Bridge of Souls (16 page)

The seamstress nodded, a look of long-suffering patience on her face. “Next time, then,” she said kindly, adding firmly: “Which, your highness, will be in four days. Be warned.”

Valentyna groaned. “Thank you, everyone,” she said, wriggling hastily out of the dress.

“Flowers?” Madam Eltor asked.

The Queen sighed. “It is in hand. Your colleague Madam Pern is designing open creamy white roses and fairy’s breath for the posy and a wreath of white buds for my head,” she answered. “I’d prefer lavender.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Madam Eltor commented, quite used to Valentyna’s contrariness. “The white buds will echo the pearls and enhance the Stone of Briavel, which I presume you’ll wear?”

Valentyna nodded. She had to admit the gown suited her, with its sleek look and sharp lines. She was not one for the rounded, softer look many of the court women preferred. The Queen liked the way her dressmaker had echoed her slightly masculine edge in the sharp plunge of the gown’s neckline, and the lack of affectation and adornment made her feel she could almost get away with wearing her riding boots beneath it. She smiled inwardly. Her people graciously accepted her tomboyish ness without reading all manner of sinister connotations into it—why could she not accept Ylena’s masculine contradictions? “Because it doesn’t add up,” she argued.

“I beg your pardon, dear?” Madam Eltor said, the wedding gown held reverently across her outstretched arms, ready to be placed into clean muslin for the journey back to her chambers in Werryl.

“Nothing,” Valentyna murmured, embarrassed to realize that she had spoken her last thought aloud. “Thank you, Margyt. I’ll see you soon.” She saw the seamstress and her chittering assistants to the door and called for a page.

“Find me Stewyt, please, Ross, and also summon the Duke of Felrawthy to a meeting in my solar. I will see him in an hour.”

The boy bowed and ran off on his errands. Valentyna hurriedly tied back her hair. She wished she could wear it just like this at her wedding—combed off her face and plaited. She pulled at wisps she had not quite managed to incorporate into the main plait, then made a sound of disgust at their waywardness and left them alone. A soft knock heralded the page.

“Stewyt, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Your majesty,” he said, bowing low. “How may I help?”

Stewyt often unnerved her with his mature manner. Talking with him often felt like speaking to Krell or someone of similar age and ilk. She saw that Stewyt would make a fine chancellor in years to come; he encompassed all the right qualities, from discretion to intense curiosity about everyone and everything. He was a superb listener and rarely needed to have anything repeated.

She cleared her throat and her thoughts. “I wanted to talk to you about Lady Ylena.”

“Yes, your highness. You received her note, I presume?”

“I did, thank you. But you didn’t deliver it. I was given it with my breakfast tray.”

“That’s right, your majesty. Lady Ylena did not want you disturbed last night. She told me the contents of the letter were of no immediate import and I was to ensure both were delivered this morning.”

“Both letters?”

“The other was for the Duke of Felrawthy,” Stewyt qualified. “Is there something wrong, your majesty?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been informed that Lady Ylena left the palace during the night. Did she seem upset when you saw her?”

Stewyt frowned. “No, your highness. She was very alert, as I recall, and somewhat intense, if I might hazard that thought.”

Stewyt looked as though he had more to say. Valentyna nodded, impressed as always by his composure. “Is there more?”

“Forgive me, your majesty, but I took the liberty of watching Lady Ylena.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I felt her manner was a trifle odd. She went to some trouble to impress upon me how tired she was and in need of sleep, yet throughout our conversation she struck me as being very much awake and caught up by a sense of urgency.”

“And you were right, of course,” Valentyna prompted.

“Yes,” the lad said, not meaning to sound smug. “I set off on my errand as requested but doubled back, just to see if my instincts were right. Chancellor Krell taught me to follow my instincts, your highness,” he added. “I watched Lady Ylena hurry out of her chamber.”

“She did mention in her letter to me that she intended to depart last night,” Valentyna replied, determined that this lad should not think Ylena was up to any mischief. She could not have gossip of that kind going the rounds and providing any future ammunition. “You recall, Stewyt, I asked you to keep her presence between ourselves, which is why I handpicked you as her page.”

