take a drink of the wedding wine.”

“I will not, however, make a fool of myself before you, if you make one more comment,” Bryan said suavely. “My guard will be happy to escort you from the chapel if you feel you cannot observe my actions.”

At that, Greta blanched and fell silent. This was the grandest day of her life, and even to prevent Bryan from disgrace, she would not say another syllable and run the risk of missing it.

“Mother, it's fine,” Elisandra said, patting Greta kindly on the back. “Damien will taste for both of us. He protects me as well.”

Greta turned huge eyes her daughter's way. You could just see the words shouting in her head:
But you do not need protection in such a setting!
But not for the world would she utter the words.

“So, my bride, are we ready?” Bryan said, addressing Elisandra for the first time, and in a jaunty voice that was somehow very disturbing. It was as if he had, within seconds, laid aside his icy mood and assumed a jocular one. It made him seem unstable—a little frightening.

Elisandra did not seem put off. She nodded serenely and laid her hand upon his crooked arm. “Ready, my prince,” she said.

And, two by two, we entered the chapel.

First, Greta and Lady Sasha entered, signaling to the musicians and flower bearers before hastily taking their seats in the back of the chapel. They would be the first ones out, rushing to the kitchens to give instructions to the cooks. Once the music started, and the flower bearers had tossed rose petals down the center aisle, Bryan and Elisandra entered. Kent and I followed, and Angela and Holden came behind us. Damien and Roderick formed the last pair, an unconventional couple to trail behind this grand procession.

The ceremony itself seemed endless. I had been to my share of weddings—most of them, it is true, the rough-and-tumble, three-quick-vows affairs that you would most often witness in the village—but none which was as interminable as this one. The four attendants were required to speak up at various points during the ceremony, stating our belief in the rightness of the marriage and the fidelity of the two people most involved. I managed to say my pieces on cue without choking on the lies, despite the fact that my mind had not taken in a single word the priest said before he looked at me and asked, “And do you, Lady Coriel, affirm this?” Beside me, Kent's responses were solemnly spoken. Bryan and Elisandra answered every question with clear voices that must have carried to the back of the room.