The River's Gift (8 page)

Drafts
gusted up the staircase behind them, making the torches flare and smoke in
their sconces, as they wound their way up and up the spiral stone stair until
Ariella was afraid she would not be able to go another step. Then, just when
she was ready to drop, Lady Katherine paused at a landing before a small wooden
door and opened it without a word, leaving Ariella to follow her inside. A
guard stood at that landing, a guard with the same cold, dead eyes as the one
that had caught her trying to escape.

Ariella
was afraid at this point that "her chamber" was going to be as cold
and cheerless as every other place in this castle. But although the rooms
beyond were stonewalled and stone-floored like the rest, here at least there
was light and warmth, and some effort had been made to cut off the drafts and
create some comfort.

Panels
of thin-sliced horn covered the slit-windows, allowing some light to come in
from outside. Instead of smoking torches, fine wax candles as thick as her
wrist provided plenty of clear illumination. Tapestries covered the walls, and
furs and rugs placed over a layer of rushes strewn with lavender softened and
warmed the floors. A fine fire burned on the hearths in both the outer and
inner rooms, and charcoal braziers added their warmth from each corner. The
outer room was furnished with a desk, several chairs, and an embroidery frame;
the inner held a canopied and curtained bed. Several chests waited in the inner
room as well, one of them open, and Ariella caught a glimpse of a familiar
dress trailing over the side.

"This
will be your set of chambers, Ariella," the chatelaine said. "You
won't be expected to share Lord Lyon's rooms, of course; he has men coming and
going at all hours of the day and night, and you would be constantly disturbed.
He will join you here, at the proper times." Lady Katherine kept her eyes
hooded, but Ariella caught a flash of satisfaction when Ariella winced at the
mention of Lord Lyon "joining" her. "The maids and I will finish
unpacking your possessions and I have sent for some dinner for you. Why don't
you warm yourself at the fire while you wait for it?"

Ariella
mutely did as she was told, allowing one maid to take her cloak before dropping
down into the chair nearest the fire. She knew that she looked much the worse
for wear, rumpled and tired, pale and travel- stained, but she didn't care; she
was just too exhausted. At least she was somewhere warm and no longer in that
cursed horse-litter.

Food
came and was presented to her; she ate part of it without tasting it. Lady
Katherine sailed out with a tiny smile on her lips; one maid followed the
chatelaine with the tray of half-eaten food, the other remained behind. She took
Ariella into the inner room, and helped her out of her crumpled, dirty gown and
into a night-dress warmed before the fire. The maid sat her down on a stool in
front of the hearth, combed out and braided her hair and put her to bed,
closing the curtains around her. Ariella heard her footsteps retreating, heard
the door open and close, and she was finally alone.

But
as tired as she was, she was not at all sleepy; she was too tense and unhappy
for that. The warmth and food finally eased the ache in her head and the knot
in her stomach, but nothing could help the pain in her heart or the feeling of
helpless entrapment.

She
clenched her hands together and tried to think of something she could do—there
must be some way that she could escape from here!

The
only way in or out of these two rooms was the stair—guarded at her door, with
probably another guard at the bottom of the staircase. Then there were more
guards at the front door, and at the portcullis. How could she ever get past
them?
Could I disguise
myself somehow?
Where would she get a disguise, though? This
wasn't Swan Manor, where she knew every storage-place and every closet and had
the keys to all of them. Lady Katherine was the one in charge here, and Ariella
didn't think that Lady Katherine was going to prove to be any kind of an ally.

Could I make a disguise?
That seemed a
little more likely—she shouldn't have too much difficulty getting Lady
Katherine to give her lengths of the common fabrics that the serving-maids
wore.
I could say I
wanted to sew for the poor. I don't think that would make anyone suspicious.
But
making a disguise would take time and would have to be done in secret—it might
be months before she had anything usable.

But it's going to take me months to find
out where I am, and figure out where I can go if I do get away.
. . . Taking
sanctuary at a convent was possible, but risky; if the Sisters found out
who
and what she was, they'd probably turn her back over to
her husband. She wanted to go home, but Lady Magda would be of no help. Dare
she seek help from the serfs? Could she ask help of the Faerie? After all, she
had been helping them—but would they dare the threat of Lord Lyon's iron
swords?

Unprovisioned,
she couldn't leave until spring or she'd die in the wilderness or along the
road.

By
then, what would have happened? She shuddered as she recalled Lord Lyon's crude
boast that he would have her with child as soon as the blessing had been
pronounced. If she could get her hands on her simples, there were ways to
prevent conception—she wasn't supposed to know them, but she did. But would
Lord Lyon—or Lady Katherine—know those ways, too, and be guarding against
them?

Women
died in childbirth all the time. Her own mother had died in childbirth. Lord
Lyon didn't need her, once he'd wed her and had a son . . . and Lady Katherine
did not look like the kind of woman who was inclined to take second place to
anyone.

I have to get away!
If she'd been a
bird, she'd have beaten her wings bloody against the bars of this, her cage.
Her hands pulled at the neck of her bedgown as her throat tightened and it
seemed harder to breathe.

It
felt as if she had been lying in the stuffy darkness for hours, as if she would
lie here forever. Then somehow she crossed from waking into sleep, into
restless nightmares in which she tried endlessly to escape from a forest of
trees that turned into iron-clad guards who shouted and grabbed at her as she
passed them.

Then
it was morning and one of the maidservants pulled the bed-curtains wide,
startling her into wakefulness.

"You'll
be wanting
a bath, my Lady, after you break your
fast," the maid said cheerfully. "My Lord Lyon will be entertaining
his guests without you, so we'll have all day to ready you before your wedding
tomorrow. We'll fit your gown to you and make sure you go to the altar shining
like a star." She beamed at Ariella. "Lord Lyon is a fine figure of a
man, and you will want to look your loveliest for him."

