[There is a trigger warning in this chapter for violence and language.]
Chapter 32: Reaching a Pitch
Ber, Day 25 of Melia
Solar Eclipse
Year 602
Hare’s Claw, Ingredient. See illustration. Rhizome with innate healing properties.
May help relieve pain and especially inflammation.
—Arcane Herbs and Their Uses, Vol. 1
Moaning softly, Craix stirred.
She was cold. The ground beneath her was hard and cold. Her hands and feet were numb and cold. She attempted to move her arms but couldn’t.
It was so dark—but she could hear a muffled din nearby that suggested daylight and duties. She listened. The clanging of a blacksmith’s anvil. Children playing. The slosh of water being emptied from a bucket.
She opened her eyes all the way and was preparing to panic at the persistent blackness when she realized they’d put some sort of loose sack over her head. The fabric was thick, but she could just discern a little weak light from between the tightly woven fibers.
When she’d come to, her head had been squashed down into what felt like clay or hard-packed dirt.
Frustratingly, one of her legs had fallen asleep under her. She pushed and pulled her way to a seated position and felt around herself. The strangers had stacked her wrists on top of each other and lashed them together behind her back—there was little she could do about that. The shedding ropes were tight and bit into her skin. With her fingers, she reached down into the ground behind her but only succeeded in collecting a good deal of dirt under her fingernails.
There—lumber. Craix felt around behind herself until her arms ached. As far as she could tell, a large wall of large wooden timbers shot upward behind her. She moved to stand, intending to follow the wall and see how far it went. A sharp tug on her ankles tripped her, and the tightness she felt told her unmistakably that her feet had been bound by ropes as well.
She changed her tactic and turned herself around, falling back down into the dirt so she could feel at the ropes about her feet with her bound fingers.
Her breath came short and she felt the beginnings of fogged perspiration collecting inside the sack over her head.
Awkwardly following the thick, fibrous ropes, she determined that her ankles had each been secured to a large single timber buried in the dirt near her. It was too big in diameter for her to clutch in one hand and still retained some rough bark from when it had been felled, but more than that she could not tell.
The back of her head ached painfully, and she recalled with a sickened feeling her captors slamming something hard into the tender flesh there. She had no way to tell how badly she was actually injured. There was a nasty recurring twinge in her lower back as well.
Craix appeared to be alone at the moment. She didn’t know how long that might last.
Moving feverishly, she felt about the pole where the ropes securing her ankles were. The knots were many, and very tight.
Her numb fingers closed around one or two and she began to pick at them with her fingernails.
“Leave off, boy,” came a woman’s low, dangerous voice, startling her.
Craix made the conscious decision not to jump and ignored her, continuing to pry at the tough ropes with her tightly bound fingers.
“Mind me,” said the woman warningly.
“Fuck you,” Craix told her through the cloth over her head.
Without warning, something icy-sharp bit into her fingers, and Craix screamed at the white-hot pain. She felt the trickle of warm blood well up and fill the gaps between each appendage as she clenched them together against further injury. I’ll have to be extremely careful with this lot, she considered, her mind reeling with the shock of it. Her father’s recommendation came flooding back to her then; Craix should obey anyone who’s blade is faster than their mouth. Stay alive, that’s most important.
The woman had cut her. Without a thought.
“And I’ll do it again,” the cold voice said as if reading her mind. “I’ve brought you your supper, but I don’t think you’re quite ready for it. You’ve a mouth on you.”
That was what that smell was. Warm food had been brought in for her—fish of some sort, she guessed.
“I can think of a hundred different things to do with this trencher,” continued the woman coldly. “Feeding you isn’t high on my list.”
Now that they’d mentioned food, Craix grew suddenly and painfully aware that she was ravenous. River travel had made it difficult to eat consistently and she’d decided to travel light. Of course she’d feel it now, when it counted. She was weaker than she should be—than she would have liked to be.
Footfalls told her the woman was moving around her, inspecting her.
“You know where you are?” she asked.
Craix pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t curse her captor again.
“Good,” the woman said. “And you won’t. Not until you agree to join.”
