Blood and Memory (24 page)

“Yes, the gown you lent was most becoming.”

“My daughter’s. I also sent around my maid that evening to dress her hair. There was a cape and an item of jewelry sent to
Leyen. A messenger returned the garments and jewelry hours later with thanks.” She decided to take a risk and lead this conversation toward its end, not sure her nerves could withstand the King’s penetrating gaze much longer. “I know that Chancellor Jessom seemed especially interested in a note we found in the cape much later the following day.”

“That’s right, we are.”

“Do you have reason to suspect Leyen of something, my lord?”

“I do, Lady Helyn. I have reason to believe she may be plotting against the Crown.”

She knew contrived shock would not work now. This situation required the most delicate of navigation.

Instead she looked at him quizzically, deliberately pausing as if to consider before speaking. Finally: “No, sire,” she soothed. Here it was. Everything depended on how she carried herself in the next few moments. Either he would accept her explanation or she would find herself a guest of his majesty’s dungeon. “That young woman had nothing but good things to say of you, my lord. She expressed her wish that you would marry Queen Valentyna and admitted only to being a courier of messages between the two realms. She would not say more—in fact, she admonished me for my curiosity with a reminder that as your private agent, she was not permitted to reveal anything further.”

“She did?”

“On my word, my king.”
Shar forgive me
, she thought.

The gaze did not falter, although she sensed he did not disbelieve her.

“And you trust her?”

“I have no reason not to, sire. I found her to be direct in her manner, determined to serve you well.”

“Did she say farewell?”

“Not in person, sire. It was all in that brief note of thanks—I do wish I’d kept it just to reassure you that it held nothing more than polite courtesies. If that young woman has any grudge against you, I did not pick it up, and if you’ll permit me to say so, your highness, there are few with sharper instincts than I.”

Please believe me
, she begged inwardly as she waited for his response.

He took his time, leveling a narrowed gaze as if into her soul. She resisted the urge to squirm beneath it. Finally he blinked, graciously took her hand, and kissed it. “Thank you, Lady Helyn. You have put my mind at rest. Jessom here will see you out.”

The Chancellor materialized from behind them, smiling obsequiously in that oily manner of his. Her knees felt weak with relief. She was glad she was still seated. “I’m pleased, your highness, to have eased your mind,” she said, finding the courage to test her knees and stand. “We all look forward to the nuptials, my lord,” she added.

The King gave her a wolfish grin before permitting her leave. Lady Helyn left the palace, fighting the urge to run as she kept an unhurried pace, smiling at people she knew, even stopping once and, to the Chancellor’s annoyance, passing on a new tidbit of gossip to a person she had not seen in a while.

Only when she was alone in her carriage did she feel her heartbeat begin to slow and she permitted herself the first tentative congratulations on the fine performance she had given to her king. She realized suddenly that she was now officially a traitor to Morgravia—in lying to her sovereign, she was now no longer loyal to the Crown.

Not to this man’s Crown
, she thought,
but to Morgravia I remain loyal
. She would need to talk this over with her husband, whenever he deigned to return home. Until then, she would take Leyen’s advice and remain watchful.

Lady Helyn Bench was not a lover of traveling as her husband was. Most of the time she felt sure Eryd contrived reasons to be gone from Pearlis; not that she minded, having known from their first meeting that at heart he was a solitary figure who far preferred the open road and his own company to the crush of people and his wife’s gossipy intrigues in the capital. Eryd was wealthy, and powerful indeed. His voice was respected at court—notably with the King, both old and new—and his weight, when put behind a particular matter, was considered worth taking note of Moreover, the other nobles listened to him and took guidance from the steadfast, seemingly incorruptible Lord Bench.

He had made his riches from buying and selling exotic spices and magnificent gems from the northern islands. He could, in truth, procure virtually any merchandise from anywhere, ranging from high-quality tobacco to a magnificent horse.

