Sword of Shadows (25 page)

Adiana swallowed hard, cradling the plant in her hands as if it were a precious jewel, feeling the Gods had finally smiled upon her.

I might not have the strength to avoid Mechnes’s bed, but this much I can do. I can reject his seed. Eolyn taught me how.

“What is that?”

The man’s voice startled Adiana. She jumped to her feet, clutching the plant to her breast though the leaves stung her fingers.

The musician, Kahlil, studied her with dark eyes framed by heavy lashes, a frown upon his full lips.

Behind him stood the ever-watchful guards. 

Adiana lowered her eyes. “It’s an herb my mother once used for tea. I thought perhaps it could help me sleep at night. I have not been sleeping well, of late.”

Kahlil set his jaw and extended his hand. “May I see it?”

Adiana hesitated. She had no way of knowing whether he would recognize the medicine. If there was one thing men found intolerable, it was the thought of a woman rejecting their seed at will. Yet to keep the plant from him would only arouse suspicion.

Reluctantly, she handed it over, hoping that what Rishona had said during her time with the Circle was true, that the herbs of Moisehén were different from those used by the Syrnte.

Kahlil took the plant by the roots and twirled it slowly in his hands. Carefully he broke off the tip of one of the leaves, crushed it, sniffed it, and then touched it to his tongue. With a grimace he spat it out. “It is very bitter.”

“Yes,” Adiana stumbled over her words. “The infusion softens the taste, and it is mixed with other herbs and…sometimes sweetened. With honey.”

Kahlil nodded slowly. “My sister had a taste for bitter herbs.”

“Your sister? I did not know you had a sister.” In all the years they had played music for Mage Corey, Kahlil had never mentioned his family.

“She died.” His eyes met hers. “She and the man she loved.”

“I’m sorry,” Adiana said. “I’m very sorry.”

He exhaled as if to dismiss the memory. “It happened a long time ago.”

Still he did not return the plant. Adiana glanced at the ground beneath them, surreptitiously searching for another, though she had little hope of finding one. 

Bloodswort is a lonely herb,
Eolyn had said.
It hides from many eyes, including our own.

“I have spoken with Prince Mechnes,” Kahlil brought her focus back to him. “He has given permission for you to sit with us when we rehearse. That is, if it be your will.”

Adiana did not like the sound of her laughter. It was high pitched and broken, the laugh of a madwoman. “He said that? If it be my will?”

“No.” The frown on Kahlil’s face deepened. There was sympathy in his eyes, and she despised him for it.

As if he could understand. As if anyone could possibly understand.

“No. This is what I say: If it be your will, Adiana. We would be honored to have you sit with us.”

She turned away so he would not see her wipe the sting from her eyes. “I cannot make music anymore. This is no place for music. There is no melody left in my soul.”

For a long while, Kahlil said nothing. Then he stepped close and said in a low voice, “All of us live at the mercy of gods and kings. But as long as we have music, we have our freedom. They cannot touch us inside our songs. You knew this once. You must remember it now.”

Her throat constricted painfully. 

He offered her the wilted plant. “Promise me this will not kill you.”

“Kill me?” She glanced up at him in surprise. “No, it won’t kill me. Well, it might, if I were to take enough. But I’m far too cowardly to kill myself.”

“Cowardly?” He furrowed his brow, as if that were the last word that would have come to his mind. “You said it is mixed with other herbs. What else do you use?”

“Angelica. Coltsfoot. Hemlock. But this is the most important.”

“Then I will find more of these plants for you.” When she did not respond, he added, uncertainty in his voice, “Shall I send for you, then, when we rehearse?”

Adiana shrugged and looked away. Her gaze drifted southeast, toward where Eolyn’s
Aekelahr
once stood, where all her instruments had perished in flames, their ashes scattered by cruel and unrepentant Gods.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Taesara’s uncle stormed in
unannounced, scattering servants and ladies like a fox among chickens. “Get out! All of you.”

The Queen’s attendants departed with startled faces and murmured protests. Only Sonia remained at her side, clasping Taesara’s hand with the clawed grip of a small bird. 

“A bolder harlot I have never seen!” Lord Penamor rumbled, his footfalls heavy on the stone floor as he paced in front of them.

