The Fire Dragon (4 page)

“The gall,” Oggyn snapped. “My prince—”

Maryn pushed past him and started up, taking the stairs two at a time, too fast for Riddmar to keep up. Nevyn let Oggyn and the boy go ahead of him and paused, glancing around the crowd. He finally saw Owaen and Maddyn, standing at the rider's hearth. Getting their attention was even harder, but at last Maddyn did look his way.

“You and Owaen!” Nevyn called out. “Come with me!”

They found the prince in the council chamber, standing at the head of a long table with Oggyn to one side.

Afternoon sun spread over the polished wood and gilded the parchment maps lying upon it. In one smooth motion Maryn drew his table dagger and stabbed it into a map, right through the mark that signified Cantrae.

“That arrogant little pissproud bastard,” Maryn said, his voice still level. “I'll have his head on a pike for this.”

No one spoke. With a shrug the prince pulled his dagger free and sheathed it, then turned to them with his usual sunny smile.

“No doubt Lord Braemys planned to vex me,” Maryn said. “An angry man takes foolish risks.”

“Just so, my liege.” Oggyn bowed to him. “Most well said.”

“What gripes my soul the hardest,” Maryn went on, “was that reference to poor little Olaen. Ye gods, if I ever find the man who murdered that child, I'll hang him!”

Nevyn turned his attention to Oggyn, who was struggling to keep his face bland and composed despite its being beaded with sweat. Fortunately for Oggyn, Prince Maryn turned away and started for the door.

“I need some time alone, good councillors,” Maryn said, “to compose myself. We shall hold council later this afternoon.”

The door slammed behind him. When Riddmar started after, Nevyn caught the lad by the shoulder and kept him back. Oggyn caught his breath with a sob that drew him a curious look from the young prince.

“Ah, er well,” Oggyn said, “I never know what to say when His Highness flies into one of his tempers. I'll confess it frightens me.”

“Me too,” Riddmar said.

“He does it so rarely, is why,” Nevyn said. “Well, silver daggers, I'm sorry I took you away from your meal. Prince Riddmar? I suggest you go with your brother's captains.”

“I will, my lord,” Riddmar said. “Owaen's teaching me swordcraft, anyway. We could have a lesson.”

“Good idea,” Owaen said. “Maddo, come on.”

The silver daggers left, taking the boy with them. Once the door had shut behind them, Oggyn crumpled into a
chair and covered his white face with both hands. “If we had let little Olaen live,” he said into his palms, “the wars would never have ended.”

“I know that as well as you do,” Nevyn said.

With a groan Oggyn lowered his hands and stared at the floor. Nevyn itched to point out that Oggyn should have talked the prince round to a legal execution rather than poisoning the lad, but he held his tongue. He had chosen to keep silence at the time. Breaking it now would be unbearably self-righteous.

“We'd best get back to the great hall,” Nevyn said. “We both have our duties to attend to.”

In her sunny chamber, Lilli was sitting at her table and studying the dweomer book when the prince strode in. He slammed the door, then stood leaning against it with his hands behind his back. He'd set his mouth tight, and his eyes had turned as cold as storm clouds. Lilli shut the book and rose to curtsy to him.

“What troubles your heart, my prince?”

“Your cursed cousin, Braemys.” Maryn paused, looking her over with cold eyes. “Your betrothed.”

“He's no longer my betrothed.”

“He was once. What I wonder is if he ever claimed his rights.”

“Never! I never bedded him.”

“Unlike—” Maryn broke the saying off.

His eyes had turned cold as steel in winter. Involuntarily Lilli took a step back. He neither moved nor spoke, merely studied her face as if he would flay it to see the soul beneath.

“Were you happy when they betrothed you?” Maryn said at last.

“He was better than the other choice my uncles gave me, was all. Uncle Tibryn wanted to marry me off to Lord Nantyn.”

At that Maryn relaxed. “If I were a lass,” he said, “I'd marry a kitchen lad before I'd marry Nantyn.”

“And so would I have.”

“No doubt Braemys looked like a prince by comparison.” Maryn pried himself off the door and walked over to her. “But he's refusing my offer of fealty.”

“I was rather afraid he would.”

“Me too. Of course.”

Maryn hesitated, considering her, then put his hands either side of her face. “Do you love me, Lilli?”

“I do.”

“With all your heart?”

“Of course.”

