The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (4 page)

She cocked her head and looked at him oddly. “You speak the ancient god-tongue?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“
Morgin
,” she said. “In the old tongue
morgin
is the word for
mortal
.”

She pondered that for a moment, then said, “That does fit you. Since you’re not the demon ShadowLord, you must be a morgin, so I’ll simply call you
Lord Mortal
.”

Lord Mortal
, he thought, recalling how she and the young boy Aethon had always called him that in his dreams.

Indicating the older woman, Rhiannead said, “This is Mistress Kenna.”

Obviously Rhiannead’s chaperone, the older woman eyed Morgin suspiciously. He understood her distrust, for he and her charge had been alone and unchaperoned.

Rhiannead quickly explained to Rafaellen and Kenna the circumstances of their meeting, finishing with the question, “How did you find us?”

“This blasted forest,” Rafaellen said. “Without warning it thinned out and opened up, as if it had been waiting for something.”

Rhiannead said, “Perhaps it was waiting for me to meet Lord Mortal here.”

“Perhaps,” Rafaellen said, eyeing him skeptically. When Rhiannead explained that he would be accompanying them, Rafaellen gave Morgin a suspicious look similar to that Kenna had given him, and Kenna actually sneered.

Rafaellen said, “Well, at least you brought your own mount.”

Morgin frowned, confused by the man’s comment. Then he heard a horse neigh, and turned around to find a coal-black mare standing a few paces behind him. She had not a mark on her to break up the unrelieved darkness of her coat. She was saddled and ready to ride, with a sheathed sword strapped to her side, a sword he recognized easily.

He said, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re here.”

Mortiss neighed again, as if to say,
Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

4
Bird in a Cage

Valso’s words interrupted DaNoel’s thoughts.
My Elhiyne friend.

Not for the first time, DaNoel regretted aligning himself with the Decouix prince, now king.
What do you want?

Why, we haven’t spoken in some time, and I thought to inquire after your health.

DaNoel could not undo the choice he’d made, so now he must make the best of it.
My health! You have no concern for my health.

But I do. You do not realize how valuable you are to me.

DaNoel suspected the Decouix couldn’t speak the truth even if he wanted to. He bitterly recalled the day he had helped Valso escape from Elhiyne, and what a mistake that had been. Yes, Valso had discredited Morgin, had somehow made that sword go berserk at the meeting of the Lesser Clans. But then Valso had shown his true colors by almost exposing DaNoel’s complicity.
If that’s true, why did you wake that guard and leave me no choice but to murder him?

I needed to ensure your commitment—your loyalty.

NickoLot almost discovered me. And now she is suspicious. The little brat limits my ability to aid you. That is all you accomplished.

Hmmm! That is a complication. Perhaps you’re not as valuable as I thought.

DaNoel’s heart raced as he realized his mistake. He needed to prove his value to the Decouix, for Valso had little to lose by discarding him. He resolved to find some piece of information to yield up.

What of your brother?
Valso asked.
Have you had any news of him?

The whoreson is not my brother, and in any case he’s finally dead.

And how do you know this?

My mother grieves for him.
DaNoel wondered if AnnaRail would grieve for
him
that way.

You’ve been mistaken about his death before.

DaNoel decided not to anger the Decouix by pointing out that it was Valso who had been wrong before.
There’s no mistake this time. She says she felt his soul depart the Mortal Plane. And others felt it too.

Interesting! I wanted to see if you could confirm that for me. Rhianne says the same, you know.

Rhianne? She’s still alive?

Quite. And as beautiful as ever.

Where is she?

She’s my guest.

Rhianne! Alive and accessible. Now that things had calmed down, AnnaRail and Olivia were becoming more serious about finding a wife for DaNoel, and he wondered if they might consider Rhianne. She was certainly prettier than some of the other prospects, and with the whoreson dead, now available. Just thinking about her he began to get an erection.
Will you return her to us?

Interesting that you care! Only a short time ago you hated her as much as you hated your brother.

He was never my brother. In any case, with him dead, she may have some use.

Ah! You covet her for yourself.

No, not at all.

The Decouix ignored his protest.
Perhaps, if you remain valuable to me, I could give her to you as a reward. Do you want her for just one night, or several?

I think you should return her to Elhiyne.

Now
that
is the most interesting thing I’ve heard you say. I’ll have to think on that.

••••

NickoLot knocked on the door to her mother’s sitting room. She had learned from the other women that AnnaRail had chosen to spend the afternoon alone, and she feared that her mother would again spend the time grieving for Morgin.

