Myrren's Gift (28 page)

Wyl could not speak any further as he labored up the narrow stone staircase that led him to that favorite open walkway where the familiar scent of winterblossom drifted up from the garden below. It reminded him once again of his first meeting with King Magnus. He fought the memory away and waited while the same courtier who had sneered at him not so long ago did the same again, this time eyeing his load with disgust.

“Follow me,” the man said coolly.

And Wyl did. taking a deep breath and bracing himself for Celimus. He wondered in one isolated moment of fear whether the King would see through his facade, see that this was not the hired killer but his hated enemy in a clever glamor. The notion passed as quickly as it arrived. He was Romen Koreldy and he would wield his disguise to brilliant effect. The nonchalant style of Romen was part of him now as he entered the chamber. Passing through the heavy-curtained arch he emerged fully into the familiar room and his silvery gray eyes met the hard, disbelieving stare of King Celimus.

“Leave us.” the King ordered his aide. “I could not believe the messenger when he told me you were here.” he said to Wyl.

No, I bet you couldn’t
, Wyl thought, watching the aide bow and leave, his face pinched at being dismissed so plainly. Wyl could not enjoy it. returning his gaze to Celimus almost immediately. When he heard the door shut behind him he eased the corpse from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

“I bring you the body of Wyl Thirsk. sire, as ordered.”

He waited.

Celimus did not flinch, did not look down but held the stare. Wyl imagined a dozen or so scenarios were flashing through the King’s mind now as he tried to work out how his carefully laid plan had gone so terribly wrong, how it came to be that Romen stood before him and not Arkol.

“The other men you took.” It was a statement but the question was clearly there.

“Dead, sire, all of them.” Wyl reported.

At this the King’s eyebrow raised slightly. He had not expected such news.

“Including their treacherous leader. Arkol.” Wyl reinforced, hoping the King would bite.

He did. “Ah. yes. what of him?” Celimus inquired innocently but still the penetrating gaze held Wyl firmly.

“Died screaming, your majesty, as I ran him through. It was either that or be killed myself. It was their plan, you see—or so I think I’ve worked out—that they would deliver Thirsk’s body and share the purse themselves. I cannot think of any other reason for their betrayal.” He could see the King relax just slightly after Wyl had deliberately given Celimus the room he needed to maneuver himself away from all links to Arkol’s band.

“Really?” Celimus said. “Treacherous indeed, Romen. I’m glad you were able to save yourself.”

“But not the King of Briavel, sire. Arkol murdered him.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation. “I had hoped as much.” Celimus could not keep the excitement from his voice.

Wyl ignored the admission, responding flatly. “I saw him die.” Celimus became suddenly conciliatory and Wyl could sense the way the King’s agile mind moved around his problem. In the end Celimus decided to use a half truth. “I mean it sincerely. Romen, when I admit my discomfort at not sharing that intention with you. I sensed you would not be a party to it if I did.”

“And you would be right, your majesty. I do not kill sovereigns for any amount of money. Will you be attending the state funeral?”

“I doubt they’ll hold a public ceremony, thank Shar! The Briavellian commander, if he is wise, will not want to see the people excited to war just now, would he?” Celimus said, clearly delighted. “After all, the rabble would immediately point the finger at Morgravia and start baying for blood. But the Guard is in no position to fight. Not with the Queen so young, so vulnerable. Poor child. How lonely she must be. Ripe for the plucking.”

Wyl hated his King with such fury, it took all of his control, every ounce of determination he could muster, not to strike the man standing before him—kill him barehanded, in fact, despite the guards who could be summoned with a single call.

“But you do not hold it against me, surely?” Celimus queried, sensing the sudden tension.

It was an odd question. Wyl narrowed Romen’s eyes and forced the body he inhabited to relax. “It is your decision, sire. I do not interfere in politics or affairs of state. Arkol succeeded with your task and I’m presuming you had good reason for giving the instruction. I did not kill Arkol for that action,” Wyl lied. “I dispatched him for turning on me. I imagine he may have even killed more of his own men to keep a bigger share of your money.”

“But I was paying them gold to do our bidding,” Celimus said, all innocence and offended pride. “They have betrayed us both.”

