Winter Moon (11 page)

With all this activity, Moira did not dare to slip away to the timber room to practice. With every able-bodied person scurrying on or about the keep making preparations, the cook was not bothering to lay out regular meals. Food was left in the Great Hall for people to snatch in passing.

This left her with nothing to do, staying in the Keep Lady's rooms in order to remain out of the way. Even Anatha was busy somewhere….

She tried to sit at her embroidery, and could not manage to set more than a stitch or two. At length, she rose and began pacing back and forth in front of the window. She had measured the space in steps at least twenty times, when a light tap made her jerk her head toward the door like a startled deer.

“I have been told, in no uncertain terms, that I am
in the way, my lady,” said Kedric, pushing the door open with one hand, the other clasping the neck of his lute.

“As am I,” she admitted. “I am too much the lady to be permitted to work with my hands, and not enough of one, it seems, to be allowed to direct the work.”

“Then we should obey Lord Ferson's directive and stay out from underfoot,” Kedric replied lightly, and shut the door behind him.

His expression went from moderately amused to dead sober, all in an instant.

“Lady Moira, is there anyone among your father's people who is a magician or a wizard?” he asked urgently.

She started but covered it swiftly. “Why do you ask?” she replied cautiously, wondering if he had some way of detecting the spell on her bracelet and the little message capsules.

“Because I have several times been to the old nursery at night, during calm times and during storm,” he replied. “And during calm nights, when someone walking guard or otherwise outside the keep might take notice, the light from the beacon is where it should be. But on nights of storm, it again comes from the wrong place. If the cause was some freakish reflection, it would not behave in such a manner, and the only way
I
know of to make such a thing happen is by—” he hesitated “—by magic.”

Should she trust him?
That was a good question, and she too hesitated before she answered. She still did not know who he served.

“Lady Moira,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “You must trust me. I have had word from the King and his cousin concerning
you
. The Countess Vrenable has identified you as one of her Grey Ladies. I serve the King in a similar capacity. The Countess was not aware of my presence here until after you had left Viridian Manor, or perhaps she would not have been so ready to send you here.” He grimaced. “I know that you have been sending the Countess information using the doves at the top of the cliff. I also know that you have no means of getting information back in return, except by some visitor, and your father has arranged for the road to Highclere to be closed since your arrival.”

She eyed him dubiously. “Then how are
you
getting word from my mistress and the King?” she demanded.

He laughed mirthlessly, and shrugged his good shoulder. “My lady, I am the king's wizard. Or one of them, anyway. I am an alchemyst. See here—” He pushed up his sleeve, and tattooed around his wrist was the image of the Serpent of Wisdom, the great snake that eats its own tail, the symbol of the alchemysts. It was the same side of his body as his hunched shoulder, and she wondered—had he always been so crippled, or had that deformity been inflicted upon him in the service of magic? “When I think it safe, I speak to my own master, who also serves the King, in the fire. But since you showed me the moving beacon, I have been extremely careful, because anyone who suspects that I am an alchemyst will know I can do this. If there is another magician
about, he will have the power to duplicate what I do, and can intercept my messages in his own fire. And I ask you if there are any magicians among your father's people because the only way that
I
know of for the beacon to change its apparent position is by magic.”

She shook her head, to his obvious disappointment. “Never, not since my mother died, and even she had only the touch of Moon and Sea magic she needed to be invested as Keep Lady. She was pregnant with me at that time, so both of us were bound to the service of the keep at the same time.” It was her turn to laugh mirthlessly. “Trust Father to manage things so that he didn't have to bring a sage in for a second Investment Ceremony. He hates magic—”

She hesitated. Kedric crossed the room to stare into her eyes as if trying to wrest the thoughts from her head. “What?” he demanded.

“Perhaps I should have said he
hated
magic. I do not know that he still does. And perhaps the only reason he hated it once was because he could find no way to make it serve
his
demands, only those of the King and the keep.”

“So if he has found a magician to answer to his will—he might have lost his distaste for the Arts Magical?” Kedric hazarded, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “But—” she hesitated again “—all I have is speculation—”

“The speculations of a Grey Lady are as informed as many a man's certain facts,” he told her. “Speak.”

“I have only bits of things. Massid's presence—I
thought
it was to secure an alliance, but father hasn't even hinted at a betrothal, much less a marriage, and Massid has made no real effort at courtship.” She shook her head. “The thing is—”

“Ah,” he said, holding up his finger for a moment. “Here is the other reason for my being here. Your father wishes to persuade you to an alliance with Massid, as you have assumed. I believe he intends to find a way to force you to it, and only the certainty that he cannot do so publicly has prevented him from having you bound over already. He has asked my advice on the subject. He has even toyed with allowing Massid to abduct you, by the way, and it was with great difficulty I persuaded him that this was a bad idea. I finally pointed out that the King would probably send the Corsairs in pursuit, despite the season, since you are his cousin's fosterling. I believe he wants this dealt with before the Midwinter Moon, and I believe that he intends to find a way to trick you or coerce you into agreeing within the next few days.”

She turned an indignant and appalled face to him. “Surely you are in jest!”

He shook his head. “But I have a plan—”

 

“Well, daughter.” Lord Ferson's voice was low, but strong enough to carry to the heads of the nearest tables. “I believe you may have divined my will by now, with regards to a marriage with Prince Massid.”

