The Scrivener's Tale #2

THIRTY-THREE

Tilda waited where the man called Tentrell had instructed. He was a strange one. So handsome and charming, but there was something odd about him. He looked at her with intensity, and as though he knew something that she didn’t. Except she did. Her own weak magic picked up that this was no ordinary individual. She sensed power in his manner and also hidden power of the magical kind. He’d surely sensed hers … or why had he approached her?
Tilda went over their original conversation in her mind. He’d found her at a dinch-house selling her own brand of infusion which claimed therapeutic properties for people with fatigue and another remedy for those who suffered from headaches.
He’d been seated at the counter, nursing a pot of dinch. She could see the curl of steam rising gently from his pot but she also saw that he didn’t drink. He watched people around him but spoke to no-one. She’d been waiting to make her delivery and had found him irresistible to observe simply because he was such a handsome man — tall and dark with matching eyes and long ebony lashes. She’d also noticed she was not the only woman who was sneaking glances at him but, while he observed his surroundings, he hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. Not even her.
‘Ah, Tilda.’ Loos Francham had broken into her thoughts.
‘Loos, nice to see you again. You’re very busy?’
‘Always busy although it helps that the King of Cipres is coming in tomorrow. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse.’
‘Ah yes, of course.’
He had smiled. ‘Come on up here to the counter. I need to keep my eye on things.’
She’d followed Francham. He went behind his bar and she stood nearby while he gave a couple of instructions to his staff.
‘Forgive me, Tilda. Now, you’ve brought how much for me? I want both teas and some of your lavender infusion.’
Tilda became aware that the handsome man had shifted his gaze to their negotiations; she’d suspected it was an absent gaze but, even so, she’d hoped her cheeks did not burn. She was too old for this sort of self-consciousness!
She’d lifted the small sacks and smiled when Loos smelled them. ‘Lovely. Very fresh. I’m impressed.’
‘You should be. I’m very fussy about the flowers and herbs I use.’
He’d grinned. ‘And you won’t sell me any of her majesty’s brew?’
She’d waggled a finger. ‘Now, now, Loos. You know I can’t. It’s designed for our queen alone. Can’t have the peasants drinking the regal brew,’ she said, grinning archly.
‘You can’t blame me for trying. Are you going up to the palace now?’
Tilda had nodded. ‘Yes, I have a delivery for the Crown. Can’t have our queen running out of her preferred tea at such an important time, what with visiting royals and so on.’
Loos Francham had tapped his nose. ‘You might even get your brews noticed by the Cipreans. Then we “peasants” won’t be able to afford your teas anymore.’
‘Oh, go on with you, Loos,’ she’d said, giving him a friendly push.
He in turn had counted out some silver coins. ‘Thank you, Tilda. Next moon, we may increase each by one bag, if that suits.’
‘Easily done,’ Tilda had said. ‘Right, I can’t tarry. The palace kitchens are tetchy about who is coming and going, as you can imagine. Apparently I have to get a special clearance from an officer of the Legion just to get into the complex.’
‘How long are you staying?’
‘Oh, just overnight. I’ve got a couple of new infusions for the palace to try, as well as supplies of her majesty’s favourite one.’
‘There’s not many can say they’re spending the night at the palace, Tilda,’ he replied, sounding impressed.
‘It’s not as grand as it sounds, my cot being next to the kitchens, Master Francham,’ she’d cautioned in an affectionate tone. ‘See you next moon.’
She had walked away from the dinch-house and crossed the main square that was teeming with people and horses, dogs and carts. Pearlis was always frantic, but it seemed totally chaotic as it prepared to welcome Princess Darcelle’s new husband-to-be and his entourage. She remembered how she had just been thinking how happy she was for the royal family, when someone had tapped her shoulder.
Of all the people she might have thought it could be, the handsome customer from the dinch-house would have been the last person on a list of dozens. She recalled how she’d gasped.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he’d begun in a voice that she would compare to the warm, spicy tones of the cannoda honey of this region — dark, mysterious and mellow. All of that had struck her in the moment he’d spoken and had beamed her a bright, heart-fluttering smile. ‘My name is Layne Tentrell,’ he’d said. ‘I’m a merchant, not from around here.’
She’d shrugged, too taken aback to speak immediately.
‘Most people are visitors at the moment,’ she’d finally said, sounding stuck for words. ‘I am.’
‘Yes, I overheard, I’m sorry. I was at the dinch-house bar,’ he’d said gesturing over his shoulder.