Eryd was the complete opposite of his plump, stay-at-home wife, who enjoyed spending his wealth on everything from lavish parties to her prized pond fish. They were an oddly matched yet loving couple whose affection for each other had never waned. Her constant chittering might drive most men of his ilk to their grave and yet Eryd rather enjoyed Helyn’s comforting noise when he returned home. Likewise, Helyn did not mind her partner being so elusive; she was more than capable of handling the most formal of occasions without a husband’s support and she relished the time alone to pursue her own interests.

And so the Bench household, when the family was together, was one filled with love and laughter, music and reading, intrigue and storytelling. Power throbbed through the Bench family, which was as generous with its money as it was with its time for friends and acquaintances. The couple seemed to want for nothing and they were very much envied, as much for their secure relationship as for their wealth.

However, anyone passing beneath Lady Helyn’s window on that particular evening might have told a different story at the bathing pavilion the next day. Raised voices carried through the still night, thankfully unintelligibly, for the argument had occurred in Helyn’s dressing room, which was well cocooned by dozens and dozens of gowns and wraps, skirts and coats.

“This is sheer madness,” Eryd roared. “I’ve never heard of such folly.”

“Haven’t you, darling?” Helyn responded in the otherwise busy voice she reserved just for him. Realizing he was not to be put off quite so easily, she stopped searching through her clothes and looked at him, exasperated. “Don’t wave that pipe at me, Eryd. I’m not one of your workers to do your bidding.”

“No,” he said, less loudly. “But you are my wife and you will listen to me.”

“Of course I’ll listen. But I don’t have to do what you want.” She flounced out of the dressing room into her chamber.

Eryd had returned only that afternoon and was still shocked at the news of her meeting with the King and her explanation that she had lied to their sovereign solely on the advice of a stranger called Leyen. He tried a less dictatorial approach. “Helyn…my love. I beg you not to meddle in the politics of this realm.”

“Why not? You do!”

He looked at her with a pained expression. “That’s not fair, my love.”

She made a sound of disgust, cutting across whatever martyrlike statement was coming.

“But this is madness,” he repeated, feeling suddenly helpless.

“I agree. I will do no more than keep my ear to the ground for information that might assist.”

“Toward bringing down your king,” he said, aghast.

“Hush!” she cautioned, speaking more quietly now. “You of all people should grasp the import of what we’ve been told.”

“If it’s true,” he countered, frustrated by her easy acceptance of the words of a stranger.

“Yes,” Helyn answered. “If it’s true. That’s what I’m going to find out, because if it is, oh Eryd, what will become of our realm?”

He sighed and sat on the bed next to her. “Civil war.”

“That’s right. I believe Leyen is trying to prevent it.”

“Working against the Crown,” he said sadly. “It’s treachery, Helyn.”

“So is the murder of innocent, high-ranking nobles—not to mention the King of Briavel,” she hissed. “I can’t stand by with this information and not do anything.”

“And you don’t think this could be some sort of horrible mistake.”

She smiled sadly. “I hope it is.”

“How can you trust a stranger?”

She shrugged. “Years of experience with liars, my love. Call it intuition, my very own and particular talent. Leyen struck me as very direct, nothing dishonest about her. Secretive perhaps, but not dishonest. There was something very vulnerable about that woman. She knows things. Is scared by them. And I know she’s working for the King and I also know, following what just stopped short of an interrogation, that he is determined to find out what she might have told me. Now, firstly, why would she tell me anything—a complete stranger, as you say—unless it was true? Why would she risk writing something so damning—it could easily have her executed—if she didn’t know it to be true? And, even more intriguing, why would Celimus have me especially called in on the pretext of a chat when really he was fishing for information on Leyen? Make no mistake, he wanted to know what she knew, what she shared with me. His behavior virtually attests to his guilt.”

“Why indeed,” Eryd muttered, beaten by her logic. “This is dangerous, my love.”

