The Sleeping King (24 page)

A long, low moan drew her from her exhausted slumber some time later, however. The sound was unmistakable.
Mag's babe is coming
.

A deep chill hung in the air. Arv was already rolling off his and Mag's pallet. He moved to the fireplace and Raina heard him laying a fire by feel in the dark. He gave the new bellows Cicero had fashioned a few pumps, and a tiny flame jumped among the tinder.

“When you've got that going, boil me a pot of water,” Raina directed him. “Everything that touches Mag or the babe must be dipped in the boiling water to banish diseases upon it. Every towel. Every rag. Understood?”

Arv nodded.

The labor was quick, for Mag had already birthed many children. The babe, a fat boy, came feetfirst and squalled his way into the world lustily. But Raina worried about Mag. She'd felt the moment when a portion of Mag's flagging spirit passed into the child, and the women had not much more within her to give. A certain hopelessness passed from mother to child in that moment as well, linked spirit to spirit. It was a knowing sunk into the bones, planted firmly within their spirits, that aspiration for any more than this pitiful lot in life was futile.

The afterbirth did not pass quickly; and when it finally did, it was torn and incomplete. Mag continued to bleed as well.

Arv peered over Raina's shoulder at the seepage. “Ye oughter pack the birth canal wit' sawdust and mud. 'Twill set up hard like mortar and cork the bleeding.”

Raina snorted. “And introduce infection and kill her.”

Although she knew Arv's crude remedy wouldn't work, she worried that Mag was too weakened by the birth to withstand the stress of magical healing. It had been known to send certain people into shock and even death. Her teaching in birth magic was that women had to rest and recuperate for at least a full day before they could stand magical healing, Her instructors thought it had something to do with the mother giving a piece of her spirit to the babe at the time of birth. Until that portion of the mother's spirit recovered, magic was dangerous.

Over the next few hours, Mag weakened and grew pale. Before Raina's eyes, the woman was slipping away. And there wasn't a thing Raina could do about it. Helpless frustration burned in her gut. Mag smiled wanly and told her not to worry, but Raina knew better. She felt the woman's spirit slipping away inch by inch when it should be coming back.

With dawn's pale light came no sign of Cicero. Worry for his safety jarred against her confidence in his skill at avoiding detection.

Raina sent the children to a neighbor's croft to share the news of the passing orcs and the birth of their brother—and to get them out of the hut before their mother died in front of them. For Mag could not last much longer. Arv paced and drank the local rotgut until he was a blubbering mess. Raina finally tossed him out as well with orders to drink himself into a stupor in the barn.

By midmorning, Mag lost consciousness and her heartbeat became so faint that Raina could barely hear it, even when she pressed her ear directly on the woman's chest. Frantic with her inability to help, Raina crouched beside the woman, her fingers pressed against the life pulse in Mag's throat.

And then it stopped.

Raina felt about urgently. Checked the life point in Mag's wrist. Listened to her chest. Put her hand over Mag's mouth to feel for breath. Nothing.

Stars above!
Mag had died. She couldn't let her slip away like this! Her children needed her! Mag's spirit could not possibly be strong enough to make the journey to Dupree, resurrect there, and come back. Her permanent death would be disastrous for this family, the very thing Arv was desperate to avoid by asking Raina to stay for this birth.

She had to do something!

There might be a way.…

A very high-level magic cast by powerful healers …

Did she dare try it?

She'd never cast the spell.…

But she'd studied a scroll describing it and she'd seen it cast. Had memorized the incant …

 … and Mag was already dead.

She had nothing to lose by trying.

*   *   *

Gabrielle breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped outside. The Imperial gardens were as grandiose as the rest of the palace, but at least out here there were trees and blue sky and the freedom of crisp mountain air moving in and out of her lungs. An urge to cast off her confining clothes and dance barefoot upon the greensward surged through her.

