Dark Lady's Chosen (37 page)

“Come back by the fire,” Macaria urged. “They’ve probably spotted a stag in the woods.”

After a few moments, the barking subsided and Kiara took a chair by the hearth. Macaria went to the corner of the room to fetch her lute. Just as she returned, footsteps in the doorway made them turn. Crevan entered, his face flushed with the outside cold and his eyes bright.

“We’d just about given up on you making it tonight,” Kiara greeted him. “Late for you to come all this way.”

“It’s Candles Night,” Crevan replied, still warming his hands in the pockets of his cloak. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Come over by the fire and tell us the news from Shekerishet,” Kiara said, motioning toward a chair. “The good news, at least.”

“I can’t stay long,” Crevan said as he joined them. Macaria’s head was bent over her lute as she tuned it, but something in Crevan’s voice made Kiara pause.

“Is there a problem?”

Crevan gave a tight-lipped smile. “Not after tonight.” Moving more quickly than she had ever seen the seneschal move, Crevan stabbed a dart into Kiara’s shoulder. As Kiara gasped, Crevan wheeled, grabbing a pewter pitcher and slamming it against Macaria’s temple.

Macaria went down hard, landing on her lute which splintered into pieces beneath her.

Crevan backed away a few steps as Kiara groped for the dart in her shoulder and came away with bloodied fingers. The room was beginning to spin around her and she felt sick.

Her entire body felt by turns cold and hot. Kiara tried to rise from her chair but her body refused to obey her thoughts.

“I didn’t know the true extent of your regent magic, but that dose of wormroot should be sufficient to stop even a mage like the king,” Crevan said as he watched her struggle. “It’s a kinder poison than what I gave to the guards—and to those troublesome dogs. Don’t expect the others to barge in and save you. The healer is locked in the cellar, and the others are locked in the kitchen. They won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

Kiara struggled for words against the drugs that dulled her senses. “Why?”

“Because Isencroft must be free.” From the folds of his cloak, Crevan withdrew an ornate dagger with a strange, patterned blade. “Your father thought I was the perfect spy. And I was—for Curane and the divisionists. With you out of the way, we can go back to the natural order of things. No heir, no joint kingdom. As it should be.”

Crevan raised the knife and it glittered in the firelight. “The blade eliminates the threat to Isencroft, while your blood shed this night seals the magic that will defeat King Martris.” He smiled, moving forward. “Don’t move, and I’ll make this quick.”

The whirr of a blade was the only warning as a throwing knife arced across the room and struck Crevan between the shoulders. Kiara’s eyes widened as the blade bounced harmlessly aside, making a cut in his cloak that revealed a cuirass beneath Crevan’s shirt.

With a growl, Crevan turned. Carroway stood in the doorway. He looked more frightened than Kiara had ever seen him, but his blue eyes were resolute.

“Get away from her, Crevan. I’ll have no conscience over killing you.”

Crevan began to laugh. “This is better than I expected. I didn’t see a way for me to avoid the blame, but now you’ve given me an alibi. The spurned lover, come to take his vengeance. A struggle, and you both die. What a pity that I arrive too late to stop it from happening.”

Carroway ran at Crevan with a shout, his own dagger raised to strike. With unexpected agility, Crevan dodged the blow and knocked Carroway off balance. As Carroway reached for the table to steady himself, Crevan stabbed down with the blade, pinning Carroway’s left hand to the heavy oak table. Carroway twisted in pain, trying to free his hand from the knife that was sunk deep into the hard wood. Crevan took up a carving knife from beside the mutton roast and stepped over Macaria to move closer to Kiara.

“Crevan, no!” Carroway shouted as Crevan lurched forward, stabbing down toward Kiara’s belly as she tried to throw herself out of his way. There was a rustle from the floor, and a blur of motion. Crevan stiffened, eyes wide, as blood gurgled from his lips. The shattered neck of a wooden lute protruded from his throat, and he crumpled to the floor. Macaria staggered, bleeding on one side of her head, her hand covered with Crevan’s blood. In the distance, the bells tolled nine times.

Carroway gripped the hilt of the dagger in his right hand and wrested it from the table with a cry. His freed hand was bleeding badly and he wrapped it in a discarded napkin from the table as Macaria knelt next to Kiara. Blood stained the side of her gown, and Kiara’s eyes were wide and her pupils large.

