Dragon Heart (10 page)

At this Oto smiled again. “Yes,” he said. He could imagine a wide variety of signs of evil intent, especially once his father was wedded and bedded and the kingdom was theirs. Erdhart emptied his cup and beckoned to the servant again.

“Put someone in the kitchen. A couple of men. Make sure the cooks taste everything.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Keep a guard constantly in the bedchamber.”

“Yes, Father.”

He held his voice rigid against the drip of condescension. He was the man to rule here. It was an injustice that his father would be King here, when Oto was already doing most of the work. And Erdhart, lifting his cup with his trembling hands, looked like an old man, feeble, in the way. Oto rose, and without taking leave, he went out to find his own chambers.

 

4

They didn't even have a church here, Erdhart thought, and Broga's chapel was still just an idea. So the Imperial Archduke came out to marry on the open terrace of the castle, in the sunlight, with the broad sea stretching out over the horizon, as if to call the brute forces of the world to witness. They might as well have held torches and made him walk between, or sacrificed a horse.

Erdhart had brought his own priest with him, to wrap this all up tight with the right words, a short bald man who stood there now with his book open in his hands. Afterward they would feast here, probably throwing bones into the sea.

Today the ocean was placid, looking blue and soft as a baby's blanket, only a low rumble down there far below the edge of the terrace. Erdhart went up to stand before the priest, aware of the crowded hall around him. The gathered family took up one side of the room, packed together, cousins and aunts in the back, in the front a row of redheads. His men fit more easily into the other side. Between them were the banquet tables, already set with cups and knives.

Then the main door opened. The room hushed at once, everyone turned to watch, and Marioza appeared.

Down the length of the room she smiled at him. She came slowly up the center of the hall, splendid in a dark gown trimmed with pearls, gold in a scaly wreath around her neck, gold in loops hanging from her ears. He thrilled a little. She was a fine woman, her bloodred hair curling lushly over her white shoulders, her great eyes shining above the slant of her cheekbones. She reached him, and compliantly, she lowered herself down onto her knees, her head bowed, and held out her hand to him.

From her children there went up a sharp gasp of disbelief. Erdhart himself was startled at her submission; at once he thought of a trap, but their shocked faces reassured him. They thought she was yielding to him. This was going well, then. He took her by the hand, and lifted her to her feet. That meant she was taller than he was, but she bowed her head, docile.

The priest said the words. Among the children a constant little mutter ran, a stirring. They had not expected this. This was part of no plan. Erdhart began to think that he had won.

He would not weaken, though. Ruddich had weakened, had taken the cup, at the last minute, died at her feet.

When Erdhart led her to the bedding, it would not be in her chambers, not with her servants, but in his, with his men all around. He would strip her down with his own hands, make sure she carried no weapons, no poisons. Then, only then, let her near his body.

Next to him now, her warm, abundant body.

The head table was put back in place, and they sat there, and shared a cup. He kicked her once, to see what she would do, and she only stooped a little and lifted her eyes toward him, brimming with tears. High color rose in her cheeks. The servant put a stew of lobster before them in a single dish, and he took a bit on his fork and held it to Marioza, and she accepted it between her lips.

He reached for the wine; she had already drained it. The servant leaned past him and filled the cup again. Music began, pipes, a drum. Two rows of people formed down the open space before them, the men on one side, the women on the other, crossing the room from the doors almost to the sea. At the shadowy end of the double row Luka danced with the freemartin, tiny as a child. The others clapped, the pipes shrilled, and the drum pattered. Luka and the little Goblin danced toward each other, and caught hands. They whirled around each other. The Goblin threw her head back and laughed a hideous cackle. They whirled together in the middle and Luka lifted her up off her feet, eye level with him, and kissed her forehead. Then again setting her down he led her in another spin, moving down between the rows into the sunlight. Again they came together and kissed, spun around, and kissed, and backed up each to one side and began clapping, and another couple pranced and bounded in the middle.

