Authors: Elaine Isaak
“So, brother, what now?” She released his hand and shook back her hair.
“I really can’t stay, Melody. It was stupid to come here in the first place.”
“Why shouldn’t you be here?”
“No, it’s too close. It’s the first place they’ll—” He broke off, not wanting to reveal too much.
“They’ll look for you?” she finished. “You must know Lyssa’s been and left.”
“I’ve heard.” Wolfram swallowed. She probably wanted his hide even more than the master mason. Bury them both.
She cocked her head to peer up at him. “Why don’t you want to be found?”
“You don’t know everything. Best keep it that way.”
“What did they do to you? Or was it something you did?” She drew close, so that he could feel her warm breath upon his skin. “Did you kill someone or something?”
Wolfram stiffened, looking away, but a new warmth crept up his neck.
“Oh, I see.” She touched his shoulder, but he flinched away. “I won’t tell anyone, Wolfie, not ever. After all, you’re my brother.”
“So you know why I can’t be found.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she whispered, “I’m running away, very soon. Come with me—think what fun it’ll be.”
“Wait a minute.” He held up a hand to stop her. “When I saw you in the garden, who was that man, the one I frightened off?”
“Oh, Master Duncan. He’s my music teacher. He has a place in the city, but he’s nearly always at the palace.” She brought her lips close to his ear to tell him, “I think he’s in love with Mother.” Melody drew back with a conspiratorial smile.
Wolfram’s head reeled so that he pressed his hands to his temples. King Rhys, disguised as a teacher, in love with Princess Melisande, heir to the throne of Bernholt.
“Why did he run away from you?”
“I don’t know.” Wolfram turned it over, eyes narrowed as if he could see through history. After winning back his kingdom, King Rhys abandoned his throne, his wife, and his child, to live as leman to a neighboring princess. The bastard had probably already met and bedded Melisande before he ever turned his sights toward Brianna. He stopped long enough to father an heir, not to mention a legend, and ran back to his lover, after getting her husband out of the way first. Of them all, King Rhys was the biggest liar Wolfram had yet discovered. A thought jolted him, and he examined Melody’s features, and what he recalled of Alyn. It was entirely possible his father was hers as well, and she had no
idea. The thought sickened him, both for his own sake in the desire that still tugged at him, and for hers, her ignorance of the lies that parents tell. Whatever sordid game they were playing, Wolfram wanted none of it. He’d found his father and been left again. Twice was enough of a lesson for him.
Wolfram grabbed Melody’s hands in his, drawing her toward the ladder. “Let’s run away, sister, let’s run as far as we possibly can.”
MELODY LED
the way down to the stable door and peered around it. “Quick, brother!” She flashed across the yard to where a patient guard horse stood and scrambled up on its back. Wolfram mounted behind her, and she kicked the horse into a trot. Twice they caught sight of uniformed guards, still making their systematic search. The riders turned their horse, and were soon out of that quarter. The broad, paved ways of the merchant rows took over. Well-dressed pedestrians and those in carriages bowed their heads to Melody. If they were surprised by her mount, or her company, they showed no sign.
Melody brought the horse up in an alley, by a staircase that pitched sharply down to an open door. A gilded sign above read
THE LADY’S TIT
, and featured a leering caricature of the Goddess.
Wolfram stifled a laugh as he slid down. “How do you know a place like this?”
Melody flipped her hair in a pretty shrug. “I hear all kinds of things when I’m not supposed to listen. This place should hide you until I get back.”
“Where are you going?” He frowned up at her as she gathered the reins again.
“Why, back to the palace of course. I can’t run away on a moment’s notice.” Her bright laughter trailed after as she turned the horse and set off for home. “Back by evening!” she called over her shoulder.
The scent of roasting beef wafted from the tavern’s re
cessed door. Wolfram’s stomach loudly reminded him that he’d missed lunch, and he sighed as he ducked down the steps and into the crowded room. Elbowing himself a place at a long table, armed with a trencher of meat and a mug of ale, Wolfram set into his meal. He briefly considered leaving once he was through, letting Melody find her own adventures, but just as quickly discarded the idea. She could tell them all about him, and invent more besides—probably put a knife at her throat during the talk with the guard, or a thousand other things sure to get him to the gallows, if he lasted so long. She both threatened and charmed him, calling him “brother”; her admiration, at least, seemed genuine. For better or worse, she had bound him to her, at least for a while. Outside the city, she’d soon learn that there was little of luxury or excitement in becoming a self-made exile. After a few days of peasant’s food and damp leaves for bedding, she’d be pleading to return to her palace—and he’d have plenty of time for flight.
