Daughter of Regals (9 page)

Though it pained me to
do so, I resolved that I would accept whatever he did and be content. If I were
truly the daughter of Regals—in spirit if not in Magic—then I could do no less,
so that the innocent of the Three Kingdoms would not be lost in an abhorrent
contest for power.

I wished sorely to be a
woman of whom no Creature would be ashamed.

I had intended to remain
in my rooms until midnight drew near, but after only a short time a servant
came to my door and knocked. When I replied, she reported that Count Thornden
desired a private audience with me.

My new calm did not
extend quite so far; but the matter could not be shirked. While I held any hope
for my life, I was required to walk the narrow line of my position, and so I
could not afford to deny the lord of Nabal a hearing which I had earlier panted
King Thone.

To the servant, I named
a meeting-room in which a tapestry concealed a door through which guards might enter
if I had need of them; but I did not immediately leave my chambers. I gave the
guards a moment to be made ready—and myself an opportunity to insist that I was
indeed brave enough for what lay ahead. Then I unbolted my doors and walked
trembling to Count Thornden’s audience.

I trembled because he
was as large and unscrupulous and lacking in subtlety as a beast. And because I
could not imagine what prompted him to request speech with me.

At the door, I nearly
faltered. It was unattended—and should not have been. But I did not wish to
betray my fear by refusing to meet the lord of Nabal until I was sure of my
protections. Gripping my courage, I lifted the latch and went inward.

At once, a large hand
caught my arm, flung me into the room. The back of the hand was dark with black
hair, and its force impelled me against the table. Regals had often sat there
with kings and counselors; and the peace of the realm had been preserved. I
stumbled, and the edge of the table caught my ribs so that I gasped.

The room was lit with
only two candles. Their flames capered across my vision as I fought to regain
my balance, turn toward my attacker. I heard the door slam. At the edge of my
sight, a massive chair seemed to leap from the table to wedge itself against
the door. As I turned, a backhand blow took the side of my face with such force
that I felt myself lift from my feet and sail toward the wall. With my hands, I
broke the impact; but it was strong enough to knock me to the floor.

While the room reeled
and all my nerves burned with the pain in my face and chest, Count Thornden
came looming over me.

Tall and bestial, he
spat an obscene insult at me. Candlelight reflected in the sheen of sweat on
his heavy forehead. I feared that he meant to kick me where I lay, yet I was
slow to realize the danger. How does he dare this? I asked through the shock of
my pain. Is he too stupid to fear my rescue by the guards of the manor?

But the door to the
meeting-room had been unattended.

Glaring down at me, he
snarled, “No, I will not do it.

You are too plain and
puny for any man’s respect, my
lady.”
In his mouth, that
my lady
was
a worse insult than his obscenities. “And you have no Magic,
my lady.
Your
Ascension will fail. I have been advised to offer you marriage—so that we may
rule in alliance—but I will not demean myself by wedding such baggage.”

“Fool,” I panted up at
him. Still I did not understand the danger. “Fool.”

“Rather,” he rasped, “I
will render you unfit for any man or marriage. Then you will cleave to me in
simple fear and desperation, because no other will have you, and my kingship
will be accomplished at the cost of one small pleasure”—fury and hate were
lurid in his eyes—”my
lady.”

I was rising to my feet,
off-balance,, unable to dodge him. In one swift movement, he grasped the white
muslin at my shoulders and stripped it from me as if it were only gauze, as
meaningless as my pretensions to the rule of the Three Kingdoms.

“Guards!” I shouted,
recoiling from him. Or tried to shout; my voice was little more than a croak. “Guards!”

No guards came. The
tapestries in the chamber hung unruffled by the opening or closing of any door
which might have brought men with swords and pikes to my aid.

Count Thornden grinned
his corrupt hunger at me. “Already I am king in effect if not in name. None
who consider themselves your friends dare oppose me. You are lost,
my lady.”

Brutally, he grabbed at
me.

I eluded him by diving
under the table. I had none of the skills of a warrior, but I was well-trained
at physical sports. Hone the body to sharpen the mind. Mage Ryzel had taught
me. And he had betrayed me: no one else in the manor had authority to command
the guards from their duty. I rolled under and past the table. There I flipped
to my feet.