“Join?” gasped Craix through the pain of her now throbbing hand.
“Oh, yes,” her captor breathed in self-satisfied tones. “Those we capture either convert or die. You’re with the Celare now.”
* * *
The day of Bryn Beynon’s twenty-fourth summer dawned sunny and fresh. From the moment he opened his bleary eyes and his heart leaped into being, everything seemed to be in sharper relief.
The sky outside was a brilliant blue—cloudless. A soft breeze played upon the sheer panels of fabric that draped his casements and let cool air into his room to spin eagerly in the space above his bed. Next to him, pretty Treese dozed soundly, her long, dark lashes casting shadows on the high points of her plump cheeks.
He grinned slowly to himself. It was here. He was no longer emperor regent. Today, he would come into his full title.
The gods had put him through countless tests, and he’d borne it. The nightmare of his mother coupled with the long years of waiting to actually wield the title that had been so thoughtlessly thrust upon him since childhood—all of it was finally over. Tonight would be the great celebratory feast; the doors of Daitak Keep would be flung open once more to welcome dignitaries, ambassadors, nobles, and civilians.
Beynon sat up in bed for a moment, enjoying the feel of the crisp sheets as they pooled around his bare feet. The night before had dragged on for what seemed like an eternity, leaving him certain sleep might evade him. But he’d found it after all, and no dreams had troubled him.. Now, he rested his forehead in his cupped hands to stare down at his lap. He feared the beat of his heart would wake his sleeping companion. “Calumn, I honor you,” he whispered.
Praying to the gods in any aspect wasn’t something he often engaged in, but there seemed no fitter words for how he felt today.
It would be busy in the keep from the very moment Beynon’s feet touched the floor until he pulled his covers back up under his chin this night. People would harry him and pester him. Servants would pluck at him. He must be sure to take in every possible moment if he could. Remember this, he thought to himself, sensing important cusp he was poised to teeter over.
The council meeting he’d been so looking forward to would be held the next morning, so he couldn’t get too drunk tonight, although he expected many of his guests to drink to excess.
With a firm nod to himself, Bryn slowly put his feet over the side of the bed. The double doors to Alisia’s quarters were shut tight, and he thrust ideas of her from his mind. They’d need to interact today, of course. He hoped with annoyance that she wouldn’t display any of that snappish temper that had been her wont lately. He had no idea what was bothering her. I hardly know her even now, Bryn reflected.
Which was fine. He couldn’t allow himself to trust her.
But he bore Alisia no ill outside of that. They’d been married out of convenience—that didn’t mean they had to either fall in love or repel each other. Couldn’t she just relax into the businesslike partnership he so desperately desired?
In a kind of floating stupor, he moved to his outer bedroom door. Upon pushing it gently open, he found the hall lined with the footman he’d come to expect. The one closest to his room eyed him, and Beynon gave him a curt nod.
The man took off at a steady trot to summon servants for baths, beautification, and breakfast.
* * *
Repht was shaken awake by an older woman wearing an apron and armed with fresh towels and hairpins.
“It’s so early,” she moaned incoherently. “Why—?”
“Shhh,” the woman said brusquely. “Master Hodric and you are to be honored at the feast tonight. You are guests of the emperor and are expected to spend the day at the keep.”
“Why didn’t Hodric tell me?” she wondered allowed, frowning. Sleep had creased her brow and her mouth felt thick and swollen. Sound sleep was a rarity for her, and she mourned this interruption.
The servant was busy rolling up her shirtsleeves. “I expect he thought you had wits enough to assume!” she cried, then muttered to herself, “Marries Master of the Horse and thinks to sleep in on Emperor Beynon’s summer celebration day… You’re nobility now, my dear. Best assimilate.”
There was ice in the assertion, and Repht glanced up at the curmudgeonly older woman. I was not so different from her, once, she thought. But I’ve married into the emperor’s pay, and now we are worlds apart.
She shook her head and thrust the thought from her mind, then got wearily to her feet and let the woman strip her night clothes off. Repht endured a brisk scrubbing in the spring-heated baths and was lotioned and powdered as her long, dark hair dried in the early morning air.
