Читать книгу A Muddle of Magic - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 15

Chapter 6

A Royal Mess

They sailed up the meandering inlet and into a sheltered harbor deep in the mountains. Cottages tumbled down the dusky, wooded slopes to the water’s edge. A winding road from the village disappeared into the tree-studded hills. At the lip of the rocky harbor was a wide stone pier. A group of horsemen waited on the dock, their mounts stamping in impatience. At the head of the troop, a tall, heavily muscled man with long, blond hair sat astride a wicked-looking stallion. The rowan—his air of command was unmistakable.

Gertie stood at the starboard side of the ship talking to Raven. She stiffened when she saw the pale-haired warrior on the fearsome charger and let out a joyful bark. The sound carried across the water, and the rowan jerked in surprise. Raising his hands to his lips, he gave an answering howl. With a happy rumble, Gertie dove into the lake and darted through the water, a wafting flicker of red in the lucent green.

The troll reached the landing and heaved her dripping bulk onto the wharf. She shook like a wet dog, water spraying from her furry body. The horses nickered in alarm, but the rowan held his steed in an iron grip. He leapt to the ground with the ease of a young man and crossed the quay. The warriors accompanying him got control of their startled mounts and quickly followed suit, engulfing Gertie in a friendly crush.

“She’s missed him,” Glory said, gliding up to Raine. “She hasn’t been to the Citadel in years.”

“Why not?”

“She and Hedda don’t agree.”

“You mean the scandal? Mauric told me.”

“There was no truth to it,” Glory said. “A chambermaid and a member of the rowan’s guard were . . . amorously engaged and saw Hedda slip into Raven’s room. Moments later, they were found together. Raven was fully clothed and out cold from drink, but the rumors spread, and the damage was done.”

“Why would she do such a thing? It must have ruined her marriage.”

“ʼTwas ruined already. Hedda used the same trick to become queen—waited until the rowan got roaring drunk and seduced him. They were found abed together. Hedda comes from a powerful northern family. There was an uproar and the rowan was forced to marry her, but Gorne Lindar does not yield easily to the bridle. From all accounts, their union is an unhappy one, and has been from the start.”

Raine puzzled over this. “I don’t understand. She’s the queen. Why create another scandal?”

“Power. Raven is a warrior of great renown. He had the confidence and loyalty of his men, and the rowan’s ear. With Raven driven to sea by the gossip, Hedda insinuated her kin into the king’s inner circle. More importantly, she drove a wedge between the rowan and Gertie.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Think on it. Hedda is a beautiful woman. Yet, despite her charms, her husband prefers the company of a troll.”

Gertie said something, and the rowan threw back his head and laughed.

“He does seem fond of Gertie,” Raine said, observing the exuberant reunion on the wharf. “They all do.”

“Oh, my, yes,” Glory said with a touch of asperity. “Everybody loves Gertie, with a few notable exceptions. She’s ugly and foul mouthed, irascible and rude, she drinks and smokes to excess, but people adore her, though it’s a mystery to me why.”

Raine shot Glory a look of dislike. . “Here’s an idea. Maybe people love Gertie because she’s not a joy suck and a know-it-all.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re so smart. You figure it out.”

Glory drew herself up, her eyes blazing. “Ungrateful brat, I should have left you to drown.”

She turned and stalked away, twitching like an angry cat.

Raine gaped at her for a moment, then started after her. “Glory, wait!”

But the Storm had reached the wharf and the gangplank lowered with a creak. Radiating fury, Glory left the ship with Brefreton, striding ashore without looking back.

Stunned, Raine watched the seer depart. Glory had saved her from the river? Raine’s thoughts spun back to the night her parents had died. She’d been four years old, and they were returning home from the county fair. Raine sat in the backseat nursing the beginnings of a tummy ache from too much cotton candy. The drone of her parents’ conversation was pleasant, and her eyelids drooped. Her mother’s scream had startled her awake. A tall, leathery figure stood on the bridge in front of their sedan, gaunt and black as a crow in the headlights. The thing unfurled its huge, skeletal wings and the windshields shattered, covering Raine in bits of glass. The heavy car was lifted like a toy and slammed into the guardrail. With a rending screech, the metal gave way and the front end of the car teetered over the edge. It hung there, suspended for a sickening moment, then plunged into the river.

