Chapter 21

 

 

i

 

To the Lady Kerry:

I had difficulty tapping Dasvid’s mind. He has a forceful brain, perhaps trained to resist probes by an Enos. I attempted the tap during the king’s announcement banquet. My tap did not reveal the mental picture which Dasvid carries of himself, but I did learn that he refers to himself as Byron. He struggled against me through most of the tap, but I was able to get a brief picture just after the king’s announcement.

In that flash I learned that Dasvid feared for a young boy who appeared half starved and abused. The fear had a direct relationship to the announcement. The child’s identity and relationship to Dasvid are unknown.

The Lady Jelwra’s unannounced appearance at the banquet also disturbed Dasvid. She appeared startled by his presence as well. She hinted that his name might not be Byron, and she made references to the last Lord of Kinsmail. The reference disturbed Dasvid’s companion, Seymour.

Dasvid has become a favorite of the king’s. The relationship seems quite strong. No direct attack on Dasvid is possible at this time.

You might not be the only one who wants the bard dead, milady. Corvo, the assassin whom Lord Ewehl paid to kill Lord Demythos a decade ago, is here at the palace. He won’t tell me who he’s working for and, of course, I can’t tap him. I will keep an eye on him, though.

Please obtain information relating to the last Lord of Kinsmail. I will attempt another tap and maintain surveillance. I suggest no action be taken against Dasvid at this time.

Vonda

 

 

ii

 

Almathea removed the diamonds from her ears, set them on her dressing table, and inserted pearls. She glanced in the mirror: her face looked fat in the wavy glass. The dressing room was too small and claustrophobic. The edges of her skirt hit the wardrobe as she moved.

She glanced into the sitting room. The overstuffed furniture scattered around the walls looked uncomfortable, but no more uncomfortable than Vonda. She still waited, her hands folded in her lap. She looked like a spider, fat and contented, waiting for the kill. Alma had been wondering why Vonda was there. Alma had no designs on Kerry land, and she had never spoken with the Lady Kerry.

Alma sighed and returned to her mirror. She had already kept Vonda waiting almost an hour. The message had to be important for Vonda to wait that long. Alma brushed her long, dark hair and pulled it away from her face. Then she wound a strand of pearls among the curls and stepped back, surveying herself. It would have to do. She had only so much to work with–her hair was coarse and too thick, her face dark and plain–and too little time. The king’s announcement had surprised her, as it had surprised the other gentry, and she wanted to make sure the king saw no one else at his festival.

She smoothed her hair one more time and pulled the door open. Vonda glanced up. Her skin formed little webs around her eyes and the corners of her mouth.

“Well, Vonda,” Alma said, “what is this thing that is so important?” She continued standing so that Vonda had to look up. Upstart servants had to be kept at a disadvantage.

“I’m pleased that you agreed to see me, milady.” Vonda’s voice was soft, like the rustle of parchment. “I have come to discuss the king’s bard.”

Alma moved her head slightly. The pearls in her hair clicked. Vonda had been watching the night before; Alma remembered that. Time to put the spider lady on the defensive. “Is he your lover?” Alma asked.

Vonda smiled. The look was cold. “Of course not, milady. I’m here on business.”

“Indeed.” Alma walked to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of water. She did not offer Vonda one.

“The Lady Kerry believes that the bard is not who he claims to be. You too seem to know something about the man. I was wondering if you would like to share your information.”

Alma swirled the water in the glass as if it were full of wine. Then she took a sip, savoring the taste, and leaned against the chair across from Vonda. “What interest does the Lady Kerry have in this?”

“A personal one.”

Alma sighed, as if she were bored. In fact, she was even more interested. She loved secrets and gossip. Her power had its base in the kind of knowledge she picked up from others. Now that she knew Lady Kerry also had suspicions and an involvement with Sir Geoffry, Alma would search for the information on her own.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Alma said. “The man looks familiar, but I don’t know where I have seen him before.”

“Beg pardon.” Vonda bowed her head a little, keeping her gaze on Alma. “But I do not believe you, milady.”

“The Lady Kerry lets you talk like that? Interesting the manner of different gentry.” Alma took another sip of her water and stood. “You may leave.”

Vonda bowed her head again and scurried around the chairs. When she reached the door, she stopped. “I hope you consider the request, lady.”

