Magic Casement (42 page)

You
can do it, he had said. Sitting by the bed as the long day passed, as the
moments of consciousness became shorter and rarer, she felt a strange
determination emerging, like a rock uncovered by the ebbing tide.

For
him, she would try.

She
would show them! And that thought seemed to give her strength she had not
suspected she had. She waited, she endured, and she shed no tears.

The
shadows moved. The day faded. Flames were set in the sconces. Finally, after
the sun had set, when there had been a long time with no movement from her
father beyond the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the doctor came and laid
a hand on her shoulder, and she knew it was time to go. So she kissed the
wizened yellow face and walked away. She went slowly downstairs, crossed the
dressing room, down another flight, and paused in the door of the withdrawing
room to look, and consider.

The
council was gathered there, and some others, all waiting around in lamplight,
for the windows were quite dark now. No one had yet noticed Inos in the doorway.
Queens had no time for personal grief-she must look to her inheritance. She had
discussed the problem often enough with Kade on the journey, and with Andor.
Would Krasnegar accept a queen? A juvenile queen? The imps likely would, they
had decided, but the jotnar were doubtful. Now her father had given her his
realm, but he had not told his council; that might not matter very much,
anyway, for the next move would be made by the hateful Yggingi, whose army held
the kingdom. What would his terms be? Would she be forced to swear allegiance
to his Imperial Majesty Emshandar IV?

So
they were sitting or standing there, waiting as they must have waited all day,
talking quietly; and the center of the group was Andor, slim and graceful in
dark green, tall for an imp. He was the key to the kingdom, she thought. If she
was to marry Andor, the council would accept him as her consort. He was young
and handsome and personable and competent. Even Foronod seemed to be engrossed,
smiling now with the others at some tale that would likely have made them all
laugh aloud in a happier time. If Andor was the key, then Foronod was the lock,
for he was a jotunn and probably the most influential. If the factor would
accept Andor as king, then likely they all would. Except perhaps Yggingi.

Andor
would not have returned with her had he not cared. Then she was noticed. They
turned to await her in sympathetic silence. Mother Unonini was there,
black-robed and bleak-faced as always. Aunt Kade in silver and pink had been
sitting at the bottom of the stairs like a watchdog. Bless her!

She
hugged Aunt Kade and was hugged by the chaplain, smelling of fish. She wondered
how she could ever have been frightened by this dyspeptic little cleric with
her resentful air of failure and bitter exile.

One
by one the men bowed, and she nodded solemnly in return: Foronod, grim, lank in
a dark-blue gown, winter pale, with his white-gold jotunnish hair glowing
against the outer dark of a window; old Chancellor Yaltauri, a typical imp,
short and swarthy, normally a jovial but bookish man; the much older Seneschal
Kondoral, openly weeping; the vague and ineffectual Bishop Havyili; the others.

“It
will not be long,” she told them.

Mother
Unonini turned and headed for the stairs.

“You
must eat now, dear.” Kade led her to a table that had been laid out with
white linen and silver and fine china, like a small oasis of Kinvale in the
barren arctic, but bearing cakes and pastries that looked cumbersome and
lumpish. And therewonder of wonders!-balanced on its warming flame, Aunt Kade’s
gigantic silver, tea urn, like a forgotten ghost from Inos’s childhood.
The day she had met Sagorn and knocked over that umabsurd, irrelevant, vulgar
thing!-Father had joked about her burning down the castle... That insidious,
unexpected, irrelevant fragment of memory made a quick dash around her defenses
and grabbed her by the throat and almost defeated her, but she averted her eyes
quickly from the wretched tea urn and started to say that no thank you she
couldn’t eat a thing. Except that her mouth was full of pastry. So she
sat down and stuffed herself, drinking strong tea poured by Aunt Kade from that
same monstrous urn, which was now only a very ugly utensil.

Then
she looked up to see that Mother Unonini had returned. Inos rose slowly and was
given another fishy hug. “Insolan, my child-I mean, your Ma...” The
gritty voice hesitated, and then began a knell about the weighing of souls, and
how much the Good had exceded the Evil in Father and all the predictable
platitudes. Inos shut it out.

