The Woman Inside (17 page)

Ceylon loved it. And the kisses he gave when no one was looking absolutely
threatened her virginity. He never said as much, but she could feel from the
hunger in his kiss his eagerness to speed up the marital rights. If he knew
about the dress ... Best not to think of it.

“The queen has sent word,” Uric told her that morning. “You’re to appear at
court in two days.”

Ceylon paled. “All right.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her as he took her hand. Anne
was in the room, so he dared nothing more. “I’ve been to court many times.”

“You have,” she muttered. She fingered her locket.

“I wish you would stop wearing that,” Uric said irritably. “My men have
orders to watch for Eville, you’re never without an escort and he’s unlikely to
pursue you this far anyway.”

“I know.” Still, she didn’t remove it. Just as she never removed her steel
hair pins, except to sleep. One couldn’t be too safe.

In the mist of all this anticipation, Odell disappeared. Ceylon didn’t know
he was gone until a maid brought her a note. It read,

Dear Mistress Ceylon,

I’ve deemed my face healed enough to dare popping in on my mother. Thanks to
Mistress Anne’s remarkable cosmetics I daresay she won’t even notice. Then it’s
off to explore the tropics. I thank you greatly for all your help and
hospitality.

Your servant, O.

It was very abrupt, and Ceylon couldn’t help but worry as she folded the
paper. She seriously doubted Odell had a mother anywhere near the city. Whatever
he was up to, it was bound to involve more than the light hearted lark he made
it out to be. Still, she didn’t know what she could possibly do to help.

“What’s this? Why the frown?” Anne asked as she popped into Ceylon’s workroom
and sorted through the cupboards. After a moment she withdrew her own stash of
cosmetic supplies and set up her equipment. The concealer she’d used to cover
Odell’s bite mark showed remarkable potential to cover facial scars, and she was
perfecting it.

“Odell has left.” She carefully folded the scrap of paper and tucked it in
her skirt pocket.

“Hm. Well, couldn’t expect the young scamp to hang about here forever, could
we?” Anne frowned as she measured a pale powder. “Still, one worries. A young
boy like him should not be running about unescorted.”

A glass vial clicked sharply as Ceylon set it down to stare at Anne.

Anne shrugged. “I’m a woman, my dear. How could I not notice?” Unlike our
traveling companions, was left unsaid.

Ceylon just shook her head. Their density had proved a mystery to her,
especially Roland’s. Just what had he thought Odell was, anyway?

* * * *

“You’re sure?”

Roland nodded. “Raven and I have kept a sharp eye out at the hostels and
taverns. We haven’t seen him, but word is he’s in town.” He smiled without
humor. “I took his sword hand before he slunk away the last time. He’s easy to
spot.”

Grim with the weight of Roland’s news, Uric leaned back in his office chair.
“Wonderful. This on top of rumors of trouble in the far lands. If they prove
true the queen will want to send me to investigate. I’m not easy about leaving
Ceylon without the protection of my name.”

A carved octagon puzzle box caught Roland’s eye. He hefted it thoughtfully.
“Speak with her. She’s promised herself to you. Surely she’ll see the reason in
hastening the wedding.”

Uric’s jaw locked. “She doesn’t seem eager. With my history I’m not hot to
rock the boat.”

“So get sneaky.” He put down the puzzle box and helped himself to a nut from
the nut bowl, cracking it in his hand. “You’re a tactician. Think of a way to
back her to the wall. Personally I favor compromising her.” He winked and popped
the nutmeats in his mouth.

A grunt was Uric’s only answer. Roland’s plan was good in theory, but he
needed something more sure. Something guaranteed to succeed.

An idea came to him, and he smiled.

One look at his diabolical expression and Roland grinned wickedly. “Found the
solution, have you?”

“Hm.”

Roland chuckled and cut a sharp salute. “Never doubted you, lad.”

* * * *

“Just breathe,” Ceylon told herself. She was so nervous she was shaking. Even
Uric’s strong hand on her back didn’t calm much. What was she doing here? A
country healer had no place in court. Surely the queen’s finest physicians had
seen the princesses, and if they were expecting a miracle she was fresh out.

