Authors: Teresa Medeiros
Her cheeks were flushed rose; soft disheveled curls framed her face. Hugging herself, she pictured Conn standing behind her, his strong arms around her. Smiling, she turned from side to side, examining the bosom she had feared would never bloom.
A giggle from the doorway collapsed her posturing. Audren poked her head in the door. “‘Tis yer wedding day, and ye stand there admiring yerself.”
“I was not admiring. I was mourning my lack of certain assets,” Gelina laughed.
“Conn don’t seem to find ye lacking, milady.” Audren smirked.
Moira entered the room, her bulk nearly buried in mounds of emerald velvet.
Audren sighed. “ ‘Tis beautiful. Do ye like it, Gelina?”
Moira snorted. “If I know our girl, she would probably prefer green velvet breeches.”
Gelina studied the dress. “Could it be altered?” She received a sharp rap on the head for her question, which dissolved Audren into hopeless giggles.
Moira turned long-suffering eyes to the ceiling. “The most important day of me life, and I’m cursed with a troupe of jesters. Both of ye listen to me.”
They struggled to appear sober under Moira’s grim perusal. She took both of Gelina’s hands in hers. “When the time comes, child, Audren and I will assist ye in dressing. When ye finish, Audren will escort ye to the tower in the other wing, where ye will be left alone until I fetch ye. In that room ye will find a golden torque for yer throat, a jewel-encrusted girdle, and Conn’s own ring of gold. These will symbolize that at the end of this day ye will reign as queen of Erin.”
Gelina sat down on the bed, her face gone ashen.
“What is it?” Audren asked, fanning her with a corner of her skirt.
“I don’t know. I feel overwhelmed. Being queen of Erin was never an ambition of mine.” She placed both hands on her stomach, trying vainly to stifle the rumbling within.
Moira touched her cheek. “To be his wife, it will be worth it.”
Gelina knew she spoke the truth. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. Throwing her arms around Moira’s neck, she laughed through her tears.
* * *
As the hour of noon approached, the main doors were thrown open so the less fortunate onlookers could pile one on top of the other to watch the ceremony. A hundred torches blazed along the walls. The copper rivets that lined the wooden walls glowed with their unearthly light.
Rodney Ó Monaghan stood on the platform high above the crowd. He eased aside the velvet curtain just enough to watch the proceedings below. His eyes narrowed in contempt as his gaze found the ruby-encrusted thrones that dominated the hall. He stared at them for a long time before returning his attention to the platform. A rope lay docile at his feet, its end anchored to the ceiling high above his head. Three shiny golden apples rested among its coils. A narrow leather harness hung from a peg on the wall. Rodney smiled and took the harness, turning it over in his hands.
Far below him, Nimbus stood with hands on hips, gazing up at the platform. He would have almost sworn he’d seen the curtain twitch, but by the time he could shove his way through the forest of legs for a better look, the movement had ceased as if it had never been. His nape prickled with foreboding, but he rubbed it away. Perhaps it had only been Gelina, unable to resist stealing a peek at the joyful chaos.
Audren drew together the laces of the dress, her hands shaking violently.
“Are there many people?” Gelina cleared her throat to rid her voice of its troublesome quaver.
“Thousands. The hall is overflowing. The courtyard is full. Even the land around the fortress is full. I’ve never seen more soldiers in one place. I might even land me a husband.”
As Audren finished lacing the front of the dress, Gelina stepped in front of the mirror. The dress was cut low in the bodice, rising to puffy shoulders. The skirt flowed out in graceful billows around her slender legs. Narrow green sandals encased her feet. Without a word Audren extended a hand and gestured to the door.
They moved through the deserted corridors to reach the tower where the trappings of Gelina’s impending royalty awaited them. This side of the fortress was quiet. Not even a faint echo intruded on the silence. With a final squeeze to Gelina’s icy arm, Audren closed the door, leaving her alone.
Gelina sighed, feeling oddly peaceful. The view from the unshuttered window was breathtaking. She stood there for a long moment, inhaling deeply the cool air pouring through the window, then spun around, giddy with excitement.
She ran to the long table opposite the window and reached for the slim golden torque, the smooth metal cool to her trembling fingers. She fastened it around her throat and reached for the girdle. Rubies and emeralds encrusted within the gold glistened in the sunlight, casting iridescent sparkles into the air. She hooked it around her waist, its weight unfamiliar on her slender hips. She touched Conn’s ring to her lips before sliding it onto her finger.
Frowning, she studied the remaining two articles, unable to recall any mention of them in Moira’s tutelage. Stretching out her hand, she picked up the oblong brass object that lay on the table. Turning it over, she studied the tiny engraving of a crown on its underside. Her legs began to shake. With a growing sense of horror, her eyes rested on the last object that lay upon the table. It was a tiny golden apple.
She hit the door running, jerking the skirt free of the splinters, oblivious to the shredding material.
High upon the platform in the great hall, Nimbus slipped the harness over his head and tightened it.
She flew through the deserted corridors, the pounding of her heart drowning out the pounding of her feet. Even as she ran, the fortress grew larger; the halls stretched infinitely before her; her breath came in gasps.
Nimbus stepped into view to the generous applause of the crowd. Conn stood and bowed mockingly to the jester.
Gelina rounded a corner and slammed into the wall, ignoring the spasm of pain in her arm and the tiny drops of blood that spattered the crushed velvet of her gown.
Spreading his arms wide, Nimbus awaited the crowd’s silence.
She descended the stairs two at a time, tripping over her skirt. The applause from the great hall swelled as she neared, then faded.