The car sank, and the dark water had rushed in, hungry and rapacious, washing over Raine and tossing her small body about. Suddenly, the interior of the sedan was filled with a glimmering light, and Raine was yanked from the submerged automobile to the surface of the river. She emerged, disoriented and crying, and gasping for breath. The same unseen force towed her ashore, where she crawled onto the sandy bank, whimpering and shivering.

“Hush, child, it watches still.” The soft, musical whisper came out of the velvety blackness. “I will tell you when ʼtis safe to stir.”

Sometime later, an elderly couple had found Raine sitting in the middle of the bridge, wet, muddy, and suffering from exposure and shock. The river was dragged, and her parents’ bodies were recovered.

“Had to ʼuv been driving like a bat outta hell to go through the guardrail like that,” the sheriff had pronounced at the funeral the following week. “And with a kid in the car, reckless sumbitch.”

Raine had tried to tell them that her daddy wasn’t reckless. She’d tried to tell them about the crow and the angel who’d plucked her from the river, but no one would listen.

The ‘crow,’ hadn’t been a crow at all. It had been a demon named Xai, sent by the Dark Wizard to kill Raine, and her rescuer had been Glory, not an angel, as she’d imagined. If not for Glory—insufferable, grandiloquent, priggish Glory—Raine would have died along with her parents.

A noise from the pier drew Raine from her thoughts. Brefreton and Glory had reached the dock and were speaking to the king. Upon closer inspection, Raine’s initial impression of the rowan was confirmed. Tall and broad shouldered, Gorne Lindar was a handsome man in prime physical condition, his only concession to his reputed eight hundred years the silver streaks in his blond locks.

Gertie was talking excitedly. She waved a paw, and the rowan turned to look at the Storm. Even at a distance, the Finlaran king exuded disapproval. Raine was suddenly cold to the bone. She was the political equivalent of naphtha. What if the rowan handed her over to Glonoff, or tossed her in a dungeon and threw away the key? What would become of Chaz and Flame?

Mauric strolled up carrying an armload of dragon skin. Setting down his burden, he produced a length of twine and began to wrap it around the bundle. “Why so woebegone, lass?”

“I’ve never been to court,” Raine said, drawing her cloak closer around her shoulders. “We don’t have lords and ladies where I come from. I don’t even know how to curtsy.”

“Eh, you’ll do fine. Lulu and m’ mother will soon have you up to scratch. Depend upon it.”

She looked around. “Where’s Chaz?”

“In the galley with cook. He and Dodd are thick as thieves.”

“Again? He had breakfast.”

“The lad has a hollow leg,” Mauric said. “Worked up an appetite running after Gurnst, I expect.”

“Oh, dear. I hope he’s not being a pest.”

“Nah. The boy has a way with him.”

Raine nodded absently, her gaze following the party on the wharf. The rowan said something to Gertie and raised his arm. The sleeve of his black and silver tunic fell back, exposing the Mark of Finn that scarred his brawny left arm from elbow to fingertips.

Raine blinked in surprise. “The rowan’s mark is red.”

“The blood mark,” Mauric said. “Every Rowan has had it, starting with Finn. There are portraits in the Great Hall to prove it. I’ll take you to see them when we reach the Citadel, if you like.”

“I’d like that very much,” Raine murmured, though her mind was elsewhere. Squaring her shoulders, she whirled and strode quickly toward the gangplank.

“Here, now, lass, slow down,” Mauric said. “Give me a moment to tie this knot, and I’ll come with you.”

Raine paid him no heed. She brushed past Raven, who was issuing orders to the crew. He broke off in midsentence and called her name, but Raine kept going. If she hesitated, she would lose her nerve.

She crossed the narrow wooden bridge, and the crowd of warriors on the stone quay melted before her. Glory stood beside Gertie. The elvish seer’s beautiful face was set in an expression of icy detachment. Raine winced inwardly. She owed Glory an apology, but amends would have to wait.

Brefreton and Gertie were deep in conversation with the rowan. Though physically dwarfed by the burly Finlars around him and the hulking troll, the red-haired wizard did not seem the least diminished.

