White Blood (32 page)

Vinhor nicked his finger and moved smoothly through the words of the incantation. A halo of light glowed around Barilan. Vinhor bent close to examine his head, but the space above his spiky blond hair shone as limpidly clear as sunlit well;-;water. Vinhor nodded and slowly straightened, his voice bringing the spell to a murmured conclusion. The last of his excess blood sparked away.

Maryn closed her eyes against stinging tears of relief. Her magic had worked. They were safe. Even if she couldn’t find a way to escape, even if Carlich succeeded in defeating Voerell and making himself king, all she had to do was play along until afterwards. She could swear she’d never tell what she’d seen, and he’d believe her, because he’d think she was concealing her own guilt as well as his. She would still try to get away, so that she could help rally Carlich’s enemies and save Milecha from falling under his control, but if she failed at least she would survive.

Carlich couldn’t contain his triumph. “See, the girl really did it! Everything is going as we planned.”

Vinhor inclined his head. “Now there’s no doubt. Send them back to their quarters and let us proceed with our work. If you still intend to launch our venture to Loempno immediately after next Sabbath, I’m afraid you’ll suffer many more sleepless nights in preparation.”

“Whatever it takes.” Carlich pushed his stringy hair back from his eyes. “We can’t give Voerell time to bring in troops from Wonora. I’m sure she’s got messengers on the way already. The first ships full of soldiers could be here in another week.”

“Very well. We will do as your Highness wishes.”

Maryn hoped Carlich might order her alone back to her room, but he called a guard and told him to escort her. She didn’t think he doubted the potency of his spell to make her obey, but perhaps he feared some supporter of Voerell might sneak into the building and make an attempt to seize Barilan. In any case, she had no opportunity to slip away before she was once again immured in her pleasant prison.

Nor did any chance arise over the next several days. She was hardly ever allowed to leave her room. Carlich seemed to nearly forget her existence, and that of the baby he believed was no longer truly his nephew. He only made brief appearances each morning, afternoon, and evening to renew the spell of compulsion. Maryn became comfortable working the spell Siwell had taught her and skilled in dissembling the proper subservient attitude. She continued to wait and watch, despite the boredom of long empty days and fear that her patience might prove fruitless. She never knew when her chance might come; she had to be ready to seize it.

Eighteen

O
n the Sabbath servants brought a fine gown for Barilan, almost as richly decorated as the one he’d worn to his heirship ceremony, and crisp fresh servant’s garments for Maryn. Guards escorted them to the church sanctuary. Maryn watched for any chance to slip away, but the guards were alert, and Tior wasn’t among them. Carlich had appropriated the elevated box at the side front where the town council usually sat. He gestured for Maryn to take a seat in one of the ornate high;-;backed chairs. She sighed. No escape would be possible from up here, where all eyes could focus on the infant king she held.

Before the service began Carlich introduced Barilan to a group of nobles, all of whom had assembled in support of Carlich’s endeavor. They bowed to Barilan and listened approvingly to Carlich’s account of how he had rescued the young king from his deranged mother. Maryn forced her expression to remain approving. Within she writhed, torn between disgust at Carlich’s blatant falsehoods and laughter at how ridiculous his story had become. He’d twisted it until it bore little resemblance to the events she’d witnessed. Instead it was a stirring tale of adventure, featuring Carlich in the role of the valiant hero who had single;-;handedly saved Milecha from foreign conquest.

None of his listeners showed any sign of doubting his account. They listened attentively and made noises of outrage or pleasure in all the right spots. Carlich was an excellent storyteller. Maryn admired his eloquence and animated delivery even as she despised his lies.

The beginning of the Sabbath service interrupted Carlich and sent the nobles back to their places in the lower section. Maryn sat demurely beside Carlich and tried to keep Barilan quiet. At first it was difficult, for the baby was happy and inquisitive, babbling in excitement as he gazed about. Jewel;-;colored light streamed through the towering windows, and the rich vestments of the celebrants shone and sparkled as they processed up the aisle. But the haunting chants of the brothers and sisters quieted him as they echoed around the cavernous space. Melody and counterpoint twined around each other, the syllables of the ancient language as mysterious to Maryn’s ears as to Barilan’s. By the time Priest Vinhor read from the Holy Scriptures and launched into his homily, Maryn managed to get Barilan to nurse, and he quickly drifted off to sleep.

