Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (38 page)

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Authors: David B. Coe

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
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The duke regarded her for several moments, saying nothing. Finally he began to nod. “You make a good point. Gershon is a fine swordmaster, but he sees the world through a warrior’s eyes.” He gave a slight frown. “Still, Keziah, that’s no reason to hate him.”
“I hate him because he has nothing but contempt for all Qirsi. It has nothing to do with his strange affection for swords and war horses.”
He continued to stare at her, shaking his head now. After a time, a smile touched his lips. “You’re a difficult woman.”
“Thank you, my lord. I try to be.”
He gave a gentle laugh.
“I’m sorry for what I said before about the duchess,” she went on. “It wasn’t fair of me.”
“It’s all right,” he said, dismissing the apology with a gesture. But his green eyes flicked away from her gaze once more. It seemed she had hurt him more than he cared to admit.
Kearney picked up a piece of parchment from his table and motioned toward one of the chairs near where Keziah stood. “Please sit,” he said. “There’s other news we need to discuss.”
She lowered herself into the chair, knowing what he would say before he opened his mouth to speak, and wondering if Grinsa had known that word would come this morning, or if it had just been coincidence. Suddenly she felt cold, though sunlight shone through the windows, warming the chamber.
“A messenger arrived this morning from Kentigern. It seems the duke’s daughter, Lady Brienne, was found murdered in the bed of Lord Tavis of Curgh. Apparently Tavis was visiting Kentigern with his father, to arrange a marriage of all things.” He paused, looking at her, waiting for some response. When she offered none, he went on. “Tavis has been imprisoned in Kentigern’s dungeon ever since. Aindreas and Javan are both threatening war, and Aindreas has gone so far as say that he will oppose Javan’s ascension to the throne when Aylyn dies.”
He paused a second time, obviously expecting her to say something.
“Who sent the message?” It was all she could think to ask. Of course the message said nothing of Tavis’s escape, but she needed to know if it cast any doubt at all on the boy’s guilt.
The duke frowned, but he looked at the parchment once more. “One of Aindreas’s ministers. I don’t recognize the name. Why?”
Keziah shrugged. “What do they want from us?”
“A pledge of support should Javan try to take the throne before the matter is settled.”
“Do they offer any proof that the boy did it?”
Kearney glanced at the message again. “There seems little doubt of that. I’ll spare you the details, but it’s enough to say that they as much as found him with the weapon in his hand.”
She felt her mouth twitch, and she looked away.
What is it you ask of me, Grinsa?
“Shouldn’t you hear from Curgh before you commit yourself to Aindreas’s cause?”
“I suppose,” he said, looking puzzled. “But under these circumstances I’m not sure what difference that would make.”
“If the boy is innocent it could make all the difference in the world.”
He tossed the message onto the table and stepped around it again so that he stood just in front of her chair. “This isn’t like you, Kez. What’s going on? Is this still about last night?”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But we can’t just assume the boy is guilty and join Aindreas in opposing Javan. The Rules of Ascension date back nearly eight centuries. This is no trifle Aindreas is asking of you.”
“I know that. But what if Tavis did kill her? Can we ignore Kentigern’s plea and give the throne to a house of murderers?”
“Of course not. This is why we need to know more about what happened.”
The duke gave a loud sigh and sat on the edge of his table. “I’ve never liked Javan. I’ve never trusted him.”
“You like Aindreas that much more?”
A smile alighted on his face for an instant and was gone. “No. But my father and Aindreas’s father were good friends. I suppose I feel that has to count for something.”
“Something perhaps. But that’s not much on which to base a decision of this magnitude.”
Kearney nodded. “You’re probably right.” He looked at her again. “So you think I should do nothing for now.”
Yes,
she wanted to say.
Stay out of it. Let the fools tear each other apart.
But she had promised Grinsa.
“I’m not certain that you can,” she answered, the words almost sticking in her throat. “It sounds as though Javan and Aindreas are on the verge of war. You may have to go to Kentigern, not as Aindreas’s ally, but as a peacemaker.”
His eyes widened. “Go to Kentigern?” he repeated. “Even Aindreas’s minister didn’t suggest that.”
“Still, I think you should consider it.”
“What would you have me do, Kez? Just ride to the tor unasked with a thousand soldiers at my back? They may be threatening war, but they’re not at war yet. By leading my men to Kentigern, I might give them just the excuse they need.”
“Or you might give them pause. If you wait until they’re already at war, it may be too late. The entire kingdom could be drawn into their conflict, at a cost we can scarcely imagine. This may be the only chance you have to prevent civil war.” She stopped, surprised by her own passion. Perhaps Grinsa’s plea for help had affected her more than she realized.