Alma smiled and waited until the door closed before setting the glass down carefully. Impertinent witch, calling Alma a liar and asking for help in the same meeting. Alma adjusted her skirts, checked the mirror once more, and let herself out of her suite.

The corridor was cool. A retainer standing near her door bowed his head at her. She ignored him. Sir Geoffry was a puzzle. She hadn’t expected him at the palace and she certainly hadn’t expected to see him performing for the king. Perhaps Geoffry believed that once he had the king’s favor, he could petition for his lands. Bad plan, of course. The king now saw Geoffry as lower class, and no amount of history could change that.

She turned down the corridor to the audience chamber, lifting her skirts as she climbed the small flight of stairs. The doors to the chamber were open. Retainers stood against the walls like statues, swords and banners crossed above their heads. Strange decorations; she did not like them. The king sat on a large chair on the dais, and Geoffry stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. Geoffry wore a linen shirt and breeches instead of his usual black. The clothing accented his slender frame and made him look younger.

Alma stepped inside and curtsied, making certain her attention was on the king. The man was too fat and smelled of sweat and ale. She supposed that if she became the new consort, she would have to do all of the work, with the king on his back and his stomach in the way. She frowned, wishing there was another way to become part of the royal family in Kilot.

“Alma!” The king sounded pleased. He stood up and extended his hand to her. She rose, nodded once at Geoffry, and climbed the stairs to the dais.

Lunch did not sound excellent. Alma wanted to know why Geoffry was talking to the king, and she didn’t dare ask. She didn’t want the king to know how curious she was about things. He knew that she was intelligent and that she could be difficult, but he didn’t have to know that she was determined to make her own power base in the kingdom. “I’ll just take a chair and wait until you’re through,” she said.

She walked to the back of the dais and sat on one of the wood chairs near some velvet curtains. They brushed against her back and the chair seemed stiff, uncomfortable. From her vantage point, she could see Geoffry’s face, but not the king’s.

The king sighed and sat back in his chair. “Finish, bard,” he said.

“I have told you about the conditions in the countryside,” the bard said. He leaned on one knee, the other leg straight down the stairs. He was as close to the king as he could be without being disrespectful. “I’m worried about an uprising. The wheat crop failures are costing many peasants their livelihood. People are starving, and the gentry is doing nothing. On Lord Dakin’s land–”

“I don’t care about Dakin,” the king snapped. “What do you want from me?”

Alma clasped her hands in her lap, wishing that she had been present for the beginning of the conversation. She wondered what crop failures had to do with Geoffry’s land claim.

“Sire, I checked with the store master. You have enough food here to feed an entire army under siege for three years. You can afford to share it, and it might ease tensions in the countryside.”

“I see no reason to feed peasants.”

Neither did Alma. And she could see no reason for Geoffry’s request. The man was crazy. He should have been petitioning for his lands rather than speaking for the unwashed.

“The common folk keep this country alive, Highness,”Geoffry said. “The gentry live off the land, but the peasantry work it. Without them we would have nothing. Right now, neither the gentry nor the kingdom itself does anything for the peasantry–”

“I have heard enough!” The king pounded his fists on the chair and the entire dais rumbled.

Alma suppressed a smile. She had never seen the king mad before. He looked like a red-faced, roaring bulldog–the small, yapping kind her mother used to keep. The retainers along the walls stood at attention and stared at the dais. Geoffry took the remaining steps in two leaps. He crouched before the king.

“You’ll listen to me, sire, because if you don’t, it could mean the end of the realm as you know it. Not one of you pays any attention to the peasantry. The beautiful Lady Jelwra over there wants land and power. Lords Ewehl and Boton want to run the kingdom their way. The council spends more time exchanging land than doing any real work. When governing is done, it is done for the landed, not for the people who work the land. I’ve traveled through the realm, sire. I know its people. And, believe me, you had better start working with them instead of ignoring them.”

The king didn’t move. Alma’s urge to smile had disappeared as well. She didn’t like Geoffry’s assessment of her, nor did she like the way he asserted that assessment to the king.

“You think these isolated incidents will become a mass uprising,” the king said. His anger seemed to have disappeared.

“I know it, sire. Kilot’s history shows it. The Dakins took their lands because the Kinsmails, who controlled it, failed to care for their peasants after a major fire swept through the forest up there. The first Dakins helped the peasants and the peasants helped them. The present Lord Dakin has forgotten the lessons his family learned. If his heirs manage the estate as he has, Dakin will not control that land much longer.”

