The Still (43 page)

Dim shadows.

“They seem to be holding.”

A muttered curse. A chair flung aside. “Roddy!”

“I’m all right.” I uncurled, tried to crawl out from my haven. “I was afraid I’d be trampled. Help me up.” Shakily, I got to my feet.

Rustin gaped.

“Someone stepped on my hand.” I flexed my fingers. “I can’t feel—”

“Fostrow, help me!” Rustin.

Lord Cumber stared at me with a fixed expression. “Give him a chair.”

“Why do you make a fuss? I’m not—”

“Look at your jerkin.”

“Did I dirty it? I’m—” My words dried.

The shirt was red with blood. “I must have cut—” I slipped into the chair.

The Earl clapped his hands. “Lords and ladies, clear the hall. Be quick, and don’t think I jest. You too, Tresa.”

“Please, Grandfather, let me stay a bit.”

“No. He’s—well, all right, but you’ll have blood on your hands. Morovi, cloths and water.”

With clumsy fingers I untied my jerkin, tried to peel it from my chest. I cried out.

“Easy, my prince.”

“Is it deep?” The Earl.

“It’s oozing. I can’t tell.” Rust poured water into a cloth, dabbed ineffectually at my chest.

Bare from the waist, I shivered at his cold touch. Incongruous with my fear of death was acute embarrassment, at being tended in view of Tresa. As if to make matters worse she took the cloth from Rust’s hand, knelt beside me. “Are you faint, Rodrigo?”

“No. Yes.” I wasn’t sure. “May I drink?”

“Water.” She wore a delicate scent of attar.

“Well? Is he dying?” The Earl, with a touch of asperity.

“Would that displease you?” Imbar.

I didn’t want her so close.

“Yes; he hasn’t yet tasted the raspberry torte. Well, Tresa?”

“It scraped across the ribs. A gash, no more.”

“Hold still!” Tresa. “Grandfather, a stitch or two would help.”

“No!” My cry echoed.

“If the tear reopens ...”

“I don’t care! Don’t put a needle through me.” My voice broke. “Please!”

“Calm yourself.” Tresa, her voice soothing. “We’ll bind you tight. You’ll live.”

I sought Rustin’s hand. “I’m sorry; I saw a man sewn once, and ...” I didn’t finish, but squeezed for reassurance.

For an instant Tresa cradled my head in her bosom. Then, briskly, she tore cloths into long strips. “Whiskey, please, Grandfather.”

“Will brandy do?” He handed across a bottle.

“Grit your teeth, this will sting.” She splashed a glassful on my wound.

My eyes bulged. I squeezed Rustin’s hand so tight my muscles ached.

Tresa set about wrapping my chest.

At last the fiery sting began to ease, and I could think of other things. “Why did the candles gutter?” Surreptitiously, I wiped my eyes.

Imbar’s voice was as silk. “Yes, Rae. We’d all like to know.”

The Earl shifted his weight “The Power of Cumber. Not all of us are blessed with faculties like your Still.”

I waited, but no more was forthcoming. “When the Power comes, you blow out candles?”

Raeth seemed discomfited. “When certain moods come upon me, candles gutter. I can’t predict it, and have little control.”

“What moods, Rae?” Imbar, again.

“It’s nothing we need discuss.” The Earl’s tone was waspish. “I’m sorry, truly I am. But who did it?”

I stared at my binding. “Surely, it was an accident. Someone’s utensil, held careless in the dark.”

Rust and Fostrow exchanged glances. The soldier asked, “Who was closest, when the light was lost?”

“Someone pushed me aside,” said Tresa.

I forced myself to think. “I was sitting next to the one with the buck teeth. Beyond him ... I don’t remember.”

“But we do, Imbar. Crinan, was it not?” The Earl raised an eyebrow.

“And Crinan is late of Margenthar’s court,” said Imbar. “But any of us might wish to earn favor with Duke Margenthar.”

“Or Tantroth.” Uncle Raeth sounded gloomy. “Too many choices. Without question by torture, there’s no way to tell.”

Rust stood over me, dagger still drawn. “Apply it, then!”

“How admirable, that you’d protect our prince. But I’d lose too many dinner partners.” Raeth’s tone was dry.

I put my head in my hands. “I hurt, and I’m tired. Let’s think on this of the morrow, before I leave.” I waved away Tresa’s supporting arm. “I’m well enough to walk.” My tone was brusque. “Thank you for your attentions.”

It was a dismissal. She colored. “As you wish, my lord.”

“Is there a couch I can sleep on?” Fostrow looked about.

