Blackveil

  “That’s when Lynx announced he was taking command,” Yates said. And then he proudly added, “I seconded him. I want to go home as much as anybody, but I know my duty. Plus, I wasn’t about to follow Grant, not the way he is now.”

  “What about Ard?”

  “He preferred turning back,” Yates replied. “He argued for it, but he wasn’t about to go with just Grant and not the rest of us.”

  “I guess I didn’t get a vote,” Karigan said.

  “I think we know which way you’d choose. But once Lynx became commander, it’s his order to keep going, anyway.”

  So they knew which way she’d choose, did they? Her sense of duty had become predictable, but they might be surprised by how all too willing she’d be to turn around. Even if Grant was becoming, as Yates said, unhinged, his reasons for heading home were sound enough.

  And yet, Lynx was right to continue, for they hadn’t completed the mission. She shook her head. The mad man among them wanted to take the common sense course and return home, and the sane man wanted to take the insane route.

  Such was the way of it in Blackveil, where everything was turned upside down.

  HER COUSIN UNMASKED

  Estora sank into the plush chair in her parlor in the royal apartments with a cup of her bedtime tea. Her new rooms were spacious and beautiful, but impersonal. With time, she’d transform them to her own tastes, make them her home.

  Time, she thought. What time?

  How could she consider fabrics and colors and furnishings when every waking moment brought visitors offering congratulations and seeking favors? Or Cummings with interminable lists of meetings and parties and requests? Or messengers bearing news of the land and correspondence from those who were now her vassals? Or Colin to discuss the business of the castle and the realm? Or or or!

  She sighed. The only quiet time she was able to claim were her visits with Zachary. Destarion expressed guarded optimism that there were some improvements in her husband’s condition. He rested more easily, his fevers were less intense, and his wound was healing well. There had been some brief awakenings, his dark brown eyes fluttering open, but it was difficult to know how aware he was at those times. All too soon he’d slip away again. Part of the reason, Destarion said, was because of a soporific they gave him to keep him relaxed, permitting his body the time and rest to heal itself.

  Besides Estora’s visits with Zachary, the only other quiet time she had was when she went to bed. Usually she was so exhausted by the rigors of her day that she slept soundly and deeply. How could she not sleep well in the canopied monstrosity that had the softest down mattress on which she’d ever lain?

  Ellen, her Weapon, entered the parlor. “Your Highness?”

  “Yes?”

  “Lord Spane has asked to see you.”

  Richmont. What did he want at this hour? She found she was displeased, but he was her cousin and had done much to help her. “I will see him.”

  He had not been around much of late. She imagined he’d been intriguing his way about the castle and the noble quarter in the city, securing his newly elevated position in court. He hadn’t been given a formal office, but he’d taken it for granted he was her advisor and close confidant as he had been for her father. She did not favor him, but at the moment he was all she had.

  “My lady,” he drawled as he entered the parlor and swiftly bowed. “May we speak privately?” He cast a significant look at Ellen.

  Estora nodded a dismissal and the Weapon exited to resume her vigil from outside. “What is it, Richmont? It’s been a wearisome day and I’m ready for my bed.”

  He gave her a silky smile she did not like.

  “Your readiness for bed is precisely why I’m here,” he said. “There is more yet for you to attend to this night.”

  “Can’t it wait? Early tomorrow morning ought to be soon enough. Unless it is an emergency?”

  Richmont’s smile deepened. “But now is bedtime. Should you not be going to your husband’s bed as is befitting a new bride?”

  She set the teacup aside and it rattled into its saucer. “He’s injured—not well. You know that. He’ll rest better without my presence.”

  “Even so, the marriage of a king and queen dictates certain traditions be followed. The witnesses have already assembled.”

  “You can’t possibly be suggesting . . . the rite of consummation? He’s ill, Richmont.”

  “All the kings and queens before you have observed the ritual, as must the lord-governors, including your mother and father, who did so unreservedly. Of course we are well-acquainted with the king’s condition, so the act will be more . . . symbolic. Still, it must be done to ensure the further appeasement of the lord-governors to make your transition to regnant unimpeachable.”

  “Oh, gods,” she murmured, shaking her head.

  Estora was certain that most couples naturally desired to spend their marriage night, and subsequent nights, together doing their duty, but in front of others? She could only surmise that the whole tradition of witnesses was carried on by those who were titillated by watching their rulers perform the act.

  “I could proclaim a new law revoking the rite,” Estora mused, and as she thought about it, it did not seem a bad idea.

  “You could,” Richmont agreed, “but then the lord-governors would definitely challenge your right to reign.”

  She stood and paced, gown and robe flowing about her feet. Then she halted. “There is no way Zachary is able. He’s not even conscious.”

  “Destarion says he’s had moments of awareness. And you underestimate the male drive. But as I’ve said earlier, Zachary’s condition is being taken into consideration and tonight will be symbolic. We merely ask that you sleep beside him.”

  “And this will satisfy your witnesses?”

  “For the purposes of the rite, yes. For their personal enjoyment? Doubtful.”

