Seirsha of Errinton Page 10

  Though Rigel doesn’t like it, he understands why I refused a ring. Father would notice it immediately.

  It seems like hours before there’s another knock at the door. I freeze, and the girls turn hopeful eyes on me. I open it. Again, it’s not Rigel. Disappointment washes over me.

  The messenger bows and holds out a folded piece of parchment. “Your Highness.”

  I take it from him, casually flipping it to check the seal. It is intact, and I dismiss him. “Thank you.”

  Fingers trembling, I break the wax and scan the short note. All is well. Wait for me after the council meeting.

  “He’s back.” I sigh with relief and clutch the parchment to my chest. “And he’s already been informed of the meeting.”

  Bea smiles. “I knew it would work out.”

  “Did he say whether or not he returned with a bishop?” Pippa asks.

  “He didn’t. He wouldn’t dare put it in writing anyhow.”

  Pippa nods, her expression saying she believes that’s wise.

  “I don’t understand why it must be a bishop from Glendon.” Bea rethreads her needle. “Surely he could find someone in Errinton.”

  I shake my head. “It would put them at too much risk.”

  And us.

  Pippa crosses her arms and lounges back in her chair. “What will be discussed at the council?”

  “Argus didn’t say.”

  She lets out an irritated sigh. “Do you think your father will let us go home?”

  “I doubt it.”

  She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look terribly surprised. “Archer’s steward may once again forget that it is Archer who is lord of our lands and not he.”

  From what she has told me, the transfer to Archer was less than smooth. Normally I would sympathize with Pippa’s irritation, but right now all I can think of is Rigel. Did a bishop agree to cross the boundary and enter our forsaken kingdom? Would a prince of Glendon aid a lord of Errinton he’s never met?

  We are not on good terms with Glendon. We are not on good terms with anyone—but especially not the kingdom directly under us. Too many of our people have fled our lands and entered into theirs, robbing and pillaging as they go.

  But for every dark-hearted Errintonian, there are five that proudly stay and attempt to eke out an honest living. The majority of our subjects are steadfast and loyal. I wish there were some way to show the lower kingdoms.

  ***

  I walk into the council room. The tension I’ve carried in my shoulders lifts when I see Rigel. He stands by the display of armor in the corner, speaking with Archer. His eyes brighten when he sees me. A small smile tips his lips. I drink him in and try not to grin like a fool.

  I take my place next to the head of the table. Father’s chair remains empty, but Rovert has stretched out a map on the table in front of his chair. Rigel wanders to it and leans over the parchment as if he’s inspecting it. Around us, men cluster in small groups, discussing what the meeting could possibly be about.

  “I didn’t come back alone,” Rigel says, still looking at the map. He doesn’t whisper the words, but his voice is quiet. If someone were to look over, they would think he has asked some trivial question. He glances up, his eyes meeting mine. “We will meet at dawn.”

  My heart soars. He has done it; he has brought a bishop with him. Tomorrow morning, we will wed.

  Father sweeps in the room. Rigel straightens and moves away from the map.

  “Ah, Lord Rigel,” Father says, eying him. “I’m glad to see you’ve taken an interest in the search.”

  Rigel bows his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Father looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “Loyalty is such a rare virtue, isn’t it, Seirsha? We are gratified by Lord Rigel’s.”

  I meet the challenge and stare back. “Yes, Father.”

  The room is at attention now, all waiting for the king to sit so the men may take their own seats. Father makes them wait a moment longer, and then he grandly drops to his chair. Rigel finds his spot. Our eyes linger on each other for longer than is safe, but I don’t care.

  At this one moment—no matter what ridiculous, dangerous, mad thing Father says—I am happy.

  The council begins. Now, more than ever, I am eager for it to end so we can be away. I listen with more attention than usual, hoping Father is no closer in his search than he was weeks ago. His mood is high, however. It’s a dangerous sign.

  The marquis leans forward. “You’ve pinpointed its exact location?” Doubt laces his voice.

