The Keys to the Realms (The Dream Stewards) (10 page)

“Ariane.” This was not the conversation Glain had wanted to have, but there was no avoiding it now. “Are you really that foolish?”

A look of wounded denial washed over Ariane’s face. “If love is foolish, then yes. Yes, I am.”

“Oh, good grace.” Glain dropped to a perch on the edge of the bed to bring herself to even terms with her friend. She was crestfallen. “It can’t be love. Or at least it shouldn’t be. You are a Steward, Ariane. Your duty is to fulfill Hywel’s destiny, not his desires. Besides, he has a wife.”

“He married for title and land, not for love.” Ariane’s chin
jutted
. “Don’t be such a priss, Glain. There are many ways a
sorceress
might serve a king. I consider it an honor that he seeks his
comfort
from me. He
needs
me.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Glain was so stunned that she forgot to be kind. “Even you could not be this naïve.”

Ariane took offense, and the backlash was immediate. “Your lusting after Alwen’s son is every bit as foolish.
Just bec
ause he hasn’t bedded you doesn’t make you any less his whore.”

Ariane’s biting anger was unexpected and unsettling. For a moment she was another person than the girl Glain knew. Even her generally plain appearance seemed altered, strangely beautified by the gleam and flare of her passion. This was not Ariane’s character, or so Glain would have said before these last few days. Within the simple, unassuming and obliging girl that Glain had taken into her trust coiled a stirring viper. Glain, who had always taken pride in seeing potential in Ariane that others did not, had somehow failed to see this.

Glain stood up and straightened her robe to keep from appearing uncomfortable, and took a few steps toward the door, to keep space between them. “I count Rhys among my friends, just as I do you.”

“You count me as your friend because it makes you feel superior to do so. But I know better.” Ariane’s usual vacant calm
resurfaced
as she returned to the mirror on her dressing table. “You have just as many failings as the rest of us. You’re just better at hiding them than most.”

Glain was hurt, and a little disturbed. “The others are waiting for us in the scriptorium.”

“Good.” Ariane pulled herself away from the mirror, wrapped her white robe around her, and proceeded to the doorway, putting herself in the lead. “It’s time we quit avoiding the obvious.”

Glain followed Ariane into the hall, scurrying to match her pace. “What is that supposed to mean, Ariane?”

As if she’d just remembered her place, Ariane slowed as she reached the third-floor landing and waited for Glain to overtake her. “I simply mean to point out that some might think you are too quick to favor your friends, myself included.”

Glain reached the second-floor landing a few steps ahead of Ariane and waited. “I don’t understand.”

Ariane ignored her and gestured toward the scriptorium doors. “They are waiting for you.”

N
INE

Y
nyr had brought Verica and Euday, and was waiting for her
inside
the scriptorium, just as she had instructed. He was faithful and reliable no matter what she asked of him, which only made Ariane’s comments about appearances all the more annoying.

Glain looked to Ynyr, hoping to redeem her earlier bad
temper
by deferring to his leadership in front of the others. “Will you give us an account of our progress?”

He avoided her eyes as he responded, making her even more
miserable. “We have searched all the outbuildings, including
the barracks and the officers’ quarters, the stable and forge, and the old residence halls. The acolytes’ dormitory was too badly
damaged
during Machreth’s incursion to enter safely. Emrys has assigned men to shore up the walls enough to allow us in, but that will take another two days. Inside the Fane, we have finished with all of the common areas, including the spell rooms.”

Ynyr was careful not to mention finding the bloodstone
necklace
, just as Alwen had asked. “That leaves us with the
scriptorium
, the kitchens, and the apprentices’ residence hall.”

“There is also the dungeon beneath the kitchens, and the tunnels and chambers beneath the west annex,” Euday added. “But much of that is even more impassable than the
dormitory
.”

“What about the grounds themselves?” Verica wondered. “Isn’t it just as possible that the scrolls could be hidden in a well or a hollow tree? Or even in a hole in one of the exterior walls?”

“Alwen is convinced they are somewhere within the Fane itself,” Glain explained. “How she can be so certain I have no way to know, but I trust her judgment. I think we can forego the grounds for now, but I will speak to Alwen about the dungeons and the catacombs.”

“You are all so ridiculous.” Ariane, who had been so reserved that she’d nearly been forgotten, suddenly chirped in agitation, “You actually believe you will somehow discover the scrolls without casting aspersions on anyone.”

