Donnel's Promise (25 page)

Gripping a handful of her hair, he forced her head back. ‘Do not forget that I can destroy you! A few muttered words, a whisper … How would Goltoy choose to punish your perfidy, do you suppose? He is a man given to shocking violence. Shocking, and yet slow. He likes to linger over his pleasures.’

Lyse whimpered.

‘You will do as I tell you or suffer the consequences,’ he said, flinging her sideways to sprawl on the floor. ‘And you will report to me every word that Goltoy says to you. You are
mine
,’ he hissed. ‘Do not forget it.’

Risha moaned, the shadowed shapes of her dream reforming into a curtained carriage. Within, Ciaran’s body swayed to the rhythm of its wheels on the road. Lyse lay curled on the seat, her head in the woman’s lap.

‘He says I must speak at their meeting, that I must stand before them and denounce Donnel. But someone will see me and know that I’m not her,’ Lyse wailed. ‘He will kill me, Ciaran. And if Vormer does not, Goltoy will.’

Ciaran’s head rolled sideways with each jolting turn of the wheels. She looked tired, her skin grey with strain. Her hand stroked Lyse’s hair. ‘It is not done yet, Lyse. It is not yet played out.’ Her face held less hope than her words.

She sighed and straightened. ‘A wedge is set between Goltoy and Vormer. That is the card we must play. There is hope in it. Hold to that.’

Lyse sniffed loudly. ‘I’m afraid, Ciaran. More than I’ve ever been, more than at Bray, or at Elion. I’m afraid.’

Risha’s head ached and her throat felt caked with clay. Fenn bought her water.

‘I trust that proved worthwhile.’ The woman made no effort to hide her disapproval.

Risha drained the mug and held it out for more. Fenn obliged.

‘Lyse is a bone torn between Goltoy and Vormer. She’s terrified, Fenn. We must get her away.’

Fenn sighed. ‘Getting you away may prove challenge enough.’

23

The Sitting

T
ucking her hair within her soft cap, Risha trailed Lillet through the near-empty kitchen yard.

‘Quilec has been ranting all night. He believes the outbreak to have been an attempt on his life, even though it is only the servants and palace guards who have been taken ill.’

They passed a woman leaning weakly against a pump, her arm scarcely moving on the handle.

‘He wants extra servants taken on to taste all food before it’s served, and that’s on top of replacements for those who’ve fallen ill. Sedge is desperate. And likely, by now, to be feeling a little queasy, given he ate with the guardsmen last night.’ Lillet smiled grimly.

‘But they’ll recover?’ Risha asked.

‘In a day or two,’ Lillet confirmed.

Two boys sat outside the kitchen door, heads hanging between their knees. As Risha and Lillet approached, one leant sideways to vomit a thin line of bile on the paving stones.

‘Not there! Are you mad?’ A hefty woman marched through the door and shoved him with her foot. The
boy only moaned. ‘Scat. And take your belly-aching with you.’ She looked up. ‘You’re all right then: precious few are. Who’s she?’

‘My cousin. Sedge asked for anyone who might help out.’ It was a lie, but the woman accepted it without question.

‘Aye, well, you won’t find him darkening my door, not unless he wants a meeting with my best carving knife. And if I hear so much as another hint that my kitchen is to blame for this, I’ll be serving outsized mountain oysters for tomorrow’s breakfast.’ She paused for breath, and to look them over. ‘Before you start on whatever jobs that barb-tongued fleshpot might set you to, be a love and fill a bucket to sluice those stones.’

Lillet collected a bucket and led Risha back to the pump. ‘That’s Varn. She’s head cook. It wasn’t her kitchen that caused the problem, though lots of folk are saying it was.’

‘What’s a mountain oyster?’ Risha asked.

Lillet looked at her sideways. ‘Lamb’s testicle. Though I don’t think it’s lambs Varn was referring to.’

They sluiced the stones and carried out several other tasks Varn gave them before escaping up the stairs. Sedge was slumped at the top, one hand on his broad belly. He looked a little like Marit, except that his face lacked any trace of kindness.

‘How do you look so healthy? Half my staff went down yesterday and the rest are dropping today.’ He let out a rumbling burp that caused him to tighten his hand and stand up.

‘This is my cousin, Tish. She can help out for a few days,’ Lillet said.

Sedge waddled past, a low moan issuing from his mouth.

‘D’you want her upstairs? Varn’ll have her if you don’t.’

There was no answer beyond an ominous rumble from Sedge’s belly as he rounded the corner.

‘I’ll show you where they meet,’ Lillet said.

The room was large and well proportioned with ornate double doors at the far end. Ribs of wood painted in yellow, turquoise and red arched overhead, banners for each of the duchies hanging at intervals around the walls. Risha counted eighteen chairs at the oval table, with additional benches along the walls. A guard turned as they entered. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Looking for Sedge.’