‘I remember you,’ she’d admitted and wished she hadn’t, because it had prompted a knowing smile. That smile was different to the one he’d given her moments before, and it was in that moment that she’d first sensed that she was in the presence of magic.
She’d frowned.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, not at all. You know that saying about someone walking over your grave?’
He’d shaken his head, but she’d thought at the time that he’d not told the truth.
‘Oh, well, it was like that. Hard to explain.’ She’d chuckled, embarrassed.
‘Tilda, isn’t it?’
She’d nodded, not trusting herself to say anything as she felt she was making enough of a fool of herself already.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing that you make deliveries into the palace.’
She’d baulked at this. ‘Well, Loos Francham should not have said what he had so freely. It’s not secret, Master Tentrell, but it’s also not something I promote. Her majesty is a modest person, from what I can tell. She probably wouldn’t like it if I traded off her name or her choice of brew.’
‘You know her?’
‘I’ve met her a couple of times. I doubt she’d remember me, although yes, she spoke directly to me when she first tasted my infusions.’
‘That must feel very rewarding, to know that the Crown approves of your products.’
She’d nodded. ‘It is.’
‘May I be frank with you, Tilda?’
Tilda remembered that she’d not known how to answer that question. She had not been sure she wanted to and nodded dumbly instead.
‘Will you walk a little way with me? Just over toward that park.’
‘I’m due at the palace in —’
‘This will only take a moment of your time,’ he’d pressed and had smiled so disarmingly that she’d melted.
When he’d told her what he wanted she had been confused.
‘I’m spying?’
‘No, no, no, Tilda. Not at all. I am meeting Master Burrage, the queen’s chamberlain, shortly to discuss security around the royals during this busy time.’
She’d frowned. Not understanding. ‘I thought you were a merch—’
‘A merchant, yes. I am, or at least that’s my cover. I’m actually working on behalf of Master Burrage clandestinely. You see, Queen Florentyna refuses to be surrounded by men-at-arms. She has enough of that in her daily life but Master Burrage has intensified security because of …’ He’d shaken his head, looking perplexed.
‘Because of what?’
‘Tilda …’ he’d begun again, and sighed. ‘Forgive me, but I believe you may have a magical sense about you?’
She’d given a small sound of surprise. ‘How do you know?’
He’d looked smug. ‘I can tell. Perhaps because I have some wits of my own that I don’t promote. They can be useful. Master Burrage knows of them and contacted me. He wants to add an element of security against any sort of magical attack against the Crown.’
She remembered how she’d looked at Tentrell aghast. ‘Why would there be one?’
‘Oh, it wouldn’t be the first time,’ he’d replied loftily. This tone didn’t suit the man she was looking at. There was definitely something slightly amiss about him, but he’d admitted to having ‘wits’ as he called them and she appreciated his honesty. It was probably this aspect of him that her weak magical sense had locked onto.
‘My magic is meaningless in that sense, Master Tentrell. I brew teas. I imbue them with healing — some might call me a hedgewitch. Nothing more.’
‘Even so, Tilda, I wonder if you’ll help me to keep the royals safe. I need other people, even those with weak skills who can, nevertheless, sense “otherness”.’
She’d smiled. ‘I’ve never heard a sentient talked about in that way, Master Tentrell.’
‘Call me Layne. I prefer it,’ he’d said and the charm was back. ‘Master Burrage has charged me to find people like you and pay them handsomely, but so far everyone I have found — and there are four others — can only watch from the outside. You and I can get into the palace perfectly legitimately without raising any eyebrows or alarms.’
‘I see. Who am I spying upon?’
‘No spying. Just keep your senses alert. If you feel that magic has found its way into the palace and is close to the queen, I simply want you to warn me. Don’t do anything, don’t confront anyone, don’t even follow the magical trace. Simply register it and find me.’
‘How?’
‘Come back to this spot and I will find you.’
‘How often?’
‘Daily, until you leave the palace and are on your way.’ He’d smiled, looking deep into her eyes as though no-one else in the world mattered to him. ‘That’s not too hard or intrusive, is it?’ She’d shaken her head. ‘And for this, the palace will give you gold. Here,’ he had said, pressing two glinting gold coins into her palm, ‘let this be a down payment and a show of goodwill between us sentients. We’re going to make a good team, Tilda.’
‘But …’ She had felt confused.