The Garden of Nations—which contained a plot for each of the kingdoms of Koth with native plants and laid out in the fashion of that country's culture—called to her. Haraland's garden never failed to relax her with its grassy walkways between fragrant lilacs and magnificent rose beds. But for some reason, today her steps took her to a part of the garden she'd never seen before.

Out here, away from the oppressive presence of the Emperor, she allowed the resentment she usually held at bay to surge forward. Most of her life had been spent navigating kings and courts and politics with grace and finesse. But nothing could have prepared her for the Emperor and the intrigue-laden morass with which he surrounded himself. It was almost as if he encouraged the maneuvering and backstabbing as a way of keeping his subjects occupied and distracted.

Her greatest blessing was Regalo. He was kind and loyal and loving. He wanted children, but she was loathe to bring any child into the world to grow into a pawn under the Emperor's heavy hand. Regalo told her she must have faith and take a chance on their children finding happiness. Mayhap if they went back to Haraland for a while … Then she might consider taking the risk of bearing a child.

In a tiny act of rebellion against the Empire, she did give in to her urge to dance in the emperor's garden. Although she left most of her clothes on. How long she cavorted like a young girl she could not say. Until she was out of breath and her hair was coming out of its pins.

She looked around, panting, and was startled to realize she had no idea where she was. It looked like a natural forest thick with trees and underbrush. Only thin streaks of sunlight wended through the greenery, creating a mysterious atmosphere. She thought she saw a large, cloaked figure retreating rapidly, bat-like, around a bend in the path, but it was no doubt just a trick of the shadows.

How did she come to be here? She looked around in distress. With her breathing problems, she dared not stray too far from the palace and its healers.

“Your Highness. How dost thee fare this fine day?”

She looked up sharply and saw another figure approaching quickly from the other direction. This one was not furtive and shadowed, however. Quite the opposite. He was dressed in a shining white shirt of satin that seemed to glow in the forest glade. He passed by her guard, who nodded in recognition and let the newcomer pass.

A shockingly handsome elf came to a halt and executed a short bow before her. He was kindari, with russet hair the color of oak leaves in autumn. His face was covered by a finely drawn scrollwork of red-brown lines reminiscent of a darvan. The stag's antler's swirled around his eyes and across his forehead. She had seen him at court before, and his blazon, embroidered over his heart, was of a magnificent stag. As always, when she looked at an elf she had seen long ago she got the impression of time standing still for him while she aged doubly fast.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured courteously, “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

“A grievous oversight on my part,” the elf replied with a smile so dazzling she actually felt a bit befuddled. “I am Talissar.”

Ahh.
She knew the name. He was consort to the Queen of Quantaine. His good looks and charm were gossiped about frequently at court. Queen Lyssandra, a silvani—high elf—was said to keep him at home in Quantaine most of the time for fear that he would be stolen away from her at court. Now and again, rumor linked Talissar with Princess Endellian herself. Gabrielle could see why the heir to the throne might favor this one. He was exquisite.

Belatedly, she realized she was staring at the fellow. “I apologize for staring, good sir. You are as beautiful as the court gossips say. You must get tired of people ogling you.”

His smile softened. Took on a genuine warmth. “My humble thanks. That is the kindest compliment I have heard in a long while.”

“Well, you are in the Imperial Seat, after all,” she replied dryly, the implication clear that kindness was not a sentiment oft practiced there.

He laughed, the sound of his humor as warm as a carillon of chiming bells.
My, my.
No wonder Queen Lyssandra had made him her official companion.

“Beist thee well, Your Highness?” he asked her in thinly disguised concern.

Startled, she replied, “Why, yes. I am fine. Thank you for asking.” Was some rumor afoot that she was ill? It was a strange question for a stranger to ask. “Walk with me?” she invited politely.

He held out his left forearm formally to her. “My pleasure.”

She laid her fingers lightly upon his embroidered shirtsleeve. The fabric was impossibly smooth under her fingertips. He surprised her by plunging deeper into the trees along a narrow path that did not look as if it had been tended in a while.

