“Nobody is attacking,” Eolair said. “These men are here in large part to protect Prince Morgan, our royal heir. We are a peaceful mission, and we want only to speak to your masters—”
“Masters!” said Yeja’aro with sudden fury. “Ha! Do the Zida’ya have masters now, like mortal men? Are we to have kings and slaves and such?” He stared at Morgan and Eolair for a moment, then his face turned expressionless once more. “We will take you with us now. Say your farewells.”
“I would like to come too,” said Binabik. “I am knowing Prince Jiriki and his sister of old, and am proud to be calling them friends.”
“And I am pledged to help this mortal prince find his destiny,” Snenneq said. “I must go too, because I have made a pledge!”
The Sitha looked at Binabik’s wolf-steed Vaqana. It clearly puzzled him, but he only shook his head. “What you might have pledged, or how you might name the members of House Sa’onserei, means nothing to me,” said Yeja’aro, and pointed to Morgan and Count Eolair. “No others will accompany us but these two.” And nothing Binabik or Snenneq could say would change his mind.
To Morgan’s surprise, in the midst of all the other danger and confusion surrounding them, he actually found himself feeling sorry for both Binabik and Little Snenneq, who looked absolutely miserable that they could not go along.
“But for how long will we be gone?” Eolair asked at last. “How can our men wait for us if we cannot tell them how long?”
Yeja’aro shook his head in irritation. “There is no answer. If you wish to come with us, come. If you do not wish to, do not. But if it is you who have harmed this woman Tanahaya,” he gestured toward her litter, “and you have told us lies about it, then we will find you no matter where you are and destroy you.”
Morgan was torn between wanting to tell this self-important fellow a few things and his earlier urge to get out of the vicinity as quickly as possible. Stymied, he looked to Eolair.
“We will come with you, Yeja’aro,” said Eolair. “We wish to see her healed as much as you do.”
Qina reached up and touched Morgan’s sleeve. “Remember Sedda sent token to you, Prince Highness,” she said so quietly he had to bend down to hear better. “The moon mother saw you on the mountain. She watch out for you.”
Morgan did not know what to say, and only nodded his head.
“Do not fear, friend Morgan—we will all be waiting here,” said Snenneq. “In the same place, until the time of your returning.”
“He is speaking truth,” said Binabik, his round face stern. “Your safety is being our sworn promise to your grandparents. We will be waiting.”
“But hurry back, Highness,” Porto added. “The king and queen will have my head if you don’t.”
As Morgan and the count finished their farewells, four of the Sithi took up the handles of the litter and carried it silently away into the forest shadows.
“Walk now,” demanded Yeja’aro. “You two follow one of the torchbearers. I know mortal eyes are weak, especially after the sun has gone to her bed.”
“You heard him,” said Count Eolair with a less than happy smile. “Time to go, my prince.”
Morgan was afraid to look back at old Porto and the rest as he left them behind, worried that in his fearful state he might do something that seemed unmanly. He did his best to walk like a man who was not afraid as he followed the light of the Sithi torches into the ancient forest.
47
Hidden Chambers
The climax subsiding, Idela rolled onto her back and took a deep, shuddering breath. Her breasts trembled. “Oh, sweet and merciful God. I have been without a man so long—since my poor husband died!”
Pasevalles thought the pink flush on her throat and cheeks was very moving, and did not doubt that she had deeply enjoyed their lovemaking of recent days, but he was a bit more cynical about the idea that he was the first she’d had since Prince John Josua’s death. Too many rumors had come to him over the years, and he knew that Sir Zakiel of Garwynswold, the guard captain, had been frequently in Idela’s company in years past—so much so that some courtiers had taken to calling him “the Widow’s bed warmer”.
But whatever he might think of Idela’s application to chastity, Pasevalles was beginning to admire her more than he had thought he would. She had not mentioned their agreement once since she had first brought it up. In his experience, those who expected favors were prone to remind him of it far more often than necessary, but the princess had left the entire subject cloaked in dignified silence. Not that he needed to be reminded; in this respect, at least, he and Idela were of like mind. He too wanted Morgan to learn responsibility, or at least some semblance of it, so the young prince would make a fitting ruler one day.
He reached out and touched her right breast, tracing his finger up from the base to the still pouting tip. She shuddered and pushed his hand away. “Don’t! You make me want to start all over again.”
He smiled. “I am in no hurry.”
She sat up, pulling the coverlet up to her neck, then thought better of it and let it fall. Idela was a handsome, vital young woman, something else Pasevalles could not help but admire; someone who did not sit back and wait for things to come her way but reached out for them—quite the opposite of his own mother, who had largely given up on life after Pasevalles’s father had died at the battle for the Hayholt. When the fever caught her, she had not resisted—even his infant sister had fought harder, although she too had ultimately succumbed. But his mother had been like the defenders of a castle who had decided to open the gates to a superior force: The fever had barely touched her before she surrendered.
Not Idela, though. The prince’s widow still had ambitions and not just for her son, Pasevalles knew: she wanted a meaningful role in things. Pasevalles might bring nothing in the way of patrimony, but he had worked hard and made himself an indispensable man here in the Hayholt. There would be no shame in John Josua’s widow marrying a lord chancellor, especially one who was in line to become the next Hand of the Throne. Pasevalles was pragmatic about himself, too: he did not flatter himself that his charm or looks alone had led them to this bed on this hot afternoon. Idela knew the limits women faced, even royal women, and she wanted a partner. Pasevalles was seriously considering the partnership, although neither had spoken of the possibility out loud, or even hinted at it beyond his promise to push the king and queen for more responsibility for Prince Morgan. It was not as easy a decision as it seemed. Pasevalles had ambitions of his own, ideals he had harbored since boyhood, and Idela was a strong-willed woman who would want her own way in any marriage.
He smiled at the thought that he was even contemplating taking a princess for a wife.
“You look pleased with yourself,” she said, catching his expression and smiling back. “Now that you have made a fallen woman of me.”
“Angels do not fall,” he said. “They fly down on their shining wings, so that we mortals may see something of perfection.”
She pinched his arm. “I wish I could believe that you really thought that.”
“You do not know my depths, lady, if you think me incapable of such strong feelings.”
Idela laughed, but there was a hitch in it, as if for a moment real emotion had interfered with pillow talk. “You read me like a book! That is just what I thought of you for so long. So proper, so courteous! Always dressed just right, always the correct thing to say. I am glad to learn that you are not as prim as you once appeared. The things you do to me—!” She shook her head. “I could never have guessed you were such a wicked man!”
He put his mouth close to her ear. “If the angel can remain earthbound just a while longer, there are other mortal tricks I could show you.” He kissed the side of her neck.
She turned and took his face between her hands and stared into his eyes, long and searchingly. “Sometimes I do not know what to think of you, Pasevalles. Truly I don’t. You are such a gift.” She let him go. “But I cannot stay. The queen expects me to join her this afternoon, and I had to tell a terrible lie just to steal this time.” She sat up and looked around the chamber. “How strange to be so close to everyone yet so far from them, too!”
“Must you really leave?”
“Yes, I really must.” She swung her legs out and set her feet on the floor. “How can it be so hot outside but these stone flags are cold as ice?”
“This room has thick walls,” he said. “Because it was once part of an old fireplace flue, when this part of the residence had only one, although it was sealed off and filled in long ago. That is one reason why it is so private—even if there were people in the next room, they would hear nothing.”