Melanthrix the Mage (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“A HUNDRED-WEIGHT LIFTED FROM MY SHOULDERS”

On the following afternoon, Prince Arkády and his sister took sail for Kórynthály. Despite the chill of the day, the sun was bright and the sky a brilliant, robin's-egg blue. Warmly cloaked against the breeze, they embarked at Saint-Basile's Quai on the royal
caïque
, a large, white barge dec­orated in silver and green and black, and topped by a raised canopy of scarlet velvet embroidered with Tighrishi tigers and fringed with golden tassels as their tails.

Princess Arrhiána sat back on the puffy cushions, her fine blonde tresses flowing free and glinting in the sun. She was eight-and-twenty years of age, with fair skin and a creamy complexion. The angles of her high cheekbones could have been sculpted from the palest shade of pink Carollan marble. In her blue eyes was the faintest hint of amusement as she regarded her eldest brother.

“I feel as if a hundred-weight had been lifted from my shoulders,” she said, stretching luxuriously, like a satisfied cat who has just finished licking its cream.

The constant sweep of the massive oars and the light beat of the master's drum provided a hypnotic backdrop to the barge's sensuous glide upriver. The brown waters of the River Paltyrrh flowed by in slow counterpoint, occa­sionally rippling and whitening in the breeze. Nearby, a large, silver fish splashed as it leapt for a rare winter fly.

“That lazy, eh?” Arkády said, smiling. “Perhaps I should suggest to Papá that you be married off to some fat eastern potentate with a big belly and fifteen other wives. You could spend the rest of your days in a place like Umm az-Zakkár, consorting with the camels. Dúra is already wondering about the possibilities.”

She poked him goodnaturedly in the ribs.

“Don't even joke about it, Kásha,” she said. “Remember what happened last time?” She paused, then added a little sadly, “I was young, far too young. And poor Avrelián was always sick.”

“You know that people are already talking,” the prince said. “You don't have anyone in mind, do you?”

Arrhiána turned a pale pink, or perhaps her fair skin had taken on its raw glow from the rays of bright sun glancing off the bow of the
caïque
.

“Let them talk,” she said, to Arkády's amuse­ment. “I'll choose my own husband next time, thank you, and with no help from you, if I choose any at all!”

Her brother looked her up and down very deliber­ately.

“Hmm. Not so sure anyone would want you,” he quipped. “Too plump here”—he touched her waist—“too short there”—he pointed to her head, which barely met his chin—“and entirely too independent to suit any man.”

She smiled wickedly.

“At least I don't sport all those lines around my eyes like you,” she said. “Honestly, Arkády, I think you were born old.”

He raised his hands in surrender.

“
Touché
. I give up,” he said. “You know I'm no match for you verbally.”

“Then tell me this, brother.” She turned suddenly serious. “What's wrong with Papá these days? He looks terribly tired, and the entire court acts like it's walking on stilts, very precariously balanced over a pit of poison-tipped stakes. I know I've been away for a while, but not that long.”

Arkády got up and went to the rail, where he watched an erne diving for fish, perhaps even the fish that had just snagged the fly. He wondered idly if the bird ever gave a thought about the life it was taking for its own sus­tenance.

He turned back to Arrhiána, his eyes mirroring her concern.

“You're right, of course: the mood at court has de­clined markedly since the new year. And father's ability to rule seems to be falling at even a faster rate, Rhie.

“I think...no, I
believe
that someone or some group is trying to destroy our house, and possibly even our state. I don't know why and I don't know who, but in my own mind I have no doubt that we're being deliberately manipulated by an unseen and very clever hand or hands. Alas, though, that there are just too many questions still unanswered, and not enough answers to make any determi­nations. If I only knew a little bit more, perhaps....

“Thus, I'm now forced into my most difficult role, sister, of waiting for developments, of playing the patient, deliberate statesman, when in my heart I just want to take action,
any
action, to solve this crisis. But I can't do much else at this juncture, not if I'm going to save Kórynthia and its king.”

“I look at Papá,” Arrhiána said, “and I see a man eaten away by his cares. I'm very concerned for him, Kásha, and for you too. And what on earth is that horrid old specter, Melanthrix, doing here? I spotted him lurking at the back of the hall today. I thought he'd left for good years ago. He follows Papá around like his pet lap­dog, licking his hand and waiting for the crumbs to drop. He gives me the shudders.”