“But attack the king?” The king was clenching his fists so tightly his knuckled turned white.

“Sire,” Geoffry’s voice softened. “Have you forgotten what happened to Queen Glerek two hundred years ago? She abused her peasants. Her laws forced them into starvation and forced the crop failures. If it weren’t for the Enos working to protect the land, she would have died in an uprising.”

The king sighed. “I have made no laws hurting the peasants.”

“You have made no laws to help them either, sire. And they are starving.”

The king looked at Geoffry. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glowed. Alma wondered if passion always made his face seem so alive.

The silence seemed long. Alma resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. Then the king chuckled. “You did warn me about that, didn’t you?”

The king’s chuckle grew into a laugh. The guards relaxed, and so did Alma. She didn’t want anything to happen to Geoffry, and she didn’t want anything to interfere with her own plans. “And so what do you suggest, sir bard?”

“You’re lucky that I like you, bard, and that you have good ideas.” The king waved his hand in dismissal. “I will consider your grievance my own way. And tonight you will sing for me so well that I will forget your impertinence.”

Geoffry bowed. “Thank you, sire.” And without a single glance at Alma, he left the audience chamber.

Alma stood and put her hand on the king’s shoulder. He was tense. She stared at the doors, wishing she could see through them and see Geoffry. He never did what she expected. He was one of the few people she had ever met whom she couldn’t read. Usci was another. She wished he were here instead of home, tending to her business. He might understand the bard. Perhaps she would send for him.

The king patted her hand as Lord Boton stepped through the curtains in the back. Alma had suspected there were listening chambers, but she was surprised that the king would reveal them to her.

“What do you think, Boton?” the king asked.

“The bard has a point, sire. He knows the lands better than we do, and several gentry have reported trouble with their people. I’ll look into the matter. But I would also have someone watch that bard. He reminds me too much of Lord Demythos.”

Lord Boton’s eyes widened. Alma felt a shiver run down her back. The king seemed shrewder today than he ever had before. She wondered, if she became consort, whether he would prove as malleable as she had hoped.

“Demythos was a good man. He thought of others before himself.” The king smiled. “You’re right, Boton. The bard does remind me of Demythos.”

Lord Boton frowned. The king took Alma’s hand off his shoulder and stood. “Alma and I are going to lunch.” He led her down the stairs and tucked her hand into his arm. His body seemed almost too warm. He leaned his head near hers. “I see you so rarely, Alma, and I do miss your mother so. She was the heart of the council.”

Alma nodded. She had heard that before. Too bad her mother was not the heart of Jelwra. Her father had run the lands, and had raised Alma. She would never give as much away as her mother had.

“I would love to discuss the bard’s proposition over lunch,” she said, turning the conversation from her mother. If the king liked the former lady of Jelwra, he would not like Almathea.

The king patted her hand and walked her slowly out of the audience chamber. “I no longer discuss business over meals,” he said. “Ruins the digestion.”

As if anything ruined the king’s digestion. Alma did not sigh, but she made a silent vow. She would never, ever have a meal alone with the king again–at least not until she became consort.

 

 

iii

 

To the Lady Kerry:

Dasvid shocked the palace by confronting the king over the crop failures. Surprisingly, the king listened to him. The king and the council examined the situation and decided to allot five pounds of food per family as long as the wheat disease continues. Dasvid has also been promoted to the king’s representative to the underclasses. He is to hear their petitions and to bring valid claims before the king. Dasvid seems to enjoy the job. He spends most of the day listening to the petitions and his evenings entertaining the king.

The king’s fascination with Dasvid is unusual. Most entertainers would have been banished for their impertinence, yet Dasvid is still a favorite. He seems to have no outside contacts. His only real friends are his traveling companions, the magician Seymour and the boys Colin and Afeno.

As you requested, I met with the Lady Jelwra. Dasvid fascinates her as well. Mentally, she refers to him as Sir Geoffry. Although my tap of her mind was abortive, I learned that she has not known him long and is not clear about his identity. She is also planning something to do with the king, but the idea was nebulous and unfocused because it had nothing to do with our conversation. During our meeting the Lady Jelwra protected Dasvid from my questions. I do not know why.

Vonda

 

 

iv

 

Alma finished buttoning her day dress and looped the braids around her head. She set the remaining pins on her dressing table. The room was a mess without Usci, but she didn’t want any of the palace serving people inside. The dressing room was hers, sloppy as it was, and she didn’t want anyone snooping.

