But something inside her fought back tonight, something that was suffocating. Her breath was being pulled from her body in wave after wave. Yvaughan panicked and fought her way toward consciousness, thrashing in the bed. She had to awaken, she had to, or else she would surely die. With a sudden, strangled gasp for air, the woman sat up.
Darkness surrounded her, the familiar darkness of her bedchamber. Beside her, a bird cheeped a complaint at having its rest disturbed. Automatically she soothed her pet, petting and stroking its downy buff feathers. Then something flew at her from the corner of the room, and she threw her hands around her head and gave a tiny shriek. But it was only her other bird, jealous for attention. She took it in her arms and lay back down. It cheeped plaintively.
She noticed then how weak her arms felt, how cold and drained of life. She rubbed her hands across them. They felt wet and slippery. Am I still dreaming? she thought. This has never happened before. Concerned, she reached out to the table beside her and touched the lantern. Instantly, it sprang into magical light.
Yvaughan extended her arms before her and looked at them. Blood and jagged lacerations laced her white skin. She screamed. “Teryl! Teryl!” she cried for her advisor, her only friend with Maldrake away. “Teryl!”
The doors to her chamber flew open, and the mage ran toward her. “Lady Yvaughan!” he called. “Is something wrong? Has someone disturbed your rest?” In the room beyond, her other birds fluttered and cried out in alarm. How wonderful that they care for me, she thought suddenly.
Teryl tottered to the bed and sat on its edge. Tearfully, Yvaughan stretched out her arms to him. The mage’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, lady,” he whispered. “What have you done? What have you done to yourself?”
Yvaughan shook her head in growing horror. He thinks I did this! she thought wildly. She shook her head again, desperate that he understand. “Teryl, this is not what it seems! I didn’t—”
The advisor put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her back into the waiting pillows. “Calm yourself, my lady. I will fetch bandages and a cool drink for you.”
“Teryl, you don’t understand!” Yvaughan cried as the man walked away. “I didn’t do this! There was a monster, and he—”
“The monster of your dreams?” Teryl inquired as he reached the door. “Come, come, lady. We all know dreams cannot hurt us.” The mage left the room, and Yvaughan pounded her fists impotently on the silk coverlet beneath her hands. Why doesn’t he believe me? she asked herself. He is my friend! More hot tears fell from her eyes.
“Here we are, lady,” Teryl said, coming back quickly. He held up a goblet of wine and pressed it to her lips.
Yvaughan choked on the pungent bitterness. “What is this?” she asked.
“Something to help you sleep peacefully through the rest of the night. Didn’t you take the draught I made you earlier?” Teryl asked accusingly.
Between swallows Yvaughan replied, “No, I didn’t drink it. I didn’t think I would need it, Teryl.”
“But you always sleep so poorly when Lord Maldrake is away, lady,” Teryl chided. He set aside the chalice and began applying salve to her injuries.
“That’s true, but… tonight was no different from the other nights I’ve had this dream, Teryl,” Yvaughan responded slowly, her tongue suddenly thick. “Except that tonight I fought back.”
The mage pursed his lips. “And that, my lady, is obviously how you hurt yourself.”
“But I’ve dreamed the attack before, and there were never any marks on me then.”
“Ah, but you didn’t wake up those times, did you? That’s because you never hurt yourself before tonight, which is why you woke up this time,” Teryl said sagely.
Yvaughan tried to clear her muddled mind. “What… what are you saying, Teryl? That I deliberately hurt myself?” The man nodded, a twitch gripping his shoulders. “I’m afraid so, lady.” He applied one last dab of salve and a bandage. “There, that’s the last of it.”
“But I don’t understand, Teryl,” Yvaughan’s voice dropped to a whisper. She could barely keep her eyes open. “I don’t understand. Why would I want to hurt myself. Why?” Teryl gathered his things together and looked down at her. Her cloudy mind thought it heard the words, “You’ll find out soon enough, lady. Soon enough.” The mage turned on his heel and left the room.
Sir Brisbois nervously paced the flagstone bridle path leading to the back of the stables. White puffs of breath escaped his lips in the cold, biting air. “It’s just like Maldrake to make me wait,” the knight muttered as he paced up and down the winding path, blowing on his hands to warm them. A few knights galloped past. Brisbois looked up for a moment, then turned away immediately when he didn’t see Maldrake. The knights merely nodded and continued down the path.
On their heels came another knight, who halted his steed beside the pacing man. Brisbois sighed inwardly, then gazed with irritation at the rider. It was Sir Lile Graybow, the castellan of the castle.
“Good morning, Sir Brisbois,” Graybow said affably, his gravelly voice cheerful and sincere. He was seated on a golden mare and bedecked in his finest armor.
“Good morning to you, Sir Graybow,” Brisbois said brusquely. When Graybow made no move to continue down the path, Brisbois was forced to add, out of deference, “And where are you off to this morning?”
“I’m visiting some of the villages of Penhaligon today,” Graybow said smoothly. After a pause, he continued, “I’m going to institute some of the peasantry tax relief measures Lord Maldrake and I devised.”
“Tax relief… measures?” Brisbois asked slowly. He and Maldrake hadn’t made any plans since the deal with the horses had fallen through.
“Yes,” Graybow said archly. “I was surprised you didn’t want to meet with us, Brisbois, but Lord Maldrake told me you no longer wanted to be a part of the committee. Of course, when we presented our plans to Baroness Arteris, we had to tell her of your decision. She was quite distressed. A shame, really.”
Brisbois put his gloved hands behind his back and clenched them. He smiled civilly. Collect yourself, Brisbois thought. Graybow could be trying to rile me for all I know. Maldrake’s in for quite a conversation, if he ever arrives. “Ah, thank you, Sir Graybow,” Brisbois said formally and gave a little bow. “You’ve been most… informative.” The castellan nodded and then moved his horse off at a trot.
Many long minutes passed before Maldrake came down the bridle path. His horse was cantering sideways in a highly stylized and controlled parade march. All Maldrake’s concentration seemed centered on making the horse take deliberate, measured steps. Brisbois was freshly irritated. He took off his gloves and slapped them into one hand. His friend had made this appointment seem urgent. Apparently equestrian practice was more important. Brisbois wouldn’t put up with such insults.
With a flourish, Lord Maldrake dismounted from his horse and bowed elaborately before the knight. “Brisbois!” he shouted with great affection. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Maldrake,” Brisbois growled. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
“Oh, please, Brisbois,” Maldrake looked pained. “Isn’t there something else we can talk about?”
“Yes, there is,” retorted Brisbois. “We can discuss just exactly what you’re doing with Graybow, or we can discuss what happened to Yvaughan!”
“Oh, that,” Maldrake scowled. “Nothing more than she deserved.”
“Maldrake!” Brisbois shouted. “She’s your wife! Don’t you care about her?”