Blood and Memory (39 page)

“Where are we?” Wyl asked.

“We’re with Elysius—where he lives…in the Wild,” Fynch said. Wyl could see he was struggling with his emotions.

“Well, it’s certainly good to see you again, Fynch,” he admitted, and sitting up, he opened his arms.

“What happened?” Fynch wept. “How come you’re Ylena?”

“It’s a long and horrid story. I can scarcely believe it myself and hate even thinking about it. It only happened a few days back, so I’m not very used to being her.” He smiled awkwardly with her face and held Fynch away so he could look at him. “You’re amazing, do you know that? To get yourself all the way here?”

Fynch risked one of his rare smiles. “I got a fair bit of help from my four-legged friend over there.”

Wyl looked over to see Knave settled by the side of the bed, regarding him with those dark, knowing eyes. Knave barked once and Wyl grinned. “Thank you for coming after me, Knave, I was all but finished down there,” he said, flinching in memory of the Darkstream. He turned back to Fynch. “I’m glad he keeps you safe. Where’s Elysius?”

“Preparing food.” Fynch chuckled. “He’s a terrible cook.”

Wyl shook his head. “I’m not sure I really caught sight of him properly back there.”

Fynch grew serious again. “You did. He’s…well, he’s strange to look at.”

“What do you mean?”

“See for yourself,” a voice said. Elysius had arrived.

Wyl regarded what looked to him to be one of Shar’s jests. The sort of creature one might glimpse at Master Jensyn’s Freak Spectacular, which roamed the realms terrifying and amusing people with the tallest man, the ugliest woman, the boy with no face, and suchlike. Elysius, however, struck him as being one of those freaks who would normally never be permitted to take a second breath past birth.

“Which explains why I live in the Wild.” Elysius read Wyl’s mind, breaking the awkward pause.

“Wyl!” Fynch admonished under his breath.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” Wyl finally said, a little at a loss for the right words.

“Neither are you,” Elysius admitted, a crooked smile breaking across his strange face. “I’d heard from your friend here that you were someone called Faryl of Coombe.”

Wyl was fascinated by the person talking to him. Elysius’s head was too large for the small, dwarfed body. Big through the abdomen, his torso sat atop legs that were ridiculously short. It struck Wyl that Elysius’s arms were not the right length either—everything about him was out of proportion, in fact, and although Wyl had once worried about his red hair and freckles, here was someone to make him feel ashamed of such a sentiment. Elysius was ugly beyond imagining. A massive forehead swept down toward a heavy, jutting brow and a wide, flat nose. And when he smiled, as he was doing now, his lips seemed to stretch forever, revealing huge, horselike teeth. As if this were not enough, his face was covered in unsightly lumps and both Elysius’s eyes were milky white—blind. The latter feature was probably the most shocking. Lank, dark hair was carelessly tied back behind his enormous troll-like head. Seemingly, Elysius’s only attractive feature was his voice. It was all warmth and mellowness—that same voice that had soothed Wyl when his nightmares had threatened to overwhelm him.

“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” Elysius said in his lovely voice.

“I…I’m so sorry,” Wyl said, wondering how the man had known.

The curiosity standing before him, barely reaching above his bedside, stopped smiling. He took Ylena’s birdlike hand in his stupendously oversize one. “No, I think I’m the one who should be sorry, Wyl. You’ve suffered plenty at my whim.”

There was another awkward silence for a moment as the gravity of what had just been said sat between them.

Wyl took a slow breath. It was all in the past. Romen and Faryl and Ylena were dead. Even he could surmise that the magic of Elysius could not bring those people back. Keeping Valentyna safe and securing her realm was the only thing that mattered to Wyl now—that and keeping his promise to Elspyth to track down Lothryn. His own life felt inconsequential. He cared nothing for it.

“Tell me about yourself…please,” Wyl finally said.

“Over some food. Come, join me at my table. Do you feel better?”

Wyl nodded. “Did you make me sleep?”

“I did. Your body needed a rest after its shock. I’m afraid you’ve been out for many hours. It’s night outside—too dark to see anything.”

Fynch led the way.

“I’m not much of a cook,” Elysius admitted, waddling after Fynch in his strange manner on his fantastically short legs.

“So I’ve heard,” Wyl said, and then grinned Ylena’s warm, assuring smile when Elysius feigned hurt at the suggestion.

“Fynch is plain ungrateful,” he grumbled. “Starling-and-fish pie is delicious.”

Wyl threw a troubled glance toward Fynch, who could only shrug.

The so-called starling-and-fish pie was not nearly as bad as Wyl had imagined. He munched hungrily on the breads and delicious cheeses that Elysius had laid out too.

“Drowning must give you an appetite,” Elysius commented, enjoying seeing his guest eat so heartily.

Wyl grinned, feeling immeasurably better for the rest, food, and convivial atmosphere. “I shall have to stop soon. Ylena will never forgive me if I ruin her figure.”

His jest was mild, but it struck a blow at Elysius. “I do owe you some explanation,” he admitted as he reached to refill the mugs.