No, I won't!
she
wanted to scream, but she could only nod numbly.

With
her stomach in knots again, it was just as well that they didn't give her much
time to eat. The maid brought porridge on a tray, and new milk. She managed to
drink the milk and forced a few bites down her throat, then set the tray aside.
Before she'd even gotten out of bed, two male servants hauled a huge tub into
the first room and set it up before the fire. Right after the tub
came
a parade of maids with buckets of hot water, a mountain
of towels, screens to set up around the tub to hide her from view of the door,
soaps, perfumes, and scented oils.

Once
again she was treated like a giant doll; two maids stripped her to the skin and
unbraided her hair. They assisted her into the tub and wouldn't even let her
wash herself; they scrubbed every bit of her as if they suspected she'd never
had a thorough bath before, rinsed her with more clean water, then washed her
hair three times with three different concoctions, and rinsed it with
rose-water. They rubbed her with scented oils, wrapped her in towels, and sat
her down beside the fire while three of them combed her hair with ivory combs
until it was dry.

By
now, the morning was completely gone. They brought her more food, which she
pretended to eat while they cleared away the bath-things. As soon as the room
was clear, they whisked the food away, then braided up her hair and wound it
around her head and assisted her into a thin, clinging silk slip of a chemise.

Now
came the dressmakers, bearing the wedding finery, and she shrank inside
herself when she saw it. But there was no hope for her; she was surrounded by
maidservants and seamstresses, with Lady Katherine to oversee them all, and
she didn't have a prayer of escaping from them.

It
was a sumptuous gown, but of an antique style, and she suspected it had been
the Lyon wedding gown for several generations, carefully preserved and fitted
to each new Lyon bride, setting the Lyon stamp on her before the vows were even
spoken.

Up
onto a stool she went, and the fittings began. First the underdress, a fall of
ivory samite with closely fitted sleeves, coming down to points on the backs of
each hand, and laced tight about the body. It had a modest train and very
little trim, just gold embroidery on the hems and at the neck. But it had to
fit perfectly, without a wrinkle, and the seamstresses seemed determined that
nothing less than perfection would do. Eventually, Lady Katherine gave a
reluctant nod, and the undergown was deemed suitable.

When
they were finally satisfied with the underdress, it was time for the gown. This
was a heavy silk damask of scarlet, with huge, trailing open sleeves lined and
trimmed in ermine, a train longer than she was tall, embroidered all over with
sitting lions in gold. This, too, must fit closely to the body, with never a
wrinkle or a pucker. It was terribly heavy, and the weight of the train alone
was enough to make her shoulders ache. The seamstresses kept fussing around
her, taking tiny, invisible tucks and stitches, never satisfied even when she
was unable to see anything amiss.

When
they finally stood away from her and their frowns turned to smiles, she sighed,
thinking that they were done. But they weren't.

Next
to be fitted to her was a set of jewels; a heavy belt made of gold lions' heads
with ruby eyes, a matching necklace, and matching armbands that clasped about
her upper arms, just where the huge sleeves started to bell out. Then
came
a veil of the same ivory samite as the undergown, also
embroidered with gold around the hem and held in place with a circlet of gold
studded with tiny rubies. All these required more fussing and fitting until her
head throbbed and her vision blurred.

At
long last, seamstresses, jewelers, and Lady Katherine all declared themselves
satisfied. Once again Ariella was stripped to the skin, the wedding finery
arrayed on stands until the morrow, and Ariella was allowed to put on a simple
woolen gown and come down off the stool.

But
not to rest—no, now came a dozen pairs of silken hose to try on, then
shoemakers, who took tracings of her feet and cut soles then and there, which
they sewed to the embroidered tops of red damask slippers to match the gown.
They had to make a total of a half dozen shoes and fit them to her feet before
Lady Katherine judged two of the shoes suitable and permitted them to be placed
with the gown.

Lady
Katherine left without having said a word directly to her all afternoon. Her
captors allowed her to have a little rest; supper arrived, though all Ariella
could really eat
was
the soup and some bread.

She
had hardly finished that when the maidservants returned carrying a vast array
of cosmetic jars. They stripped her to the skin again, directed her to lie down
on a rug in front of the fire, and went to work, rubbing creams and unguents
into her skin, unbraiding her hair again and combing perfumes through it. With
one maid for each hand and one for each foot, her nails were filed to perfect
ovals and buffed until they achieved a pearllike gloss; every trace of a
callus had been removed, and her skin was as soft as a rose-petal.

All
this would have been very pleasant if she hadn't felt exactly like a pagan
sacrifice being prepared for the knife.

While
the maids worked, they chattered in high, breathy voices, like the twittering
of little birds. Ariella would rather they'd been silent, for all they could talk
about was the wedding celebration of the morrow and the feast still going on
somewhere below.

"There's
a fountain of silver that will be pouring wine for everyone," sighed one.
"I watched them setting it up—"

"Well,
I've seen the cages of bears for baiting, and you should have heard them
roar!" The girl shivered pleasurably. "They are monstrously fierce,
and they'll make a fine showing against the dogs!"

"Pooh,
who cares for such things when there will be dancing?" asked a third,
industriously polishing the nails of Ariella's right hand. "I've heard the
hired minstrels, and they are wonderful!"

"Well,
I've got a surprise for you all, for I was at the feast tonight, and there's a
magician come! Lord Lyon agreed to let him work some splendid magics at the wedding
ceremony itself!" crowed the one at Ariella's left hand in triumph.

"What?"
"A magician?"
"But Lord Lyon doesn't
care for magicians—" All the rest spoke at once, and the knowing one waved
them to silence.