Secrets of the Night Special Edition (43 page)

Outside the room, men and women waited singly, an expectant expression on their faces when they saw her, hoping they would soon be called to present their case.

Inside the vast room, floor to ceiling red velvet draperies flanked two majestic windows that looked out onto the expansive lawn and garden. Keriam took her place in the ornately-carved wooden throne, its seat and back done in the same red velvet. The flagstone floor, bare of rugs, was attractive in its simplicity. A statue of Talmora stood guard in the east corner; in the west corner the Avadoran flag caught the bright sunlight that highlighted its rich hues of turquoise and gold.

Two peasants stood before Keriam, both dressed in rough garb, one of them missing an arm. In a long white robe, Druid Cathbad stood next to the throne, his expression harsh and unrelenting, as if he'd already reached a verdict. A network of wrinkles stalked his face, his long gray hair falling past his shoulders and a beard that hung to his waist.

In gentle tones, Keriam spoke to the peasant to her right. "Please tell me the nature of your disagreement with the other man."

The man bowed low. Tight-lipped, he pointed a finger at the other man. "Your Highness, this man stole apples from my tree."

"Only because--"

"Let him finish," Keriam said to the one-armed man.

"He's done it more than once. Me and my wife seen him stealin' my apples."

She turned to the other man. "Is this true?"

"Your Highness, my children are starving. Ever since the wife died, things have gone from bad to worse. I used to be a carpenter, but then I lost my arm in an accident. I don't own land, so I can't grow my own crops. Yes, I know thievery is a crime, but I must feed my children."

"Not from my land!"

"Hush!" Keriam turned to the former carpenter. "Could you not learn another trade or find employment?"

"Your Highness, I've wanted to, but it's hard to leave the children for a long time, to go lookin’ for another job."

"Very well." Keriam sat back on the throne, measuring her thoughts. "Since you have no money, I can't fine you for thievery."

"But you can punish him," Druid Cathbad said at her side. "I suggest twenty lashes, madam, in a public place."

The carpenter blanched, his shoulders slumping. The farmer gloated.

"Such punishment won't put food on his table," Keriam said. "Better if he finds employment to support his family." She addressed the one-armed man. "I know a wood carver in Moytura who needs someone to help stock his shelves and tidy up his workroom. He lives on the outskirts of the city but has an empty apartment above his store, where you and your children may live. I shall speak to him, persuade him to hire you."

"No!" the farmer sputtered.

The carpenter bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness. I shall do my best to be worthy of your trust."

The druid scowled. "You would reward thievery?"

"Not reward, Druid Cathbad, just help him back on his feet. After he has earned a sufficient wage, he can repay the farmer for the apples. Three coppers sounds adequate."

Druid Cathbad clenched his fists and turned away. From past experience, Keriam knew he didn't like to be thwarted. She feared she had made an enemy for life.

Finished hearing the cases a short while later--fewer than usual--she recalled today was the day she visited the hospital in the city, to cheer the sick and injured and confer with the staff there. Best she remind someone of her mission. Leaving the throne room, she saw Fergus outside the library and motioned to him.

He headed her way, an air of distraction about him.

"Fergus, I'm leaving to visit the hospital. Just wanted you to know, should anyone ask about me while I'm away."

"Yes, of course, madam," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Fergus, are you ill?" she asked him, this man who was like a second father to her.

He stared at her, as if brought back to the moment. "No, madam, I'm fine."

What
was
the matter with the steward? She pondered, walking on down the main hall. Normally, she considered him a conscientious helper, capable of handling any problems that might arise. Her father couldn't have a better man. But lately, he'd been acting strangely. What had made him marry Aradia? She wondered as her mind drifted in a different direction. A fine man like Fergus with a woman like Aradia? She must have truly bewitched him, Keriam thought as she rushed back upstairs and along the hallway, then opened her bedchamber door.

