Gregory Keyes - The Charnel Prince

“Oh,” she murmured to herself.

Roderick dropped down on his knees and reached for her hand so quickly, she did not have time to withdraw it. He clutched it desperately.

“No one knows you’re here except for Vespresern, and she won’t tell because she loves me more than my own mother does. I can save you from them, Anne. I can make everything up to you.”

“Yes? And how can you do that, Roderick?” she asked. “Can you return Austra, Cazio, and z’Acatto to me? They are here, too, aren’t they?”

He nodded, his face a misery. “They’re going to do something to them, something in the woods to do with the Old Worm Fane. I can’t do anything about that, Anne. You don’t understand—I would if I could—but it’s too late.”

“Who are they ?”

“I’m not sure, really. They’re from everywhere, although a lot of the knights are from Hansa. They serve the same lord as my father. A lord of great power, but I’ve never heard his name or where he lives.” He reached to stroke her face. “You have to forget them, if you want to live. I can’t hide you here forever.”

“Then you will help me escape?” Anne said.

“What good would that do?” Roderick asked. “They would only find you again, and this time you won’t have anyone to protect you. They will kill you, and I will live in Hell. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“What is your solution, then?” Anne asked.

“You’ll marry me,” he said. “If you marry me, you will be safe.”

Anne blinked in utter astonishment. “What makes you think—?” She bit off her reply, which was to end with “ I would rather die by hanging than marry you .” She thought a moment, and amended the question.

“What makes you think I would be safe as your wife?”

“Because then you could never be queen in Eslen,” he said. “Yes, I know that much. They do not wish you to become queen. If you were my wife, you could not, according to the law of your Comven. And my father would have to protect you as his daughter-in-law. It’s perfect, don’t you see?”

“And my friends?”

“They are beyond saving. They die tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. And we shall marry—while my father is away, distracted by the ceremony in the woods. I’ve engaged a sacritor to perform the union. He will register it with the Church in the morning, and we shall have the protection of the saints and my family.”

“This is very sudden,” Anne said. “Very.”

Roderick nodded vigorously. “I know, I know. But you must believe in your heart as I do in mine that we were meant for each other, Anne.”

“If that is so,” Anne asked stiffly, “how could you have betrayed me?”

“The letter came to my father,” he said, without blinking. He apparently had already forgotten admitting he had given it to his father himself. “He opened it ere I saw it.” He gripped her hand until she thought it would break, and tears started in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have told them where you were, my love. I would not have.”

Anne closed her eyes, her thoughts churning, and she suddenly felt his lips against hers. She felt a wave of revulsion and wanted to push him away, but she knew now that he was her only chance. The curse had driven him past reason, and his insane love for her was the only weapon she had.

So, trying to remember how she kissed when she wanted to, when she meant it, she reached her arms around him and kissed him back. It went on for far too long.

When he finally pulled his tongue out of her mouth, he gazed gently down at her. “You see? You feel it, too.”

“Yes, I love you, Roderick,” she lied. “But you can never betray me again. You must swear it. I could never go through that sort of hurt again.”

His face practically split in two with joy. “I swear it, by Saint Tarn, I swear it and may he strike me down if I lie.”

“Then let us be married,” she said, “as quickly as possible. If what you say is true, we will have only this one chance.”

He nodded excitedly. “The sacritor is in Dunmrogh village. He expects us a bell before midnight. I will see to the preparations. You rest now. I’ll take care of you. You will be happy, Anne—I swear that on my life.”

Then he was gone again, and the door locked once more, and Anne was alone, wishing she had soap and water to wash the taste and smell of him from her.

Leoff paused to rub his eyes. The notations on the paper before him had begun to blur together, distinct notes melting into meandering black rivulets.

There isn’t time , he thought desperately. There isn’t time to get it right .

But he had to. If he was going to step this far off the edge of the world, it had to be perfect. And it was—almost. Yet he knew something was missing, something he not only didn’t have right, but didn’t have at all.

Frustrated, exhausted, he put his head down on the hammarharp and let his eyes close, just for an instant. His thoughts lost their discipline and began to float about like dust motes in a sunbeam. Then the dust motes became thistledown, and he was lying on the still-green grass of early autumn not far from the charming little town of Gleon Maelhen. He’d seen a purple moon the night before—a true wonder he’d stayed up late into the night to observe. Now he was considering a nap to make up for that, until from off in the hills he heard a melody, played on a shepherd’s pipe. It transfixed him, because it was so beautiful and haunting, yet incomplete . . .

“Fralet Ackenzal—oh, I’ve disturbed you.”

Leoff jerked like a hooked fish, scattering his papers everywhere, realizing in a panic that he’d fallen asleep. If the praifec found him like that and saw what he was doing . . .

But it wasn’t the praifec. It was the lady Gramme.

He stumbled to his feet. “Milady—” he began, all in a rush.

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I just came to thank you.”

“Then—”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “My men found Mery, just as you said. And I promise you, no harm came to your friend.”

Leoff reflected that he couldn’t be sure of that until he saw Gilmer again, but word had it that the regent’s men were scouring the countryside for the little girl. Gramme had been quick to understand the implications, and had begged him to tell her where Mery was. He’d relented, knowing he was risking his friend’s life, but believing Gilmer and Mery had less to fear from Gramme than from the regent. Once Mery was with her mother, the prince could hardly claim she’d met with foul play at the hand of the queen mother, and if the lady Gramme was discreet, he would never know it was Gilmer who’d watched after her.

“I should like to see her, when it is reasonable,” Leoff said.

“It is reasonable right now,” Gramme replied. “I just wanted to speak with you first, alone. I wanted to know, honestly, why you put yourself at such risk, for no gain I can see.”