THAT EVENING, ELLONY regained her senses. She asked for Pharinet to visit her, and Pharinet had no choice but to comply. “Sit with me this evening,” Ellony said, frail upon her pillows. Pharinet sat upon the bed. “I will, for some time.” She took Ellony’s hand. “You will be well soon. I can feel it.” Ellony smiled weakly. “Have you been to the sea for me? Have you spoken to the dragons on my behalf? Only you can do it, Pharry. You and I have knowledge the Sisterhood does not.” “I have been to the sea,” Pharinet said. “I need to know why this has happened to me. You’ll have to help me find out.” “Of course. We’ll commune with the dragons together, once our men have gone.” Ellony’s brow puckered and she turned her head to the side. “Oh, Pharry, I have been a useless wife for Val so far. I have given him nothing a man requires.” She looked back at her friend with feverish eyes. “Do something for me. Speak to Val, and have him visit me late tonight. My mother and Everna must not know, for they would prevent it, but Pharry, I know you will understand. My weak body will bear his love, for it is not right he should return to Magrast and leave me still an untouched maid.” Pharinet swallowed with difficulty. “I will do what I can.” Ellony squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I love you, Pharry. You are closer to me even than my mother.” She smiled. “Tell me, what is it like this love between man and woman. Did Khaster please you? Did it hurt you?” “Khaster did not hurt me,” Pharinet replied. “I find the act altogether agreeable, but not everyone is the same, of course.” Ellony seemed to have forgotten the conversation she’d had with Pharinet during their initiation rite, when Pharry had implied she had already made love with Valraven. She must have blanked it from her mind. Ellony sighed. “I yearn for a man’s love, yet I am afraid. It seems grotesque and unimaginable, but at the same time so exciting. I long to share Val’s body, to feel him within me, but I’m so worried I might faint when I see him naked before me.” Pharinet pulled her hand from Ellony’s and stood up. “Shall I read to you now?” Ellony blinked dampness from her red-rimmed eyes. “Yes. That would please me. Your voice is beautiful. It soothes me.” Pharinet walked blindly to where she knew the bookcase was. A selection of freshly-printed volumes had been placed there for the new bride’s pleasure. Pharinet picked one at random from the shelf. She burned with fury and anxiety. At the tenth hour, she would leave this room to visit the shrine.
RED CANDLES, BURNING LOW, cast shadows upon the walls. Pharinet stepped in through the door and pulled it closed behind her. The air was still, as if some alert presence observed from the darkness high above. Pharinet stepped up to the altar. The stern countenance of Madragore glared down at her. He had no love of women, she would not pray to him. He seemed like a man, who long ago had decided to make himself a god. There was nothing ethereal or spiritual about him. Perhaps he kept his sons from women because he feared them. Human life was not sacred to him, only conquest. And the conquest itself meant only running away from all that was human within. She closed her eyes, and for a moment was assaulted by a clear yet fleeting image of her brother. He was naked, standing with his back to her, his pale buttocks pumping like those of a rutting dog. She could not see who he was with and opened her eyes quickly. She did not want to see herself. The door opened behind her and closed again quickly. She did not turn round. What if some other family member or a servant had come in? She heard footsteps and then arms enfolded her, lips were against her neck. She tilted her head to the side and reached back to pull him closer. He pulled up her skirts and grabbed at her between the legs. She turned then, haunted by the brief image she’d glimpsed. His face looked gaunt yet hungry. “I watched you walk in here,” he said. “You floated like a wraith. I could smell you.” He pushed her back against the altar. “Not here,” she said. “Anyone might come in.” For a moment, it looked as if he was going to say he didn’t care about that, but then he nodded. She took him by the hand and led him among the columns, where darkness reigned. Her body burned with need. She lay down, looking up at him, dragging her skirts up to her waist. “Come to me, Val. Fill me.” He smiled and knelt down. Then with a lunge his face was between her legs. She uttered a smothered shriek as he bit and sucked at her. She tried to pull him up by his hair, but he would not relent. He must taste Khaster in her, for only that afternoon she and her husband had made love. Her whole body throbbed with pain and pleasure. At the moment of release, he reared up and thrust into her, pushing her head sharply against one of the stone columns. What if Khaster should see them now, or Ellony, or Everna? Pharinet laughed aloud and curled her legs around his back, her flesh pulsing with waves of orgasm from the top of her head to her toes. Valraven climaxed with a wordless shout that echoed throughout the shrine. She pulled his head to her breast and he lay upon her panting. They