“Here she is now,” Brefreton said, motioning to Raine. “Come, child. Allow me to present you.”

Raine ignored Brefreton’s outstretched hand and marched up to the rowan. Kneeling, she threw back the hood of her cloak, sending her black curls tumbling in wild disarray. The warriors gathered round inhaled sharply and muttered in surprise. Seizing the rowan’s left hand, Raine pressed her forehead to the Mark of Finn, her heart in her throat.

“Sanctuary, my lord king.” The words tumbled past Raine’s lips in a breathless rush. “By the Mark, I ask for sanctuary for me and my companions.”

There was a flash of blinding light, and Raine’s brow burned where her skin touched the mark. A shocked hush settled over the quay, unbroken save for the jingle of harness when one of the horses stirred.

Disconcerted by the unnatural quiet, Raine peeped at the rowan through her lashes. She cringed. His blue eyes, so like Mauric’s, were hard, and the red marks on his hand and arm glowed. The rowan was livid.

“Your request for sanctuary is granted,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Henceforth, you and your companions are under my protection.” He turned his wrathful gaze on Brefreton. “I suppose I have you to thank for this debacle?”

“Certainly not.” Sparks of fury buzzed around Brefreton. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, young lady. You’ve started a war.”

“Started a—” Raine felt the blood drain from her face. “I didn’t mean—I never intended to—”

“That’s what sanctuary means, stupid girl. You’ve forced the rowan’s hand.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t understand. If you had the brains of a pin cushion, you’d think before you went off halfcocked.”

“Easy, Bree,” Gertie said, patting Raine on the arm. “Gorne—that is, the rowan—received a parchment from Glonoff a fortnight ago, demanding that he surrender you to the Dark Wizard immediately.”

“I knew it,” Raine cried. “That’s why I asked for sanctuary.”

“You misjudge us, milady,” the rowan said. “Finlara does not answer to Shad Amar.”

“We never intended to remain at the Citadel, pet,” Gertie said. “Bree and I planned to grab some supplies and keep moving, knowing Glonoff was sure to give chase. We were to be the rabbit, see? To buy time.”

“Time for what?” Raine asked, with a trickle of unease.

“Tandara has been at peace for more than five hundred years,” Brefreton said. “The Rowen’s troops are scattered among the various kingdoms doing mercenary work, and Tannenbol has no standing army. Our ruse would have allowed the rowan and Balzora to make the necessary preparations, but you’ve thrust a spoke in our wheel.”

“I didn’t know,” Raine protested, stricken. “You should have told me.”

“I don’t make it a habit to consult foolish chits about my affairs.”

“They’re my affairs, too, Bree, and I’m tired of being pushed around. I’m not your pawn, no matter what you think.”

Brefreton’s gray eyes widened in comprehension. “So, that’s what this is about? I hurt your feelings, so you blow up the world. I’ve got news for you, young lady. Gertie and I have other things to worry about besides you. Like, oh, I don’t know—saving Tandara from the Dark Wizard. How did you know to ask for sanctuary, anyway?”

“Roon, the poet mage,” Raine said, her cheeks burning. “I read about him in the book you gave me.”

Brefreton let out a string of expletives. “Vaculis Vacillis. I might have known.”

Raven strode up. “I saw the light. What’s afoot?”

“Aye, it lit up the lake,” said Mauric, trotting at his heels, a thick bundle of dragon skin dangling from one shoulder.

“The rowan has granted Raine sanctuary,” Brefreton said. “Apparently, she got the idea from a book I found on the ship.”

“A book on the Storm?” Raven’s brows rose. “Which one?”

“Mastering the Glow,” Brefreton said. “Damn that drab Vaculis and his scribblings to the fires of skelf.”

“Oh, that,” said Raven. “It was a gift from a Valdarian merchant. Haven’t read it.”

“Don’t bother,” Brefreton said. “Total rubbish, for the most part. I gave it to Raine in hopes she’d learn a little caution.” He scowled at her. “Forgot about that hack odist.”

“Odist?” Mauric asked.

“Roon the Rhymer,” Glory said. “The darling of the Valdarian court, thanks to a certain flair for verse.”

“A pretentious fribble, more like,” Gertie said. “Fond of using rhymes in his incantations, and the silly drabs loved it. He was waxing poetic about Sonia Thill Ayew, the queen of Valdaria, and misspoke.”