  “Of all the maddening things. I’m supposed to be queen, but everyone else is telling me what to do. And even that which is most sacred and private must be performed before an audience.”

  “I suggest you accustom yourself to it. It is your life now. So, will you do this thing or must I throw you into his bed myself?”

  “Richmont, I do not care for your tone. You do not have the command of me, and in fact, I am not sure I even wish you to take part in my court.”

  He closed in on her and grasped her wrist, wrenching it. “Think again,” he hissed.

  “You’re hurting me,” Estora protested.

  He drew her close, close enough that she felt the heat of his body. His face was twisted in an ugly way she’d never seen before.

  “I have labored hard and long to bring this all to pass,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You will not upset my plans.”

  “What are you talking about?” She tried to wrest her arm away from him but his hand was like a cuff of steel.

  “You will not ruin everything I’ve labored for all these years, for you, your father, and myself.” He released her, and shocked, she stepped away from him rubbing her wrist.

  “I believe,” he continued, “willing or no, I can make you comply with my wishes.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying, my dear cousin, there are things I know about you that could irreparably harm you and your standing both in the realm and with your clan. I know about you and a Green Rider named F’ryan Coblebay.”

  “Zachary already knows about F’ryan and me.”

  Richmont smirked. “Yes, and Coblebay is dead and gone, but there are still influential persons who know nothing of Zachary’s acceptance of your . . . soiled virtue, and Zachary is in no condition, and may never be, to come to your defense. There are still others of more traditional leanings who’d frown upon your dalliances with a commoner. They’d be all too eager to use the information to discredit your standing across the realm. The people expect their king to be marrying a maiden pure and unbesmirched by some lowly messenger. If you do not obey my
wishes, I can expand the story, add salacious details, and send it out into the world.”

  Estora grew cold. He was right about the traditionalists and how they’d react. Her father had been one of them so she was well acquainted with the mind-set. There were many people who’d go from celebrating her marriage to condemning her. She could be exiled, or worse. And where would that leave the realm? In the very turmoil they were trying to avoid by having moved up the wedding.

  “Wouldn’t that ruin all the plans you’ve made for yourself?” she demanded.

  “I have plans for every contingency,” he replied, seeming to enjoy himself immensely. “I can destroy not just your reputation, but that of your family’s as well. Perhaps I could breed doubt about your parentage.”

  “My parentage!”

  He gazed at her as if trying to discern something. “You favor your mother, but I don’t see your father in you. Have you ever noticed how your sisters aren’t quite the same in looks as you?”

  “Richmont!”

  “I seem to recall your mother having her eye on a handsome minstrel a certain number of years ago. He’d come to play and sing at the Day of Aeryon feast. Hmm, the timing is about right for—”

  “How dare you!”

  “Oh, I dare. As I question your paternity, I can call into question everything your father ever did. Or in this case, did not do.” He laughed. “Or maybe it is your sisters who are the bastards. Will your sister prove strong enough to hold the reins of Coutre Province once I begin leaking my little stories? Even the hint of rumor, even innuendo, could bring her down. People will come to their own conclusions. And, once I’ve succeeded in tearing down your father’s bloodline, they will come to me, to my line, to govern the province.”

  Estora clenched her hands at her sides in an effort to keep from clawing out his eyes. She seethed within. It was true that if her father’s line failed, Richmont would succeed as lord-governor of Coutre Province.

  “Tell me,” she said, trying to master her voice, “why I should not direct my guards to arrest you for threatening the queen? I could call my Weapon in here right this instant.”

  “You won’t because I’ve been busy making friends, important and powerful friends. Friends who are favorable toward me, but not necessarily toward you, and I’ve a trusted and loyal servant with letters in his keeping that will go to these friends of mine should anything happen to me. The letters are filled with my little stories and my friends will immediately spread them around.

  “Of course,” he added as if an afterthought, “theirs is not necessarily a friendship based on trust, for I know their secrets, too. A simple whisper in the right person’s ear is a powerful thing, you know. It can ruin many lives, tear down entire governments.

  “Just know, my dear cousin, that one misstep on your part and the whole realm will not only know of the depravities of your bloodline, but will believe them.”

  Estora refused to weep or show weakness. She wished to scream, but she had to remain calm. She lifted her chin. “My father loved you like the son he never had, and you’ve betrayed him.”

  “His feelings for me made him easier to manipulate. For instance, if not for me convincing him to hold out for the king, he’d have wed you to Alton D’Yer, or that whelp of a lord-governor from Penburn. And can you say that I’ve betrayed him? Truly, I am carrying out his wishes that you be queen of the realm. I will only change tactics if you betray him by ruining everything we’ve done for you. If you obey my wishes, then we both benefit. If you do not? Then I will just benefit in a different way.

  “Now it is time to see your husband. You understand me, don’t you?”

  “I believe I understand all too well.” Estora shuddered with revulsion. “You have enlightened me on many things this evening, Richmont.” He in fact had allowed his mask of the good cousin to slip, and now that she saw him for who he really was, she could watch him. Eventually his self-interest would conflict with her concern for the well-being of the realm. Had he not revealed himself and his machinations this night, she’d never know what he was up to until it was too late.