She sighed and checked her appearance one final time in the wavy mirror. She hated hunting, thought it both boring and barbarous, but right now she couldn’t refuse any invitation of the king’s. She liked the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was looking, the way his eyes gleamed, as if he were thinking that he could make love to her and she would be useful to him.

She could make love to him too. It would take a little imagination and a lot of fantasizing, but she would be able to hold him and please him–and have a child with him. And she was glad that she wouldn’t have his full attention. The king would feel affection for her, but the Lady Constance would take care of the love. Alma would love her children, and she would love the kingdom, and she would love her power.

And until she had those things, she would do what the king asked.

She grabbed a fan and her small whip and let herself into the hallway. The hallway was dark, the faded portraits staring at her as if they were laughing. She touched her hair, sorry she had agreed to the hunt, sorry that she had agreed to be up at dawn. As consort, she would lie in bed until noon and stay up until dawn: those were civilized hours. She gathered her skirts and headed toward the stables, her leather shoes scuffling against the stone floor.

A door opened in front of her, and she had to step back to keep from walking into it. Sir Geoffry emerged and, seeing her, took her arm. His touch was warm and gentle. “Are you all right, milady?”

She stepped around the door and peered inside. She had noticed the doors lining the corridor, but thought they led to serving closets. Geoffry’s had a lute, juggling equipment, a table, and a desk. “Do you always open doors with such enthusiasm?”

His grip tightened on her arm, and he led her into the little room. The air was stuffy and hot, but smelled faintly of soap and leather, like Geoffry. He closed the door. Alma leaned against the desk, unwilling to sit unless he did. “You haven’t told me,” she said. “Is Byron your real name?”

The laughter had left his face. His eyes were hard and black. “I don’t plan to tell you, milady. You know enough already. I wanted to make it clear to you that if you decide to reveal what you know about me, I will reveal what I know about you.”

Alma tilted her head a little. She took a deeper breath, and forced herself to stay calm. More important men than Geoffry had threatened her, although she had never expected it of him. Something she had done worried him. “And what do you know about me, Sir Geoffry?”

“I know how you’ve been expanding your lands. I doubt even lords Boton and Ewehl know the details. Your recent council defeat won’t take away all the lands you stole from Lafa, not if you can provide the documents with the king’s seal. And we both know that you have those. Too bad you can’t use your mother’s key to the documents room to get the deed to Kilot itself. You’ll have to sleep with the king for that.”

The edge of the desk dug into Alma thighs. Her palms were sweating. She thought no one knew that her mother had had an extra key to the documents room. Lord Boton kept the kingdom records in that room as well as the king’s seal. It had been so easy to transfer Lafa’s land, forge the king’s signature, and seal the document. And she had done it long before Geoffry came to the palace. “I assume you want more from me than silence,” she said.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The lady becomes cold when she feels threatened.” He smiled. “We’re not enemies, Alma. In fact, I think we can work well together.”

“Either you would like my help in the documents room, or you too would like to sleep with the king to gain a kingdom.”

Geoffry laughed. The warm, melodious sound filled the small room and made Alma shiver. “Neither, lady. I just want the title that I’m due.”

“Why don’t you approach the king and ask for it? You’re in favor now.”

He sat on the cot. The wood groaned. “It’s not that simple.” His hand rested beside him, almost inviting her. She noted the movement, but ignored it. After a moment, he sighed. “Lady, if you do plan to vie for the king’s offer, watch yourself. Lord Ewehl has spies all over the castle, as does the Lady Kerry. I believe Lord Kensington is receiving regular reports as well. Those in power will do anything to retain that power. Even murder.”

“You sound like such an expert, Geoffry. And you’ve only been here a few months.”

“Byron, lady.” He rested on one elbow and looked up at her. His body was smooth and strong, the shoulders wide and hips narrow. She wanted to touch him, but she had to hunt with the king. Her future had to come before her passions.

She stood, knowing she had to leave the room before she took Geoffry’s silent invitation. “I’ll keep your secret, sir bard. But don’t expect me to keep it at my own expense.”

He gazed at her over his shoulder. “I never expect more from people than they are capable of.”

Alma longed to smack him with her whip and wipe the confident expression from his face. Instead she let herself out of the room and slammed the door behind her. She hurried down the corridor, afraid that she was already late.