“Here,” the woman told her—Repht learned her name was Martha. “Drink this,” she said, and handed the younger woman a vial containing a blushing pink liquid.
Repht shook her head, nearly losing her balance as another serving woman stockinged her bare legs. “I took one last night,” she protested.
“...And that’ll wear off in the middle of supper, as certain as starshine. I strongly encourage you,” Martha said sternly from under a pair of stormy brows, “To take another.”
Repht did, swallowing her protestations with the brew.
After the change occured, the servants need to procure her a new pair of stockings.
“Did you take your medicines already, my lady?” one of the more timid and younger manservants asked her. “For your pain?”
“No,” she said reproachfully. “I haven’t even breakfasted yet.”
Martha rolled her eyes.
Downstairs in the manor, Repht sat while another elderly woman combed out her hair so harshly that tears sprang to her eyes. A manservant fed her hot oat porridge with cinniswood and apples, carefully spooning it up to her mouth and attempting not to get any on her clean face. Feet clattered on the smooth flagstone floor and voices echoed throughout Guben Home as the servants worked feverishly to ready their masters for the day.
The rest of the morning proceeded in a sort of organized chaos until Martha pronounced her ready.
Hodric swept in, smelling of fresh air and excitement and booming his greetings to everyone. “Good morning!”
“Morning!” Repht replied, approaching him in her delicate pair of heeled slippers.
He swept her up into a tight hug and she squealed as she left the ground.
“The horses are ready,” he said into her ear, and she thrilled at the nearness of his lips. “Shall we go?”
Reluctantly, she nodded, then asked, “Are we really going to stay there all day long?”
Hodric grinned at her in response.
“My love,” she said, lowering her voice so that at least some of the servants wouldn’t hear, “That’s a long day for me. My neck and shoulders will begin to hurt and may rob me of sleep after.”
He shrugged. “If it gets bad, Beynon has servants to tend you. And I can always send you home early in the carriage if you’re uncomfortable.”
She nodded at this, somewhat mollified.
“This will be a party the likes of which we’ve never seen,” he said with anticipatory relish.
The ride in the coach was largely quiet. Repht asked a few questions about what she might be able to expect from the day, and Hodric answered her as best he could.
From what she understood, she had been invited to keep Empress Alisia and her ladies company for most of the day. There was no way to tell what kind of activities this might entail. Repht stifled her disquiet at that, choosing instead to be charmed by the idea of making merry throughout the day and into the night. She was glad breakfast had been so light—it sounded like they’d be eating throughout the celebration.
She expected to arrive at the keep in a flurry of triumph, but was surprised when the coach stopped in the middle of the cobbled courtyard. There were chaotic shouts outside, and Hodric craned his neck toward the window to see what was amiss.
“Huh,” he laughed humorlessly. “We’ve been crowded out.”
“What?” wondered Repht.
Her husband looked back at her and grinned. “I usually try to time affairs of state so we arrive at just the right moment, but it looks like we’ve come at precisely the same time as many of the other partygoers. All of the distinguished guests are being dropped off in the courtyard, and we’ll have to wait our turn.”
She was overcome with curiosity. Was this what it meant to be a great lady and own a coach of her own? That she’d have to wait in line with everyone else? When she’d attended the Hunt earlier that year, she’d simply crept through the throngs of—yes, she supposed there were an awful lot of carriages, holding stock still—and made her private way up to the keep entrance.
“I thought we were arriving especially early,” she said, hating the plaintive note in her voice. Martha may have pulled her out of bed earlier than necessary, which would make her angry but which she could do nothing about…
“We are,” said Hodric. His grin to her was rakish over his large, straight nose and neatly clipped hair. So handsome, she thought absently. “...That should tell you something about how crowded Daitak will be tonight.” Unexpectedly, her husband took her by the hand, then frowned at the temperature of it. “Are you cold?”
Repht shook her head. “Not especially. I’m a little nervous.”
Tenderly, he touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I forget you’ve not been to the keep under these circumstances. I should warn you: Emperor Beynon likes to celebrate. And when he’s given his way, it can get… raucous. If you are frightened or uncomfortable, come and find me. The keep attendants will be very helpful as well.”