The man’s lip lifted in a sneer. ‘He followed his belly that way.’ He jerked a thumb towards the door.

Lillet dipped a curtsey in thanks.

Varn kept them busy with tasks that filled the morning. Risha had begun to cast worried looks toward Lillet when a grey-faced Sedge appeared. ‘Where’s that girl? I need someone upstairs.’

‘Oh no you don’t!’ Varn brandished a knife. ‘You’re not making off with my staff, not today. You’re not the only one short.’

‘What is it you need?’ Lillet said. ‘Have they started?’

‘Formalities. And there’s no ale.’ He cursed and doubled over his belly.

Lillet filled two jugs of ale and two of water. ‘I’ll come straight back down,’ she promised Varn, ignoring the woman’s complaints.

Outside the hall door Lillet paused. ‘I’ll go in first and
come back to fetch you when it’s time. And remember: fill from the right and go sunwise round the table, starting with Goltoy. Serve the lords first, then do a second round for the advisors.’

Lillet disappeared through the door. Risha’s nerves built as the minutes ticked by.

Two men passed her without a glance. A third hurried by with his arms wrapped around his belly. When the door finally opened it wasn’t Lillet but a swarthy,
sharp-eyed
man who came through it. He narrowed his eyes as he studied her. ‘I don’t know you,’ he said slowly. ‘Which means you ain’t cleared to go in there.’

‘Sedge asked me to bring the ale up.’

‘I’ll take it. There’s a girl inside already; they don’t need another.’

‘Oh, but Varn wants her in the kitchen — you know what she’s like — and Sedge said this was my chance to show him what I can do. Please, I need this chance.’

The man’s belligerent expression twisted into a smile. ‘Tell you what: how about you show me what you can do instead? And if it’s good, I’ll put in a word for you.’ He reached for the jugs.

‘I’ll be double nice if you let me take them myself.’ She smiled back at him. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ilner.’ His eyes ran over her breasts. ‘Double nice sounds good to me. You find me tonight. If you don’t, I’ll find you, and that wouldn’t be so nice. Least, not for you.’ He laughed and opened the door, his hand sliding over her backside as she squeezed passed.

‘I won’t forget,’ Risha said earnestly. ‘I swear it.’

The room was lit by an arched window set above the
main doors, light pooling along the length of the table and leaving the sides of the room in shadow.

Goltoy stood, thick-necked and ginger-haired, his pale-lashed eyes rimmed in red, at the head of the table. She didn’t know his advisors. On the far side of the table Havre’s chair was occupied by Vormer. Risha’s pulse quickened. The man looked grey and hunched as if he was in discomfort. Thatton lounged at his right, his broad thighs and huge belly overspilling his chair. At his left Ciaran sat rigid, her hands tightly clasped.

Risha slipped away from the door into the shadow of a pillar. Even with the cap covering her hair and cheeks she felt exposed.

To Goltoy’s left, in the chair carved with Caledon’s sigil, a petulant-faced man with oiled hair and a roll of fat beneath his chin was inspecting his nails: Quilec, with two equally bored-looking men at either side.

The fourth and fifth chairs — Fratton’s and LeMarc’s — were conspicuously vacant. Risha’s throat tightened. Margetta had not come. A sixth chair, lacking a sigil, also stood empty, though the benches behind it were full.

‘I will not belabour the facts,’ Goltoy said, his voice too loud for the room. ‘They speak for themselves. It is time the traitor to the Accord was docked of his tail.’

‘Oh, quite,’ Quilec said.

Goltoy ignored him. A trail of spittle clung to the edge of his beard. ‘We will tolerate no renegade princelings here, no matter who their grandsires! His actions insult not only Westlaw but the Sitting.’ He thumped his fist on the table. ‘I have laid this matter before you in the past and you have been too weak to decide. As a
consequence
, my lands are invaded, my wife and heirs taken
hostage. If that does not move you, recall his crimes in Fratton. I say we vote now! We finish it, now!’

‘What of his daughter?’ Quilec asked. ‘Has she been brought to heel?’

‘To bed if not to heel.’ The comment came from Goltoy’s right.

‘Aye, and that should take the sting from her,’ another added.

Sniggers broke out. Risha caught a sickly smile on Thatton’s face. Her limbs felt strangely weak.

Someone jabbed her in the back. ‘Get that ale to the table. You’re not paid to loiter in corners.’

Cheeks burning, Risha walked to Goltoy’s right. He had slumped into his chair, and shoved his goblet to the side without looking up. She poured and moved on. Lillet was serving the advisors, her second circuit almost complete. Meeting Risha’s eyes, she gave a slight shake of her head.

