The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga) (8 page)

Silence fell over the women. The
matron-in-waiting lifted her hands from Lirth’s shoulders and
stepped away. The Head Dresser stepped closer with sharp intake of
breath. Lirth raised her chin firmly and lowered her eyes. She was
not giving in this time. She wouldn’t expose herself once again to
a man’s eyes in less than appropriate clothing. “I wish to speak
with my husband.”

The woman laughed. Her hot moist breath
assaulted Lirth’s face with a stench of wine and something rotting.
It took all the willpower Lirth possessed not to show her
disgust.

“You will see the Lord Councilor, Your Majesty.”
She spat Lirth’s title like a slur. “The king is busy, much too
busy to listen to your whining.” Then turning away in a swish of
skirts the Head Dresser began giving orders.

Lirth stood where she was, shoulders firm, back
straight, chin held high until the room cleared. She had to do
something and she couldn’t fight this on her own.

Kurios help,
she prayed as the door
latched shut behind the last of them. Stepping down off the stool,
she put out her hands and began the slow trip across the unfamiliar
room to seek a door. She slipped through a door just as the main
door opened.

“She was just here, my lord.” The Head Dresser
strode into the middle of the room. “I will go and check her
bedchamber.” The woman’s clacking heels retreated and the room
beyond the door fell silent.

Then someone moved near the middle of the room.
He spoke. “I know you are here, Your Majesty. Or shall I call you
Brat for old time’s sake?”