  In the last few years, the man’s blond hair has gone almost gray. His lands border Glendon, and he deals with more of our treacherous, deserting thieves than any of the other nobles.

  Father’s face is bright with eager excitement. The look terrifies me.

  “I have,” he says. The room is quiet, waiting for Father to continue. “We are ready to assemble our search party.”

  A small bead of ice works into my heart, and then its chill slowly spreads through my veins. Father scans the room, his eyes pausing over each man. Some are better at masking their dread than others, but none manage to conceal their relief when the king’s eyes pass them.

  Father’s gaze settles. “Lord Rigel, I have chosen you for the honor of leading the party.”

  No.

  The room begins to swirl around me. The deeper the words sink in, the dizzier I become. Father is sending Rigel to his death. He will either die in the icy wasteland, or he will return without completing his task, and Father will hang him for deserting his mission.

  Either way it’s a death sentence.

  My throat closes. All eyes are on Rigel. He won’t look at me—he mustn’t lest the men follow his gaze. Instead, it’s Archer’s calm eyes that catch mine. He gives me a look, reminding me to breathe. I take a long, slow breath, and he nods subtly, approving. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, Archer walks me down from my ledge of panic.

  It will be all right, Archer’s expression says. Rigel is resourceful, he says.

  And I will marry Rigel come the morning. Father may think he is clever, but we are a step ahead of him. No matter what happens—no matter how short the time we’re given—I will be Rigel’s.

  “I have assembled your party,” Father says.

  Rigel nods. “There are a few men I wish to take with me. With your permission, I will return to my lands and gather them.”

  Father laughs, bestowing Rigel with a mock-benevolent smile. “There is no time for that. You will leave at the conclusion of the meeting.”

  Rigel’s face doesn’t betray his surprise, but his eyes flicker with disbelief. He quickly hides the emotion. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  I close my eyes, trying to block out the events around me. This isn’t happening. Rigel and I are going to be married in the morning. He’s brought a bishop all the way from Glendon.

  We were going to be married.

  The familiar cloak of hopelessness settles over my shoulders. I open my eyes and stare at the beam. Did Father know? Did he somehow find out? I glance at him. His eyes are filled with visions of glory, a sheen of madness marring their ice-blue sharpness.

  For once, I think it was a coincidence, bad timing that fit his plan more perfectly than he could have ever guessed. The extra sting in the already mortal wound would delight him, and I’m glad he won’t have the satisfaction of knowing.

  I listen with veiled horror as Father speaks of the expedition into the wastelands. After what seems like hours, we are dismissed. At least there will be a few moments to steal before Rigel leaves.

  Father stands. “Rigel, you will join me in my quarters for the evening meal, and we will further discuss the arrangements.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek hard when I feel the icy fingers of panic threaten to take me again.

  “May I escort you to your chambers, Princess?”

  It’s Archer. I accept his arm, grateful for his presence but wishing with all my being that he were the dark-haired lor
d who stole my heart so many years ago. I glance over my shoulder. Rigel watches me. I drink in his stormy eyes, memorizing the way he looks at me. He stands as a man ready for battle…strong, resigned. Arms crossed, he listens to my father and Rovert, but his attention is on me.

  Most of the nobles have left, and the few that remain, as always, pay me no attention. Father and Rovert are distracted with their mad schemes. I raise my hand to my mouth, kiss my palm, and then extend it to him in a goodbye. A muscle in his jaw jumps. He raises a fist to his heart and dips his head to me.

  For one last lingering moment, I watch him, and then I turn away, wondering if I will see him again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I lie in bed. Bea will be here soon. She’ll come eventually.

  All night, I listened for a quiet knock at my door, hoping Rigel would find a way to say goodbye. The night blackened, the moon made its journey through the sky, and the horizon turned pink.

  He never came.

  Finally, exhausted and weary from crying, I dozed in the early hours only to be awakened by the morning bells. Several have passed now, but no one has come to collect me for breakfast. They either haven’t noticed my absence, or they don’t care.

