The Jackal of Nar (46 page)

S
abrina awoke with a start.

It was barely morning. A light rain tapped against the leaded window of the bedchamber. Beside her, Richius pitched in the throes of sleep, the heavy sheets wrapped awkwardly around his legs and chest. An incoherent babble streamed from his lips. His face was white and terrible, and the little frantic movements beneath his eyelids told her he was panicked—again.

She slid away from him, gingerly pulling off the sheets. Waking him was a mistake she didn’t want to repeat. He would come out of it soon, he always did. And perhaps when it passed he could sleep some more. Soundlessly she rolled off the bed, her naked feet recoiling at the chilly touch of the floor. The breeze outside the window stirred the air, making her shiver, and she quickly retrieved her robe from the bedpost. Even in early spring Aramoor was a cold corner of the Empire. She went to the window and glanced out at the day, noting the pall of clouds obscuring the sky. They had taken over the castle’s master bedroom, and from here she could see almost all of the Vantran property. Every inch of it was muddied.

A bad day for traveling
, she thought with a smile.
Good.

It was a considerable distance to the House of Lotts, and Sabrina hoped that Richius would postpone the trip. Then perhaps they would finally spend some time together.

A violent shout from Richius yanked her from her daydream. She turned back to him, hurrying to the bedside. A sheen of sweat drenched his forehead and chest. He was mumbling something, saying it over and over in a bizarre, trapped voice. She cocked her head to listen, to try and piece together the fractured
syntax. What was he saying? A name? Yes, she concluded quickly, a name.

At last the spell subsided and Richius was silent. Slowly his breathing fell back into a peaceful cadence. Relieved, Sabrina leaned over the bed to look at him. He was still colorless, but the perspiration seemed to be drying as she looked at him and his face was almost relaxed. She placed a kiss on his cheek, hardly forceful enough to stir a bird, and touched his damp hair. She had never really known a mother, not in any genuine sense, but she thought quickly that this is what a mother would be like, fretting over the illness of a child. Richius had been having dreams for weeks now, since returning home. It was as if some devilish fever seized him when he slept. Worse, he never talked about his dreams, but instead only offered vague apologies for waking her. Whatever these nightmares were, he considered them his alone, and his unwillingness to share them disturbed her. She was always alone in this big bed.

She went again to the window, trying vainly to locate the sun. The land was coming into flower, beautiful in the gentle touch of new morning light. Aramoor was indeed like Gorkney, and a pang she had not expected clutched at her. She missed Gorkney. She missed Dason and his odd friendship. And for some strange reason she even missed her brutish father. Today she wanted something familiar.

“Attention,” she grumbled, and as she spoke the glass misted with her breath. After almost three weeks in the castle only Jojustin had really noticed her. He had even offered to teach her to ride, a promise Richius himself had made and apparently forgotten. But she wasn’t in love with the old man. He was sweet and well intentioned, but it was Richius whose company she craved, that distant, beautiful man in her bed. Somehow, she had to crack the armor that kept him untouchable.

Again she looked at the sky. The rain was meager but steady. Bits of branches and blown sticks covered the courtyard, and muddy pockets of water collected in sunken corners. Soon there would be activity in the courtyard and castle halls. Her jaw tightened at the thought. They would all be making demands on Richius. Hardly a moment went by when someone wasn’t looking for him. And when she would corner him at the end of the
day, he would simply smile at her and say, “These are busy times.”

Too busy
, she thought miserably.
But not today.

Today she and the clouds would conspire to keep him inside. Surely his trip could wait another day, though he had spoken quite anxiously about this fellow Dinadin. Maybe Patwin could see to it. She decided she would ask him.

Carefully she inched her way across the floor, avoiding the creaking of loose boards. Richius was still asleep, restful again. She was halfway past the bed when a hard edge caught her toe, nearly tripping her.

“God!” she hissed between her teeth, stifling the cry at the last moment. She was on her knees suddenly, her head bobbing at the level of the mattress. Richius gave a little moan but did not awaken. Quickly she scanned the floor. At the bedside was a small book with a leather cover. Richius’ journal. She reached over and retrieved it. Usually she was glad when he left it in plain sight. It was the one small gesture of trust he managed, knowingly or otherwise, and she appreciated it. But as she held the journal in her trembling hands the image of flinging it out the window popped into her mind. Even this little book was getting more attention than she was lately, and for a brief, mindless moment she hated it.

