The Scrivener's Tale #1

TWENTY-THREE

Cassien was supposed to spend the night with Ham in a small chamber, normally used for storage, adjacent to the queen’s suite. Servants had cleared it, made up two cots; despite Burrage’s protestations and Florentyna’s embarrassment, he had assured them both he would be fine.
While Ham had slept the sleep of babes with his belly full, Cassien had sat staring at a rendition of the dragon carved over the queen’s bedchamber door. The floor was cold, the moonlight was fiercely bright and the regular changes of the guards that he personally had posted also kept him alert. At each change he would straighten, stretch and take a walk around the corridors flanking the queen’s chamber. Twice he’d made the journey down the great staircase and gone out into the frosty night to check on the guards watching her various windows. They were a long way down from where Florentyna slept, but Cassien was taking no chances. Men encircled the wing from below, and above on the battlements, and again he was changing them each bell. The rotation would continue day and night. He’d gladly lie on the floor by her bed if he didn’t think Chancellor Burrage would have an apoplectic fit.
He didn’t need to look at the gently burning candle in the small alcove in the wall to know it was aevum. The middle of the night was sensed through his body, finely honed to know instinctively. It was the period trey from dawn, as the Brotherhood called it, the three hours when men were mostly still and the Brothers went about their killing, if need be. If the Brothers used trey to steal up on victims, so might a demon, he reasoned. He thought about the men on the palace’s uppermost reaches. Some, he suspected, would already be leaning against the merlons and dozing, hoping not to be caught. Yes, this was the time for any enemy to strike.
There had only recently been a guard change. A whole bell before they’d rotate again. He stared at the door; the dragon stared back … and dared him.
Cassien chose.
He shifted to lean against the balustrade and used the skill he’d possessed since his earliest memories of life, and withdrew into himself. It happened fluidly. One moment he was entirely in control of his physical self, the next he was a guest of his body. He would give himself the briefest possible time; he just had to be sure nothing was approaching in a spiritual form.
Perhaps he should have woken Ham, asked him to sit next to him. Too late. Even withdrawn into the tiny kernel that was his spirit, his gaze was still fixed on the dragon. He drew some comfort from it.
Watch over me, Fynch, he cast out. And then Cassien lifted fully away from his body and he roamed.
In the Great Forest, a she-wolf looked up from her nuzzling brood. They were too sleepy to fully suckle, but were safe in the comfort of their mother’s warmth, her smell, her rhythmic, reassuring breathing. She wondered what had disturbed her and eased herself away from her cubs, which moaned at the loss and tucked themselves in around each other. She nuzzled them closer, paused until they were quiet again before moving soundlessly out of the cave-like overhang of rock and trees where the pups had been born. In the clearing she could see the other wolves from the pack — some with their head resting on their paws, others lying on their sides. Her mate looked up as she emerged, but satisfied himself that she was simply stretching and settled his large dark head back onto his huge paws and closed his eyes. She knew he wouldn’t sleep. He was as alert as she, determined they raise their young safely to maturity.
Romaine stretched her large, lean frame while she listened. There was nothing to hear other than the comforting, muffled sounds of the forest at night, where it was so quiet even an insect could make itself heard scrambling over leaf fall. Clearly nothing unusual had made a noise to disturb her or the other wolves would also be startled. She straightened, lowered her ears. Cassien. Romaine closed her eyes and listened inwardly while she cast out her senses and waited.
She heard the echo. Watch over me, Fynch.
Cassien was roaming. She hated him roaming at any time, because of its inherent dangers, but especially now when she was nowhere near to look after his cooling body. Romaine tipped back her head and howled.
In the Wild, many leagues into the far northeast, Fynch stirred fitfully and woke suddenly. He thought he’d heard a call. He swung his legs down from the modest pallet he slept on, padding across the stone floor warmed by a hot spring that ran deep below the hut in which he lived. His predecessor, Elysius, had chosen his position well, he thought absently, sighing at the small comfort on this cool night.
He stared out the window to the moon and a clear spring night sky. It would be sunny tomorrow. His gaze searched the near and far distance. Nothing stirred.
Fynch listened. All was quiet. He blinked, turned inward and heard the whisper reach him.
Watch over me, Fynch.
And then he heard in his mind the anguished howl of a wolf.
Cassien was roaming.
Trust him, Romaine, he soothed, casting the thought back to the she-wolf in the forest. The sacrifice is his to make, his burden to bear.