did not speak for some time. Pharinet thought about what Ellony had asked of her. She could comply with that now, give back some of what she’d taken. But the words wouldn’t come. Valraven got to his feet and began to rearrange his clothes. “Will you go to Khaster now, sister?” “Naturally. I am his wife, and we happen to share a chamber here.” “Will you tell him what you’ve done?” “No, of course not. He would be devastated. Do you want him to know?” Valraven shrugged. “He will never own you. You are mine.” “You don’t own me, Val.” He laughed. “No. Own is not the right word. I am you.” Pharinet sat up and pulled down her skirts. He was wrong. He couldn’t see into her head. “Will you write to me this time?” “I could not say the things I mean in a letter.” “You could tell me what happens to you.” He nodded shortly. “I’ll write.” He extended a hand to her and she took it, pulling herself to her feet. They embraced. “Take care in Magrast,” she said. “Play the games by all means, but learn the rules first.” “I will.” He kissed her. “Remember me.” “Have no fear.” She pulled away from him. “I must go. I don’t want to risk Khas coming looking for me. What will you do now?” He smiled. “Perhaps I should visit my poor, ailing wife. How is she today?” Pharinet brushed back her hair from her face. “Oh, the same. I think she’ll be a long time healing. I would not disturb her.” “It is a strange business.” “Yes, but perhaps fate.” He gave her speculative look. “You are me,” he said.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Pharinet stood on the steps of Caradore and watched the men in her life ride away from her. She tried to dismiss a pervasive feeling of gloom that made her worry she would see neither of them again. Ellony was not quite well enough to come downstairs, although she did receive Valraven in her room before he left. Pharinet accompanied him there and stayed with them. Ellony did not seem to mind. Two days later, Everna persuaded Saska that Ellony was well on the mend, and the Leckery women rode home to Norgance. A cart followed their carriage, laden with Pharinet?s wedding gifts. On impulse, Pharinet had removed the label from the portrait of Prince Bayard and commanded the servants to load it into the cart. There were so many presents for Valraven and his bride; it was unlikely Ellony would miss one. Saska had redecorated a small suite of rooms for Pharinet, which were not like the lofty chambers of Caradore, but filled with light for the better part of the day. They had a comfortable atmosphere. Resigned, Pharinet arranged her belongings around the rooms. She hung the painting of Prince Bayard in her bedroom. At night, while summer coiled around the valley, she would lie awake in moonlight, wondering what her brother was doing now. Bayard stared back at her, inscrutable. Sometimes, he was in her dreams. On the rare occasions when Khaster came home on leave, Pharinet would put the painting in her sitting room. She could tell he disapproved of its presence in Norgance, but since Valraven had never mentioned it and Pharinet herself said she just liked the composition, he clearly shrank from complaining. Pharinet spent most of her time with Ligrana, who like Pharinet herself at a younger age, liked to explore the ancient sites on the moors above Norgance and the shadowed forests beyond. Pharinet knew that Ligrana admired her greatly and tried to emulate her expressions and opinions. Niska was not so effusive, but then she was a peculiar creature anyway. Dimara spent nearly every day at Norgance, onl
y going home to her lodge in the grounds at night. Pharinet shrank from trying to initiate a friendship with the woman. There was definitely a reserve between them, but Dimara clearly did not intend to try and transcend it. Merlan Leckery’s tutor, impressed with his student’s work, advised Saska to send him to college in Magrast. She resisted this suggestion at first, but eventually, because Merlan himself was keen to go, wrote to Montimer and asked him to arrange it. Merlan was young to be leaving home, but his tutor believed he had a great future in front of him. His intellect might save him from joining the army, and this very soon proved to be correct. Now, Norgance was a house of women, but for the boy child, Foylen. Every couple of weeks, Pharinet rode over to the rock village with Saska and Dimara to attend the rites of the Sisterhood. Usually, she would spend the night at Caradore on these occasions. It still felt painfully like her real home. Ellony had not made a mark on it, although her own chambers had been garnished with flounces that Pharinet did not like. Ellony now possessed a strangely serene yet melancholy mien. Sometimes, she and Pharinet went down to the sea-cave together, which Pharinet felt sure must still pulse with the echoes of her incestuous love-making. Here, Ellony attempted to divine information about what had happened to her. Her pleas to the dragons were heartrending in their simplicity, but neither Foy nor her daughters deigned to make any kind of contact. Not even the wing of a foreboding bird crossed the sky. Superficially, Ellony was healed of her injury, yet Pharinet perceived a