Binding Spell (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) (5 page)

I raised my eyebrows and gave a small, bitter chuckle. “Do not flatter yourself, my lord. I have very little concern for you…but I would hate to see innocent people lose their lives in a conflict over something so poorly planned and ill-conceived.”

“Poorly…?” For the first time I saw a true flash of anger in those golden eyes. The sooty lashes almost obscured their feral gleam as he shot me a narrow look. “As far as I can tell, the whole scheme was managed well enough. It is not my fault the lady in question fell ill at the last moment, or that you occupied the chambers which had been intended for her.”

“And precisely how
did
you gain such knowledge? The details of my visit were not known to those outside my aunt’s household staff.”

“North Eredor is a poor country, but my meager resources are still enough to buy a few well-placed spies.”

To that I had no real response. I supposed I was being naïve if I thought all servants in all noble households were above taking bribes. Quite likely they viewed such dealings to be an accepted way of supplementing their wages, and it was entirely possible they believed the information they passed on to be of no real significance.

Kadar smiled a little at my silence, as if pleased that he had been able to best me on at least that one point. Still smiling, he held out to me the letter he had just written. “What think you of this? I will make a second, addressed to your brother, if you think it necessary.”

I looked down at the paper and saw he had written the missive in perfect Sirlendian. My estimation of his scholarship increased slightly, although I could not say the same for his character.

Lady Sedassa
, it said,
I am pleased to inform you that your niece, Lark Sedassa, became my wife on the fifth day of Octevre. The suddenness of these nuptials may surprise you, but rest assured that the violence of our regard for one another required a speedy ceremony. She is safe, and well, and content, and hopes that her family will wish her happy.

I remain, his Highness, Kadar Arkalis, Mark of North Eredor

“‘Violence of our regard for one another’?” I repeated. “I suppose it is only a slight stretching of the truth, as I must confess that I do find myself overcome by a violent desire to slap your jaw for concocting such a pack of lies. And better that it go only to my aunt, for I fear if my brother were to read it first, he might ride forth directly to seek your head.”

His smile broadened somewhat. “You do have an interesting turn of phrase, my dear. No matter. I will send this by courier today, as I would not wish your family to suffer any more worries on your account than are necessary.”

I scowled at his use of “my dear,” but decided to let it go. I had more important battles to fight. “And what do you think my aunt’s reaction will be? Why, once my father hears of this…” And I trailed off, for I realized that even if my aunt sent the fastest couriers in Sirlende to my parents in Marestal, still it would be at least a fortnight before they learned of my fate.

“He will be surprised, no doubt,” Kadar said calmly. “But once faced with a feat already accomplished, I assume he will make the best of the situation.”

“A feat already accomplished?” I echoed, even though I knew all too well exactly what he meant.

“The wedding will take place tomorrow evening. I thought you should have some time to prepare yourself. Besides, even if I send my riders forth with this letter today, your aunt will be unable to respond until well after our marriage is a fact.”

Tomorrow
. Something inside me constricted at the word, and I swallowed. So little time to find a way to escape.

For once I could think of nothing else to say. Legend told that in ages past messages could be sent back and forth between mages as fast as thought, but now time and distance constrained us all. Perhaps Kadar believed he was being magnanimous in allowing me some time to grow resigned to my situation, but I knew one day would make no difference when it came to hope of an outside rescue. The result would be the same even if he married me this very morning.

In this, I could only rely on myself.

A
s promised
, the seamstresses appeared later that morning, and all was organized chaos for a few hours. At some other time, I might have been thrilled at the prospect of acquiring a wardrobe of new gowns, most of them far more lavish than I would have expected, considering Kadar’s comments about the state of his country’s treasury. But now I could only nod and feign some sort of enthusiasm as fabrics and trims were matched up, and the seamstresses debated the merits of embroidery versus bullion or wool velvet as opposed to silk.

If any of them noted my lack of excitement about this process, they were too well-mannered to show it. The senior of the group — I never did catch all their names — held up a length of exquisite silk of the palest grey, all woven with silver thread in subtle patterns, and said, “We thought this for your bridal gown, my lady. So few could wear this color, but you will look lovely.”

I summoned a smile and thanked her. It was not her fault, after all, that Kadar was forcing me into this marriage. And truly, I did not envy them the task of churning out so many garments in such a short amount of time. If all went well, I would have no need of those new gowns, and their efforts would be for naught.

Eventually they left, taking their fabrics and trims and chatter with them, and I was left alone. At the noon hour Beranne brought me a tray; I was thankful that apparently the Mark did not expect me to share my meals with him. I ate, though I had little appetite, for I hoped to be free of the castle by nightfall and knew I needed all my strength.