Moving as swiftly as he could he roamed Stoneheart. Seeing it from many different angles in this guise, Cassien began to appreciate its sombre, clean-lined beauty. Whimsy was permitted in its courtyards and groves, some beautiful connecting passages; they were perfectly structured to suit the inherent ‘order’ that was Stoneheart and yet each so creative within itself. These particular spaces ensured airflow would help the palace breathe and allow the perfume of blossom and flowers to scent its halls and occasionally catch drifts of conversation or birdsong … harmony was one way of thinking about it. He admired it; even in the darkness, it stood proud.
Cassien was aware of the cathedral soaring up to the gods nearby. He desperately wanted to visit it, especially in this form, but he was mindful that every moment might cost an animal its life as much as threaten his own. He focused on the palace, searching for magic or anything of an ethereal power, and satisfied himself that no demon was within its walls … not tonight anyway.
He found his body again, hating the way it stared so sightlessly at him in the form of invisible spirit. He dreaded the cost, but hesitated no longer and re-entered himself.
As he stretched his stiff limbs, feeling the first waves of nausea wash over him, he heard the screams begin.
Stoneheart woke rudely to the calls of despair. The servants had begun the panic, when those up early enough to start baking the day’s bread had found the bodies of doves and swallows littering the ground outside the kitchen.
Next, two horses were found dead, along with sundry dogs and cats, as well as ducks, geese, even one of Stoneheart’s cows.
The killing rampage continued. People hadn’t woken from their sleep: immediate discoveries were two pages, a pair of scullery maids, a guard. One noble, who had drunk a little too much wine and had strayed out of the great hall, was found slumped by one the wells, stiff in death, as had a gong boy, one of the stable hands, one of the gatekeepers and a travelling monk.
Florentyna emerged from her rooms, still in her night attire, her expression anxious.
‘What’s happening?’ she said, pushing away servants who ran up and begged her to go back into her rooms. ‘Cassien!’
He was bending over the balustrade, desperately sucking in air.
‘Go inside, your majesty,’ he growled, nodding at the two servants. ‘I’ll find out.’
Relief coursed through him when she obeyed, although not before she pointed at him. ‘In the time it takes me to get properly attired I want you back here and reporting to me. And you, Elsey, fetch Chancellor Burrage. Where is Sharley? I need to hurry.’
Cassien watched through glazed eyes as the queen, gorgeously dishevelled, allowed herself to be ushered back into her chamber. He steadied his breathing, wrestled control over the weakening nausea and opened the door of the storeroom. Ham was already washing his face in a bowl of water.
‘Where have you been?’ the boy asked, looking worried. ‘What’s all the yelling about?’
Cassien shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he lied. He thought he could guess, but couldn’t imagine why a few dead animals might cause so much commotion. ‘I’m going to find out.’
‘Cassien, you look sick.’
‘I didn’t sleep well,’ he replied.
‘No, it’s worse than that. Do you want to sit down?’
‘There isn’t time.’
‘What’s happened to you?’ Ham held a hand up. ‘If you’re about to tell me you’ve eaten something rotten, don’t. I know you ate nothing last night.’
Cassien regarded Ham through bleary eyes. This was bad. He didn’t think it would hit him this strongly. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through him. He turned suddenly and fell to his knees at the pail and retched. Ham sensibly waited, saying nothing until Cassien’s heaves were done.
‘You look like you’re dying,’ he said, dipping a cloth into the water bowl. ‘Here.’
Cassien groaned, couldn’t move momentarily because the room was spinning. The pain was immense. It felt like his heart was being squeezed out of his chest and that his bones were shattering like glass. He gradually became aware of Ham wiping his face with the damp cloth and its coolness was a balm.
‘Stay here,’ Ham said. ‘Do not move.’
The boy disappeared.
He didn’t know how long he sat there. It felt like an eternity until he heard his friend return. He could hear something being stirred.
‘Drink this,’ said a new voice.
‘Who are —’
‘Drink, Cassien!’ Ham ordered and was suddenly pouring the contents down his throat.
He spluttered and gulped, coughed and roared his displeasure at the intensely bitter potion, but Ham got it down him and as suddenly as he’d grabbed him, he let him go.
‘What in Shar’s almighty balls was that?’ he said, spitting.
The new voice chuckled. ‘Witch’s brew,’ she said.
He blinked, focused and looked into the eyes of a woman he couldn’t immediately age. She wasn’t old but she was certainly well into her third decade, with a square-shaped face and hair of indeterminate colour piled into an untidy bun. One aspect of her was striking though … her eyes.
He suspected that in his stupor he was imagining their odd colour.