When Melody returned, Wolfram discovered that he couldn’t have been more wrong. Night had fallen outside, and the barkeep had begun to glance at him with a keenness that prickled Wolfram’s beard. At last, the princess emerged into the smoky light, and Wolfram blinked a few times at the transformation.
Not only had she shed her gowns and petticoats, she wore a man’s riding clothes, complete to the tall leather boots. Her raven hair had been bound into a braid down her back, and the rouge was gone from her lips. Still, when she craned her neck to spy him out, all eyes were upon her, and many a wink exchanged. Wolfram bristled at the uncouth men around him. Despite his misgivings, the title of “brother” had already taken hold, and he wanted to cuff the knaves for staring at her that way.
“There you are, brother,” she greeted him. “Not too impatient, I hope?”
“A little. Let’s get out of here.” As they mounted the narrow steps, he added, “I hope they’ve not closed the gates yet.”
“The gates?” She laughed. “But we’re not going that way.”
“What are you—” He broke off. Standing in the alley were a handful of dark-skinned Hemijrani, obviously waiting for them. He slapped his hip where his sword should have been.
“Tush.” Melody trapped his wrist before he could go for the knife instead. “This is my maid, Gordiya, and her friends.”
His fists clenched, and the tension crept up his neck. “Melody, I’m supposed to be in hiding, if you haven’t forgotten. You can’t take a bloody parade.”
Laughter greeted this, and he felt the first claws of anger taking hold again. One of the short, dark men shifted forward, his hand hovering by his waist. The other two fired off a burst of rapid, high-pitched speech.
“But, Wolfie, they’re taking us, don’t you see?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.” His fingers rubbed at his temple.
“Well, you must have heard about the war.” She goggled at him as if expecting his ignorance to be complete.
“Of course I have; Lochdale’s swarming with refugees, they’re driving my mother—” He stopped himself. No good following those thoughts.
Melody nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, don’t you see? My brother—my other brother—wanted to go, to preach to them, but he’s been away for ages. We’re sick of waiting. But look, this is our chance! You and I can find out what’s behind it all.” Her hands danced as she spoke, a wild cavalcade of gestures.
Wolfram tilted his head at her, frowning. The anger still throbbed but no longer seemed urgent. “You think we can end the war in Hemijrai?”
“We have to try, don’t we?” she said more quietly. She laid a hand upon his arm, her face tilted to look up into his. “These people are heathens, but they are ready to listen to us. Imagine if we were to trump Alyn at his own game and convert them! If we can stop them killing each other, shouldn’t we do it? Besides, when we come home—”
“I can’t ever go home,” he interrupted.
“When we come home,” she overrode him, “you won’t be a murderer, you’ll be a hero!”
Wolfram flinched, ducking his head. Below him in the darkness, the light from the tavern door took on the eerie shape of an agonized face. Wolfram shuddered. Looking to the gleaming eyes in her companions’ dark faces, he drummed his fingers against his hip. Something was going on with these people, with or without Melody’s knowledge. “We should wait until we’ve had a chance to talk about it, just you and I.”
Her features crumpled into a pout. “Don’t you want to redeem yourself? Don’t you want to be a part of something great?”
“Yes, but, these people—” He waved a hand at the little bunch.
“Don’t you trust me?” she asked quietly, and her eyes seemed to glint as her eyelashes flickered.
“Does that mean I have to trust them?”
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “Where’s the magnificent brother I saw today?” she whispered. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of them.”
“Why would I be afraid of them? They’re just a bunch of—”
“Ah!” she said, pressing her finger to his lips for the second time that day. “They are kind, and good, and in need of us. This adventure will be the grandest possible, Wolfram. Imagine you and I saving these people.” Her face lit with the vision as she slid her arm through his and drew him toward the street.
Saving you, he thought, eyeing the little company that gathered around them. His fingers itched, but he said no more. Nothing he said could change her mind, that was clear, and as to how long the plot had been hatched, or by whom, he would eventually discover whatever they were hiding. He grinned at the Hemijrani, but their dark faces showed no expression. The woman, Gordiya, took the lead, taking them with quick, silent steps down to the docks. This must have
been what had taken them so long, for a small boat was waiting, with two men sitting ready to guide it. A few bundles lay heaped in the bow, and they clambered in.
