In The Shadow Of The Beast (4 page)

Turning to Sigourd, she took his hand in
hers, ‘Have you seen anything that stirs your heart, son?’

‘
I can’t say that I am
particularly taken with any of these ladies, mother,’ whispered
Sigourd. Veronique squeezed her son’s hand reassuringly, ‘It must
seem terribly overwhelming, to be at the center of such activity.
It was overwhelming for your father too, but he came out of it well
enough, and so will you.’

‘
Yes mother,’ agreed
Sigourd, his expression falling. ‘It’s just that I’d always hoped
to able to choose the woman I’d marry in a less....formal
fashion.’

It saddened Veronique to see her son
troubled so, but she knew that like it or not, he understood the
necessity of this process. ‘We must all abide by our
responsibilities Sigourd. This is the price and the privilege of
our position in society. We must be steadfast in our undertaking of
its laws and traditions, for we lead by example, weather it is our
intention or not. Always be mindful of that.’

Sigourd groaned, ‘It seems as if all my life
I’ve been manacled to those responsibilities. Surely as regent I
must be allowed some freedom to live as I choose?

‘
You will live through your
people. You will live for them.’

Sigourd turned to look once more at the
raven haired serving girl at the back of the chamber. His heart
sank as he realized that for all his high hopes his destiny had
already been laid out before him.

‘
What if this is not what I
want, mother? What if I were to walk away from it all?’

‘
I would not countenance
such a thing!’ spoke a voice deeply leaden with authority. Sigourd
looked up to see his father standing behind him. ‘Your birthright
requires that you meet certain expectations, and you will. The
sooner you accept that the easier this will be for us all,’ said
The Regent, glancing at the serving girl, ‘and that means any
interests you have acquired that are in opposition to your
betrothal will be laid aside, ‘Am I understood?’

Sigourd followed his father’s gaze, turning
back to The Regent with a defiant gleam in his eyes.

‘
Excuse me mother,’ he
said, before jumping up and storming from the dais as the assembled
court turned to watch, their stunned expressions already turning to
delighted whispers.

The Regent looked on angrily after his son
as Veronique rose to take her husband’s hand in hers.

‘
He has the fire of
passionate youth in his belly. I have an idea where he gets it
too.’ She said.

The Regents hard expression began to soften,
a look of fatherly concern replacing his usual stony mien. ‘I only
hope that fire does not consume what affection he might yet have
for his father.’

Veronique’s tone was comforting as she
spoke, ‘It will not. Sigourd understands all to well what is
required of him. Just as you did.’

The Regent gently stroked his wife’s
lustrous golden hair, tilted her face up so that he might look into
eyes that sparkled like pale sapphires, ‘Ah, but my son has a far
harder task than I ever did,’ said The Regent. ‘For me there was no
doubt at all over whom I would take as my bride.’

‘
It’s flattery like that
which lured me to you in the first place.’

‘
Really,’ exclaimed The
Regent, effecting genuine surprise, ‘I always thought it was the
obscenely huge dowry I paid your brother.’

Veronique cuffed her husband playfully upon
the arm, ‘You beast.’

The Regent smiled at his wife, kissed her
lightly on the cheek before looking up as someone approached.
‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear...’

Veronique turned to see where her husband’s
eyes had fallen, and her playful mood dissipated in an instant.
Moving toward the couple, as imposing as he had been twenty years
previously, The Baron Vincenzo Mortaron strode across the throne
room, the assembled celebrants hurriedly making way before the old
baron like a school of fish moving in synchronized unison to avoid
some oceanic predator.

Mortaron came to a stop before The Regent,
bowing his head in deference to his liege lord.

His voice came in a rough bark as he spoke,
‘My lord, your wisdom is required at council. This matter with the
Morays will not rest.’

‘
Brother’ sighed Veronique,
‘The Regent is enjoying the company of his court. Won’t the council
give him leave to relax amongst his subjects for just one
day?’