“Ladies and kind sirs, may I have yer attention, please? After this day the most comely lass in all of Erin will be the wife of another. As her smitten suitor whose heart is shattered, I have decided to put an end to this game, to say farewell to love.” He slipped the noose over his head. The crowd gasped. Conn nodded knowingly to Mer-Nod, hiding a smile behind his hand.
Gelina ran into the corridor that led to the great hall only to find herself immersed in a chaotic jumble of arms and legs.
Nimbus gestured to the musicians with a flourish.
She crawled, shoved, and clawed her way to the door.
The trumpets blew a lilting fanfare.
She burst into the hall, falling to her knees, her scream drowned in the gasps of the crowd as Nimbus stepped off the platform.
A smattering of applause led by Conn traveled through the crowd from those who had witnessed the stunt before. It faded quickly, the only sound the creaking of the rope as the small body swung in a gentle arc. Conn stood, eyes wide with dread. His gaze traveled over the stunned crowd until it found Gelina, doubled over and kneeling on the floor, the green velvet of her skirts rumpled and torn. The eyes of the crowd followed his.
Leaping off the dais, he ran for the steps as the outcry began.
“He is dead!”
“ ‘Twas no trick!”
“His neck is broken!”
Children burst into tears as their parents cried out in horror. Conn appeared on the platform, tearing down the velvet curtain with a vicious tug. As Nimbus’s body passed within his grasp, he reached for it.
Gelina raised eyes brimming with dread to the platform. The noise of the crowd faded to a few solitary sniffles and muffled sobs as Conn slipped the noose from the jester’s neck and cradled the small, broken body to his chest. He stood with his eyes pressed tightly shut until a new cry went up.
“Eoghan Mogh’s whore killed him!” One of Conn’s soldiers was pointing at her. Gelina shook her head, bewildered by his accusation.
“She is a devil!” cried a woman.
Before she knew what was happening, the soldier had pried open her clenched fist to reveal the brass charm.
He held it aloft, crowing in triumph. “‘Tis the jester’s own buckle for his harness. He had no intention of killing himself. She murdered him!”
Gelina’s gaze darted around the hall in desperation as menacing threats materialized all around her. The accusations faded into silence as Conn descended from the platform, still cradling Nimbus like a child. In the sudden stillness of the room, Gelina saw movement near the door. She recognized her brother’s back as he disappeared, leaving her alone once more.
Conn took the steps one by one until he reached their foot, where Sean stood waiting to receive his small burden. An icy breath blew down Gelina’s neck as Conn turned to face her. A path parted through the crowd, leading straight to her kneeling form.
Their eyes met, hers widening in utter terror as she saw the intention in his. Some primitive instinct for survival propelled her to her feet as his hand found his sword hilt. She shook her head mutely, her every denial dying in the face of his condemnation.
He unsheathed his sword with one smooth motion. She backed away from him, matching his deadly advance step for step until the wall was at her back. His eyes held hers, midnight blue in murderous rage. His nostrils flared.
For an eternity, the sword was drawn back, its blade gleaming in the torchlight. Fresh tears flooded Gelina’s eyes.
The sword clattered to the floor as Conn caught her by the shoulders in a brutal grip and shoved her into the arms of his stunned soldiers. “Take her to the dungeon,” he commanded hoarsely. “I can no longer bear the sight of her.”
As his men dragged her from the hall, he staggered against the wall and buried his face in his hands.
No chain and no dark dungeon
Will hinder its course;
It laughs at seas and fortresses,
Is mocking of force.
—Author unknown
9th century
“She refuses to talk. She will tell me nothing.” As he spoke Sean turned away from Conn and stared blindly into the night lurking outside the window. He could not bear to look into Conn’s face and find it so devoid of compassion and warmth.
Conn sat before the fire. “She won’t answer any of your questions?”
Sean shook his head in defeat. “No confessions. No denials. She will not admit to an accomplice. She will not utter a word.”
Conn stood and paced the length of his chamber. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. His shirt hung loosely around him, unfastened to the waist.
He turned bloodshot eyes to Sean. “Perhaps we should let her rot down there and see if she will talk.”
“From the look in her eyes, I think she could stay there for a hundred years and never open her mouth.”
Conn knelt before the fire and stirred the logs into vicious flame, handling the poker like a weapon. The flames cast odd shadows over his face. His eyes burned like live coals, bleary victims of sleepless nights and .too much ale.
“ ‘Tis my fault, you know. Nimbus would be alive if I had never trusted her.” He threw down the poker, strode to the window, and leaned out, letting the cold night air wash over him. “I’ve buried many friends in my lifetime, but burying Nimbus was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He shook his head musingly. “The grave is so tiny. If I don’t build a cairn, the fuchsia will bloom over it in the spring. It was odd. As we covered him with earth, I thought I heard his laughter in the distance, mocking me.”
Sean placed a hand on Conn’s shoulder, unable to find the words to ease his pain.
Conn’s voice changed abruptly. “I’ll make the bitch talk. She’ll rue the day she was born.”
He strode to the door, only to find Sean’s hesitant form blocking the way.
Sean’s soul trembled inside as he opposed his king. “I don’t believe it would be a good idea for you to go down there right now.”
Conn laughed—a brittle, icy sound. “Are you afraid I’ll kill her? Does it really matter?”
“I just don’t believe it would be a good idea,” Sean repeated.
“I do. Stand aside.”
Even as Conn spoke, the tortured scream floated through the window, filled with nuances of pain and rage. The unearthly sound sent the tiny hairs at the back of Conn’s neck erect as he recognized the jester’s name locked somewhere in the scream. His hands trembled as he met Sean’s gaze.
The soldier nodded wearily. “
‘Tis
her.”
Visibly shaken, Conn strode into the antechamber that bordered his chambers and slammed the door behind him, leaving Sean standing alone in the center of the room, his shoulders slumped.