The Eunuch's Heir (38 page)

Faedre drew close to him, then wrinkled her nose. “You smell like shit, Your Highness.”

“So do you.”

Shaking her head slowly, Faedre said, “You could have had anyone, why waste your life for her?”

Summoned from his nightly rounds, Gwythym arrived with a scowl. “Oh, Your Highness, couldn’t you last even a week, then?”

Glancing to Gwythym, then back to Faedre, Wolfram said, “After all the fights I’ve won and lost, I finally found something worth fighting for.”

PAUSING TO
light a sixth candle at the Cave of Body, Lyssa made the circle of the Lady over her breast and stood a moment in silent prayer. She resumed her walk, the last circuit she would make. The first night, she had thought only of her crime, her penance, what she might do to atone for such an appalling lapse in judgment. As she walked, her thoughts turned first to her brother’s fury and his shame. She did not know if he would ever look her in the eye again. All those years growing up, she wished he would leave her alone; now he finally had, and she missed him terribly. Tonight, Wolfram filled her thoughts. If she had betrayed her brother’s trust, how much more had she betrayed his son? Never mind that he had been all too willing, she had knowingly brought him to her bed.

Lyssa passed the Cave of Death and came again to that of Spirit, where she lit her sixth candle. The two opposing Caves of Body and Spirit glinted in the cavernous darkness. Although Lochalyn was not a large kingdom, thanks to the Usurper they now possessed the largest temple dedicated to the Lady. In an attempt to atone for his own sins, he had hired the finest engineers and masons, including the master who had taught her to carve. In six days, the place would be full of Hemijrani heathens, celebrating their holy day in the only room large enough to hold them. The idea rankled her, but the chief priestess had some progressive notion that the heathen deities were in fact foreign saints, subservient to the Lady, and that Finistrel would permit this outrage. She sup
posed she should confess to this woman and seek duty from her to assuage this guilt, but she could not bring herself to do it. If she kept up her prayers, surely the Lady herself would show the way She could be appeased.

Even as Lyssa crossed before it, the entrance to the temple flew open, and someone ran in, momentarily befuddled by the darkness. “Mistress Lyssa?” Lady Catherine’s voice called.

“Here,” Lyssa answered, striding out to touch her arm.

Despite the warning, Catherine jumped.

“What’s going on?” Lyssa drew the other woman back into the hall, where torches provided a bit more light.

Catherine wore her nightgown, with a robe flung inside out over her shoulders, the sleeves flapping. Her cap sat askew on brown hair braided for sleep. “Oh, Mistress, it’s the prince. Will you come?”

“Of course, lead on!” They hurried down the hall, then took an unexpected turn into the old temple and made for the hidden door at the back of the Cave of Life.

“Where are we going?”

“Queen’s room, Mistress. Don’t ask for more, I don’t yet know it.” Taking the secret steps two at a time despite her short stature, Catherine said, “You’re brother’s gone, is he?”

“Yes, to the manor. He wanted some time away, I think.”

“And who’d blame him?” They reached the top landing, and Catherine knocked.

From within came a muffled, “Enter,” and the pair pushed through the door beneath a tapestry.

“Where’s Fionvar?” Brianna demanded, stepping up to meet them.

“Gone to the manor. What’s happened?” Lyssa touched Brianna’s arm, encouraging her back to the parlor where fire and drink awaited.

Disheveled with sleep and disturbance, Brianna rubbed her arms and grunted. “Why’d he go now, doesn’t he know when he’s needed?”

“More than most, I’d say, but there’s nothing to be done for it, is there?”

Back to the fire, Captain Gwythym stood waiting, the only one fully dressed and alert from his night watch.

Collapsing into a seat with a tall mug of mead, Brianna waved her hand at Gwythym. “Tell them, tell them the worst.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

Lady Catherine took a post beside her mistress, ready and attentive, while Lyssa took her ease in a seat by the fire. Two nights on her feet had begun to take a toll.

“In brief, and to tell you the worst, I’ve had to arrest the prince. The charge is unlawful entry, and we’re expecting further accusations.”

“What accusations?” Lyssa asked.

Gwythym ran quick fingers through his hair. “Assault and rape.”

Her jaw dropped, and she leaned back to stare at him.

“An hour or so past, he left his room and tied a rope to the battlements. He climbed down and through the privy—”

Letting out a burst of laughter, Lyssa said, “Great Lady, only Wolfram.” She shook her head. “Go on, sorry, go on.”

“He found the room of that princess, the priestess’s acolyte—”

“Deishima.”