Wyl appreciated how cleverly Celimus used the word “us,” artfully depicting them as partners.

“Yes, sire, but men like these can rarely be trusted. I told you that when you hired them,” Wyl said, amazed at where that piece of information had bubbled up from.

“That you did. Hopefully I can trust you.”

“I am a man of my word. I promised you the corpse of Wyl Thirsk.”

“And you have delivered!” Celimus said magnanimously, his pleasure barely concealed. “I am indebted to you, Romen Koreldy,” he added, bending down now to roll over Wyl’s body and reassure himself how very dead it was. He lifted the head by its orange hair and then banged it down carelessly.

Wyl blinked back the fury. “What now, sire?”

“For him? A state funeral, I suppose. Morgravia will honor her proud General and its Legion will grieve deeply. I will declare a day of public mourning in his honor. We will exalt one of our favorite sons and bury him with pride and pomp alongside his father. The people will weep and their King will shed his own special tears,” Celimus said before sneering, “of joy.”

Wyl could only nod.

“Come, Romen, sit and join me in a cup and help me celebrate what is surely one of the happiest days of my life.”

Wyl had no choice but to accept the goblet of sweet wine that the King deigned to pour from a chalice with his own hand.

“Tell me everything,” Celimus said, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

And Wyl did. carefully reconstructing the story and sticking as much to the truth as he could, leaving out Fynch’s involvement.

“So Thirsk was supping alone with Valor?”

“No. I learned afterward that the daughter joined them—arrived through some sort of concealed entrance or other.”

“Ah, I assume, though, you discovered the outcome of Thirsk’s conversation with the King?” Wyl smiled inwardly. Celimus presumed Valentyna was a simpering Princess without a notion or opinion of her own. If only he knew.

“I did. sire.” he admitted, leaning back in his chair as Romen would. “He assured me he had won the King’s agreement. Then he tried to bargain with me for his life.” Celimus threw back his head and showed his perfect teeth in a full-throated laugh. “But you killed him all the same. I like you, Koreldy. You are my man.”

“Didn’t think twice about it,” Wyl answered, and joined the King in his mirth, wondering what it would feel like to slash the betrayer’s throat.

“Tell me how I can repay you for this stupendously good deed.” Wyl’s expression turned into one of Romen’s favorites, a cynical raising of an eyebrow. “Apart from the promised purse, you mean, sire?” he asked dryly.

“Of course. I am feeling generous and you are responsible for this lighthearted mood. On top of the gold, ask a boon of me and let me grant it,” Celimus offered, sweeping his hand expansively as though nothing could be too large a favor.

“There is something, majesty,” Wyl said.

“Name it!” the King said, walking around his desk to retrieve two leather sacks, one larger than the other. He returned and banged them down on the table. They had the unmistakably heavy sound of gold.

“They’re both for you. I am giving you all the money, including what was intended for Arkol and his men.”

“That wasn’t the boon, sire,” Wyl said carefully.

“I realize. Tell me,” Celimus commanded.

“The sister,” he replied.

The King looked momentarily confused and then understanding dawned. “Of Thirsk!” Wyl nodded. “I want her.”

“Shar’s Balls. What will you do with her, man?”

He said nothing but allowed one of Romen’s sardonic smiles to drift across his face.

Celimus began to laugh and then to clap slowly, his delight evident. “This is priceless. Oh; it is too much fun to know Thirsk’s executioner will now bed his much-beloved sister. It’s an even more perfect sentence than I could have imposed myself” the King admitted. “Take her. Romen. with my blessings.

And when you’ve finished with her, you’re welcome to kill her. You’ll rid me of a problem—I’ll inform the dungeoner immediately.”

“Good.” Wyl said, only barely holding on to his emotions now. He gripped the goblet and deliberately forced himself to raise it. “To secrets, sire.”

“I’ll drink to that. You’ll be my best-kept one.” And he swallowed the contents of his own goblet in one draught. “I see you are hurt.” he said.

Wyl shook his head to show it was nothing serious but took his chance to escape. “A legacy from Thirsk.

sire, but I will take my leave if you’ll grant it and have it seen to.”

“Of course. But tell me before you go of the Princess.”

