Read The Mermaid's Madness Online
Authors: Jim C. Hines
The Mermaid's Madness (39 page)
Danielle spent the entire walk trying to plan her responses to Varisto’s accusations. He was the one who had attacked the
Phillipa
without warning. Her words on the docks might have been impetuous, but she refused to apologize for worrying about Beatrice.
Phillipa
without warning. Her words on the docks might have been impetuous, but she refused to apologize for worrying about Beatrice.
As they walked through the halls, Armand cleared his throat and whispered, “If you’re not going to eat that . . .” He reached toward Danielle.
Danielle looked down at the forgotten pastry in her hand. She took another bite, then held it protectively to her chest, out of her husband’s reach. His playful grab missed, but it was enough to make her smile. She was still licking crumbs from her hand when they reached the courtyard.
Captain Varisto was easy to spot, thanks to his red sash. He stood with Ambassador Trittibar at the fountain in the courtyard, a large circular basin resting on a square pedestal. In the center of the basin, water trickled from four figures carved from a single pillar of white stone. On one side, water dribbled from a wizard’s pipe. On another, a slender dragon breathed water from his nostrils. As Danielle approached, she could hear Trittibar explaining the fountain’s history in painful detail.
“The figure who stands atop the pedestal is Malindar himself, who forced my people into a treaty with the humans,” Trittibar said. “This was carved nearly a hundred years ago by a gnome named Rigglesnip. It was a gift to the humans, though you can tell Rigglesnip wasn’t happy about the assignment. He made Malindar’s nose too big, and concealed extra pipes within his statue. This wasn’t discovered for several years. After a heavy enough rain, that water will spray from Malindar’s nostrils as well. Now over here we have the dragon Nolobraun, who—”
“Prince Armand!” Varisto’s relief was plain as he hurried away from Trittibar.
“I apologize for the interruption.” Neither Armand’s expression nor his tone betrayed his amusement. “We can come back at another time if you wish to continue your conversation.”
“No!” Varisto stiffened and turned his attention to Danielle. “No, I have waited long enough.” His eyes took in the sword at Danielle’s side. He too was armed, carrying a spiked ax through his belt. “You captured Morveren, a feat I have failed to do. I know your dark-skinned friend smuggled her here last night. I will overlook your attack on Lirea in exchange for Morveren. This is my final offer, Highness.”
Without thinking, Danielle said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Prince Varisto.”
Varisto started to respond, then cocked his head. “What?”
“I had no brothers or sisters.” This wasn’t what she had planned. She hesitated, feeling exposed. But how much more exposed must Varisto feel, alone in the palace and surrounded by strangers? “My stepsisters were . . . not the kind of family I had hoped for. I know you cared for your brother. To lose him must have been painful, and I offer my condolences.”
This obviously wasn’t what Varisto had expected. He stared at her. “Thank you for your words, Your Highness. If you would also offer his killer, I would be indebted to you.”
“When your brother lay dying, if there was one who could have saved him, would you have sent that one away?” Danielle folded her arms. “Beatrice is more than my queen. She’s my friend and my family. Should I let her die so you can have your vengeance?”
Varisto started to speak, then shook his head. His shoulders sank, and his voice softened. “No. But after, then. When Morveren has worked her magic. You will give her to me then.”
Danielle looked at Trittibar, standing behind Varisto. Trittibar’s face was sympathetic. Ever so slightly, he shook his head no.
“I captured Morveren, as you said.” Danielle swallowed and hoped this was the right response. “I promise she will be punished for what she’s done, both to Lirea and to your brother. That’s the most I can offer you.”
Varisto’s hand moved toward his ax, and his face clouded. “You expect me to accept a woman’s idea of justice?”
“I expect you to remember you are a guest of Lorindar,” Danielle said, fighting to keep her voice steady. This was more than simply standing up to her stepsisters. She spoke for an entire nation. “Remember also that men died when you joined Lirea’s war and attacked our ship. Do their souls deserve justice as well, Prince Varisto?”
He bowed slightly. “I loved my brother, Princess. I would give my own life if I could bring him back.”
“Some of those men had brothers, too.”
“I . . . I know.” For a moment, his facade slipped and Danielle saw not a Hiladi prince but a young man struggling against his own doubts. “But I took a vow to protect Gustan’s wife.”
Across the courtyard, Danielle spotted Talia leaving the chapel. Danielle tensed, but Talia was moving with her normal purposeful stride. If something was wrong, she would be running. She turned back to Varisto. The man’s arrogance annoyed her, and she couldn’t forgive the deaths of her people, but the pain on his face was genuine. Her instincts told her he deserved the truth. Praying she wasn’t making a mistake, she said, “Varisto . . . your brother never married Lirea.”
Trittibar stepped forward. “Perhaps this isn’t the time for such matters, Princess.”
“I’ve seen his air spirits come to Lirea’s aid,” said Varisto.
Danielle shook her head. “Gustan was a prince of Hilad. Do you believe he would have risked his future to wed a mermaid? Would your people ever have accepted her as their queen?”
“I wouldn’t have believed, but I was wrong.” Varisto gripped his ax. Both Armand and Trittibar tensed, but Varisto didn’t try to draw the weapon. “I thought he was only—I misjudged him.”
Danielle watched his face, the way he stared at the earth as he spoke. This was guilt as much as grief. “You thought he was using her. You know how he treated her, don’t you?” Danielle thought back to what Lannadae had told them. “That’s why you argued with him about Lirea.”
“He liked to fight, to prove himself stronger than all others. There were times in our youth when he would beat me for some unintentional slight,” Varisto said, his gaze distant. “Lirea was a pleasant child, but she didn’t know our ways. Her words were often impertinent or disrespectful. I told him—” He stiffened, and then he was a prince once more, calm and formal. “These matters are none of your concern, Princess.”