“What is taking so long?” She bunched the material of her skirt in her hands.
She’d chosen the dress she’d first met Uric in today, partly to give her heart,
and because she felt more comfortable in something she owned independent of him.

People talked about women who received gifts from gentlemen.

“Relax.” Their bodies blocked the soothing action of his hand as he rubbed
her back. “You’re at court. Things move at their own pace here.”

“Yes, at a snail’s crawl,” a man waiting in the chamber with them muttered.
The courtier bowed to Ceylon and smiled. His slightly uneven teeth shown white
against his silver shot goatee and chin length, silver streaked hair. He looked
familiar somehow, though Ceylon was sure she’d never met him. “I am Sir Dante
Inferato, lovely lady. And you would be?”

“My betrothed, Ceylon, soon to be of Shardsvale.”

Whispers started in the room as people looked their way, some covertly,
others with open interest. Ceylon swallowed. Oh, dear. Were they wondering if
Uric would finally get a bride to the altar? As annoyed with him as she felt for
just announcing it like this, she felt an equally strong compulsion not to
embarrass him. Judging from the startled, then speculative look on Dante’s face,
it would be so easy to do.

Uric’s cool stare must have served as a warning, for the man was noticeably
more deferential when he bowed again. “An honor. And congratulations.” His gaze
darted to her stomach, as if wondering what prompted the wedding. “And when is
the happy event to occur?”

Already she disliked him. It wasn’t hard to guess that a countdown had
started from this minute to see if she was already with child.

As if unaware of the undercurrents, Uric answered, “I’ve left the choice with
my lady.”

Soft snickers came from the avid spectators. It made Ceylon burn. They
expected her to refuse him at the midnight hour, as had all the others. Emotion
made her rash. “Actually, we were just waiting until after my audience with the
queen. Uric was nice enough to let me get over this and calm my nerves before
making me a bride.”

Dante stroked his dark, pointed beard and eyed her doubtfully. “Tomorrow,
then?” He looked certain she would bolt long before dawn.

“Right before breakfast,” Ceylon informed him as if she’d planned it for
weeks. “You may come if you like.”

The whispers became a buzz. “The Berserker to take a wife? Not for my
gold.”

“She’ll run, never fear.”

The audience doors swung open and Ceylon was called in before she could voice
any of the retorts she was dying to say.

“Mistress Ceylon of Marksheath,” the herald called.

Uric squeezed her hand and winked. “You’ll do fine. Be brave for me.”

The minute the doors closed behind her, he turned to Roland’s brother Dante
and clapped him on the back. “Well done, you old rascal, you.”

Dante smirked. “Who’s old? I can still drink you under the table. And it’s
nice to see you with a woman of loyalty for a change. And lovely. She makes all
your other betroths look like day old meat.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Speaking of birds, there’s a rumor that my brother’s estranged wife has
finally flown her coop and alighted a court. Apparently she’s in seclusion, for
no one has seen her, nor does anyone know what brought her here.”

“Hm. Can’t be good for Roland.” Although he was privy to the details of
Roland’s disastrous marriage, Uric couldn’t see an easy out for his friend. His
wife was rumored to be a tyrannical, tempestuous wench who ruled their lands
with an iron hand, though he was in a position to know the rumors were greatly
exaggerated. Still, there was no doubt she held men--lords at least--in ill
favor. More than one of Roland’s neighbors had complained to the queen, though
nothing had come of it. As long as the woman didn’t annoy the queen herself and
continued to send her generous yearly tribute the queen was unlikely to
investigate the doings at Riverdell.

“I’ll tell him myself, if you don’t mind,” Dante said. “He’s not likely to
take it well, and we’ve some catching up to do. I’ve just arrived myself. Is he
staying with you in the city?”

“He has his own place.” Uric gave him the directions. “Though he might be
hard to track at the moment. He’s taking care of a bit of unfinished business
with an old friend of Ceylon’s.”

Dante appraised Uric’s dark expression. “Come to my rooms and share a drink.
I think I’d like to hear about this business.”

Uric glanced at the closed doors.

“Don’t worry about her. Rumor has it the queen will drown her in gold if she
succeeds. And if you have confidence in her....”

Uric nodded. “You’re right. Best to stay out of her way and let her work.
Lead on.”