Taesara shifted her position against the pillows, but there was no escaping the persistent cramp in her lower back. She forced calm into her voice. “So it is true. Sonia heard whispers of the servants this morning. It is said the witch appeared last night and stayed with him until dawn.”

“Those eyes of hers, like smoldering coals of midnight lust.” Penamor’s words dripped with venom, but his gaze seemed caught inside a forbidden thought. “She distracts every man in her presence, yet the King allows her to stand among us as an equal, as one of his own council, as if she knew anything of war.”

“It has long been said that he is much taken with her.”

“Taken.” Penamor snorted. “Bewitched, more like. That woman should have burned with the rest of the magas.”

“She is not a maga,” Lady Sonia said beneath her breath. “She is nothing but a common witch.”

“Witch. Maga. Sorceress. Harlot.” Penamor spat out each word. “They are all the same.”

“A true maga would not have seduced a king,” Sonia said.

A scowl crossed Penamor’s face. He jabbed a finger toward Sonia while addressing Taesara. “Why did this woman remain when all were told to leave?”

“Because I bade her to remain, uncle,” Taesara said. “Sonia has studied the magas, as you well know. I thought her knowledge might be of use to both of us, under the circumstances.”

 Penamor pinned the lady-in-waiting with a hard gaze. “Do you have a curse we can use to rid ourselves of this witch?”

Sonia pursed her lips.

“Well?” Penamor prompted.

“I do not pretend to know their spells and potions. What I offer is some insight to their history and teachings.”

The ambassador eyed her with contempt. “The Mage King is siring a bastard on that whore even as we speak, and you would give us a history lesson.”

“Uncle!”

“I say only what needs to be said, Taesara. What have you done these past years, with all your beauty, all your grace? After the many sacrifices your father made to secure this marriage, have you nothing more to show than this? A scrawny girl, a dead prince, and a whore in your husband’s bed.”

“I will not stand for these insults!” Anger rose hot in Taesara’s veins. “Our family was mad to think I could appease the Mage King. Needlepoint you taught me, and riding. Charity and stylish dress. Songs and clever dialogue, demure dances and quiet obedience. These were the tools, you said, that would win the love of a king. But this king does not love me. He loves only that woman, who brings him the two things he most desires: magic and war.”

“A king’s greatest desire is a son,” Penamor growled. “Give him that, and he will love you.”

 Taesara’s heart contracted painfully. “It is too late. Indeed, there was never a hope to begin with.”

“Curse you, Taesara!” Penamor pounded his fist into the wall. “I will not listen to this nonsense. You will find a way back into the Mage King’s favor and deliver him a prince.”

Taesara frowned and turned away. The last of her son’s blood had not yet drained from her womb, and already they demanded she conceive another.

What a bitter duty this is.

To suffer under the Mage King’s weight, longing for tenderness that she knew would never come, stifling cries of pain so as not to displease him. And the silence that filled her chambers after he left: dark and impenetrable like his heart, comforting only in its capacity to hide her tears.

“My Lord Penamor,” Sonia volunteered quietly, “already my Queen has suffered the worst of losses at the hands of this woman. If you have any love for your niece, you must surely see that—”

“Love for my niece?” Penamor strode toward them and stood over the bed much like the King had on the day of Taesara’s miscarriage, an ogre ready to strike at the slightest provocation. “My love and my duty are for my kingdom, the security of which rests on my niece’s capacity to please the Mage King and to prevent him from siring a bastard sorcerer with that shameless witch.”

Taesara studied him a long moment, her stare unblinking. A wintry calm overtook her.

“Get out,” she said.

Penamor’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Leave me. Now.” When he did not move, she added, “Or shall I call my guards to escort you?”

Penamor set his jaw, sent Sonia a viperous glance, and returned his gaze to the queen. “I only say what you must hear.”

“Leave!”

He lifted both hands in a gesture of appeasement and departed.

Sonia rose and closed the door behind him. Though not an attractive woman, Lady Sonia knew how to present herself. Today she wore a teal robe with ivory trim that offset her neatly bound dark hair. Her carriage was always impeccable, one of quiet dignity.

“It was unwise to dismiss him so,” she said.

Not a rebuke or impertinence, simply the reflection of Taesara’s own thoughts; something for which Sonia had shown a gift ever since she came into Taesara’s service.

Taesara rubbed her forehead, searching for a clear thought, a path through this haze of fear and desperation. “Do not call the others back yet. I would have a moment’s peace.”

