VARENCIENNE WALKED INTO SASKA’S sitting room, aware she must look like a drowned corpse who’d come back to seek revenge on the living. The whole family was gathered there, including the dark-countenanced Dimara. They all looked up at Varencienne in surprise. Varencienne did not even utter a greeting, but marched across the room to loom over Merlan. It took all her will not to slap his face. “How could you leave me like that? I nearly fell!” His expression was that of genuine perplexity, while around him his relatives uttered shocked retorts. “Leave you?” he said. “What do you mean?” “At the Chair,” Varencienne answered. “You know.” Merlan glanced round at his mother clearly seeking support. “He has not left my side,” said Saska, rather coldly. “You must have been mistaken, dear.” Varencienne shook her head. “That’s impossible. He spoke to me.” Merlan raised his hands to her. “No. I swear to you, Ren. I didn’t come to the Chair.” “You had a vision,” said Niska eagerly. “That must be it.” “He spoke to me,” Varencienne repeated, sitting down on a chair. Her hands dangled between her knees. The atmosphere in the room seethed with embarrassment and also hostility, which emanated mainly from Dimara. Varencienne would not look at the woman. She despised her and the sanctimonious expression that she knew without looking wreathed Dimara’s face. Saska broke the awkward silence. “You’re soaked,” she said, standing up. “Go up to Niska’s room and dry yourself off. You can borrow a gown from her. I’ll get the kitchen to prepare you some hot soup.” Varencienne clawed tendrils of hair from her face. “No! I have to go home. Now. He told me. There’s someone waiting for me at Caradore.” The room became stiffly silent once more. Varencienne could hear the echo of her own manic words through its stillness. “I think you should dry off first,” Saska said. “It’s pouring down out there.” “Who’s waiting for you?” Ligrana asked sharply. “Is Valraven home?” “I don’t know,” Varencienne replied. “He just said …” “Who did?” Varencienne was silent for a moment, then raised her head. Every face was looking at her in consternation and in most cases, concern. She knew the answer, but was afraid to speak it. “If it wasn’t Merlan, who was it?” Ligrana insisted. Varencienne had to unclench her jaw to speak. “It was Khaster.” Everyone was staring at her as if she’d uttered an obscenity. Saska’s hands flew to her face. Then, Niska spoke. “She was at the Chair. Perhaps she did see something. Perhaps Khas came to her there.” Niska’s expression was of desperate appeal: please don’t hate my friend. Varencienne’s heart clenched at the sight of it. “What exactly did this person say to you?” Merlan asked, trying to appear academic. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a stranger?” Ligrana added, before Varencienne could respond. Varencienne shook her head. “It was difficult to tell. The rain was coming down. I assumed it was Merlan because it looked like him. It sounded like him.” She did not want to repeat exactly what had been said to her, not in front of the women. “He just said I should go home, because someone was waiting for me. I tried to follow him, but I slipped. I nearly fell over the edge. I called Merlan’s name, but nobody came back. He left me.” She raised her hands, noticing how grubby and bloody they were. She must look like a madwoman. “I’m telling the truth. It was no stranger. He knew me. And if it wasn’t Merlan, who else could it have been?” “Strange Khas should appear to you when he’s never been seen by any of his own family,” Ligrana said. Varencienne shrugged. “I can’t explain it.” “What were you doing there anyway?” Dimara demanded. She rarely spoke, but when she did, it was always in tones of impending doom. “I often visit the Chair,” Varencienne responded icily. “I find it inspiring, and I sometimes receive messages there concerning the welfare of my loved ones.” The mere sound of Dimara?s voice was enough to banish the panic and bewilderment she felt. Varencienne always rose to a challenge. It was in her blood. Dimara raised her heavy eyebrows. “Is that so, princess?” Varencienne smiled. “How strange. No one has called me princess for years. I thought everyone had forgotten I was one.” “I never forget anything,” said Dimara. Least of all a grudge, Varencienne thought, but decided it was better left unsaid. “Dry yourself off upstairs,” Saska said firmly, in a clear attempt to defuse the situation. “And put some ointment on those grazes. Have something to eat, then Merlan can accompany you home. If someone is waiting there, they can wait a little longer.” “Come on,” said Niska, getting to her feet. “I’ll take you up.” “Thank you.” Varencienne directed one penetrating glance at Dimara before taking Niska’s offered hand and walking out. Once the door had