‘
The court be damned!’ shot
back Mortaron with a vehemence that left little doubt as to his
contempt for the other nobles of the kingdom. ‘War looms, and its
advance will not be delayed in the face of these fops falling about
trying to impress their betters.’

‘
There is word from the
border?’ asked The Regent, all trace of the smile he wore only
moments ago now long gone, replaced by his more usual stoic
demeanor.

‘
We have had word from the
barracks at Daros. There are indications of troop movements from
across the river there.’

The Regent breathed deeply, ‘Excuse me my
dear, this cannot wait.’

With that, he kissed Veronique lightly upon
the forehead before turning to stride away across the throne room,
the celebrants in attendance respectfully bowing their heads in the
wake of their departing lord.

Veronique watched him leave, before looking
up to notice her brother watching her with obvious distaste. He
spoke not another word, merely content to study his sister for a
moment longer, as she in turn coolly met his gaze without comment.
An instant later Mortaron turned to follow his master from the
chamber, leaving Veronique standing by herself.

She was not alone for more than a few
moments as well-wishers from the court, craving the indulgence of
their lady, moved to engage Veronique.

It was while being addressed by a
particularly fat officer of the household guard, who talked at some
length about his penchant for the cultivation of the Horsethorn
rose, his ladyship’s favorite according to popular consensus, that
Veronique became aware of an odd feeling. Some unsettling sixth
sense gave her cause to turn and catch a glimpse of a face in the
crowd, only a fleeting glance really, of a man presented in the
attire of a visiting dignitary, but with a bearing that seemed too
coarse, too craggy for his immaculate garb, posing an image
entirely at odds with itself.

But the thing that struck Veronique more
than the fellow’s strange appearance was the note of recognition
that rang within her, like the sound of a ship’s bell tolling
distantly through the mist. It was a feeling that filled her with
unease.

Veronique reached out to one of her nearby
ladies in waiting, took her in a not so gentle fashion by the arm,
‘Raquel, who is that man?’

Surprised by the uncharacteristic note of
desperation in her lady’s manner, the serving girl looked in the
direction Veronique had indicated, through the crowd of well
wishers and drinkers and dancers, but she could see no one there
that her ladyship might be referring to, ‘Whom are you speaking of
my lady?’

Exasperated, Veronique craned her neck to
peer more clearly through the crowd. But much to her dismay the
mysterious dignitary had disappeared.

Sigourd threw open the door to his
bedchamber, striding into the room he cast off his ceremonial dress
as he went, throwing the elaborate clothing here and there about
the chamber not caring a jot wherever it did land, desperate to
shed the accoutrements of his royal status, to be free of that
responsibility.

Lastly, he reached up to the brooch attached
to his chest, that silver bauble that bore the Fellhammer family
crest, gripped it tightly in his clenched fist and tugged at it
almost without thinking.

But it would not come loose. It was fastened
deep into the leather of his enameled leather bodice and wouldn’t
budge matter how hard he tugged at it.

Building like the over-pressure from a
kettle too long on the boil, Sigourd’s anger flared in an instant
and he jerked at the pendant with such force that when it finally
tore free it sliced into the flesh of his palm, between the thumb
and forefinger, causing him to snatch back his hand as the pain
shot through the injured limb. The pendant clattered to the stone
floor, a shrill ringing accompanying the little impact.

Sigourd pressed his palm to his mouth,
supped at the wound there to stop the flow of blood. It was then
that he caught sight of his reflection in an ornate mirror hanging
from the wall on the other side of his bedchamber.

He almost didn’t recognize the man he saw
there, breathing hard, a look of anger in the eyes so intense that
it gave Sigourd pause to see it in himself.

It was as if the ferocity had bubbled up out
of hidden recesses in his soul that he had never known to exist,
like living in a place one’s entire life and stumbling into a room
you’d only just discovered had been there all along.

