Bridge of Souls (47 page)

V
ALENTYNA DESCENDED THE STAIRCASES TO THE MAIN SALON
,
FEELING AS THOUGH SHE WERE NOW TWO PEOPLE
:
THE ONE WHO WAS PRESENTLY CONTRIVING
a welcoming smile for her betrothed, whom she despised; and the one who—in mind, certainly—was fleeing with King Cailech and Aremys Farrow.

The truth of the Mountain King’s identity had still to sink in fully. It was all she could think about, her mind moving back through the time she’d spent with Wyl as himself, as Romen, as Ylena. As much as she wanted to find holes in the story—just one would do—comparing Romen with Cailech yielded frightening similarities, and when she threw Ylena into the mix, it left her numb. Why had he never tried to tell her?

She answered her own question: She never would have believed it. Not when he was Romen; not even with the miraculous arrival of the chaffinch that had seemed to herald Ylena’s visit. She had considered the finch’s song a timely coincidence, not magical, but she now realized it must have been magic of some kind. She thought of Fynch; Wyl had not had time to tell her how he was, nor enough of his idea of how she could avoid
marrying Celimus. What would she not give to hear it now! She had considered every possible scenario and had not been able to find a way out. Only a few more steps now, she realized, emerging from her disquieted thoughts, and Celimus would be kissing her hand and offering sugary platitudes. What could he be doing here? Well, he could just turn around and go home. She still had one more day before she had to leave for Pearlis.

She took a deep breath and nodded at the guards outside the salon as they pushed open the doors for her entry. Valentyna had already pictured King Celimus bowing elegantly, then striding majestically forward, smiling widely with those perfect teeth. She had already planned her own contrived expression—a delicate balance of surprise and feigned pleasure that he was in Briavel. But she did not have to contrive any surprise. It slapped her hard in the face when she swept into the room only to be confronted by a snarling, struggling Cailech and a smugly grinning King of Morgravia.

“Valentyna, my love,” Celimus said expansively, “look what I found sneaking out of your palace like a rat.”

Valentyna stopped, unable to breathe. She saw Cailech shake his head, knew what he wanted her to do. Her heart broke. Again; it was happening again. Once more he was offering himself up to save her.

Everyone was waiting for her to speak.

“I’ve already explained,” Wyl yelled, shaking off his captors’ hands, “that I never got to speak with the Queen.” Valentyna noticed the manacles around his arms and ankles.

“I heard you the first time, Cailech,” Celimus spat, turning back toward his bride. “My dear, is this true?”

Don’t hesitate, Valentyna, just agree,
Wyl prayed.

For Briavel then, she decided, rapidly assessing her helplessness in the situation. She summoned her most regal tone and hurled it back at Celimus. “Of course it’s true,” she answered tersely. “Who is this man?” She pointed toward Wyl—presumably Aremys had escaped. “And how dare you hold anyone against his will in my court, King Celimus.”

That startled him. He was not prepared for her wrath, hav
ing already decided she was as guilty as the Mountain King in conspiring against him.

“Your majesties.” Liryk stepped in. “Allow me to escort the prisoner to a secure place and perhaps then you might discuss—”

“Yes, why don’t you do that, Commander,” Valentyna agreed, cutting across his words and seizing control. “This is unforgivable, King Celimus. You called him Cailech. I still don’t know who he is.”

Celimus had also regained some equanimity. “Don’t you? Let me introduce you to the treacherous King of the Razors, who just days ago was signing a peace treaty with Morgravia at Felrawthy.”

Valentyna feigned shock, hiding her despair as the man she had loved through so many lives was led away.

Cailech turned his head, spoke over his shoulder. “I’m glad you have finally met me, your majesty.” The word “me” was loaded with meaning. “We’ll meet again,” Wyl said.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Celimus said. “I’ll insist my wife is present for your execution.”

She saw Cailech’s sad smile and did not understand it. Dismissing everyone, she swung around on Celimus the minute the door had closed. “How dare you, sir!”