“Me too, Rhie,” her brother said. “Unfortunately, I can't seem to pry him away from father, or even from my own wife. I truly think that if Dúra had to choose between the pair of us, well, let's just say it would be a close deci­sion.”

“And how
is
my little namesake doing?” she asked.

“Not good, sister, not good at all. I watch him struggle each morning and wonder why God has cursed him with such pain. What did that innocent little boy ever do to deserve this? Sometimes, Rhie, Doctor Melanthrix seems to be the only one who can help him. If
I
had to choose, I'm not at all certain what choice I'd make these days. Ari tries so hard not to let anything show.”

She reached out a small, pale hand to cover his larger tanned one, and they sat in silence until they reached the
Quai de l'Amirauté
at Kórynthály. The rowers neatly folded their oars into an upright position as the
caïque
glided to a smooth halt. On the dock a small contingent of soldiers awaited them.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“I GET SO LONELY HERE”

“Attention!” the squad commander said as they debarked.

Arkády acknowledged Captain Kérés with a curt nod of his head, declining the two-seated carriage standing nearby. He and Arrhiána walked the half mile to Saint Ex­ouperantia's Convent, tailed respectfully by their guard. Although the ground was still damp from melted snow and the air brisk, the sun was shining brightly. The light sparkled around them off the wet points on the well-kept trees and shrubbery, glittering like tiny diamonds. Occa­sionally they heard the “klink” of icicles as they broke and fell from the northernmost eaves of the nearby buildings. Waiting for them at the entrance to the monastery was their youngest brother, Prince Andruin, a hieromonk of the Or­der of Saint Stylianos.

“Dru!” Arrhiána said in pleasure. “Why, I had no idea you were in town.”

“Dearest sister,” he said, embracing them both together in an exuberant bear hug, his student robes fluttering. “Mamá said that you were visiting here, so I came up immediately.”

“How are you coming with your studies?” his sister asked.

“They're going well,” the nineteen-year-old student said. “I should make my intermediate vows this fall, and my permanent ones in about three years. I've already de­cided to take the name Stephanos.”

“I'm so very excited for you,” she said, “and so pleased that you've settled on a vocation. Will you visit Sachette with us?”

“That's exactly why I came,” Andruin said. “That, and to see the both of you, of course. With you in Aszkán, dear Arrhiána, until just recently, and with Arkády so busy most of the time in court, I sometimes feel like I have to make an appointment just to say hello. Not that I'm complaining, mind.”

He laughed at the expressions on their faces.

“I wouldn't trade places with either one of you. No, give me the peace and serenity of the cloister anytime. It suits my nature so much better.”

Andruin ushered them ahead of him into the dim anteroom of the convent. The nun in charge scurried about, anxious to be of service to the hereditary prince and his family.

“Wait here,” she said, “and I'll see if Sister Vibiana is ready for you.” She bowed out of the room.

In a few moments she returned and silently mo­tioned them to follow her down a series of corridors and into a darkened cell. In the corner they could barely dis­cern a pale, thin girl sitting quietly with her head bowed. The acolyte was wearing a robe of some nondescript fabric, a knitted shawl wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

“Oh, Sachette!” Arrhiána cried out, in spite of her­self.

“Is that really you, Rhie?” came the querulous re­ply.

“And Kásha and Dru. We've all come to see you.”

Arrhiána choked back her tears, and resolutely moved forward as her brothers hovered awkwardly in the background.

The girl rose unsteadily from her seat and stumbled toward the sound of their voices with trembling, out­stretched arms. Arrhiána had to touch one of Sachette's hands before she could run forward into her sister's em­brace. Rhie folded the girl's slight frame against her.

“I get so lonely here,” Sachette quietly said. “I have no one to talk to and nothing I can really do. Some­times the nuns will read to me. They tried to teach me to sew, but I can't see what I'm doing, and I'm not really very good at it anyway, and I get soooo...impatient. And I have such terrible, terrible dreams.”

“Oh, my poor dear,” said Arrhiána, trying to calm her sister's sobs. “My poor, sad love. What kind of dreams?”

“I s-s-see Papá in such terrible danger,” Sachette said, “and I s-see this, this thing, all hairy and dark and menacing, and I s-see Arkásha almost being killed by an ax thrown by a big man covered in armor, and I s-see cousin Dolph singing with the angels up in Heaven, and I, I...”

“It's all right, my dear.”

Arrhiána looked pointedly at her brothers and raised her eyebrows.

Arkády nodded and moved forward to grasp his young sister's hands in his.

