The Shining City (16 page)

The guard glanced at her shyly. “He was very sorry,” he said, then suddenly flushed, as if ashamed to have shown her any kindness. He clanged the door shut, and Rhiannon heard the bolts shot home.

She sat back on her bed, looking up at the window. Already the light was beginning to sink low.

Rhiannon dreaded the coming of darkness. Even though she told herself they had only been dreams, the strange hallucinatory flights through the darkness she had taken each night, she could not forget the terrible icy glow of the ghost‟s eyes, the feeling of freezing hands clutching at her.

She got to her feet and paced up and down the room, her arms wrapped over her chest. Then she sat at the table and drew Nina‟s books towards her. She opened the biggest. It was sumptuously illustrated with paintings of beasts and faeries, all surrounded by margins of leaves and flowers and butterflies, and edged in gilt, with great swirling letters in crimson followed by neat flowing script in black. Rhiannon turned the pages, absorbed. Then she came to a page with a great black horse leaping into an azure sky, its violet-tipped wings unfurling behind it. Rhiannon‟s breath caught. She stared down at it in longing, then was suddenly overwhelmed with scorching-hot tears. She put her head down on her arms and sobbed aloud, the sound harsh in the silence. She was still weeping when the last of the light faded away into darkness.

L
ewen leaned his head on his elbows and tried to concentrate on what his teacher was saying.

Normally he enjoyed Cailean of the Shadowswathe‟s class. Like Lewen, the young sorcerer had a strong affinity with animals and could speak fluently with most beasts. His most profound connection was with dogs, however, and he had as his familiar a great shadow-hound named Dobhailen. The dog stood waist high to most men and moved as silently and sinuously as smoke, his eyes glowing softly green. Although Cailean was a thin, gentle-mannered man, with

Dobhailen by his side he commanded the unswerving respect and attention of all his students.

But not Lewen. Not these past few weeks.

Lewen had found it very hard to adjust to being back at school after his adventures in Ravenshaw. Nothing had changed at the Tower of Two Moons. Apprentices still spent the days studying with their various teachers, practising ahdayeh every morning and meditation every evening, filling in their rare spare time with games of chess or trictrac or dice if their habits were sedentary, or football, archery and wrestling if they were of a sporting nature. Lewen still spent most of his evenings at the palace with the Rìgh‟s other squires, running messages, serving His Majesty at the high table, or cooling his heels and playing cards as they waited for the MacCuinn in one antechamber or another.

Last year Lewen had enjoyed his life very much. He had looked forward to another four years of it, until the day he would graduate from school and join the ranks of the Blue Guards. Now everything had changed.

It was Rhiannon who had changed it all. Since the first time he had laid eyes on her, his world had been tipped topsy-turvy. He had not realized just how much until he was back here, in the familiar halls and corridors of the Theurgia. In the weeks since he had arrived back in Lucescere, Lewen had not been able to interest himself in his lessons nor in any of the silly, childish games the other students wanted to play. Everyone knew that he had got himself entangled with a satyricorn girl, and many eyed him askance. He had always been very friendly with the palace guards, since all knew his father had been one of the Rìgh‟s general staff during the Bright Wars.

Now, however, they were cold and distant. No one joked with him, or asked after his parents, or teased him about his dream to be a Blue Guard. They stared over his head as he passed them, answered his greetings with nothing more than a jerk of the head, and if forced to respond to a direct query, were curt in their answer.

Only his closest friends treated him the same, and he could tell it was an effort for them. Connor the Just, the Yeoman Rhiannon had killed, had been a favorite of everyone‟s. He had served the Rìgh from a very young age, rising from his page to his squire to one of the officers of his general staff, a path Lewen had hoped to follow. He had been a handsome man, fair haired and blue eyed, and well liked by the ladies of the court. Known for his fairness and integrity, Connor the Just had gained a reputation as an excellent arbitrator and had been sent many times by his Rìgh to settle arguments between lairds or merchants.

His untimely death had been a shock and, once details of the manner of his death had begun to circulate, an outrage. The satyricorn girl had shot Connor in the back, it was said, and then hacked off his finger and wrenched out all his teeth for trophies. She had stolen all his clothes and weapons and then tossed his naked, mutilated body into the river.

