The Queen's Consort (21 page)

Twenty-One

              The Castle in the Clouds guarded the westernmost pass of the Sunlit Valley. Unlike Renshaw, it didn't straddle the pass. The Castle soared above it from a mountain top, commanding an amazing view. On a clear day, it was said, one could see Kingsford from the Castle's towers.

             
Ansel wouldn't know. He'd never been there. The Castle in the Clouds was reserved for Highlanders only—and even Highlanders could only enter with an invitation or for specific business.

             
But, as Ansel
did
know, that didn't mean the pass was left unprotected. Every year each Highland clan sent a dozen of its best young men to serve at the gates. It was considered an honor to be sent, and competition for the positions was fierce.

             
Steep cliffs on either side of the narrow pass funneled travelers through a narrow canyon that had been stripped bare of any cover. There wasn't so much as a clump of grass to hide behind for nearly a mile leading up to the massive gates.

             
The first gate was thirty feet high and just as broad, allowing two wagons to pass side by side. It was set into a fifty-foot wall that could only be accessed by sheltered cliff walks. If the first wall was breached, defenders could stay or retreat to the second wall.

             
The second wall was fifty yards of hard-packed bare earth away from the first. An invading force would have to outnumber defenders twenty-to-one to have a chance of surviving that fifty-yard-dash across the killing field. And then they would have to take the second wall.

             
The second wall had two gates set apart from each other, one for inbound traffic, the other for outbound traffic. Both were fifteen feet high by fifteen feet wide and set into a thirty-foot wall.

             
Beyond the wall was the Highland town that supported the gates and, perched on the mountain above, loomed the Castle in the Clouds.

             
Legend had it that no one alive knew how or when the Castle had been built. Those legends said that the first Highlanders had found the Castle, abandoned but intact, and made it their own.

             
Ansel didn't believe the legend, but he didn't particularly care how the Castle had been built, either. The only thing that mattered to him was the fact that it was there, a huge stone edifice, and it was the last true fortress between his Queen and his father.

             
He had one last chance to convince her to stay safely behind stone walls, and he intended to make good use of the opportunity. And that was why he was astounded when she told him that he couldn't go with her to visit the Castle in the Clouds.

             
“I have petitioned the elders on your behalf,” she said apologetically, “but they refused you entrance.”

             
Ansel stared at her. “They refuse to do your bidding? You are their Queen. Tell them I'm coming with you.”

             
“I can't do that, Ansel.” She hesitated. “They would permit you to enter, my prince, if you agree to be blindfolded.”

             
He recoiled automatically. He didn't like the condition. Half of his reasons for wanting to get within the walls of the Castle were to assess its defenses.

             
She watched him patiently as he thought it through. Getting in blindfolded was better than not getting in at all. Once he was inside, no doubt, they would let him see. And observe, of course. And report.

             
“That is the only way they will let me go there?”

             
“It is.”

             
“Very well.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “I don't like it, but I will agree.”

             
“I will make the arrangements,” she said. “Be ready to go.”

             
Riding blindfolded was a very strange experience. The road to the Castle twisted and turned and looped back on itself as it climbed, keeping him off-balance. Occasionally he would hear a loose rock tumble away from his horse's feet, and he would listen to hear it fall.

             
He never heard the rocks land.

             
“It's not much farther now,” Clairwyn said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. She'd promised to stay by his side and she'd been as good as her word.

             
Ansel sensed when his horse passed from the open air of the exposed road to the closer confines of the Castle's streets. Strangely, the only sounds he heard were horse hooves on stone. He heard no voices hailing them and no sounds of people talking or singing. Every other Highland city, town, or camp he'd ever visited had been noisy with conversation and music at all hours of the day and night. The silence unnerved him further.

             
“We're inside the walls of the Castle,” Clairwyn told him. “It will be another fifteen minutes before we reach our destination.”

             
Ansel tried to keep track of the twists and turns they made but soon lost count. They seemed to be passing through a maze or, more likely, they were taking a deliberately circuitous route to confuse him.

             
It didn't really matter. He was thoroughly confused and entirely sick of being blindfolded by the time the horses finally stopped. He heard the low thud of a door closing behind him.

             
Without being told he could do so, he ripped the blindfold off.

             
“Always so impatient, my prince.” Clairwyn sounded amused.

             
He glanced around. Inexplicably, he and Clairwyn were alone in a circular stone room. It was obviously the base of a tower.

