Royal Exile (53 page)

He carefully laid Faeroe on the uneven but sparkling surface of the stone. Twilight seemed to heighten its shimmering effect and, as though they were picking up the moon’s luminosity, the branstone’s silver threads glittered in mesmerising fashion. Leo found himself suddenly kneeling before the Stone of Truth. It felt right to pay it this homage. Once again he ran his fingers across the glimmering stone, over the words he must now recite.

Placing his hands on Faeroe, with great reverence he began to speak the ancient, sacred oath that the eight Valisar Kings before him had spoken.

He had no idea how far they had travelled. The swaying motion of the woman’s gait as she ran, surprisingly lightly, through the forest was strangely comforting despite the pain. He was riding her back, his arms around her neck, her arms supporting his broken feet. He was sure he had blacked out several times from the waves of agony washing over him even though she was doing her best to minimise the jarring effect of their motion. The fact was, he told himself in more lucid moments, feeling that pain meant that he was alive, for which he had this curious person to thank.

Finally, she paused.

‘Where are we?’ he groaned.

‘Far enough from where we were,’ she answered, cryptically, the only indication of her exertion the long, deep breaths she was taking.

‘Do you know this place?’

‘No. But I sense no danger. There’s an old hollow up there, I think.’ She pointed with her chin. He could see where she meant clearly in the moonlight. ‘That’s where we will rest this night.

He must have fainted again because when he came to she was laying him down in the cool hollow. ‘You’re a mess,’ she said.

‘Who are you?’

‘Elka. And you?’

He frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

She regarded him with a look of scepticism.

‘I promise. I have no recollection of who I am or what I was doing there with those men. Or even what I was doing in the forest.’

‘You’ve forgotten?’

He shrugged, wincing. ‘I don’t know. My head hurts, that’s probably got something to do with it.’ He grimaced.

‘How much pain are you in?’

‘Just a smidgeon,’ he said sarcastically through another wince. Up close he could see that she was not just some sort of monstrosity with a woman’s voice. When she smiled she was rather handsome.

‘I will need to look at those ankles,’ she said and they both understood what that meant.

‘What do you carry in that sack? Henbane, by any chance?’

She shook her head. ‘No, but I will make up something for you to take before we tackle it. What about the rest of you?’

It was his turn to grin mirthlessly. ‘What bit isn’t bruised or broken?’

‘I watched them beat you.’

‘Did you have to wait so long to protest?’

Elka smiled, embarrassed. ‘I couldn’t make a decision about you. I know this much: you are not one of them.’ She nodded as he opened his mouth, and stopped his words by continuing: ‘I know that’s obvious because you don’t look or dress as they did, but I watched them bring you into that place on the back of a horse. You were unconscious so presumably they had captured you somewhere.’

‘But why?’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t tell you. They said something about teaching you a lesson about running away from them.’

‘Where do you think I could be running from?’

‘Or to?’

‘Where are you from?’

‘I’m of the Davarigons.’

He blinked. ‘Should Davarigon mean something to me?’

She looked amused. ‘You know Lo’s Teeth, the mountains that outline Droste and act as a barrier to the Great Plains?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what or where Droste is, or what the Great Plains are.’

She frowned. ‘Well, you certainly are confused, aren’t you? But you remembered henbane?’

He gave an expression to imply he was as baffled as she looked. ‘I don’t understand, either.’

‘Our people have lived among those mountains for centuries.’

‘Are they all as…as…’

‘What? Beautiful as I am?’

He grinned, amazed that he still could, his battered mouth punishing him immediately for the gesture.

‘I am big in comparison to the people of these realms, that is true,’ she said, almost shyly.

‘And strong,’ he added. ‘Elka, you picked me up like a sack of potatoes.’

‘Strength is in our blood, as is height.’ She carefully inspected his ankles, ‘Our people are reclusive. We have lived quietly in the mountains and our lives have not crossed those of either the Steppes or the Set. We are peaceful.’

‘Yes, I took note of that when you killed three men without blinking.’

She laughed softly, her face brightening magnificently, crinkling her eyes. ‘I’m very accurate with a bow but we kill reluctantly. That’s why I took so long to make my decision.’

‘Why did you?’ he asked seriously.