A quarter hour latter they were in Dante’s room, seated at a small table.
While comfortable enough, the room was far from lavish. Elegance, not
ostentatious display, was the style.

“I’ve word on the situation on the border,” Dante said as he refilled his
glass of watered wine. “One of the queen’s dukes is gathering an army. There’s
been no official notice given, but he’s made noises often enough in the past
about his desire to see a king and not a queen on the throne. Could be war.”

Uric said nothing. He knew the duke in question. An older man with military
training and an intense craving for power. His hatred for women was a convenient
excuse to invade and conquer.

“She’ll send you.”

Yes, Queen Callion would send her best, and he was that. More, he wanted to
go. It was his duty to ensure peace in the land, and he did not want to see his
sons and daughters suffer at the hand of a cruel overlord. If a summons was not
waiting for him at home, it would be there on the morrow. Callion would not
waste time dealing with this threat. Already he was planning the campaign,
reviewing what he knew of the terrain and their enemy’s supporters.

The only question was, what would Ceylon think of her new husband marching to
war on the heels of their wedding?

* * * *

Her Majesty was not what Ceylon had expected.

Except for the guards at the door and flanking her throne, she sat alone in
the audience chamber. Ceylon had expected crowds of courtiers; this personal
interview was a profound relief.

At thirty she was still youthful and as beautiful as her sisters were
purportedly ugly. Blue eyes set in flawless skin. A sparkling tiara set in her
upswept black hair. Her robe flowed in silken lines about her, and the rich
scarlet and gold cloth dazzled the eye.

A fluffy white cat sat in her lap, and the queen casually stroked it, her
signet ring flashing against the snowy fur. “Rise,” she told Ceylon, who had
knelt down, head respectfully bowed. “So you are the famed healer, the one my
sisters put such hope in.”

“I am a healer, my lady, and hardly famed, but I have come at your command.”
It was the only safe answer, and as much of a disclaimer--and complaint--as she
dared.

One slim brow rose. There was a beat of silence. “So tell me, have you truly
cured warts?”

“I have.”

“You burned them off with hot pokers? Frozen them with ice...?”

Horrified, Ceylon recoiled. “Never! What kind of idiots would do such a
thing?”

“The royal physicians highly recommend it for one of my sisters, though I
have resisted their advice,” the queen said with the ghost of a wry smile.

“Good! Such ‘treatment’ would only cause the warts to spread, as does cutting
into them.”

A pained expression crossed her Majesty’s face. “Where you were last
spring?”

Ceylon stared at her, sickened. The princess must have scars.

Queen Callion waved her hand, dismissing the past. “What would you have done
instead?”

“I use a resin and bloodroot. I’ve yet to find a wart which can resist
it.”

“Interesting. And for boils and pimples?”

“Diet, herbs, cleanliness. It depends on the patient. While they may not
disappear, I’ve significantly reduced their vigor in several people, while
improving their health.”

“No expensive lotions or creams?”
Ceylon shrugged. “They serve little
purpose but to line the pockets of the unscrupulous. Sometimes they even cause
harm. I believe a body must be healed from the inside out.”

“Really. And what about the mark said to have once been on your cheek? Was
this removed with diet?”

Heat rose in Ceylon’s cheeks as if she’d done something wrong. “No, your
Majesty. It was an exception, as are wounds, of course, and external parasites
such as lice.” She couldn’t tell what the queen was thinking, and desperately
wanted to fidget, but didn’t dare. Where were the princesses, anyway? Surely
this was some kind of test.

At last Callion raised a finger. Instantly a servant came forward. “I have
decided to give you a trial, Mistress Ceylon. Succeed and you will be handsomely
rewarded, but I warn you, I must approve every measure you take with no
exceptions. You will be taken to my sisters now.”

The servant led Ceylon down marble corridors and hallways lined with works of
art and tapestries. The ceilings were arched and decorated with plaster
medallions, scrollwork and paintings. Never one who was good with directions,
Ceylon was sure she’d need a guide to find her way back out.

The princesses were waiting in plush sitting room with their companions. The
youngest, a girl of perhaps fifteen, jumped up the moment Ceylon was announced.