‘Who are you?’ he groaned.
‘I’m Tilda. I don’t know what’s happening around the palace but anyone could be forgiven for believing a plague has hit. You’re the lucky ones.’
He felt the mist clearing. This was unusual after a roaming episode. ‘What did you give me?’ he asked, realising he was right — one of her eyes was dark like the berry of the ivy that crept up the palace walls, the other was like a golden leaf faded to dry brown.
‘I met your young friend last night. We broke bread together at the queen’s pleasure, in her kitchens.’ She shrugged. ‘Queen Florentyna likes my special teas. I make regular deliveries to Stoneheart and yesterday happened to be one of those times. Hamelyn seemed intrigued by my skills.’
‘Which are?’
‘Herbs.’ She hesitated. ‘Curatives.’
‘Well, your nasty brew has helped,’ he said, surprised at how rapidly the symptoms were diminishing. ‘Thank you.’
‘Go fetch me some fresh water, Hamelyn,’ she said and he obediently ducked out with the bowl. She sat on the cot and regarded Cassien.
His eyes met hers.
‘That was no upset belly,’ she said quietly. ‘This is an illness brought on by magic.’
He hoped it didn’t show how startled he was.
‘You don’t deny it,’ she continued evenly.
‘Who are you?’ he repeated.
She shook her head. ‘No-one special. Be careful with that skill. I think you already know its effects.’
He nodded.
‘But still you used it.’
‘I had to.’
She took a slow breath as if too fearful to ask. ‘And is it your magic that has killed?’
‘No-one will miss a few pigeons.’
She helped him to stand. The dizziness had abated and he was further impressed with her bitter brew. ‘It’s not a few pigeons,’ she replied, as Ham returned.
The boy’s face was pinched with shock while his voice sounded dulled. ‘There are people dead all over the palace,’ he said, the rise and fall of his usually lively tone absent.
‘What?’ Cassien exclaimed.
Ham nodded, his eyes moistening. ‘Meek, the boy I was with last evening … he’s one of the dead. No-one knows why. I don’t even know how many.’
Cassien stared open-mouthed at him, guilt tightening in his throat like poison as reality hit. He’d never before roamed in a town or village. It had always been in the forest and it had only affected animals and birds; his roaming did not kill once Romaine had guided him to the Thicket that protected, and she also warned the forest creatures. It hadn’t occurred to him that his magic would kill people or that they were so vulnerable to fall in numbers. His gaze slid awkwardly to Tilda.
‘Be careful, Master Cassien,’ she reiterated, and pressed a vial into his hand. ‘I hope you don’t need it. I don’t think this is going to be as much help next time.’
‘Why not?’ he whispered.
‘Because your skill learns,’ she said cryptically. ‘And so must you,’ she added, staring hard at him before reaching for her shawl and twisting it expertly around her shoulders and over her head like a hood. ‘I can’t be caught up here, I’ve been told not to wander the palace. If I’m found …’ She didn’t finish. ‘Farewell. I’m glad I could help.’
‘Wait,’ he said, his mind scrambling to make sense of Ham’s disturbing news. ‘What will happen if you’re found?’
Tilda paused. ‘I’ve never risked finding out,’ she said softly.
‘Then let me accompany you,’ he offered. ‘At least let me see you back to the kitchen, where you are obviously permitted.’ At her hesitation, he added. ‘Please. If you are with me, no-one will question you.’
‘All right,’ Tilda said, looking grateful, ‘but we must hurry.’
‘Ham, find out as much as you can. And if the queen is looking for me, tell her I will be back very soon.’ He left with Tilda before Ham could ask questions of his own.
‘How does it learn?’ Cassien pressed, without any preamble, knowing time was his foe.
‘I sense it is an ancient magic. Old magics are cunning,’ she replied.
‘So the cure you gave me today …’
‘It wasn’t a cure. It was simply a remedy for pain and the feeling of illness. What you possess within, Master Cassien,’ she whispered, ‘no-one can cure.’
They could hear guards. He was ready with his explanation, but would prefer not to be confronted. ‘Tilda, where do you live?’
She gave a sad gust of a laugh. ‘I don’t live anywhere. I roam.’
At her words, he felt a chill. Was she toying with him? He frowned at her as they hurried down the passageway and decided there was no guile in her. She had not given him away to anyone — not even in Ham’s presence had she been anything but cautious.
‘You roam the land … like a tinker?’
She smiled. ‘Yes. I come routinely to the palace. I will not be back here now for a few moons. Queen Florentyna has her stocks.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Where the wind blows me. Ah, here we are,’ she said, relief evident in her tone.