lingering odor of sickness about her. She was sure it would never go away. Perhaps it was that which affected her relationship with Valraven. No matter how much Ellony looked forward to her husband coming home on leave, his arrival always made her ill. It became noticeable after the second leave since the wedding. This did not prevent her finally consummating her marriage, a time during which Pharinet seethed and paced alone at Norgance. Khaster’s leave had not coincided with Valraven’s and rarely did. It was easy for Pharinet to meet her brother on the wild moor above Norgance’s valley. They would ride out to sheltered locations, and there consummate their forbidden passion, time and again. Pharinet asked Valraven about Bayard, but received very little information in response. With every leave, he seemed to become more distant and self contained. He grew taller, harder. His eyes were like those of a predatory bird’s. Khaster was pining for Caradore. Valraven made it clear he disapproved of, and even despised, these sentiments. “Don’t leave me forever,” Pharinet said. “There is no chance of that,” Valraven replied. “One day, I shall send for you.” Pharinet knew that would never happen, no matter how much her brother might like to imagine it. They occupied different worlds now. Only when they were naked together did some of their old closeness return. But it was too brief. Two months after Valraven’s first leave following his marriage, Pharinet stopped menstruating. She realized with a thrill of both dread and wonder that she could be pregnant. It must be Valraven’s child, although no one would ever guess that. Khaster had come home only two weeks following Valraven’s visit. She was safe. One day, obeying an inner compulsion, Pharinet saddled her horse and galloped madly to Caradore. She did not visit the castle straight away, but rode down towards the cliff path, where the forest leaned towards the sea. She wanted to see Grandma Plutchen. The old woman would be able to confirm whether or not she was with child. As yet, Pharinet had no desire to speak to any of her female relatives about her condition. Grandma was sitting outside her cottage, polishing apples on her apron. She looked up without apparent surprise when Pharinet pulled her sweating, excited horse to a standstill beside her. “You can do me a service,” Pharinet said. “Aye.” The old woman got nimbly to her feet and without another word walked into her cottage. Pharinet followed her. “There is something I need to know.” The cottage was in golden gloom, its air filled with the aroma of the apples that simmered in a great black pot on the range. Grandma wiped her hands on her apron. “I know, child,” she said. “Your face says it all. Slip into my bedroom and make yourself ready. I’ll wager you’re six or seven weeks gone already, but a quick check should tell you all you want to know.” Pharinet felt her face burn. She had not expected so direct a response. When she hesitated, Grandma said, “That is what you want of me, isn’t it?” Pharinet nodded and went into the small dark room where Grandma slept. Here, she removed her undergarments and sat on the lumpy bed. Grandma came in and subjected her to swift but thorough examination. “Yes, as I thought. But you knew this yourself, didn’t you?” “In a way,” Pharinet said. Grandma nodded. Pharinet found it difficult to meet her gaze, sure that she knew what was on her mind. “Take heart,” said the old woman gently. “It is not your privilege. This you must accept. Don’t force the hand of Lady Fate up behind her back.” “What do you mean?” Grandma put a hand on her shoulder. “Dress yourself, child. I’ll make us a drink.” Pharinet grabbed hold of her arm. “Please, tell me what you mean.” “You’ll know soon enough. But not this moon.” She turned away and left the room. Pharinet sat alone in the silence, feeling it press down upon her. A darkness filled her heart, made her ache. She wanted to cry. When she went back into the kitchen, Grandma Plutchen chattered on about her garden, her neighbors and gossip of the town concerning people Pharinet did not know. She felt as dazed as if she?d received a blow to the head. A child was in her womb, Valraven?s child, yet it no longer felt real. After she’d ridden home, Pharinet fought against this feeling of doom. Defiantly, she told Saska that she was pregnant, which predictably sent the households of both Caradore and Norgance into a fever of excitement. Only Dimara’s reaction seemed muted, but Pharinet would expect nothing else from her. Pharinet spoke to her baby, willed it to demand life from the elements. She told it how special it was, how much she loved it. Four weeks later, while walking with Ligrana in the gardens at Norgance, Pharinet fell to her knees with a searing pain in her belly. Blood came out of her, soaking her gown. She expelled a single, despairing moan, while Ligrana cried out in horror. Their cries brought servants running, then Saska. They bore Pharinet away to her bed, and there the new life inside her flowed out and died. Pharinet’s love, her desire and her will had not been enough. The child had never been hers. What had she been thinking of? It would never happen.
