White Blood (24 page)

Maryn caught the bread and obediently bit into it. Barilan’s sobs grated in her ears. Didn’t the baby’s cries bother Carlich? They tugged at her gut and sent warm waves through her breasts, but she was powerless to respond. She watched Carlich cut slices from an onion to go with his share of the bread, wondering resentfully when he would deign to notice Barilan’s distress and speak the words that would allow her to tend him.

Anger at Carlich flooded her. Maryn reveled in the unexpected rush of emotion. Before these last few days she’d never appreciated what a blessing it was just to be able to feel her own feelings, without a smothering blanket of sorcery numbing them. Carlich’s spell over her must be weakening again.

No sooner had the thought stolen into her mind, than she blurted, “My lord, the magic you worked on me is beginning to lose its effect.”

Carlich’s lips stretched in a humorless grin. “It is, is it? Let’s correct that.”

Maryn hated the smug way he sauntered over to her horse, finishing up the last few bites of his bread. He was so pleased with himself for coming up with this clever twist on the compulsion spell which forced her to be her own jailer. The intensity of her emotions pushed against the weakening effects of the spell. She could clearly picture her foot lashing out to kick the face that looked up at her with such contempt as he drew his knife and held out his hand for her arm. She could imagine the crunch of her shoe smashing his nose, the scarlet of the blood that would pour out. Let him use that, if blood was what he wanted! She longed to act with an ache as sharp as his knife on her skin. But she couldn’t move. His magic was still too strong.

The violence of her desire shocked her. Maryn ducked her head over her outstretched arm. She’d never hated anyone before, not like this. She’d never had cause to. Was she really a good person, as she’d always believed herself to be? Or was she as bad as Carlich, willing to hurt her enemies without qualm, if the circumstances demanded it?

She was starting to look like a sorcerer, she thought bitterly, as Carlich’s knife cut yet another slice into her arm. If people were to glimpse the crisscrossing lines of healing knife wounds crusted with scabs that scored her forearms and wrists, they would think she was someone who knew how to access power. Someone to be feared, or at least respected. Not the helpless victim she was in truth.

If only she really could learn the spells that would let her turn her blood against Carlich. But such knowledge was not for serfs or servants. Even if she had a sorcerer’s spellbook in her hands, she wouldn’t be able to read it. The network of old pale scars on Carlich’s hands mocked her pretensions as the blue crackles once again sent her into mindlessness.

They rode on, hour after hour, until as twilight neared they came in view of Ralo. Compared to the grandeur of the capital city the town’s stone walls looked flimsy, the cluster of buildings within small and insignificant. But Maryn remembered how much the square towers and iron;-;banded gate had intimidated her the first time she’d seen them, when Edrich brought her here after their wedding. Ralo had seemed huge and crowded to a serf girl who’d never been farther from her father’s farm than the village market. The spell had loosened its grip on Maryn’s thoughts enough that her throat closed and she had to blink at the memory. Had that really been only the previous summer? Despite all the momentous events of the intervening year, the gate looked the same. She could see no evidence here of the fire that had destroyed so much of the town.

Carlich reined in his horse. The exhausted beast stood with its head hanging, blowing hard, while Carlich surveyed the scene before him.

“Subtle or bold?” he mused aloud. “We can’t have beaten Voerell’s messengers here. Perhaps it would be wisest to sneak in and talk to Vinhor privately first. But could we do that without getting caught?” He chewed on his lip. “Gallows, I’m sick of hiding and sneaking. I’ll be declaring myself eventually; why not now? When have I ever feared the bold stroke?” For another long moment he considered, before setting his jaw and giving a decisive nod. “Very well.”

He whirled on Maryn. “You will support me in every way. You will give no indication that you are anything other than freely and willingly cooperative. If questioned, you will corroborate every detail of my story. Tend Barilan as he needs it; speak no more than you must to appear unremarkable. Give me your arm; I’ll renew the spell now. At the very earliest moment you feel it weakening, you will seek me out and inform me in some private manner so that I may restore it.”

Maryn shifted Barilan into one arm and held out the other. Her emotions were such a turbulent mess, after seeing the place where she had experienced so much joy and grief, it was almost a relief when they subsided under the numbing magic. Once the spell was back in full force Carlich kicked at his weary beast until it stumbled into a heavy trot. Maryn’s mount plodded behind.

