Myrren's Gift (57 page)

How could he claim to be in love with me?”

“Your majesty, when love’s arrow bites hard into the flesh, there is no escape, no preferred length of time for its delicious poison to take effect. For some, its magical potion can be instant. There is no doubt in my mind that Wyl spoke from the heart. He was prepared to die for you—and he did. But he made me promise over a blood oath that I, of no loyalty to any crown, would protect you with my blade and his sister with my connections.”

Wyl deliberately stopped himself from biting his lip or betraying any other sign of anxiety over the cleverly crafted lie. Would she take it? Would she accept him?

“I sensed he was a good man,” she said, turning to stare out of the window as she considered all that she had heard. “I believe my father trusted him, even though they were sworn enemies.”

“There can be true honor between enemies, your majesty, although I can assure you Celimus has none—he is so much less than his father was.”

“Oh? Did you know Magnus?”

“Er, no.”
Fool
! “I heard much about him and Wyl Thirsk convinced me the old King was everything his son is not.”

She smiled sadly. “My father highly respected Magnus, though he hated him—does that makes sense?” Wyl nodded. “And he held Fergys Thirsk in enormous regard. They fought many battles,” she said, a wistful note in her voice. “I should tell you that my father also approved of the marriage. The union will bring peace.”

“It no doubt will—but a peace weighted heavily in favor of Morgravia,” Wyl cautioned.

She turned away from the window and regarded him steadily now. “Go on.”

“Celimus wants to rule Briavel. Once you have agreed to this marriage, you will relinquish any hold over your own realm.”

She balked. “I would only agree to rule together.”

Valentyna watched Romen shrug. He sighed. “Yes. and he would promise you the world until you had taken your vow. Be warned, your majesty, Celimus will not keep his word to you on anything. Look through the handsome exterior. A serpent lives beneath.”

She stood, pacing distractedly. “He will be here soon. I have no doubt he comes in person to make a proposal of marriage. I have kept his advances at bay, as you suggested, but now I cannot avoid him.

There are no more excuses…unless I wish for war, which I cannot put my people through again so soon.

They crave peace.”

“I’m sure the Morgravian people feel the same,” Wyl admitted, knowing it to be true.

“What am I going to do?” she said, swinging around. For the first time Wyl saw beyond the regal facade and sensed how alone she was.

Wyl stood and approached her. He wanted to kiss her but he fought the impulse. “Valentyna, will you trust me?”

She cast her blue gaze at him. It was direct, unwavering, strong. He loved her for it. “You have pledged your sword to us…your life to us. Yes, I must trust you because I love Fynch and he does trust you…and Wyl’s strange, unfathomable dog trusts you. You are surrounded by mystery, Romen Koreldy, which troubles me. but yes. I must believe you are true.” He bent and kissed her hand, relief flooding through him. “I am true to you. Valentyna. Let me ponder the situation with Celimus. We will talk later, if that suits your majesty?” She nodded. “Perhaps you will join me for a walk at dusk? We can talk then.” He bowed, hardly wanting to leave her but knowing he must. He had been lucky this time but she would be more focused during their next meeting. He needed private time to gather his thoughts and find a solution. He was a master strategist—it was what he was born to do—and Wyl knew he would never rely more on that talent than now.

He had only a few days to foil Celimus’s plan. @Wyl was escorted to his chambers and the young maid who blushed, curtsied, and stammered a few words as she opened his door was horrified when a huge dog barged past from behind her and leapt toward the handsome guest, knocking him backward.

Although he had not anticipated Knave’s welcome, Wyl did not lose his footing completely.

“Shar’s Wrath, my lord. I’m sorry.” the maid shrieked.

Predictably. Knave now had his forelegs up on Wyl’s shoulders and had pinioned him against the wall.

“Don’t upset yourself.” Wyl said to the pale and panicked servant. “I know this dog. This is his most friendly hello.”

“Shar preserve us,” she begged, calling mightily on the god’s indulgence. “That dog of Fynch’s will be the death of us.”

“He’s fine. Please don’t worry on my account. We go back a long way. Incidentally, have you sighted Fynch today?”