But then I did not run
or cry out or seek to escape. Naked, I stood erect across from Thornden and
faced him. Anger and pain and betrayal had taken me beyond fear. I had done
Ryzel too much honor by thinking him
in
league with Queen Damia;
doubtless he feared her too much to ally himself with her. Instead, he had
chosen Thornden for his machinations—chosen to submit me to rape rather than
accept the risks of my Ascension. The bones of my cheek flamed as if they had
been splintered.

“Resist me!” Thornden
snarled. “It increases the pleasure.” He began to stalk me around the fable.

With all my strength, I
shouted. “NO!” and hammered both fists against the tabletop.

I was only a woman—and
not especially strong. My blow did not so much as cause the candle flames to
waver. Yet the sheer unexpectedness of it stopped him.

“You are a fool!” I
snapped, not caring how my voice shook. “if you harm me. further, the result
will be
your
doom, not mine.”

For the moment, I had
surprised him into motionlessness. He took his pleasure from harming the weak
and fearful; he was not prepared for me. And while it lasted I took advantage
of his amazement.

“First, my lord of
Nabal,” I said in a snarl to match his, “let us agree that you dare not kill
me. If you do so, you will forge an unbreakable alliance between Canna and
Lodan against you. In the name of survival—as well as of ambition—they will
have no choice but to do their uttermost together in an effort to punish my
slayer.”

I did not allow him time
to claim—or even to think— that he was ready to fight any opposition in order
to master the realm. Instead, I continued, “And if you dare not kill me, then
you also dare not harm me. Look upon me, my lord of Nabal.
Look!”
I
slapped the table again to startle him further. “I am indeed plain and puny.
But do you think that I am also blind and deaf? My lord of Nabal. I am
aware
of my appearance. I understand the consequences of such plainness. You
cannot render me unfit for any man or marriage; I have long since given up all
hope of such things.

“Therefore it will cost
me nothing to denounce you to Canna and Lodan if you harm me. I will not be
afraid or ashamed to proclaim the evil you have done me.” If he had any more
than half a wit in his head, he was able to see that I would not be afraid or
ashamed. “The result.. will be the same as if you had slain me. In
self-interest if not injustice, Canna and Lodan will join together to reave you
of your crown so that I will be avenged.”

His surprise was fading;
but still I did not relent, did not allow him opportunity to think. I knew what
his thoughts would be: they were written in the sweat and darkness of his face.
He had reason to avoid anything which might ally Canna and Lodan against him.
Why else had he given any credence to the counsel that he should offer me
marriage?—why had he sought to rape rather than to murder me? But he also had
reason to think that he might be strong enough to prevail even against the
union of his foes—especially if Ryzel stood with him. I sought to deny his
conclusions before he could reach them.

“And if you dare not
murder me—and you dare not harm me—then you also dare not risk battle. Ryzel
supports you now because you are the strongest of three. But if Canna and
Lodan join against you, you will be the weaker of two, and so Ryzel will turn
from you for the sake of the realm.”

But in that I erred.
Thornden’s purpose was suddenly restored. His stance sharpened, a grin bared
his teeth. Clearly, his hold upon Ryzel’s support was surer than I had
supposed, and so the threats I had levelled against him collapsed, one after
the other. As he saw them fall, he readied himself to spring.

Still I did not waver. I
could not guess the truth between Ryzel and Thornden: but my ignorance only
made my anger more certain.

“But if you are too much
the fool,” I said without pause, “to fear Ryzel’s defection, then I will not speak
of it. And if you are too much the fool to fear Queen Damia’s Dragon, that also
I will not discuss.” Though Thornden’s wits were dull, Brodwick’s were as sharp
as they were corrupt: and he had undoubtedly brought his lord to Ryzel’s
conclusion—that Damia’s Dragon was an image of a Creature she could not
identify, and that therefore it was not as dangerous as it appeared. “But are
you also fool enough to ignore King Thone? Have you not observed that his Mage
has left the manor?”