“Start from the beginning,” Wyl said, swallowing a mouthful of the refreshing ale on offer. “I want to know everything.”

Elysius sighed, sat back in his comfortable chair, and began his story.

Valentyna was picking over a late supper with her Morgravian guests and her two most trusted counselors, Commander Liryk and Chancellor Krell. A friendship had formed between the two women, and the new Duke of Felrawthy had, to all outward
appearances, battled through the worst of his horror. The wound no longer showed so openly on his face, although Elspyth, who had known him, albeit briefly, before the trauma, could see he was already a changed man. The pain would never leave his heart. He would hide it, bury it well, but Elspyth grieved that the bright expression that had come so naturally to Crys now held a haunted quality. Another reason for her to hate Celimus. Still, the Briavellians who were just getting to know the new Duke could see the intelligence, integrity, and humor that the young man possessed—testimony to his fine parents.

Krell had deliberately driven the supper conversation to a less controversial subject than his young queen’s impending marriage, which was clearly on everyone’s mind. He felt sure she had enough of her own misgivings and fears to want not to be subjected to the weight of the Morgravians’ despair when they learned of her decision. Krell had taken it upon himself to speak quietly with the young woman from Yentro, who was the most vocal; he had tried to make her understand the fragile and highly complex position the monarch of Briavel found herself in. Elspyth had listened, but he saw the pity and no little disgust she felt on behalf of her new friend and he knew he must do everything he could to dissuade this fiery girl from convincing the Queen that her marriage was doomed.

Supper had been his idea. Since the Morgravians’ arrival, the atmosphere around the Queen had become tense. He felt a light meal, late at night in Valentyna’s private chambers, might help alleviate some of the tension. It would be an ideal opportunity for himself and Liryk to help these guests understand Briavel’s precarious position.

It was his firm hope that they could discuss the Morgravians’ departure, for as long as they were around Valentyna, their talk of Celimus served no purpose other than to poison any chance Briavel had of achieving peace.

The novice monk, Krell noted, had closeted himself away with Father Paryn, choosing to share his meals and time with the elder man of Shar. Perhaps he would even remain in Briavel; this was less disconcerting for Krell than Pil being more visible around the palace.

All was going well until Liryk was called away by the head guard on duty for the night. The Commander returned to whisper something in Krell’s ear and then both men disappeared.

“Chancellor?” Valentyna had inquired when Krell had reentered, looking decidedly sombre.

“A very exhausted and disturbed Physic Geryld, your majesty, asking specifically for an audience.”

“Good grief,” she said, standing. “He attended my father on occasion. Permit him, immediately.”

“Perhaps, your highness,” Krell said cautiously, “I might bring him to your study?” He glanced toward the Morgravians.

Her gaze narrowed. “This is urgent, I gather?”

He nodded.

She thought of the solar—there was no fire burning in it this evening. “I think you should bring him here. If he’s exhausted, the man needs warmth and food. I can’t imagine why he would ride in so late.”

Krell did not look happy at her decision and disappeared.

“Something’s wrong,” Valentyna surmised.

“We can leave if you wish, your highness,” Crys suggested.

“Please stay,” she said. “I imagine this is some small domestic matter that we can sort out quickly. No need to disrupt everyone’s supper.” She cast a smile his way.

Elspyth, in turn, gave him a wry expression. It was clear to her at least that Crys was entirely captivated by the Queen.

Krell and Liryk reappeared and bowed, bringing behind them the fatigued physic, who trailed a leather bag. Valentyna wondered why no one had offered to carry it for him, but her chancellor interrupted her before she could speak.

“Physic Geryld,” Krell announced unnecessarily, but then he was a stickler for detail.

Elspyth and Crys had already withdrawn to the back of the room to stand within the shadows. They felt like intruders even though Valentyna had gone to such lengths to make them feel the most welcome of guests.

“Your majesty,” the doctor murmured, struggling to bow in a genteel fashion. “Forgive my intrusion.”

Valentyna threw a glance of concern toward Krell, who hurried to help the man to a chair. “Please, Physic Geryld,” she said. “Sit by the fire and warm yourself. You look half frozen, sir.”

He shook his head and remained standing. “No time, your highness. I bring grave tidings. May I speak freely?”

“You may,” she said, holding her breath. This felt suddenly ominous.

“A woman is dying in our village of Brackstead, majesty. She has but hours. No ordinary soul, mind. She is of noble rank—a Morgravian no less—who begs your help. She tells a tale so horrid, my queen, that I could not trust anyone but myself to deliver it.”

Elspyth and Cry both stepped forward from the shadows. A Morgravian! This concerned them as it did much as it did the Queen.

Liryk muttered something under his breath but cut it short when he caught the warning glance from his queen. “Go on, sir, please,” Valentyna urged.

The physic shivered. “Actually, I will take that seat, highness, if I may. I’m not used to such wild rides at night.” He smiled nervously and sat, feeling the fire’s heat.

“And a cup of something, Physic, please,” she replied, motioning toward Krell, who obliged.