  I wrap the blankets and furs around my body, twist to the side, and stare at the cold, black fire. Bea usually lights it in the morning. No, not usually; she always does. I sit up suddenly.

  Where is she?

  I dress quickly and pull on a gown that’s easy to fasten myself. Then I run a brush through my hair, not bothering to care that it’s falling down my back. With my cloak around my shoulders, I step from my chambers into the silent hall.

  Bea and Rella are not in the kitchens, and the girls say they haven’t seen them all morning. Antone isn’t chopping wood near the stables. That only leaves one place they may be.

  Anxiety stiffens my muscles, and it seems like forever before someone answers my knock.

  Bea sucks in a sob and pulls me inside the cottage. Her face is red with tears, and she looks as if she hasn’t slept all night.

  “I knew you would come,” she says.

  “What’s happened?” I ask as I grasp hold of her shoulders.

  “Marielle and Kara…” She bites her lip and stares across the cottage, her gaze landing somewhere between the wall and the floor.

  Cold, quick terror snakes through me. I squeeze her shoulders, demanding her attention. “What’s the matter with them?”

  Bea shakes her head as tears again build in her eyes.

  “We don’t know.” She gulps in a lungful of air. “Marielle’s running a fever, and she’s delirious. Kara…Kara…” Her voice cracks, but she composes herself. “She’s burning up as well, and she can’t be roused. She hasn’t eaten in hours.”

  I fly up the stairs only to find Bea’s words to be true. Marielle’s face is clammy, and she thrashes in her sleep. Downstairs, Kara whimpers from Rella’s arms.

  “What about the village herbalist?” I ask when I join them again.

  Rella turns her weary face to me. “None of her herbs grew well last year, and she has none left. She keeps giving away her services and hasn’t been able to buy more.”

  The woman rocks her granddaughter, and the way she holds the baby makes me think she’s already given up.

  As I push through the door, I glance over my shoulder. “I’ll be back with help.”

  I will find someone. But who?

  ***

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but there is nothing I can do.”

  I glare at my father’s physician. “You can’t? Or you won’t?”

  The man looks up from his book, irritated that I didn’t leave at his dismissal. “Princess, you know very well I can’t offer my services to every penniless peasant that falls ill. There is an herbalist in the village. Let them seek help from one of their own.”

  I clench my hands at my side. This man is my last resort. Marielle and Kara will die if I don’t bring someone back with me.

  “Please, Erther, I beg you. The herbalist cannot help them, and they can’t afford anyone else.”

  A physician’s maid clears her throat from behind me. With downcast eyes, she brushes by and murmurs apologies.

  She places a book on the Erther’s desk. “I apologize for the interruption.”

  Erther dismisses the girl with a wave of his hand and turns back to me.

  “Seirsha, child.” He clasps his hands on his book and gives me a look that tells me I’m about to receive what he deems to be great words of wisdom. “You should not worry yourself with the affairs of those so much lower than you. You are our princess, and as such, you have the responsibility of keeping your hands clean from the petty troubles of the lower classes.”

  I want to lash out at him, but I hold my tongue.

  He smiles as if he cares more about me than his book. “What if you were to contract this illness? Please don’t jeopardize your health.”

  Not trusting myself to speak, I only nod and turn on my heel. Every bit of me wants to slam his door. I shut it softly behind me.

  “Your Highness?”

  I startle at the voice.

  Erther’s maid’s eyes flutter to the ground. “There’s a physician in Thernrow.” She looks up, her expression warm but nervous. “He will help the lower classes, even if they cannot pay.”

  Thernrow is five hours away by horse, and I have never been there myself.

  I run a hand through my loose, wild hair. “What’s his name?”

  “Master Kendal Aimlin.”

  “And you’re sure he will do it without expecting reimbursement?”

  The girl shrugs, helpless. “He treated my brother, Your Highness, when he almost died of infection.”

