Cethe (10 page)

“I do feel a bit odd. Dizzy.”

“Come!” Imperiously, Severyn held out his hand. “That’s an order, my lord.”

Mick gave him a dour look. “Where’s Eldering. Is he… Was he hit?”

“He’s fine. A little shaken up, but unhurt. He’s in the next room.”

With that, Michael had to be content. Corliss hurried away to cal off the water-brigade as Severyn and his oldest friend left

the room.

Not until they reached Michael’s bedroom in the south wing did Severyn speak of what had truly happened. “You were

floating! No legend I’ve ever heard mentioned such a thing!”

Michael just stared blankly, then shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Truly? The entire house shook! I thought it would come crashing down around us!”

“I had no idea. I remember nothing about it. What happened to Eldering? Is he truly al right? Did Corliss see him?”

“He’s fine. Scared, but fine. I got him out of sight before Corliss got there. Fortunately, being a sin-catcher, no one wil think

much of his room getting struck by lightning.”

“No. I suppose not.” Michael leaned against the door frame. “Loth! The whole damned place is spinning.”

Severyn swal owed his questions, alarm returning. “Are you sure you don’t want a physician?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Very wel . But lie down,” ordered the prince. “Try to get some real sleep. I’l have Marin stay right outside. Don’t be a fool and

keep silent if you start feeling worse.”

Michael nodded, but when Severyn reached the end of the stairway and looked back, he was stil standing in the open

doorway.

Stefn cut the rope binding his hands against the sharp edge of an old metal shield he’d found in a trunk stuffed with clothes.

Moving slowly and painful y, he managed to cover himself enough for modesty. Enveloped in the garments’ musty smel , he waited

for someone to return and tried not to think of what he had seen and done.

Of its own accord, his hand crept to the col ar. He thought of those last few seconds before hel itself had broken loose: how

he had writhed and moaned in pleasure beyond imagining: how each thrust of the h’nar’s cock had only made him want more and

more.

Sin-catcher. Shame of Shia.

He swore, voice thick with misery, and tried to find the col ar’s clasp. His scrabbling fingers met only the crusting of jewels,

seemingly unbroken in a circle around his neck. No lock, no clasp: nothing met his increasingly frantic attempts to get it off. Final y,

he simply tore at it, hoping to break the hidden lock. His struggles got him nothing but a sore neck and final y, he gave up.

The rain stopped and wan sunlight struggled through the dusty window. Morning already. Stefn found a place on a pile of

boxes and watched the world beyond the wal s gather substance in the dawn. Mist drifted over the highland meadows. On the

northern horizon, the hil s were soft purple bumps, almost as insubstantial as the mist. Beyond them, stil invisible, rose the Lothwal

Mountains.

The brightening countryside vanished. In his mind’s eye, Stefn saw Lord Michael once more, standing by the side of the bed,

naked, arms outstretched, head flung back, his mouth open in a shattering scream. His eyes…

“Eldering?”

Startled, Stefn looked around. The door was open. Prince Severyn!

“Come with me.”

Summoning what dignity he could, Stefn limped from the room. The prince was right behind him. They descended through an

eerily silent house, coming at last to the south wing. Stefn saw a few servants, but they weren’t Shian retainers. They were

strangers wearing Lothlain colors.

At the door to Al en’s apartment, the prince stopped. Opening it, he said, “You’l stay here until Lord Arranz decides what’s to

become of you.”

Without a word, Stefn went in, aware of the hard-eyed stare burning into his back. The prince fol owed him, shutting the door.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

“Ask your taint friend.”

Stefn was too tired, his wits too slow; he never saw the blow coming. The prince’s fist crashed into his jaw, sending him

sprawling. Curling into a bal , he braced himself for more. It didn’t come. Instead, he heard a flurry of profanity.

“Get up,” said Lothlain, “and answer my question.”

Wiping blood from his lips, Stefn obeyed. The room tilted drunkenly. Reckless, he let the bitter fury out. “He raped me, Your

Highness. He used me like a woman, like the filthiest, most debased of whores! But you knew this, so why do you even ask what

happened? Do you want to know the details? Do you wish me tel you how it felt to have his cock rammed down my throat while my

hands were bound? What it was like when he…”

“Enough!” This time, the blow scattered al thoughts to the wind. Stefn was dimly aware of being dragged to his knees. “Sin-

catcher!” he heard, the words coming to him in echoes. “Do you protest your fate? I thought you Elderings accepted the wil of Loth!

”

Was it true? Was this real y Loth’s wil ? Stefn’s ears rang. He was dizzy and his mouth was sore.

“Haven’t you even wondered why Loth would visit a sin-catcher upon such a supposedly righteous family?” Contempt chil ed

the prince’s voice.

“Leave me alone.” The words were barely intel igible through swol en lips. The dizziness was getting worse. Stefn thought he

heard laughter and looked around, but no one else was there.

“After he had his way with you, what happened then?” The prince was merciless. He sat Stefn bodily on the edge of the bed.

Al en’s bed. Al en, who was dead.

“Eldering?” Seizing his chin, the prince forced Stefn to meet his gaze.