It
was over, and she would shed no tears today. It was a release.

There
was some good in every evil.

There
was also a medic, shuffling and awkward. She asked him, “What now?”

He
began to mumble about the lying in state. She remembered her mother’s
lying in state in the great hall and the chains of weeping citizens filing by.
So she told the man to go ahead, and some part of her was standing back,
watching this masterly selfcontrol of hers with amazement. Then there were more
hugs from Aunt Kade and Mother Unonini, and a stronger one from Andor, and bows
and mutterings from the other men, while she was vaguely aware that people were
trooping through the room, heading up to the royal bedchamber. In a little
while they carried the body back down, she supposed, but she turned her face
away and ignored these necessary unpleasantnesses. Soon the great bell of the
castle began to toll, slow in the distance, muffled and dread.

But
the attendants departed at last, and the door was closed, and she could not
ignore the world forever. The night had longer to run yet. When she turned
around to face the men again, she discovered a newcomer-the odious,
square-headed Proconsul Yggingi.

The
king was dead; the ravens were landing. As always he was in uniform, clutching
his crested helmet under one arm and resting his other hand on the hilt of his
sword of office, an elaborate and gaudy thing of gilt. She feared him, she
thought, but only him. Anything or anyone else she could manage.

“Factor?”
she said, knowing that Foronod was the most competent of the council. “What
now? The city must be informed.” Foronod bowed and said nothing.

Which
was not very helpful.

“Well?”
she demanded. “When shall I be proclaimed queen?” The craggy face
remained without expression, but she could sense the fury burning below its
jotunnish pallor. “That decision is apparently not presently within the
jurisdiction of your late father’s council, miss. “ He was biting
the words. “Imperial troops have taken control of the palace and the
town. Sergeant Thosolin and his men have been disarmed and confined. I suggest
you address your inquiries to Proconsul Yggingi.”

He
bowed again and stepped back against the wall.

Inos
restrained a mad impulse to burst into tears or throw herself into Andor’s
arms. She had led the predator back to her lair and now she must turn and give
battle to it, to the monster whose thugs controlled her homeland. She looked
expectantly and coldly-she hoped coldly-at the proconsul.

He
lowered his head in a hint of a bow. “Perhaps we could have a word in
private, Highness?”

Andor
and Aunt Kade both started to protest. “Highness?” Inos said.

She
saw a glint of amusement in the piggy eyes. “Beg pardonyour Majesty. “

Well!
That might be her first victory. “Certainly, Excellency,” Inos
said. “Come with me.”

Holding
her chin up, she marched over to the doorway that led upstairs, wishing she had
a long gown to swish impressively, realizing that she was still in her soiled
riding clothes. Probably her hair was a mess, but at least she had not been
weeping. She stamped up the stairs into the dressing room, with its wardrobes
and chests and one large couch. It was really only a junk storage. She would
have it cleaned out in the summer. The candles were inadequate, leaving the big
room dim and crowded with shadows-which might be a good thing if it would help
conceal her expression, for surely Yggingi was a much more experienced
negotiator than she was. But she had nothing to negotiate. He was going to
dictate his orders.

She
stopped beside the couch, spun around, and said, “Well?” He was
still clasping his stupid helmet and his armor flickered with dozens of little
candle flames. He was a square, broad man, a hard man, a killer. He moved too
close, deliberately threatening.

“Did
you get it?”

The
question seemed so meaningless that she felt her mouth move and nothing came
out.

“The
word!” he snapped. “What word?”

He
flushed angrily. “Did your father tell you the word of power? Inisso’s
word?”

She
was about to say “No!” and then she recalled that among all the
other gibberish her father had spoken about Inisso... Yggingi saw her
hesitation and bared his teeth in a smile. “Do you know what it means?”
he asked quietly.

She
shook her head.

He
took another half step closer and had to bend his head to look down at her. His
breath was sour, and told her that the palace wine cellar had now been
liberated.