‘I don’t want you to do anything except what you would normally do,’ Tentrell had emphasised, a hand lifted to forestall any objections. ‘I’m presuming you deliver to the kitchens?’ Tilda had nodded. ‘Then stay where you normally would. Keep your senses alert for the presence of magic and you just have to meet me here and let me know. Master Burrage pays very well for the protection of the queen and Princess Darcelle.’
‘I don’t understand who might want to hurt them?’
‘Neither does he. He’s being very cautious. Cipres is a place that pays homage to the old ways. Tallinor, its huge and powerful neighbour, is renowned for its magic — I’ve been there. It has an academy to teach magic and encourage the use of it, so I believe Master Burrage is being wise and simply making sure that nothing untoward enters the palace. It’s easy money, Tilda. I will give you quadruple this amount when we next meet.’
Her eyes had widened in shock. She’d never seen so much money in her life, let alone held it. Owning it would be beyond even her brightest, most fanciful dreams.
‘What will you do with it, Tilda?’ he’d said then, as if reading her thoughts.
She remembered how she’d smiled, embarrassed. ‘I want to open my own shop. I’m tired of being a wandering seller. I’m getting too old for the cart and horse. I’d like to settle down with a cottage and a shop and have my own large garden that grows everything I need for my teas. I’d also branch out into herbal tonics.’
He’d given a shrug. ‘And now you can. That dream you hold in your heart can be a reality. You’ll have more than enough gold to settle down immediately. No more harsh winters on the road for you, Tilda.’
So now she waited, having been seduced by Layne Tentrell into spying on the queen. She hadn’t expected anything to occur, of course, and once she’d left him, the two gold coins clanking with a happy heaviness inside her robe, she’d begun to feel her spirits soar. This was going to be the easiest way to make money.
What she didn’t foresee was Layne Tentrell’s prediction and Master Burrage’s fears coming home to roost. She had not sensed any magic being used in the palace and yet, with all the deaths the next day, she could all but smell the trace of magic that had caused them. When that lovely young Hamelyn had found her and begged for her help, she’d gladly gone with him to assist his companion. Nothing had prepared her for the reek of magic that swirled around Hamelyn’s friend.
She hadn’t told Layne Tentrell — it was something she never admitted to anyone — that she could smell magic. That was her real talent. Her own magic was weak as she readily admitted, but she could smell magic on others — like Tentrell, just like Ham and like the boy’s good-looking friend. She’d been intrigued by the man, Cassien, and his power to kill. If he’d wanted to harm the royals he would have done so. Therefore, he was no enemy. Then what was he?
From what she’d gathered, no-one knew about Cassien’s magical skills — not even Hamelyn. Presumably, the chancellor and Empress Florentyna had been unaware of his skills when they’d appointed him champion. Tilda had decided to ignore Tentrell’s instructions and try to learn more about Cassien. He’d pressed her for directions and she’d simply said she might head north, which was the truth. Then she’d used all her money to take a carriage north to Mickelsham, where she knew he would come through on horseback. What she hadn’t expected was to see the queen in his company. While not in disguise, the queen was certainly doing everything in her power not to promote her identity, even though most people wouldn’t know what she looked like in everyday clothes. Darcelle was unmistakable, but Florentyna kept herself to herself.
An even greater shock had been to discover that Cassien was using his powers to aid the Crown. She needed to assure Layne Tentrell that the queen was in safe hands; that the magic, which had come to the palace, was working for the benefit of the royals.
And so here she sat beneath the walnut tree, awaiting Layne Tentrell to give him the good news and hopefully to earn some gold that would secure her future. She could never have anticipated soldiers bearing down on her. She could not outrun them and her mind was too slow to catch on that they had come for her.
‘I’m meeting Layne Tentrell,’ she’d bleated, ‘and I’m helping Chancellor Burrage,’ she’d added, breaking Tentrell’s rule to not mention the Crown’s involvement.
‘Burrage is dead. So is Tentrell,’ the hard-faced man who gripped her arm said. ‘And we were told by her highness, Princess Darcelle, before she left the palace, to meet with you. She wishes to speak with you about the disappearance of her sister.’
And something in Tilda’s sharp perceptions told her she would likely not live to see another sunrise.
‘It doesn’t pay to dance with the devil,’ she said to them but they couldn’t understand her meaning nor did they pay her much heed.
‘But why would he have a spy?’ Florentyna asked as Cassien was dumbfounded by Fynch’s words.