Kearney stared at her for some time, offering no response. “You still surprise me sometimes, Kez. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you argue so forcefully for any action that involved Glyndwr’s army.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” she asked, still half hoping he would say no.
“I don’t know. It still seems rash to me. I know how I’d feel if one of the other dukes brought his army to Glyndwr unbidden.”
She nodded. “I understand. No doubt you should speak with Gershon about this.”
“Gershon?”
the duke said, his features registering such shock at the suggestion that Keziah almost laughed out loud. “Now I know you’re concerned about this. You actually want me to seek the swordmaster’s advice?”
“You said yourself that Gershon sees the world through a warrior’s eyes. In this case I think such a view would be useful.”
“Gershon,” Kearney said again, shaking his head. “Yes, I’ll speak with Gershon.”
“Good. I think he’ll agree with me.”
They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, Keziah gazing toward the window, though aware that he was watching her. At last she stood.
“I should go.”
He caught her arm with a gentle hand. “Why?”
“You have to speak with Gershon, remember?” She couldn’t help but smile.
Kearney stood, pulling her toward him. “He’s training my men right now. He won’t be finished until after the midday bells are rung.”
Light from the windows lit his silver hair and made his green
eyes sparkle like emeralds. He bore a small scar on his chin, white and crescent-shaped. It looked just as Panya had the night before. She traced it lightly with her finger, bringing a smile to his lips.
“Tell me how you got this.”
She had heard the story a thousand times already. He had been eight when it happened, a boy in his father’s court, and, on that particular day, mounted atop his father’s steed. The horse had been far too big for him—his feet didn’t even reach the stirrups—but when several older boys challenged him to a race he didn’t hesitate to accept. He knew how to ride well enough, but the creature was too strong for him. When he tried to stop it, the horse reared and threw him, giving him the cut on his chin. By that time, though, he had won the race.
“You don’t want to hear that story again.”
They called him the silver wolf now, for his hair and the crest of his house, a wolf howling at the full moons. She thought it an odd name for a man with hands as gentle as his, but she knew that few saw him as she did. She knew as well that he could no more ignore a challenge now than he could as a boy. It was not in his nature. They would be riding to Kentigern. Not today perhaps, or even during this moon. But soon. And even with his arms around her, and his lips caressing hers once more, Keziah could not keep from shivering.
Kentigern, Eibithar
H
e awoke to the distant echo of thunder and the sweet, cool scent of rain. A soft grey light held the room and a bird called from just outside one of the windows, clear and urgent. For what seemed the first time in a turn, Tavis felt no pain. None at all.
For the past few days he had drifted in and out of sleep, usually waking to find Grinsa standing over him, healing his wounds, or soothing the fever that burned in his brow. Once he had opened his eyes to find the prioress sitting beside his bed, her stern expression unable to mask the concern in her dark eyes. This, though, was the first time Tavis could remember waking to an empty room since the dungeon. He should have been able to enjoy such solitude, but instead he felt a sense of dread rising in his chest, as if he expected Aindreas to enter the chamber in the next moment.
“Grinsa?” he called, throwing off his blanket. He stepped to the door, his legs stiff and weak. “Mother Prioress?”
He pulled the door open, expecting to find a corridor or a second room. Instead, he found himself looking out at an open courtyard of painted stone. A small fountain gurgled in its middle, surrounded by a modest bed of flowers. On the far side he saw other buildings like the one he was in, and beyond them, the back of the shrine. A gentle wind blew rain against his face and the thin white robe he was wearing.
“Grinsa?” he called again. “Is anyone here?”
No one answered, though the wind blew harder and another
rumble of thunder rolled among the buildings of the sanctuary. Reluctantly, Tavis closed the door and returned to his bed. He was tired still, and could easily have slept more, but he felt restless.
Standing again, he started to search the room for his clothes, only to remember an instant later that they had been matted with filth and blood, and cut to little more than ribbons by Brienne’s father. No doubt they had been discarded or burned, and good riddance. But he saw no new ones to take their place. All that had been left for him was the simple white robe he was wearing, which was not at all appropriate for a duke’s son, much less one who was in line to be king. It was intolerable really. There didn’t appear to be any food either. Grinsa and the prioress had just left him alone in a room, unattended. What if Aindreas’s men had come for him?
There was a knock at the door and before he could respond, one of the clerics poked his head in.
“Did I hear you calling, my lord?” the man asked.