“Aye, Deishima. He’s apparently beaten her, from what I saw, and who knows what else. Faedre and her lot came on them, ready to take him, but he snatched the girl and ran for the door, knocking down my own men and yelling like the dogs were on him. I was on duty myself and heard the commotion with a few others. We found him in the hall, this bloody girl on his shoulder—and I mean that truly—with the Hemijrani host at his heels. He set her down right off and threw up his hands for us to take him. I sent him to barracks for keeping, and came straight here. Oh, it’s a mess like I’ve never seen, Mistress, Your Majesty.”

“He went to all that trouble to rape this girl?” Lyssa blurted. “Why not take to the streets like he usually does?”

Groaning, Brianna pressed a hand to her forehead. “Get me some ale, this stuff’s not strong enough.”

Lady Catherine bustled out, ignoring the robe that dropped from her shoulders.

“He claims she agreed to marry him,” Brianna said.

Lyssa frowned. “Is that his excuse?”

Gwythym shook his head. “He’s said naught tonight, except to trade some words with Faedre. ‘I’ll wait for my hearing with the queen,’ says he.”

“Shouldn’t we get dressed then?” Lyssa asked.

Uncovering her face, Brianna turned grim eyes to Lyssa. “Not tonight. I’ll not give him the upper hand that way. No, let him stew in the dungeon until the queen’s pleasure.” She sighed. “Not that I’ll get any pleasure from this.”

Focusing on Brianna, Lyssa narrowed her eyes. “What does the girl say?”

Gwythym dropped into a chair. “I’ve only seen that glimpse of her, bloody on Wolfram’s shoulder. It’s Faedre doing the talking, and mind I was here when she tried to kill the king, so I don’t place great stock in her words. But if it comes to her word or the prince’s…” He gave an eloquent shrug.

“Fionvar’s turned in his chain and left me, and now this,” Brianna muttered. “What was in Wolfram’s head? Can anyone tell me that?”

“Maybe he thought to force the marriage, or thought she’d not reveal him, since he’s royal,” suggested Gwythym.

Lady Catherine returned with a jug and refilled Brianna’s mug, then poured a smaller one for herself and drank it in a gulp.

“If it’s rape, he could hang for this. Do I hang my own son? Finistrel be with me.” Brianna pressed her fists to her face, tremors bouncing the hair on her shoulders.

Shutting her eyes, Lyssa bowed her head. “Lady be with us all.” She drummed her fingers together, then said, “I’ll ride for Fionvar.”

“No, I need you here. Send somebody, though, Gwythym.”

With a quick bow, he went to the door and spoke briefly to someone outside, leaving Lyssa to conceal her relief.

Letting Brianna gather herself, Lyssa accepted her own mug, then said, “You’ve already brought up banishment, Brianna. That should be the first option.”

Sidelong, Brianna eyed her over the rim of the mug she clutched like a shield.

“Unless there’s more, something I don’t know,” Lyssa coaxed.

Licking her lips, clearing her throat, Brianna looked at each of the three in turn. “This does not go beyond us, not until I’ve had time to consider it all.”

Lady Catherine nodded fervently, never one to reveal her mistress’s secrets. Hesitating, Gwythym glanced to Lyssa, and asked, “Who else knows what you’re about to tell, Your Majesty?”

“Only Fionvar and the prince himself.”

“Aye, we’ll keep it so.” He knelt before her so she need not raise her voice.

Chilled, Lyssa leaned closer.

“The night he left, when the refugees fought our guard at the western gate? It was Wolfram who killed Erik.”

Catherine made the sign of the Lady, while Gwythym swore softly. Lyssa stayed still as stone, waiting for more.

“He claims someone tried to kill him, that he thought Erik was in on it. Then he as much as admitted that Erik had nothing to do with it.”

Nodding slowly, Lyssa said, “He told me of the attempt when we were—” She shied away from the memory, but continued, “…overseas. But nothing of Erik. You say he admits it?”

“The day Fionvar cleared the court, Wolfram told us.” She took a quick swallow. “Finistrel knows why Fionvar turned in his chain. He didn’t have to, I never made him.”

“We know that, Brie,” Lyssa assured her, not pointing out that the threat of her remarriage forced the choice as surely as his ill-advised defense of his son.

“He swore he’d stay beside him, that, no matter what Wolfram did, Fionvar would be there. Two days later, he’s gone.”

“Strange, that,” Gwythym mused. “He’s never been one to quit on an oath.”