Maryn bent his head and kissed her. Lilli slipped her arms around his neck and let him take another. When they were together, it seemed to her that she'd never loved anyone or anything as much as she loved her prince.

“Can you stay for a while?” she whispered. “Please?”

“I shouldn't. I meant to ask you about Braemys, is all. Ye gods, I feel half-mad at times, when I think of you.”

For a moment she nearly wept, simply because he was leaving, but he bent his head and kissed her.

“I'll return in the evening, my lady,” he whispered. “Hold me in your heart till then.”

Before Lilli could speak he turned and ran out of the room. The door slammed so hard behind him that it trembled. Despite the spring sun pouring in the window, she felt cold. It's like I'm half-mad, too, she thought. All at once she no longer wanted to be alone.

Lilli left her chamber and headed for the kitchen hut out back of the broch complex. Since she was terrified of meeting Bellyra face-to-face, she'd taken to begging her meals from the cook at odd moments of the day, but the only way out of the central broch lay through the great hall. Lilli paused on the spiral stairs, saw no sign of Bellyra, then crept down, keeping to the shadows near the wall. When she reached the last step, Degwa trotted up, so preoccupied that she nearly ran into Lilli. On the serving woman's dress gleamed a silver brooch, set with glass.

“Pardon,” Degwa said briskly.

“Granted,” Lilli said. “How fares the princess?”

Degwa looked elsewhere and flounced off without saying
a word more. Lilli choked back tears and rushed outside. She was hoping to find Nevyn in his chamber, but just as she reached the side broch she met him coming out, dressed in his best grey brigga and a clean shirt.

“What's wrong?” Nevyn said. “You look ill.”

“I feel ill,” Lilli said. “But not from my wretched lungs, my lord. It was only a woman's matter. I don't want to keep you. I can see you're off on some important business or suchlike.”

“I just came back from a visit to the temple of Bel, if you mean these fancy clothes. Now—what's so wrong?”

“It's Degwa. She just snubbed me in the great hall, but that's not the worst of it. Have you noticed the brooch she's wearing today?”

“I did at that.” Nevyn looked puzzled. “What of it?”

“It belonged to my mother.”

Nevyn pursed his lips as if he were going to whistle.

“Someone must have looted it when the siege ended,” Lilli went on. “And then given it to Decci.”

“I'll wager I know who it was,” Nevyn said. “Councillor Oggyn kept a number of your mother's things. He returned the dweomer book to me, but no doubt he kept whatever else he looted. Do you want the brooch back?”

“I don't, but do you think it might be cursed or suchlike?”

“It might, at that. It's a nasty thing to speak ill of the dead, but I fear me your mother brings out the worst in me. There are certain workings that can charge an ordinary thing as if it were a talisman. That blasted curse tablet is just such a thing, as no doubt you realize. Your mother might well have set a weaker spell on her jewelry to do harm to any who might steal it.”

“I see. But I don't dare ask Decci for it.”

“Of course not. Leave it to me, but I can't do it immediately. I'm going to attend upon the prince for a brief while. We'll be writing out the formal declaration of the summer's fighting. Tomorrow at dawn the messengers go out to announce the muster.”

“I see.” For a moment Lilli felt like vomiting out of simple
terror. “Oh ye gods, I hope this summer sees the end to it.”

“So do I.” Nevyn sighed with a toss of his head. “So do I.”

The prince had sent out the call for his vassals to muster for war so often that the meeting went swiftly. Nevyn suggested a final flourish of words, the scribe wrote out the first copy, Nevyn read it aloud, and the prince approved it. Nevyn and Maryn left the scribes at their work of copying the message several dozen times and strolled together out in the ward. The sun was hanging low in the sky and sending a tangle of shadows over the cobbles, and the warm day was turning pleasantly cool. Prince and councillor climbed up to the catwalks that circled the main wall of the inner ward and leaned onto it, looking down the long slope of the grassy hill.

“I need your advice on somewhat,” Maryn said. “I didn't want to ask publicly and embarrass the lad, but it's about young Riddmar.”

“Let me guess. He wants to ride to war with us.”

“Just that.” Maryn turned his head and grinned at him. “I like his spirit, but I don't want him dead before he's barely grown.”

“A very good point, Your Highness. We need him in Cerrmor. In fact, I suggest you tell him just that.”

“His safety's too important to the continuing peace in the kingdom? Somewhat like that?”

“Exactly. It has the virtue of being true. I remember you at about the same age. Whenever someone told you you were too young to do a thing, you wanted to do it three times as badly.”