“Is she—”

Macaria knelt next to Kiara and gingerly pulled the carving knife free. “He sliced through her gown and there’s a gash in her side that’s bleeding pretty badly, but the blade went into the back of the chair, thank the Lady.”

Pounding bootsteps behind them made Carroway and Macaria turn. Both of them stepped protectively in front of Kiara.

“Hold it right there.”

Five Margolan guardsmen, crossbows notched and ready, filled the room. Carroway and Macaria raised their hands in surrender and Carroway saw two of the bowmen train their weapons on his heart. “Our orders were to shoot on sight,” the bowman said, raising his hand for the signal.

“Belay that!” A stout man shouldered past the guards, sword in hand. Harrtuck pushed his way into the room. “I’ll have the skin of anyone who fires on them. Weapons down!”

“Sir?”

“Are you hard of hearing? Put down your weapons.”

“You’ve got to find Cerise,” Carroway said, daring to take a step so that Harrtuck could see where Kiara lay slumped in the chair. “Kiara’s hurt badly.”

“She’s locked in the cellar,” Macaria said, reaching to steady herself as she eased into a chair. Carroway stepped aside, cradling his wounded hand close to his body as the soldiers rushed in to take over the scene and two men left to free Cerise and the others. Harrtuck walked over to him, shaking his head.

“What a mess.”

“I take it Halik and Tadghe reached you?”

Harrtuck rubbed his beard. “Aye. I had a feeling in my bones we shouldn’t have left the queen when Crevan sent us out to put down that uprising. And I was right. It was hardly more than a feast day riot. We turned around to come back as quickly as we locked up the handful of troublemakers, and we were only a day’s ride out from the city when your two friends came riding like the Crone Herself was chasing them.” He chuckled. “Believe me when I say that it’s the first time I’ve had bards ride down a guard squadron. I took half the group and rode for the lodge, and sent the other half to the palace, just in case.” He shook his head, stepping back to make way for Cerise to reach Kiara. “I’m only sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”

“Thanks for not shooting me.”

Harrtuck’s expression sobered. “I can’t lift Crevan’s order of banishment, although I can explain why we didn’t follow his directions to the letter. But I’m afraid I’ll have to take you back to the palace and put you under arrest until Tris comes back.”

Carroway swallowed hard and nodded. His hand throbbed, making it difficult to think clearly, and blood was soaking through the napkin he had wadded against the wound. The slightest motion of his fingers sent excruciating pain up his arm.

He watched as Cerise felt for Kiara’s pulse and called for a guard to bring her healer’s bag from her room. “Will she be all right?” Harrtuck asked as Cerise ripped a large enough hole in the side of Kiara’s gown to treat the wound.

“It’s a deep cut, but the point of the blade went into the chair. She’ll be sore, but it’s not the gash that worries me. She’s not reacting right.”

“Crevan drugged her with wormroot,” Macaria said. She held a cloth against her bleeding temple and was pale enough that Carroway thought she might pass out. “He hit me with the pitcher, and it stunned me. It’s good I have a hard head.”

“You’re luckier than the guards,” Harrtuck said, his voice roughened from the weather.

“They’re both dead in the guardhouse—poisoned. One of the dogs is dead and the other two looked mighty ill. I’m betting Crevan brought them poisoned meat to shut them up.”

“Crevan said he’d locked Alle and the servants in the kitchen,” Carroway said, not taking his eyes from where Cerise labored over Kiara. Harrtuck barked an order to one of the guards, who left immediately to free the others. Alle joined them in a few minutes, with Jae perched on her shoulder. The little gyregon gave a shrill cry and flew to perch on the top of Kiara’s chair. Alle took one look at Macaria and Carroway and left the room, only to return with a bowl of water and strips of cloth for binding. Carroway motioned for her to take care of Macaria first.

“Looks like you’ll have a goose egg tomorrow, but it’s not as bad as it could be,” Alle said, wiping the blood from Macaria’s temple and giving her a cool wet cloth to hold against the injury.

Alle grimaced as she glanced at Carroway’s hand. “That’s beyond my skill. When I patched up bar fights with the Resistance, I left the bad stuff for the healers. But I can get you something for the pain.” She went to a cabinet at the far side of the room and returned with a bottle of whiskey. Carroway bit back a curse as she gingerly daubed the wound with water to clean it and then splashed it with whiskey. She poured an ample amount of the amber liquid into a cup and pressed it into his good hand. “Drink this before we have to carry you out, too.”