If Lewen had been able to deny these rumors angrily, his life would have been much easier. He knew they were true, however, and he was unable to explain to anyone‟s satisfaction how Rhiannon could do such a thing, nor how he could overcome his horror and revulsion for her acts and abide by his declared love for her. They all knew he was in love with her, everyone at the Theurgia and the whole court. Some thought he must have been ensorcelled into love, like Jaspar, the previous Rìgh. Others thought it was mere bestial lust and were variously repulsed, scandalized, or amused.

Certainly lust for Rhiannon was a driving force in Lewen‟s emotions. He found he could think of little else, day or night. He was tormented by his desire for her, and the difficulties in acquiring ease and fulfilment. Although he had managed to snatch the time to go and see her every day, he was not always allowed in, and when he was, he could never stay for very long. The guards were vigilant too, and did not give them much time unobserved. Only twice had Lewen and Rhiannon been able to couple, and the last time had been in desperation, fully clad, up against the stone wall. It had been over in moments and had done nothing but fuel his hunger for her.

Sometimes Lewen feared he had been ensorcelled, so overwhelming were his feelings for her.

Sometimes he wished he could be free of this mad passion and go back to his pleasant life as a student and squire, the whole of his life mapped out neatly for him. Mostly, though, he longed for Rhiannon, fretted and feared for her safety, dreamed of a life entwined with hers, and spent long hours remembering every detail of every encounter with her and imagining doing it all again.

Lewen shifted in his hard chair and wondered how long until the bell rang and freed him from the classroom. He was not on duty at the palace that evening and thought he might try to bribe the guard to let him stay a little longer with Rhiannon, long enough perhaps to remove all their clothes and feel her soft skin against his. He sighed. He had not had time to whittle any arrows or do anything else to earn any extra coins, and bribing the guards every day had quickly depleted his earnings as a squire. His pocket was sadly empty.

At last the bell rang. Chair legs scraped against the floor, and a hum of conversation rose as the students stood up gladly and stretched, beginning to make their way out. Lewen gathered up his books and rose too. He knew he should go to the library and work on the assignment he had due, but writing a paper on the
Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus
seemed impossible when the woman he loved was in prison facing a death sentence.

As he walked towards the door, Cailean raised his head and beckoned him over. Lewen went to stand by his desk.

“Lewen, ye ken that lass ye told me about? The one ye thought had been hurt in prison?”

“Aye. Bess, her name was, I think. Bess Balfour.”

“There are no records o‟ any girl o‟ that name, or any similar name, being admitted to the prison.

I asked him to check again, and he said he had. So then I checked to see if anyone had been injured. There were a number o‟ knifings, and quite a few cases of jail fever, but no reports o‟

any rat bites. I‟m sorry, Lewen. I‟m no‟ sure what else I can do.”

Lewen was puzzled, but he thanked Cailean and apologized for wasting his time, and then went out into the garth, feeling heavyhearted.

Outside the sun was shining and the sky was blue. The tall spires of the ancient witches‟ tower were etched sharply against its perfection, their symmetry pleasing to the eye. Black-clad students strolled across the garth or lay in the sunshine, talking. Lewen stared at them. He felt so dislocated, as if he was looking at them through a spyglass from another dimension altogether.

He could not fit the ragged edges of his world together, the world in which he loved Rhiannon and the everyday world of school and books and dormitories.

“Lewen!”

He turned around.

Fèlice and Maisie were coming towards him, smiling broadly. As always, Fèlice looked fresh and pretty. Her black robe fit her perfectly, and she wore a posy of flowers at her belt. Beside her, Maisie looked chubbier and plainer than ever. Since being attacked by wild dogs on their journey through Ravenshaw, her round face was marred by a nasty red scar that ran down from a torn and crooked ear. She tried unsuccessfully to hide the scar by wearing her hair looped over her ears, a style that did not suit her. She limped painfully as well, leaning heavily on a walking stick Lewen had carved for her. The scars upon Maisie‟s face always made him feel guilty and uncomfortable, and he had to resist the urge to avoid her, even though he knew it was not his fault that she had been so badly mauled. In fact, if Lewen had not faced the dogs down, talking to them in their own language, the country girl might not have escaped at all.

“Hey, Lewen!” Fèlice called. “How are ye yourself?”

Lewen grimaced.

“No news on Rhiannon?”

“Nay, she‟s still stuck in that blaygird prison. They willna let her out until after her trial, and the trial is set for midsummer. Naught Nina can say will make the Rìgh bring it forward. They need time to gather evidence.”

“Poor thing,” Fèlice said and made a face.