I reddened, not wanting him to see me bed with Rustin. “The door bolts.”

“The door can be forced. Someone wants you dead.”

“There’s no need. Tell him, Rust.”

Rustin looked at the soldier, made a helpless gesture. “Our rooms connect. I’ll be near him tonight.”

When Fostrow left, mercifully silent, Rustin unsheathed his sword.

I shuddered. “Lie close.” I waited anxiously until he slid himself into bed. “Rust, why was I such a coward over the sewing?”

“You were afraid of the hurt.”

“I lowered myself in Earl Cumber’s eyes, when I needed his esteem.” I was silent awhile. “I won’t do it again.”

“I know.”

“No, hear me. I made a vow that I’d be coward no more. I meant it, as to large things. Death, and swords, and arrows.”

“A noble aim.”

“But isn’t it as necessary to conquer small fears as large? If I can face a sword, I can face a tailor’s needle.”

He chuckled. “Shall I call Tresa to resume her work?”

“Don’t mock me. I can’t let fear turn me aside again.”

“You ask much of yourself.”

“I must, if I would be King. And, Rust ... I would.”

We lay silent a long while. At length, his hand crept to my loincloth. Stirring, I thought briefly of Tresa, of Chela. Their time would come. For now, I must have my Power.

I
N THE MORN, TRESA
knocked while rust and I were still abed. I hastily threw on a robe.

She asked, “Did you bleed in the night?”

“No.”

“What troubles me,” Rust said, “is who could have known the candles might gutter, and be prepared.”

“Oh, anyone. It’s a failing of Grandfather’s, and well known.” I waited, and she colored slightly. “I call it that, though he makes light of his Power. His, ah, moods are unpredictable.”

My tone was cross. “Why are your words so opaque? Speak plainly!”

“I—well, all right. Grandfather is a passionate man. When his passions are ... inflamed, the Power is likely to be present.”

I tasted the words. “‘Passions inflamed’? I don’t—Oh!” I felt myself blush furiously. “Lord of Nature!” With difficulty I met her eye. “You mean, he was ... but for whom?”

She made no reply.

“He was staring at me, while speaking of my father.”

“Yes.”

Desperate to change the subject, I tried to stand too fast, and gasped as something pulled at my side.

“Move slowly! Here, let me adjust the bindings.”

“Rust will do it.”

“But I’m versed—”

I snapped, “It’s not for you to help. You’re only a woman.”

Rust said swiftly, “I’ll apologize on his behalf, since he hasn’t the wit to know he’s offensive.”

“Rust!”

“You, be quiet. Accept my regrets, my lady.” He bowed. “Prince Rodrigo is valiant and at times even kind, but he was raised in a stable, free of manners.”

It brought a smile to her lips, though mine were set in a snarl. “Don’t make him angry,” she said. “His chest will throb. I take no offense, Rodrigo.”

“None was meant.” My words came grudgingly.

“May I see you this afternoon?” She stood.

“If you wish.” I was carefully indifferent.

“Perhaps, then.” A quick curtsy, and she was gone.

Rust dropped onto the bed, took my mouth in his hand, squeezed until I gawped like a fish and could say naught. His voice low but steady, he said many things, that after a time made me squirm in discomfort. Only when my eyes began to glisten did his tirade wind to a halt. He patted my cheek absently, went downstairs while I sorted myself out. In the hall, Fostrow said nothing. I hoped he hadn’t heard.

At noon Rustin appeared, with the Earl and two servants.

“May we come in?” Uncle Raeth swept past, without waiting for an answer. “How do you feel, Rodrigo?”

“Sore. But we must leave, lest they make another attempt on my life.”

“Sadly, I must agree. Oh, we can guard you, but for politics’ sake I must have you gone. In the meanwhile ...” His face brightened. “I brought a meal for the two of you.” He gestured to the footmen. “And my own, if I might join you.”

I had little choice. “As you wish, Uncle.”

“Mushroom soup to start, trout almandine, and greens. Wine and bread, of course, and a few pastries for dessert. I thought it best you dine lightly. You’ll forgive the omission of a few courses?”

In moments Uncle Raeth’s portable meal was set up and ready. He and Rust gathered round the bed, and we set to.

For a while, as we ate, the Earl made small talk. At length, his eyes fixed on mine. “So, youngsire, what would you do, as King?”

A jest formed on my lips, died stillborn. “First, restore the realm. It’s outrageous that Tantroth holds Stryx unchecked, even for a day.”

“How would you dislodge him?”

“I’d raise a force.”