And then another, more sinister idea occurred to her. Whatever was troubling her silent husband was probably somewhere in these soiled pages. All she had to do was open the book.

No
, she thought suddenly, ashamed of the idea.
I can’t. I won’t. He trusts me. He does, and I can’t ruin that.

But the journal remained in her hands. She stared at it for a long moment, contemplating its secrets. There were names in here, names like codes to decipher his cryptic dreams. She could understand if she read the journal. It would be good for them both. And then he wouldn’t have to talk about the war and all the ugly things that happened to him; she would know. She could help him.

“No,” she whispered firmly. She placed the journal back beside the bed, tucking it slightly under the frame. A feeling of disgust writhed within her. That journal held Richius’ private thoughts, and he was entitled to keep them away from everyone,
even her. She rose to her feet. The skin on her knees tingled and she brushed at them, fighting back tears that seemed to come from nowhere. Richius rolled over, turning his back to her.

Attached to the bedroom was a tiny dressing chamber she used for her own privacy. It was full of clothing and jewelry, and had an elegant mirror that one could admire one’s entire body in with a single glance. Sabrina stepped into the dark chamber. There was no light in the room but she closed the door anyway, shutting out the twinkling dawn. Blindly she moved across the room to where the mirror stood. Beside the mirror was a chest of drawers. Though there were a hundred things in the room to wear, stacked in piles or hung on racks in hidden closets, she didn’t reach for any of them. Most of the dresses weren’t hers anyway. They had belonged to Richius’ mother, and Queen Jessicane had obviously been a tall woman. All her dresses needed severe altering if they were ever to fit Sabrina. But there were a few items in the room that she liked, mostly things she had brought with herself from Gorkney, and these she kept in the chest.

She opened the top drawer and felt inside. The emerald-green dress she had worn the day she had met Richius was placed exactly where she had left it. There was something in his eyes that day, something she meant to recapture. The dress, she hoped, would make the difference. Soundlessly, she dropped her robe to the floor and stepped into the dress, fussing with the ties in the back. Even in full daylight she had a problem tying the loose gold braids that cinched the dress around her waist, but in a few minutes it was done. With equal dexterity she hunted down her shoes, slipped her feet into them, and did up their laces. At last she found her hairbrush. She ran it through her hair until she guessed she looked presentable, then slipped on her favorite bracelet and went back to the door.

She peered back into the bedroom. Richius was still asleep. He was not a sound sleeper, and it surprised her that she hadn’t been overheard. But his back remained to her, making it easy for her to leave. As she tiptoed past him she gave him one last look. He was beautiful, she thought sadly. Even when asleep.

Outside the bedroom the hallway was empty and cold. There were no other chambers here save for Jojustin’s, and he was always one to rise early. Most likely he was already downstairs,
sitting at the breakfast table with his habitual glass of hot wine. Sabrina scowled. Jenna would probably be there, too, seeing to the workings of the kitchen. It wasn’t a big house, not like the one she had left in Gorkney, but it did require many of them to arise early and see to all its needs. She would have to be canny if she wanted to avoid questions. The dress would certainly provoke them.

The steps of the stone stairway echoed as she moved down them. Already tiny candles burned in the iron sconces, lighting her way and telling her that Jojustin was indeed up and at work. She found him in the little room off the kitchen where they usually took their meals. His pipe was tucked neatly between his bearded lips. Wisps of sweet-smelling smoke rose up from it, making a little blue cloud around his head. He looked up at her as she entered the room.

“Hello, Daughter,” he said cheerfully. He rose from his chair to greet her. Sabrina put out her cheek for his kiss.

“Good morning, Uncle,” she replied. He liked to be called Uncle, she could tell. His smile always broadened when she addressed him so. Jojustin pulled out a chair for her. She sat down with a dainty crossing of her legs.

“You’re up early,” he said. “Did Richius wake you?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I was restless. Perhaps it was the rain.”