After she had gone, taking the empty tray with her, I sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace and began the breathing exercises my father had taught me. This was the first step to centering my thoughts and gathering the concentration necessary for my next move.

It was hardly a spell at all, but rather a way of focusing the consciousness and sending it outward. I must confess that my thoughts skipped and danced like a coracle in a heavy current, but at length I found the stillness at the core of my mind, the dark pool that dwelled in the very center of my being. I breathed in, and sent my mind forth.

Two men stood guard only a few feet away on the top step directly outside my chamber. It appeared his lordship was taking no chances. And beyond them were two more flanking the end of the hallway, where it opened into the wide corridor that seemed to run the length of the building. From there I could sense only a confusion of many minds and many thoughts, and I pulled back within myself, considering.

I did not possess the ability to turn myself invisible, but I did know one spell that shielded the caster by having those in the vicinity look away at a key moment, or by drawing them away on some remembered errand. I had tried it several times back in Maristel, with varying degrees of success. It was the sort of thing that worked better in large crowds where more distractions existed, and I had no idea whether the spell would get me past four armed guards whose only purpose was to make sure I didn’t escape.

Still, I had to try.

Once again I drew in a breath, and then another. Beneath the calm lay the acid nausea of panic, and I swallowed. No time for that. No time for anything except peace and darkness and the words of the spell.

Ahl sar ostair, met fahl sar andaire.

I felt no different, but as this was a spell directed outward to the observer, I never did. Holding the shape of those words in my mind, feeling their strength pulse along my veins, I rose from my chair and went to the door.

It was locked, of course, but that was one spell I knew I could perform in my sleep. “
Sorichar
,” I whispered, and put my hand on the handle.

Luckily the door was the type that swung inward, and so at least I avoided hitting the guards with it. I ghosted out into the hall, light as I could be in my soft borrowed slippers. The two men who had stood on the top step were now on the hallway floor proper, staring up in apparent great interest at the tapestry hanging from the wall there. Perfect.

The other guards still maintained their position at the end of the corridor, but one of them was busy picking at a loose ring in his mail shirt, and the other had taken off his helmet and was occupying himself with polishing it on the hem of his cloak. Neither man looked up as I drifted past.

Despite my best attempts at remaining calm, my heart had begun to pound in my chest. My success surprised even me. Surely it couldn’t be this simple?

But apparently it was. I mingled with the crowds in the main corridor and followed the flow of bodies out to the courtyard. No one paid me any mind, although whether that was because my spell still held, or whether I, dark-haired and fair-skinned — a coloring shared by most Northerners — blended that well into the crowd, I had no idea. At the moment I didn’t much care, as long as I could get myself far away from the castle as soon as possible.

What I would do next, lacking money, supplies, a horse, or any of the other necessities required for a successful escape, I didn’t know, but I told myself I could work that out once I was safely off the castle grounds. If nothing else, this same spell might aid me in procuring some of the items I required. My father would be most displeased if he ever learned I had turned my gifts toward picking pockets or stealing horses, but I guessed he’d be even more upset if I were forced into marriage with the Mark of North Eredor. One must have one’s priorities.

With that thought to strengthen my resolve, I fell in behind a group of women carrying baskets — most likely off to do the marketing for the castle’s kitchens. They wore gowns much plainer than mine, but I blended in with them far better than I would the squad of men-at-arms who exited the castle gates directly ahead of them. And none of the women seemed to notice me, which appeared to indicate that my spell was still doing its work.

Feeling a bit more at ease, I glanced around me. The day held fine, the sky deep as the lapis inlays in a hair clasp my mother sometimes wore. The sun warmed me, although the air had a bite behind it that did not bode well for my further travels unless I could procure a cloak somewhere.

We approached what looked to be some sort of farmer’s market, where the street widened into an area filled with wagons and stalls and the odd vendor selling his wares out of a wheelbarrow or a hand cart. My escort broke up as each woman went her own way, apparently intent on gathering her necessary supplies.

Which seemed to be my cue to do the same. A cloak, of course, and a sturdier pair of shoes, food, water — the list seemed almost endless. I hated what I was about to do, and vowed to take careful note of the people from whom I took supplies so that I could try to send them some sort of compensation once I was safely back in Sirlende.

The shoes and cloak were easier than I had thought. At the edge of the market stood a vendor with a table full of what appeared to be secondhand boots and mantles, and while he was occupied with another customer I sidled up to the table, cast a quick eye over its contents, and snagged a pair of low boots that looked close to my size. The mantle I pulled off a peg as he bent to sort through a box of laces under the table.