He nodded solemnly. “I have told no one of her presence, your highness.”

“Did anything else occur that you think is worth mentioning?”

“Well…” The page sounded uncomfortable.

“Yes?”

“She—” He stopped, and started again. “On her way past your portrait on the first landing, your highness, she paused…rather deliberately.”

“And?” Valentyna queried, not understanding the boy’s hesitation.

“She touched it, your majesty. Touched your…er, your breast, your highness.”

Valentyna felt a new thrill of alarm. “Did she say anything?”

“She murmured a farewell to you, your highness. In all truth, I would say that she was trying to reach your face but wasn’t tall enough.”

“I see. Thank you, Stewyt.” The Queen quickly dismissed the page, following him out of her chamber and heading to her solar to meet with Crys Donal.

He was waiting for her. “Good morning, your majesty,” he said, and bowed.

“Crys, you look readied for travel,” she said, noting the cloak as she walked toward him, and surprised him with a brief kiss.

He blushed. “Yes, your highness, I’ve decided to leave. I think it’s only right, what with your troubles with the Legion and so on. I know I’m a thorn in your side and I agree with Ylena that I can probably be of more use back in Morgravia, being a thorn in the King’s side.” He grinned but it looked hollow.

“You’ve spoken with Ylena about this?” the Queen asked, surprised.

“No. She sent me a letter which I received this morning. She suggested I infiltrate the Legion and start spreading news of the slaughter at Tenterdyn to help turn the army against their king, your majesty.”

“Is that her plan?’

Crys shook his head. “I don’t know what her plan is, your highness.”

Valentyna sat down in her favorite window seat with her back to her guest so he did not have to look at her in the eye. “Crys, since when did the Duke of Felrawthy—or any Duke of Morgravia, for that matter—take orders from a young noblewoman?”

There was a difficult pause, as she had anticipated, and then an equally awkward laugh. “Your majesty, Ylena Thirsk is no ordinary noblewoman. The surname alone tells you the stock she comes from.”

He was going to say more, but she cut him off. “The fact that she is the daughter of the famous Fergys Thirsk and sister to the revered Wyl Thirsk does not necessarily make her a military strategist, though, does it? I would have thought a woman like Ylena would have been taught to embroider beau
tifully and make polite conversation with strangers while making an elegant tour of a room, not the art of warfare.”

“Just like you, your highness.” Crys immediately regretted his gentle sarcasm as Valentyna turned to fix him with a stare. “Forgive me, your majesty, I meant no insult. I admire you tremendously for the dazzling way you balance being a beautiful woman and a strong ruler. It’s not easy, your highness; anyone with half a brain can see that such skill requires both a feminine and a masculine side.”

Valentyna dug deep and found a smile to show no offense had been taken—it was obvious that Crys was genuine in his praise, although just as obvious that he was protecting Ylena. “I don’t know, Crys. I was under the impression that Ylena was a gentle, pampered young woman.”

“Which she was, I’m sure, your highness. But plenty has happened to change that, and they do say blood will win out.”

“They do indeed,” Valentyna said cryptically. “If you’ll forgive my digging into a painful subject—her relationship with Alyd, did you know much about it?”

“Only that they were madly in love. His letters were filled with his adoration of both Thirsks. They were his family during his time in the south. What’s troubling you, your highness?”

She struggled. Could she tell him? She needed to share her secret with someone and Crys was as reliable as any of her own counsel. “You don’t think she had leanings toward women, do you?”

The Duke looked shocked. “Ylena? No! Whatever gave you that idea?”

Valentyna made a face. “Oh, just something that happened last night between us. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Except we are,” he said, grinning, understanding what must have occurred. That would now explain why Wyl had fled in the night. “No, Ylena used to write to us as well, your highness, and she was intensely in love with Alyd. It was all she could do to talk about anything other than him, their marriage, and children. They were planning a large brood.”

“So they wanted babies immediately?”

“Oh yes, even Alyd said they would begin a family as soon as they could.” He laughed. “They even married before we expected—couldn’t wait for us.”

Valentyna shook her head, baffled, recalling Ylena’s confusion when she had mentioned pregnancy. “Well, she’s not pregnant, I can vouch for that. It’s why she left the table so suddenly—her monthly flux had arrived.”