Unnerved by this aberration of character,
Sigourd concentrated on calming himself using the breathing rituals
in which Cal had instructed him, for use before competition in the
many royal tournaments that were a regular feature in the life of
any noble son of Corrinth Vardis.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through
his nose to fill his lungs slowly and deliberately, releasing the
tensions that filled him as he exhaled, he pictured those tensions
leaving his body like vapor rising off a still lake, fading quickly
to harmless whisps before him.

Then it came, a rapping at the heavy oak
door of the bedchamber.

‘
Be gone,’ Sigourd barked
at whomever it might be on the other side. But again it came, the
knocking louder and more insistent this time.

His irritation returning, Sigourd pulled off
his boot, ‘Be gone I said. Are you deaf!?’

He raised his hand, about to throw the heavy
studded boot at the door in hopes of scaring off this interruption,
when he was distracted by another sound. The sweet chirruping of a
small bird. Looking to the window behind him, through which the
last rays of the afternoon sun were falling, he could just make out
a little blue nightingale perched upon the window ledge.

The bird hopped from one foot to the next,
chirruped again. The sound was only slightly distorted by the thin
glass separating him from this pleasant little creature.

As understanding took hold, a slow smile
began to break on Sigourd’s face and he lowered the boot in his
hand before dropping it to the floor with a thud.

Crossing the room in a few quick, long
strides, Sigourd reached for the oak door to swing it wide before
him.

Standing there, framed in the warm light of
the setting sun was the raven haired serving girl. From afar she
had been beautiful, from so close a distance she was breathtaking,
and it was all Sigourd could do to maintain his composure.

When she spoke, her voice seemed to purr
from a mouth with lips the color of ripe cherries and a voice as
sweet as honey, ‘My lord left the throne room in quite the hurry. I
thought I would inquire as to his well-being.’

She looked up at Sigourd with eyes that were
such a pale shade of hazel they seemed almost to flash gold in the
light, and the young lord of the realm of Corrinth Vardis found
himself being drawn into those golden eyes quite willingly. For a
moment, Sigourd stood in the doorway non-plussed, but then that
broad smile began to creep over his face once more.

‘
You brought refreshments I
hope?’ he said, and with a playful twinkle in her eye the serving
girl produced a full drinking skin from behind her back, holding it
up so that he could see that she did indeed come prepared to ease
his choler.

His smile broadening, Sigourd took the
serving girl in his arms, pulling her in close to kiss her hungrily
upon the lips, to which she eagerly responded, her own hand going
up and around to delicately caress the back of his head.

Their kissing was passionate, burning full
of youthful desire and a mutual need to experience the richness of
their shared want for each other.

Finally, the girl pulled away to fix Sigourd
with her golden eyes, ‘you looked terribly angry when you left the
throne room. What happened?’

‘
I fear my father knows
about us. Or at least suspects something.’ He swallowed hard before
continuing, ‘He is demanding that I give you up in favor of a bride
from one of the other houses.’

The girl moved into the room, closing the
heavy door behind her. It was a long moment before she was able to
speak, and when she did so she could not bring her eyes up from the
floor for fear that Sigourd might see the tears forming there.

‘
We knew this day would
come,’ she said finally, trying to muster as much bravery as she
could in the face of her heartache.

Sigourd crossed over to her and took the
girl in his arms once more, ‘Isolde, know that I love you like I
have never loved another, and will never love another. You are my
sun and moon. But I am torn between my feelings for you and my duty
to my family.’

‘
And I would never ask you
to choose between myself and your obligations to your family. We
knew from the start that the son of The Regent might take a lowly
serving girl as his lover, but never as his wife. All that I ask is
that you follow the truth written in your heart, that is the path
that will lead you to the answers you seek.’ She reached up to
stroke his face tenderly, the torment in her lover’s eyes bringing
her great sadness to see.

‘
Know that whatever you
decide, my love for you will out last eternity. If we had but a
fraction of that time I would be content. Alas, all we have is
tonight,’ and with that she kissed him gently upon the lips once
more, and led him to bed.