“Chette,” he said, kissing her forehead gently, “would you mind terribly if we looked at those dreams to­gether? You could share Rhie's eyes for a few moments.”

“Oh, may I? I'd love that, Kásha. Oh, please, please!” the girl pleaded.

The prince motioned to Andruin and his sister. Each of the men took hold of one of Sachette's hands, while Arrhiána placed her
psai
-ring on the girl's cool, pale brow. Quietly and expertly the siblings settled into a long-familiar bond, one that they had practiced frequently as children.

“The colors,” squealed Sachette. “I can see colors again! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Tears streamed down her face anew, this time in gratitude.

After some moments had passed, Arkády began to break the bond.

“Sister!,” he said, “sister, it's time. We mustn't overstrain you.”

“No, Arkády, no!” Sachette said, grabbing at his hand.

“Yes, Chette,” he gently said. “I'm sorry, I truly am, but if we continue, you know you'll be left with a frightful headache. Now, count slowly to ten backwards, and when you reach ‘one,' we'll dissolve the link.”

“Ten, nine, eight,” came the hollow, unhappy voice, “seven, six, five, four, oh God, three, two, one,” and she went limp.

Arkády clasped her frail body in his own strong arms.

“I love you, Sachette,” he said. “I could never hurt you.”

Arrhiána was standing quietly to one side, wiping her eyes, but in vain. The tears would not stop flowing.

“Now we must go,” he said, “but we'll be back again soon. I promise.”

He carried her back to her chair, and carefully placed her as she had been before, her thin hands folded in her lap. Then he kissed her once more, and turned to leave.

“Kásha?” she said.

“Yes, love,” the prince said.

“When you see that bad man throw his ax at you,
fall to the left
, or he'll kill you for sure. Please,
please
remember that.”

“I will, little sister,” he promised. “I surely will.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“HER VISIONS ARE GENUINE”

Outside the convent, Arkády and his siblings com­pared notes.

“Her visions are genuine,” he said, “or at least
she
believes them to be. I could find no internal or external source.”

“Could she have invented them?” asked Andruin. “She's terribly lonely.”

“Possibly,” his brother said, “but in truth, I think she lacks the imagination.

“Rhie,” he said, turning to his pensive sister, who was standing a little apart, still trying to regain her compo­sure, “do you recall any mention in our family tree of vi­sionaries?”

She thought carefully for a moment before re­sponding.

“Truthfully, I can only think of one,” she said, “and I know very little about her. I
think
she was called Mossy; she was our second cousin or great-aunt or something like that.”

“Well, what exactly
did
you hear about her?” Arkády said, even as he raised an undetectable mental barrier against her.

Whatever the cost, he dared not relate anything about the workings of the Covenant of Christian Mages, even to someone he trusted as much as Arrhiána; or reveal Mösza's identity to outsiders. Membership on the council was a closely-kept secret, under the terms of the original pact between the Holy Roman Cæsar and the Byzantine Ju­lian Emperor.

“Well,” Arrhiána said, “well, when I was a little girl, Kásha, I remember someone scolding me and telling me that I'd better behave, or I'd turn out just like Mossy. And someone else said, ‘Yes, and she'll start seeing things like Mossy, too.' It was never more definite than that, only an impression that she was very odd or off-limits, and that she had had visions and similar things when she was my age.”

She waved her right hand in a circle, flashing her rings in a blend of colored light.

“Look,” she said, “if you really want to know about her, ask Granny Brisquayne. She was at court then, and I'm sure she can tell you a great deal more than anyone else could at this point. Now....” Arrhiána shook herself, clutch­ing her warm cloak about her. “Now, I strongly suggest that if we're going to visit the dowager queen today, we'd better do so before the afternoon light fades completely away.”

“Agreed,” Arkády said. “Won't you join us, Dru?”

“I'd love to,” his brother said, “but I have an au­dience with Patriarch Avraäm in a little while. I'll see you both later at home, though. Please say hello to Granny for me, and tell her that I'll come by just as soon as I have a free moment.”

They kissed and embraced, and Arkády and Arrhi­ána watched affectionately as the young hieromonk trotted off down the road. Then the siblings turned in the opposite direction and proceeded a quarter of a mile west into a dis­trict of stately manor houses. These were clustered in a well-kept cul-de-sac at the end of the tree-lined drive. Arkády's retinue of guards followed dutifully behind,
kiliçs
sheathed but at the ready.