“Charming,” Erdhart said. The drink had muddled his head a little. He saw the dancers as smears of color. He ate more of the lobster. Sliding his hand under the table, he laid it on Marioza's thigh, and she gave a start. He moved his fingers higher, inward, between her legs, pushing the cloth down, rubbing her there. She sat soft and yielding, her head down, and after a moment shifted her legs apart so he could reach the folds of her body more easily.

His head reeled. Soon he would be there. But now, all the dancers were clapping and they were staring up at him and Marioza.

“Dance! The King and Queen must dance! Make the marriage lucky and fruitful; dance!”

He sat a moment, startled. This seemed beneath his dignity. But she was rising, smiling at him, her hand out. He took her hand, thinking of the kisses. Her hand in his tightened, warm. He thought he could smell the excitement of her flesh. They went down and took their place at the head of the dance. Everybody, all through the room, was clapping. He watched her feet, and moved forward, caught her hands, and they spun around each other, and came together, and their lips met.

The heat of her mouth stirred him all the way to his loins. They parted at once, and whirled around again, the room thundering with applause. He leaned toward her again, and their mouths met, and her tongue slipped between his lips.

He gasped, his member throbbing in his codpiece. He spun her, and this time, when they kissed, he caught her against him; he pressed himself against her from mouth to thighs, his hands on her backside. The whole room whooped. She clung to him. For an instant, face-to-face, he saw the glitter in her eyes, and a sudden cold alarm flooded him. When he tried to pull back, the floor seemed to tip under him. He lost his balance, and staggered, and with his hands gripped in hers, her red hair flying, Marioza whirled them both toward the lip of the terrace and danced with him out onto the empty air.

*   *   *

Luka turned on his heel; back by the wall a pikeman stood, slack jawed, staring at the terrace, and Luka leapt at him, snatched the pike out of his hands, and sank the butt end deep into the man's belly. “Jeon!” Luka bounded onto the table, kicking the wedding hams out of the way, and bolted toward the door. Somebody screamed, “Stop him!” but most of the crowd was rushing the other way, toward the sunlight, where the King and Queen had just disappeared over the edge.

In the open doorway a soldier faced him, his pike across his body like a shield, and Luka at full stride jumped on him, feet to his chest, smashed him down, fell himself, staggered up off the body, and dashed out.

That passage was there again, the one opening up on the right, this time a stairway. He plunged into it, going down three steps at a time. Someone was coming after him and he wheeled, the pike ready. Down the dim steps his brother rushed toward him, his face white, his eyes shocked white. Luka reached out, and he and Jeon locked their arms a moment. Then without a word Luka turned and raced on, Jeon on his heels, down the twisting, steepening stairwell, toward the sound of the sea.

*   *   *

Oto saw his father disappear into the air and a wild triumph filled him. The shrieking crowd rushed by him, going to gawk over the edge of the terrace, but Oto stood silent, stone hard, collecting himself.

This was the opening; this was what he needed.

Too late, he saw Luka racing away out the door and shouted but could not stop him. Oto went up through the crowd to the front of the terrace. Broga, the besotted fool, was on his knees at the edge, screaming, “Papa!” All around in the stunned crowd women were weeping. The priest was praying in a loud voice and another language. Nobody moved, except Oto. The soldiers were mixed into the crowd and he went around to them one at a time, shaking them by the shoulder and giving them orders. Seeing Mervaly and her sisters standing at the far side of the terrace, he went straight at them, six men at his back.

They made no effort to escape. Mervaly had her arms around the other girls and they were all sobbing. For a moment he could not get them to pay heed to him, so he could order them locked up in their room, but once he had Mervaly's attention she obeyed him. The freemartin was jabbering nonsense at him, and the other girls took her by the hands and led her away. The cousins and aunts had vanished while he was confronting Mervaly. Tears streaming down his face, Broga rushed up.

“I'm going down to find Papa. He's down there somewhere.”

“Go,” Oto said, and waved him away. Slobbering, Broga raced off. Oto turned to the priest. “I am King now. I will be crowned at once.”

