The Princess of Cortova (4 page)

6

The Gift

AS THEY NEARED THE
coast of Cortova, the seas grew calmer and the ship sailed more smoothly than before. Molly was up now, having herself dressed by Esther, her lady attendant. They were due to disembark in a matter of hours.

She was terribly weak, having eaten nothing for days. But Molly had her pride (and an important role to play), so she fervently hoped that Esther could transform her once again into the lady Marguerite of Barcliffe Manor, because at the moment she far more resembled her old, original self: Molly, the tailor’s daughter from nowhere.

Esther had plenty with which to work, so it shouldn’t have been a problem. Molly was pretty to begin with, blessed as she was with fine eyes and remarkably luminous skin. And she certainly had everything a lady might need in the way of gowns and jewels. But she’d lost weight this past week, and her gowns didn’t fit anymore. Her once-beautiful complexion had turned sallow, almost gray. And the less said about her hair the better.

The transformation was going to be a challenge.

“Any chance you could take the gown up a little?” Molly asked.

“Yes, of course, my lady, if we had enough time.”

“But we don’t.”

“No, my lady.”

“Then we’ll have to make do by tightening the laces. How about my hair? Can you work any wonders?”

“Well, my lady, it
is
a bit, um—”

“Disheveled? Unkempt?”

“Oh, no, my lady. It’s just that you’ve been lying abed these many days—”

“Tossing and sweating. I understand. It’s oily, and matted, and pressed into strange formations no longer resembling curls.”

“Well, naturally it
would
be better if we could wash it. But there wouldn’t be near enough time for it to dry.”

“Can you draw it up into a knot in back and make a fringe of curls on the sides? I liked it when you did that before.”

“I could, my lady, though it might be dangerous—the curling iron so close to your face on a rocking ship.”

“Then what are we to do? I can’t go out like this.”

“No, my lady. It seems there are only two possibilities. One, we could braid the hair tight against your head. It won’t be elegant, but you’ll look nice and tidy, and you could always add a spray of pearls or something.”

“And the other possibility?”

“Risk the curling and use a towel to protect your cheeks.”

“Well,” Molly said, “I’ve always preferred to be risky than tidy. Set the iron in the lamp and find me a cloth, and we’ll just hope for the best.”

When the curling had been accomplished with no mishaps whatsoever, Molly looked into her mirror and was satisfied.

“Well done,” she said. “How would it be if we added the golden fillet?”

“I think that would be just the thing, my lady. A very good idea.”

So Esther opened the jewel coffer and took out the fillet: a slender band of gold set with tiny pearls. This she placed on Molly’s head, low over the brow as a crown is worn.

“There!” she said. “How beautiful you look! No one would ever even dream that you’ve been ill.”

“Well, I certainly look less a toad and more a swan,” Molly said. “And all of it thanks to you. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a bit of time alone to gather my wits.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“And will you take a message to Tobias?”

“
Lord Worthington
, my lady?”

“Yes. Please ask Lord Worthington to come to me as soon as we sail into port. I’m not very steady on my feet, I’m afraid, and I’ll require his strong arm as we leave the ship.”

“I will, my lady.”

Molly would require a great deal more from Tobias than just his strong arm. What lay ahead of them now would be as hard for her as it was crucial for Westria. And for the thousandth time she thanked the stars that she had Tobias by her side.

When Esther had gone, Molly set the bolt in the door, pulled the canvas over the porthole, and settled herself on the only chair in the cabin. She closed her eyes—more out of habit than necessity, as the room was already dark—then, bit by bit, she released the tension from her face, her neck, her shoulders and arms, and on down to her feet till she had melted into the chair, soft and still.

Now, as she’d been taught, she emptied her mind of everything—the sickroom smell of the tight little cabin, the quiet rhythm of her heartbeat, the soft lap of waves against the hull—and focused on one thing only: moving deep down into her spirit-self in search of the vision of the future she so desperately needed but which had stubbornly refused to come.

This was something new for Molly, a skill she’d only learned the year before. Until that time she’d been at the mercy of her “Gift.” She could neither summon the magical visions, nor could she make them go away. They just came when they wanted to. And they were unfailingly gruesome (no happy children dancing among the wildflowers, just unrelenting horror and death). As a result, Molly had lived for years in a constant state of anxiety, like a lonely traveler on a desolate road who knows that at any moment a cutthroat might suddenly appear and fall on her with a knife.

But then Alaric had sent her to Austlind, where Molly’s grandfather had lived and worked as a silversmith. He had been famous for the beautiful Loving Cups he made: silver chalices with the power to join two people in a bond of perfect love. That’s what Alaric had wanted her to find: a magical cup to help him win the hand of the princess of Cortova, and with it the alliance his kingdom so desperately needed.