Lirth froze in horror. She knew that voice.
Struggling to breathe, she closed her eyes. It haunted her dreams.
She would never forget the voice of the kidnapper in her
nightmares. Forcing air into her lungs, she crept toward the
opposite wall. If she remembered correctly, a door from this room
opened into the corridor. Despite her body’s instinct to escape,
her limbs were uncooperative. She tumbled over a footstool. Praying
the sound was muffled in the thick rug, she scrambled to her feet
and continued on until the latch was in her hand.

~~~~~~

“Good evening, sire.” Ireic reluctantly raised
his head in acknowledgement of the greeting as he approached his
rooms.

“I believe it is morning, Isack.” He gave a
halfhearted wave toward the nearest window. The sky beyond glowed
with hints of red and orange among the hazy darkness of nighttime
clouds.

The large man smiled a warm reply. “But you are
on your way to bed.” He opened the door to the royal chambers with
one hand.

Ireic smiled weakly. “Did Tretan retire?”

“Hours ago, Sire. Would you like me to fetch
him?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure he had gone to
bed. Goodnight, Isack.”

“Goodnight, sire. Sleep well.” Isack closed the
door behind him.

Ireic stood in the center of his receiving room
and listened for the soft click of the latch. Soaking in the
darkness, he tried to slow his racing mind. Tretan might have
initially left a lamp burning, but it used up its fuel long before.
A soft light from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the study to his
left cast a long door-shaped shadow across the center of the
room.

Ireic let out a soft sigh and let his shoulders
slump. A bone weary tiredness swept over him. After twelve hours
shut up with the council, he felt as though he had ridden the
Rhynan border on horseback in one night.

For three days, from the moment he and Lirth
arrived at the palace in the Ana City, he had been with the council
every waking minute. They had fought over every new law passed
since taking the throne.

Sick of unfriendly faces and argumentative old
men, Ireic was tempted to ending the council’s fall session early.
But if he did, there was no chance of regaining the ground he had
lost by being away.

Pulling the itchy, stifling formal cloak from
his back, Ireic cast it in the direction of a chair and strode into
his bathing room.

The things they have implemented in the past
few weeks without my consent should give me reason enough.

He ran his fingers through his hair. At least he
began to, but stopped when his hand encountered the cold metal of
his crown. Pulling it from his head, he stopped on the tile floor
of the bathing room. He rotated it thoughtfully in his hands. The
heavy, solid gold circlet cooled against his fingers. Within
moments, not a trace of his body heat remained.

If he let the council go unchallenged for the
season, the people of his country would suffer. The guild
registration act alone would destitute most of the populace. The
proposed taxation based on how many acres a farmer planted would
shrink the food supply to the point of starvation in most villages.
It was as though the council wished to provoke riots in the
streets.

Testing the diadem’s weight with one hand, Ireic
ran his fingers through his hair. He did not need a mirror to know
he had ruined all the efforts of his barber to get it to lie flat
and smooth. Directing his attention back to the diadem in his hand,
Ireic contemplated throwing it just to see if it would dent. Even
as he thought about it, Ireic knew he could never do it.

The diadem was not as heavy as the ornate crown
placed on his head during his coronation. That one lay in the
treasury vault. A half foot high and covered with at least one
sample of every precious stone imaginable, its weight made it
impractical for any use beyond the coronation or a royal wedding.
When the official placed it on his head that day, an even heavier
burden settled on his heart. He had taken a small comfort looking
up and meeting Trahern’s gaze from the midst of the crowd. The
understanding in his brother’s eyes wasn’t of much practical use,
but it helped to know someone understood, at least a measure, of
the responsibility. Trahern understood the true weight of that
piece of extravagance.

Trahern should be doing this.
The
familiar thought marched across his brain. Shaking his head to
clear it, Ireic rejected the thought. He already heard the reasons
and arguments that kept Trahern where he was. His brother would not
stand in Ireic’s shoes.

Ireic rubbed his eyes with his free hand. If he
was rehashing this issue again, he must really be exhausted.

It is definitely time that I got to bed.

Striding into his bedroom, Ireic immediately
crossed to the special hook where his circlet usually hung. After
placing it there, he turned back to face the bed and started
shedding his robes. The embroidery on the collars of his royal
function tunics rubbed his neck in all the wrong places.

When he discarded the offending item and pulled
his favorite tunic over his head, he crossed to the mirror to
examine his neck. He began to turn, intending to discard his boots,
when something caught his eye. Peering more closely, he recognized
something in the reflection that made him whirl around and freeze
as his tired brain caught up with his instinct.

“Lirth?”

The shadowy figure moved slightly, jumped
perhaps, but otherwise did not acknowledge him.

Is she hurt?

Scanning her small form for any sign of injury,
Ireic took a step toward her only to immediately stop. Dressed in a
thin nightgown and covering, Lirth visibly shook. He could see the
fear on her face, even from where he stood across the room.

“Lirth?” He purposefully softened the tone of
his voice to make the query just loud enough that she could hear
it, but hopefully would not be startled.

“Ireic.” Her voice trembled as she lifted her