Geoffry knew too much. He was a gatherer of information as she was, and that made him dangerous. He knew so much about her, and she knew nothing of him. It was time she learned.

The stables were at the back of the palace, near the forest that housed the Cache and the whistle-wood trees. Alma opened the side door leading to the stables. The wind was strong, the air cool. Her braids slapped against her face, and her skirts twisted around her ankles. The groomsmen held two mounts. Lords Boton and Ewehl already sat on theirs, as did Lord Kensington. Alma smiled at him, unaware that he was at the palace and angry that she hadn’t known it. Geoffry had known. He had warned her about Kensington.

“Lord Kensington,” she said. “You didn’t join us at dinner last night.”

“I arrived late, milady.”

She took one of the groomsmen’s hands and swung into the sidesaddle, arranging her skirts so that they flowed along the horse. He probably had arrived as quickly as he could after he found out about the king’s announcement. Should the king die without an heir, Kensington would inherit the throne.

In the distance a wail rose and echoed. A shiver ran down Alma’s back. She had heard the whistle-wood trees before, but they always frightened her. “Where is his highness?”

“Here, Alma.” The king emerged from the stable. His breeches were too tight, revealing every roll of fat in his thighs. She thought of Geoffry’s legs, tight and muscular, and forced herself to concentrate on something else. “I’m pleased that you could join us this morning.”

A group of five dogs, barking and yipping, ran from the stable, following the same path as the fox. The men clucked at their horses and the mounts galloped after the dogs. Alma did the same, her mare barely able to keep up. She didn’t mind. The sport sickened her. If people were going to kill something, they should get their own hands bloody, rather than letting animals do the work for them.

The king glanced back at her once and waved. She waved too and smiled as prettily as she could. The forest was dark, and the whistle-wood moaned, as if in sympathy for the poor fox. Brambles grew in the underbrush, and Alma steered her mare beside the trees, hoping that her skirt would catch. It took more than one try, but finally she heard a small ripping sound.

“Highness,” she called, but the king didn’t notice. Gallant old fool, she thought to herself. At least the groomsmen would see the rip and support her reason for leaving the chase. She leaned forward on the sidesaddle, gripping her horse with one hand and trying to free her skirt with another.

She heard the sound of a single horse galloping back toward her. A fat, bejeweled hand flipped her skirt free. She looked up, expecting to thank the king, and saw Lord Boton smiling at her.

“I’m not used to riding in such an enclosed area. The Jelwra land isn’t as wild.” The tree moan grew higher, almost a shriek. Alma took her skirt from Lord Boton’s hands.

“And a system that provided you with more lands than you can manage. I have watched you, milord. You pretend to advise the king, but the interests you watch out for are your own. Of course you will oppose me. I’m too strong for you.”

“You’re not as powerful as you think you are, milady.”

“And neither are you, Lord Boton.” Alma clucked at her horse and galloped toward the stables, leaving the lord behind her. She smiled, feeling the game begin. Power was the sport she enjoyed. And Lord Boton would make the sport interesting, and so would Lord Ewehl. She was smarter than both of them, and she knew more about them than they knew about her.

As she got closer to the palace, she heard shouts coming from the side gate. She swung her horse around to see what was causing the noise.

Several guards had gathered in a small alcove near the stables. They held an old, large peasant man. He wore a ripped shirt and tattered pants. His face was fleshy and jowled. Geoffry stood on the steps leading into the palace, watching the fat man as if he were about to kill him.

“You have no right to hold me!” the fat man shouted. He twisted against the guards’ arms, glanced around for help, and finally saw Alma. “Help me, lady! I came here for assistance and that man won’t let me see the king.”

Alma glanced at Geoffry. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t seem to notice her. “He decides who is worthy of seeing the king,” she said. “I have no jurisdiction in this matter.”

“You have some jurisdiction, milady,” one of the guards said. “He drew a knife on the bard, and the bard refuses to do anything about it.”

“Is that true?” Alma asked. Geoffry still hadn’t looked at her, but the man spoke:

“He insulted me.”

“That’s no reason to attack a representative of the king. What had you planned to do about this, Byron?” She could not get the edge of irony out of her voice when she said his name.

Geoffry finally looked at her. A long, bloody gash ran down his left cheek. “The peasant is no threat to me. Let him continue his wretched life away from the palace.”