“Paying them how?”

“Were Uncle Mar loyal, from the treasury.”

“And if it’s barred to you?”

“Taxes.”

Uncle frowned. “And after you’ve driven out the invader?”

“I haven’t thought that far.” He raised an eyebrow, and even Rust rolled his eyes. “Well, would you have me lie? Mother died suddenly, and since then I’ve had to flee Stryx, find Hester, ride to a forsaken patch of weeds, fight fires, and argue myself into your castle. When was I to plan my realm?” My cheeks had color, from the force of my assertion.

“See, Rustin, how he protests. Well, young Prince, I’ll give you time. Think, and tell me what you’d do, crowned and safe in Stryx.”

I sought some grandiose plan that would please him, but could find none. “I don’t know, my lord. Once, I thought the crown meant freedom to do as I wanted. Now I see it isn’t so. And besides ...” I bit it off, but was forced by his silence to continue. “I no longer trust my impulses. I’ve been wrong too often.”

He raised an eyebrow.

An unexpected urgency hurried my words. “I know this costs me your support, but I value the True, and will not speak falsely. I’ve learned that in some things I’m ignorant, and”—I swallowed a lump—“I may never have wisdom. I have too strong a temper, too little control of my tongue. Mother failed to teach me better. Perhaps she should have sent me more often to the Chamberlain.”

Silence permeated our chamber. My voice was husky. “I’ll do my best, but I admit that so far, my best hasn’t been much. At least I’ll have Rustin to help, until I irk him beyond his bearing.”

The Earl studied me without expression for a long while. Abruptly he rose. “Good day.” He hurried to the door.

I buried my face in my hands. “What have I done?”

Rust sat beside me, stroked me gently. “I don’t know, my prince. Whatever it brings, I fault you not.”

For some hours Earl Cumber made himself unavailable. Rust went to see Chela.

Having little better to do, I gave myself over to fantasies that I’d achieved the crown, and set about my rule. Where before in my dreams I forced my cousins to heel, made them pay me exaggerated gestures of respect, I thought now of what I’d do, day to day, on the throne of Caledon.

My travel had taught me that the realm was not well knit. Our roads were atrocious, especially in the back country. I’d do well to repair them. I wasn’t quite sure of the mechanism that governed their payment, and amused myself inventing new ones. Perhaps that was just as well; whatever system was in place seemed not to work.

The simplest way was to force the Lord who held the place under my liege to pay for the roads’ upkeep, but it occurred to me that some, at least, might raise objection to a new and considerable expense. How much did it cost to repair a road? I made a note to ask Rust.

In midafternoon Tresa knocked at my room.

Unbidden, she threw open my windows. “It’s stuffy in here. You’ll get a headache, or worse.”

“I had none.” My voice was some smidgeon less than cold.

“Close them; it matters not.” Her manner matched mine. “Grandfather wants me to examine your cut.”

“No!” I couldn’t let her handle me unclothed.

“As you wish, then.” That small curtsy, a gesture more of dismissal than subservience. “If there’s no other service ...” She glanced at the door.

“Oh, stay awhile if you’d like. Rustin’s gone.”

“A charming invitation, my lord Prince.” Her tone was cold. “Yet I fear I must go.”

“How direct you’ve become, my lady.”

She hesitated. “I would leave, as my lord seems blind to the need of courtesy.”

It was what Rustin told me, oft enough. I sighed. “I’ve offended you.”

“Not at—”

“I always do.” It didn’t seem sufficient. “It’s a clumsiness I have.”

“I’ve noticed.” Her words struck like a glove on the face.

For a moment fury flamed, but, manfully, I swallowed it. “I’ve had my way a great deal, you see. Until recently.” Carefully, I stood. “If I’m to be King, I’ll have to learn better.”

“I agree, my lord. If I may bid you farewell ...”

“But I apologized! Didn’t you hear?”

She paused at the door. “It was no apology, Prince Rodrigo. Merely an explanation. Good day.” And she was gone.

“Foolish, ignorant woman!” I spoke to the empty doorway.

Fostrow looked in, came to pull up a chair. “It was no apology, sire. You might like to know.”

“Keep your opinions to yourself!”

He scratched his head. “If you were my son,” he said solemnly, “I’d thrash you. I thought you’d like to know that too.” He set aside his chair, wandered to the window, looked out with hands folded behind him.

I fumed, knotting the covers in my hands. They all took advantage of me. Tresa vented her spleen; Fostrow took unwarranted liberties. His son? Bah. Were I King, I might hang him for such insolence.