closed behind them, Varencienne had to vent her feeling. “That woman! How dare she speak to me like that. She’s just a dried-up old spinster, obsessed by myths, yet she acts like she’s Foy herself. Stupid old mare!” Niska, who liked everyone to get along, made a worried sound. “Don’t mind her, Ren. She’s just old-fashioned. She’ll come round in time.” “I have no desire for such a circumstance,” said Varencienne. “There’s no love lost between us.” They went into Niska’s sea-colored bedroom, where Varencienne stripped off her gown and ruined stockings. Niska fetched a basin of water from the bathroom and some ointment. While Varencienne sat on the bed, Niska knelt before her and bathed her wounds. “I wouldn’t mind if I’d done something bad,” Varencienne said, still smarting over Dimara’s treatment of her. “Or if I’d swanned around Caradore full of pretensions. But I never have. All I wanted was to find a home here and that miserable dry mare does everything she can—which admittedly isn’t much—to make things uncomfortable for me.” “Just ignore it,” Niska pleaded. “Don’t get angry.” She wrung out her bloodied cloth in the water. “Tell me about Khaster. It’s more important.” Varencienne paused, then risked a potentially dangerous question. “Do you think he’s dead, Niska?” Niska looked up at her sharply, but there was a hint of craftiness in her eyes. “Why do you say that? Do you think it was a real person you saw today, not a ghost?” Varencienne shook her head. “No, not that. What I saw was a fetch, but whether of a dead or living person, I couldn’t tell. I’ve just had a strong feeling that your brother is alive and living somewhere else, that’s all. Have you never had that feeling?” Niska dropped her eyes, began dabbing at Varencienne’s knees again. Varencienne winced. “Be careful!” “Sorry,” Niska said. She sat back with her hands clasped between her thighs. “Yes, I have had that feeling, Ren. But I would never speak of it, because if Khas is alive, it means he ran away. It would mean dishonor for our family.” “But you do hope he’s alive, don’t you?” Varencienne asked carefully. Niska nodded. “Of course. I loved him very much. He was the most beautiful man alive.” Varencienne was just about to ask Niska to expand on this statement, hungry as she was for facts about Khaster, when the bedroom door opened. Dimara stood at the threshold, her face like that of a vengeful goddess on the brink of casting a curse. She pointed at Niska and said, “Out!” Niska began to rise, but Varencienne placed a firm hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t go, Niska.” “You don’t want her to hear what I have to say,” Dimara said. Varencienne was conscious of sitting there wearing only her undergarments, and then decided she should draw power from the situation. She was a beautiful young woman. She must use this as part of her defense. She patted Niska’s shoulder and got to her feet, shaking out her damp hair. “There is no truth you can utter that I would not wish Niska to hear,” she said. “Please, spit forth your venom, mistress snake.” Niska uttered a shocked sound and put her fingers to her mouth, gazing up at Varencienne with surprise and more than a little admiration. Dimara came forward. “Keep out of our affairs,” she said. “Khaster was ruined by your murderous family. He would not appear to you. I know you lie. You do it all the time.” She pointed at Niska. “You lie to get information out of her.” Varencienne laughed. “You want to believe that, of course. Please do. It is of no consequence to me.” Dimara narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think I’m not aware of what you’re up to, you and that polluted bitch at Caradore. She’s a Malagash creature and always has been since your corrupt brother put his mark on her.” Varencienne turned to N
iska. “She is speaking of Pharinet, although you might not recognize her from the description.” She turned back to Dimara. “You have a fecund imagination, Mistress Corey. Please explain to me what it is you think I’m up to.” “You refused to join the Sisterhood, because you are working with the bitch to inflame Madragorian influences in this land. It is what your brother tried before you, and you were sent here to carry on his work.” Again, Varencienne laughed. Her humor was genuine. “I am astounded! To begin with, it was you who initially refused me entry to the Sisterhood. I wanted to be part of it, but your little clique kept me out. Why should I be grateful when you changed your minds? It was too late. You want to swap truths? Swallow this one. You deify your dead. Khaster is a god to you, and as his high priestess, you can’t bear the thought of him appearing to anyone but you. What about Ellony? Does it gall you a girl with my blood shares her name?” “It is an abomination.” “Quite. A little