“Er, yes, sir,” she said, hardly daring to move her eyes from the dog. She knew she would be blamed if their guest was in any way harmed or his clothes ruined—not that they could get much dirtier, she decided. “He was riding with her majesty earlier but I have not seen him since.”

“Thank you. I’ll be fine from here.”

“There’s warmed water in the basin, sir, and fresh linens. Her majesty requested some garments be laid out too. I hope all is to your liking. I believe young Stewyt has been assigned to you. sir. so he will run any messages for your needs.”

She curtsied.

“Thank you again.” he said, disengaging himself from Knave and stepping into the room. The dog followed, much to her disapproval. “I’ll let him out later.” The maid nodded and. mercifully for Wyl, left. He closed the door and turned to his dog, who was sitting on his haunches and staring up at him. “What are you, Knave? You’re no normal hound, that’s for sure.” The dog lapped up the affection, panting happily. His master shook his head and stood. “I’ll clean up and go in search of our young friend,” he said to his companion, who slumped noisily to the floor to wait.

Wyl left his boots outside the door, hoping when Stewyt showed up he would take the hint. In the meantime, the basin, as it turned out, was actually a large metal bath. The water was hot, scented, and inviting. Instead of a simple wash he was soon luxuriating in soapsuds and the decadence of soaking.

Tension and pain floated away with the grime gathered over many days and when he finally stepped out from his haven he felt like a new man. The notion amused him. He
was
a new man. Koreldy had certainly appealed to Valentyna—he was sure he was not reading her wrongly. But there was little of Romen left now, except his attractive shell and those fleeting sensations of his essence; the rest was all Wyl Thirsk.

That made him smile. Perhaps there was hope that he might become more than just loyal blade to Valentyna?

He pushed the thought aside and shaved, wincing at the pain it provoked in his sore rib. After trimming his moustache back to its precise line, he tackled his hair, combing out its dark tangles, glad to feel it clean again, and then bound it back tightly into a single club.

“Ah, that’s better, Knave,” he said and the dog pricked his ears at his name. Wyl snorted. He had begun to believe that Knave could hear thoughts—he needn’t have bothered speaking.

He inspected the fresh clothes that had been laid out for him and was pleased they were of a simple cut and neutral hue. Romen would have preferred them more colorful perhaps. Wyl grinned wryly to himself: when you grow up with orange hair and the plainest of faces, the last thing you want to wear is bright clothes and attract more attention. He would never shake the tendency, even though he now boasted such fine, dark looks. His boots had been polished and returned to his chamber while he bathed in the small side room and, just as he wondered where the elusive Stewyt might be, a soft knock was heard.

“Enter,” Wyl answered.

A lad stepped in. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Stewyt.”

“Thank you for the boots.”

Stewyt grinned. “Is there anything else I can help with right now?”

“I wonder if you’ve seen Fynch around the palace recently?”

“Ah. yes. sir. I have a message for you. Fynch asks if you could meet him down by the stream.” Wyl nodded as he pulled on his second boot, hair still dripping.

“Apparently Knave will be your guide,” Stewyt offered, shrugging.

“He can always find Fynch,” Wyl replied casually, deflecting any suggestion that there might be something mysterious about Knave. The fewer people who picked it up, the better.

“And her majesty has asked you to join her by the herb gardens later.”

“Dusk?”

“After the evening bell from the chapel.”

Wyl stood, stamping his feet into his boots. “Excellent. Well, Stewyt, I’m all done here. If you care to have the, er…basin removed, that would be fine.”

The lad bowed and departed. It occurred to Wyl that the boy had sharp eyes, taking in everything in surreptitious glances while they spoke. He dismissed the thought that Stewyt was deliberately spying on him but he had little doubt that Valentyna’s trusted Chancellor had ensured his best page was on the job.

Wyl presumed the lad had been taught well to absorb as much visual information as possible should he ever be required to report back. It did not bother him. He had nothing to hide other than his identity and that was already in perfect disguise. Knave was whining softly at the top of the small landing, waiting for Wyl to follow him down the narrow staircase.

“Lead the way,” Wyl said.

Wyl enjoyed the walk through beautiful woodland. This was where Valentyna liked to ride, he remembered. He could understand her desire to be here among the elms and their shady peace, especially now that duties to the realm were making such demands on her. He thought about Fynch and wondered why he’d chosen such a secluded place for their meeting. Perhaps he was frightened or he wanted to pass on some information in private. Whatever it was. he was not ready to be greeted by his friend—one of the few true ones he had, he realized—with hostility.