“You
have three things of value, little girl. One is a very pretty body. We may
negotiate on that later, but I can find those anywhere, almost as good. You
also have a kingdom-sort-of-have a kingdom. I never thought I wanted that, and
now I’ve seen it, I’m sure. It certainly isn’t worth fighting
over, but I’m told that the jotnar are on their way, so I may have to
fight. But the third thing you have is that word. And that I want. That is what
I came for. “

Gibberish!
She doubted that she could recall much of the nonsense her father had spoken,
but if this horror thought that she had something he wanted...

“What’s
it worth?”

He
laughed. “Your looks. Your virtue. Your life. It’s worth more than
all of those.”

She
pushed down terror. She had expected him to order her to sign away her
inheritance, or possibly to announce her engagement to Angilki. She had never
expected this nonsense about words. “Why? My life for a word?”

“Do
you know who’s paying my troops? Your precious aunt, or whatever she is
to you, the duchess of Kinvale. “

Ekka!
So it had been that damned hag after all! Inos tried to replace fear with
anger, but failed. She did not speak.

“Two
thousand imperials she gave me to bring you here, plus whatever I can squeeze
out of Krasnegar. All she wants is you, with that word-sent back to marry her
idiot son. “ .

“Never!”

He
grinned. “I agree. I never liked that deal. Besides, it’s not
possible. I closed the road, didn’t I?”

She
just looked at him in silence, bewildered, fighting to keep herself under
control. She was crushed back against the couch and could not retreat.

“No
way out until the ships come,” he said. “I closed the road, I
roused the goblins. I wanted to keep certain friends of mine from coming after
me, but it also means that no one can get out! We’re trapped!”

“How
much?” she said with sudden wild hope. “How much to ransom
Krasnegar?”

He
chuckled. “Just the word-the word to ransom it from the jotnar. I must
have that word!”

“Why?”
He must be totally mad, and certainly there was a very strange look in his
eyes.

“Because
I’m a soldier! I have a talent for stamping out vermin. With a word-”
Then he seemed to realize how little she understood of this raving. He wheeled
around, marched back to the door, and shot the bolt. Then he tossed his helmet
down on a chair and stalked her, as she retreated, until finally he had her
against the wall. He grabbed her shoulder and grinned at the sight of her
terror. He licked his lips.

“You
begin to believe I’m serious? Well, I’ll make you an offer, little
miss. Give me the word, and I’ll see you’re proclaimed queen. I’ll
defend your throne from Kalkor, and from your rebellious subjects, too, and I
promise I won’t hurt you. Marry that Andor man if you want-I don’t
care about that. But otherwise I shall start now by breaking your pretty little
nose, and go on from there until no man will ever want to marry what’s
left of you. I think my offer is worth considering, don’t you?”

It
was an extraordinary offer. It was better than she could have ever dared hope.
No one could question her rule if she had Yggingi’s armed might at her
back. But could she believe him? Could she trust him? And could she recall the
gibberish her father had spoken, and could Yggingi tell the difference if she
simply made up some more gibberish of her own?

“Well?”
he shouted. His fingers dug deeper into her shoulder. She tried to break loose and
was appalled at his strength.

“I--”

A
sudden noise-from above?

Yggingi
raised his head and regarded the shadowed ceiling. “What was that?”

She
did not know either. It had sounded like furniture moving above them, in the
bedchamber, and she had thought all the medics and undertakers had gone. Dark
with suspicion, Yggingi wheeled and marched over to the doorway to the
staircase up, drawing his sword as he went.

Inos
fled to the other door and began to wrestle with the bolt, and for a terrifying
minute it seemed to be too stiff for her, then it moved. She hauled the door
open and fell into Andor’s arms. .

Well,
one of his arms. He was holding his sword in his other hand. “All right,
my darling?”

“Yes,”
she said. “I think so.”

He
pulled the door shut and used both arms, holding his sword behind her. Much
better! He tried to kiss her, but she was frightened that a kiss might snap the
thin thread holding her together, so she declined the kiss. But it was
wonderful to be held.