The doctor took the cup and swallowed its contents; the powerful liquor offered an almost instant revival. He cleared his throat and looked back to his sovereign.

“She is the Lady Aleda Donal of Felrawthy.”

A stunned silence claimed the chamber before Physic Geryld found himself lifted in a firm, unshakable grip.

“Where is Brackstead?” a young man implored, his tone just short of threatening.

“Who, sir, are you?” the doctor asked, confused and still a little dazed.

“I am the Duke of Felrawthy, the dying woman’s son.”

Valentyna restored some measure of calm to the chamber. “Let him finish, Crys, please,” she cautioned.

“My apologies, Physic Geryld,” Crys murmured, setting the man back down in his seat.

“It’s all right,” Physic Geryld assured, taking the young Duke’s hand. “Son, it’s for you alone that she clings to life. She needs to know that you are alive…safe. We must go, now.” He struggled to his feet. “Highness, there is more to tell.”

Valentyna steeled herself. She was not sure how many more shocks she could handle after the last few days. All of them led back to the hateful man she was to marry. The notion threatened to overwhelm her again—as it did every time she permitted it space in her thoughts. She fought it back. There was time still…for what, she did not know, but time anyway before she would have to face him again, say his name, take her vows.

“Tell us, sir, and then we must make immediate arrangements to leave for Brackstead.”

Physic Geryld nodded. He was beginning to think more clearly now that the liquor had worked its special enchantments. “Yes, yes, at once, your highness.”

“Celimus will know she has survived,” Elspyth muttered.

Both Liryk and Krell individually wished they could silence the woman of Yentro. She was too poisonous to have around the Queen. This whole situation was turning more dangerous by the minute.

“Your majesty, please,” Krell counseled softly.

She nodded. “Everyone be still,” Valentyna demanded. “I need to think.” She looked toward the doctor. “Is that all you have to tell us, sir?” she said kindly, not wanting to push him too far.

“One final item, your highness, which I am charged by Lady Donal to bring to you.”

Valentyna nodded, deliberately expressionless so her anxieties would not betray her. “What is it, Physic?”

“I know not, highness. She would not say. Her words were for me to tell you that what she has sent is proof that you are marrying a madman…or words to that effect,” he said awkwardly, embarrassed now.

Liryk rolled his eyes and Krell shut his with despair.

“Where is this proof?” Valentyna asked, angry herself. The physic’s harsh message touched a nerve.

Physic Geryld leaned down to pick up the leather bag he had carried in. “This is what she gave me, your majesty. I have not looked inside it.”

They heard Crys gasp as he recognized the bag that had belonged to his father. Valentyna stilled him with a glare.

Liryk could not help himself. “Well, tip it out, man,” he said irritably.

Crys felt sorry for the doctor, who was the cause of everyone’s frustration at this moment. Crys knew precisely what was in that leather bag. They had not had time to deal with the contents during the chaos that had occurred at Felrawthy.

“Allow me, sir,” Crys said. “Although I could tell you now what it is.”

The Duke of Felrawthy reached inside the leather bag and pulled out the head of his most beloved brother.

“This is Alyd Donal, your highness, what’s left of him anyway after Celimus had his pleasure.”

Pandemonium broke out.

Supper had come to a hasty close and Valentyna had mobilized to leave immediately for Brackstead. She insisted on meeting with the Lady Donal. After the shock of seeing Alyd Donal’s remains, she felt compelled to offer her sympathies and promise this family that she would offer protection to the Donals’ remaining son.

“Are you absolutely sure, Physic Geryld?” Valentyna urged on behalf of Crys.

“I am. She has only hours for this life. I will only hold you up if I come with you now, your highness,” he replied.

“Thank you, sir, for all you’ve done on my family’s behalf.” Crys reached down from his horse to shake the man’s hand. “I won’t forget you.”

“She’ll go to Shar happy, son, for seeing you. Just hurry and get there in time.” Physic Geryld bowed to his queen who was dressed in her riding clothes and sat atop her favorite horse, who happened to be a gift from Celimus. She would need Bonny’s speed tonight. Against Chancellor Krell’s most earnestly delivered counsel, she was determined to ride to Brackstead.

“I beg you to leave this to our soldiers, your highness,” he had beseeched earlier.

“No, Chancellor, in this matter I cannot agree,” she had countered, and then said more intimately, “Krell, this woman has almost certainly given her life in order to reach me. She had no idea her son was here, so her intention was to speak with me. I am not, as perhaps you suspect, scavenging for excuses to renege on my decision. But let me tell you this, I will reconsider my position if I have firm proof that King Celimus is directly responsible for all of these deaths.”

He had noted the set of her jaw. Precisely the same as her father. Nothing was going to change this decision and he was better off leaving the battle to fight another day. If he persisted now, he would surely lose. “As you wish, highness.”

She softened her manner. “I am a sovereign, Krell. I musn’t be closeted away and wrapped in fine linen simply because I am a queen. My father raised me to rule. Rule I will, as I see fit, and it would be imprudent of me to leave this woman to die without making an effort to grant her the audience she has given her life for.”