Lois Bujold - The Curse of Chalion

Cazaril could see where this was going, now. Closing his eyes would not spare him from seeing. He forced them to stay open, and on her face.

"We seized him, and made the second trial by force. He screamed and wept... Ias wavered, I cried, ‘But we have to! Think of the children!' But this time when we drew him out, he was drowned dead, and not all our tears and prayers revived him then.

"Ias was shattered. I was distraught. My inner vision was stripped from my eyes. The gods turned their faces from me..."

"Then the treason charge was false." Profoundly false.

"Yes. A lie, to hide our sins. To explain the body." Her breath drew in. "But his family was allowed to inherit his estate—nothing was attaindered."

"Except his reputation. His public honor." An honor that had been all in all to proud dy Lutez; who had valued all his wealth and glory but as outward signs of it.

"It was done in the panic of the moment, and then we could not draw back from it. Of all our regrets, I think that one gnawed Ias the most, in the months after.

"Ias would not try again, would not try to find another volunteer. It had to be a willing sacrifice, you see; no struggling murder would have done it, but only a man stepping forth of his own volition, with eyes wide-open. Ias turned his face to the wall and died of grief and guilt"—her hands stretched the scrap of lace almost to tearing—"leaving me alone with two little children and no way to protect or save them from this... black... thing ..." She drew breath, her chest heaving. But she did not spiral into hysteria, as Cazaril, tensing to spring up and call for her attendants, feared. As her breathing slowed, he let his muscles slacken again. "But you," she said at last. "The gods have touched you?"

"Yes."

"I am sorry."

An unsteady laugh left his lips. "Aye." He rubbed the back of his neck. It was his turn for confession, now. He might shade the truth with others, for expediency's sake. Not with Ista. He owed her weight for weight and value for value. Wound for wound. "How much news had you from Cardegoss of Iselle's brief betrothal, and Lord Dondo dy Jironal's fate?"

"One messenger followed atop another before we could celebrate—we could not tell what to make of it."

"Celebrate? A forty-year-old matched to a sixteen-year-old?"

Her chin came up, for a moment so like Iselle that Cazaril caught his breath. "Ias and I were further apart in age than that."

Ah. Yes. That would tend to give her a different view of such things. "Dondo was no Ias, my lady. He was corrupt—debauched—impious, an embezzler—and I am almost certain he had Ser dy Sanda murdered. Maybe even by his own hand. He was colluding with his brother Martou to gain complete control of the House of Chalion, through Orico, Teidez—and Iselle."

Ista's hand touched her throat. "I met Martou, years ago, at court. He already aspired then to be the next Lord dy Lutez. Dy Lutez, the brightest, noblest star ever to shine in the court of Chalion—Martou might have studied to clean his boots, barely. Dondo, I never met."

"Dondo was a disaster. I first encountered him years ago, and he had no character then. He grew worse with age. Iselle was distraught, and furious to have him forced upon her. She prayed to the gods to release her from this abominable match, but the gods... didn't answer. So I did.

"I stalked him for a day, intending to assassinate him for her, but I couldn't get near him. So I prayed to the Bastard for a miracle of death magic. And I was granted it."

After a moment, Ista's eyebrows went up. "Why aren't you dead?"

"I thought I was dying. When I awoke to find Dondo dead without me, I didn't know what to think. But Umegat determined Iselle's prayers had brought down a second miracle, and the Lady of Spring had spared my life from the Bastard's demon, but only temporarily. Saint Umegat—I thought he was a groom—" His story was growing hopelessly tangled. He took a deep breath, and backed up and explained about Umegat and the miracle of the menagerie, and how it had preserved poor Orico in the teeth of the curse.

"Except that Dondo, before he died, when he still thought he was about to be married to Iselle, told Teidez it was the other way around—that the menagerie was an evil Roknari sorcery set up to sicken Orico. And Teidez believed him. Five days ago, he took his Baocian guard and slew nearly every sacred animal in it, and only by chance failed to slay the saint as well. He took a scratch from Orico's dying leopard—I swear, it was only a scratch! If I had realized... The wound became poisoned. His end was..." Cazaril remembered who he was talking to. "... was very quick."

"Poor Teidez," whispered Ista, staring away. "My poor Teidez. You were born to be betrayed, I think."

"Anyway," finished Cazaril, "because of this strange concatenation of miracles, the death demon and the ghost of Dondo were bound in my belly. Encapsulated in some kind of tumor, evidently. When they are released, I will die."

Ista's grieving face went still. Her eyes rose to search Cazaril's face. "That would be twice," she said.

"Ah... eh?"

Her hands abandoned the tortured handkerchief, and went out to grip Cazaril's collar. Her gaze became scorching, almost painful in its intensity. Her breath came faster. "Are you Iselle's dy Lutez?"

"I, I, I," stammered Cazaril; his stomach sank.

"Twice. Twice. But how to accomplish the third? Oh. Oh. Oh..." Her eyes were dilated, the pupils pulsing. Her lips shivered with hope. " What are you? "

"I, I, I'm only Cazaril, my lady! I am no dy Lutez, I am sure. I am not brilliant, or rich, or strong. Or beautiful, the gods know. Or brave, though I fight when I'm trapped, I suppose."

She made an impatient gesture. "Take away all those ornaments—stripped, naked, upside down, the man still shone. Faithful. Unto death. Only... not unto two deaths. Or three."

"I—this is madness, now. This is not the way I intend to break the curse, I promise you." Five gods, not drowning . "I have another plan to rescue Iselle from it."

Her eyes probed him, still with that frightening wildness. "Have the gods spoken to you, then?"

"No. I go by my reason."

She sat back, to his relief releasing him, and her brows crimped in puzzlement. "Reason? In this?"

"Sara—and you—married into the House and the curse of Chalion. I think Iselle can marry out of it. This escape could not have been available to Teidez, but now... I am on my way to Ibra, to try to arrange Iselle's marriage with Ibra's new Heir, Royse Bergon. Dy Jironal will seek to prevent this, because it will spell the end of his power in Chalion. Iselle means to slip away from him by bringing Teidez's body back here to Valenda to be buried." Cazaril detailed Iselle's plan to ride with the cortege, then rendezvous with Bergon in Valenda.

"Maybe," breathed Ista. "Maybe..."

He was unsure what she was referring to. She was still giving him an extremely unsettling look.

"Your mother," he said. "Does she know of all this? The curse, the true tale of dy Lutez?"

"I tried to tell her, once. She decided I was truly mad. It's not a bad life, being mad, you know. It has its advantages. You don't have to make any decisions. What to eat, what to wear, where to go... who lives, who dies... You can try it yourself, if you like. Just tell the truth. Tell people you are pregnant with a demon and a ghost, and you have a tumor that talks vilely to you, and the gods guard your steps, and see what happens next." Her throaty laugh did not incline Cazaril to smile along. Her lips twisted. "Don't look so alarmed, Lord Cazaril. If I repeat your story, you have only to deny me, and I will be thought mad, not you."

"I... think you have been denied enough. Lady."