This was a critical part of his plan now. In order to protect Valentyna. Wyl knew he must make her irresistible to Celimus. Much as it galled him. he must encourage the King’s amorous attentions and thus keep him from waging any strikes on Briavel.

He deliberately rearranged Romen’s permanently amused expression into one of seriousness. “She is breathtakingly beautiful, your majesty. A more exquisite woman I have never laid eyes upon nor will I.” It was all truth.

Celimus’s attention was riveted on him now. “You mean this?”

“I do, sire.”

“Describe her for me,” the King commanded, perplexed, as he remembered only the hysterical, plump child.

Wyl brought Valentyna fully into his mind and felt the thrill once again of looking upon her.

“She is tall, sire, like yourself. Her raven hair is glossy and falls long and wavy. She has intelligent eyes—blue as a summer sky—and her wit is bright and quick.” Celimus was shaking his head with disbelief Wyl continued. “She is lean, your majesty, but shapely,” he lied, remembering her almost boyishly narrow hips. “Her breasts are high. Her skin flawless, creamy in complexion.”

“Stop!” Celimus said. “This is surely not the same person?”

“Sire?”

“Oh, never mind,” he said impatiently. Celimus’s brow creased in thought.

Wyl decided to press his case.

“Sire, far be it from me to presume anything even resembling a political stance but, if uniting these realms is your intention, not only is marriage to this woman a most feasible option but she could not fail to please your eye, your majesty. More than your eye, in fact,” Wyl added conspiratorially.

Celimus caught the dry comment and exploded into laughter. “My bed would be ever warm, you mean?” he encouraged.

Wyl shrugged slightly; it was a nonchalant gesture yet clearly one of agreement.

The King banged his hand on the table. “Damn you, Romen, I’d enjoy having your company around me.

Can I persuade you to stay?”

“No, sire—though it is a generous offer. I have business elsewhere to attend to.”

“More assassinations?” the King suggested.

Wyl shook his head. “Your purse is substantial enough, sire, that I will not need to pursue such employment for a long time. No, majesty, the good life beckons. I should return home and inquire after my family. It has been too long since I have enjoyed the rich meadows and lush wines of Grenadyn.” He hoped the King would not ask him his intentions for Ylena.

Celimus had already forgotten her. “But you will stay for the funeral? In fact, I demand you do. It will look right that the man who brought General Thirsk back to his King sees him buried.” Wyl did not want to but he could see the set of Celimus’s jaw. It was obvious the King wished to enjoy his company just a little longer. He could also see the sense of it and it might help impress upon the men of the Legion that he was to be trusted. It could come in handy later.

“Of course, sire. It will be my pleasure to remain until the business of Thirsk is fully behind you.” The King nodded. “I will send for my physic to see to your injury.” Celimus pulled on a cord, which brought back the courtier. “Koreldy is to have the full generosity of Stoneheart available to him. See to whatever he needs. And call Physic Gerd to his chambers.” The man bowed as Celimus turned back to Wyl. “Until later, then.”

Wyl. putting the two sacks under one arm. took the King’s elegant hand in his. Although he hated to touch his enemy, he liked it that he was finally tall enough to look Celimus directly in the eye. He bowed but the King did not see the smile of satisfaction on Romen’s handsome face.

Chapter 16

Wyl allowed the king’s physic to see to his wound. He was impatient, twisting under the doctor’s ministrations. The injury was uncomfortable but the slash was clean and a few sutures closed it with ease.

Whatever that fellow gave him to drink to deaden the pain of his needlework was making Wyl feel like he was drifting but there was still something important he had to do. He splashed his face with water and was pleased he had been provided with a valet—albeit one still in training—to see to his needs. The youngster had carefully laid out fresh clothes. Wyl told him he would only be needing the shirt for now and that he would require a bath later. Keen to please, the valet said he would arrange for a tub to be brought up.

Feeling only vaguely refreshed, Wyl made off for Stoneheart’s dungeons; he needed no help in finding his way down there but asked the guards for directions all the same, just in case he was being watched. As he arrived he was reminded of that day years ago when as a boy he had been tricked into coming to this place of despair. It was as though that terrible scene of torture had occurred only yesterday, so vivid was his memory of Myrren’s suffering.