“I hardly think it ridiculous to exhaust the less unpleasant possibilities first.” Glain was beginning to regret having ever brought Ariane into her circle. “None of us is eager to implicate our friends.”

“And yet it must be done.” Ariane was exasperated. “Even if we were to find the scrolls in some impersonal place, the investigation will not end there.
Someone
is guilty of taking them to begin with. Do you really think Alwen will be satisfied to leave a traitor running loose in the Fane? Will any of you?”

Ariane’s argument was well made, and they all knew it, though no one was ready to agree with her. They had spent valuable time eliminating the least likely prospects, and Glain had to admit to herself that she had happily followed the path of no resistance. Perhaps Ariane was right. Perhaps the time had come to confront their worst suspicions.

Ariane let out a huff of frustration. “How is it that you all do not burn with righteousness? How are you not so offended, so angry that you would tear the stones from the walls to find Madoc’s scrolls? There is a
traitor
among us!”

Ynyr looked exhausted, almost defeated. “Then what would you have us do, Ariane?”

“It is not for me to say.” Ariane hesitated in an attempt to show deference, but she made no effort at all to hide her self-
satisfaction
. “But I would suggest we go straight to the most obvious culprits, to those among us who have motive and the
opportunity
.”

“You mean the acolytes,” Ynyr sighed. “You mean Nerys.”

“I mean us all, Ynyr,” Ariane sniped. “But search my room first, if it makes you feel better.”

Ynyr’s bright blue eyes grew dark and narrow with anger. “If you insist.”

Verica did her best to defuse the sudden tension. “Perhaps we could start with the apprentices’ sleeping porches. Neither Euday or I would mind, would we, Euday?”

“It is all equally ugly to me.” Euday shrugged. “Though I must say that any of the apprentices, myself included, would gladly do the bidding of a superior and without question. I would suggest that some delicacy might be in order if one of them turns out to be complicit, some allowance made for an underling acting out of deference.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I must also point out that you have failed to mention the third-floor residences—the docents’ quarters and the private suites, not that I am suggesting we barge in on the king—or Alwen, for that matter.”

“And yet it must be done.” Ynyr appeared to have resigned himself to some inner misery, but his puffed-up chest and crossed arms did little to mask his resentment. “But we will start with Nerys.”

“Then let’s get to work.” Ariane glared at Ynyr, gathered the folds of her robe in clenched fingers, and marched toward the staircase.

“Wait,” Glain declared, more forcefully than she intended. “
I
will lead.”

At last Ynyr smiled as he drew close to be sure she could hear his whisper. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

Nerys obliged the demand to search her quarters without a word, not a single huff of objection or even a resentful scowl. Glain was surprised, given her naturally fiery personality. Nerys was even willing to wait in the hall, under guard.

Ariane insisted on searching the room with Glain. Verica and Euday bore reluctant witness from the doorway, while Ynyr waited in the hall with Nerys. He tried to be officious, but his sorrow seeped out of him with every breath he expelled. He and Nerys had been close all their lives, like siblings. They had both been born to the Fane the same year, and Ynyr had always been protective of her. Whether it was for his pain or Nerys’s discomfort, Glain felt regret. No matter how much she distrusted Nerys, she could not take pleasure in the humiliation of her peers, deserved or not.

Ariane, however, would not be hindered by compassion, especially not when it came to her rival. Nerys was everything Ariane was not—gifted, accomplished, and confident in her power. Nerys was also a graceful beauty, whereas Ariane was awkward and plain. And wherever it was that nature did not pit them against each other, Ariane was sure to try. And so far, had failed to succeed.

Before Glain could stop her, Ariane took it upon herself to begin the finding spell. She placed a raven’s quill on the hearthrug and withdrew her wand, positioning herself between the quill and the door. For several moments she stood stone still, every wisp of her being focused into a single thought. The feather quivered.

As Glain and the others watched in anxious silence, the mystic forces tugging at the feather grew stronger, and the quill twitched back and forth, as though it wished to turn both ways at once. It seemed to fight against itself at first, and then the feather began to spin ever so slowly clockwise. It turned a full circle and a half and then stopped.

“Which end is the indicator,” Glain asked. “The plume, or
the ni
b?”

Ariane looked bewildered. The feather tip pointed toward the hearth, and the stem pointed at the bed. “I don’t know.”

Ynyr snorted. “She didn’t bother to decide before she started the spell.”