Something else had happened here, something she didn’t understand. A peasant who attacked the gentry–or a representative of the gentry–had to be imprisoned or executed to show others that such behavior was forbidden. Perhaps Geoffry didn’t know that. “Arrest the man,” Alma said. “Let the king decide what to do with him.”

“But, lady, you haven’t heard my case!”

Alma brought her horse up close to him and looked down at him. His face was florid, his eyes piggy. He smelled of ale, onions, and stale sweat. “I heard enough. You wanted to let the king decide your fate. He will.”

“Bitch!” the man screamed. The guards dragged him off. Alma dismounted and gave her reins to one of the guards. Then she sent another for an herb witch. She climbed the stairs to Geoffry and touched the blood on his face. The whistle-woods moaned.

“I wish you hadn’t done that, lady,” he said.

“And why not? Peasants do not threaten gentry. It is the law and it keeps us safe.”

“I am trying to establish among the lower classes that the king believes in justice for everyone. If someone comes here with a petition and gets arrested, where’s the justice?”

“They have to know they can’t attack you.”

“He wasn’t held properly.”

Alma wiped the blood on her skirt. “Then ask the king to release him.” She turned, but Geoffry grabbed her arm. His grip was so tight that it hurt.

“Milady,” he said. “I think you of all people should realize that sometimes power is best served by not being exercised.”

“Where did you learn about power, bard?”

“The powerless always know about power.” He scanned her face, his gaze finally stopping at her lips. He wanted to kiss her, she could feel it. She leaned into him, wanting to kiss him too, then remembered Lord Boton at the stables.

“If the powerless know that much, then the peasant should understand why I arrested him,” she said. She wrenched her arm free and ran up the stairs. He was distracting her and she didn’t need distractions. She had to concentrate on the king. The king, not Geoffry.

 

 

v

 

To the Lady Kerry:

Dasvid refused to accompany the king on a hunt this morning, preferring instead to hear petitions. He is a good listener usually, letting most who come leave feeling as if they were heard. This morning, however, a man entered who angered Dasvid almost immediately. The man introduced himself as Rogren, an innkeeper. Dasvid’s entire manner became rigid. He asked the man to state his complaint. The man said he had stable boys who had run away and were seen heading to the palace. He wanted permission to search for them. Dasvid asked what the man would do if the boys were returned to him. The man said he would whip them. Dasvid said that he had heard that the man had whipped his boys unnecessarily. The man denied it. Dasvid also accused him of not letting a healer treat the whipped boys, even though the man lived with a healer. Again the man denied it. Then Dasvid asked the man how many boys had run away from him over the years. The man claimed a dozen or more. Dasvid denied the man’s petition, citing that the man’s treatment of his stable boys was cruel. The man offered to change his behavior. Dasvid ordered him to hire new boys and to have the boys report to Dasvid in three months. The man claimed Dasvid was being unfair. Dasvid asked the man to leave.

The man pulled a knife from his tunic and flung it at Dasvid. The knife grazed Dasvid’s cheek. He stood up and told the man that his petition was permanently denied. The man ran toward Dasvid, but the guards caught the man and dragged him outside. Dasvid followed. The Lady Jelwra was returning from a hunt, saw the incident, and demanded the man’s arrest. Her actions angered Dasvid.

I found this affair curious, milady. Dasvid knew of this Rogren and clearly hated him. I will see if I can get permission to go into the palace dungeon to see what this man knows of Dasvid.

Also this morning, Dasvid met the Lady Jelwra in the performing closet that he uses as an office. They were in there for some time. The door was too thick to listen through, and I could not find a nearby chamber. The lady did leave disheveled and angry. Shall I warn her about the fate of Dasvid’s lovers?

Like you, no one here has heard of Geoffry of Kinsmail. But the Lady Jelwra did anger Dasvid this morning by referring to him as Geoffry. Have the Kinsmails any connection with your family? Is there some reason why a lordling pretender to Lord Dakin’s lands would kill the Ladylee Diana?

Vonda

 

 

vi

 

The king’s gardens smelled of roses. Red, yellow, white, and pink roses decorated the walkway, hidden by high hedges. Benches lined the path. Alma didn’t have to be told that roses were the Lady Constance’s favorite flower.

The king led Alma to a bench in the center of the garden. Huge hedges surrounded them and roses twined at their feet. Here in the small alcove, the smell of roses and pine were almost overwhelming.

She did, but she wanted him to be clear about what he meant. She leaned over, grabbed the edge of a half-opened rose, and inhaled its fragrance. “I’m not certain, sire.”