“You certainly did. Where is Grinsa? Where is the prioress?”
The man smiled and stepped fully into the chamber, uninvited. Tavis thought of saying something, but he wanted answers, and there seemed no sense in driving the man away.
“Your friend, Grinsa, has left the sanctuary. I don’t know where he’s gone. He said he’d be back by tomorrow morning.”
Tavis’s throat felt dry. “Left the sanctuary?”
“For a time, yes. The prioress is in the shrine, performing her midday devotions. She should be available a bit later.” He paused. “My name is Osmyn. We met two nights ago, though I doubt you remember. Can I help you with something?”
Grinsa had gone. Who knew if he would really return? Tavis truly was alone. “I need clothes,” he said at last. “I have nothing but this robe.”
The man nodded. “The vestments of a novice.”
He narrowed his eyes. “A novice?”
“Yes. Grinsa and the prioress thought it best that you be dressed so. The duke’s guards have been watching the sanctuary from afar. Wearing that robe, you’re far less likely to draw their attention.”
Tavis felt a sudden sharp chill, as though he were back in the prison again. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll wear this for now.”
“Is there anything else, my lord?”
“Yes, food. I haven’t eaten in days.”
“Actually, my lord, I fed you some broth just yesterday. But I’ll be happy to bring you some cheese and bread.”
“That’s hardly what I had in mind.”
“I’m afraid it’s all we have, my lord. Unless you care to wait until the evening meal. I believe we’ll be having fowl and greens.”
His stomach felt hollow as a gourd at the harvest. Cheese and bread would have to do.
“Fine,” he said, turning away from the man. “Bring me what you have.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The cleric withdrew, closing the door gently, and leaving Tavis brooding by the window. They had him dressed like a novice, and eating even worse. He should have just left. Had he a mount, he would have. But with Aindreas’s soldiers searching the city for him and his wounds only recently healed, he would have been just as well off walking back to Kentigern’s dungeon and saving them the trouble of hunting him down. He had no choice but to wait for Grinsa. If and when the Qirsi returned, they’d leave this place together and set about restoring Tavis to his rightful place in the kingdom.
An image of his father’s face entered his mind and Tavis shook his head, as if to rid himself of it. Did Javan even know where he was? Did he think Tavis had died? For that matter, was he even alive himself?
Another knock on the door announced Osmyn’s return.
“Your food, my lord,” the man said, hurrying into the room and setting a platter of cheese and dark bread on the small table beside the bed. “I’ll bring some fresh water in a moment.”
This was too much.
“Haven’t you at least some wine?” Tavis asked, not even trying to mask his annoyance.
The man stopped and stared at him. “Of course we do, my lord. But we don’t serve it on this day or through this night. You may have wine tomorrow.”
It came to him in a rush: where he was, what this day had to be. Still, Tavis couldn’t help but ask.
“What is today?”
“The last day of the waning, my lord. Tonight is Pitch Night.”
Their eyes met for an instant; then Tavis looked away.
“I’ll be back with your water presently, my lord,” the man said in a low voice, reaching for the door again.
A moment later Tavis was alone once more, and he walked to his bed, his hunger abruptly gone. It was Elined’s Turn, he knew, and he thought for a minute, trying to remember what the legends said about Pitch Night in the goddess’s moon. Something about the plantings—it had to be that. If the seeds sown for the crop weren’t up by tonight, the crop was doomed to fail. That was it. Not that it mattered. In this place, in the sanctuary of the Deceiver, all Pitch Nights were the same. Tonight, in the shrine, Tavis would meet his dead. He would meet Brienne.
He was certain that he hadn’t killed her. He had tasted her lips and the soft skin of her neck. He had promised to guard her honor and had resolved to marry her. Murder had been the last thing on his mind that night. It had to have been someone else. That was what he had told her father and the prelate, and he had suffered greatly for it. Of course he was certain.
Except that the door had been locked, and he had awakened to find his dagger in her chest. His memories of that night remained clouded and confused. He remembered her falling asleep. He thought that he had as well, soon after. But he couldn’t be sure. Not with all the wine he had drunk. Not after what he had done to Xaver.
Tonight, though. Tonight he would see Brienne again, for good or ill. And he would know. The thought brought no comfort. just the opposite. He couldn’t keep from trembling and he feared that his legs would not bear his weight.
Before he could make his way to the bed, however, the door opened again. Osmyn again, with his water.
But when he turned toward the sound, he didn’t see the cleric, but rather Meriel in her black robe.
He started, taking a step back away from her, before remembering himself. “Mother Prioress,” he said, fighting with only some success to keep his voice steady.