Then, heart racing, I dashed down an alley and pounded my way through some muddy puddles until I was certain no one followed. No one had raised an alarm, apparently; I heard nothing except the normal rise and fall of voices out on the street, and the rumble of wooden cart wheels.

I nodded to myself, and bent and unlaced the uncomfortable slippers I had been wearing and replaced them with the stolen boots. Those proved to be slightly large, but better that than the opposite. Then I shrugged the mantle around myself, shoved my now-unneeded slippers behind a couple of empty wooden packing boxes, and went back out to the street.

Kadar and I had entered through the southern precincts of the town, and so that was where I headed. To the north lay only the lake, and to the east the wild lands that abutted the shoulders of the Opal Mountains. I must head south and then west, and hope I could find an outlying farm or small estate where I might steal a horse and some supplies. Perhaps I could have procured them here in Tarenmar, but I found myself wishing to leave the city as soon as possible. Every second I lingered within its walls seemed like tempting fate.

And so I slipped once more unnoticed into a crowd, only this time moving through the streets toward the city’s southern edges. Although it had been almost dark the evening before when I entered Kadar’s capital, I thought I recognized the meaner dwellings that surrounded me now, the ones which formed the outer districts of the city. Good. The last thing I wanted was to go in circles.

A jingle of harness seemed to ride over the noises of the crowd. Around me, people began to move aside. I shifted along with them, then lifted my face to see what had caused everyone to give way.

Golden eyes bored down into mine. Kadar Arkalis rode at the head of a troop of armed men, all of whom wheeled to a stop as he paused his dapple-grey only a few feet away from me.

“Going somewhere, my Lark?”

K
adar said
nothing to me during the ride back to the castle, nor once we were inside. I could sense the anger within him, though; his lean body was taut as a bowstring. Althan took charge of me as soon as we crossed the building’s threshold, and I was marched back up to my rooms and deposited therein. Almost at once I heard a shuffle of booted feet outside and knew the guards had taken up their positions again. In my agitation I could have miscounted them, but I thought this time they numbered at least eight.

I knew there would be no more escapes that way. I also knew I had to will myself to stay calm, or I would be of absolutely no use to myself. While part of me would have very much liked to curl up into a ball on the divan and cry my eyes out, I realized I didn’t have the time for such indulgences.

Instead, I went to one of the windows and peered outside. Unlike Kadar’s rooms, my suite did have solid ground directly below — at least twenty feet down, unfortunately. And even if I somehow managed to reach the ground safely, it would have done me no good. Another clot of men-at-arms stood underneath my tower rooms, more of Kadar’s measures to ensure that his would-be bride remained just where she was.

Perhaps now it was time to weep. I could think of nothing else to do; my magic certainly would not allow me to sprout wings and fly away, or turn myself both invisible and inaudible. I had exhausted my limited repertoire.

Rage against the idea I might, but it appeared clear to me that, come this time tomorrow, I would be Kadar Arkalis’s wife.

M
y sleep
that night was restless and nightmare-ridden. I tossed and turned, dreams haunted by voices and faces — my father’s pale features, my mother’s serene countenance, even a young woman I had never met but who looked too much like me for comfort…my dream-envisioning of the Crown Princess Lyarris, no doubt, as I certainly did not know what she looked like in actuality. I would wake, and rage that I should be in such a situation, I who had only wished to accompany my brother as he went to claim his inheritance. This was none of my doing. Why, up until a few months earlier, I had had only a very hazy idea of how important my father’s family actually was.

My father had left his homeland when he was younger than I, vowing that he would never be lord of Marric’s Rest, not afflicted as he was with his white hair and skin, and ice-grey eyes. He had concealed the truth of his magic, gone forth into the world to find someone who could train him. And so he had, in perhaps the most unlikely of places — the warm, friendly land of South Eredor, where he met the man who helped him learn how to control the power rising in him. Before he had gone, though, my father had promised his older sister — my Aunt Laranel — that if he were to have a son, one day the boy would inherit Marric’s Rest, and come home to Sirlende.

Such a promise had seemed simple enough to make; my father had not thought any woman could ever love him. But the white hair and pale skin that made him such an outcast in his homeland were not quite so striking in South Eredor, where flaxen heads were common enough, and my mother ended up proving him wrong. Thani came along a few years later, with me following some five years after that. We both inherited our mother’s dark hair, as her own mother was Sirlendian, and raven-haired and dark-eyed, but my grey eyes were almost as silvery-pale as my father’s.