She sighed. ‘You’re young. What they did was cowardly. And wrong. If you’ve done something criminal, you should face your elders or whoever is in authority. It looked to me like those three were making their own judgement. There was no talk of wrongdoing, other than your running from them — as anyone might. So I decided to save your pathetic carcass.’

‘I’m sure if I’d done something bad, I’d feel it.’

She shook her head. ‘I think we’d all like to think that way.’

He sighed. ‘I owe you my life. Somehow I will repay you.’

‘You speak elegantly. I suspect you’re from the city, perhaps even noble.’

‘What city?’

‘Brighthelm, the palace of the Penraven Kings. Do you know what I’m talking about?’

He shook his head bleakly.

Elka let out her breath loudly. ‘Well, I can see I have a lot to teach you. You have a great deal to re-learn while we wait for your memory to return.’

‘Do you think it will?’

‘You’ve got a huge gash on the side of your head and —’ she reached behind him and he yelped — ‘and the most enormous lump. I imagine that is the cause of your memory loss.’

He lay back, closing his eyes. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘Stay still, stay calm. I need to fetch a few things and we’ll see if we can’t deaden that pain for you before we set those ankles.’

‘You make it sound so gentle and easy.’

‘You’ll hate me by the end of it.’

‘Thank you, Elka,’ he said, reaching for her large hand.

‘You’re welcome … What shall I call you?’

He shrugged. ‘How about Regor? I think I’ve always liked the sound of it.’

‘Regor it is. Good strong name. Tomorrow we’ll head further toward the Dragonsback Mountains, which separate Penraven from Barronel. I’ll feel more comfortable once we’re in that terrain. And you’ll have time and safety to get well, await your memory’s return. But for now, be still.’

Elka loped off and Gavriel De Vis lay back, finally allowing himself a few tears of self-pity. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his now clouded mind were flashes of thought — something about a snake and fear … but not for himself. He had been afraid for someone important. But when he reached for more clues, the dizziness only intensified, and he gave up. Elka was right; he needed to give it time … if only he didn’t have the feeling that time had been his enemy in the first place.

Valya carefully followed Genrie all the way to the chapel, which surprised her. She began to believe that this was a pointless exercise, that the servant was going for a blessing from Lo or to offer up prayers. But then Genrie moved beyond the obvious door, carrying on further toward the chapel’s walled garden.

She stepped back quickly as Genrie cast a worried glance around. Then Valya heard a man’s voice. Recognising it with a thrill of shock, she immediately chastised herself. She shouldn’t be surprised by this. Hardly daring to breathe, she strained to hear the conversation.

‘Have you got it?’ Genrie said.

‘Here,’ he replied. Valya peeped around, unable to believe what she witnessed. ‘Two only,’ he continued. ‘Any more and it will be recognised. It won’t take any more, trust me. Are you sure?’

‘This was your idea,’ Genrie accused. Then she shrugged. ‘It’s too good an opportunity to miss.’

‘If you injure him I will declare you. I am loyal to him. Stracker will lay this realm to waste. But you need Loethar.’

Valya felt a thrill of fear. Without waiting to hear the rest of the conversation, she took her chance to run away silently. When she reached Loethar’s chamber he was still gently snoring in the same position she’d left him in. In contrast her heart was hammering, her breathing ragged. Even though it frightened her somewhat to do it, she woke her emperor, ignoring his angry growls, calming him so she could explain.

* * *

Freath knocked on the door of Loethar’s suite. He had no idea why he’d been summoned at this hour. He shifted his shirtfront, embarrassed by how dishevelled he knew he must look, although he knew that Loethar wouldn’t care.

‘Come,’ came the voice of the barbarian. It sounded ominous.

Freath took a steadying breath and walked in. Not in his darkest thoughts could he have guessed that inside the room would he find the five people he did. His gaze was helplessly drawn to Genrie, who stood, eyes downcast, fingers opening and shutting nervously into fists at her side. Beside her stood a member of the Greens, Belush, Freath thought his name might be, and, of course, Stracker.

‘My lord?’ he asked, his breath shortening behind the words that flowed by instinct; those same instincts were telling him now that something exquisitely dangerous was afoot once again. His heartbeat quickened. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Yes, Freath, something is very wrong. I thought it appropriate that you be here for this.’