She gave him an appraising look. “I heard you were awake and demanding food. I trust you’re feeling well.”
“Well enough, thank you.”
Meriel looked past him to the food on the table. “Our food isn’t to your liking?”
“It’s fine. My … I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”
“Perhaps you need more rest.”
He nodded, looking away. “Perhaps.”
“Grinsa said to tell you that he would return in the morning.”
“The cleric told me. Do you know where he’s gone?”
“No. I don’t think where mattered very much. He didn’t want to be here tonight. He doesn’t wish to face his dead.”
Tavis looked up at that, meeting the woman’s gaze. Her eyes were almost black and she wore a thin smile on her lips.
“Maybe you’d like to leave as well,” she said.
“You think I killed her.”
“I barely know you. I can’t say whether you killed her or not. I merely serve Bian. When your time comes, he will judge you.”
“No,” Tavis said, shaking his head. “There’s more to it than that. I see the way you look at me. I hear the things you say. You’ve already made up your mind about me.”
For the first time he saw her hesitate. “I believe you’re capable of such a murder. And I sense that you fear this night. That’s all.”
He shuddered. Her opinion of him mirrored his own misgivings too closely. “Shouldn’t I be afraid?” he asked, hoping she couldn’t read his thoughts. “Grinsa has fled the sanctuary, yet you find no fault with him.”
The prioress shrugged, the movement seeming odd for such a formidable woman. “I suppose I understand your fear. It’s never easy to meet one’s dead, no matter the circumstances. As for Grinsa, I’ve known him for many years, and I understand his grief. Many years ago he lost his wife, my niece, under … difficult circumstances. I believe he fears meeting her.”
Tavis wasn’t certain how to respond. “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing how awkward he sounded.
She gave a queer smile, and looked at him for some time.
“You’re a strange boy,” she said. “You can be rude, as you were to Osmyn just now. Yet you can also be kind, though it makes you uncomfortable to be so. It think it is well that you’ll never be king.”
Tavis blinked, not quite believing what he had heard. “Of course I’ll be king. After my father, I’m next in the Order of Ascension.”
She shrugged a second time, though this time there was no uncertainty in the gesture. She was humoring him.
“I must be mistaken,” she said. “Forgive me, my lord.”
He heard irony in the way she addressed him, and he opened his mouth to demand an apology. But something stopped him. It might
have been simply that she was a prioress of Bian and they were in her sanctuary. Or perhaps it was that somehow she already seemed to know him better than he knew himself. Whatever the reason, Tavis said nothing. He nodded, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Osmyn will be in with your water in a moment,” Meriel said, turning to go. “Be in the shrine at sundown. I’ll await you there.”
“Yes, Mother Prioress,” he said, sounding like a dutiful child.
She started toward the door, then stopped. It was raining harder, though the thunder had moved off and sounded like a low whisper beneath the wind. “If you’re innocent, as you say,” she told him, “you have nothing to fear from Brienne’s spirit. Seeing her may bring you grief, but she cannot harm you. If you’re innocent.”
Tavis nodded, then watched her go.
I am innocent,
he wanted to call after her.
I have nothing to fear.
But the words wouldn’t come, and she wouldn’t have believed him anyway. She could see how scared he was.
The rest of the day seemed to last an eternity. Tavis tried to sleep, but after two days of rest, he could only lie in bed staring at the rain and listening as thunderstorms drew near and receded like Amon’s tides. Eventually he ate the bread and cheese the cleric had brought him, though only because he knew he should. He wondered if he’d ever be hungry again.
When the sunset bells finally tolled in the city, Tavis nearly leaped to his feet, hurrying out of his room into the steady rain and the gathering darkness. His heart was hammering against his chest and every part of him was trembling. For just an instant, he had to fight an urge to run, to leave the sanctuary and brave Aindreas’s soldiers in the streets of Kentigern. If he was to prove Meriel wrong, however, and reclaim his place in the Order of Ascension, he had to do this first. But even more than that, he had to know for himself. He wanted to believe that someone else had killed her, but unless he faced Brienne, he would never be certain. In a way, the god was offering him a gift: a chance to find peace, one way or another. He would have been a fool to refuse it.
Tavis slowed as he reached the shrine, his apprehension growing. He had expected to find clerics standing before the doors to the temple, but there was no one. Entering the building slowly, he saw that it was empty as well, though candles lined the walls and covered the altar. He took an uncertain step toward the great portrait of Bian
on the window, the soft slap of his bare foot on the floor echoing off the ceiling.

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