She nodded. “I do know it.” Helyn leaned over and kissed her husband. “Thank you for listening.”

“Do you think he still believes you are involved?”

She shook her head. “No. I was at my sparkling best. But you’re right, I must tread with great care.”

“Let’s say you do find it’s all true—” He stopped. It was a question he was not ready to ask.

Helyn said nothing, all but holding her breath; wondering if her husband’s heart could stand the shock of what she was thinking.

Eryd answered his own question. “Betray Morgravia?” His voice was leaden with the fear she also felt.

She had neither an explanation nor any soft speech of comfort. She too was reeling beneath her seemingly calm exterior. But Leyen’s intense note was irresistible. She could not ignore it.

“I could never betray Morgravia, my darling,” she said, eyes misting as she stroked his stubbled, much-loved cheek. “But this new King of ours… I just don’t know. If any of what Leyen entrusted me with has an ounce of truth to it, then he is no King we would want to be loyal to.”

Eryd took his wife’s chubby hands and stared at her intently. “He may be new and young, but he is not to be trifled with. Beneath the vain, seemingly shallow veneer lurks a mind sharp enough to cut and bright enough to blind. You did well throwing him off your scent but don’t be fooled by his outward appearance…not ever.”

Elspyth arrived on the outskirts of the duchy by dusk that same evening. A middle-aged traveling monk with a donkey in tow took pity on the lone, clearly exhausted woman and suggested she ride the beast alongside him into the town of Brynt, the largest in Felrawthy. She gladly accepted his generous offer, believing the monk to be a gift from Shar. She enjoyed his thoughtful company and regretted when they crested a rise all too soon and he pointed out Brynt to the west and the sprawling pastures of the Duke’s private lands to the north.

“That’s where you’re headed, my girl,” the monk said, “although you are most welcome to travel into Brynt with me if you care to.”

She smiled wearily. “I must keep moving, Father, but I do thank you for your company and my fine steed.” Elspyth climbed off the mule and patted its coarse hair, marveling at the serenity in its large, dark eyes.
I’d give anything right now for your simple life, my friend
, she thought.

Turning, she looked into a genial pair of gray eyes sitting amid a gently frowning face. “I shouldn’t miss him for a day or so, you know,” her companion said. “Why don’t you take him? I imagine the Duke will have opportunity enough to have the little fellow returned to me. I’ll be at Brynt for several days yet.”

Elspyth felt her heart fill. Perhaps there was hope for Morgravia with people like this in it. She could hardly refuse, knowing she was in no state to walk many more steps. “I’m surely blessed to have met you, Father. Thank you for this. I’ll ensure he’s well fed, watered, and returned tomorrow.”

“Oh, no hurry, child. He certainly doesn’t hurry for anyone,” he said, face crinkling into the merriest of smiles. “Shar guide you in your travels.”

And so it was with some surprise that the noble family of Felrawthy welcomed another bedraggled and fatigued young woman. Crys was at the guardhouse briefing the man on duty regarding new security and the locking of Tenterdyn’s gates. He looked up to see the woman slip off her donkey and land unceremoniously on her backside outside the gates of Tenterdyn. It was the first time since hearing the shocking news of his brother’s untimely death that he had any reason to smile.

“A theatrical arrival,” he commented. He helped her to her feet.

“Apologies, sir,” Elspyth replied, a little fractious, “I’ve been traveling a long time.” She disengaged herself from his arms.

“So I can see,” he said, taking in her ragged appearance. “Please forgive my poor manners. I am Crys, eldest son of the Duke of Felrawthy.”

“Oh,” she said, disarmed slightly as she looked at him properly and appreciated his handsome looks and quality clothes. They were a handsome family, she realized as more people resembling her greeter emerged from the house and crossed the courtyard. No one looked especially pleased to see her. In fact, everyone looked downright miserable.

“Crys?” said the tall, regal-looking woman. “Where are your manners?”