9
LIFE PROGRESSED THROUGH THE seasons without remarkable changes. Pharinet saw a few grey hairs appear on her head, even though she was young. She believed this was because she had to grit her teeth so often, dealing with Saska on a daily basis. This changed somewhat when the news came back to Norgance that Montimer Leckery had been killed in action. The imperial army had suffered a rout in Cos, and although it had been contained, Montimer had been one of the casualties. Pharinet imagined him on horseback, waving a sword and being taken by an enemy bullet. The truth was he’d been murdered in his bed by Cossic terrorists. Valraven told her this when he and Khaster brought the body back to Caradore for a funeral. Everyone dressed in purple and Khaster supported his drooping mother at the graveside. Ellony, pale of cheek and nursing a virulent stomach ailment, clung grimly to her husband’s arm. Valraven and Pharinet exchanged smoking looks across the opened ground. Some of Saska’s buoyancy diminished as she assumed the role of widow. Pharinet saw bitterness harden the lines around her mother-in-law’s mouth and her eyes became pouched with unspent tears. Perhaps she’d believed that being a priestess of Foy would protect her from life’s hardships. It hadn’t. Pharinet now thought that if there ever was to be a deliverance for the Palindrakes and Caradore, it would not happen in her lifetime. Both Valraven and Khaster, in their separate ways, showed her how powerful the empire was. Whatever the Caradoreans might think, enacting their melancholy rituals beside the sea, they could change nothing. The sea dragons remained a tantalizing myth, and if they had risen from the deep to touch the hearts and minds of two young initiates, they had once again sunk into dreams. All that remained of that time was a livid scar on Ellony?s side and a tendency to contract whatever ailments and diseases smoked their way across the land. She did not conceive a child. A ye
ar after Montimer’s death, Khaster wrote to his wife and told her that the houses of Norgance and Caradore should prepare for a grand event. For the first time since his father’s death, he and Valraven were to be given leave at the same time. They would have a companion with them: Prince Bayard. Pharinet read the letter aloud to Saska over breakfast. Once, Saska would have been thrown into a giddy turmoil of excitement. Now, having developed a hatred of all things imperial, she merely lifted her lip. “He no doubt intends to continue where his father left off, having the run of Caradore as if it was his own home.” “That makes sense, I suppose,” Pharinet replied. “It must be a tradition.” “Intriguing that the eldest son, who is heir to the empire, has not taken the role,” Saska remarked, pouring herself more tea. Pharinet had noticed that Saska had ambivalent feelings about Valraven that sometimes manifested in subtle snipes. It was no secret that his marriage to Ellony had not been the romantic grand passion of dynasty-building significance that the Leckery women had imagined or hoped. Ellony confided in Pharinet only with care, for obvious reasons, but Pharinet had gathered her friend had no taste for sex. If anything, she seemed bewildered by it, almost betrayed. Everna had told Pharinet how Ellony would wander about Caradore at night, like some mad ghost, dragging the hem of her nightgown across the flagstones. “It is as if she is looking for something,” Everna said, “but Foy knows what.” She is looking for the future she lost, Pharinet thought. She walks in the great hall searching for the wedding feast that faded away like a dream. She is looking for herself as she was. One aspect of Ellony’s behavior was a certain feyness that manifested itself at Sisterhood gatherings. Sometimes, she would go into a trance and say strange things. She told of underwater realms of disturbing beauty, where creatures she could not describe writhed like eels among fallen marble columns. She spoke of the dragons, and then she would become agitated and flecks of foam would gather at the corners of her mouth. Pharinet thought that for Ellony the sea dragons had become a personal horror: a haunting she both welcomed and feared. No wonder she walked at night. Pharinet felt distanced from the dragons now. She lived farther from the sea. Sometimes, lacking her sea-cave as a refuge from Saska’s abrasive moods, she would climb to the Ronduel, the stone circle perched high above Norgance. Here, she would imagine dead kings and queens parading before her, but she never saw anything with her eyes. The wind blew a mournful lament, while the grasses hissed an accompaniment, and Pharinet wondered if this was how the rest of her life would progress. Therefore, the prospect of meeting Prince Bayard was an exciting distraction. Saska resisted being drawn into it at first, but eventually had to give in. Everna, naturally, was thrown into a frenzy of activity, which Saska could not avoid without being rude. Ellony too became roused from her usual dream-like state. In private, the Sisterhood might revile the emperors of Madragore, but the presence of a royal male on Caradorean soil still provoked a feeling of occasion. Thus it had been in Pharinet’s father’s day. A feast would be thrown at Caradore, and many of the