Crys tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh at the thought of Wyl dealing with women’s ailments.

“I can’t imagine what’s so amusing, Crys,” Valentyna said in a vaguely injured tone.

“There is nothing funny, your highness. My apologies.”

Valentyna was sure he knew more than he was telling her, but she could not fathom what. “Is there anything else you know that could help me, Crys? Please, I feel like I’m navigating through a quagmire.”

He gave her a look of tender sympathy. “Your highness, Ylena is true to you. After all that Celimus has perpetrated on her family and the family she married into, her loyalties have changed. We all love Morgravia, but we would rather fight on the side of Briavel as long as King Celimus sits Morgravia’s throne.” He surprised her by going down on one knee. “You can trust me and you can trust Ylena. She is fearlessly casting herself into the lion’s den. Whether Celimus has her killed or not, it doesn’t matter—we will never see Ylena again, that much I can assure you.” The last was said bitterly.

Valentyna reached to touch his bowed head, moved by what he had said. “Oh, Crys, I don’t want her death on my hands.”

“She has nothing else to give. Your highness, Ylena doesn’t want to live anymore—can’t you see that? That is why she can give it up so recklessly for someone she loves.”

He felt he had gone too far in mentioning the word “love,” and Valentyna’s anguished response confirmed it.

“I don’t want her love, Crys!” The Queen was shocked by the pain that moved across the Duke’s open face at her words.

“Then take her sacrifice graciously and use it for your own ends, as she asks.”

“I don’t even understand her intentions in going to Felrawthy,” Valentyna replied bitterly.

Crys stood. “I imagine she means to disrupt those talks in the north,” he said. “And somehow bargain for the deployment of the Legion back to Pearlis so your people can breathe easily again and get on with celebrating a royal wedding.” He took her hand. “And about the wedding—I don’t think you can escape that, your majesty, but you can demand equality. You can influence how this new era for Morgravia and Briavel will be felt by people. Believe me, if we can find a way to overthrow Celimus, we will, but you must proceed with this marriage.”

She had heard it before from others and given herself the same sound advice. It was time she got on with living it now. “You’re right. No doubt we shall see each other in Pearlis.”

“I might not go straight to the Morgravian capital, your highness,” Crys said, as if the decision had only just arrived in his mind.

“Not Felrawthy?” she asked, fear in her tone.

“No, that will have to wait, your highness. The time to seize back my family estate is not yet ripe. I’ve actually been thinking about Elspyth.”

Relief softened Valentyna’s expression. “You’re going after her?”

“I think I should. She’s a resilient woman and knows her mind, but she’s still only a girl alone in a strange realm with no weapons or protection—”

“Heading off into the Razor Kingdom to rescue a prisoner of its king,” the Queen finished, shaking her head. “I’m glad, Crys. Thank you.”

The Duke shrugged. “Elspyth was good to me when I needed to be reminded who I was and what needed to be done. If not for her insistence, I would have gone tearing back to Tenterdyn.”

“And lost your own life, and Felrawthy would have lost its duke.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “She saved me from my own stupidity and anger.”

“Well, you still have every right to be angry, to want vengeance, Crys, and because of Elspyth’s advice, you might yet get it.”

He sensed the sorrow behind her encouraging words. “I’m sorry that you don’t have the same opportunity, your highness.”

She forced a small smile. “Oh, I’ll find my own way.”

Crys knew as well as she did that her comment was mere bravado, but he returned her smile with a squeeze of her hand.

“How will you follow her?” Valentyna asked, changing the subject.

“I’ll start with Liryk, I suppose. I suspect your commander is rather gratified that Elspyth is out of your life, your highness”—he grinned as she nodded conspiratorially—“but he might help by asking his guards if they saw her leave.”

“What good will that do?”

“Well, I imagine Elspyth was in a hurry to leave Werryl. That being the case, I believe she might have hitched a ride with someone.” He shrugged. “It might help me follow her, that’s all.”

The Queen nodded. “Be safe, Crys. We shall meet again soon, I hope.”

He kissed her hand with feeling, and then the last of her allies left the Briavellian monarch to her loneliness and bleak thoughts.