“Yes, I was just apologizing for the loss of same, Mother. I’d introduce you if I knew who was paying us a visit.”

Elspyth blushed and smoothed her grubby garments with dusty hands. “I’m sorry. My name is Elspyth. I am a friend of…” She was momentarily confused. Wyl was the friend but Romen was the man. She chose, “…of Wyl Thirsk,” she said firmly and watched as alarm spread across the faces of the people before her. “Have I said something wrong?” she whispered to Crys.

He shook his head sadly. “No. Just more shock for an already distraught family. Elspyth, may I introduce Duchess Aleda, my mother. My father, Duke Jeryb…” Elspyth curtsied as the Duke regarded her. “And this is one of my three brothers, Daryn,” Crys said.

Elspyth smiled tentatively toward the young man.

“The other, Jorge, is with his beloved horses, I presume, and my youngest brother,” Crys added in a different tone, “we have only learned today is dead. Forgive us the lack of a more effusive welcome.”

The Duke took charge. “But perhaps you already know of this if Wyl Thirsk is your friend?”

She looked at him directly, sensed his keen pain, and softened her tone. “I do, sir. I am deeply regretful for your family. Your youngest must be Alyd.”

He nodded.

“Did you know him?” the Duchess asked, and Elspyth could see her eyes, though red from tears, were not puffy. She sensed this was a strong woman.

“I didn’t, my lady, only of him.” The Duchess nodded, her hands gripping each other until the knuckles turned white. “Er, may I ask, please, if Ylena Thirsk has made any contact with your family?”

It was Crys who answered. “We met her by chance at a town about half a day’s ride from the estate.”

“So…she’s here?” Elspyth could hardly believe her good fortune.

Aleda nodded. “Exhausted and mercifully sleeping upstairs. Please come inside. You look very travel weary, my dear—let us organize some immediate refreshment.”

Crisp orders were given, and before Elspyth knew it, she was luxuriating in a bath with scented oils. It felt like a healing—not just the opportunity to clean away the grime but also to cleanse her wrecked emotions and focus her thoughts. On the road, fatigue and hunger had sharpened her sense of rage at all that had happened to her and those she loved. Now, though, immersed in the fragranced water among the soft, comfortable surrounds of the beautiful chamber, she felt some of that anger float away. What remained was a crystallized intention to somehow track down this woman, Hildyth. But first, she was not to be deterred in her determination to return to the Razors and find Lothryn. Nothing else mattered but him, now that she knew Ylena was safe with this family. Her only path from here on would be to keep to her own oaths, but she hated that this assassin, in killing Koreldy, had murdered her friend Wyl, and thus her only ally in her efforts to rescuing Lothryn. Dealing with Hildyth, if she ever could, would give her satisfaction.

Despite the dozens of questions she could sense they wanted to ask, the Duke and his family were gracious enough to allow her this comfort time as soon as she arrived. In truth, it had been the Duchess who would not hear of any discussion until Elspyth had enjoyed the opportunity to bathe and feel like a woman again. She liked Aleda very much, even though she hardly knew her; smiled now remembering the glare the Duchess had given her men when the interrogation began as soon as Elspyth had stepped into the house.

There was a soft knock at the door. Aleda entered. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my dear?”

“Oh yes, thank you,” Elspyth said. “I’ve never felt more spoiled.”

The older woman gave a sad smile. “You’ve probably never felt more tired or tested,” she said softly, setting down a lamp to brighten the rapidly darkening chamber.

Elspyth nodded, felt the tears burning. “It hasn’t been easy.”

“I gather as much and apologize now for my husband’s gruff manner. He is suffering, you know… we all are.” Then she snapped herself from her bleak tone. “Will you be up to talking with us later?”

“Of course, my lady. It’s why I’ve traveled this far.”

“Good girl. I shall make arrangements. Perhaps you can rest now for a while. Ylena, as I mentioned, has been forced to sleep too. She’ll be up and around shortly. You’ll like her. We all do,” and Elspyth saw the Duchess grit her teeth to stop the emotion flowing over.