“Valentyna, please,” he cajoled. “I came with only romantic intentions. My chancellor suggested that it would be wonderful for both our peoples if we could be seen together. His idea was that I bring an escort to accompany you on this symbolic journey across our two realms. I know I should have sent word, but it sounded like such a worthy plan, I was excited and in a hurry to catch you before you left Werryl Palace. I’ve had a special carriage made, my love, emblazoned with our new heraldic device, which my craftsmen have been designing for months now. It flies the colors of Briavel and Morgravia, sweet Valentyna. We have woven the crimson with the emerald and violet so beautifully, it seems we were always meant to be one.”

Valentyna was taken aback by his enthusiasm. She could
see that the idea of this marriage had great merit for the people of their realms, but she hated surprises being sprung on her at the best of times, let alone by the hated King of Morgravia.

She had promised herself one day. One final day to mourn the loss of her status. One night to remember with love the touch of Romen, of Cailech…of Wyl Thirsk. Now Celimus had taken that from her too.

She wanted to react, to scream her frustration, sob her grief. But the man in front of her was dangerous, and she needed to respond with her head, not her heart. She nodded slowly, affecting calm. “What do you plan to do with Cailech?”

“I’m not sure yet. I shall be taking him with us to Stoneheart.”

“Surely you don’t mean a trial and execution?” she wondered, a new terror chilling her. He could not die again. She could not lose him as she had lost Romen.

“I said I don’t know. Death would be my choice.”

“Why must he die?” she demanded.

“That you need to ask such a question baffles me, Valentyna,” Celimus replied calmly, but followed it with a condescending smirk.

“But you said yourself that you’d just signed a peace treaty.”

The King’s famous temper began to stoke. He had done well to get this far without losing his patience. “Which he broke by setting foot into Briavel—and that, I might add, is a whole new mystery. How the King of the Razors can infiltrate your realm and cover almost its entire length without being noticed is a puzzle.”

“It certainly is,” Valentyna replied abruptly. “Which is why I don’t agree to any decision on your part, sire. He is my prisoner, on my land. I will decide his fate.”

A new note crept into Celimus’s voice, one she had not heard before but one she was very sure was more characteristic of this cruel King of Morgravia. Gone was the affected brightness, the sugary tone. “I’m sorry, Valentyna, you will
not. I’ve noticed how you deal with treachery—you send it off to a brothel for the night.”

If only he knew how deep his words cut. “Leave me, Celimus,” she commanded, not trusting herself to say more.

He impaled her with a stare, which she returned with defiance, and then he nodded. “Fine. We shall leave tomorrow as you had planned, and Valentyna, you had better wipe that scowl off your face by then. I will marry you, and I will reserve the right to execute my enemies if they are found on my soil.”

“You mean my soil, don’t you, Celimus?” she spat, trembling from the hate that was threatening to overwhelm her.

He shook his head. “It’s mine from now on, Valentyna. Get used to the idea. We can marry and please our realms and I’ll provide peace for your people. Or we can do it the hard way and I promise I will slaughter every man, woman, and child of Briavel if it comes to that.”

She had not thought he could shock her, but the venom with which he spoke now—in a way she had never been spoken to before—chilled her. She felt the wispy hairs on her arms stand on end. That was no way to speak to a queen, especially in her own palace, but she was powerless to stop him. The only weapons she had left were words. She threw them at him now.

“You are a snake, Celimus. Wyl Thirsk was right.”

“Wyl Thirsk is dead, Shar rot him, as you will be if you don’t put on a happy face, come serenely to Pearlis, and take those wedding vows as planned.”

“I would rather be dead,” Valentyna snapped recklessly.

“That’s your choice,” her fiancé snarled. “No more wooing, Valentyna. This is your new life as my queen. You are not my equal. The only good you’ll do me is to give me the sons I crave, and believe me, if you won’t give them to me willingly, I will take my pleasures as I see fit.”

W
yl sat glumly in the guardhouse. Much as he wanted to please Celimus, Liryk could not bring himself to have the King of the Razors incarcerated in the palace dungeons. Legionnaires were posted throughout the guardhouse, one for each Briavellian soldier.

“Did Aremys get away?” Wyl asked Liryk.

The man nodded. “You shouldn’t have hesitated, sire.”

“It was wrong of me to run.”