Freath felt the short breath now catch in his throat. In the fleeting moment of time between Loethar’s reply and his response of a short bow he was able to get a better look at Genrie: the waves of hair, presumably unpinned for the night and curling recklessly at her shoulders; the full, well-rounded breasts that sat high and proud beneath her uniform, which was unbuttoned at the throat. Just above the buttons he could see her pulse, strong and too fast, and a tiny apricot coloured birthmark just at the point where her neck reached her shoulders … the clavicle, that’s the name, he thought ridiculously, besieged now with fear. Genrie was the first woman he’d loved in … so long he didn’t want to think about how long it had been. But now she refused to look at him.

‘What seems to be the problem, my lord?’ he forced out, clearing his throat.

‘It seems your servant woman, Genrie, is plotting an assassination of sorts.’

Freath’s head rocked back. ‘What? No, my lord. I don’t believe so.’ He felt confident saying this for Genrie would never try and kill Loethar, not alone and not without consulting Freath.

‘I couldn’t believe it either, Freath, but Princess Valya insists that Genrie is plotting death.’

‘My lord, I have known Genrie for some years now. She has been a hardworking servant of the royals but her real loyalties, like mine, are to her own. She has family, as you know.’ He shrugged. ‘Genrie would do nothing to injure you, my lord. In fact —’

‘Not me, Freath,’ Loethar cut in. ‘Valya believes that Genrie was plotting her death.’

‘To kill the princess?’ Freath repeated dumbly.

Loethar nodded, yawning. That casual carelessness chilled Freath all the more. The emperor would order Genrie’s slaying as easily as he would swat at a fly. And now Freath could see that the ruler was tired. He’d obviously been roused from sleep and wanted to return to his bed. ‘So, let’s just settle this once and for all, shall we?’

The pit of Freath’s stomach opened up. That sort of introduction could only mean bloodshed.

‘Er, my lord. May I take care of this for you?’

‘Do you consider this such a petty matter that the emperor need not be involved?’ Valya demanded, like a snake striking from hidden bushes. ‘I can’t imagine you would, considering you were kissing this woman oh so tenderly not so long ago.’

Freath just stopped himself from taking a step back, noticing the rueful grin on Loethar’s face. No one cared. Not one of them. They were seeing this farce through to appease Valya. Stracker looked bored. The other Green seemed entirely unconcerned — and what was he doing here, anyway?

‘Let’s get this done with, Loethar,’ Stracker grumbled.

Loethar nodded. ‘Freath, I think we can handle this in a fairly straightforward fashion. Genrie, you’ve been appointed my taster by Master Freath. His romantic inclinations aside, he obviously has strong belief in you, which seems rather ironic considering what you’re being accused of. So do show Princess Valya up to be the false accuser here and bear out Freath’s great faith. Drink down the milk, there’s a good girl.’

And now Genrie did look up. She ignored Loethar and the sneering Valya. The two Greens she seemed hardly aware of anyway. She focused all her attention on Freath.

‘I tricked you, Freath, you pathetic, grasping old man. You thought you could trust me? I’m not prepared to climb into bed with these pigs, let alone you! At least this is less messy than the blade.’ She reached for the milk, swallowing it in four gulps. As she let the mug fall to the ground, she turned briefly to Loethar. ‘Never say I didn’t try to help you. Kill her yourself, my lord, before she destroys you,’ she sneered.

Freath felt his heart lurch in his chest. It was true! His beautiful girl had attempted to poison the witch of Droste but Valya had prevailed. And now, in the face of death, another brave woman, just like the queen, was protecting his cover. He felt his heart breaking apart, shattering into dozens of pieces, as he watched Genrie begin to gasp.

She was brave to the end, refusing to show panic at her body’s desperate attempts to grapple for air as it betrayed her. Freath watched numbly as the woman he loved, in heroic fashion, her body shaking from the effort of concealing her obvious suffering, lowered herself awkwardly to the floor. She lay her head back against the fireplace, the effects of the poison foaming out of her mouth, her lips already blackening, eyes glassing over.

He knew she’d held her tongue to her death and now he had to make sure that death wasn’t in vain. ‘My lord, I have absolutely no idea what this is about,’ he said truthfully, unable to hide the shock in his voice.