Gordiya wore garments of Western cut, but made from the brighter fabrics of her home, which glinted in the light of their few lanterns. Like all of her people, she was slender, with long fingers, pink at the tips in contrast to her overall darkness. Regarding him, she did not lower her eyes. “Do not be suspicious of us, Highness Wolfram, for we are people of spirit, as are you.” Gordiya joined the man at the tiller, leaving the two supposed siblings alone at the front of the boat.
“Melody, does everyone know me?” Wolfram pulled her a little closer.
She shot him an exasperated glance. “I told them you were my brother, Prince Orie’s bastard by another woman,” she explained, as if that illuminated anything.
“Thanks, Melody, thanks a lot.”
“It was the only way they would let us room together, and I didn’t want to be alone.” Her breath warmed his ear.
He turned quickly to look at her, so that their noses brushed. Melody offered a slight smile. “You don’t trust them either,” Wolfram observed.
“I’m bored,” she replied, “not stupid.”
They drifted in silence for a time, the boat slipping quickly with the current, heading for the distant port and a larger, waiting ship that would carry them all over the sea, to the shores of Hemijrai. A few lights grew, then were left behind them, and, after a while, Melody began to watch these lights with interest. Finally, she leaned across him, resting her elbows on his lap to gaze enraptured at a large town on the shore. Above a wooden palisade, a hexagonal tower rose from the stone keep. Rose-tinted lights shone from the alabaster windows, and a dance tune could faintly be heard.
Melody sighed, then lowered her head to lie across his lap. A warmth prickled through the rough wool, then another, with moisture touching his skin.
Frowning, Wolfram touched her shoulder cautiously, then stroked her hair. “What’s the matter, Melody?”
“That was Gamel’s Grove.” She shifted her arm from beneath her to wrap around his knees. “It was my father’s keep before he married Mother, before he died.”
“Before my father killed him,” Wolfram breathed.
“It’s so maddening,” she sniffed, “not to know anything about him. Nobody speaks of him, except with a curse, or to make the sign of the Goddess.”
Wolfram grinned ironically up at the stars. “I’ve had my fill of hearing about my father, Melody. That’s no treat either.”
“At least you know. They whisper that he wanted to kill King Gerrod, someone even said he was mad, that he killed my uncle.”
“My namesake.” Wolfram frowned a little, considering this. His own knowledge of Orie, despite the legends, was not broad. Whenever the subject came up, Lord Fionvar looked a little sick, and Lyssa’s beautiful face turned into one of her stones.
“I used to go ’round to old Rolf’s cottage, plying him with questions. He did love to talk, and tell me stories. He even told me—” She bit off the words, her hand tightening on his knee.
“What did he tell you?” Wolfram laid his hand gently upon her head.
“That my birth was cursed,” she whispered. “He said my father’s lover cursed my mother to sorrow over me.”
“That was a stupid thing to say, Melody, no matter how much he despised your father. Even if it’s true, what power could she have?”
“She was Hemijrani.”
Wolfram stiffened at this revelation, his fingers clasping Melody’s silky hair. “Is that the real reason for this trip?”
“I need to go there, Wolfie,” Melody continued, her hand curling into a delicate fist, beating her desperation into his leg. “I have to know if it’s true. I’ve asked Gordiya all kinds of things—she’s only been with me a few months, but I already have learned so much. The only way to find out for certain is to go there, to find people who knew her, or the
teachers she studied with. Maybe there’s a way to break the curse, maybe I can undo it, somehow.”
“But, Melody, there’s no curse to break, none but what your mind invents. You have the only power over that.”
“You don’t believe that,” she said coldly, “I can hear it in your voice. If there is magic, if there is the Blessed Rhys, then surely there are curses just as real.”
“If you want to know about cursed, someday I’ll tell you everything I did the day I left Lochdale,” he said bitterly. “Maybe your brother was right about me.”
“Then you know that I have to find out. I’ll not have this mystery hanging over me, haunting me the way that Alyn’s foolishness haunts you.”
For a moment, Wolfram glanced up to the mountains across the river, the boundary of Lochalyn, and the home of all the mysteries he was leaving behind. And somewhere near the dock where they had launched, his own father slept, not knowing that his secret was revealed, not knowing that his son had finally had the chance to reject him. Wolfram’s face grew hard as he looked, then he turned to stare resolutely ahead.
“Beware of seeking the mysteries of your birth, Melody. You may not like the answers that you find.”