Carlich rode down the very center of the road, clearly visible to the sentries that flanked both sides of Ralo’s main gate. He stood in the stirrups and waved his hands over his head. The guards around the gate stiffened to alert attention, bringing their weapons up to bear on him. As word spread, more soldiers spilled from within the gates and ranged themselves in a defensive barrier.

As soon as he was close enough to be heard, Carlich began to shout. “Hail! Well met, comrades! I rode as hard as I could to get here and request your aid. Milecha is in danger! We are her only hope for salvation. Call Priest Vinhor and Captain Tennelan. I must speak with them!”

The troops around the gate showed signs of confusion. Some looked questioningly around, seeking orders from their superiors, but others gripped their weapons tighter and glowered. As Carlich led Maryn close to the gate, a tall man in the uniform of an officer pushed through and stepped forward. “I’m in charge here. Halt, and state your business.” He faltered, squinting up through the failing light at the mounted figure before him. “Prince Carlich?”

Carlich swung down from his horse and went to greet the officer, arms wide. “Mithoch! Thank the Holy One you’re here! I know you’ll stand with me and not believe my sister’s lies!”

Mithoch hesitated. He jerked his head, and a number of his men came up to form a large circle that encompassed Carlich and the two horses. Drawn swords flashed in the last rays of the setting sun; spear points glittered. Maryn clutched Barilan and watched, unable to feel fear or hope or any other emotion but mild curiosity.

“I’m under orders to arrest you. Princess Voerell has taken control of the government as regent, and has named you an outlaw. She claims you murdered your brother Prince Marolan, and kidnapped her son, who now bears the Kingship.” Mithoch’s eyes went to Barilan in Maryn’s arms, but he didn’t make any move in their direction.

He returned his attention to Carlich. “I must follow my orders and take you into custody. But are you saying you dispute her accusations? I was loath to believe it of you, my prince, after you led us so nobly against Hampsia.”

Carlich spread his hands. “Of course I wouldn’t ask you to disobey your orders. I only seek to speak with Captain Tennelan and Priest Vinhor right away. I have much to tell them, and much to ask of all of you. I swear, what Voerell told you is a lie. She’s the one who conspired with Marolan’s treacherous Wonoran bride to murder our brother. If not for the spell that took Father’s life, I’m sure she would have killed me, too.” His voice trembled. Even though she knew the truth, Maryn found his sincerity convincing.

Mithoch looked troubled. He jerked his head, and two soldiers came up to station themselves on either side of Carlich. One looked at the sword and knife at Carlich’s belt, and turned to Mithoch. “Should we disarm him and place a binding on him to prevent him working sorcery?”

In the deep part of her mind untouched by the spell’s influence, Maryn felt a tiny surge of hope. If they did that, Carlich wouldn’t be able to renew the spell when it wore off.

Mithoch stared into Carlich’s eyes. He shook his head. “No. But be on the alert. Bring him, and the young king and his nurse as well.”

Dull disappointment quenched the briefly kindled flame in Maryn’s heart. Other soldiers came up and lifted her down from her mount. She clutched Barilan close, but no one tried to take him from her. She trailed behind Carlich as the soldiers led them toward the church.

They bypassed the sanctuary with its towering stained;-;glass windows and entered a door to a side wing of the building. Inside, everything was even more ornate and magnificent than in the church proper. Rich burgundy velvet hangings draped the walls, and gilded carvings glittered in the lamplight.

A messenger must have run ahead to warn Priest Vinhor, for he emerged from an inner room dressed in his full priestly vestments. Maryn recognized his lean, ascetic form, long narrow face, and thinning blond hair from the many times she’d seen him at the front of the Sanctuary leading the Sabbath services.

She looked at him closely, remembering Siwell’s warning. The midwife had said Vinhor had killed a patient that might have been saved, in order to use her blood to call up the storm that ended the fire. To Maryn he appeared far too noble and pious to be responsible for such an act. The way his sharp gaze took in the waiting group promised that Carlich would not easily deceive him. Maybe Siwell had been mistaken, after all. Maryn found it hard to imagine that an official of the church could put his own ambition before the Holy One’s law.