face toward him. The dawning sunlight reflected off the slick
surface. He ran to her and gathered her into his arms. The small
caress of comfort caused her to cry harder. Rubbing warmth into her
arms and back, he gently rested his chin against her forehead.
Slowly she warmed, easing against him to mold to his chest. Ireic
waited for the tears to subside. Whoever caused them was going to
pay.

“You’re freezing.” He lifted her. Her bare feet
came into view for the first time as they hung out beyond his arm.
His anger burned even stronger. “Where are your shoes?”

__________

Lirth could sense Ireic’s anger, in spite of his
controlled voice and the care with which he set her onto his
bed.

“Stay right there.”

Lirth listened intently to the sound of her
husband’s movements. First, he opened a trunk or container near
where the foot of the bed was. The whisper of cloth on wood
followed. Lirth suddenly found herself engulfed in a thick blanket.
He tucked it around her so tightly Lirth wondered if she would be
able to escape the soft confines. Not that she wanted to,
considering her teeth still threatened to chatter.

Then, he strode back through the rooms and
opened the door to the hall. Even muffled by distance, Lirth made
out the guard’s surprised response to his King’s sudden
appearance.

“Sire?”

“Bring up more firewood.” Ireic closed the door
with a muffled thud and came striding back into the bedroom.
Crossing to where Lirth remembered a heavy chest stood against the
wall, Ireic opened and shut drawers until he found what he sought.
Shoving the drawer closed again, he crossed to the bed.

“This should help.” A warm cloak was briskly
pulled around her shoulders and tucked close to her chin. She
listened to the muted falls of his feet on the carpeting. Lirth
thanked the Kurios for providing such a man.

“Now.” The mattress shifted as Ireic sat on the
opposite edge. “Tell me the problem.”

“He is here.” The words slipped out before she
could form a thought.

“Who?”

“Five years ago, a man kidnapped me from my
father’s country estate. He sold me to Baron Tor for a very high
price, a fortune.” She swallowed carefully. “That man is here.”

She shivered despite the warmth of the quilt.
“He came to my chambers today and insisted on seeing me. The ladies
granted him an audience even though I insisted I did not wish it.
They left to fetch him. I hid in the nearest room. I heard his
voice as I left and recognized it.” She licked her painfully dry
lips.

Ireic’s large warm hands enclosed hers under the
blankets. “What did he do?”

“Talked.” Lirth shivered. “They escorted him in
and then went looking for me. He talked to me as though he knew I
was just out of sight.”

“Tell me what he said.” Ireic’s voice sounded as
tight as Lirth’s shoulders felt.

“He called me by my new title and then Brat like
he does in my nightmares.” Another shiver shook her as memories of
her nightmare mingled with reality. Ireic began rubbing her
hands.

“Did he leave after that?”

“I don’t know.” His fingers caressing her palms
soothed and distracted. “I ran.”

“Here?” Ireic’s voice murmured softly, but Lirth
could hear the control beneath.

She nodded.

“Where was Larissa?”

Lirth ducked her face away from his eyes.

“Lirth,” he insisted, “Where was Larissa?”

“They sent her to the kitchens.”

“What!”

Lirth jumped.

“Why?”

“They told me that only noble women could serve
me. Larissa’s rank of servant deserved only to scrub vegetables and
haul refuse out for the kitchens.”

“Those devious rats.”

Ireic rose to his feet and paced by the end of
the bed. He paused. “Did they comment on your difficulty?”

“No one addressed it directly.”

With thumping strides, Ireic paced the floor in
silence. Lirth followed his path with her eyes by habit. One, two,
three steps on carpet, she counted. One on tile, turn, carpet one,
two, three, four. He stopped.

“They have not broached the subject in the
council.” He was facing her. “Instead, they keep us bound up in
common law debates, new taxes, and new reforms. They use old games
to advance the distance between the noble and the commoner.” He
paused again.

Lirth was not sure if she was supposed to
understand him or not.

Abruptly, he asked, “Do you think he is working
alone?”

“Maybe.” She considered it for a moment. “He has
given me the impression of a loner.”

“Why?” He crossed to the opposite side of the
bed and sat on the edge.

“He said he did not wish to share his reward
when he finished a job.” Lirth tried to think back to the horrific
hours spent in the man’s company many years ago. A soft thump came
from Ireic’s side of the bed.

“What did they call him?” The question was
punctuated by another soft thump and the rustle of material.

“Councilor– One of the women called him
Councilor.”

The bed shifted and dipped as Ireic moved. Lirth
burrowed deeper into the heavy blankets wrapped around her as she
reclined on the bed.

“Anything is possible in this government.” He
sighed wearily. “I will speak to your women and find out.”

“And if they will not speak of him?” Lirth asked
hesitantly.

“They will.” The bed dipped again and a warm
hand brushed Lirth’s arm. “Sleep. I will worry for the both of
us.”

~~~~~~

“
Silence, Brat,” an oily whisper instructed
Lirth.

Her captor's foul breath flooded her senses.
The mixture of bad ale and fish made Lirth’s stomach turn. If she
lost her lunch now, she would drown in it. This man would not
release her mouth with her brothers so close.

“
If they find us because of you, Brat, I will
kill them.” The rasp of the man's voice and the stench of his sweat
distracted Lirth from anything she might have heard. “Don't doubt
that I will. I am only getting paid for fetching you.”

Her heart fell as she heard the others
approaching.

“
No!” Her heart screamed in agony as she
heard the branches part. She felt the man holding her shift his
weight. He was going to kill her brother! She struggled but could
not move. “No!”