AnnaRail didn’t answer immediately, probably taking a moment to dry her tears. When she did open the door her red and puffy eyes confirmed NickoLot’s suspicions.

“Nicki,” AnnaRail said, smiling. “Come in.”

They embraced briefly, and NickoLot felt the tension in her mother’s back and shoulders. It was bad enough to lose a brother; Nicki couldn’t imagine how terrible it must be to lose a son.

AnnaRail sat down on some cushions in a window box. Nicki sat down beside her and said, “I’ve asked the servants to bring us some lunch.”

AnnaRail’s eyes focused on the floor in front of her. “I’m not really hungry.”

Nicki had promised Roland she’d try to get her mother to eat something. “You must eat, mother. Starving yourself won’t bring him back.”

“It’s hard to find an appetite.”

At a soft knock on the door Nicki rose, crossed the room and opened it. A young servant stood in the hallway carrying a large tray of food. Nicki held the door open and said, “Come in, and place it on that table over there.” She pointed to a small table to one side of the window box.

The servant walked past her and placed the tray on the table. She pulled aside a large piece of cloth to reveal two bowls of steaming soup, along with slices of apple and wedges of orange. Nicki helped her arrange them on the table. The servant then curtsied and hurried out of the room.

Nicki sat down in a chair at the small table. “Come, mother, please join me.”

AnnaRail rose slowly, crossed the room and sat down opposite her. Nicki handed her the bowl of fruit, then started on the soup. AnnaRail selected a slice of apple, and nibbled on it as if it were an enormous piece of fruit that would take her hours to consume.

Nicki said, “I miss him too.”

AnnaRail chewed some apple for a moment, her eyes focused in the far distance. “You know, the first time I thought him dead, I hadn’t felt his soul depart the Mortal Plane, so I had some hope he was yet alive. It’s almost harder to have gone through that first, and then learn that he is truly, unequivocally, gone.”

Nicki couldn’t contain herself. “I don’t think he is.”

“Oh, child, why would you say that? He is gone, and you cannot change that with false hope.”

NickoLot recalled the images she had seen when she’d created the spell from Morgin’s hairs and the polished rocks. “He is gone. Yes. I too felt him die, but I also think he still has a future among us.”

AnnaRail considered NickoLot with a probing look not unlike what Olivia might have used. “What have you done? What do you know?”

The spell had been so unclear and confusing that she was reluctant to speak of it. Nevertheless, she carefully described how she’d searched Morgin’s rooms, the few possessions of his she had retrieved, and the spell she had concocted. “I think I saw Morgin’s future among us, and in it he is alive and well.”

The grieving AnnaRail disappeared in an instant, and the strong and powerful—yet caring—mother that Nicki knew so well appeared. “Foretelling the future is a dangerous thing, easy to misinterpret and be misled. Please tell me the details.”

Nicki carefully described the images she had seen, tried to provide as much detail as possible. “I saw purpose and intent, as if they were the future.”

AnnaRail toyed with the piece of apple in her hand and stared at it for the longest moment. Then her eyes focused on Nicki and she said, “That was powerful magic you concocted. I won’t ask you not to do it again, but do be careful, and you would be wise to have me ward you during such spell-casting.”

Nicki said, “There’s something else I have to tell you.” She had dreaded this moment, and knew she should have told AnnaRail about Rhianne long ago.

AnnaRail lifted one eyebrow and waited for NickoLot to speak.

“When Jinella and I went to Norlakton . . . I discovered that the hedge witch we were sent there to examine was actually Rhianne in disguise.”

AnnaRail’s eyes widened. “You and Jinella knew this and you kept it from me?”

Her mother almost never grew angry, and Nicki had rarely been the target of her ire, but she felt it most keenly now. “Jinella didn’t know. She’s never met Rhianne, didn’t know what to look for and wasn’t strong enough to see through her disguise.”

AnnaRail made no attempt to hide her disappointment as she said, “Oh Nicki, you should have trusted me with this. Where is Rhianne now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Norlakton, eh? We should send someone there to find out. Though I think we should not yet tell anyone else about this. Let me think on it.”

“I’m sorry, mother.”

AnnaRail gave her a forgiving smile. “You sadden me and hearten me with the same words. I suppose I’ll focus on being heartened, rather than saddened.”

She tossed the last bit of apple into her mouth, chewed it and swallowed. Then she looked down at the bowl of soup; it had long since cooled. “I feel quite hungry,” she said, then picked up the bowl and began carefully spooning the cold soup into her mouth.

••••

Rhianne awoke slowly, didn’t want to wake from such a dream. She languished in bed, relishing the comfort of clean, linen sheets, warm blankets and a thick feather mattress. It had been such a wonderful dream.