             
“Even my Guard is not allowed so far into the Castle,” she said.

             
Ansel wondered what Tristam thought of that. He grinned.

             
“Come, my prince.” Clairwyn left the horses and led him toward a set of stairs that circled around the stone wall. They climbed up and up, going round and round until Ansel felt as if the walls were moving, not him. Finally they reached the top of the tower.

             
The view was breathtaking. The sun was low in the western sky, lighting up Courchevel as far as the eye could see. Ansel could indeed, if he scrunched his eyes and used his imagination, see the shining walls of Kingsford.

             
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Amazing.” He looked down, expecting to see the Castle spread out below him like an eager whore. Instead, he saw a veil of clouds. Three other towers rose like lonely sentinels in the mist.

             
He glanced at Clairwyn. “Did the guardians of the Castle arrange for these clouds?”

             
Her eyes sparkled. “It wouldn't surprise me, my prince. But the sun sets and soon the stars will rise. And we have all we need right here.”

             
Ansel looked beyond her and spotted a small pavilion with cushions and a low table set with dinner for two.

             
“All we need?” he asked, bemused. “Won't it get cold up here when the sun goes down?”

             
Her laugh turned husky. “That is why I brought you to keep me warm, my prince.”

             
“Ah.” His lusty Queen and her romantic notions would give him all night and the next morning on this rooftop. He would take advantage of the time to study the Castle and its defenses. In the meantime he had other duties to attend to.

             
As the sky darkened the stars, so many stars, filled the skies over them. They lay entwined and Clairwyn pointed out the constellations and told him the stories behind them.

             
“How do you know so much?” he asked. These easy times with her were rare and welcome.

             
“I lived here for years as part of my training.”

             
That interested him a little, but not enough to pursue the topic. He tensed himself, knowing that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say next. “This is the western front,” he said, gingerly dancing toward the subject. “Practically the edge of your territory.”

             
“Just about,” she agreed. “It’s certainly the last defendable space until we reach Courchevel.”

             
“It’s a beautiful place. And you’ve lived here before.”

             
She sighed.

             
He rolled onto his side so he could look into her face. “Stay here, Clairwyn. Keep your army here. Protect your border.”

             
“You know I can’t do that.” Her fingertips skimmed over his face. “With my army here the rest of my country is vulnerable.”

             
Although he desperately wanted to, he couldn’t argue with that. She was right and, regrettably, they both knew it.

             
“You are determined to invade Courchevel?”

             
“I am, my prince.”

             
“Then
you
must stay here. Your Generals can direct the troops and fight the war. They don’t need you.”

             
“I must go, Ansel. Please, don’t make this more difficult for me.”

             
“I will stay here with you.” When her country fell, he still might be able to hammer out a deal with Beaumont to spare her life.

             
“If I were free to choose, Ansel, I would choose to stay in my mountains with my prince. But there is more to consider than my own desires.”

             
“What if I can’t keep you safe?” The words slipped past his lips in a moment of unguarded honesty, voicing his secret fear and laying him bare and vulnerable before her.

             
“Ansel.” She hesitated, her eyes searching his. “None of us know the future, my prince. But we Highlanders, well, some of us have a gift for seeing what may be.”

             
“I don’t believe in magic,” he said, but couldn’t hide his smile.

             
“Good. Then perhaps our magic won’t work on you.”

             
He closed his arms around her. “You’ve certainly worked your magic on me,” he said. “And I’m grateful for it.”

             
Clairwyn flattened her hand against his chest. “I hope you can say that tomorrow.”

             
“Nothing could change my mind,” he promised.

             
She stayed silent and he didn’t press her. He couldn’t. He was afraid of what he might say, of what else might slip out and betray him.

Twenty-Two

             
The sun chased away the night far too soon to please Ansel. Then again, he thought, he would have been happy to spend the rest of his life in Clairwyn’s arms here in the rare air behind the Castle’s walls.

             
She woke late, again, and slowly. When her eyes fluttered open and focused on him, he watched regretfully as her initial pleasure faded to sadness.

             
“Are you ready for another adventure, my prince?” She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice but she didn’t fool him. Something was going to happen and she wasn’t sure that it would be good.

             
The winding stairs led them back to the base of the tower. Ansel grinned to himself in anticipation. He was finally going to see the city.

             
Instead, Clairwyn opened a door set in the wall and led him into an enclosed walkway.

             
He studied the smooth stone walls, floor, and ceiling. “Are we underground?” he asked.