The scripture Vinhor expounded told the story of a corrupt king and the prophet who defied him. Maryn had heard the text before, and enjoyed it for it was a stirring tale. But this time Vinhor twisted the interpretation until, without actually naming any names, he as much as asserted that the Holy One squarely supported Carlich’s cause against Voerell.

Murmur of approval rose from the assembled worshippers. The sanctuary was as packed as Maryn had ever seen it, even on Holy Days. The only empty places were those around Carlich and her in the box. People filled every seat in the section reserved for the nobility and the wealthy, and crammed shoulder to shoulder in the area where the commoners stood. Many of those standing were men wearing the livery of various lords.

Vinhor concluded his message with an impassioned prayer to the Holy One, entreating his blessing on the next day’s venture. A long tedious liturgy followed. Maryn let the responses she had been repeating every Sabbath since her childhood roll automatically from her tongue while her mind wandered. She jerked back to awareness when it was time to rise and follow Carlich forward to the rail to receive the ritual sanctification of the Holy One’s dying Breath. At least her status as a mere servant meant one of the junior priests administered it; she wasn’t sure she could have borne it if Vinhor had been the one to breathe the gentle gust over her head and hands. Of course Vinhor ministered to Carlich, and made the sign of the noose over Barilan as he slept in her arms.

They filed back to their seats to wait for all the other attendees to come forward and receive the Breath from the priests. Maryn drowsed, lulled by the sound of shuffling feet, the quiet murmur of priests’ voices, and the soft chanting of the brothers and sisters. She shifted Barilan to the side and propped one elbow on the arm of her chair to cradle her head.

She was nearly asleep when she heard Vinhor’s voice, very soft. “What troubles you, my prince?”

She cracked her eyelids open just enough to glimpse Carlich raise his head slowly from where it had been bent in prayer, resting on his clasped hands. She pressed her eyes back shut tight, though Carlich didn’t even glance at her. “Nothing, your Grace. Shouldn’t you be at the altar still?”

Maryn heard the sound of rustling vestments as Vinhor settled into a chair. “All those of note have been served already. The other priests can take care of the rest. I thought it more important to counsel you in your distress. Don’t try to convince me I’m wrong, my prince. I’ve been a priest too long not to recognize the signs of a man laying his heart bare to the Holy One.”

Carlich remained silent for a long time. Maryn was wide awake now, but she continued to feign sleep. At last Carlich spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I just want to be sure I’m doing the right thing. I want to know that the blessings of the Holy One go with me.”

“I’ve invoked them for you, have I not?”

“Yes, and I value that. But…You and I both know that everything I’ve done has been for the good of Milecha. All we’re planning is justified for my kingdom’s sake. But there’s so much others would see as crimes. Sins. So much we must keep secret. I was asking the Holy One for reassurance that any who would think so are wrong, and ignorant, and my course is truly good in his eyes.”

“Is not my assurance enough?”

“It is. And most of the time I feel the truth of it in my bones. But every once in a while, I doubt.”

“Doubts are the whispers of the Vulture, to tempt the Holy One’s followers from His true path.”

“I know. I don’t regret anything I’ve done. I just wonder…Are you sure everything we’ve planned is completely necessary? It seems we might show a little restraint. I know my sister must…must…well, you know. But what about the child? He’s an innocent. Surely nothing would be lost if we allow him to live.”

It was all Maryn could do not to cry out. Instead she froze, trying to avoid even the slightest movement that might alert Carlich or Vinhor to her awareness.

“My prince, he would always be a threat to you. Your enemies could use him as a rallying point and say the throne should be his. You cannot take that risk.”

“He’s not royalty any more.”

“That can never become known. He must be dealt with, my prince. There is no other choice.”

“Mm.” Carlich was silent for several long moments. Maryn had to fight the impulse to clutch Barilan close.

“What about the nurse?” There was a mulish quality to Carlich’s voice, like a petulant child arguing with a parent. “We could spare her, at least. She cooperated with us; she can’t betray us without revealing her own role. And in any case I have her well controlled.”