“The air spirits don’t obey Lirea.” Danielle could see Trittibar’s apprehension. Even Armand appeared tense. Varisto was young, angry, and unpredictable. But he was also Gustan’s brother. It was wrong to keep this from him. “They obey Gustan.”
Varisto whirled to face Armand. “What is she saying?”
“Morveren created that knife to trap your brother’s soul,” Danielle said. “To bind him to Lirea. It’s through that bond that the spirits follow her will. That same knife now holds our queen as well. We entered Hilad in order to retrieve that knife and save Queen Beatrice.”
“You lie.” He drew his ax.
Danielle started to grab her own weapon, but that would only guarantee a fight. Instead, she folded her arms and said, “I trust you have more honor than to attack a defenseless opponent, Prince Varisto.”
“Think, boy,” said Trittibar, circling Varisto. “You stand alone in Whiteshore Palace.”
“He’s my brother.” Varisto’s voice shook.
Talia stepped past Danielle, her stance low as she moved inside Varisto’s reach. Danielle hadn’t even realized she was there.
Talia drove her fingers into Varisto’s wrist and the ax dropped to the ground. He grabbed for her, but Talia moved too quickly. Danielle saw her fingers jab the soft flesh beneath Varisto’s chin, and then she was spinning, one leg sweeping the prince’s legs. Varisto slammed to the ground.
“And she’s my princess,” Talia said, kicking his ax away. “I’ll thank you to leave her in one piece.”
“Talia, please.” Danielle beckoned Talia back.
“You tell me Morveren stole my brother’s soul, yet you protect her.” Varisto sat up, twisting his sash in his hands. “I know the knife you speak of. I’ve seen it many times. To think my brother’s spirit was within my reach, and I never—
“You couldn’t have known.” Danielle knelt beside Varisto. “I’m sorry for your loss, Varisto. Nothing we do can bring Gustan back. But we can free him, and I can give you the chance to say good-bye.”
CHAPTER 14
T
HE WORST PART ABOUT BEING FORCED to work with Morveren was that deep down, a part of Snow was enjoying it.
HE WORST PART ABOUT BEING FORCED to work with Morveren was that deep down, a part of Snow was enjoying it.
They sat on the floor near the front of the chapel, while Talia watched from the altar like an angry, well-armed hawk. Even with Father Isaac’s protections, Talia looked like she would cut Morveren’s throat at the slightest threatening sound. But Morveren had barely spoken, save to instruct Snow as they crafted a new soul trap.
Snow still hadn’t forgiven Talia. They hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to one another, but Talia’s cockeyed smirk said it all.
Now we’re even.
Now we’re even.
Maybe so.There would still be newts and slugs aplenty when this was over. But Snow’s anger soon gave way to fascination as she watched Morveren work.
Morveren’s skill surpassed even that of Snow’s mother, though her power was less. Morveren reminded her of a scrimshaw artist who had once carved a portrait of her mother in whalebone. His knife had moved in small, careful strokes, each one following the next with no hesitation. Morveren displayed that same care as she set one hair after another over the mouth of a golden chalice, fixing each one in place with a bead of white wax.
“What happens to them?” Snow asked.
“Who?”
“The souls you consume for their power.”
Morveren spliced another hair through the web. “I don’t know. I use them until their strength fades. Eventually they slip away. I like to believe they find their way to whatever world awaits them.” She picked up the cup and moved it toward Snow. “Be careful. Too much power will destroy the trap. I could come with you to—”
“You’re staying here.” Snow calmed herself as she took the cup. Her vision had improved slightly with sleep, but her eyes still watered if she tried to focus on fine details like the individual hairs.
Each of those hairs had been carefully trimmed from Beatrice’s locks. Morveren had used them to weave a white web, one which should allow Beatrice to pass freely while trapping Gustan. A hole at the center would allow the hilt of the knife to rest in the cup.
Snow held her breath, afraid to disturb the web as she carried the chalice toward the door. Stepping through that door was like throwing off a stifling blanket. It wasn’t that she couldn’t use magic inside the church. She had tested a spell or two, and with the help of her mirrors, Snow suspected she could overpower Father Isaac’s wards if she had to. Probably. But even her aborted efforts had left her drained, her head pounding.
The pain in her skull returned as she wove power into the web on the chalice. She could feel the hairs vibrating like lute strings.
“Your eyes are watering.” Talia stood looking down at her. Snow hadn’t heard her approach. “You need rest.”
“Are you offering to take over?” Snow ran a finger over the hairs. Physically, she could have snapped them with ease, but to the trapped souls, the bonds would be strong as steel. To Gustan, at least.
Assuming Snow hadn’t poured too much magic into the trap. Or too little. And that Beatrice was still strong enough to escape. “It’s ready. I think.”
“That’s all?” asked Talia.
“Magic doesn’t always involve smoke and lights and explosions.”
“You wouldn’t know it from some of your experiments.”
Snow stuck out her tongue and carried the cup back into the church. The cup felt heavier, and she could feel the wards pressing in on her spells, but the enchantment was already in place. Trying to ignore the pain in her head, she carried the cup toward the altar.
“Well done,” said Morveren. “You see? A delicate touch is all a true witch requires. You can—”
“Are you sure Gustan won’t be able to escape?” Snow said. “If he finds Beatrice’s body, he could try to take it for himself.”
“Even if he does find a flaw in the soul cup, he won’t be able to take your queen. If bonding soul to flesh were so simple, I would have claimed one for myself years ago. More likely, his struggles would kill her and destroy what’s left of his spirit.” Morveren sagged against the altar. “Snow, I know you don’t agree with what I’ve done, but you can’t let Lirea die. This isn’t her fault.”
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