Cerise straightened and stood. They grew silent and looked at her, fearful of what she might say. “Kiara’s life isn’t in danger, but the wormroot dose he gave her was massive. She’s drugged to a stupor, and I have no idea what that will do to the baby.” She looked to Harrtuck. “There’s no point in keeping her here, since Crevan was the danger. It would be best to get her back to the palace.”

“There’s a wagon in the barn,” Alle said. “We can leave in the morning if there’s no hurry.

We’re not in much shape to meet up with wolves on the way back by night.”

Cerise nodded. “Agreed. And in the meantime,” she said, “I’ll see to the two of you as best I can,” she said with a look to Macaria and Carroway.

Harrtuck gave terse orders to his men. He turned back to Carroway and the others. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here earlier.” He looked down at Crevan’s body. “We’ll get that out of your way and take it back with us.” Harrtuck gave an apologetic look to Carroway. “And I know it doesn’t make any sense, but technically, I need to put you under arrest.”

Macaria looked up sharply, her eyes worried. Carroway gave a slight shake of his head. “I understand,” he said, wishing the whiskey did more for the pain.

“Surely you can leave him with me long enough for healing,” Cerise said, glancing at Harrtuck from where she knelt next to Macaria.

“For my money, I’d leave him free on his own judgment. But I can’t undo the seneschal’s edict, and I don’t want to make it any worse on him than it already is,” Harrtuck muttered.

Carroway found himself holding his breath as Cerise turned her attention to his hand. She said nothing, and even her gentle touch was agonizing. His hand curled protectively around the gash through his palm, and straightening out his fingers to let her see the wound made him cry out through gritted teeth. Cerise was silent as she applied a poultice, and Carroway felt her healer’s magic closing skin and knitting together tissue. Gradually, the worst of the pain subsided, although the slightest movement of his fingers made his whole hand throb.

“I’ve healed the flesh and sinew, but a hand is a delicate thing,” Cerise said. Carroway felt his heart thud in his throat. “I don’t know how that will affect motion.”

“Can I play again?” Carroway asked in a strangled voice, looking at the pieces of Macaria’s lute that littered the floor.

Cerise met his eyes. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see how it goes. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Carroway couldn’t bear the look in Macaria’s eyes as she gasped at Cerise’s words.

Macaria reached out to take his uninjured hand, and he knew that she understood just how great a loss it was to him. She pressed his hand against her cheek and brushed her lips against it.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said quietly, giving her hand a squeeze. She returned a wan smile, and he knew she realized how thin his control was right now.

Harrtuck laid a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, lad. Let’s get some sleep. We’ll put your arm in a sling tomorrow, so you can handle the reins with the other hand. Don’t fret. I’ve busted up my fingers plenty of times, and I still grip a tankard of ale just fine.”

When the divisionists didn’t bother to push a bowl of gruel and a cup of water into his makeshift cell, Cam took the meaning of the sign immediately. No use feeding someone who was going to die.

It had taken Cam most of a candlemark to wrestle Siarl’s body onto the bales of wool that packed most of their prison room. Now, he waited, watching as the pale rays of winter sun moved across the floor of his cell through the gaps between the boards.

Outside, he heard Leather John and Ruggs. “The men aren’t happy about this,” Leather John said. “You’ve let the king trap us here like rats. So much for your ‘glorious’ rebellion if we all die.”

“
Your
men have less spine than a gaggle of milk maids.
My
men understand that we’ve drawn the king into a trap. You heard what the runner said—we’re in place to make the valley expensive for Donelan.”

“Unless your friend Curane wins his war, that does nothing to free Isencroft. The traitor princess is still married to the king of Margolan. Whether she’s here or in Margolan makes no difference. What matters is that the crown of Isencroft remains in Isencroft,” Leather John argued.

“I received a message Crevan sent by pigeon just yesterday. By now, he’s eliminated both the princess and the heir. Donelan will have no choice except to declare war on Margolan and nullify the union pact.”

“And if Donelan dies in battle?”

Cam could hear the cold humor in Ruggs’s voice. “Then Isencroft is ours to remake. We seize the crown and place a king we control on the throne.”