Carol Berg - Breath and Bone

“Hsst! Valen! Over here.” The whisper came from the corner beyond the empty table and a yellow painted washing stand stacked with towels.

My heart’s stuttering calmed when Elene poked her head through a heavy curtain woven in colorful stripes. Against the rich greens and blues, her complexion took on the color of whitewash. She beckoned me to join her. Not at all a difficult summons to obey. Truly the woman was more addictive than nivat, especially as I now had a true memory of her unclothed, instead of mere imaginings. The truth outshone the image as an angel outshines a frog.

“Great gods be thanked,” she said softly, inspecting me from head to toe, her very presence lifting my spirits. “Saverian told me I’d not harmed you, but I kept imagining a great charred dent in your skull.”

I spread my arms and twirled about, then ducked my head so she might view its integrity. “Your weapon never touched me. Rather, it’s I who must apol—”

“Valen, you must not tell anyone what you told me. Please, promise me. I beg you.”

I could not help but smile at this ferocious reversal of her earlier indignation. Glancing about to ensure no weapon was at hand, I spoke softly. “So it’s true, then?”

“By the Mother, promise me! On your word—the same oath you gave Osriel!”

Though I could foresee no circumstance that would make me betray such a confidence, the prospect of one more binding oath filled me with misgiving. I was already hamstrung by my submission to Osriel. Yet I did need a friend in this house, and I could well understand her desperation. An unexpected pregnancy was no happy news for an unwed girl of any parentage. So I raised my hand.

“I could never be such a madman as to betray the confidence of a daughter of Evanore. But if it eases one worry, mistress, then by the Mother I swear you my silence without reservation. And perhaps in return you’ll be kind enough not to mention my…indiscretion…of this morning to any who might take offense.” I didn’t need irate warlords drawing practice targets on my hide.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly likely to speak of it. Remember you are the lunatic, not I. Well…clearly I am, as well…but you can be sure my tongue is mute. I told Saverian you’d made an advance. In the confusion of your illness, of course. I had to report your…condition. For your sake. You can be sure the frost witch will bait us with it, but she’ll not tell anyone else. Though she’s wholly Osriel’s creature, it suits her to keep her patients’ counsel. She’d not have them withhold information she needs to succeed in her work.”

This barren bluntness belied any assumption of a womanly confederacy.

“So, what of you, lady? Will the man be upright about all this? What will you do?” Though I was ferociously curious, I chose not to risk Elene’s wrath by asking who had begotten the child. She lived in a world of men. One glance from her and she could have her pick. Her fury had not implied an unconsenting liaison, which precluded any temptation for noble reprisal on my part. But jealousy could easily lock my fingers around the damnable oaf’s neck. Better not to know.

“I should have some time before anyone will guess—except perhaps Saverian. And I’ll just stay out of her way. Whatever must be done, be sure no man will decide for me.”

She beckoned me to duck my head again and startled me with a ferocious kiss planted square atop my head. “You’ve a good heart, Valen. The Mother shield you from your master’s vile works.”

Brisk footsteps echoed from the main passage. Elene paled. Stung by her warning, I caught her shoulder before she could duck beyond the striped drapery. “The prince…Voushanti…all these warnings…I feel as if I’m running blind down the road to hell. Someone needs to explain what I should fear, and you’re the only person I trust to be honest with me.”

Her brown eyes flamed amber. Resolution stamped her face. “You’re right. But later tonight…during the warmoot. This last night is mostly ceremony. The main gates of the fortress face westerly. When the lords start singing, get you to the rock gate behind the east end of the hall, and I’ll show you what to fear. Now, please…”

I released her, and she vanished. Snatching up a towel from the painted stand, as if I’d been washing, I spun in place and greeted my master as he hurried into the chamber. Garbed in an ash-gray tunic and black leggings no finer than my own, his hair tied back by a purple ribbon, he appeared more servant than prince. His pleasure as his first glance assessed me reflected that part of him I would ever name Gram.

I sank to one knee and touched fingers to forehead. “My lord.”

“Will you never cease to astonish me, friend Valen?” he said, cocking his head to one side as he gazed down at me. A smile played over his fine countenance—noble Eodward’s handsome features writ on a darker, frailer, sterner canvas. “I expected to find you weak and woolly on your waking day.”

I dared not meet his eyes. Had our king known what his favored son played at? “I am both of those things, lord.”

He touched my shoulder. “Come, get up. I won’t keep you long. I’ve a hundred warlords in my hall, drinking my ale and spoiling for battle. Do you feel up to a walk?”

I held out my incapable fingers. “As long as you don’t expect me to seek out our route.”

He laughed quite genuinely and motioned me toward the passage. “That’s Saverian’s doing. She found silkbinding your hands tiresome and dodging your nightmares dangerous. You’ll learn, as have we all, to avoid annoying Saverian. Thus you must tell me promptly if we need to get you back to bed. I doubt I could carry you, even underfed as you are.”

Despite his claim of warlords waiting, we strolled down the passage—the very one I had envisioned so clearly in my madness, even to the patterns and colors of the woven hangings. Above every arch hung a shield of beaten gold, each shaped as an animal—a fox, a lion, a boar, even fanciful beasts such as a dragon, phoenix, or centaur. One was a gryphon, its feathered wings spread from its lion’s body, as on the Cartamandua family crest.

Bearing left around a corner, we arrived at a long gallery where weavings no longer blocked the arches. On one side of the gallery, the openings held paned windows that overlooked the descending slope, the grim fortress, and the grand mountain landscape; on the other, the openings stood unblocked, accessing a courtyard garden almost as large as Gillarine’s cloister garth. Trees, shrubbery, and flowers grew in healthy profusion in air that held the warmth of late spring rather than winter’s bite.

The notion struck me that I’d mistaken Elene’s reference to my stay at Renna as a mere tenday. But when I looked to the sky to verify the season, I gasped in wonder. A dome of faceted glass separated us from the gray sky. Snowflakes flurried and danced, melting when they touched the intricately patterned glass.

“It’s very like the domes in the lighthouse,” I said, recalling the twin mosaic vaults of colored brilliance that had imbued the storehouse of books and tools with magic and majesty.

“This was an early experiment,” said the prince. “It told me that what I wanted to do was possible. Luviar and Victor had created the underground chambers early on—did you know that Victor is a pureblood stonemason?—but his design was very…monkish. We had no time to cache works of art, but I felt our lighthouse ought to include something of no worth beyond its beauty. We’d not want humankind to forget something of such importance.”

Once I would have marked this unsentimental declaration as the wisdom of ever-sensible Gram, and reveled at the new knowledge he’d let slip. Now I worried at his purpose, sure his every utterance hid meanings within meanings. And, too, a knife of guilt twisted in my heart at the reminder of my forgetfulness.