He sighed. “I’m going to choose you as my consort, even though Boton and Ewehl do not want me to. They believe you are too strong. I think you are just strong enough. You are like the bard said you are, eager for lands and power. I probably won’t live to see our child to adulthood, and I need someone strong to guard him. I believe that most, if not all of my children, were murdered. You will be ruthless enough to protect the child’s land and power. You can do what I could not.”

“Not the most flattering reasons for being chosen as consort,” Alma said. She smiled. “But I do understand, and I am glad there will be no pretense between us. I know of your love for the Lady Constance, and I will respect it. I will also guard any children we have as ruthlessly as I guard everything I own.”

The king squeezed her hand. “That is all that we need,” he said. “So, will you go along with this charade for another week, and then become my consort? We need each other, Alma.”

His eyes were half shaded with fatigue and his skin was full of lines. He seemed almost gray. For the first time Alma saw the strain he worked under, and she was pleased that she would be able to ease it. “Yes,” she said. “I will wait.”

The king slipped his arms around her and hugged her to him. His arms were soft, his hold gentle. She found, to her surprise, that the crook of his shoulder was a comfortable place to be. Being his consort would not be as bad a task as she had feared.

She ran her hand along his cheek and stood. She hadn’t realized before what a gentle man the king was. She would make this easy for him. She would be the strong one. “I will see you at dinner, my liege,” she said.

She wandered down the path. The encounter with the king left her feeling tired. She should have been ecstatic, finally achieving, within a few short years of her mother’s death, the goals she had set for herself. But in the garden the game seemed like something other than a game. The king had a heritage to uphold, so he had to take another woman, even though he didn’t want her. And all of his children, murdered. Alma frowned. She remembered her mother speaking about such things and being shushed by her father. And she remembered the miscarriages, her mother’s offer of another, better herb witch, and the palace’s refusal. With the death of this last son, the king had a reason to be despondent.

Laughter floated across the bushes, children’s laughter. A shiver ran down Alma’s back. She never thought of children at the palace. She rounded a corner and saw that the door to the gate was open. On the walk outside sat dozens of children. Their clothing was ragged, their feet bare and their skin dirty. Geoffry sat in the middle of them, cross-legged, his lute around his shoulder. He began a ballad, and the children sang with him. Their voices were scratchy and out of tune, but he didn’t seem to notice. Alma had never seen him smile like that, eyes sparkling with a pure enjoyment. He ducked and leaned toward the children, calling them by name and flirting with them as he never did before the king.

“Dancing is easy,” Geoffry said. “If I were a head shorter, I would show you how. Colin, why don’t you grab a lady and show these ragamuffins how to enjoy music.”

Alma glanced for Geoffry’s companions, and finally found the one, Colin, sitting at the edge of the crowd. He was watching her. When he caught her eye, he smiled and stood up. He stepped over the children and stopped in the center, next to Geoffry. Colin took the lute and sat down.

Geoffry turned and stopped when he saw Alma. She held her breath, half expecting the pleasure to leave his face. It did not. He bowed in front of her and extended his hand. “May I have this dance, milady?”

The children were watching them. Dozens of expectant eyes. Alma glanced over her shoulder, but did not see the king. She took Geoffry’s hand. It was warm, dry. Colin played a simple, lilting melody. She stepped closer to Geoffry. He put a hand around her back, and her heart beat a little faster. He danced easily, gracefully, leading her as if he had danced his entire life. She whirled with him, finding his rhythm easily. Her fingers found the soft hair brushing his collar. The muscles in his back rippled, and his gaze never left hers. He smelled of warmth and sunshine.

He smiled, his lips slightly parted. He was inclining his head toward hers when something whizzed past her shoulder. He threw her to the ground, and she scraped her elbows. The children screamed and ran. Geoffry pulled his sword and crouched. Colin dropped the lute and pulled his sword. Alma grabbed the dagger she hid in the waist of her dress. She stood and glanced around. An arrow shivered in the gate where she had been standing a moment before.

Geoffry put a finger to his lips. He walked to the gate and examined the arrow. Another whizzed by, narrowly missing his head. He ducked, grabbed Alma’s hand, and tugged her away from the garden.

“Colin,” Geoffry cried. “Report this to the guards. I’m getting the lady out of here.”

“No,” Alma said, “report to the king. To the king only.”