  It’s a long ride. Will Marielle and Kara last that long? But what choice do I have?

  “Thank you.” I grasp her hand. “Truly.”

  She nods, her eyes earnest, and then she squeezes my hand and disappears down the hall.

  ***

  “Oh, there’s a good darling.” Pippa tucks the baby closer to her mother. “She’s nursing.”

  My knees almost buckle, I’m so relieved. “What did you give them?”

  “Just a little of this and that.” The princess looks up, a weary smile on her face. “I’m no stranger to the herbalist’s quarters.”

  “How long do we have?”

  Her small smile fades. “I don’t know. The tea I gave them brought the fevers down, but it’s only a temporary fix. Luckily, it was enough to wake Kara so she could eat.” She clenches her eyes shut and then opens them again, determined. “We need to leave now.”

  “When do I give them the tea again?” Antone asks.

  He looks near death himself, but I don’t think he’s ill. He sits on the bed next to Marielle and rubs his sleeping wife’s shoulder.

  “Every few hours,” Pippa answers. “It won’t hurt them. Keep them as comfortable as possible until we return.”

  Bea squeezes my arm. “Be careful.”

  I nod and give her a quick embrace.

  Rella joins us. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”

  “We’ll be quick,” I promise.

  Pippa and I leave the cottage and meet Archer by the stables. He’s already waiting with our horses.

  “How are they doing?” he asks.

  “Better for now,” Pippa answers.

  Archer hands me my mare’s reins. “We could send a messenger to the physician.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think he’ll ride five hours without a personal plea.”

  Pippa accepts her bow and quiver from her husband and secures them to her back. Not for the first time, I wish there were a weapon I knew how to wield. Perhaps Rigel will teach me to shoot someday. If he returns.

  I roll my shoulders, dismissing the melancholy thoughts. I don’t have time for them.

  The guards don’t question us. They’re used to our rides by now. Of course, this time they have no idea we’ll be go
ne well past dark.

  We’ve ridden roughly three-and-a-half hours when my hind-end gets sore—and only four when it goes numb. I have no idea how the knights travel for days. Even with my inexperience on long rides, we make decent time and reach Thernrow by mid-afternoon.

  Despite the urgency of our mission, I can’t help but marvel at the village in the distance. Metal sculpted rooftops gleam in the daylight, topping tall, impressive buildings and manor houses. Here too, stone dragons flank the entrance. The sculptures, though impressive, are considerably smaller than our own stone sentries.

  We ride through the gates. Just like the village surrounding the castle, the beauty is a mirage.

  Villagers watch us. With gaunt faces and sharp eyes, they have the look of men slowly starving to death. These people are drowning in poverty. I feel guilty for the quality of my own clothes and horse, and I try to avoid their eyes. Still, I feel their attention.

  Pippa twists in her saddle, looking down one street and then another. “How do we find the physician?”

  We’ve come to a plaza. A dry fountain towers in the middle of the square with nothing but withered leaves and dirt in its pool. The sculpture in the center, a knight standing off against a water-breathing dragon, still gleams in the light, barely tarnished. The contrast of the opulence against the air of abandonment is disconcerting. Truly, I’m surprised a thief hasn’t stolen away the sculpture. At the rate in which Errinton deteriorates, it’s only a matter of time.

  Across the square, a tavern door stands open, and it looks like it’s held in place with a stone that might have once belonged to the fountain’s foundation. Despite the early hour, the place seems to be the only establishment with patrons. Bard-song floats to us through the door. Blocking the entrance, a man leans suggestively over a serving woman who’s practically spilling from her bodice.

  Archer frowns at the tavern and says, “Wait here.”

  He excuses himself past the couple at the entrance and disappears into the building.

  My mare shifts underneath me, picking up on my discomfort. A cluster of women gathers nearby. They whisper to each other as they watch me and Pippa. A little farther down, a man loiters under a building’s overhang in the bare shadows of mid-day. His intense stare makes me nervous.