girl is an abomination. Do you hear this, Niska?” Varencienne turned her back on Dimara and lifted the gown from the bed that Niska had laid out for her. Niska was utterly still and silent, clearly hoping her aunt would not extend her attack. “You have to blame someone for Ellony’s and Khaster’s deaths,” Varencienne said, pulling the gown over her head. “Pharinet is your scapegoat. You’re the only one who feels that way about her. No one else does. Admit it. Would your sister condone the accusations you’ve made?” She turned her back to Niska. “Fasten the hooks, would you?” Niska stood up and began to fumble with the fastenings. Dimara’s expression had taken on a furtive cast. “There are those of us among the Sisterhood who share each other’s beliefs. This is a secret not widely known.” “Cabals within cabals.” Varencienne sighed theatrically. “I have no interest in it. Why are you here? Just to try and frighten me or to achieve a result?” “I’m here to tell you that some of us are aware of what you are, and your purpose. Don’t think we’re all easily duped. You’re being watched.” “How flattering.” Dimara shook her head. “Confident, aren’t you? Think you’re so powerful. Remember this, princess. You’re far from Magrast here. If you attempt your necromancy again, I swear to Foy I’ll wring the life from your body myself.” “Necromancy?” Varencienne grinned involuntarily. “What evidence have you for this? Have I been seen digging around in graveyards?” “Don’t be so pleased with yourself,” Dimara said. “You can’t intimidate me that way. You know very well what I mean by necromancy. You summoned the shade of Khaster today, for your own vile purposes. If you attempt it again, I will know. Also, keep your dirty paws off Merlan.” “It is Merlan’s choice to befriend me. I suggest you advise him of your objections and let him make up his own mind.” “You are using him,” Dimara said. “I know why you persuaded him to take you to Old Caradore. You wanted to work your necromantic mischief there, too.” “Then, I was amazingly successful,” Varencienne said. “I saw Ilcretia there.” She knew this information would goad Dimara. “She would not manifest to you, a daughter of her oppressors,” Dimara said, “not unless you used dark sorcery.” Varencienne sighed. “This little chat has been entertaining,” she said, “but I’m growing bored of it. You live in a world of fantasy, Mistress Corey. I don’t believe in your sorcery, magic, necromancy, whatever. I live in a world of human concerns, those of my children and my husband, my family and my friends. Believe me an evil witch if you like, I cannot stop you. But I want you to know that I think you’re a deluded fool, you and your bunch of meddling crones.” Dimara drew herself up to her full height. “You are a liar,” she said. “It matters not to me what glib words come out of your mouth. I know your measure, and you know that I know. That is all that’s important.” With a final sneer, she swept out of the room. There was silence for a moment, then Niska said, “I’m sorry, Ren. I’m really …” “Hush,” said. Varencienne. Now that Dimara had gone, she felt shaky. The hostility from the woman had hit her like a physical assault. She sat down on the bed. ?It?s not your fault. It?s because I?m Magravandian. She and her friends want to believe those things she said about me are true. I hope you know they?re not.? Niska knelt before her and wrapped her arms around Varencienne’s waist, pressing her head against her body. “Of course, of course!” She looked up. “But do you really not believe in magic?” Varencienne stroked Niska’s face. “There are many kinds of magic,” she said.
WHEN VARENCIENNE AND NISKA returned to the sitting-room, Dimara had gone. Varencienne doubted she’d returned to report the argument to her family. Saska escorted Merlan and Varencienne to the stableyard. “Please don’t think I doubt what you saw today, Ren,” she said. “You must realize our reaction is based on the fact that we lost someone very dear to us. It was actually quite hurtful to hear that you might have seen his ghost.” “I must apologize,” Varencienne said. “I spoke without thinking. I was just upset because of my fall. Normally, I would have been more tactful.” “I understand,” Saska said. They had come to the portrait of Khaster in the gallery and here they paused. Saska touched her son’s shoulder. “You really are very like him, Merlan.” Merlan leaned over to kiss his mother’s cheek. “No, I’m not. You mustn’t think that. We have a slight physical resemblance because we’re brothers, but that’s the end of it.” “Is he still here?” Saska murmured. “I wish he’d come to me, tell me he’s all right.” “Khas is gone,” Merlan said gently. “Don’t live in the past, Mama.” Saska smiled weakly. “It does keep coming back though, doesn’t it?” “Only if you let it,” Merlan replied.