“What do you mean, raucous?” she asked him cautiously, enjoying the light touch of his fingers on her face.
“Well—” he hesitated, then said, “You can expect heavy imbibement from everyone. The wine made at the keep rivals any in the world. There are often smoking herbs for recreational use, with special rooms dedicated to the use and users. There may be folks who’ve decided to worship at the little shrines located inside, and there are almost always political debates for guests’ edification. Beynon keeps a great many fools, who will tell you jokes or tumble for you.”
The coach lurched forward suddenly, and Repht could hear their footman snapping orders at someone, ostensibly jockeying for a better position.
“The baths will probably be full. You should visit them if you’ve a mind. The hot water may help and soothe your muscles.”
She smiled shyly. “With other people there?”
“Why not?” he asked impatiently, and she drew away from him a little at the sharpness of his reply.
Hodric saw his error and immediately smoothed his features. “My apologies. I didn't mean to be harsh just now. Yes, with other people there. It’s often done. And it might be a nice way to get accustomed to others seeing you before the orgies begin.”
Her stomach seemed to drop right through the floor of the carriage. “Orgies?” she squeaked.
But before he had a chance to answer her, someone had flung open the door and was encouraging them to come out into the bright sunlit courtyard.
Repht clung tightly to Hodric’s large, cool hand as they began to navigate the maze of carriages, standing, sweating mounts with tails flicking, and voluminous silken skirts. It seemed incongruous to see nobles in evening wear already with the day still dawning. Bodices were encrusted with sparkling jewels, and some of the women even sported feathers in their grandly arranged hair.
“Good morning!” Hodric called heartily to people he happened to know as the two of them passed partygoers on their way to the keep.
Repht’s own gown was simply cut but in the finest of fabrics. It was a deep blue, beautifully offsetting her dusky skin. She wore simple ornaments at her ears and wrists, and Martha and the others had seen her hair tightly braided into a crown atop her head.
The heeled slippers she wore were tricky on the many steps leading up to Daitak Keep, but with Hodric’s help, she managed it. Once they reached the grand landing and looked out over the courtyard into the sea of arrivals, Repht thought to herself that she was already exhausted and wanted to go home.
No such luck.
Once again, she was struck by how invisible she’d been on her last visit to Daitak—and it had seemed that all eyes were on her then! This time, attendants flocked to them, offering both she and Hodric fragrant bowls of petaled water to clean their hands in.
They’d been expected, and with a last peck on her cheek, Hodric motioned to a small group of ladies off to the side and offered, “There’s the empress. Go on, now. I expect I’ll see you soon.”
It was jarring, being parted from him in this way, but Repht smiled bravely and sought the ladies.
And attendant trailed after her and said curtly to the gaggle of them, “Lady Hodric Larveis of Guben Home,” and then floated importantly away.
A stunningly beautiful woman with blonde hair and striking blue eyes said suddenly, “Of course—Hodric’s new bride.”
The women’s conversation stilled and she became aware that the glittering ladies were all watching her to see what she would do.
The blonde was dressed in burgundy and grey despite the warm weather—Daitak’s colours. On her wrist, she sported a heavy-looking bracelet engraved with Daitak’s crest; the eyes and ears of a male fox. Panicking, Repht guessed that she must be Alisia.
“Empress,” she murmured, managing a deep and elegant curtsy. She was sure everyone could see the actual fluttering of her pulse at the low neck of her gown. What if she’d gotten it wrong and had shamed herself, right in the reception hall at the capital of the world?
But the woman’s eyes lit and she gave Repht a sparkling smile, inclining her head. “You are welcome in our home. Hodric serves us well.”
“I thank you, my lady Empress,” Repht replied.
“Repht, was it?” Alisia asked her, and Repht nodded. “It’s a pleasure. We were just going to lunch. Will you accompany us?”
She gulped and nodded again.
Some of the other women had headed down the hall, still talking quietly amongst themselves. Repht took the opportunity to study them.