To both our parents’ relief, Thani showed no sign of possessing any magical powers, whereas I…well, I was a slightly different matter. But my father taught me as best he could, showing me the simple spells most all users of magic could use, even as he told me that every mage-born soul had his own particular talent. My father was gifted in weather control; more than once I had seen him watching the harbor, lips moving as he conjured a charm to keep the fog away from the coast so the sailors might come safely into the port at Marestal.

What my particular gift might be, we had not yet been able to determine. Perhaps I had none at all, and would be forever doomed to the minor charms and cantrips I’d already been taught. This happened sometimes, according to my father — or, more accurately, according to Lhars, the mage who had trained him. But more than that we did not know, as Lhars had died the year I was born, and far too much of his knowledge passed with him.

Even those small skills I did possess had been kept secret, for magic-working was still met with suspicion and hatred. Memories were long when it came to the destruction the mages had wrought so many centuries ago. Foolish prejudice, really — I doubted my ability to unlock a door or always know where I had left an item was all that dangerous. And certainly these minor talents had been of no help to me in my current situation.

And so I lay awake, and brooded, and rolled onto my back, and then my side, and realized it didn’t matter what I did, for I could not escape my current situation. Somewhere toward dawn I fell asleep again, although again nightmares haunted me, visions of hands grasping me, pulling at my hair, my dress, dragging me down into darkness.

The morning which followed was not much better. Oh, they did not neglect me — quite excellent meals were brought up at the proper times, and Beranne bustled in and out at regular intervals as she gathered together all the items required for a splendid turnout at my impending nuptials: slippers of silvered leather, stockings with the sheen of real silk, a truly lovely collection of jewelry — earrings and necklace and intricately wrought crown — all in silver set with gleaming grey river pearls.

“It belonged to the late Mark, rest her,” Beranne said, and made an odd little gesture with her middle and forefinger toward the center of her brow. “His lordship wanted you to wear it for the ceremony.”

Oh, did he? It was on my tongue to make a sharp remark as to the current Mark’s wishes, but what would have been the point? Beranne only did as she was told.

As, apparently, did I.

The afternoon wore on, and another woman appeared to dress my hair, Beranne’s services apparently not deemed skillful enough for such a momentous occasion. Then at last the seamstresses appeared, bearing my wedding gown.

Truly it was beautiful, the rich patterned fabric set off by bands of plain silver trim around the low squared neckline and the separate sleeves, which tied on with lengths of silver cord. At another time I would have gladly worn such an exquisite creation, but now I looked on it as something very akin to a funeral shroud. Still, I could do nothing but allow Beranne and the seamstress to draw it on over my fine new silk chemise and let them lace up the back and tie on the sleeves. Finally Beranne set the delicate pearl and silver crown on my head, and fastened the necklace around my throat.

“Beautiful,” she said, and behind her the other women murmured their assent. “The North hasn’t seen such a bride since his Highness’s mother was wed. He will be pleased.”

No one, of course, had bothered to ask whether
I
would be pleased. Perhaps my continued stony silence throughout these preparations told Beranne all she needed to know about my own feelings regarding the situation. Truly, the whole process had taken on the feeling of a bad dream, as if my nightmares of the evening before had bled over into the daylight hours.

Surely I must awaken soon.

Something in Beranne’s dark eyes softened, and she reached out and made a minute adjustment to one of the curls hanging over my shoulder. “It is time,” she said quietly.

I didn’t bother to argue. Nothing would stay this execution, so I might as well go to it with my chin held high. After all, was Kadar not marrying me because I was a Sedassa? I would not whimper and weep and plead — at least, not in his presence.

She opened the door, and the guards waiting outside stepped out of the way so I could exit the suite. As I descended the stairs, they fell in behind Beranne and me, and formed a silent escort as we moved through the castle’s main corridor and on into a wing I had not yet seen. Here the ceilings were loftier, with carvings of leaves tracing delicate spirals around each doorway. Here also were concentrated clusters of onlookers who whispered and watched as we swept by.

I did not bother to decipher the content of those whispers. Did they know I had tried to escape, that I was an unwilling participant in this farce? Or did they whisper merely because I was a novelty, an unknown who had somehow snatched away the matrimonial prize they had desired for their sisters or their daughters? Somehow I did not care to find out.

My little party approached a pair of enormous doors, easily three times the height of a man and carved with more of the twining leaf patterns, this time accented by the graceful forms of leaping deer. Outside those doors stood four men-at-arms, two of whom reached out to open them in a single controlled motion.