Silent, Lyssa searched her conscience and found she could not tell them the truth, not now. With Fionvar gone, someone should stand by the prince, someone should at least try. She felt a sudden lightening of her heart; perhaps this was the way the Lady had prepared, that she should work for Wolfram’s forgiveness by being his advocate. “We fought before he left, Brianna. It wasn’t you or Wolfram who drove him away, it was me.”

Brianna studied her. “What quarrel could make him abandon his vow?”

“I don’t believe he’s abandoned it. He wanted space to consider it, all the implications.” Lyssa forced herself to silence, afraid her talk might give her away. “You know he’s been working on the translation of the old woods chapel.”

Nodding, Brianna said, “He ever did find solace in study. Or in music.” She sighed, brushing at her eyes. “It’s been an age since I heard him play.”

Turning a little pink, Gwythym walked a few paces off, suddenly very interested in one of the tapestries.

“He will come home, Brie, when he hears of this. You need not be alone.”

“But he’s resigned his commission. He no longer has any official status here, and we dare not reveal the truth. Oh, Lyssa, I’ve ruined it, haven’t I? I have taken the best thing in my life and broken it, and it will never be remade.”

Grief welled up in Lyssa as she sat, reaching to hold Brianna’s hand. The question cut too close to her, and she dared not answer.

“Elyn’s always been here,” Brianna murmured. “She’s been my closest advisor because she knows the ways of leadership and I never have. When she spoke of remarriage, she sounded so reasonable. It’s what any queen would do in my position, with such an heir. It’s what I should have done years ago. My people would forgive me the offense against Rhys’s memory—I know many of them are as worried as I am about this, especially now that Asenith’s had her baby. If
he could’ve stayed out of trouble for these two weeks, now that he’s home, mayhap we’d find him a wife. If he would be governed by us, he could be schooled to kingship, I’m sure”—she laughed, shaking her head—“Lady knows he’s smart enough, and with spirit enough for two kings. Now this.”

Scooting from her chair, Lyssa knelt beside the queen and pulled her into a strong embrace. “You need sleep, Brianna. You can think on this in the morning. At the very least, give Fionvar a chance to come home. Let Wolfram have the rest of his fortnight, even if he lives it out in the dungeon. Let’s find the truth of this mess before you decide.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Brianna mumbled. “You’re right.”

Lyssa lifted her to her feet and walked her back to the bed. “Catherine will stay with you tonight, and I’ll return by morning. I’ll see if Wolfram will speak to me.”

Lying back, Brianna shut her eyes, her face grim.

“Try to rest, Brie. No more thought tonight.”

“I will try, Lyssa,” Brianna replied, and Lyssa knew the promise would be broken before she’d even left the room.

Gwythym walked with her down to a small holding chamber in the barracks where they found Wolfram, marked with blood and still stinking, his wrists chained to a loop in the wall while four guards kept uneasy watch.

At the sight of Lyssa, he brightened, squaring his shoulders as best he could. “Thank the Lady!”

“Will you give me some time with him?”

Scrubbing his weary face, Gwythym said, “Might as well. We’ve got to transfer him before too long anyhow.”

“I’m for the dungeons then?” Wolfram asked, sounding almost jubilant.

“Aye, Your Highness.” Turning to Lyssa, he said, “I’ll be right outside. Stay out of reach, would you? I don’t fancy having a hostage taken under my nose.” He shot a sharp glance to Wolfram and ushered the guards outside.

“Yes, you’re for the dungeons. What were you thinking?” Lyssa demanded the moment they were alone.

“She has been kidnapped, Lyssa.” Through the grime on
his face his grin flashed. “I got her alone two days ago and pulled off her veil. They’ve had her gagged since they got back and her hands bound so she can’t use her Ashwadi.”

“They could do that,” she said slowly, “show her off like that.”

Eagerly, Wolfram nodded. “They need to discredit me. As if I needed any help. I had to talk to her, Lyssa, and this seemed like the only way.”

“Even with your title in the balance, Wolfram?”

“How deeply have you loved?” he asked. “How deeply have you feared?”

Caught off guard, Lyssa thought of Jordan, who had loved her, then of the night she had forsaken him. Praying in a temple for the spirit of her brother, Lyssa had knelt at the Cave of Death. When the moon rose full over the opening, it shone behind her, casting her own shadow onto the words of the Second Walking, carved into the wall. The light from her candle turned the letters warm and luminous.
“Long She wept and tore Her hair, and from these things were women born, and they were a comfort to Her.
” The words had called her so clearly, and the moonlight was the Lady’s hand upon her shoulders. Lyssa stared at Wolfram, a lump growing in her throat. The one night she wanted to seduce him had ruined the Lady’s love, and she feared never to feel it again.