The Charnel Prince (47 page)

“Cazio,” Austra gasped. Then she opened her mouth to shout it, and Anne had to clap a hand over it.

“No,” Anne barely sighed. “We have to run.”

Austra closed her eyes and nodded. Anne removed her hand.

“We can’t leave them,” Austra said anxiously.

“They didn’t kill them,” Anne said. “They won’t unless they catch us, do you see? But if they do catch us, we’ll all die.”

“They’ll come up here,” Anne said. “We’re lucky they haven’t already, but they recognized Cazio and z’Acatto, so they know we must be somewhere. The only way we can help them is by staying free.”

“I suppose so,” Austra relented.

They started back down the hill, toward the ruins, creeping at first, but when they heard horses’ hooves coming up behind them, they began to run.

WHEN ALIS BERRYE ENTERED, Muriele waved her to a seat.

“Tell me what is happening,” she said. “Tell me how I might die today.”

Berrye frowned and clutched her hands together. “Majesty,” she said, “first I’d like to discuss the matter of the attack on Lady Gramme’s manse.”

“Go on,” Muriele said, reaching for her cup of tea.

“You ordered that because of my suggestion that Prince Robert was there, and that the lady Gramme was plotting against you. I fear I have failed you.”

“Because we did not find Robert?” Muriele took a sip of the tea. “That’s hardly a surprise. That matter went very poorly, but it was not your fault. There should not have been an attack, for one thing. My orders were to surround the place so no one could sneak away. Sir Fail was then to enter with my authority and conduct a peaceful search. Instead, his men were set upon and they reacted like the warriors they are. But Robert aside, it’s fairly clear that Gramme was conspiring to win over the support of the Newland landwaerden. That in itself was worth knowing.”

Berrye continued to look troubled. “Majesty, I could have discovered that myself, without bloodshed.”

“You have the presumption to tell me that sending my men to Gramme’s was a mistake?”

“It is my duty to tell you such things, Majesty,” Berrye replied. “It is in the nature of what you have asked me to do.”

Muriele raised an eyebrow, but Berrye was right. Erren had never shied from telling her when she had been a fool. Of course, Erren had been older, and her friend of many years. Having this
girl
remonstrate with her was—annoying.

“Very well, I accept that,” she said reluctantly. “I know that it was an unpopular move, particularly in certain quarters. But I felt I had to make some show of force, make some statement that I will not sit passive and be a target.”

“Maybe so,” Berrye agreed, “but you might have picked another battle. The landwaerden are no longer disaffected with the throne—they are furious at it. Your support in the Comven is weaker than ever, and the rumor in the streets is that you have gone mad. Worst of all, the praifec has begun to speak against you.”

“Really,” Muriele said. “What does the praifec say?”

“He suggests pointedly that you have wrested power from your son.”

“He knows very well Charles isn’t capable of making decisions.”

Berrye nodded. “That is, I believe, his point. His further point being that your son should be removed from your council and placed under his.”

Muriele smiled bitterly. “Only a few days ago, he suggested that I allow troops from z’Irbina to camp in this city. Did you know that?”

“No, but I could have guessed it. The Church is in motion, Majesty. I do not know the exact nature of their agenda, but I think it certain they are ending their long reclusion from direct interference in secular affairs.”

Muriele settled her cup on the arm of her chair. “Hespero said something like that, too,” she said. “Very well—kill him for me.”

“Majesty?” Berrye’s eyes widened fractionally.

“I’m joking, Lady Berrye.”

“I . . . Oh, good.”

“Unless you think I’ve gone mad, as well.”

“I don’t think that at all, Majesty,” Berrye assured her.

“Well, good,” she said sarcastically. “You’ve told me what I did wrong—I’m open to your suggestions of what to do right.”

“It’s of the greatest importance that you win the landwaerden and merchants back to your cause, Majesty,” the girl replied. “I cannot stress that enough.”

“Believe it or not,” Muriele said, “I had entertained thoughts along those lines some weeks ago. I commissioned a piece of music to be composed for them and for the common people of the city. The performance was to be some three weeks hence, with a banquet to accompany it. I didn’t know that Lady Gramme had beaten me to it. Now I suppose there’s little point. It will only seem like an apology.”

“Which is precisely why you should go ahead with it,” Berrye said. “But you must go farther, I think, and consider what laws you might reform to pacify them. I would suggest a formal hearing where they may present their demands.”

“I’ll do so tomorrow. What else?”

“Whether you’ve thrown in with Liery or not, everyone thinks you have. You have two choices: either disprove that notion by marrying Berimund, or make it true in every sense by marrying one of the Lierish lords.”

“No,” Muriele said. “What else?”

“Free Gramme immediately,” Berrye urged. “You haven’t proved she’s done anything wrong, and if something happens to her while she is in your custody, it will only make you look worse.”

“I was rather hoping something
would
happen to her while she was in my custody,” Muriele replied.

“I hope that’s another joke, Majesty.”

“It is, Lady Berrye, but just barely. I’ll have her freed within the hour. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. Make some appearances outside this hall. And get some sleep—you’re getting circles beneath your eyes.”

Muriele chuckled. “Erren used to comb my hair. Are you going to start that, too?”

“If you wish, Majesty,” Berrye said cautiously.

“No, thank you. I think I would find it a trifle too familiar, having my husband’s mistress running a comb through my hair.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Did you comb his hair?”

“I— Now and then,” Berrye confessed.