local noble families would be invited. Everna confided to Pharinet, “Perhaps the old days are returning.” Pharinet was astonished her sister could say such a thing. The day dawned when the men were due to arrive. Pharinet, Dimara, Saska and her children converged on Caradore, while Everna whisked about the castle issuing orders to her staff. Noon passed and there was no sign of the visitors. “Perhaps delayed on the road,” said Everna, frowning, although Pharinet thought this unlikely. Khaster had described the itinerary of their journey in his letter, and had said the party would be breaking their travels overnight at a hostelry which lay only three hours’ ride from Caradore. Perhaps they were late risers. They clattered into the castle yard late in the afternoon, trailing a retinue of boisterous young men, whom Pharinet assumed must be Bayard’s entourage. The women had gathered quickly on the castle steps once the call had come from the battlements that a company of riders approached. The prince was instantly recognizable from his portrait, a shining presence whose charisma seemed to eclipse everyone else present. Ellony was the first to glide down to the prancing horses, no doubt keen to make a good impression. Khaster looked surly and Valraven bemused. Bayard dismounted from his horse and surveyed the waiting women. Pharinet noticed his gaze skimmed briefly over every one until it fell upon her. He came towards her. “You must be the Lady Pharinet,” he said. “I am,” she replied. Ellony hovered at Valraven’s side looking puzzled. She had clearly expected a royal greeting before everyone else. Khaster jumped down from his horse, his lips tight. He walked purposefully to Pharinet’s side, who leaned towards him for a kiss. Everna came down the steps and curtsied to the prince. “I am Everna Palindrake, Valraven’s elder sister,” she said. “I welcome you to our home and trust your journey was pleasant.” Bayard bowed to her. “Tolerable,” he said. “I am pleased to be here, my lady. Valraven is always extolling Caradore’s virtues to me.” Pharinet eyed the prince with suspicion. He seemed very much his father’s son—polite and gracious. Where was the sneering sullen creature described to her by Khaster? After light refreshments in the castle, Bayard insisted on visiting the family shrine. Everna explained that there was no priest in residence at Caradore. He lived beside the great church in the town of Talabrake, some miles to the south. “We can summon him, of course,” Everna said, “but he may not be able to come immediately.” Bayard placed a hand upon Everna’s shoulder, a gesture Pharinet found to be amusingly familiar. “Fear not,” he said. “Enough of my father’s god resides in me that I can stutter a prayer or two.” He turned slowly before the assembled company of Palindrakes and Leckerys. “You must all come. We should pray together.” This apparent piety was another thing neither Khaster nor Valraven had mentioned before. Pharinet suspected Bayard was being ironic. He seemed the epitome of the golden prince, but she could smell a danger in him, something that moved slowly and purposefully beneath the surface of his manner. Rather self-consciously, the company went out through the castle yard to the shrine. Inside, it felt cold and damp. No candles were lit and no incense filled the air. Everna hurried to correct these deficiencies, and presently the half-burned red candles flickered upon their tall sconces and a heavy waft of peppery smoke curled out of the burnished censer that hung above the altar. Nothing lives in here, Pharinet thought as Bayard took his place before the altar and raised his arms. Why is he bothering? Bayard called upon Madragore and, as the emperor’s son, made a personal royal request that the god should bless the families of Caradore. Watching him, Pharinet was suddenly filled with the impression that the fire Bayard worshipped did not reside in the dour countenance of Madragore. It lay somewhere else, and where it lay, it coiled and writhed, puffing out ribbons of acrid smoke. It was waiting. She was sure that Bayard himself was aware of this. He was invoking something there, in their little shrine, calling something into being in Caradore. After the brief ritual, everyone went back into the castle, and Bayard was shown to the guest apartments Everna and Thomist had made ready for him. They were the same rooms once used regularly by his father, in the days when the emperor had been a frequent visitor. Everna suggested that the prince and his companions should rest for a couple of hours before dinner. That night was to be a fairly private affair, with only the Leckerys and the Palindrakes, and two local squires and their wives. The following evening, the rest of the local nobility would arrive, intent on viewing this new royal. Some would attempt to curry favor, while others would judge him in silence. Khaster told Pharinet he felt tired and in need of a bath. Without actually saying so, he implied they should retire together to the room they usually occupied while staying at Caradore. Pharinet was not tired, and felt far from in the mood for physical intimacy. Because Khaster would not be forthright in his request, she was equally vague at sidestepping it. “You take a bath and a rest,” she said. “The windows will be open, and the sea breeze will soothe you. I’ll just be a fidget, for I’m wide awake. I think I’ll walk in the gardens for a while.” Khaster, though clearly disappointed, did not argue. As she watched his