VARENCIENNE COULD TELL MERLAN was annoyed with her for what had happened. There was a tight silence between them as they began to the journey back to Caradore. Varencienne shrank from justifying her actions. She’d apologized to his mother. What more did he want? Foy take these Leckerys. They were a difficult bunch. Varencienne spurred her horse to a gallop and Merlan followed. It was impossible for them to talk at that pace. Tree branches lashed Varencienne?s face as they pelted down the forest road. She drove her mount into a lather and then had to slow her down. The animal was panting heavily. Merlan rode some distance behind. It wasn’t until the turrets of Caradore could be seen above the trees that Merlan brought his horse up alongside Varencienne’s mare and broke the silence. “I regard you as your own person,” he said, “not your father’s daughter or Val’s wife. Please extend to me the same courtesy.” “What do you mean?” He sighed. “I’m not Khaster,” he said. “And I’m more than just his little brother.” Varencienne was pleased he’d made the first approach. Her annoyance ebbed immediately. “I know that.” She smiled at him. “Really I do. You’re the best man I’ve ever met.” “You haven’t met many.” She laughed. “Perhaps so, but I like to think I’m a good judge of character. You’ve brought me alive in a completely new way.” She could tell he was flattered. “My pleasure.” “I’m sorry about today,” Varencienne said. “I was in an emotional state.” He smiled. “Apology accepted. Now that you’re calm, do you really think you saw a ghost at the Chair?” “I saw someone,” Varencienne said, “and it looked like you. I just drew a conclusion, perhaps wrongly, I don’t know. He said to me, ‘It will happen, regardless of what you think or do.’ What do you think that means?” Merlan thought for a moment, then said, “Life.” Varencienne smiled ruefully. “Perhaps. Your aunt thinks I’m a necromancer.” He laughed. “What?” Varencienne related the story of the argument, making it more humorous than it had been at the time. She and Merlan rode up to Caradore in high spirits. Their closeness had been restored. Varencienne had forgotten about the second part of the message she’d received. When she and Merlan entered the castle courtyard, the first thing they saw was an immense imperial carriage decked out in scarlet and gold. It was surrounded by horses of the guard, immense black creatures, caparisonned in crimson. Soldiers moved among them, removing saddles. Servants were running between them, unloading luggage and shouting at one another. Excitement and tension hung heavily in the air. “My father,” Varencienne said, jumping down from her horse. “Or Bayard?” Merlan suggested. Leaving Merlan to see to the
animals, Varencienne ran up the steps into the castle. Inside, it was clear from the atmosphere of panicked bustle that someone important had arrived. It couldn’t be Valraven. He would never travel by such a carriage. Everna was striding through the hall as Varencienne entered it. “Evvie!” Varencienne called, untying her cloak as she hurried forward. “Is my father here?” Everna looked dazed. “No. It’s the empress. Tatrini.” “My mother?” Varencienne asked. “Why?” “She has come to see her daughter, I expect.” Everna took stock. “What have you been doing. You had better tidy yourself up before you meet her.” “Where is she?” “Well, of course we were totally unprepared for the visit, so there are no rooms ready. Pharinet has taken her to the solarium. If the weather wasn’t so bad, we could have shown her round the gardens.” Was this the tornado that had been approaching Caradore? Varencienne headed for the stairs. “I’ll be down as soon as I can. Where’s Oltefney?” “In your chambers, laying out garments, and hoping you’ll show your face.” Everna glanced at Merlan, who had now joined them, her expression strangely guarded. “Perhaps you’d better go and join Pharinet and the others in the solarium,” she said. “You seem to be spending more time here than at Norgance at the moment.” Merlan smiled blandly and bowed to her. “It will be extremely interesting to meet the empress. I shall go at once.” Everna nodded shortly. “And you, Ren, get changed quickly.” “I’ll be as quick as I can.” Varencienne hurried towards the stairs. She could not imagine Pharinet conversing comfortably with her mother in the solarium. Tatrini had always seemed to her daughter like a great elemental force, moving slowly, inexorable and without much to communicate in the way of small talk. But then Varencienne had never really known her. As a child, the whispered conversations of the adult women had meant nothing to her, and once she was of an age to be tutored, she’d spent the bulk of her time with the daughters of other noble families, being taught how to walk, dance, sew and flap a fan. Tatrini had never had an intimate conversation with her, nor held her close. Now she was here. It had to be connected with all that Merlan had intimated the day before. Varencienne had unwittingly catalyzed something at the old domain, but then her mother must have been well on her way to Caradore by then. Something had started movement in events even before Merlan had returned home. Upstairs, a flustered Oltefney fell upon Varencienne with famished squawks. She was clearly delighted about Tatrini’s visit. “We were just about to send a messenger to Norgance,” she said. “The empress arrived only a short time ago. Thank Madragore you’ve returned.” “Why is she here? Do you know?” Varencienne asked, hurriedly stripping herself of her borrowed clothes. “She is your mother, my lady. Valraven must have invited her.” “That seems unlikely.” She held out her arms for Oltefney to slip a fresh gown over her head. “But he is with her.” “Valraven? Everna didn’t mention that.” “Not the best time of year to bring Her Mightiness to Caradore, what with the rains and fog, but I’m sure she’ll love it as much as your father does.” “Who has not set foot in the place since Valraven’s father died.” Oltefney ignored this remark. “Let me brush out your hair and braid it. The wet won’t show as much then.” Varencienne sat down at her dressing table and adorned her fingers with rings. Her lips looked unusually pale. Perhaps she should use some cosmetics. Valraven had not written to any of the family to inform them he would be home. This was a surprise visit, which was unheard of. Something was afoot, something big. All it would need was Bayard to complete the picture, and then chaos might hit the castle in entirety. As Oltefney tugged at her tangled hair, Varencienne stared at herself in the glass. You have to be strong now, she thought. You have to show how much you’ve changed. You’re not a child to be pushed around any more. Perhaps this gown is the wrong color. Should I dress in something more somber?