“Did that strange snuffling noise he made in his sleep annoy you?”

“I found it endearing, Majesty.”

“Well. Thank you, Lady Berrye. We’ll speak again when you have more to report.”

Berrye got up to leave.

“One moment, Lady Berrye,” Muriele murmured, reaching a reluctant decision.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“The assassin who invaded my chambers took something. A key.”

“A key to what, Majesty?”

“I’m about to show you.”

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Berrye paused at the edge of the light.

“Come along,” Muriele said.

“But majesty, there are no more torches. Perhaps we should return for a lantern.”

“One shall be provided,” Muriele said. But she turned to the younger woman. “It’s good to know you don’t know all my secrets.”

“I know nothing of this place, except that once—not long before he died—His Majesty went someplace in the dungeons, and when he returned he was pale, and would not speak of it.”

“I did not know this place existed until after William died. I found a key in his room, and the questions it brought up led me here. But no one would admit to knowing what was down here.”

She stepped into the darkness, and Berrye followed. Muriele felt for the wooden door she knew was there and found its handle.

“There is no music,” she whispered.

“Should there be?” Berrye asked.

“The Keeper sometimes amuses himself by playing the theorbo,” Muriele said.

“Keeper?”

Instead of answering the implicit question, Muriele rapped on the door. When no immediate answer came, she rapped again, harder.

“Perhaps he is asleep,” Berrye said.

“I do not think so,” Muriele replied. “Come, let us take one of the torches—”

She was interrupted by the nearly soundless opening of the door.

The Keeper’s face appeared ruddy in the faint light from up the hall. It was an ancient, beautiful face, not obviously male or female. His filmed, blind eyes seemed to search for them.

“It is the queen,” Muriele said. “I need to speak to you.”

The Keeper didn’t answer, but searched toward her with a shaking hand, and Muriele understood that something was terribly wrong.

“Keeper,” she said. “Answer me.”

His only response was to open his mouth, as if to scream.

She saw than that he had no tongue.

“Saints,” she gasped, backing away, and then with an astounding violence, she retched and stumbled against the wall. She felt as if there were maggots writhing in her belly.

Berrye was suddenly there, supporting her with surprising strength.

“I’ll be fine—” Muriele began, and vomited again, and again.

When at last the sickness passed, she straightened herself on wobbly legs.

“I take it he used to have the power of speech,” Berrye said.

“Yes,” Muriele answered weakly.

The Keeper was still standing there, impassive. Berrye circled him, peering closely.

“I think his eardrums have been punched out,” she said. “He cannot hear us, either.”

Shaking, Muriele approached the aged Sefry. “Who did this,” she whispered. “Who did this?”

“Whoever took your key, I presume,” Berrye said.

Muriele felt strange tears on her face. She did not know the Keeper—she had met him only once, and then she had threatened him with the loss of his hearing. She had not meant it, of course, but she had been distraught.

“His whole life is spent here,” Muriele said, “in the darkness, without sight. Serving. But he had his music and conversation when someone came. Now what does he have?”

“His ears may heal,” Berrye said. “It has been known to happen.”

“I will send my physician down.” She reached toward the groping hand and took it in her own. It gripped back with a sort of desperation, and the Keeper’s face contorted briefly. Then he dropped his fingers away, stepped back, and closed his door.

“What does he keep, my queen?” Berrye asked.

Muriele strode back up the hallway and wrested a torch from the socket. Then, with Berrye following, they descended a stair carved in living rock.

“There are bones in the rock,” Berrye observed as they padded down the damp steps.

“Yes,” Muriele replied. “The Keeper told me they are older than the stone itself.”

Beyond the foot of the stair stood an iron door scrived with strange characters. The air smelled like burning pitch and cinnamon, and the echo of their voices seemed to stir other, fainter utterances.

“Over two thousand years ago,” Muriele began, “a fortress stood where Eslen now stands, the last fortress of the Skasloi lords who kept our ancestors as slaves. Here Virgenya Dare and her army pulled down the walls and slew the final members of that demon race. They slew all but one—him they kept crippled but alive.”

She approached the door and placed the tips of her fingers against it.

“This door requires two keys—the one that was taken from my room, and the Keeper’s. Beyond that door is another, through which no light may be brought. And there he is.”

“The last of the Skasloi,” Berrye said softly. “Still alive after all this time. I could never have imagined.”

“The Skasloi did not die natural deaths,” Muriele said. “They did not age as we do.”

“But why? Why keep such a thing alive?”

“Because it has knowledge,” Muriele said, “and sight beyond that of mortal men. For two thousand years, the kings of Crotheny have wrested advice from him.”

“Even the sisters of the coven don’t know about this,” Berrye said. “Surely the Church must not, or they would have had him killed.” Her eyebrows lifted a little. “You have spoken to it?”

Muriele nodded. “After William and my children were slain. I asked him how I could revenge myself on the murderers.”

“And he told you.”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

Muriele smiled bitterly. “I don’t know. I cursed whoever was behind the murders, but I do not know who he was. Therefore I do not know whether my curse succeeded. But I felt as if it worked. I felt something move, like a tumbler in a lock.”

“Curses are dangerous,” Berrye cautioned. “They send out ripples like a stone striking water. You can never know what your intent will result in.”

“
Queeeeeen
,” a voice scratched in Muriele’s head.

“He’s speaking to me,” Muriele murmured. “Can you hear him?”

“I don’t hear anything, Majesty,” Berrye said.