Everyone in the group ranged from her age or a little younger to perhaps their early forties. Snippets of overheard conversation told her they were mostly the wives of council members—as she was now. She consciously tried to banish thoughts that she shouldn’t be allowed here, that she didn’t deserve to be here. She was lady Larveis now. That was as much right as anyone else had to take her leisure and enjoy herself.
Repht fell toward the back of the group of women as they migrated away from the hall and into a sunny chamber that she thought must be part of Alisia’s suite. There were tables set out with cards and game boards, extra couches and seating, and a sideboard laden with sumptuous-looking food.
The scents of succulent cooked meats and sharp cheeses filled the room, cut with the ripeness of freshly prepared melons and berries.
The other guests were discarding little handbags and what looked like gifts in a neat pile by the entrance, but Repht had no such accoutrements with her. She watched to see what the others might do and attempted to emulate them.
Alisia gestured to the tables bearing trays of food and said grandly, “Please, friends. Help yourselves.” Then she sat in a comfortably winged chair toward the center of the room.
It hadn’t been too long since Martha had seen hot porridge shoved into Repht’s mouth, so she wandered over to join the empress while the others began to load up plates of their own. Alisia noticed, and scooted her chair just a bit closer to the one Repht occupied.
“Is this your first visit to the capital?” the blonde woman asked.
Repht tried not to stare. Alisia was truly beautiful, and the kind way her eyes moved when she smiled was dazzling. Then, too—there was the Eralian accent, exotic and ever-so-slightly clipped. She’d heard that sometimes Empress Alisia still muddled some Urdan phrases, and that idioms confused her, but it was difficult to imagine from someone so obviously poised and practiced. Perhaps she’d witness it today.
“No, Lady Empress,” Repht managed to stammer. “It is not my first time to the court, though my circumstances now are admittedly quite different. I have been here for the Hunt. And I have been another time to sup with Hodric.”
The woman was nodding at her. “Both comparatively quiet evenings,” she observed, then looked away as if to contemplate a great distance. “Although the Great Hunt can be rowdy toward the end. It has not been the custom in Eral to celebrate with such… commitment. It can take some time to get used to.”
Repht watched her carefully. She planned to ask the empress more about herself and her upbringing, but the door to the room flew open once more and a pair of fools dressed in motley dyed the colours of the capital entered—one man and one woman.
Were these two of Beynon’s eighteen fools? Her eyes widened. The woman’s costume was left bare at the midriff, and the man’s clung so tightly that there could be no doubt as to his masculinity.
She darted a glance at the others in the room, but no one else appeared frightened or threatened, and Repht schooled her features into a benign configuration.
The two fools somersaulted across the floor in such a ridiculous manner that it drew giggles from observers, and then the man vaulted to his feet before the empress. “We come bearing a message from Bryn Beynon, Emperor of all Daitak—who turns twenty-four this very day—for the Lady Empress Alisia of Eral!” he cried.
Alisia’s smile had grown fixed. “And what is that?” she asked.
“He claims the first dance with you, of course, if you will have him!” the woman fool answered.
The ladies in the chamber applauded, delighted.
“Is that all?” Alisia asked them coolly, with the air that she’d had conversations of this kind many times before and was rather bored with it all.
The man had pulled out three silver balls and had begun to manipulate them, eventually working into a full juggle. “No,” he said. “That is not all he claims. But that is all I am permitted to say out loud in front of the other courtiers.”
There were scandalized gasps throughout the room and Alisia’s pleasant expression seemed permanently frozen on her face as the woman fool scrabbled wickedly forward to whisper something covertly in the empress’ ear.
Repht watched her closely. Did she turn a shade paler?
“Well, fools,” she said emotionlessly. “I cannot say I am surprised at that. But is this all you’ve come to do for us today? Deliver messages? Let us have some riddles and tricks!”
“Oh, yes,” chorused a few of the women. “Please!”
There was a sick, frightening undercurrent to the chamber that unsettled Repht greatly. She had the sense that there was more happening than she was able to immediately discern, but was unsure what to do about it. She’d flee back to her home, but it would be unseemly as she’d only just arrived. Quietly, she watched as the pair of fools entertained the large group of ladies and pretended to be interested.