“What is this place?” she asked curiously.

“We wander a portion of the Quantainian garden. If such natural woods makest thee uncomfortable, we shall return forthwith to the rose gardens of Haraland,” he declared.

She glanced over her shoulder at her bodyguard trailing along a few paces back. “This glade is pretty. I am merely surprised and not discomfited. I confess, I have never seen this part of the garden.”

He asked cautiously, “Thee hast never strolled aimlessly and looked up to find thyself here before, then?”

Odd. That was exactly how it had happened today.
“No, never.”

“Camest thee here alone?”

“If you do not count my guard, that would be correct.”

He frowned. “Hmm.”

“What is amiss, Lord Talissar?”

He shook his head as if to clear an absurd notion from it. “Thee hadst about thyself the look of a person operating under…”—he hesitated and then plunged ahead, “… “a subliminal compulsion. Thee hast never been alone in the company of a Kothite High Lord, perchance?”

She would never put herself in such a compromising situation! She was a married woman. A queen. Devoted to her husband. “I would never dally with anyone at court!” she exclaimed, offended.

He held up his hands in apology. “I in no way meant to offend nor to impugn thine honor, Your Highness. One hast but to spend but a few moments in the presence of thee and thy husband to know thee wouldst never betray him.”

“Then why the questions?” she pressed. It was entirely incongruous of this sophisticated man to bring up such unpleasant innuendos randomly.

He answered reluctantly, “In the past, I have seen women in this particular place before with a particular look in their eye as if they knew not what brought them here. And they were generally here to meet … a particular person.”

“Who?” she demanded.

With a hand over his heart, he made a short bow of apology. “It would be imprudent of me to name him.”

So.
This seducer was powerful. Prominent. And used his mental abilities to compel women to come to him, eh? That was despicable. “Why this place?” she speculated.

Talissar did not miss her meaning. Why would a Kothite lord mind-control women to come to this wild corner of the gardens for trysts with him? “Thee must admit this place is completely unlike any other in the gardens. Who knows? Perhaps his … conquests … did not know themselves still to be on the palace grounds.”

She shivered and drew her light shawl closer about her shoulders.

“I confess I have seen thee before in this place…”—he paused and then added delicately, “… dancing.”

Appalled, she stared about in dismay. “I must leave this glade and never return!”

He said gently, “Do not hate the forest because of how one man abuses its natural solitude.”

She did not know what to say. She had been here before? Why did she have no recollection of it? And she had
danced
? What was wrong with her? They strolled in silence for a while as she tried and failed to come up with answers.

Talissar eventually commented, “Whenever I come here, I imagine that a kindari gardener secretly saved this spot from being trimmed, chopped, and contorted into some unnatural charade of nature.”

Gabrielle laughed, grateful for the welcome distraction from her disturbing thoughts and delighted at the irreverence of the observation. “Have a care to whom you say such things, or you will find yourself the main course at a torturer's feast, sir.”

Talissar stopped and half-turned to study her intently. His voice low and charged, he asked, “Wouldst thee betray me to the Emperor for my lack of proper respect?”

There was clearly more to the question than met the ear. But what? She answered carefully, “Never, sir.” Her gaze strayed involuntarily to the guard now standing on the path several dozen yards away.

“Ahh, yes,” Talissar murmured. “Thy knight, Krugar, did not fare well at the hands of the Emperor and his lackey, did he?”

She was startled at the mention of the name. Vague memory of a servant of her husband's came to mind. The fellow had caused some sort of scandal a long time ago. She'd all but forgotten the incident. Why would the kindari bring up such an obscure event? She looked searchingly into his eyes. Was he sent here by Maximillian to test her loyalty?

His voice dropped ever lower. “I will say it if thee will not. Thy man did not deserve what he got. He merely protected his liege lady from attack. He did his duty, and was punished terribly and, dare I say, unfairly for his loyalty and faithful service.”

What on Urth did he speak of?
“What game do you play at?” she murmured back. “Is this a trap?”