Yesterday's Kings (30 page)

None did, for the mule argued the crossing with stamping hindfeet and other protests as they crossed the lake to Ky’atha Hall.

G
REAT BLOCKS OF GRANITE
stood before them, the sheer rock faces opening on a tunnel that seemed to Cullyn as unnatural, and as acceptable, as any of Coim’na Drhu’s wonders. The swan-boats floated on, propelled by powers he could not imagine, and came through the darkness into bright light.

They entered a harbor that had no right to be so large, where slopes decked with trees and squares and houses ran up to the keep that dominated the islet. The swan-boat docked, smooth as the bird it resembled, alongside the jetty. Lyandra took her horse off and motioned for Cullyn to follow.

Unsure of his footing, Fey stamped and fretted. Cullyn soothed the stallion and brought him off the curious boat.

Eben and Laurens came after, helped by Lyandra’s escort.

“So now,” she said, “we shall meet my parents, and your fates be decided.”

She said it cheerfully enough, but Cullyn felt a chill run down his spine, aware that he was a stranger in a strange land. He looked to Eben for reassurance, but the wizard busied himself with the wounded, so all Cullyn could do was mount and ride Fey up the wide avenue that led directly to the citadel’s central tower. Folk watched his passing, tall handsome folk who wore bright clothes that contrasted with the woodland colors of Lyandra’s gear. He became aware of his own shabby clothing—much travel stained by now, and in dire need of washing. He heard the clatter of Fey’s hooves and looked down at a roadway of such smooth stone as Kandar could never manufacture. It was all one surface that glinted green and black and blue, devoid of paving slabs—as if it were a carpet rolled out from the open gates of the tower toward which they rode. It was a marvel—as was all else about him. He saw plazas where fountains played, and shady gardens, houses and towers—surely far more than the islet could physically contain. It seemed as if space itself was rearranged by Durrym magic.

And then they entered the central keep.

It was encompassed with low walls, the entry beneath a vaulting arch that seemed fashioned from a single, massive piece of jade that filtered and shone back the sun’s light. Beyond lay a courtyard filled with sweet-scented trees and pools of clear blue water. Birds sang amongst the trees and fat fishes swam lazily in the pools. The yard was paved with an intricate mosaic that he felt showed some picture, might he rise high enough above the place to observe it properly. But for now he only stared in wonder at the keep before him. It was larger than Lyth Keep, and infinitely more elegant. Lyth’s hold was all gray stone and dull wood, built for defense rather than beauty. This place was a marvel. Sheer walls,
unlined by mason’s work, rose smooth as the avenue below to windows and balconies and terraced walkways. Plants hung from the outjutting terraces, trailing bright flowers down the smooth azure stone. Save Cullyn was not sure it could be stone, for it seemed like some vast candle, a thing melded and melted into place rather than built.

“It’s pretty, no?” Lyandra swung from her saddle, smiling at his amazement. “I knew you’d like it.”

He climbed down from Fey and handed the stallion’s reins to a liveried man. “Be careful,” he advised. “He doesn’t much like people.”

The man nodded, and was then hauled off his feet as Fey bucked, teeth snapping. Cullyn moved to calm the horse, but Lyandra grasped his arm and said, “No, wait.”

The man spoke softly and Fey ceased his bucking, although his ears stayed back and his teeth remained bared. The man stroked the black muzzle, still speaking softly, and Fey calmed and allowed himself to be led away.

“Do you all have this power over animals?” Cullyn asked.

Lyandra chuckled—like clean water washing over stones, Cullyn thought—and said, “Yes. I think we understand them better than you Garm. Now come inside.”

She waited until the wounded were taken off and Eben and Laurens stood beside them. Then she brought them into the keep.

There was a hall that seemed to Cullyn again for larger than the tower could hold, its floor a solid slab of pale green agate that shone bright in the sunlight coming through the wide windows, so that patterns of light glittered under his feet. Benches and tables stood around the walls, which were structured of impossibly smooth blue stone, decked with tapestries that depicted woodland
scenes that seemed to move with the animation of the creatures sewn into them. Cullyn saw a unicorn kneeling before a woman, and would have sworn the horned horse moved as the woman raised her hand. He became aware that his jaw hung open, and closed it lest Lyandra think him some bumpkin.

“Come.” She touched his arm and brought him across the hall to a door that appeared fashioned from pure silver. It was not guarded, and swung open as they approached. Lyandra hesitated, beckoning that Eben and Laurens follow.

She ducked her head and said, “My parents, I bring you visitors with a story to tell.”

Instinctively, Cullyn bent his knee.

Facing him across a floor of black marble were a man and a woman of such regal demeanor that he could do naught else. They were tall and brown-haired as chestnuts in autumn. Gray streaked the man’s temples, lending him a dignity that was supported by stance and visage. His hair was long, held off his aquiline features by a circle of silver. He wore a tunic strapped with gold and silver, and moleskin breeches that were set down the legs with fastenings of gold. The woman was an older version of Lyandra—still beautiful—her hair caught up in a net of silver filigree, her gown pale green and clinging. Cullyn thought that he had never seen such beautiful folk—save for their daughter.

“This is Cullyn.” Lyandra touched his shoulder. “He looked to save me from a unicorn.”

Her parents laughed, like tinkling water over stones.

“And this is Laurens—a companion of Cullyn’s.”

“Who’s hurt,” the woman said, and clapped her hands so that folk came hurrying to her side. “Tend him. Fetch the healers and see him healed.”

“My thanks, lady,” Laurens said.

She nodded graciously and watched as Laurens was led away.