“As you wish, my Lady Queen.” 

She closed her eyes to ward off the dizziness.

“Shall I serve you a cup of tea?”

“Yes.” 

Sonia’s skirts rustled as she moved about the room, her slippered feet hushing the echoes of Penamor’s rage. The cup she brought warmed Taesara’s chilled hands; the aromatic brew soothed and awakened her senses.

Sonia blended herbs in ways that always refreshed Taesara, no matter what her mood. As the Queen drank, the lady sat at her side, a frown on her pug-nosed face. 

“What are we to do, my Lady Queen?”

Taesara drew a deep breath. “We must find a way out of here before death takes us all.”

“Flee?”

“And take Eliasara with us.”

Sonia shook her head slowly. “We cannot leave Moisehén without Lord Penamor’s sanction and protection.”

“I have a handful of guards who are loyal to me. None would stop us if we left the castle. We could find a way to depart without fanfare, then descend to the piers and travel by boat down river. We’d be in Roenfyn before anyone—”

“Even if we secured safe passage, and escaped the pursuit of the Mage King’s men, your father would not receive us should we depart like thieves in the night.”

Taesara set her cup aside. Her stomach revolted against the truth. Fear pricked at her neck. Sonia was right. King Lyanos would declare her a disgrace to his house and kingdom. 

“That witch took my son.” Her voice trembled as she reached forward and wrapped her hand around Sonia’s wrist. “She will kill my daughter. With the princess gone, there will be nothing left to protect me from the Mage King’s cold ambition. I, too, will die in this place, at his hands or hers. Why can my uncle not see this?”

“Perhaps Penamor shares your concerns, but is reluctant to admit them. The future of Roenfyn weighs heavy on his heart. If we leave the Mage King alone with this mistress, they will breed more of their kind. Roenfyn will be trapped with the Galian wizards on one border, the Mage Kings of Moisehén on the other. The day they decide to contest our lands, our people will be slaughtered between them.”

Defeat settled heavy on Taesara’s shoulders. She sank back into her pillows. “I am but one woman. I cannot stand in the way of such terrible forces.”

“You are the Queen.”

“A queen with no defense against a maga’s curse.”

“She is but a sorceress,” Sonia corrected quietly, “and in the King’s eyes, she is first and foremost a woman.”

Taesara cast her lady a sideways glance. “What do you mean by that?”

“She has captured his heart. Someday she will break it.”

“More likely, he will break hers.”

“She will betray him with another man,” Sonia said. “It is simply a matter of time.”

“Only a fool would cuckold the Mage King.”

“Witches are fools. That much is clear in all the annals.” 

Taesara studied Sonia’s face, wary of the triumph that glinted in her hazel eyes. “You truly believe she will betray him?”

“It is rumored she had many others before she came to the king’s bed. Why would that change now?”

A shiver coursed through Taesara at the memory of all those stories: hapless youths overcome in moonlit fields, troubadours who worked in Mage Corey’s Circle, rebels who fought against the Mage King. Men and women alike. Some whispered that even Mage Corey had succumbed to her pleasures.

“Rumors,” she said. “Tales spun to shorten dull winter nights. We need more than rumors to turn the Mage King against her. Even if all they say is true, it matters not how she conducted herself before now. What the King will mind is how she conducts herself from this moment forward.”

“History breeds suspicion,” Sonia insisted. “It was Kedehen’s suspicion that condemned Briana of East Selen to the tower. If we are clever, my Lady Queen, the Mage King’s suspicion will condemn Eolyn as well.”

“He would not listen to me, no matter how irrefutable the evidence. He would condemn me first for having questioned her at all.”

Sonia leaned forward and gathered Taesara’s hands in hers. “Do not underestimate your power. The people of Moisehén have come to love you. The peasants see you as good, generous, and compassionate. The noble families admire your beauty and grace. Even among the class of mages you have made friends. There are very few in this kingdom who desire a return to the days of Kedehen. They do not want another witch in the King’s bed, much less on the throne. Many will support you, if we stand against her.”

“It would not be enough. Even you have claimed none can exceed her power save the Mage King himself. However many allies I have, they cannot protect me or my daughter from that woman’s curses.”

“The Gods will protect you, my Lady Queen,” Sonia assured her. “The Gods of Thunder always protect the true and the righteous.”