‘We are not dealing with a criminal, your majesty,’ Fynch said evenly. ‘We’re not even confronting a person as you might recognise one. We are trying to outwit an ancient mind that has already seen much cunning, and has watched Morgravia for centuries. Not only is he intrigued by the magic of Myrren that came from the Wild and so profoundly affected your forebears, which he is now using to his advantage, he also has a grudge against the empire because of the Wild itself and what it did to him.’
She frowned.
‘Cassien can tell you all about it on the next part of your journey. Suffice to say that, because of his interest in its magic and his grudge, he is levelling his wrath at the imperial Crown. It wouldn’t matter if your father sat on the throne, or Darcelle …’ He shrugged. ‘He wants to hurt the empire and the best way is through its figurehead. Killing is not his intention, I realise. Possessing you — as he did Gabriel, or more recently your sister — is his aim. His ultimate revenge would be to then use the Crown to turn Morgravia against Briavel and the former Razor Kingdom and incite wars between neighbours, destroying the empire from within.’
‘What about the Wild?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never known much about it, only that no-one goes there and most Briavellians fear it.’
‘Wisely so. It is not a place for people. It is beautiful, but it is magical and dangerous, erratic and powerful. It’s a strange marriage, you could say. It protects your realm and those of the empire, but the people, in turn, must respect its privacy. It is available to the animals and the forests and is full of magic so ancient that I am still discovering much of it. You have no need to enter its territory — no-one does — but it will fiercely fight to protect the land it neighbours.’
‘What a strange phenomenon,’ she murmured.
‘It is. I don’t know why it came into existence. I suspect the Wild has always existed, long before inhabitants came to the surrounding regions.’
‘You’re from the Wild, Fynch, aren’t you?’ she said, beginning to piece together the puzzle.
‘Yes. I am simply the keeper … a caretaker if you will.’
‘How are keepers chosen?’ Cassien wondered.
‘By the dragon and his filial mortal. Before me it was Elysius; before him I do not know.’
‘And after you?’ the queen said and then checked herself. ‘Forgive me, Fynch, that was unfair of me.’
‘Not at all. It is a valid question,’ he said with a disarming smile. ‘There will be someone chosen. The point is the keeper’s role is simply to observe the ebb and flow of magic beyond the Wild in order to keep it safe … and thus keeping our land safe. Magic exists everywhere, most of it harmless and used for the good of others — healing, herbals, farming, teaching …’ He shook his head. ‘Rarely, something sinister comes along and that’s when the keeper’s role becomes more important. It’s why I have paid a lot of attention to Cyricus and why his putting a spy or two in the palace does not surprise me in the least. His mind is far more complex and capable than you can imagine.’
Cassien stood. ‘So, if Tilda is a spy, she would be telling him that we’re headed to the Great Forest.’
‘I would imagine so.’
He paced. ‘She knew of my power, and now, Shar strike me, she knows that I can see him when I roam. I was too open with her.’ He gave a growling sound and Romaine’s ears pricked.
Dawning appeared in Florentyna’s expression. ‘Cassien, I remember now, she looked shocked when you admitted that. Don’t you recall how she sat back, looking surprised. She covered it well but I was already slightly suspicious of her because she wouldn’t answer any of my questions easily. I mean …’ Florentyna searched for how to explain what she wanted to. ‘It was a feeling I had, that she was constantly deflecting me.’
‘Your feelings might have served you truly, my queen.’
Cassien scratched his chin. ‘Wait, Fynch! Although I agree that I’ve probably pointed Cyricus toward us, is that really such a bad thing?’
Florentyna looked at him askance, and Fynch frowned.
‘Hear me out. There’s going to be a confrontation, come what may. You say Gabe is in place and ready to lure Cyricus into the Void?’
‘He is. But he’s going to need Cyricus to feel threatened enough and angry enough to leave Darcelle’s body for the Void. As a royal, Cyricus is now in a position to command the Legion. You need time to hatch a plan to isolate him, and then force him to cast aside the body of the princess.’ He glanced with a grave expression at Florentyna. ‘Forgive me, your majesty. I know this is painful for you and must sound cruel.’ She nodded but her expression told him she understood. He returned his attention to Cassien. ‘You can hide and wait, but I think you should stay one step ahead. He will find you, make no mistake. He’s after Florentyna and has no reason to give up, for he is in no hurry — he’s probably enjoying himself and feels no sense of threat, although he knows now that we are aware of him. This will only intensify his pleasure of the game. He will employ more cunning, behave in a more outrageously vicious way to draw his enemies to him.’
Cassien nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right, it’s too dangerous. Tilda may be back at the palace already. Cyricus could be on his way. We need a bit more time.’