The priest's eyes popped. He said, “My lord, I don't know the rite—”

“Make one up. There has to be some authority here. I am the only one. I shall be King. Tomorrow.” He raised his arms to the rest of the soldiers, and led them off to find the missing red-haired Princes.

*   *   *

In a high-pitched, ragged voice, Mervaly said, “I shouldn't have let him order us around. I live here. This is my place, not theirs.” She strode around the room like a small storm, so that the birds on their perches rose up and flapped their wings.

Casea wept. “There's nothing we can do. Nothing good, anyway.” She sat down on the bed, put her face in her hands, and gave herself up to her grief. Mother, Mother, she thought. Mother, why did you leave us like this?

Before her she saw the whole of her family coming apart, like a fabric unraveling, all the threads apart, and all the patterns gone.

Across the room, behind the bed, Tirza was creeping along the wall. Even she was crying. At the same time, with both hands, she was groping along the stones of the wall. Casea knew what she was looking for, and presently saw her find it, saw her fingers push gently at what seemed like solid stone, and open the seam, and slip into it. Slowly the wall closed behind her.

Casea thought, Even that, even that, will make things worse. She folded her arms around herself a moment, trying to sort this all out, and finally went for her needlework, to keep her hands busy.

*   *   *

There was no way straight down the cliff from the castle terrace; Broga had to go miles around, along the flat grassy meadow at the top of the cliff to the angling narrow trail down to the beach, and then up the beach to the foot of the beetling rock where the castle stood. At full tide the waves beat against the sheer cliff face as high as the edge of the terrace, but now the tide was going out, draining from the jagged seams of rock along the beach.

A white cloud of birds screamed and flew upward at his approach. Beneath them they left Erdhart, lying there on his back below the terrace. Broga gave a cry, and splashed out through the last of the tide. His father had fallen onto the rocks, his body sprawled, the subsiding water around him stained with blood. Over his chest and face the crabs were already crawling.

Broga charged in through the ankle-deep water, and stamped and kicked at the crabs until all had scuttled off or lay crushed in the rocks. He sank down beside the ruin of his father. In the cups of their sockets Erdhart's eyes were bloody slicks. The gulls and crabs had already opened wounds on his face. His hair flooded on an eddy. The side of his skull dented inward. Broga put out his hand, to form the head back into shape, and the matter squished under his fingers. He doubled over, wracked with grief.

The three soldiers he had brought stood at the edge of the water. He forced himself calm. Someone would pay for this. He would make someone suffer for this. He straightened to his feet, and caught the sergeant's eye.

“Go find me a stretcher, a litter, some way we can carry him back to the castle.”

“Yes, my lord.” With a salute the sergeant led his men back toward the village.

Broga turned his eyes again to his father's body; his heart beat unsteadily, a cauldron in his breast. He looked around for the other one, the woman who had done this, who was here, too, somewhere.

He would trample her into something not even crabs would eat.

The rocks came up through the sand like the ragged edges of baskets, holding pots of water. He searched around where Erdhart lay, but she was not there. Broga went wider, all along the foot of the cliff, out to the retreating edge of the sea. She was not there.

He growled, aching with frustration. She was here somewhere. He searched again, all along the rocks and sand, everywhere. He found nothing. The soldiers came back, with a litter they had made of poles and cloth, and two mules.

He stood watching as they lifted his father carefully up. The sergeant did most of the work, directing the others, folding the broken body together, arms across the chest, leg over leg. He stretched a cloak on the ground and they lifted Erdhart onto it, wrapping the cloak tight around him, so that nothing spilled. They carried the litter off toward the mules.

The rocks where Erdhart had lain were bloody, and clumped with awful stuff. Through the water something gleamed. Broga stooped, and took up a piece of gold. A ring. He held it up into the sun. By the twist of the gold he knew it: not his father's but Marioza's ring. Broga stood again, and looked all around him, among the rocks, the puddles, the distant surf, but there was nothing left of her, except the ring that had pledged her to Erdhart.