“Hush, your Highness. You shouldn’t be speaking of such things where others might hear. The girl is right there.”

“She’s asleep. You worry too much.” Maryn heard a rustle as he turned toward her. “Sleep. Forget anything we say that you’ve heard or might hear.”

The command triggered the compulsion spell, sending a wave of drowsiness washing over Maryn’s mind, but Siwell’s spell made it easy to resist. She couldn’t forget these words; they burned in her ears and twisted in her gut.

“There.” Carlich sighed. “I suppose I know what you’re going to tell me.”

“I’m sure you do, your Highness.” Vinhor’s voice dropped even lower. “She knows far too much. No matter how completely you control her, you cannot be sure your control will never slip. Your enemies would be willing enough to overlook her guilt in exchange for the information she could give them. As soon as we no longer need her to keep up the impression that you rescued her and she affirms your version of events, you must remove the threat. Such an action is fully approved by the Holy One. One need only look at the story of—”

“Yes, I know, I know. I’ve already listened to one of your sermons today; spare me another.”

“We serve the Holy One’s purpose in this world, my prince. Do not allow your resolve to weaken.”

“I won’t.” He sighed again. “If it must be done, I won’t hesitate.”

“It must. Now don’t risk speaking this way again.” The chair creaked as Vinhor rose. “It looks as if they’re nearly finished. I’ll go now to lead the benediction. You still intend to join me for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Maryn didn’t stir, even long after she was sure Vinhor was gone. She made Carlich shake her shoulder after the last notes of the recessional music died away. “Wake up. It’s time to leave.”

Maryn made a great show of rousing groggily. “Wha—Oh. Yes, your Highness.” She gathered the slumbering Barilan close. Her shoulder was damp where he’d drooled as he slept. She stumbled to her feet, praying that her numb shock and horror looked like the aftereffects of an interrupted nap.

Carlich didn’t look at her, only snapped, “Come with me,” and strode away. She followed him until he turned her over to a guard who escorted her back to her room.

Maryn managed to contain herself until the door closed behind her. She eased Barilan down on the bed without waking him. Then she threw herself into the chair by the hearth and gave in to shaking and sobs.

The magic she’d counted on to save her, that she’d nearly died to perform, was worthless. Carlich was going to kill her anyway. Surprisingly he seemed a bit reluctant, but Vinhor would push him to carry through, and Carlich would go along. She knew Carlich was a liar. Why did it shock her so deeply that he’d lied about rewarding her, too? Was this always the reward he’d had in mind?

She had to get away. It was more urgent now than ever. And she had to take Barilan with her, for Carlich planned to kill him, too.

But what if she didn’t get the chance? What if Carlich was careful enough to leave her no opportunity to escape before his confrontation with Voerell? If he was successful in defeating the regent, Maryn would surely have no opportunity to get away afterward.

Barilan was safer than she was, for Carlich couldn’t himself harm his nephew, at least not until the effects of Froethych’s spell faded. That could well be years. The spell even seemed to prevent him from ordering anyone else to harm Barilan. But if he wished it to happen, surely someone who wasn’t kin to Barilan would contrive to carry out the actual murder.

Nothing, however, prevented him from slaying Maryn with his own hand. If only the milk;-;ties that bound her to Barilan extended also to Barilan’s kin! But that didn’t seem to be the case. Carlich had hurt her many times since the spell took effect without any sign of difficulty.

A thought struck Maryn, and she froze. Not only infants could be bound with milk ties. Siwell had asked whether any man had ever tasted her milk, and was relieved when she assured her that only her husband ever had. Because he was dead, just as Frilan was, and couldn’t impose an unwelcome bond on the new prince. And when Rogelan had scried her milk for kinship ties, Edrich’s face had appeared alongside Frilan’s.

Maryn buried her face in her hands, shaking as she remembered the sensual pleasure of Edrich’s mouth on her breast. He’d taken such enjoyment in the abundance of her body to nurture their child and the cozy intimacy of being allowed to share in it. Siwell had said that some women didn’t like their husbands to touch their milk;-;filled breasts, but Maryn had never minded, and she and Edrich had continued to enjoy her breasts as part of their lovemaking after Frilan’s birth much as they had before.