‘A wise precaution,’ Fynch echoed. ‘As I say, she may not be a spy, but trust those instincts of your queen. Go to Rittylworth. I suspect Ham will make for there, too.’
Cassien seemed to agree because he nodded. ‘What about you?’
‘I shall remain here,’ Fynch said, ‘or at least for the time being.’
‘But why? Surely —’
‘Cassien, my son, do not question me,’ he said. It was a reprimand, but said so gently that Cassien’s expression reflected no rancour. ‘I have my path to follow. You have yours.’ He directed Cassien’s gaze to Florentyna. ‘The queen is your total responsibility now. Do not think on me.’
‘How will I know what to do?’ Cassien asked, looking vaguely unnerved.
‘You and your brothers will know exactly what to do. I cannot tell you how events will come to pass. I can only tell you that you are each equipped to play your part. I can do no more. It is up to the Triad of my sons to best Cyricus.’ He pointed at the sword resting silently at Cassien’s hip. ‘Remember that was made for you.’
‘Beautiful, but I’ve had little need to draw it.’
‘Don’t ignore its presence,’ Fynch said, sounding cryptic.
‘When will we see you?’ Florentyna queried, knowing this was what Cassien really wanted to ask.
Fynch smiled and shuffled over, although it looked to be painful for him to do so. He took her hand in his and she felt his palm, dry and warm. The old man surprised her by kissing it. ‘Empress Florentyna, thank you for trusting me.’
‘I didn’t show it enough, did I?’ she said, wishing she could turn time back.
‘You were open to my concerns though, my queen. I know what I said resonated within you. If not, you wouldn’t have paid heed to Cassien, to Gabe, even Ham, and had enough faith to entrust your wellbeing to them.’
‘I hope to see you again under less anxious circumstances,’ she said.
‘I look forward to it, your majesty,’ and as his pale eyes sparkled, she thought she saw the gleam of a secret … and instinctively knew, and accepted, that he was avoiding the truth, perhaps for Cassien’s sake.
She nodded. ‘Take care, Master Fynch. Morgravia … indeed the empire owes you a debt of gratitude.’
His brief, intense gaze spoke his thanks, knowing she understood.
‘Cassien,’ he said, turning to hug his middle son again, ‘our reunion   as father and son has been short-lived but heartfelt, child.’ He held Cassien at arm’s length, looking up to the towering figure, who looked back with a deeply sad expression. Florentyna suspected that Cassien was hiding his emotions and likely also understood this was a true goodbye. She had to look away, made herself busy tying on her cloak and moving toward her horse. She heard their words of farewell.
‘You’ve made me proud. You have one more confrontation to face. Think of Cyricus as Loup. He can be bested if your mind remains strong. And you are the one who can rid the empire of his blight. Trust Gabe. Trust Ham. Trust me. Above all, trust yourself and what’s in here,’ he said, touching his son’s chest above his heart.
Florentyna glanced around in time to see Fynch pull Cassien’s face down and kiss him on each cheek, lingering on both.
‘I have loved you from afar and now I’ve had the opportunity to love you up close, Cassien. Thank you for forgiving me my secrets and your isolation.’ He looked over at Romaine. ‘Stick to the forest for as long as possible. She will protect you. Do not roam. Don’t even be tempted. Not yet, or you will give yourself away.’
Again Cassien nodded. He pulled Fynch into a bear hug. ‘I will see you again,’ he said, his voice tight, ‘when this is done.’
‘Shar willing,’ Fynch said. ‘Now go, you two. Be safe.’
As they rode away with heavy hearts, Romaine flanking them, Cassien gave a deep sound of anguish. ‘He’s lying.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Florentyna said, although she didn’t add that she agreed with him.
‘Because he’s dying, your majesty. He was dying when he first showed himself to me. It’s why he collapsed the last time he and I were together. He seemed rejuvenated when he met us at the mouth of the forest, but just in the course of these past hours he has become frail. I don’t think he can leave the forest, I don’t think he should ever have left the Wild.’ He gave a sad laugh. ‘Let’s be honest here. We are talking about someone who is centuries old. It has to be the Wild’s magic that sustains him. When he’s beyond it, maybe it cannot keep him alive.’
‘He can go back, he can —’
‘No. I don’t believe he can,’ Cassien said, thinking it through as they walked the horses away from Fynch. ‘It’s why he’s released Romaine to me. It’s why he told us to leave the forest. He doesn’t want me to suffer his death.’