“How is she?”

“She’s rather amazing, to tell the truth. Very strong. Very much a Thirsk.”

Elspyth smiled. “I know what you mean. If she’s anything like her brother, then she’ll be looking for Celimus to pay.”

Aleda frowned. “You speak of Wyl as though he lives. You do know what’s happened to him, don’t you?” she offered hesitantly.

Elspyth felt trapped. She nodded, not knowing how to answer the Duchess truthfully, and changed the subject quickly. “I’m so sorry about Alyd, Duchess.” She did not know what else to say, even though the little she had said sounded like hollow comfort.

The Duchess forced a shaky smile. “I can’t bear to think about it just yet. Now, you must call me Aleda.” The aristocratic woman nodded and stood. “Rest, my dear. We shall see you later.”

Later came all too soon for her, but Elspyth felt a lot stronger for the peace and quiet she had been able to enjoy. Aleda had arranged for clothes and other toilet requisites, and for the first time in a very long time, Elspyth felt her old, resilient self.

Three members of the family were gathered in the reception room. A fire added some much-needed cheer, nearby sat a novice monk. She learned through Crys, who showed a new appreciation for his freshly bathed and rested guest, that it was this monk, Pil, who had been Ylena’s companion both at Rittylworth and in her harrowing journey to Tenterdyn.

“And what will you do now, Pil?” she asked, a kindness in her voice as she recognized a fellow sufferer, unwittingly trapped in the Witch Myrren’s strange web.

The young monk shrugged. “I have no idea. I could not think beyond bringing the Lady Ylena to Felrawthy. I would like to return to my order, but there is nothing at Rittylworth to return to,” he said, sadness evident.

Elspyth nodded, knowing all too well about the state of Rittylworth. She took the proffered goblet of wine from Crys.

“Drink it. It will help,” he whispered, and she smiled at him before looking back to the novice.

“Pil, I hope it’s not out of place for me to mention this, but I met a wonderful man on my way here. A monk, like yourself, who travels, spreading the word and doing the work of Shar as best he can from town to village, county to duchy. It was his kindness that saw me reach Tenterdyn as swiftly as I have. I’ve promised to return the mule he lent me—perhaps you might take the beast into Brynt, where Brother Tewk is staying for a few days. You may find that the two of you have something in common.”

Pil’s eyes shone; he understood her meaning instantly. “Would he allow it?”

She grinned at his pleasure. “You mean for you to accompany him in his work?” He nodded. “Why should he refuse you, Pil? He’s not a young man, I might add, but he’s learned and wise. I suspect both of you could do far worse for traveling companions.”

And now the young man beamed. Having viewed the smoldering remains of Rittylworth herself, Elspyth imagined he had not had much to be bright about. “Oh, I shall definitely seek him out, Elspyth. I do thank you.”

Elspyth enjoyed the warmth it put into her heart, amid all the grief, to be able to help someone with a few simple words. She sipped her wine and felt a new sort of warmth slip down her throat. Raising her glass to Crys, she saw his eyes sparkle over his own glass and realized he was flirting with her. She hurriedly looked aside. If the younger brother was anything like him, she had little doubt as to why Ylena had been in such a rush to marry him. Just as she was thinking all this, those about her suddenly stiffened, their gazes moving to the doorway, where a glorious young woman stood.

“Ah, Ylena, my dear,” said the Duchess, and she moved elegantly across the room and, putting an arm around her guest’s shoulders, guided her in. “We want you to meet someone…a friend.” She led Ylena in. “This is Elspyth. She is a companion of your brother and has traveled a long way to meet you.”

Ylena’s gaze shifted and settled on Elspyth, who felt suddenly plain and awkward among such noble company. Ylena was most certainly a rare beauty and not at all what she had expected. Wyl had mentioned his sister’s beauty, but this poised young woman was exceptional.