She reached up and traced a finger across her lips with a feather-light touch, the way she and Morgin’s lips had brushed together in the dream. The dream had excited her in a very unladylike way, and disappointed her too. If she could dream that dream again, she would not be so prudent. She would fall into his arms and she would tempt him and tease him, which would tempt her and tease her as well. And she would do so until neither of them could control their passion. Morgin was ultimately too gentle a soul to just rip her clothes off, so she might have to help him a little in that.

Morgin! Dead! Tears filled her eyes as she realized they would never be able to truly take such pleasure in one another. But if she couldn’t have him in reality, she would at least enjoy him in her dreams. Though she feared that, in the way of dreams, she wouldn’t be able to control them that easily. If she could dream of him again, the dream would probably control her and not she it, and she would awake as frustrated and disappointed as now.

Such a strange dream: she Rhiannead—destined to be Erithnae—and he Lord Mortal. Strange that they had such difficulty simply saying his name, but then, it was just a dream.

“Milady? Are you awake?”

The previous day Valso had assigned a suite of rooms to her, then turned her over to a bevy of handmaidens. They’d bathed her, perfumed her, applied her makeup, and curled and set her hair. Then they’d presented her to Valso, though she was thankful the little demon snake had been nowhere to be seen. Valso had examined her much as he might one of his other possessions. As always, that one blasted lock broke loose from the elaborate tangle atop her head and drifted down over one eye, and he seemed to find that attractive. Clearly he considered a beautiful captive more valuable than one caked in mud and filth.

He commented on her bruises and the broken and chipped fingernails; none of the handmaidens were powerful enough to correct those deficiencies. And while she herself could have taken care of such minor inconveniences with her own power, she had no desire to increase her value in his eyes. No, she would fight him, even if she could only do so in small ways.

“Milady, you must awaken.”

She suppressed her tears and tried not to think of Morgin. Her concern now—at least in the living world, not in the dream world—was revenge. She would find a way to avenge Morgin’s death on Valso and Salula. If she succeeded in killing them in some way, she suspected it would cost poor France his life, but better that than allow such an abomination to live.

“Milady?”

“I’m awake,” she said, making no attempt to hide her irritation, which was quite unfair since these girls were all young and quite innocent. “I’m awake.”

“His Majesty requires that you attend him, and we’ve awakened you with time to prepare.”

She opened her eyes; they were sticky with dried tears.

“Oh, you’ve been crying again, milady. You shouldn’t cry.”

She hoped Valso wasn’t aware that these young girls had heavily romanticized her relationship with Morgin: the tragic lovers, him dead and her alive and grieving. Valso could be so cruel, and the poor things didn’t know that she and Morgin had never been truly intimate. Rhianne resolved that she would correct that in the next dream, if she ever dreamed that dream again.

The ritual of applying her makeup, perfuming her and coiffing her hair took hours, but that was the way Valso wanted it. They finished by dressing her in an elegant gown of green brocade with a low front that made even her small breasts appear more ample than they really were.

One of the girls said, “His Majesty chose the gown to match your eyes, milady. And they are very beautiful eyes.”

Rhianne smiled and asked her, “What’s your name?”

The girl blushed and said, “I am called Geanna, milady.”

Geanna appeared to have some authority over the rest of the girls. She always seemed to have little extra bits of information at her disposal. Rhianne strongly suspected that she was one of Valso’s spies, and she resolved to carefully guard her tongue in Geanna’s presence.

Her handmaidens and servants were organized like clockwork, and just as they finished the last of her preparations, there came a knock at the entrance to her suite.

It threw the girls into a frenzy. They rushed about, lined up, stood here, stood there, until they were all positioned in some predefined order, and Rhianne realized that she’d been naive. They were probably all spies for the king.

Valso entered, the little snake curled on his shoulder. He stopped before Rhianne and bowed with a flourish, which sent the serpent flying into the air. Valso was handsome and elegant, and she hated him for that. “My lady,” he said.

The snake coiled on his shoulder as he looked her over, his eyes settling on her breasts. It reminded her of the night he’d turned her over to his Kulls in Castle Elhiyne.

“You are a vision of loveliness,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand, flashing gleaming, white teeth in a big smile.

She realized then that she was a trophy, a symbol of his victory over Morgin. Yes, she would definitely find some way of avenging Morgin’s death.

Valso looked down at her hand and frowned. “We’ll have to do something about that,” he said, looking at her broken and chipped nails. He would have his trophy perfect in every way, though she resolved to user her own power to undo any damage he had his healers repair.