The Charnel Prince (59 page)

She knew she couldn’t push him like that for long, however, so she went back to a trot and they traveled like that, alternating. The leagues between them and Teremene lengthened as their shadows did, until at last night came, with the prints of her stolen horse the only sign of Austra.

They camped on a hill overlooking the road.

“We’ll catch her tomorrow,” Artore promised. “She’s wearing her horse out, and he’ll be slower. That should put us near the Dunmrogh road, and we can take that west toward Eslen.”

“Dunmrogh,” Anne said. “We’re near Dunmrogh?”

“About five leagues, I’d say. Why?”

“Just curious. I know someone from there.”
Roderick
.
He would help—his family had troops, surely. With his aid, they could go after Cazio and succeed.

But he was more than likely in Eslen. Still, if they were going to be so close, it wouldn’t hurt to find out, would it?

But on the heels of that thought came Cazio’s suspicions. What if her enemies were
going
to Dunmrogh? What if he really was in league with them?

She put speculation from her mind.

Tomorrow she would
know
.

The hills sloped gently down into a plain Artore named
Magh y Herth
, the “Plain of Barrows.” Anne didn’t see any barrows, only leagues of yellowed grass and the occasional line of trees marking a stream. Geese streamed overhead and occasional herds of cattle cropped by the side of the road. Now and then side roads led off to small villages, made visible by their bell towers.

Around midday, a line of green appeared on the horizon, eventually resolving into a forest. The road led them beneath the huge, arching branches of ironoak, ash, everic, and hickory. The hoofbeats of their horses were muffled here by falling leaves. The forest felt old and clingy, like a decrepit man trying to hug her.

“
Prethsorucaldh
,” Artore said, gesturing at the trees. “You would call it ‘Little Worm Wood.’”

“That’s an odd name,” Anne said. “Why is it called that?”

“I’ve heard some tale about a monster of some sort that lived in the ground, but I don’t recall any details. They say it used to be a part of the King’s Forest, but during the Warlock Wars an army of fire marched on either side of the Saint Sefodh and cut it off. Since then it’s been shrinking. Now it’s the Lord of Dunmrogh’s hunting preserve.”

“An army of fire
what
?
”

“That’s what the stories say—Sverfath of the Twenty Eyes summoned an army of fire and sent it against his enemy—oh, what was her name?—Sefhind the Windwitch. Some say it was an army of flaming demons, others that it was a living river of fire. But those are stories, you know? I’ve never read the sober histories. But if it was fire, it wasn’t an ordinary one, because the trees never came back. You’ll see when we get to the other side—not a tree between here and the river.”

“Atte!” One of the boys shrieked, Anne wasn’t sure which one, and in the space after his cry she heard a peculiar noise, almost like rain though the leaves, but with a peculiar whirring to it. Jarne—who was riding ahead—clutched at his heart and jerked weirdly, then fell off his horse. Everything came into focus then, as she understood that arrows where riving the air around them.

“Go!” Artore shouted, and slapped at Tarry’s tail. The horse started forward violently. Pulse racing, Anne lay close to the stallion’s mane and gave him his head. A couple of arrows hissed by her, so close she could feel the wind, and she wondered what it would feel like when one hit her.

As it turned out, it felt like a hard sort of thump—she thought she’d hit a branch or something. But when she looked down, she saw a long feathered shaft in her thigh. Just as she was wondering why it didn’t hurt, it began to, and her head went light.

Tarry screamed, and she guessed he’d been hit, too, though she couldn’t see where.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Anne gasped. She wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Everyone, she guessed.

Tarry kept running, and after a few long moments Anne realized the arrows had stopped. She looked back and didn’t see anyone at all.

“Artore!” she shouted. Her leg was throbbing now, and she felt feverish and weak.

When she turned back around she saw a horseman, coming from the other direction.

MURIELE WOKE TO soft humming. Sleepily, she opened her eyes and looked for the source.

“Ah,” a male voice said. “Good morning to you, Queen Mother.” She went rigid when she saw that it was Robert, seated lazily in her armchair. Alis Berrye was in his lap.

“Get out of my room,” Muriele commanded.

“Well, it’s not actually your room, you know,” Robert countered. “It belongs to the Crown, and that belongs to me at the moment.”

Muriele didn’t answer, because there wasn’t anything to say. She couldn’t call for the guards, because they wouldn’t come. She looked around, searching for something—anything—to use as a weapon, but there wasn’t anything. Berrye giggled.

“Come now, dear,” Robert said to the girl. “Off we go. I’ve some things to discuss with your lady here.”

“Oh, can’t I stay?” Berrye pouted.

“This will be grown-up talk,” Robert said. “Go into your room and shut the door.”

“Well—I will. But she’s been very rude to me. I think you should punish her.” With that, she got up and vanished into her quarters. Robert stayed where he was, stroking his mustache.

“That was quite a surprise the other day,” he said. “I commend you—I didn’t think you had the resources to even know I was coming.”

“Did you kill my daughters?” Muriele demanded. “I’ve no doubt about William.”

“Well, I can’t be two places at once, can I?” Robert challenged reasonably.

“No. But you can arrange for others to do your evil work. I imagine you wanted to kill William with your own hand.”

He laughed. “You know me so well, Muriele. Yes, so I did want that satisfaction, and you know? It was harder than I thought it would be. William was—well, he was right brave there at the end. A credit to our name. Of course, if he hadn’t been such an utter buffoon, it would never have happened. Even you have to admit, my dear, that he wasn’t much of a king.”

“He was a better king than you will ever be, and a far better man, you septic dement.”

He sighed. “As to your daughters, I didn’t order that, though I knew it would happen. William killed them, really, when he legitimized them to take the throne.”

