Betrayal (11 page)

‘Old man!’ King Lorys of Tallinor took only a few strides to cross the large room.

Merkhud bowed deeply. ‘My King.’

‘Enough politeness, Merkhud—you can keep that for Court. In these chambers I expect you to take wine with me and give me bawdy tales of your travels.’ Lorys gave the old man a bear hug. ‘Nyria and I have missed you deeply.’

Merkhud was glad to be back in Tal. Travelling had its joys but the comforts of his chambers in the west tower were hard to beat. A page arrived with wine and marinated olives which he laid out expertly considering they could almost smell his nervousness. The lad looked up at the King and just caught the wink before he bowed low and backed away to light the sconces. The overcast chilly day hinted with
sincerity at autumn’s arrival. Fires would be lit around the castle in coming weeks.

Merkhud swallowed a mouthful of delicious wine—a Coriel, the grape found only in the rich lands of the south. He thought about how he had been physician to the King’s father, Orkyd, arriving at the Palace only days before Lorys’s grandfather, old King Mort, had drawn his last breath. No one had lived long enough to query the physic’s longevity—he had spent the last one and a half centuries at the Palace.

With Orkyd constantly away fighting battles during his reign, Merkhud found himself playing father figure to the young impressionable Lorys. Where Orkyd had been a stocky, bluff sort of a man, Lorys resembled his mother: of middling height and with a swarthy complexion, dark hair and deep, soulful eyes.

The king yawned. ‘Forgive me, Merkhud. My secretary is relentless with papers to be signed and papers to be read and papers to be authorised. What happened to the good old days of my forefathers when the King’s word was enough?’

Merkhud knew how much the King despised the bureaucracy of his daily dealings and yet he was the best and certainly most loved sovereign Tallinor had ever enjoyed. Sipping his wine and nodding at the tirade on paperwork, he noticed Lorys was looking greyer around his temples. The King wore his hair unfashionably short yet it complemented his square face and closely trimmed beard, also peppered with grey.

‘…and that arse-numbing throne—what possessed my grandfather to build that monstrosity?’ Lorys was standing, pouring himself another glass.

Merkhud became aware of the clang of swords in the courtyard and the smell of fat candles being lit. He sighed.

‘King Mort won his right to rule by battle after ferocious battle—as did your father, I might add. He took his throne above a kingdom of blood. It was important that he appear as powerful upon his throne as he did upon his warhorse. He created your birthright; the least you can do is sit upon his impressive throne now and then and look very regal.’

‘Ha!’ The King was always amused by how Merkhud could make him feel like the young prince again. ‘Tell me of your travels, Merkhud—what’s happening out there in my Kingdom?’

A large shaggy dog suddenly lifted itself from behind the desk, stretched languidly and padded over to sit by the King’s physician.

‘Don’t you dare, Drake,’ Merkhud warned. But the dog, as usual, paid no attention to the physic’s protestations and flopped its backside down on Merkhud’s toes. It was something the old man detested. ‘Bah! You wretch.’

‘He’s not going to shift, Merkhud, you know he won’t. Now, tell me something interesting,’ the King instructed.

Merkhud wiggled his feet in vain, sipped his Coriel and made an issue of staring at the ornately
painted ceiling as he pretended to sift through a myriad of items.

‘Well, there is one thing worth mentioning…’

‘Excellent. Tell me,’ said the King, leaning back comfortably.

‘I’ve offered an apprenticeship to a lad I ran across who I think will make a talented physician. He seems to—’

‘What?’ the King roared, his voice full of mirth. ‘Don’t tell me this now—after all these years?’

Merkhud feigned irritation. ‘His name is Torkyn Gynt. He’s seen sixteen summers and is lowborn, from Flat Meadows. Torkyn shows more intelligence and adeptness for the skill of healing than any other boy I’ve met in my long career. It’s long overdue and he’s the one I’ve chosen.’

‘I’m delighted, old man. Just wait until Nyria hears this—’

‘Hears what, my love?’ A soft, spicy fragrance hit their senses as the Queen glided across the room. Neither man had heard her enter but the dog was already halfway across to greet her.