“He screamed,” whispered Stefn, remembering. “He… fel away from me and when I looked, the hel -light was there. It was

pouring out of his eyes and his mouth! He was talking, shouting, but I couldn’t understand… ”

And there had been other voices, too, howling and chanting in the whirlwind of light and fury the room had become.

“What have you done, Your Highness?” he asked final y. “Do you real y desire power so much you would bring back the

naragi?”

The prince released him and turned away. At the door he paused, resting his hand lightly on its carved vines and flowers.

Then, he looked over his shoulder at Stefn. “We’l see, I suppose,” he said and closed it quietly after him.

Tired and heartsick, Stefn limped to his brother’s bed and fel straight off to sleep. When he woke again, an entire day and

night had passed. Someone had dressed him in a clean linen night-shirt and pul ed the covers over him, but he remembered nothing

of it. A fire burned in the big, marble fireplace. His brother’s things were everywhere, a child’s shield leaning against the wal ,

tournament trophies lined up along the mantel.

It was like being in a stranger’s room. Al en had never invited him inside it. Twice the size of his own cramped chamber in the

north wing, this was spacious and airy. There were rugs on the polished wooden floor and furniture of carved cedar, a rare and

fragrant wood found only along the southwestern coast. The furniture had been a present from their father on Al en’s sixteenth

birthday, one of an abundance of other gifts given him at a lavish party attended by family and friends from as far away as

Lothmont. Stefn’s own Majority Day had come and gone, unnoticed.

A large pot of water warmed by the fireside. He washed grateful y. Whoever had put him to bed had left some of his own

clothing, neatly folded, in a pile on a chair. At least the neckcloth hid the jeweled band around his neck. Not that it real y mattered.

He gave the doorknob a perfunctory turn and, to his surprise, it opened.

Outside, a stranger in footman’s dress dozed in a chair. At the sound of the latch fal ing, he jumped up and bowed. “Your

Lordship!”

Nonplused, Stefn opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“Ye should have just cal ed me, m’lord,” continued the behemoth, straightening his jacket.

“Who are you?”

The man’s hair was dark brown and his eyes were of the same color. He bowed very low. “The name’s Gregory Marin, m’lord.

I’m to be yer personal valet, orders of Lord Arranz.”

“I don’t need a valet.”

But Marin ignored him. Nothing would do but Stefn return to his room where he was gently, if determinedly, disrobed. A bath

was ordered and, while Stefn huddled in a chair, wrapped in one of Al en’s old dressing gowns, an army of servants invaded the

room. None were familiar.

Marin left him to bathe alone. Customarily, Stefn took his baths in the servants’ bathhouse, with its harsh soaps, cold water,

and the big, none-too-clean wooden barrel. This was luxury: this deep, smooth, pristine ceramic tub, its gold trim aglow in the

firelight, its warm water and scented bars of fine soap easing the last bit of tension from his muscles.

He had almost fal en back to sleep when, across the room, the door opened. Thinking it was Marin, Stefn sat up, splashing

water al around. It was Arranz. The h’nar stopped just inside the door, eyebrows lifting.

Of course, it would be too much to expect courtesy from a taint. Instead of leaving at once, Arranz continued into the room.

Picking up one of the towels left in a folded pile by the tub, he shook it out and held it up. “Time to get out. I want to talk to you.”

Stefn considered refusing, but thought better of it. Face heating, he clambered from the tub and snatched the towel, wrapping

it around his hips. He limped to the chair and his clothing. His hands shook as he dressed. When he was decent, he dared a glance

at Arranz, but the taint had his back turned, looking out the windows.

“I wil be leaving Shia tomorrow,” announced Arranz without turning around. “You wil accompany me.”

Leaving? A flicker of hope came to life. “Where are we going?” Stefn asked. If it were Lothmont or some other city, there was

a chance he might yet extricate himself from this nightmare.

“Blackmarsh,” replied Arranz, smile glinting. He turned around and came to Stefn who stared back at him in shock. Leaning

down, Arranz brushed a strand of wet hair from Stefn’s eyes. “Home.”

“Come in!”

Severyn pushed open the door. Michael stood beside his bed, a large, leather case open upon it. He looked up, surprised,

when Severyn dropped the bag of gold into it.

“Think of it as two hundred years of back rent,” said the prince, grinning at Michael’s stunned expression. “Courtesy of the

late earl. You know you could use it. Tel Annie to get herself a new dress.”

“Are you sending armed guards with us?” Michael regarded the money with feigned apprehension.

“Would you like some?”

Michael shrugged, tucking the bag of gold under his shirts. “I suppose, should we be attacked on the road, I’l find whether or

not I am now what legend claims. Are you coming back here after Lothmont or going on to Tantagrel?”

“Tantagrel. Nedby’s letters grow increasingly shril . With luck, I can take care of everything within a few weeks and be back

here. It would greatly reassure me if you would return here and help Auron oversee the building.”

“I’ve no desire to linger at Blackmarsh. As soon as I’ve reported to Grandfather, I’l be back, I assure you.”

“Damn it. I wish you were coming with me.”

Michael’s smile appeared. “You know what a popular fel ow I am in town these days. You would be best served, as

Grandfather says, by keeping me close but out of sight.”

An inexplicable feeling overcame Severyn. He set his hands on Michael’s shoulders and fixed the startled h’naran lord with his