Sick with her moontime, Maudina lay asleep in her own small room, dosed with Radegunda's red raspberry tea. Mindful of her maid's devotion, still Keriam looked forward to being free of Maudina's constant surveillance for this one day.

Slipping on a tunic and riding trousers, Keriam saw a raven light on the window ledge. "Well, hello, little bird." She smiled in surprise, for she'd never known a bird to come so close. Its glossy black feathers shone in the early morning sunlight, its beady eyes staring. Shifting from one foot to another, it gave her an inquisitive look, as if to ask a question.

She moved closer and reached a hand toward it, then stopped, afraid her movement would frighten the bird, and indeed, it hopped a few steps to the side. Keriam frowned, filled with sorrow. "Was it
your
mate Aradia killed?" The raven tilted its head, as though considering every word. "Poor little thing, I'll wager so." With a spurt of daring, she inched a little closer to the bird, but as she'd feared, it flew away. The sunlight glinted on its obsidian wings, and soon it became a black speck against a clear blue sky.

What had brought the raven to her window? Did its appearance foretell good fortune? She hoped so. After changing into her riding boots, she hurried downstairs and out the back door next to the kitchen, on her way to the stables.

Her booted feet crunching along the gravel path, she saw another raven pecking at worms on the ground, while two of its friends rested in tree branches. There surely were many ravens--No! A stray cat dashed from around the corner and caught the bird between its teeth.

"Stop that!" Keriam swatted at the cat, forcing it to release its prey and sending it scurrying back around the corner. Before she could check on the bird, it flew off, the other two joining its flight. She sighed, relieved that the bird had suffered no harm; then she hurried on to the stable.

There, she found Traigh filling the horses' feeding troughs with fresh oats. She understood Maudina's attraction to him, this tall, broad-shouldered man with light blonde hair.

He looked up and blinked. "Princess?"

"Please saddle my horse, Traigh."

He glanced around. "Madam, where is Maudina?"

"She's sick. Nothing serious," she said in reply to his worried frown. After waiting several moments, she turned toward her horse's stall, aware she was leaving for the hospital earlier than usual, thus possibly confusing Traigh. "Are you going to fetch my horse, or must I do it?"

"No, madam, I'll see to it," he said, setting the oat bucket down. "I'm just surprised . . ." His voice trailed off as he entered the gray's stall and slipped the noseband on. With a skill born of countless applications, he quickly finished saddling and bridling the horse, then led the gray from the stall. Stopping the horse by the mounting block, he offered his arm for support.

Keriam mounted the horse astride, then rode at a canter for a short distance before settling the horse into an easy gait.

Her long hair streaming behind her, she basked in the clear air, and soon the grounds of Emain Macha disappeared behind her. She rode past the fields and meadows, the gently-rolling farmland, the sweet scent of grass floating through the air. Splashes of pink and yellow dotted the hills, summer flowers blooming. She loved this time of year, when everything was fresh and green. In the far distance stretched the majestic
Orn
Mountains
along the horizon, their snowcapped peaks lost among a scattering of clouds.

Miles of undulating hills flew by, then the land flattened. The capital beckoned, its magnificent towers and spires gleaming in the bright sunlight. From here, she could see the many houses and buildings, most made of brick or gray stone. On the outskirts of the city, the houses became more splendid, and red tiled-roof dwellings, many of them with carved wooden balconies, were spaced far apart. Nearing Moytura, Keriam breathed a sigh of happiness, eager to see the sights and sounds of the city that never failed to cheer her. Loosely holding the reins, she eschewed the city stables. Her gaze absorbed the many shops, the throngs of noisy people, the other riders on the cobblestone streets. Food aromas floated all around her, vendors selling spiced apples, beef chunks on long sticks, and so many other tempting treats.