Risha didn’t know what it meant. Her hand shook as she filled Vormer’s goblet. He was close enough that she could see the flecks of grey in his hair. Keeping her face down she walked swiftly on, past the three empty chairs, to fill Quilec’s goblet. One of his advisors was asking whether Donnel could legitimately be ousted without all the duchies present.

‘I say call for the vote and have it done,’ Quilec replied. ‘The birds were sent; Fratton was told. The Sitting cannot be neutered by a child’s inability to grasp the importance of politics.’

‘That is indeed a problem for another day,’ Goltoy said, his voice caressing the idea.

‘A vote then,’ Vormer said. His voice cracked and he
drank from his goblet. ‘Given Westlaw’s involvement in this matter, I will call it. Cast your sticks.’

Goltoy, Vormer and Quilec each leant forward and placed yellow rods on the table.

‘By unanimous decree: Donnel is declared renegade and will no longer be recognised as overlord of LeMarc.’

Risha’s heart jumped in her chest.

‘Which brings us,’ Goltoy said, ‘to the succession of that duchy.’

Vormer watched him with narrowed eyes.

There was a commotion at the main door and raised voices in the hall outside. Risha stepped back against the wall and scanned the benches. Four men had stood — bodyguards she judged; two behind Goltoy and another pair behind Quilec. The door burst open with a crash and Risha jumped, ale sloshing over her wrist.

Muir sauntered into the room. His shirt was ripped at the sleeve and mud spattered his clothes. ‘My lords of the Sitting,’ he said. ‘You have surely not started without us?’

There was a whispering hiss of questions around the walls.

‘Three empty seats? And yellow rods on the table. A vote begun then — it is fortunate my Lady Fratton is here to join you.’

Eyes swivelled as Margetta walked through the door. She was no less travel-stained than Muir but she held her chin high.

‘My lords.’ Her voice shivered with strain. Muir escorted her to her seat. It seemed to swallow her. ‘On what issue do we vote?’

‘The vote is done,’ Goltoy said. ‘It is a pity you come too late.’

‘A vote is not complete while the rods lie on the table, Lord Goltoy. And had your men not detained us at the gate I would have arrived in good time.’ She fingered the rods, red, yellow and turquoise, that lay at her right hand. ‘The issue?’

‘The renegade Donnel is in breach of the Accord. We vote to expel him from the Sitting,’ Quilec said, his voice nasal and bored.

‘Again?’

‘You have no vote here, lady,’ Goltoy said, his voice grating and low. ‘You are not of age.’

‘I am instated as Fratton’s legitimate ruler. Even you may not override a duchy’s sovereign rights, Lord Goltoy.’

One of Goltoy’s advisors leant to mutter in his ear. He did not look pleased by what he heard.

Margetta turned in her chair. ‘But even were it so, my appointed advisor would carry my vote. Ah. He is here.’

Three men shouldered through the door, two taking up a position in front of it while the third joined Margetta at the table. Risha allowed herself the smallest of smiles as she recognised Barc.

Margetta slid the red rod forward. ‘Fratton votes against Donnel’s expulsion.’

‘It does not change the outcome,’ Vormer snapped. ‘The vote stands at three to one. The majority is clear. We move on.’ As he spoke he curled forward as if his belly pained him. Risha wondered without sympathy whether he was suffering Sedge’s complaint.

One of Goltoy’s advisors rose. ‘In the event of a lord’s expulsion, his heir may take the seat if he — or she — publicly denounces the deposed lord. LeMarc’s line of succession is undisputed. If none here oppose it, Arishara
should be called to answer.’

The man sat down. Risha tensed. Now that the time had come her dread weighed heavy.

‘One moment,’ Vormer said. ‘To clarify.’ He coughed and drank before continuing. ‘As Donnel’s named heir, Arishara’s vote is her own and not, for example, her husband’s. Am I correct?’

Goltoy studied his ally with distaste.

The old man who had spoken previously tipped his head. ‘That is so.’

‘Why is Arishara not here?’ Margetta asked.

‘We felt it kinder not to force her to witness the statement of her father’s crimes,’ Quilec said smoothly.

‘Ah. Better to ask that she denounce him in ignorance.’ There was an awkward shifting among the advisors. ‘But Arishara is heir to both Havre and LeMarc. As the inheritance of Havre lies through her mother, why does she not sit in Havre’s chair?’

‘Why indeed?’ Goltoy said. ‘A good point from Lady Fratton. Perhaps, Vormer, you might vacate the seat.’

Vormer appeared to be chewing something that was proving difficult to swallow. ‘Let us wait until LeMarc’s succession is resolved before moving to Havre’s. The girl may propose her own resolution.’

He thought he had Lyse sufficiently cowed to nominate him as her advisor. Risha felt a ripple of fear.