Maryn nodded, smiling in a rueful sort of way. “My old tutor's still giving me grand advice,” he said at last. “My thanks.”

“Most welcome, I'm sure. I have to confess that I'm not looking forward to riding out, myself.”

“Doubtless not. I'll be glad of the distraction.”

“Distraction?”

Maryn leaned onto the top of the wall and looked out into nothing. Nevyn waited, considered asking again, then decided that Maryn would tell him about his troubles in his own good time.

When he left the prince, Nevyn went straight to the women's hall, which his great age allowed him to enter. He was lucky enough to find Bellyra alone, sitting on a chair at the window. She'd put her feet up on a footstool and sat spraddled with her hands resting on her swollen belly.

“You're going to have that child soon, from the look of it,” Nevyn said.

“The midwife says another turning of the moon, at least—I'd wager on two, myself. It's so big it must be another beastly son. Do sit down, Nevyn. What brings you to me?”

Nevyn perched on the wide stone of the windowsill. “Where's Degwa at the moment?” he said.

“I don't know. If you'll summon a page, I'll have him look for her.”

“No need. I wanted to talk with you about her, you see. Or rather, about that brooch Councillor Oggyn gave her.”

“You've seen that? It's quite pretty, isn't it?”

“It also belonged to Lady Merodda.”

“Who? Oh, wait—you mean the sorceress who poisoned people.” Bellyra hesitated briefly. “Lilli's mother.”

“Just so. I hate to bring Lilli up—”

“Don't apologize! I'm truly sorry I got so angry with her. It's hardly her fault. Maryn's very charming, and she's very young.” She leaned her head against the high back of the chair and seemed to be studying the ceiling beams. “Men are just like that, I suppose.”

Nevyn made a noncommittal noise.

“But about that brooch.” Bellyra looked at him again. “Does Lilli want it back?”

“Not in the least. I'm just afraid there might be a curse upon it.”

“Like that other wretched thing? The lead tablet?”

“Somewhat like that. Not as strong, surely, but even a little evil is too much. I can probably break it, the spell I
mean, if Lady Degwa will let me have it for a night or so. That is, if it truly is ensorceled.”

Nevyn had his chance to examine the brooch in but a little while, when Degwa returned to the women's hall with a basket of fresh-baked bread and a bowl of butter for the princess. She curtsied to Nevyn as well as she could with her hands full, then set her burdens down on a small table near Bellyra's chair.

“Would you like some of this bread, Lord Nevyn?” Degwa said.

“I wouldn't, but my thanks.”

Degwa drew her table dagger and began to cut a chunk off the round loaf. “Your Highness? It's quite warm and nice.”

“It smells wonderful,” Bellyra said. “Slather on the butter, please. Don't spare it.”

Degwa smiled and did as she'd been asked. Once the princess had her chunk of bread, Degwa pulled up another chair and sat down, facing Nevyn.

“Her Highness is looking quite well,” Nevyn said. “You and Elyssa are taking splendid care of her.”

“My thanks, my lord. We do try.”

“Despite my nasty habit of climbing all over the dun?” Bellyra joined in, smiling.

“Er, well, Your Highness, I wouldn't call it nasty. Worrisome, mayhap.”

Bellyra laughed and took another bite of bread.

“That's a lovely brooch,” Nevyn said to Degwa. “May I see it?”

“Certainly.” Degwa unpinned it. “It was a gift from an admirer.”

When she handed it over, Nevyn examined it: a flat riband of silver, twisted into a knot and set with two pieces of ruby-red glass. The feel of it bothered him, and while the two women chatted, he opened his dweomer sight. Although metals have no auras, of course, it exuded a faint greyish mist, particularly thick around the glass sets. When he turned it over, he saw a small mark graved at one end of the band: the
letter
A
, the first letter of the word for boar. He'd seen it used before as a clan mark for the Boars of Cantrae.

Although he disliked the idea of spoiling Degwa's pleasure in the gift, he valued her safety more. He shut down the dweomer sight.

“How very odd,” Nevyn said. “This seems to have belonged to Lilli's mother at one time.”

“What, my lord?” Degwa leaned forward. “How can you tell?”

“Her mark is on the back. It's quite small.”

Degwa took the brooch back and made a great show of looking for the mark, but like most women of her class, she'd weakened her eyes with long years of fine needlework. At length she gave it up with a shrug.