             
She shrugged. “We are below the road. There is so much snow for so much of the year that tunnels make sense.”

             
Made sense? What about the cost? He marveled at the craftsmanship and peered down the numerous intersections they passed.

After a moment it occurred to him that the tunnels had a gentle, constant illumination but he couldn’t see the source of the light.
He didn’t smell oil or smoke. “How are they lit?”

             
“’Tis one of our secrets.”

             
She gave him a mysterious smile and he wondered how many of those secrets she knew. All he could think about at the moment was the difficulty in taking a city over a network of secret tunnels. Maybe he should be glad he couldn’t see the streets. The Castle’s other defenses would probably depress him further.

             
Especially since the Castle wouldn’t be defending Clairwyn.

             
He set those thoughts aside and followed her up a narrow, twisting stair and through another door to another round chamber.

             
Dozens of silent white-robed and shrouded figures lined the wall. Ansel’s hands automatically closed around his sword hilts. The watchers didn’t react but he got the distinct impression that they resented his presence.

             
Clairwyn ignored them and walked to the center of the room. A circular column cast a shimmering, erratic light over the entire space. 

She turned and gestured him forward. “The Castle exists to guard this, my prince,” she said. “It is the Pool of Tears, the greatest treasure of our people.”

              “I've never even heard of it.”

             
“Ah.” She nodded. “It is a great secret. I'm breaking centuries of taboo by even telling you about it.”

             
No wonder he sensed that the watchers were unhappy. He moved forward to look at it. It looked like a hollowed-out basin filled with water. “What does it do?” he asked.

             
“It shows what the future might be.”

             
“Like a vision or something?”

             
“Or something.” She hesitated. “I spent three years here as a girl, learning how to control my mind and focus my energy.”

             
“And learn magic?”

             
“And learn how to use my magic,” she agreed.

             
He stepped closer, frowning, wondering where the light was coming from. It seemed to be shining from the depths of the water itself, but that was impossible.

             
“Careful, Ansel.” Clairwyn's hand closed around his arm. “Looking into the Pool requires a great deal of training. You need to be prepared for what you might see.”

             
“What I might see?” he asked, bemused. “What, beyond my own reflection, might I see?”

             
“The Pool shows different things to each person. It could be the possibilities the future holds, scenes from your past, or even something about someone close to you.”

             
“You're trained?”

             
“I am.”

             
“And what did you see?”

             
She hesitated. “It has shown me things I wish I hadn't seen,” she said. “And things that haven't happened yet. The future is not set in stone; by our actions and choices we may yet change what happens.”

             
He studied her face. “What did you see?” he asked bluntly. “Did it involve me?”

             
“It did. But I cannot say more.”

             
“Cannot? Or will not?”

             
“Either. Both.” She touched his lips with her fingertips. “Please don't ask again.”

             
“I will look into the Pool.” If she was strong enough to do it then he was, too. He leaned forward, ignoring her words of caution, and grasped the side of the bowl.

             
Clairwyn's final warning reached his ears. “Listen for my voice,” she said. “If you get lost, follow my voice to find your way back.”

             
How ridiculous. He leaned over the bowl, following the ripples and the play of light over the water. The stone basin was about half-full, and he felt like an idiot.

             
And then he found himsel in a different room entirely. It looked familiar but in an oddly distorted way, and he couldn't remember where or when he'd been there. There were two bassinets in the room, one draped with a blue blanket, the other covered by a pink blanket. Hesitant and unsure, he looked into them. Two tiny newborns looked back at him, their wrinkled faces doubtful.

             
His children. His, and Clairwyn's. Ansel knew this with heart-wrenching surety.

             
But the room seemed sad and strangely quiet, with none of the rejoicing that should accompany the births of these children.

             
Before he could wonder about it the floor under his feet tilted and the room shifted and changed. Again the room was both familiar and strange. This time Clairwyn was here, too, her face and body writhing in agony. He tried to hold her but she thrashed wildly until, with an awful, rasping breath, she stilled entirely.

             
Too still. She was dead. And, somehow, it was his fault.

             
He wrapped himself around her, rocking her close. A cloud of despair enveloped him. There was something he needed to do, someone important to deal with—

             
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Clairwyn was dead.

             
A fog settled over him, blinding his eyes, muffling his ears, deadening the pain in his heart. Oblivion beckoned and he welcomed it. He couldn't stay here, he couldn't keep hurting like this.