‘Oh, hello, Drake.’ Nyria patted the dog’s large head as her husband and the only other man she had ever allowed to touch her stood and bowed.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’

Her gorgeous smile shone upon Merkhud like sunlight and as always his heart was warmed by her presence. He bowed again.

‘Merkhud, it’s wonderful to have you back.’ She took his bony hand with the hand not carrying a
small jar of roses and clasped it tight. He knew she meant it.

‘Madam, I couldn’t have stayed away another minute from your radiance.’

‘Wicked old man—such honeyed words.’ Nyria wagged her finger at him before settling a kiss on the King’s lips and putting the flowers down on the table behind him.

As always she looked sensational, Merkhud noticed. A simple, soft velvet dress cinched at the waist showed off her still lovely figure. Her once stunning golden hair, now softening to a buttery paleness, was held neatly by two polished combs. She rarely wore it down any more.

The King was beaming. ‘My love, you’ll never guess the news so I won’t make you try. Merkhud here has offered an apprenticeship to some lad from Flat Meadows.’

‘Fiction!’ Her greyish green eyes sparkled with the fun of the King’s high excitement.

‘It’s true, I tell you. I heard it from the old horse’s mouth as you arrived.’

Now Nyria stared incredulously at the old man.

Merkhud rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Oh, fuss, fuss—he’s just a boy. A boy with a talent for healing, and I’m not getting any younger in case you two hadn’t noticed.’

‘And when do we get to meet this new apprentice of yours?’

‘Within a couple of days.’

‘Marvellous. Would you like me to organise for
the housekeeper to clean out one of the rooms in the west wing?’

‘No, madam, I can arrange it, but I thank you.’

Nyria and Merkhud smiled at one another. She knew he hated anyone meddling around in West Tower where his apartments and study rooms were located, and he knew she knew this. Her smile lingered on him just a moment longer before she turned to the King.

‘I must go, Lorys. Cook wants to discuss the All Souls’ Day festival menu and I’ve already put her off twice. I mustn’t let her down again.’

The King suddenly sneezed and followed up with another four explosive sneezes. ‘Nyria, you know what they do to me,’ he said, gently exasperated.

‘Well, put them somewhere else in the room, Lorys,’ she chided equally gently. ‘You hide yourself away in this stone coffin with nothing but a few ragged tapestries on the walls—’

The King feigned indignation. ‘Do you hear this, Merkhud? Ragged tapestries, she says. Only the finest the Ildagarthian artisans could produce!’

She ignored him, a grin of sufferance thrown towards her physician as she walked towards the door once more, with Drake padding softly behind her. ‘I’ll see you soon, Merkhud. Can you look in on the pages’ quarters? There seem to be two boys unwell today.’

‘I will go there immediately.’ He bowed again.

‘We’ll have dinner in my chambers tonight, I think, Lorys.’

The message in her smile was unmistakable, and both men found themselves clearing their throats as the door closed softly.

Lorys took a large gulp of his wine. ‘There is a niggling item I wish to discuss with you. Whilst you’ve been off around the countryside doing goodness knows what, you’ve probably not heard.’

Merkhud’s raised eyebrow suggested he needed more information. ‘Something is troubling you, Lorys?’

‘It is and weighs heavy on my mind,’ the King replied, scratching behind Drake’s ears. The big dog grunted and rolled on his side.

When the King remained silent Merkhud gave a small shrug, his palms opened. This was not like Lorys at all.

‘Tell me. I can help, I’m sure.’

The King seemed to choose his words with care, and when he spoke his voice was soft with all traces of his recent amusement long gone.

‘Merkhud, that I worship Nyria with all my heart no one could dispute. Even the absence of children could not make a difference to my love for her, though it hurts my soul that we are without an heir.’

Merkhud was aware of alarm bells klaxoning in his head but he waited. Muted sounds of swordplay and someone yelling orders filled the silence. Lorys replaced his beautiful goblet on the small table and finally looked at his old friend.

‘There is a woman. She lives at Wytten these days, I think. It was towards the end of last winter when I accompanied Cyrus and a small team on
a hunting expedition. The castle larder needed replenishment and you know me—never one to turn down the opportunity to hunt. Perhaps you remember that trip…er, Nyria was quite ill with her problem?’

Merkhud nodded, holding his breath as the King’s story spilled out.