‘Which direction are the winds blowing?’
Tilda regarded him and he was struck by the intensity of her odd gaze.
‘Northeast, perhaps,’ she said with a vague shrug.
Cassien disguised his surprise with a frown. ‘But that’s the Great Forest.’
‘And beyond,’ she qualified, ‘toward the Wild.’ There was a message there; he sensed it, even though her words were spoken casually enough. ‘I and my donkey cart will take the most direct route.’ She smiled.
People were running past them now and the tension was palpable. Much as he wanted to question her more, it was inappropriate. Besides, he needed to reassure Florentyna.
‘Thank you, Tilda.’
‘Learn from your experience,’ she added as she turned, echoing her previous caution.
A wide-eyed serving girl darted by. She was a pretty young thing who was so startled by all the sudden and early activity that she still hadn’t taken the rags out of her curls. Stoneheart was in panic.
As he moved through the palace, retracing his steps, he gathered that more and more people were being found dead at their station or in the immediate surrounding fields. It seemed to him that the majority of victims were outside Stoneheart’s walls though, and perhaps that was a clue. He hoped he was right.
Cassien took the stairs two at a time and when he arrived back at their shared room, Ham was waiting for him, his expression solemn, direct.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
Cassien glared at him. ‘Whatever makes you say that? Tilda has no —’
‘It wasn’t Tilda. It was the sword. It knew.’
Cassien took a slow breath. ‘What?’
‘It woke me. It seemed to call, although to explain it that way seems too simple.’
‘What did it want you for?’ Cassien said, forcing himself not to grab Ham and shake the answer from him.
‘To be close.’
He swallowed. ‘What do you mean?’
Ham shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I mean. And the wolf said I had to keep you safe.’
‘The wolf?’
‘I think I dreamed her …’
Her. Romaine!
‘… but even so,’ Ham continued, ‘I obeyed her.’
‘And what did the wolf tell you?’
‘She simply said I must watch over you. Let no-one interfere as you —’
‘As I what?’
‘Roamed,’ Ham finished awkwardly, with a worried gaze.
Cassien had closed his eyes.
‘So it was you?’ Ham asked again.
He nodded, hanging his head. ‘Yes. In the past it has damaged me, and initially caused the death of animals. I had no idea it was powerful enough to kill on this scale.’
Ham gave a shrug. ‘Now you do.’ He said no more about it.
They parted and Cassien went in search of the queen, found her dressed and with a mix of frustrated concern in her expression. ‘There you are.’
‘Forgive me,’ he said bowing and, as he pulled up to attention, realised he was now in her bedchamber. He turned away.
Florentyna didn’t seem to care. ‘This is no time for modesty, Cassien. I really thought I’d lost you too, the way you were sickening.’
‘No, majesty,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘I believe I ate something that disagreed with me.’
She let it go. ‘What is happening?’ she exclaimed, turning on her heel. ‘Can someone explain it? And where is Burrage?’
‘He must be busy with all the problems, majesty,’ her maid said.
‘Thank you, Sharley. Leave it, it’s fine,’ she said, as the girl reached to tidy her hair. ‘Today is not a day to be worrying about how I look.’ The maid curtsied and left. ‘What in Shar’s name is happening?’ she asked again.
‘Perhaps the physics can tell us if it’s a case of poisoning or …’ He didn’t know what to say.
‘My sister is fine. I’ve had word back. So is Tamas, thank Shar!’
If only she knew the relief flooding his body at her reassurance.
‘And you are safe, majesty.’
‘Well, I’m not staying here, Cassien. Come on, I have to do my best to relieve the confusion.’ She strode out of her rooms and guards snapped to attention, ready to follow her. Cassien held up a hand to tell them to wait there, that he could handle her safety for now.
Darcelle met them at the stairs, ignoring his bow and launched straight into her private complaint.
‘Florentyna, please don’t tell me we have to cancel the festivities.’ She must have realised how callous she sounded, particularly as she had been so grief-stricken the previous evening. ‘I mean,’ she hesitated, ‘I’m having to be strong over my loss, but for the sake of Tamas and what we’re trying to achieve between our realms it’s important we don’t let the problems of Morgravia spill over into his visit. You do agree, surely?’
Florentyna took a breath. ‘Darcelle, people have mysteriously died through the night … .’
‘None of them important,’ Darcelle countered, censuring herself when her sister gasped. ‘That came out wrong. I mean none are important to the future of Morgravia’s critical relationship with Cipres. I want you to keep your promise. We have to put on the right face. No-one needs to know, not even Tamas.’