“The praifec was behind it?”

Robert wagged a finger. “Ah, no, that would be telling you more than you need to know. Anyway, the truth is so much larger than you can imagine. I don’t wish to tax your powers of comprehension. Though, again, you are more canny than I thought you were.” He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Here’s the thing. I need you to put an end to any hopes you might have of a countercoup. There really are problems facing us that require a united front. I know you’re a bit angry at me right now, but you’re a practical woman—”

“Really?” Muriele interrupted. “You think I’m a
bit
angry with you? Robert, you’ve lost what little sense you ever had. I would far sooner die than cooperate with you in the least fashion.”

“Yes, you see? That’s what I was talking about. You’re angry. That’s why I’m so disappointed Charles isn’t here—then I would have a life dearer to you than your own to hold in balance. As it is, I must appeal to reason.”

“Lesbeth,” Muriele snapped. “Why did you kill Lesbeth? She could never have been queen.”

His face pinkened. “Surely you know why,” he said.

“How can you expect me to even begin to understand someone who would kill his own sister?”

“No one loved Lesbeth more than I,” Robert asserted, starting to look truly angry. “No one. But some things can’t be forgiven; some slights can’t be taken back.”

“What slights?”

“
That
you know!” Robert shouted, bounding to his feet. “Everyone knew! It was beyond belief.”

“Pretend that I do not,” Muriele said through gritted teeth.

He looked at her as if
she
were the one who had lost her mind. “You will really feign that you don’t know?”

“I so feign,” Muriele said.

“She—she didn’t ask my permission to marry,” he growled, his voice rising steadily in volume. “She asked William, oh yes, but she did not ask
me
.” The last word reported from his lips like a cauldron exploding.

Frost seemed to settle on Muriele’s spine. “You’re quite mad, you know,” she whispered, suddenly terrified, not so much of Robert as at things that must be in his head.

Some unidentifiable emotion worked across his face, and then he vented a bitter snicker. “Who wouldn’t be?” he muttered. “But enough of that. Why do you continue to distract me with these questions? The Craftsmen are camped outside the city and refuse to see me. Why?”

“Perhaps they don’t recognize the legitimacy of your claim, my lord.”

“Well, then, they’re going to die, which is a pity, because they will doubtless take many of the landwaerden forces with them. It’s just going to make people like you less, you know, and weaken us as a nation that much more.”

“You would set pikemen against knights? That is despicable.”

“They forfeit their knighthood in opposing the Crown,” Robert said. “I’m not going to wait for them to move against me. There are already reports that they are gathering their own foot forces.”

“And of course, there is Liery,” Muriele said. “They will hardly stand still for what you’ve done.”

Robert shook his head. “I’ve made it clear to the Hansan ambassador that we will not object if their fleet sails against Liery.”

“The covenant between Crotheny and Liery is sacred,” Muriele said. “You cannot break that.”

“You broke it when you took a Lierish guard and used it against the landwaerden,” he retorted.

“That’s utter nonsense,” Muriele said.

He shrugged and stood. “In any event, if I were you, I would not look to help from Liery.”

“Nor can we look to their help when Hansa attacks us,” Muriele said. “We can’t be divided from them. Robert, this is insane.”

“You keep using words like that,” he said. “I wonder if you really know what they mean.” He waved his hands, as if to fan her words out the window. “Look, look, you can
prevent
this, Muriele. Call back the Craftsmen, bring back Charles. I remain as sovereign with you by my side, and all will be happy.”

“Are you actually suggesting that I marry my husband’s murderer?”

“For the good of the nation, yes. It is the most elegant solution possible, I’m sure you agree.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the window casement.

“Robert,” Muriele said, “I’m sorely tempted to do exactly as you suggest in order to get the chance to drive a knife through your heart while you’re sleeping, but I could never keep up the charade for that long.” She crossed her arms, too. “How does
this
sound? You relinquish the throne, send your guard away, and disband the landwaerden army. I will bring Charles and the Craftsmen back, and then we will hang you. Does that suit you as elegant enough?”

Robert quirked a smile and walked toward the bed. “Muriele, Muriele. Time has not blunted your tongue or your beauty. Your face is as lovely as ever. Of course, they say the face goes last, that age works from the toes up. I’ve a mind to discover if that is true.” He grabbed the cover and yanked it from the bed.

“Robert, do not dare,” she commanded.

“Oh, I should think I shall,” he said, reaching for her breast. She put up her hands to stop him but he clamped her wrists in fingers like steel bands and pushed her roughly back. Very deliberately he flung one leg over her and pulled the other up until he was straddling her, then lowered himself until his body crushed against hers and his face hovered two hands above. Never taking his gaze from hers, he let go one of her hands and reached with the other down between her legs and began hiking up her nightgown. He planted one knee between her thighs and began prying them apart.

He seemed to grow heavier, pinning her to the bed, and his face was now so near hers, it was distorted, the face of a stranger. She remembered Robert as an infant, as a little boy, in the court, but she couldn’t make any connection between that and what was happening to her, this
thing
with his hand in her privates. She felt her limbs go limp as he started to undo the fastenings of his breeches, and rolled her head to the side so she could not see his face. His hands moved on her like giant spiders, and he smelled like carrion, just as Berrye said. She let her gaze slip along Robert and past him and saw Berrye creeping toward Robert’s back, something held tightly in one hand. Muriele shook her head and mouthed the word
no
.

Then, lazily, feeling as if she had all the time in the world, she reached for the hilt of Robert’s knife, drew it, and stabbed it into his side. It went in easily. She’d always imagined it would be something like cutting into a pumpkin, stabbing someone, but it wasn’t like that at all.