The small boy was standing by the stream, hurling pebbles into the rushing waters. It was the first time Wyl had noticed him do anything so childlike and carefree, and yet when Fynch turned he looked anything but.

“Fynch! It’s good to see you again.”

Hollow-eyed and obviously under some strain, Fynch did not respond. He simply stared back.

“A warmer welcome would have been nice but I’ll settle for a handshake,” Wyl said carefully, approaching slowly, unnerved now by the boy’s attitude towards him.
What is scaring him
?

He continued with slow but steady steps until he was close enough to see that the little boy was shaking.

Knave sat on his haunches by Fynch’s side.
What a strange pair
, Wyl thought,
my only allies
.

He bent down, kneeling on one leg so that he was on eye level with Fynch. Perhaps Koreldy’s height was too imposing but he doubted it. Fynch was not scared of him. The real reason for this cool welcome was in his eyes. Fynch did not trust him.

“Speak to me…please.” Wyl said.

“I have a question for you,” Fynch said, voice somber.

“Ask it.”

“Will you be truthful?”

Wyl nodded carefully. “I promise.”

“Promise on something you care about.”

“On my life, then… What is this about, Fynch?”

“No. Your life is worthless. I think. Swear it on her life.” Wyl was taken aback. This was more than simply strange behavior. Something had rattled Fynch, made him doubt their friendship. “Who do you mean by ‘she’?”

“You know who. Swear to tell the truth on Valentyna’s life.” Wyl cleared his throat; he had a good idea now of what would be asked. Intuition told him that Fynch had somehow guessed his dark secret. The boy was sharp and extremely perceptive—although how he could have pieced it all -together, Wyl had no idea. Nevertheless, the terrified expression on Fynch’s face left him in no doubt that he would have to be honest now. It was no longer time for guises or half-truths. Fynch deserved more. He spoke clearly, gently ensuring the youngster understood that he was being taken seriously. “I swear on Queen Valentyna’s life to answer your question truthfully.” Fynch stopped trembling and took a deep breath as he reached out to lay his hand on Knave’s head. “I suspect you are not Romen Koreldy, even though you look like him. I believe you are Wyl Thirsk . and I must know the truth, are you the General?”

“Why do you ask me this?” Wyl said, trying to avoid answering immediately.

“I’ve been having visions.”

Wyl digested this carefully. Myrren’s gift is perhaps reaching out further. “Oh?”

“One occurred only this morning.”

“What have you seen?”

“In one I saw you injured but hacking a man’s head off before being dragged by Knave to somewhere—he does not know where.”

Bells of alarm.
Surely not. How could Fynch know this
?

“Is it true, Romen?”

Should he tell the truth? What would that do for Fynch, especially if—Shar forbid!—Celimus were to follow in his mother’s footsteps and encourage the Zerques to find a foothold in Morgravia once more.

“Fanciful,” he declared.

“Answer me!” There was a hint of desperation in this little boy’s tone and it hurt Wyl to hear it.

“How would you ever believe me if I told you the truth?” Wyl could hear the resignation in his own voice.

Fynch frowned. “Knave will help me to understand. Tell me.” Wyl’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. He sat down and pulled his knees to his chest. “You were there, weren’t you, when Myrren was burned?”

The boy nodded gravely.

“And you were also by my side when I passed out at her death?” Fynch forced himself not to overreact to Koreldy suddenly speaking as Wyl Thirsk. His question was already answered then and Fynch felt his throat constrict with tension at the truth about to be revealed. “I had some water with me and gave it to your friend Gueryn. He was frantic.” Wyl nodded now, recalling what he could of that confusing time. “I remember very little of those moments. But I need to take you back before that event, back to where it began in the torture chamber.

Are you up to hearing this?”

Fynch sat down, his face a mask. Knave lay down by his side and the little boy’s arm instinctively reached toward the dog. Wyl saw it, was reminded once again of the prophetic words of the old widow.

He told the boy everything he could remember about Myrren’s trial and how he had interfered with proceedings.