Vinhor hurried forward, his hands outstretched. “Prince Carlich! They tell me you bear portentous news.”

Carlich dropped to his knees and bowed his head, then accepted Vinhor’s offered hands and rose. “Indeed, your Grace. My heart is heavy with grief over what I must relate, but I trust your wisdom to guide me in the path of the Holy One’s will.”

Vinhor murmured solicitous words, and led Carlich to an upholstered chair before a wide, inviting hearth. He looked closely at Barilan, who reached toward the jeweled pendant on his chest, before gesturing for Maryn to take up a place standing behind Carlich’s chair. He seated himself facing Carlich.

Just then there was a commotion at the door. A burly man wearing the uniform of a high officer in Milecha’s army burst in and strode over to them. He had grizzled hair and a puckered scar across one cheek. “What is this?”

Carlich rose to his feet. “Captain Tennelan! How glad I am to see you! You were ever my strong right arm in our campaign against the Hampsian invaders. If there’s anyone I can trust to see the truth and support me in my efforts, it’s you. Please, sit down. I was just about to explain everything.”

Tennelan accepted Carlich’s handclasp, but his brow furrowed and he turned to Vinhor. “Much as I hate to say it of one who always led us ably, this man is accused of committing murder and attempting to usurp the crown. He’s implicated in the death of our king. The regent has ordered us to arrest him. Why are you granting him an audience?”

Vinhor waved a placating hand. “Prince Carlich deserves an opportunity to relate his version of events. I am told he brings very troubling accusations against the regent. It’s only right we should hear him out before making a judgment in the matter.”

Carlich spread his hands wide and gazed earnestly at Tennelan. “Captain, I understand your reluctance. I myself would find it impossible to believe the heinous acts my sister is guilty of if I hadn’t seen her commit them with my own eyes. But I swear, when you hear what I have to tell you, you’ll be as horrified as I am that she now holds power in Milecha. I know you’ll be eager to help me set matters right.”

Tennelan only looked more troubled, but he dragged forward a chair and dropped into it. He nodded to Carlich. “Go ahead. I’ll listen to your tale.”

Barilan whined and rooted against Maryn’s shoulder. She stifled a groan as she moved him into position to nurse. She’d been holding him all day without even a moment to set him down, and he seemed to weigh at least twice as much as he had that morning. Her legs trembled. They felt warped out of their normal shape by the long hours of riding, and there were several spots she was sure were rubbed raw. The last thing she wanted was to stand here listening to Carlich’s lies. But maybe his blandishments would win them soft beds for the night, at least.

Carlich sat down, but he remained perched on the edge of his seat, leaning intently forward. “My lord, your Grace, you will remember that my brother Marolan, may the Holy One shelter his soul”—He piously made the sign of the noose, and the other two followed suit, Tennelan perfunctorily, Vinhor with a great dramatic sweep—“was betrothed to Princess Dolia of Wonora, and their wedding was set for little more than a month hence.”

Vinhor frowned. “I always had my doubts about that match. Though we share a long history of devotion to the Holy One, in recent years the Church in Wonora has come under the influence of highly suspect theology. Prelate Kiellan saw fit to overlook their potential heresies and certify the betrothal, but I wondered if that was a decision made after prayer and in accord with Holy guidance, or if it was unduly influenced by political considerations.”

Carlich nodded earnestly. “I, too, had concerns about the marriage.” He launched into a long account of his investigation of the marriage treaty, nearly identical to what Maryn had heard him tell Voerell. It had only been a few weeks since that dinner party, but it felt like a lifetime.

Maryn struggled against the spell, trying to think. Now that she knew Carlich so much better some of his assertions rang hollow to her. Was the treaty really that bad, or had Carlich exaggerated a small risk to justify a course of action designed to give him the power he craved?

Vinhor and Tennelan listened attentively. The priest seemed just as persuaded as Voerell had been, but Maryn noticed Tennelan’s brow occasionally furrowing. Hope stirred under the spell’s oppressive weight. Maybe he would see the truth.

“But Marolan wouldn’t listen any more than Father would. He told me to drop the matter.” The frustrated innocence in Carlich’s voice when he spoke of his brother turned Maryn’s stomach.