That shot—nearly blind
though it was—went through Thornden like a shock. He stiffened; his head jerked
back, eyes widened. I tasted a fierce relish for my gambit.

“My lord of Nabal,
Cashon is a master of Fire. Without Brodwick to defend them, your armies are
lost. Cashon will turn the very ground beneath their feet to lava and death.

He could not know that I
was lying. With a howl of rage, he sprang toward the door, heaved the chair
aside, burst from the chamber. From the outer passage, I heard the pound of his
running and the echo of his loud roar:

“Brod
wick!”

Relief and dismay and
anger and fear rose in me as nausea. I wanted to collapse into a chair and hug
my belly to calm it. But I did not. Unsteadily, I walked to the concealed door
which should have brought the guards to my aid.

When I thrust the
tapestry aside. I found Mage Ryzel there.

His eyes were full of
tears.

The sight nearly undid
me. I was so shaken that I could hardly hold back from going to him like a girl
and putting myself into his arms for comfort. At the same time, I yearned to
flay his heart with accusations and bitterness.

I did neither. I stood
and stared at him and said nothing, letting my nakedness speak for me.

He was unable or
unwilling to meet my gaze. Slowly, he shambled from his hiding place as if he
had become unaccountably old in a short time and crossed the room to the door.
Bracing himself on the frame as if all his bones hurt and his Scepter alone
were not enough to uphold him, he called hoarsely for any servant within
earshot to attend him.

Shortly, he was
answered. His voice barely under control, he told the servant to go to my
private chambers and fetch a robe. Then—still with that painful slowness—he
closed the door and turned back to face me.

“All I proposed to him,”
he said with a husky tremor, “was that he ask your hand in marriage—or in
alliance. if you would not wed him. I conceived that Scour’s Dragon would teach
you your peril so
plainly that you would give up your reasonless
pretensions.”

“Oh, assuredly, good
Mage,” I replied at once, scathing him as much as I was able. I only kept
myself from tears by digging my nails into the palms of my hands. “That was all
you proposed. And then you commanded the guards away, so that he would be free
to act violence against me if he chose.”

He nodded dumbly, unable
to thrust words through the emotion in his throat.

“‘And when he sought to
harm me, you did not intervene. He was certain that you would not”

Again, he nodded. I had
never seen him appear so old and beaten.

“Mage,” I said so that I
would not rail against him further, “what is his hold upon you?”

At last, he looked into
my eyes. His gaze was stark with despair. “My lady, I will show you.”

But he did not move—and
I did not speak again— until a knock announced the return of the servant. He
opened the door only wide enough to receive one of my robes.

Without interest, I
noted that the robe was of a heavy brocade which had been dyed to highlight the
color of my eyes, so that I would appear more comely than I was. While I
shrugged it over my shoulders and sashed it tightly, Ryzel averted his head in
shame. Then, when I had signified my readiness, he held the door for me, and I
preceded him from the meeting-room.

I desired haste; I
needed movement, action, urgency to keep my distress from crying itself out
into the friendless halls of the manor. But somehow I measured my pace to
Ryzel’s new slowness and did not lose my self-command. The death of my father
had left me with little cause for hope and no love; but at least it bad given
me pride enough to comport myself as a woman rather than as a girl. Moving at
Ryzel’s speed, I let him guide me to the upper levels and out onto the parapets
which overlooked the surrounding hills.

The night was cold, but
I cared nothing for that. I had my robe and my anger for warmth. And I took no
notice of the profuse scatter of the stars, though their shining was as brilliant
and kingly as a crown in the keen air; they were no more Real than I was. I had
eyes only for the moon. It was full with promise or benediction; and its place
in the heavens showed me that little more than an hour remained before midnight.

The manor was neither
castle nor keep, not built for battle; it had no siege-walls, no battlements
from which it might be defended. The first Regal had designed it as a seat of
peace—and as a sign to the Three Kingdoms that his power was not founded upon
armies that might be beaten or walls that could be breached. In consequence,
the Mage and I encountered no sentries or witnesses as we walked the parapets.