             
“Ansel!”

             
He heard his name but didn't respond. It was so much easier to just give in, give up, to let go. But he couldn't let go of Clairwyn. He would stay here, forever, with her.

             
“Ansel!”

             
The insistent voice pierced the fog around him. He didn't want to respond but something in him reacted to it.

             
“Ansel!”

             
It was Clairwyn! She was calling him. Wherever she was, he would go. He would follow her voice and find her.

             
The way to her was dark and scary but he didn't waiver. When it seemed darkest and he felt as if he would never find her, he woke up on the floor of the chamber, chilled and frightened. Clairwyn knelt at his side, her beautiful face full of worry. For him.

             
Ansel sat up and snatched her to him, running his hands over her arms and her back, cupping her face, placing his hand over the pulse in her throat.

             
“You're alive,” he gasped.

             
“Yes.” She clutched his hands. “I'm here, and I'm fine. I promise.”

             
He held her so tightly that she squeaked in protest. With an effort he forced himself to loosen his grasp a little bit. Emotions overwhelmed him, filling him too full, threatening to tear him apart. He didn't know how to deal with them. The agony of losing her was still so real, so vivid, that he could scarcely believe she was truly alive and here with him.

             
“I had two visions, Clairwyn. In the first one, we had twin babies, a boy and a girl. In the other, you were….” He couldn't force himself to say the word out loud. Saying it would make it too real.

             
“Twins?” Her face flushed.

             
“Is it either one or the other?” He couldn't focus. He could barely form a coherent thought. “I choose you, Clairwyn. You, and our children.”

             
“Children?” She pressed a hand to her flat stomach. “Did you see when this would happen?”

             
Blinking hard, he pressed his cheek to her hair and tried to snatch at the fleeting details from his vision before they faded away completely. “Springtime, perhaps,” he said. The words were based more on an impression than any real evidence.

             
She pushed at his chest. “I must see Gladnys.”

             
“Wait.” He refused to let her go. “Which is the true future, Clairwyn?”

             
For a moment she stilled in his arms. “I don't know, Ansel. No one does. Not until it happens.” She leaned back to look into his face. “Sometimes we can change the future.” She shrugged. “Sometimes we can only wait and see.”

             
He
would
change the future. Clairwyn would live to bear those children. She would not die in his arms.

             
They found Gladnys in an inner chamber of the Castle. She was wearing a white robe—just like the watchers in the other room—and stood talking with an older man. When Clairwyn called out to her the fey walked over to them.

             
“Clairwyn,” Gladnys said, “your voice tells me that you saw some good in the Pool of Tears.”

             
Clairwyn leaned close and lowered her voice. “Ansel saw us, dear Aunt. With twin babies.”

             
“A boy and a girl,” he said, still shaken, and Clairwyn's smile grew even larger.

             
“Is that so,” Gladnys said thoughtfully. “Come to my room.”

             
As they followed her down the hall Ansel barely noticed the smooth, rounded walls. The air was cool but fresh.

             
“I have scried for you, Clairwyn,” the fey said, “and I have seen that the fates will give you two children. If you saw twins—”

             
Twins! The full implication finally imploded in Ansel's brain. He felt dizzy. Pulling himself together, he staggered on behind the women.

             
“—then these may well be the only children you will be gifted with.”

             
Clairwyn rubbed her hands and glanced at Ansel. “Two will be enough,” she declared. “For me and for the country.”

             
Gladnys breathed in deeply but remained silent. Her sure steps led them to a wooden door. The fey pushed it open and ushered them through.

             
The room beyond was spartan but adequate. “Lay down, Clairwyn,” Gladnys instructed. “Ansel, take the chair there.”

             
Nervously Ansel did as he was told. He held Clairwyn's hand and averted his eyes as Gladnys examined her.

             
“Well?” Clairwyn asked impatiently. “Yes or no?”

             
The fey tilted her head. Her milky gaze settled on Ansel, seeming to stare right through him. It was an odd, unpleasant feeling, and he turned away.

             
“Yes,” Gladnys finally said, smoothing down Clairwyn's skirts. “I'd say you're about two months along, dear. Perhaps it happened on the very night of your choosing. That would be very lucky.” But the fey didn't seem pleased.

             
Clairwyn, on the other hand, was ecstatic. “Could it be twins?” she asked.

             
“It could be, dear, but it is too soon to know.”

             
“And when will they come?”