“And?” Mauric said, looking intrigued.

“Roon was cup shot and floundering about for something to rhyme with ‘Ayew,’” Gertie said. “The idiot blurted out ‘downy mildew’ by mistake. The resulting curse caused a grape blight in Valdaria that lasted twenty years. Roon fled to Finlara to save his sorry hide. He fed the rowan a load of codswallop about rival vintners and was granted sanctuary.” She glanced at the rowan, the corners of her golden eyes crinkling in amusement. “Beven held the throne at the time, I believe.”

“Korr,” the rowan said, his jaw tight. “The third rowan and damn near the last. Queen Sonia demanded Roon’s return, but Korr had already given his word. The Vals were furious. Imposed an embargo on wine to Finlara that lasted half a century.”

“Bah,” said Gertie. “Who needs wine when you can drink ale?”

“I agree. Unfortunately, the noble families of Finlara had developed a fondness for the grape. They were outraged by the embargo, and Korr was pilloried. According to the Annals of Finlara, he took the Walk early to escape the carping.”

Gertie’s eyes grew round. “What’s this, you read?”

The rowan flushed. “I’m not a complete lard brain, Gertie. A wise ruler learns from the mistakes of others.” He grimaced. “ʼTwould seem I should have paid closer attention to Korr’s folly.”

“Don’t take it to heart,” Gertie said. “No one guessed the gal would ask for sanctuary.” She slid Glory a sly glance. “Even our seer.”

“I’m sorry,” Raine stammered. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“You never do,” Brefreton said. “But it happens, all the same.”

“ʼTis done, Bree. Stop berating the child.” The rowan bowed to Raine. “Welcome to Finlara, milady. Tomorrow night, I will host a banquet where I will announce that you have been granted sanctuary. You will attend.” He turned to Gertie. “I have the sudden urge to kill something. Want to go hunting at first light?”

Gertie’s eyes lit up. “I’d like that.”

Morven?

Flame crouched at the head of the ramp, wings half spread, his spiked head swaying. He placed one large, clawed foot on the narrow plank, hissing in confusion when it swayed beneath his weight.

Gertie chuckled and gave the rowan a nudge. “Brace yourself, Gorne. You’re in for a bit of a shock.”

“What do you—” The rowan spied Flame and faltered. “That looks like a—no, it can’t be.”

Morven? Flame threw his head back and roared.

The rowan’s stallion screamed and reared in alarm. The king grabbed the reins to keep the animal from bolting, and his guards scrambled to seize their frightened mounts.

“The critter seems flustered, pet,” Gertie said. “Best see to him.”

Raine stepped out of the crowd and waved her arms to get Flame’s attention. The dragon spied her and thundered across the narrow bridge to the quay.

“Kron, look at ʼim go,” a dark-haired warrior said. “For all the world like a big scaly chicken headed for the hen house.”

Flame galumphed up to Raine and butted her on the shoulder with his great head. The skinny wooden thing tried to get away, Morven. Flame did not like it.

“The skinny wooden thing is called a gangplank.” Raine scratched the dragon behind his horns. “It’s a kind of bridge. It may be wobbly, but it’s perfectly safe.”

Flame does not like wobbles.

“Tro,” the rowan said, looking thunderstruck. “It’s a dragon. What am I to do with a dragon?”

Raven coughed. “Might I suggest you invest in mutton, sir?”

“Mutton?”

“For the dragon. Flame is partial to sheep, though he’s none too particular about what he eats. Still, sheep are cheaper than horses.”

“Gods above and below,” said the rowan.

“Don’t let it pother you, Gorne,” Gertie said. “A flagon of ale will set you to rights.”

“I gave up drinking when I married Hedda.”

“What? Why would you do a damn fool thing like that?”

“I had my reasons.”

“Raven told me as much, but I didn’t believe him.”

The rowan regarded Flame with the expression of a man who’d reached his limits. “Perhaps my decision was hasty. I think I’ll have an ale with you, after all.”

“You’ve made the right choice.” Gertie clapped him on the shoulder. “Race you. Last one to the Citadel is a frosted gog turd.”

Dropping to all fours, the troll bounded away.