‘We were camped uncomfortably on our last night but the weather was mercifully mild. There were only six of us in the party and four were well soused so we had rolled them in blankets where they had fallen beside the fire. Drake and the rest of the dogs heard her long before Cyrus and I did.

‘She stumbled out of the woods, eyes wide with panic and unable to talk she was so out of breath from running.’

Merkhud entwined his fingers together, gripping hard whilst Lorys stared towards a flickering candle and recalled the events of that early winter’s eve.

‘She had no idea who we were and we didn’t bother enlightening her. Apparently she had been stolen by gypsies from her farm three miles away. They had intended to rape her—of this she seemed certain—and it was only through their drunken stupidity that she had managed to slip free and take to the woods she knew well.’

The King finished his wine, absently wiping a few drops from his beard before continuing.

‘She was sore and bruised but she was a brave girl. Cyrus gave her his clothes and I found some salve for her wounds. She recovered enough to share a plate of
our stew, I recall. Gorgeous thing, she was. Living with a brute of a father who beat her often and appreciated her not.’

The King stood and walked to the window, busying himself with watching the drills in the courtyard, and then the truth stammered its way out.

‘I didn’t mean for it to happen. We’d been away for two weeks and we’d slept rough—at my choosing—for almost all of that time. We were tired and looking forward to getting back to Tal. I offered the girl my tent.

‘It must have been just a few hours before dawn when she woke me, beckoning me to the tent. In my drowsy state, Merkhud, I swear I thought she was frightened again and I staggered in, only to find her naked beneath her blanket and offering herself. She begged me to give her some affection for just one night in her pitiful life, pleading that her father would beat her badly for being away and would never believe her story.’

The King smiled ruefully. ‘I betrayed Nyria with an hour of lust with a total stranger. We did not exchange names and I have not seen or heard of her since…until now, that is.’

Lorys pulled out a dirty sheet of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Merkhud. ‘It’s a notice which has been put up on the boards in the surrounding towns and villages. She knew we had Tal accents. The notice was an attempt to flush me out, I suppose.’

‘And it worked,’ Merkhud’s clipped voice snarled as he finished reading.

‘Don’t you, of all people, judge me. I made an error which only two other people knew about: the girl, and the Prime of course, whom I trust with my life.’

‘What happened after you bedded her, Lorys?’

The King looked sullen but continued with the story. ‘Cyrus rode to Wytten at dawn and got her settled and working at the local inn. He left her with some money. We hoped, as we looked fairly rough after two weeks in the saddle, that she had not recognised us as nobles.’

Merkhud threw the paper down with disgust. ‘And your horses? You don’t think a country woman would recognise fine horses?’ He worked hard at concealing his contempt. Nyria must never find out.

‘Merkhud! There is little point in you labouring what I have already run over in my mind hundreds of times since that night. The only horse she saw was the Prime’s, and he was canny enough the next morning to use one of the wagon nags. All I want to do is forget it ever happened, but this notice makes sure I never will.’

Merkhud held his anger. He reread the simple notice that gave away very little. It was worded in such a manner that the King could simply ignore it, for it made no direct accusations, and who could care about a young woman in Wytten?

‘All right. Finish this sordid tale. So, Cyrus saw the notices, put two and two together and notified you because he is worried—is that it?’

The King nodded, sagging back to sit on the stone ledge of the window.

‘And the child is due shortly?’ Merkhud stood and paced.

‘Perhaps already born.’

‘Who’s to say it’s yours, my King? A peasant woman gets with child. She could have shagged half the village and wouldn’t know who’d fathered it. For Light’s sake, man—’

As Lorys’s fist banged down on the table it upended the goblet which smashed as it hit the flagstones. Merkhud was stunned.

‘It’s mine, damn you, old man,’ he roared. ‘The child is mine! She was not that sort of woman. She was barely a woman at all. I took her virginity that night and her womb quickened. Count the moons, count the tides, count the days, physic, and no matter how you juggle them you will see the child is mine. A royal bastard.’

Fuming, Merkhud stood and set his own glass delicately down on the tiny table next to him. ‘Nyria must never, ever hear of this. It will kill her, do you understand?’ Merkhud flapped the notice in his King’s face, dangerously flouting protocol.

‘I’m not dim, old man,’ snarled the King.