“I went to see her the other day,” Maisie said. “She seems very low. She hardly said a word. I dinna ken what to say to her.”

“That was nice o‟ ye. I‟m glad ye went. She finds it very hard, being locked up between four walls like that. She‟s used to running free.”

“Aye,” Maisie said uncertainly.

Lewen could see she did not like being reminded that Rhiannon was half satyricorn. He changed the subject. “How are ye finding the Theurgia?”

“It‟s grand!” Fèlice said exuberantly. “I wish we didna have to study so much, but apart from that, I‟m having a marvelous time!”

“They‟ve let me take up extra classes at the Royal College o‟ Healers,” Maisie said. “I want to be a healer, ye ken. They have scholarships I can apply for. They‟ve all been so kind.”

“I‟m glad,” Lewen said. “What about the others? Have they settled in well?”

“Och, sure,” Fèlice answered. “Cameron‟s in heaven, being so close to the palace and all those Yeomen. He goes to watch their weapons training every morning, and as far as I can tell the only classes he pays attention to are wrestling and archery.”

“He has to pass if he wants to get into the Yeomen,” Lewen warned. “Being good at the arts o‟

war is no‟ enough.”

As they talked, the three students had been walking across the garth towards the dormitory wing.

At the sound of their names being called out, they paused and turned. Landon came hurrying towards them, looking like a stork with his long gangly legs and stooped shoulders.

“Fèlice, have ye checked the notice board?” he cried as soon as he reached them, out of breath and flustered.

“No‟ yet. I was just about to. Why?”

“We‟ve been granted a pass out. We can go tonight. Oh, Fèlice, do ye think I should? I dinna ken. It‟s too soon.”

Fèlice clasped her hands together. “We‟ve been given leave? Oh, wonderful! Oh, marvelous! O‟

course ye have to do it, Landon! We‟ve talked about naught else all week.”

She turned to Lewen. “Have ye had town leave yet? I went last week and it was so exciting. I‟ve never had such fun. We got all dressed up, a crowd o‟ us, and went to the theater and then on to some inn in the faery quarter. All sorts o‟ people were there: goblins, tree-changers, cursehags.

There was even an ogre—can ye believe it! They had the most amazing food and drink there.

I‟ve never tasted anything like it. I danced with a seelie. He was the most gorgeous thing I‟ve ever clapped eyes upon. They say seelies can make a woman swoon just by smiling at them . . .”

“I saw a Fairge,” Maisie said dreamily. “I‟ve always wanted to.”

“I must admit, I did feel quite giddy after I‟d danced with him, but that might have been the foul stuff I was drinking. They called it bog ale, and indeed, it did taste like swamp water! I willna touch that stuff tonight, I‟ll try something different. Maybe the fuzzle gin. That looked like fun.”

“I wouldna touch the fuzzle gin,” Lewen said.

“But it‟s so pretty and pink!”

“Aye, but the effects are no‟ so pretty,” he answered.

“Really? I guess ye may be right. Katrin, this girl in my dorm, well, she was drinking it and we had to practically carry her home and then she was sick all over Cameron‟s shoes, and then the next day, she was so sick she had to stay in bed all day and the healer said she couldna have town leave for a whole month if she was going to abuse the privilege. Fancy! No town leave for a
month
!”

“So will ye come out with us tonight?” Maisie asked, looking up at Lewen with a shy glow in her eyes. “Please do!”

He shook his head. “I canna. I‟m sorry.”

“Oh, please?” Fèlice pleaded, clasping both her hands together. She gave him her most

bewitching smile. “I promise no‟ to drink too much fuzzle gin and vomit on ye.”

“There‟s an offer that‟s hard to refuse,” another voice cried, laughing.

Lewen turned and smiled as Owein and Olwynne came up behind him.

Landon, Fèlice, and Maisie were thrown into confusion. They knew at once who the twins were, of course, for the younger children of the Rìgh of Eileanan were very striking with their red-gold hair and tall, slim figures, while Owein‟s magnificent red wings marked him out in the biggest crowd. Fèlice was passionately interested in everything to do with the royal family and could probably have told Owein a few things about himself that he thought no one but a few of his closest friends knew. She had known that Lewen was friends with the royal twins and had hoped she would get to meet them through him. So, while Maisie blushed and gaped and tried to think of something to say, Fèlice recovered her composure quickly and smiled up at the winged Prionnsa.