  He gave her a mocking bow.

  “Very well,” she said. “Let’s have this done.”

  Estora led the way out into the corridor that connected her private chambers with Zachary’s. Awaiting her there was Colin, Ellen, and her maid. Estora turned to the Weapon.

  “Ellen,” she said, “please see to it that you and the others who guard me do not permit Lord Spane into my private rooms. If he wishes to see me, he may make an appointment through Cummings like everyone else.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the Weapon said.

  The murderous look Richmont passed her made her tremble, but she walked down the corridor with back straight and chin held high. It was only a small act of defiance, but she had to show her cousin he did not have complete power over her. Now that she knew his true nature, she would have to find a way to protect herself, and Zachary and her family, too. But how could one shield oneself from lies that would spread faster than wildfire? He even had her doubting her own parentage. Could there be some truth to the story about the minstrel? The idea of her mother straying . . . No, inconceivable. Not her conservative, conscientious mother who had loved her husband.

  As Estora entered Zachary’s dressing room, she had to put aside her worries for there was another task before her this night. She led the way into his bedchamber to perform her duty as his wife.

  RITUAL AND WAKENING

  Naturally the five witnesses, including Richmont, were all men, if she judged their stature and builds correctly beneath their hoods and cloaks. They seated themselves in a row of chairs at the foot of the bed.

  Zachary lay unaware of all that went on around him.

  “How is he?” she asked Destarion.

  “About the same, which is really more hopeful than it sounds. He has not declined, and if his wound remains clean and continues to heal, we may see more improvement before long. I think it’s the poison that has held him back more than anything. It was not a large dose he received, but harmful all the same.”

  Estora nodded. “Thank you.”

  Destarion then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “My lady, your presence with him here tonight may provide him comfort. If he reacts, do not be afraid to fulfill his needs. I’ve not given him his soporific this evening. In fact, I’ve given him a slight stimulant of a sort that may make him . . . more responsive. I could not say, however, when or if the stimulant will make him more wakeful.” With that, Destarion bowed and excused himself from her presence.

  The Weapon, Ellen, then came to her and said, “I will be posted right outside the door, my lady. If you should need anything at all, just call me.”

  “Thank you,” Estora replied. Ellen bowed again and left her. If only, Estora thought, she could follow her out. Instead, the witnesses watched her and her maid waited expectantly. Estora squinted at one of the men in the middle whom she thought might be the priest who conducted the marriage ceremony. The moon priests were celibates, but probably took their opportunity to get an eyeful when they could.

  Her maid helped her remove the robe, and then as the rite required, her sleeping gown and underclothing. She might have rushed to get beneath the blankets to conceal her nakedness as a modest young woman should, but she was angry. Angered by Richmont’s threats, angered by this crass tradition. Instead of hiding, she faced them and allowed them all a slow, good look.

  “This is what you’re here for, isn’t it?” she asked them. “To see your queen at her most vulnerable? Do you like what you see?”

  “My lady, please . . .” Definitely the priest. He glanced away, but not for long.

  She had, she decided, nothing to be ashamed of. She knew many men coveted her body. These five must feel very privileged. Would they brag to their friends? Fellow priests? Even embellish what they saw? Let them look. F’ryan had thought her body beautiful, and it made her feel powerful to force them to stare.
br />   It was, however, also very chilly. After she felt they had gotten enough of a look, she climbed up into the bed next to Zachary, her maid helping her arrange the blankets. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Jaid.”

  Jaid curtsied, dimmed the bedside lamp to a low glow, and then left, bearing away Estora’s clothes. Part of the rite was to prevent her access to her clothing so she could not, ostensibly, leave the bedchamber.

  Richmont stood and rounded the bed, and brought to her a cup of wine. “Your marriage bed cup,” he said. “Drink up.”

  She took it from him with a scowl. Another part of the ritual. Very often the wine was laced with an aphrodisiac or an herb to promote fertility. She supposed Zachary had gotten his ritual wine as medicine. She sighed and drank. If the wine was dosed, it was very subtle. Richmont stood over her until she drained the cup and he took it from her when she finished.

  She sank into the mattress and gazed into the dark ceiling overhead. At least with the light so dim, if there was anything for the witnesses to see, they’d be able to make out few of the fine details. In time her body began to feel very relaxed, relaxed and yet aware of every texture against her skin, of how the movement of the sheets sent vibrations to her very nerve ends. Her body thrilled to the sensations and she wondered how it would respond to Zachary’s touch. Yes, the wine had been dosed.

  Zachary remained a warm, unmoving presence beside her. She reached out and brushed his arm with her fingertips and that simple contact sent such waves of pleasure flooding through her that she almost cried out. After that, she refrained from touching him. She would not allow herself to get overwrought for the benefit of the watchers, and so far Zachary was showing no signs of being able to reciprocate. She remained still and hoped to sleep, but the circumstances made it difficult, and the revelations about her cousin battered her mind.

  Eventually she did doze off, dreaming something of her father standing at a ship rail trying to peer through a fog bank.