Moira's head came up abruptly, and as she turned
to face her father, she allowed her real feelings to show on her face. “Yes, I have,” she said clearly, and more than loudly enough for most of the room to hear her. It was something of a relief to be able to drop her mask at last, enough to show her anger and her resentment. “And I find it difficult to believe, my lord, that you are so willing to flout the law and the will of the King in this matter!”

If she had not been warned, she might have tried to dissemble. As it was, though her father was not aware of it, his wine had been mingled with a much more potent distilled spirit all evening, courtesy of Kedric, and she had her response ready, hoping to push him into acting without thinking.

Exactly as she had expected, her father's face darkened with the flush of anger, and the liquor seething in his veins spoke for him. “I find it difficult to believe that my own daughter, who owes me her life and her obedience, is so willing to flout
my
will!”

She stood up, and felt her hands trembling. She did not bother to try to hide her agitation; it would serve her purpose. “I am an obedient daughter, my lord, but the King's will supercedes my will and yours! Anything less is treason!”

“Nothing supercedes my will in this keep!” Ferson roared, rising to his feet, although Massid placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Forget that, my girl, and you will learn the truth of it to your sorrow—”

“Sorrow!” She uttered a brittle laugh. “If that is all you can threaten me with—I have rights, my lord,
and not even you can take those from me, and I say I
will
not agree to this treasonous marriage!”

By now every eye was on the dais. There would be no keeping this secret from even the lowest scullery boy, and by the looks on the nearest faces, Ferson's words were not going down well. One did not threaten the Keep Lady; she embodied the Luck of the Keep. When she was contented, the storms were few, and the storm harvest rich. Moira could tell that people were beginning to think about the too-early and too-frequent storms of this winter.

They were also thinking that Ferson was talking about marrying the Luck of the Keep to an enemy, and that when the King got wind of it, there would be hell to pay. Her father was oblivious to the sideways glances, the unease in the hall. He was too consumed with rage, his face nearly purple.

“I tell you,” she continued passionately, in the words Kedric had chosen for her to speak, “I would rather wed your
fool
than allow this Massid, this foreigner, to touch the smallest finger of my hand!”

For one moment she was afraid she had overreached herself—that she had gone just a little too far, that her father, who was so much more practiced in deception than she, would see through her.

But her father seized the bait like a ravenous shark. His head came up, and his eyes flashed with rage. “Oh you would, would you?” He turned to the rest of the room and thrust his fist in the air. “You have heard it! You are all my witnesses! She will not take my choice of husband, but wishes to marry the fool!”

He turned back toward her and seized her hand. Expecting this, she did not resist him as he dragged her to where Kedric sat on a stool at the back of the dais. With a wrench, he flung her at Kedric's feet. Kedric moved with amazing swiftness, somehow managing to put his lute aside and catch her before she fell.

“Take the ungrateful wretch, Fool!” her father bellowed. “She would rather be wed to you! Well, I declare it, here and now, and before witnesses!”

In an ugly parody of the peasant fisherfolk's wedding rite, he pulled off his own belt and bound their right hands together, then poured the remains of his wine on the floor in front of them, following that with the entire contents of the saltcellar. “Wed and bound I declare you! Wed and bound you two are, by fruit of the land and the fruit of the sea, and the power of the lord of the keep!”

Even though this was exactly what she had wanted, Moira felt her knees start to buckle, and with surprising strength, Kedric held her up.

“And know that if you dare to touch her carnally, Fool,” Ferson growled under his breath, “I'll have your stones for fish bait.”

“I understand, my lord,” Kedric murmured back.

“Now take her away from my sight, and keep her out of it until she's ready to obey!” Ferson shouted. “Take her and teach her, curse you both!”

Kedric stopped only long enough to pull Ferson's belt from their joined hands, and scoop up his lute. Then with one hand cupped under her elbow, he
hurried her off the dais and across the now-silent Great Hall. Moira felt the eyes of every person there on the two of them—and with a prickling of her skin, she looked back over her shoulder to see that Massid's eyes, black and cold, bored across the expanse of the hall with that same terrible, inhuman anger she had glimpsed once before.

She was glad to have Kedric's hand at her arm, and gladder still to slip into the shadowed hallway, where Massid could no longer see her.

“You'll have to keep out of his sight for now,” Kedric murmured, as they hurried down the hall to the Keep Lady's rooms. A cold draft chased them down the hall, blowing out lamps in their wake. “I'll have food brought to you.”

He opened the door to her rooms, and they stumbled inside, as the last of the lamps blew out in the hall behind them.

“And if you want to avoid accident, I think that
you
had better stay out of sight of Massid,” she retorted, feeling her spirits return as she closed the door of her rooms behind him hurriedly.

“I know. I felt his eyes burning into my back, and it was not just with rage,” Kedric replied, catching hold of both her arms. “My lady—Moira—those words your father said—I did not plan for a marriage—”

She laughed weakly. “We plotted better than we knew. We
are
well and truly wedded, my dear Fool, not merely betrothed as was the intention. It is no sham. That is a legal and binding ceremony by the traditions of the fishing folk hereabouts. It will take
the King himself to undo the knot. Although I do not think my father intends you to enjoy your wedded state. I think he means for you to berate me, torment me with your sharp tongue, and humiliate me until I would take even Massid to get away from you.”

“I believe you.” He put his back to the door and looked at her soberly. “My lady, I fear I may have overstepped myself with my own so-called cleverness. If Massid is indeed the magician here, as you think—”