She followed Geoffry down the path and to the cobblestone courtyard. No arrows whizzed past, and she sensed they were alone. They passed retainers, servers, and a group of jugglers practicing against the wall. Geoffry led her to a door on the far side of the palace and pushed her inside. The corridor was small and dark, filled with clothing, equipment and children. It had the faint smell of greasy food. Alma had never seen anything like it. Her breath was coming rapidly, but she felt as if she could run another few miles.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“To my quarters,” he said. “We can talk there.” He pushed open a small wood door and bent over as he entered. Alma did the same. His room smelled like the performer’s closet had–of soap and leather. A pallet rested on the floor, next to a rough wood table and a few chairs. A magician’s robe hung against the wall, and two lutes leaned beside it. He closed the door, leaned on it, and stared at her. Then he reached out and cupped her face with his hand.

“Are you all right, Alma?” he asked.

The warmth in his voice made her shiver. She ran her hands up the silk of his shirt, wanting to touch him. He slipped his hand beneath her hair and tilted her face forward. His lips met hers hesitantly. She pulled him toward her and opened his mouth, tasting him.

His hands slid down her neck, to her sides, finding her breasts and caressing them, sending little shudders of pleasure through her. Then he reached the back of her dress and unbuttoned it as his lips followed the path his hands had made. The dress fell, followed by the undergarments. She reached for the hem of his shirt to undress him, but he grabbed her wrists.

“Let me love you, Alma,” he whispered. He put his arm behind her back and led her to the pallet. She lay on the coarse blanket and reached for him. He took her hands and held them beside her, kissing her breasts, her stomach, working his way down. Her imprisonment frustrated her and she rolled over, trapping him beneath her. She untied his pants and pulled them off him. She rubbed the inside of her thigh against him, and he moaned, reaching for her. But she pinned his hands to his side and smiled at the urgency on his face as she slowly, ever so slowly, eased her body onto his.

Once she felt him inside her, she sat still. He gazed at her through half-open eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. She leaned over and kissed him. Then she released his hands.

He pulled her against him, and they moved, together. Their kisses, caresses became wild. She could feel his warmth inside her. The brush of his lips against her neck made her want more of him. She forced him deeper inside her and shuddered as an orgasm pulsed through her. He stopped moving, bringing his head up to watch her. His mouth was bruised, his eyes light brown, his hair covering his cheekbones. She reached for him again, and this time they rolled across the floor, touching, kissing, biting. Her hair fell loose, and he poured it over them like fine wine. His arms drew tighter around her, and they climaxed together.

“Oh, Alma,” he groaned, and buried his face in her hair. She held him, still shuddering, not wanting him to move. His weight felt good. She closed her eyes and ran her hands up his arm. A laugh bubbled inside her.

The door handle clicked as the boy released it. Geoffry didn’t move until the boy’s footsteps disappeared down the hall. Then Geoffry let go of Alma and helped her up.

“This is no place for you, milady.” His tone was soft. He brushed her off and helped her with her clothing. Then he finished dressing himself, his expression somber.

Too late she realized that he had been thinking something else about the attack. If she had listened, she would have found out instead of revealing her secrets to him. “I’m afraid I am,” she said.

“My name is not Geoffry and I have no lands!” His sharp words echoed in the tiny room. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ve been lying to you, Alma. Maybe I am what I appear to be, a simple bard trying to survive.”

“No.” Her heart was pounding. The lethargy was gone. “You handle yourself like a lord.”

“Let me put this to you simply, milady. I am a bard. Bards know legends and stories. Bards are good mimics who live among gentry. Bards are also good thieves. I stole those clothes you met me in. And I made up Lord Geoffry of Kinsmail.”

“You’re lying.”

“Not now I’m not.”

They stared at each other, breathing as heavily as they had when they were making love. “There is no Geoffry of Kinsmail?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then who are you?”

“Does it matter, milady? I am not the king.” The bitterness in his tone shook her. And it didn’t matter who he was, whether he was gentry or not. She would become the king’s consort and could not have a relationship with any other man without the king’s permission.

“Then I am the one who must apologize,” she said. She put her hand on the doorknob. It was cool to the touch. “I let myself get carried away.”

“Alma.” He spoke her name as if it were a caress. “Be careful. Boton and Ewehl are the most dangerous enemies you can have. If you need help, come to me. They watch the king continually.”

“I will, Geoffry,” she said and left the room