“Your pride aside, this is all very dangerous for our queen.”

“She handled it well. I won’t make any further problems for her. Thank you for maintaining our secret.”

The old soldier sighed. “I’m not sure I understand your coming here, or now your calm acceptance of what is certain death at the King’s hands.”

“This is how it is meant to be,” Wyl said, resigned to his fate. “This is Myrren’s Gift playing out precisely to plan.”

“Myrren’s Gift?”

Wyl smiled. “Take no notice of me.”

Liryk was baffled but his relief that Valentyna seemed to be compromising with Celimus overwhelmed his curiosity. “How did the King know? He sent men looking for you immediately upon his arrival.”

“It was my horse,” Wyl replied, grateful for Cailech’s memories.

“What?”

“I gave Celimus my white stallion as a gift at Felrawthy. He fell in love with it, so I insisted he have it because I had its twin back at the fortress. Identical.”

Liryk understood. “He saw your horse, the twin.”

“He’s probably riding its brother. How could he miss it? You won’t tell him about Aremys, will you, Liryk?”

The old man shook his head. “No, sire. I want no further grief for her majesty. No one needs to know about the mercenary, and the Briavellian Guard can be trusted to keep the secret.”

“Thank you.”

“I shall see to your comforts, sire. We leave for Pearlis tomorrow at dawn.”

Wyl nodded, no longer caring.

V
alentyna escaped her anger and Celimus by taking her horse out, refusing to have him accompany her. This would be her last ride as a single woman through the woodland of Briavel and onto the moors. Next time—if there was a next time, she thought, remembering the King’s threat—she would be married to Celimus. She would have the grand title of Queen of Briavel and Morgravia, but it would be an empty title.

She glanced back at the odd medley of guards following her, comprising her own men and Legionnaires. Celimus was taking no chances with her. There was nowhere to run and hide anyway, and it would be unseemly for a monarch to flee her own realm. No, Valentyna was made of sterner stuff. She would face this trial, would bestow the gift of peace upon her people as she had promised.

But the memory of Cailech’s touch still burned in her mind and on her body. It had been such a rushed, frantic episode and yet she could remember each moment of it, relive it in her thoughts in a delicious slow-moving scene. She could still not quite grasp that she was no longer a virgin; it had all happened so fast. She could never have planned for this, and yet nothing gave her greater satisfaction—nothing!—than knowing her greatest possession had been given to the man she loved, not the one who would steal it from her under false pretenses.

Cailech…no, Wyl, she reminded herself, was such an enigma. He had claimed she had known him as Romen and yet she knew so little about him really, other than that he loved her, would die for her—
had
died for her. Poor Wyl, she thought. She could not imagine how he had survived the killing of his sister…wished she could ask him, have time with him. That was impossible, she knew, but she would do
what she could. She would marry Celimus and give everything of herself toward preserving the life of the King of the Razors. Even if she could never see him again, it would be enough to know that he lived. Celimus would not execute Cailech because she would forbid it.

She had taken the wrong approach with Celimus, she realized. All she had done was anger him, corner him into making rash statements. Her father had always said she must learn to curb her tongue. Being a good royal, he had cautioned, was about diplomacy, careful choice of words, and always giving oneself time to consider. She had ignored his advice in her behavior with Celimus, and it had cost her. He had obviously been shocked to find Cailech in Werryl and, like a wounded animal, had struck back. She should have sensed the danger lurking there; Valentyna admonished herself for such clumsiness. If she was going to survive in the Morgravian court, she would have to play Celimus more intelligently than she had today. She must fuel his vanity, make him feel omnipotent, make herself irresistible. Valentyna slowed Bonny to a walk, in no rush to be back in the palace, and remembered how powerful she had felt just hours before, realizing what a woman could do to a man. For all his strength and stamina, his status and bearing, Cailech had been too vulnerable. Faced with naked desire and a compliant partner, he had become putty. Could she achieve the same with Celimus?

She recalled that Chancellor Krell had intimated that, if she approached the marriage with the right attitude, she could use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. Her revulsion for Celimus aside, if she could play the role of affectionate Queen, impress his people and thus please him, she might be able to enjoy small wins of importance to her.