“You must go on alone,” Beranne whispered in my ear. She stepped to one side and gave me an encouraging nod.

I swallowed, and forced myself to put one foot in front of the other, even though each movement was so ponderous I might as well have been walking through thick mud. My steps dragging, I entered a great hall, one filled on either side with those who must constitute the upper echelons of Northern society. A runner of dark green covered the grey stone floor between those watching ranks; I knew this because I kept my attention focused on it as I inched my way forward to the dais at the end of the hall and the man who waited for me there.

How I wanted to run, to gather up those gleaming skirts and flee on my silver-shod feet as if death itself followed me. But there was no escape, not with guards at every door, not with all the nobles of the land watching me with curious eyes. No, I would have to play this game to the end.

Kadar was not alone on the dais; an older man in the dark-grey robes of a disciple of Inyanna stood there with him. While I was a follower of the One, I had studied the religions of the continent and knew a little of their ways. The priests of Inyanna, goddess of the hearth and home, presided over weddings and naming ceremonies and most of life’s important way-posts…save one. The acolytes of Thrane, lord of the land beyond death, were the ones who guided the souls of the departed to the next world.

This world and its concerns were quite enough for me at the moment, however. I grasped my glinting skirts in both hands and mounted three shallow steps, and paused at last next to Kadar. His face as he glanced down at me was impassive. Probably he had not yet forgiven me my escape attempt.

He nodded at the priest, who stepped forward. I noticed that he held a length of plain white linen in his hands.

“Lark Sedassa,” he said.

I had no idea how I was supposed to respond, and so only nodded mutely.

“Give him your hand,” Kadar instructed. A curl at the corner of his lip told me what he thought of my ignorance.

Not that I cared. While I had studied something of the religions of the continent, their respective marriage rituals had not been included in my reading. I certainly had never thought I would require such knowledge.

Although I hated to do as Kadar said, I knew I had no choice. I raised my left hand, and at once the priest draped one end of the linen strip across my wrist, then brought it underneath and around the other side so it rested lightly against my skin like a loose bandage. Detached as though gazing at someone else’s appendage, I noted that my hand shook as if I were afflicted with palsy.

“Kadar Arkalis, Mark of North Eredor,” the priest intoned.

Kadar raised his right hand and held it directly above my left. The priest then took the loose end of the linen and wrapped it around Kadar’s wrist, binding the two of us together. The significance of the gesture was not lost on me. His hand was heavy against mine, although the pressure of it did ease my trembling somewhat.

“The goddess bears witness to your joining. As you are one now with hands fast, may you be so in all the days of your lives. This bond is a holy one, not to be taken lightly.” Was it my imagination, or did the priest’s pale-grey eyes narrow at me for a moment? Perhaps Kadar had been telling tales after all. After an infinitesimal pause, the priest said, “What the goddess has brought together, no power on this earth can sunder. Honor her, and honor one another.”

Not bloody likely
, I thought with sudden viciousness. How I wished I had the courage to tear that ridiculous piece of linen from my arm and let the watching company know that I didn’t think much of a goddess who would sanction a forced union such as this.

The priest then unwrapped the linen, and brought it to his forehead and his mouth before gesturing that I should do the same. I lifted the fabric to my lips and saw with some satisfaction as I drew it away that the cosmetics Beranne had applied earlier left a reddish stain.

Kadar repeated the movements. If he noticed the lip print on the sacred cloth, he gave no sign. Then he handed the linen back to the priest, who folded it with utmost care into a small triangle before placing it in a small brazier that stood off to one side. At once the fabric blazed up and emitted a billow of pale grey smoke that smelled of some sort of aromatic wood. Cedar, perhaps.

“A good omen,” the priest said, smiling. His teeth were crooked but very white. “Your union will be blessed with passion. So let it be.”

Wild laughter bubbled to my lips, but I had no chance to let it out, for Kadar had grasped my hands in his and turned me to face him. “Try not to bite,” he murmured, even as he bent his head toward mine and pressed his lips against my mouth.

Truth be told, he took me by enough surprise that I merely stood there, staring up at him. The kiss lasted for only a second or two, most likely just long enough to satisfy convention. Then he turned me toward the watching nobles.

“I give you my consort!” he announced.

As one they surged to their feet and began to clap. From various points in the hall, the more boisterous members of the crowd hallooed and whistled, some even stamping their feet. Apparently Northerners did not tend to stand on ceremony.

Still holding my hand, Kadar led me down the steps and through the noisy ranks of onlookers. I concentrated on keeping my chin high, but something in me seemed to break as I fully comprehended for the first time what that firm grip on my fingers meant.