“Nevertheless, you are not going to give the throne over to Marcomir of Hansa,” Muriele asserted confidently. “You’ve worked too hard to steal it for yourself.”
“Yes, that would be silly, wouldn’t it?” he agreed. “No. But I shall do what kings often do to secure their power. I shall marry.
“And so, dear sister-in-law, shall you,” he added.
“I’ve made myself quite clear,” Muriele replied. “Murder me if you want, but I will not marry you.”
He shrugged and shrugged again, as if trying to shake something off his back. “No, indeed,” he said wryly. “I can see that you won’t do that. The knife you thrust into my heart was a distinct clue that you didn’t take kindly to my proposal.”
“How fortunate for you it no longer beats, your heart.”
He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Must you always quibble about such things?” he said. “Who is alive, who is dead? You think you are better off merely because you have a beating heart. How pretentious of you.
“And—if I must say it—how ungenerous.”
“You are entirely mad,” Muriele opined.
Robert grinned and opened his eyes again.
“That, at least, is a familiar complaint. But please allow me to return to my original point, won’t you. In fact, I wasn’t renewing my own proposition—one stabbing from you is quite enough for me. No, you shall marry Berimund Fram Reiksbaurg, the heir to the throne of Hansa. And I shall marry his sister Alfswan. Between us, we will secure my throne.”
Muriele laughed bitterly.
“I think not, Robert,” she said. “I’ve rejected Berimund’s offer once already.”
“Not really,” Robert pointed out. “Actually, your son Charles rejected that proposal because, after all, he was king at the time and the prerogative fell solely to him. Of course, Charles is a half-wit, and you were entirely in control of his actions.
“But he isn’t king any longer,” Robert continued. “I am. And as per my prerogative, I have given your hand to Berimund. The wedding will take place in a month’s time.”
The air seemed denser suddenly—almost like water. Muriele fought the urge to lift her head above the floodline.
Robert could do this thing. He would do it, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about that.
“It will never happen,” she finally managed, hoping she still sounded defiant.
“Well, we shall see,” Robert responded cheerfully. Then he turned. “Lady Berrye, is something the matter?”
Muriele followed Robert’s gaze and noticed that Alis did look suddenly pale. Her eyes—no, her pupils—seemed very large.
“It’s nothing,” Alis averred.
“I forgot to ask,” Robert said, turning his wrist to include them both. “Have you had a chance to reflect upon the musical performance we were subjected to last wihnaht? The lustspell presented by our dear Cavaor Ackenzal?”
Muriele forced a smile.
“How that must nag at you—to have yourself revealed for what you are, in front of the entire kingdom, and be helpless to stop it. I daresay Leovigild Ackenzal is a genius.”
“I see,” Robert mused. “Then you are of the opinion that the villain of the piece was supposed to represent me?”
“You know he did, and so does everyone who saw it. How did Ackenzal manage it? I wonder. Certainly you and the praifec must have kept close watch on him, monitored his script, his score, his rehearsals—and yet still he showed you for fools.”
“Well,” Robert said, “I think the praifec was even more troubled by the performance than I was. In fact, he felt it necessary to question Fralet Ackenzal very closely. Very closely indeed, along with many of the performers.”
“That was foolish,” Alis said softly, rubbing her forehead.
“Did you say something, Lady Berrye?”
“Yes, Highness. I said the praifec was foolish to torture the composer—and you were foolish to let him. You must know that you need the support of the landwaerden to hold this city against attack. Leovigild Ackenzal was their darling, all the more so after the performance of his wonderful music.”
“Hmm,” Robert mused. “Lady Berrye, that is a most considered opinion. Such political acumen from someone whom I’ve long believed to be a simple whore.”
“One can be very simple, indeed,” Alis said, “and still understand things you do not.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Robert admitted. “In any event, there are ways to regain the trust of the landwaerden, should that be needed. But with Hansa and the holy Church on my side, I don’t think the landwaerden will present much of a problem. I need only keep them quiet for another month or so, yes?”
“The Church?” Muriele asked.
“Indeed. The praifec has written to the Fratrex Prismo in z’Irbina, and the fratrex has kindly agreed to send a few troops to help us keep the peace and to prosecute the resacaratum until this throne is secure.”
“First Hansa, now the Church. You would give our country to every enemy we have if it would buy you time on the throne. You truly are despicable.”
“I didn’t realize that you considered the Church our enemy,” Robert said blandly. “Praifec Hespero might find fault with that. In fact, he might discover the need to question you.”
There was the sudden sound of shattering glass.
“Lady Berrye,” Robert said, “you’ve dropped your goblet.”
Alis turned unfocused eyes in his direction.
“Saints damn you,” she rasped. She tried to stand, but her legs seemed too weak to support her.
Sudden terror stroked through Muriele like a sword. She reached out for Alis. “What have you done to her, Robert?”
Robert fondled his beard.
“I gave her to you as your maid because I thought it would annoy you. But to the contrary, you two actually seem to have cultivated a friendship. It also seems that our dear Alis seduced information from one of your guards and has perhaps done so on other occasions.
“I believe I not only misunderstood Lady Berrye but underestimated her. And so I wonder what other things she might be capable of accomplishing. Doubtless you told her of the secret passages that riddle this castle, if she did not already know of them. Perhaps she has some scheme to spirit you away from me.”
He smiled more broadly.
“If so, then she will take her plot with her to Eslen-of-Shadows.”
Muriele knelt at Alis’ side now, taking her hand. The girl’s skin already had a bluish cast, and her arms had begun to convulse. Her fingers were like ice.
“Alis!” Muriele gasped.
“Gallowswort,” Alis managed, her voice so faint, Muriele had to lean close. “Knew…” She shook, and black spittle came from her mouth. She murmured a few words Muriele did not understand, and Muriele felt a slight heat on her skin. The hairs stood up on her arm.
“Keep safe,” Alis hissed. “Soinmié. Soinmié, Fienden.”
Her breath became more ragged until she seemed to be hiccupping rather than breathing. Then, with a sudden, soundless scream, that stopped, too.
Muriele peered up at Robert, her hatred so strong that she couldn’t think of any words that would not belittle it.
“I think I’ll put her in the Dare crypt,” Robert mused. “Should William’s soul ever find its way there, he will be pleased.”
He rose then. “The seamstress will come around tomorrow to fit you for your wedding gown,” he said pleasantly. “It has been a pleasure visiting with you, Muriele. Good afternoon.”
He left her there with Alis, whose flesh was already cold.
Part I
The Waters Beneath the World
On the stony west shore of Roin Ieniesse, Fren MeqLier met Saint Jeroin the Mariner, and in Saint Jeroin’s ship they passed over the western waves through sleet and fog until they came to a bleak shore and a dark forest.