“And this one you know.” Lyandra gestured at Eben. Then laughed as she turned to Cullyn and said: “Forgive me, I forget my manners. These are my parents—Pyris and Mallandra—rulers of Ky’atha Hall.”

“Who bid you welcome,” Pyris said. “Even you, Eben.”

Cullyn bowed. Eben stared at the fey lord. “Are you sure?”

“Why not? How often does Isydrian’s son visit me?”

They stared at one another until Mallandra said, “Husband, they’re weary and travel stained. Shall we not offer them baths, and clean clothes before we discuss what’s brought them here?”

“Of course.” Pyris acknowledged her suggestion with a lowering of his regal head.

“Let them bathe and find fresh clothes. Then dinner and conversation, eh, Eben?”

C
ULLYN WAS ESCORTED
to a chamber that seemed larger than his entire cottage, with high windows of clear glass that looked out over the keep and the lake beyond. A balcony stood outside, from which he could see the great spread of the forest. The floor was polished wood, scattered with magnificent carpets, and seats and armoires stood around the walls—which were hung with tapestries. Past this magnificence there was a sleeping chamber that contained a bed vast as some potentate’s catafalque, and beyond that another room that Cullyn did not at first understand.

It was tiled in bright colors that depicted trees and
birds and hunting hounds, and at the center was a blue-tiled tub, with steps leading down and odd spigots set at one end. It smelled of soap and scent.

“Shall you bathe, then?”

He looked at the servant in surprise. The man wore livery he supposed belonged to Ky’atha Hall, but he seemed entirely human—Garm.

Cullyn asked him, and the man answered: “I am Fredryk. I was taken captive. Now I serve Lord Pyris.”

“And would you not go back?”

“No.” The servant shook his head. “Why should I? In Kandar I tended fields that grew good grain, but then the lord would come and take all I’d worked for. If I raised a cow that calfed, the keep lord would take the calf—and then demand the mother’s milk. Here, I live well. Lord Pyris is benevolent.”

Cullyn wondered, and let the man take him to the marvelous tub. He watched as handles were turned, spilling steaming water into the bowl. The servant set soaps and unguents beside the tub, and asked if Cullyn needed further help. Cullyn shook his head and dismissed the man.

“I’ll see your clothes cleaned,” the servant said, “and bring you fresh gear.”

Cullyn waited until he was gone before he stripped off his clothing—which was, he must admit, filthy—and then descended into the tub.

The water was hot from one spigot, cold from the other: he lay there, playing with such wonders, scrubbing long days of travel dirt from his hair and body before—with some reluctance—he rose and toweled himself dry.

His familiar clothes were gone, but others were set on the bed: breeches and tunics, shirts and undergarments; such garb as only lords wore. He tugged on the
latter and was making his choice of the former when he heard the knocking on his door.

Anticipating Eben or Laurens, he swung the door open, his chosen breeches in his hand and his torso bare.

And blushed as Lyandra laughed.

“Forgive me, I’d thought you might be ready by now.”

He danced into his breeches, struggling at the same time to pull on his shirt. Lyandra pushed past him, setting him to dancing one-footed, as she strolled into the room, casual as if the sight of a half-dressed—or undressed?—man were entirely normal.

She wore a long green gown that flattered her body and made him wonder why he had thought her boyish. Her hair was caught up in a bun that exposed a slender neck decorated with a bejeweled silver necklace. Cullyn hurriedly buttoned his breeches and fastened his shirt, aware of the heat that possessed his cheeks.

Still smiling, Lyandra settled on the couch, carefully arranging her skirt.

“I should have sent word,” she said. “You must forgive me.”

“For what?” Cullyn stuttered. “I … I don’t know … I’m pleased to see you … but …”

“Are all you Garm so shy?”

“I don’t know.” He fastened his shirt, pulled on a tunic and boots.

“My parents would see us at dinner,” she said.

“Am I dressed right?” he asked, fastening a last button.

“You look splendid,” she said. And rose from the bed to take his face in her hands and plant a kiss on his lips.

He felt his face grow hotter and wondered if he should put his hands on her. Hers, after all, rested on his
shoulders, and she smiled at him as if she both challenged and invited him. He caught wafts of perfume, musky and sweet, like summer flowers and autumn’s slow decay. Her face was close enough he could smell her breath: it was clean as fresh-cut mint. He hardly knew what he did as he drew her closer and settled his lips on hers.

She kissed him back, then pushed him away.

“They wait on us.” She took his hand, leading him toward the door. “And your future must be decided.”

“Who shall decide it?”

“My parents, of course.” She took him from the chamber. “And I. After all, I found you.”

“I don’t understand.”

She laughed, drawing him down the corridor to a wide stairwell. “It’s our way. The custom of Coim’na Drhu. When you Garm cross the Mys’enh you are usually turned back. Those who are not remain.”

“As slaves and servants?”

She shook her head. “Not necessarily. Many hold powerful stations amongst the families. Many choose not to go back. And you”—she clutched his hand tighter—“are syn’qui.” She smiled again and led him down the long stairs to a hall flanked with carvings of Durrym and fantastical beasts. Cullyn followed, captured by her hand and beauty, wondering into what strange world he went.

They came to a door that seemed fashioned entirely of melted gold. A liveried servant before it threw it open to allow them access to the chamber beyond. It was intimate. Small windows let in the sun’s dying rays, candles glowed in sconces along the walls—those carved with friezes that depicted more woodland scenes: hunts and battles, strange beasts. The floor was covered with a single massive carpet that reflected in its weaving the depictions
on the walls. Pyris and Mallandra sat at the ends of a table of carved oak, Eben and Laurens settled between them, servants—or guards, Cullyn wondered—standing behind.