retreating form, Pharinet felt slightly guilty. He did not know her at all. She deceived him constantly. The gardens stretched away from the castle. The lichened pale stone of their enclosing walls rose high, and muffled the crash of the waves, though the ground vibrated beneath Pharinet’s feet as if water gushed and foamed into rocky caves beneath them. As a child, Pharinet had spent little time among the cultivated arbors and cropped lawns, preferring the wild open spaces beyond the castle walls. Now, the gardens seemed peaceful and welcoming. Whatever wind teased the grasses on the cliffs was kept out; the air was still and fragrant. Pharinet sat down on a stone bench before a fountain. The sun was pleasantly warm on her skin and the distant cry of sea birds lulled her mind. She missed her home. She wondered whether Valraven was making love to Ellony now. The image disgusted her. She dreaded some plaintive sounds drifting out from the open windows behind her. Some time during the men’s brief visit, she and Valraven would find the opportunity to be together. It always happened, as if it was meant to. Then, she would imprint her own strong sensuality over the memory of Ellony’s feeble frame. Valraven would return to Magrast with his skin redolent of her own scent. She wondered then what Bayard thought of Ellony. The fact that he had ignored her when he’d first arrived perhaps indicated the depth of his feelings for Valraven. He’d sought Pharinet out straight away. Did he know about her? Perhaps she and Bayard had an affinity in the forbidden nature of the love they both felt for Valraven. Pharinet heard footsteps behind her on the gravel path that led to the fountain, and her skin prickled. It was Valraven; he was coming to her already, risking exposure of their secret. At the last moment, she turned on her seat, her face set into an expression they reserved for one another: wicked desire. Therefore, she was shocked to find that it was Prince Bayard who had sought her out. Or perhaps it was coincidence. “You are supposed to be resting,” she said, in a tone she would usually reserve for someone of lesser status than herself. Bayard only smiled, apparently ignorant of the insult. “You were not expecting me, that is clear.” Pharinet made no comment. She knew this man; he had stared down at her from his portrait a thousand times. She smiled. “I’m sorry, my lord. That sounded rude of me. I was expecting my husband.” Bayard sat down beside her. “Were you? That look on your face did not seem to me to be one ever worn by a wife. If it was, I might even be induced to marry someone.” Pharinet felt herself redden. “I have not seen Khaster for some time. You must understand …” “I have no wish for pretences between us, Lady Pharinet. I know for whom you were waiting.” She paused. “Really?” He grinned at her lasciviously. “Of course. You and Valraven are lovers.” Pharinet was so astonished, she could not deny it. “He told you this?” She was horrified to think her brother might discuss their relationship with someone else. Bayard raised a languid hand dismissively. “Not in so many words. He is too much a gentleman where you’re concerned. That alone alerted my suspicions.” It was clear he thought his words would please her. Pharinet despised herself for the gratification they invoked in her heart. As a kind of self-defense, she was impelled to say, “I might say that certain aspects of Val’s behavior have alerted me to other clandestine relationships he might be conducting.” The moment the words had left her mouth, she regretted them. How could she say such a thing? But Bayard did not seemed offended, or even surprised. “Oh? The dalliance he enjoys with me? I didn’t realize it was a secret.” Pharinet swallowed thickly. Then it was true. She felt slightly faint, unable to imagine her brother ever making love to a man. Could Bayard be lying? She did not think so. “How long have you … ?” She could not continue. Bayard glanced at her with amusement. It was clear he understood his remark had come as a shock. “We became close shortly after he returned to Magrast following his wedding. It was inevitable. Some things are just meant to be. You should know that.” Pharinet looked away from him. “I would prefer it if this matter was mentioned to no one but me. Our ways are different here, my lord. My family would not understand.” Bayard shrugged, leaned back against the ancient stone of the seat and stretched out his legs. “Whatever you wish. Anyway, that was not what I wanted to talk to you about. I looked out of my window just now and saw you sitting here alone. It was too good an opportunity to miss, although I confess it took me some minutes to fight my way out of the maze of your castle.” “Are you looking for gossip? Val has said nothing to me about you.” Bayard wrinkled his nose fastidiously. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m not interested in anything like that. I know where I stand with him, and what he gets up to in these domestic sojourns holds no fascination for me at all. There are more important things for us to talk about.? Pharinet studied him for a few moments, then said, “I’m intrigued. What?” Bayard did not reply immediately. He returned her stare, seeming to exude a searing golden light from his eyes. Pharinet could not see it, but she felt it. Eventually, she had to drop her eyes from his gaze. He could wither her. “It is a pity you cannot come to Magrast,” he said. “I am sure you would find much to stimulate you there.” Pharinet felt slightly confused now. Eloquence had fled, leaving her with the tongue of a simpering girl, someone like Ellony. “You don’t know me, my lord. I cannot see how you could reach such a conclusion.” Bayard laughed. “I know more about you than you think. Your mind, your soul, is like an overturned jug. Everything pours out. Your magic is not the only kind.” “My magic?” It seemed that walls were closing around her, walls on fire. “Yes. You know what I mean. The emperor is not ignorant of the fact that his subjects here attempt to keep alive the old beliefs. But there are many old beliefs. It might seem we stand opposed, but in reality this is not the case. Many years ago, the emperor of Magravandias took for himself the power of the seas from the Palindrake heir. It has never been quenched, that power, merely contained. I know, as does my father, how strongly it resides inside Valraven. But he is ignorant of it, isn’t he?” “I don’t know what to say. Your words are astounding.” Bayard tipped back his head and grinned at the sky. “Don’t try to fool me. You are a sea-priestess or some such thing. It will be in your blood, and the womenfolk in this godforsaken place will expect it of you. Are you an oracle of the oceans, sweet Pharinet? Come now, you can tell me. I would expect it of you also. There is nothing for you to fear in being honest.” Pharinet hesitated. “I am aware of the old traditions, of course. It is folklore, but means a lot to people who live so near the sea.” Bayard sucked his upper lip thoughtfully. “I am surprised you people have not tried to rekindle that ancient power. Are you really so afraid of Madragore?” Pharinet laughed uneasily. “This is not a conversation I would have expected to have with you, my lord. As you know, the mages of Madragore stipulate clearly that all countries of the empire should adhere to the beliefs of their church.? “Things become changed over the years, though. Once, my ancestors were tribal lords who worshipped fire. In those days, the fire-drakes held power, and the dragons of the sea, the earth, the air. Where are they now?” He raised his hand expressively. “My father knows the old legends, but has never thought to investigate their claims. Fortunately, my mother is not nearly so shortsighted.” “The empress? What did she tell you?” “Just the truth of what happened in the past, and how the power of fire was shaped into the god Madragore. He is a much more civilized face for our beliefs than the wild, free spirit of the raw element.” “You mean the fire-drakes?” He studied her. “I feel them,” he said, “as you feel the creatures of your own element. There should be fusion, not estrangement between them. That is the way to true power.” “Does your eldest brother share these beliefs?” He smiled, slowly and lazily like the sun coming out from beneath the veil of a cloud. “You see, we each have our own secrets.” Pharinet blinked at him as she came to a sure realization: Bayard wanted to be emperor one day. “You believe that the power of the sea dragons, combined with that of the fire-drakes, will give you ascendancy over your brothers?” “I would not say so exactly,” Bayard said, “as you would not admit to sleeping with your brother or trying to conjure sea dragons. But I think we understan
d one another.” “What do you want of me?” she asked. “That, at least, you can spell out.” “I believe in you,” he said, “that’s all you need to know for now. You are not in ignorance like your brother. The deep tides live in you.” He stood up. “We shall speak again. I want something to be done before I leave here.” “What?” “You must work your magic for me. All that you reserve jealously for yourself you must share with Val.” “It’s not like that. You don’t understand.” She stopped herself saying any more. Already she had revealed too much, no matter how candid Bayard appeared to be. “I am still confused as to why you have spoken to me in this way,” she said. “How can you trust me?” He shrugged. “In all the world, there is only one woman I respect, and that is Tatrini, my mother. She spoke your name to me. She sees all.” “If you have no respect for me, then why honor the powers you imagine I have?” “My opinions can be changed,” he answered. “You are very much like your brother.” “We are twins. That is hardly surprising.” Bayard looked away from her, up at the soaring walls of the castle. “One day, I shall bring together all the elemental creatures: the sea dragons, the fire-drakes, the winged serpents of air and the basilisks of the earth’s deepest chasms. Only then can power be brought into balance and the empire secured. I believe you and your brother have a place in this future that I see.” Pharinet shook her head in amazement. “Again, I do not know what to say to you.” “Say nothing. Think on what I’ve said.” He stood up. “Now, I had better withdraw lest some