‘You don’t think word will get out?’
‘We can contain it. Just for as long as he’s here.’ She grabbed Florentyna’s hands. ‘Let me marry him now.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s turn his visit into wedding celebrations. The sooner it happens, the better.’
‘Darcelle —’ Florentyna began.
‘I know you think I’m young and impetuous and no doubt that’s how you’ll always see me! The fact is, I’m going to be married whether it’s this blossomtide or next. I won’t change my mind either. We have a king in our midst as keen to marry me as I him and in doing so we will bind our realms. Why wait?’ She searched her sister’s face. ‘This is something our father wanted.’
‘I can’t agree to this,’ Florentyna replied, despite her sister’s pleading. ‘I’m sorry but —’
The princess rounded on her. ‘This is all about jealousy, Florentyna. Are you so warped by your own loneliness that you can’t let me have my happiness? Just because no-one wants to become your king shouldn’t mean that I can’t have mine.’
Cassien watched the queen’s face cloud. A storm was gathering within. He wondered whether to distract the two women, but Florentyna spoke before he could act.
‘I don’t need a king to be queen … or are you forgetting that?’ Florentyna’s tone cut sharply. ‘You really are the most self-centred brat. You shame the Dragon throne.’ Darcelle’s eyes had narrowed to slits, but Florentyna hadn’t finished. ‘I have no doubt that marriage, and the plans you’ve so ably made, are taking an emotional as much as physical toll, but affairs of the state do not play second fiddle to your personal ups and downs. Our private sorrow aside, people have dropped dead around us. And while I agree that we will contain this information as best we can within Stoneheart, you should be as concerned as I am about the need to comfort and reassure our staff. That’s our job.
‘Darcelle,’ she said, her voice dropping lower, becoming more intense, ‘the Crown is not a right without cost. Everything in life has a price, little sister, and your fancy silks, the cringing courtiers, the wealth, the status, the power you wield, has a price of duty.’ She stood tall over Darcelle as she took a step closer. ‘And now you must pay it.’ Cassien held his breath. For all her reticence, Florentyna had spine and her sense of responsibility to her people was palpable. Darcelle should not have pushed her sister this hard. ‘I am cancelling further festivities. Tamas is welcome to stay on, but there will be no further formal celebration in the immediate future. Is that clear?’
Darcelle’s face was colourless save two high spots of bright pink, as though her cheeks had been pinched. ‘So, you’d do anything to prevent me having the status of queen, because then we’d be equal. That’s your nightmare, isn’t it Florentyna? The prettier, more talented, more socially adept, more beloved sister on an equal footing … your last little bastion of power removed.’
Florentyna shook her head, barely noticing that Cassien was moving along a pair of serving girls who were staring at the arguing royals. ‘You really are empty-headed, aren’t you, Darcelle? All you want is to use the Crown, to take from it. You disgust me. Go to your rooms or I’ll have you taken there and put under guard.’
Darcelle’s mouth opened in horror. Fortunately, no sound issued forth.
‘Go!’ Florentyna said. ‘I don’t think I can bear to look upon you right now. I have dead people in my palace and no explanation.’
‘How I wish you were one of them!’ Darcelle snapped and turned on her heel.
Florentyna also turned away, leaned her weight on the banister rail and drew a deep, steadying breath. Cassien felt momentarily helpless. His inclination was to hold her, but he resisted.
‘I’ve managed to turn the only member of my family left to me entirely against me,’ she growled. ‘I know you and Burrage are thinking it — and I’m fighting it — but perhaps Darcelle was behind the attack at Rittylworth. There was real venom in her attack just now. She wishes me dead.’
He could hear how angry she still was and as he reached for the right words to reply a young woman skittered up.
‘Your majesty,’ she warbled. He could see she had been crying now and her eyes were still moist and red.
Florentyna straightened, breathing deeply. She turned, composed. ‘Yes?’
‘We’ve found Chancellor Burrage.’
‘Thank Shar’s mercy,’ she said, relief obvious in the slump of her shoulders. ‘Now, I can —’
‘He’s dead, your majesty,’ the woman cut across the queen’s words, forgetting herself.
Florentyna sucked in a breath and this time Cassien did step forward with helping hand.
‘Are you sure?’ he demanded of the servant.
‘His body is already stiffening,’ she said.
Her words brought a fresh gasp from Florentyna. ‘This can’t be happening. I must see for myself.’
Before he could stop her, the queen was running.