“Ah, I sleep like a baby in the rain,” said Jojustin. “I could have slept all morning if I didn’t have such a busy day planned. Where is Richius, anyway? Did he wake with you?”

“He’s upstairs, still asleep.”

Jojustin’s eyebrows went up. “Asleep? Well, somebody had better wake him then.” He sat back down and reached for the ubiquitous decanter of spiced wine. “We have a lot to do today. We’re supposed to get an early start. Wine?”

Sabrina put her hand over the mug beside her. “No, thank you. But why must I wake him? I’d rather he got some sleep.”

“He’s riding with Patwin to the Lotts’ place this morning. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Is it that far? It’s hardly past dawn.”

“It’s a fair distance, Daughter. Especially in this weather. And there are also others Richius needs to see, like Terril. He’ll be gone most of the day as it is.”

“But I’d hoped he would be staying around the castle today. It’s so foul outside. Couldn’t this trip wait? At least until tomorrow?”

“He has to get on with things, Sabrina. These plans of the emperor’s are too big to keep secret. We wouldn’t want the other families finding out about it the wrong way. They have to hear it from the king.”

Sabrina frowned.
The king.
She still found it difficult to pin that title on Richius. He was so young. It was like those war plans or that precious sword of his: too much for him to handle.

“Why can’t Patwin take the news to this Dinadin fellow himself?” asked Sabrina. “You’ve said yourself how dangerous it could be for Richius to travel far from the castle. What about these Drol assassins?”

Jojustin laughed. “That was months ago, Daughter. We would know if there were any more Triin in Aramoor, believe me. No, Richius must tell his people of this war himself. It wouldn’t do to send a messenger. Richius needs to be seen as a leader. Besides, he has personal business with Dinadin.”

“I suppose,” said Sabrina. She looked about, craning her neck to see the hall outside. It was dark and empty. From the kitchen she could hear the rattling of dishes and knew that Jenna was in there, hurriedly preparing Jojustin’s breakfast. And where Jenna was, one was likely to find Patwin.

“Is Patwin up yet, Uncle?” she asked casually.

Jojustin looked at her over his steaming mug. “He’s outside getting the horses ready. Why?”

“I’d like to speak with him,” said Sabrina. “That’s all.”

“It won’t do you any good, Daughter. Richius has his mind set to go.”

“Oh, you’re so suspicious. I just want to—”

Jenna’s sudden entrance made Sabrina pause. In her hands was a large plate piled high with bread and eggs. As usual she wore a plain dress of dull fabric, and she gaped at her queen’s emerald gown. Sabrina pretended not to notice as she reached for the decanter.

“Good morning, my lady,” said Jenna icily, putting the plate down before Jojustin. The old man seemed not to notice the animosity between them. At once he tore off a great hunk of the bread, dipped it into his wine, then stuffed it into his mouth with a sigh.

“Good morning, Jenna,” replied Sabrina.

“Will you be wanting breakfast, my lady? I could bring you a plate.”

Sabrina shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Jenna turned to go, but not before giving Sabrina’s gown another look. The coldness in her expression made Sabrina cringe. She didn’t hate Jenna anymore, not since Jojustin explained things to her, but she did hate being around the serving girl. There were always little things passed between them, jealous, sideways glances at just the wrong moment. And she hated the way Jenna called her
my lady.
Anyone with half an ear could hear the venom in the title. In this informal castle, where even Richius was called by his first name, titles were more than a show of deference. They were an insult.

“Oh, Jenna,” said Jojustin, reaching out to stop the girl. “Could you please run upstairs and give a knock on Richius’ door? He’s not awake yet and he really needs to start getting ready. Don’t worry, he knows he has to get up early.”

“Upstairs?” asked Jenna, almost blushing at the notion. She glanced at Sabrina.

“It’s all right,” said Sabrina, trying to smile.

Jenna shrugged, then went out of the kitchen toward the stairs. Sabrina sighed, placing the decanter back on the table without pouring for herself.

“I’m sorry,” said Jojustin quickly. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.”

“Don’t,” said Sabrina, waving off the apology. “It’s fine.”