“Then it could be either,” Glain said reluctantly, “or both.”

“The plume,” Ariane announced, starting toward the hearth. “It is the plume.”

“No,” Glain ordered, beckoning the two sentry men in from the hall. “Stand outside with the others. The guards will search.”

Ariane obliged, but not without pouting. “As you wish,
Proctor
.”

Glain ignored her and instructed the guards, “Search the bed and then the hearth.”

It was a painful wait. Under Glain’s close watch, the mattress was turned over, and the boards and posts disassembled. The coverlet and pillows were patted down and shaken out. And last, the floor beneath and the wall behind the bed were examined for loose stones. Nothing.

Then the sentries turned their efforts to the hearth, one on either side of the chimney. Glain stood before the fireplace, looking for any obvious irregularity in the facing. There were no breaks in the mortar, nor unusual discolorations or obviously displaced bricks. The hearth base itself was worn and crumbling, and deep enough to hold treasures much larger than the scrolls. But the guardsmen, searching on hand and knee, failed to find any hollows or recesses.

It was by happenstance that one of the men discovered the false mantle, when he took hold of the one end to help pull
himself
up. The scrollwork support mounted on the right side of the fireplace came free of the sill and clattered to the floor, revealing a carefully made and very small, perfectly round tunnel bored into the mortar between the brick framing and the oak mantle.

“Oh, great Gods.” Glain was exhilarated. The scrolls were found, and she was saved. “Stand aside.”

The guardsmen stepped back to make room as she approached. Glain knelt on the hearthstones to peer inside the small opening and caught sight of the end of a small roll. Taking care not to damage it, she tweezed the edge between the first two fingers of her right hand and pulled with gentle, even tension until the roll was freed.

“Well?” Ariane, hovering just inside the door, could not restrain her curiosity any longer. “Have we found them?”

Glain examined the parchment with a delicate touch, afraid she might tear it. The seal on the scroll was broken, but it was unmistakably Madoc’s. As gently as she could, Glain unfurled the exposed edge far enough to see the first few lines of script.

“One.” Glain let the parchment curl back into place and cradled the roll in the palms of both hands. “We have found one of the scrolls.”

Ynyr pushed past Ariane into the room. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Glain heard agony in Ynyr’s voice. “I know this must be difficult for you, but this is clearly one of Madoc’s private writings. I believe it is part of the registry, the record of the Primideach line.”

“Glain.” Ynyr looked at her with pleading eyes. “I know you have never cared for her, but if you have ever had any faith at all in me, you must believe me now. I do not know how it came to be in her room, but Nerys is not to blame for this.”

Her heart bled for him. She had never understood his blind devotion to Nerys, no more than he had understood her unyielding support of Ariane. Misplaced or not, she and Ynyr shared a commitment to the same values, friendship and loyalty. And so she extended him hope she herself did not have. “It is not my place to judge, only to report what we have found. Nerys will be allowed to plead her case. Perhaps there is an innocent explanation. But that is for Alwen to decide.”

Glain went straight to Alwen with her evidence. She found the Sovereign already dressed in the gold-trimmed indigo velvet mantle that denoted her rank, as if she had been expecting to give an audience. The formality made Glain feel a little intimidated, but she was pleased to present what she’d found.

“This is how you found it?” Alwen held the scroll delicately with the fingertips of her right hand.

“Yes.” Glain could not keep herself from staring at Alwen’s frostbitten fingers. The stain of Alwen’s ill-fated attempt to save Madoc from drowning in the Well of Tears affected all four fingers from the first knuckle to the tip. It was all the more noticeable because of Madoc’s signet, which she wore on the middle finger of the afflicted hand—as much a macabre reminder of Madoc’s absence as it was a bizarre but convenient alternative to Alwen’s gaze. “The seal was already broken.”

Alwen carefully unrolled the vellum to read its contents. “It is, in fact, just as you had guessed. This is the continuation of the Primideach line, from the beginning of Madoc’s generation forward. It seems Madoc had no progeny of his own, but he did have three
siblings
. Among them, only one child was born to the Primideach line—a son, brought forth by his sister, Saoirse.” Alwen’s expression soured, and she paused to clear her throat. “This son, Alric, was fathered by one of Madoc’s brothers, the eldest of the Primideach clan.”

Alwen looked at Glain. “You don’t seem particularly shocked, or even surprised.”