vigilant member of your family observe our conversation from the castle.” He bowed to her. “Until later, dear lady. Thank you for such a stimulating conversation.” She watched him go, feeling completely disoriented. Her head spun as if he’d buffeted her with his fists. But his words made sense of the strange sensations she’d experienced over the last few years, the insidious presence of fire in her world. She had not imagined what he’d been doing earlier in the shrine. He was bringing the fire-drakes to the water. Over dinner, Bayard made a great effort to entertain. Pharinet could see that he’d won over nearly everybody, except for some of the Leckery women-folk. Ligrana was different, but then she was a little flirt to the bone. Ellony looked fretful and red along the cheekbone, toying with her food. Saska and Dimara were both stern and unsmiling, while Niska seemed hardly to be there at all. Everna, however, bloomed beneath the attention. Pharinet found it hard to believe her sister, who was such a devout priestess of the dragons, could be so taken in. How would she react if Pharinet should tell her of her conversation with Bayard? The most disturbing thing to Pharinet was that she knew she would never reveal what had transpired. Some part of her, perhaps her darker side, was already a confederate of the Magravandian prince. She told herself she wanted to know what was in his mind. She told herself she was intrigued by him because of his relationship with Valraven. But in her heart she knew the truth: there was power in him that he could show her, that she could learn about, power that Ellony could never have. Also, he was very attractive. Poor Ellony; she seemed to writhe upon her seat, unsure whether to look modest and coy or outrightly annoyed. Whenever Bayard spoke to her—which he now made a point of doing—her words came out in a confused mumble. Perhaps she had guessed from something in one of Valraven’s letters the extent of the prince’s relationship with her husband. This too, despite Pharinet’s earlier request, Bayard seemed quite prepared to make public. Fortunately, the gathering thought nothing of the blatant caresses and shoulder hugging. They probably just believed that Valraven was fortunate to be favoured by so prestigious a man. The emperor had once brought glamor to Caradore; perhaps his son would do the same. Pharinet despised this fickle loyalty. On the one hand the Caradoreans reviled the emperor’s line, while on another they were prepared to fawn over his son. After dinner, the company retired to a salon where a village girl sang folk songs, accompanied by a troupe of three musicians. Bayard murmured about how charming it all was, then managed to isolate Pharinet from the group for a few moments. “The wife,” he said. “What about her?” “Excuse me?” Pharinet had no idea what he meant. “The little fair one. Is she the sea wife?” “The sea wife? I don’t know. What’s that?” Bayard rolled his eyes. “Do you know so little? We must speak later.” “That will be difficult.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I’d have thought you’d be adept at engineering private moments.” “I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” Pharinet said. “If you like, I’ll take you down to the sea. I’m sure it can be arranged.” “That sounds most agreeable.” He held out an elbow for her. “Would you care to dance? Let’s liven up the company.” Pharinet glanced uncertainly at the guests. “Oh, very well, why not?” Together she and Bayard pranced to the middle of the room. Bayard was a good dancer; he made a great show. People began to clap and tap their feet, and then join in. Bayard took Pharinet in his arms and swooped up and down the length of the salon. Her skirts whirled around her, and tendrils of hair escaped confinement. It was like being carried along by a wind. She caught glimpses of faces, in particular, Ellony, Valraven and Khaster. Ellony looked glum, perhaps thinking she could never dance like that. Valraven was speculative, perhaps amused. Khaster?s expression, predictably, was dark. Later, once the party was over and everyone had retired to their chambers, Khaster lost no time in making some disparaging remarks about how the prince appeared to have favored Pharinet’s company. “Don’t be fooled,” he said. “He has venom in his veins, not blood.” “That much is obvious to me,” Pharinet said, pulling a chemise over her head. “Please don’t be nettled if he speaks to me, Khas. I can hardly ignore him.” “His behaviour towards Ellie was intolerable.” “Was it? What did he do? I didn’t notice.” Khaster sat down on the bed fully dressed, looking at her with a hard expression. “Sometimes, Pharry, I see things in you I don’t like.” She tried to soften and padded over to him, her hair hanging loose over her naked breasts. “This is most unfair of you, Khas. What have I done?” He sighed and pulled her down into his arms. “I’m too affected by what my life has become. Forgive me. It is just that I fear for you.” “I’m quite capable of looking after myself,” Pharinet said. “Tomorrow, I shall show our prince to the sea. I want to observe his reaction.” Khaster looked disapproving, so Pharinet put her lips against his own, using all her skill to divert him from his concerns. “I am here for you, I am your wife,” she said.