The streets became more crowded as she approached the city square and rode past the statue of Talmora, a stone edifice warded by a stately oak and rose bushes in bloom. Impatient to reach the hospital, she swung the horse from the main street and maneuvered the winding alleys, where timber and stone shops rubbed against each other. A squawking chicken flapped in front of her horse, causing him to start. Barking dogs chased after the horse as she passed the blacksmith's, a tailor's shop, and a sword smith's shop, but soon tired of the chase.

Keriam slowed the horse to a walk as the Treasury of Knowledge came in sight, and beyond that, the city hospital.

* * *

Over the midday meal in the main dining room, she discussed the hospital's needs with several physicians, druids skilled in medicine.

She dipped her fork into a casserole of spinach and barley, seasoned with basil, pepper, and pungent coriander. "Tell me something," she said, addressing Druid Kentigern, the administrator. "Do you have enough pallets at the hospital, should any calamity arise?"

Druid Kentigern reached for a slice of oat bread and stopped, his hand halfway to the bread basket, then quickly grabbed a slice. He looked puzzled, his fingers combing his long beard. "What sort of calamity, princess?"

"I'm old enough to remember the plague that killed so many people over ten years ago."

"Madam, if the black fever should strike again--may Talmora protect us!--there is little we can do. Certainly, we couldn't care for the sufferers here. The disease is too contagious."

"So we should just let the victims die?" She swallowed a bite of the casserole, fast losing enjoyment in the noontime meal.

Kentigern squirmed in his chair. "Madam, I didn't say that. Families should care for their loved ones, and many of us–including me--would be willing to tend to the sick, help them in every way we can." He cleared his throat. "But I fear there is little we can do except alleviate their misery. As you surely must know, most of them will die." He smiled with false joviality and forked a bite of the casserole. “But surely we are anticipating a problem that won't arise. What makes you think the black fever will hit our people again?"

"No real reason, doctor, unless we have a long dry spell that brings fleas." She smiled, trying to match his optimism. Why did she have the nagging feeling that a plague would strike again? "As you say, no doubt I am anticipating a problem that won't arise." She folded her hands on the table and looked at him directly. "What are you doing about a cure? Surely you are working on this."

He looked at her in surprise. "Madam, it's difficult to find a cure for this disease. The plague defies understanding."

"Well, Druid Kentigern, try to understand it, will you? And please work on a cure."

Leaving a little time for herself, she left the hospital a short while later, then rode her horse to the spacious meadow that preceded the Plain of Sorrows. She headed for the broad plain that stretched west for miles, transected by the winding
Nantosuelta
River
. An expansive land, it was uninhabited, its soil too poor for farming. Dust blew from the parched, baked grasses of the plain, getting into her eyes, layering on her clothes. Blinking her eyes, she rode on. Reaching the lowland, she dismounted at a rowan tree and tied the reins to a branch, then sank to the ground under the tree's shade. A squirrel scampered on the ground near her feet, its dark eyes sliding back and forth. She held out her hand, but the animal darted off, racing up the tree. Tiny fairies cavorted in tree branches and played in the grass, and she smiled and waved at them, cheered by their answering waves, a welcome distraction. Insects buzzed in the grass, and butterflies fluttered near her. Fascinated, she watched the butterflies' swirling and dipping, these beautiful creatures that housed human souls.

A lovely country, was Avador. Was it true that only a vast ocean extended on all sides of the continent, and no other lands existed beyond? She supposed so. Many ships from all countries on the continent had tried exploring the ocean, but ship-battering storms and sea monsters had driven them all back.

Keriam stretched her legs out, happy to have this time to herself, even if the heat was stifling. Her damp hair clinging to her forehead, she grabbed the hem of her dress to dab across her face and brow.

The dark
Gorm
Forest
loomed north of her, a land of sinister mysteries, for in the depths of the forest lurked the
torathors,
those creatures, half-human and half-monster, only whispered about among her countrymen. The threat of their horns and shaggy bodies was enough to scare children into obedience.
The torathors will get you if you don’t behave.