In this Molly had succeeded. The Loving Cup she’d brought back from Austlind now rested in Alaric’s stateroom, bound for Cortova and the role it would play in great matters of state. But the journey itself had altered the course of her life.

The search for the cup had led her into the barren northlands of Austlind, where the secret walled city of Harrowsgode lay hidden behind a range of impenetrable mountains. This was her grandfather’s birthplace, the ancestral home of Molly’s people, and the source of her mysterious powers—for all Harrowsgode folk had the Gift to a greater or lesser degree.

But Molly’s was unaccountably stronger than theirs. Indeed, only a handful of Magi, going back to the days of old King Magnus, had possessed such remarkable powers. Once she fully understood how to use them, she was destined to be truly great.

Many things had happened in Harrowsgode, not all of them good. But when Molly left the city (how and why she left is another story), she was well on her way to learning how to control her wayward Gift. She knew how to reach down to the depths of her inner spirit and find the things she wanted. A lesson like that was worth a lot of suffering.

Now she planned to use that knowledge to find a window into the future—because so far her wonderful Gift had sent her nothing but dark premonitions and a talking cat, which weren’t nearly enough.

Molly knew from experience that danger could take many forms, and it would really be helpful to know what they were up against. For that matter, she didn’t even know who was threatened. She’d assumed it was Alaric, but that had been lazy thinking. The premonition of terrible tragedy and the cat’s suspicions about Gonzalo and Reynard might be two entirely different things. So it could be anyone, even Molly herself.

She had to know more. She focused her mind and made ready.

It was always a fearful thing, descending into that ever-changing shadow world. She had to steel herself every time just to bear it. She never knew what would happen down there, except that it would be a struggle. The Gift didn’t give as freely as its name suggested it should. She had to go in there and take it.

On this particular day she found herself in a void, utterly empty of movement or light. The air was stifling; it pressed against her and robbed her of breath. It felt like being trapped in a coffin buried far underground. There was nothing to see, nothing to feel, and only a single sound: the regular, heavy breathing of some great, sleeping beast.

It came to Molly that the sound wasn’t coming from the other side of some invisible door or even from down below. It was everywhere. It surrounded and filled her so that she could actually feel the rumbling vibrations of each and every breath.

She was
inside
the beast.

No, she realized. It was worse than that. She
was
the beast. Or rather, the beast
was part of her spirit
—dormant now but filled with deadly potential. A thrill of terror ran through her body as she grasped this—and suddenly she could not,
could not
bear to stay there a moment longer.

Swimming up through the stifling gloom, she panicked and found that she couldn’t catch her breath. It was like drowning, her chest tight and burning, crying out for air. And then at last she surfaced into the dim light of a small, stuffy cabin on a gently rolling ship.

Molly sat there for some time, heaving and trembling, cursing herself for a coward.

She had failed.

7

Tobias

TOBIAS AND MOLLY RODE
side by side in the middle of the caravan in company with those few married knights who’d brought along their ladies. He couldn’t help but notice the intimate quality of their conversations—the easy, familiar way they had of being together, sometimes speaking in a sort of couples’ code, leaving sentences unfinished or things unsaid because they were already understood. They seemed to know automatically what the other would like to eat, where he or she would prefer to sit at dinner, or what would be of interest along the way. If they had nothing particular to say, they would ride in comfortable silence for hours. And whether or not they were truly fond, they seemed as easy together as they would have been alone.

He and Molly were like that too—not because they were married, which of course they weren’t, but because they’d grown up together, had saved Alaric from the wolves together, and on several occasions had come very close to dying together. That sort of history builds intimacy and trust.

Though Tobias didn’t know about Harrowsgode (only Alaric did), he knew most everything else, including Molly’s vision of the cat and her concerns for Alaric’s safety. He’d taken it seriously; she was never wrong about such things. So he’d been keeping a watchful eye out for anything suspicious, whether on the road or at the inns where they stopped for the night. And being of an analytical mind, he’d made a mental list of situations likely to arise in Cortova that were especially fraught with danger.

And yet, for all that, he couldn’t
feel
what Molly felt—that deep disquiet, that presentiment of danger, which hung over her night and day. In fact, it seemed to Tobias that things were going uncommonly well. And that was hardly surprising, since Alaric had left nothing to chance. He might have
invaded
Cortova with less preparation than he’d put into this ceremonial visit.

Every member of their party had been chosen with special care. The court gentlemen who accompanied the king were all prominent knights, young enough and strong enough to do serious damage with their swords should serious damage with swords be required. Even the pages and squires who attended them had been handpicked by the master of arms. In addition, the king had brought along his physician, a lawyer to advise him on the terms of the contract, a linguist fluent in Cortovan, and a number of servants who weren’t actually servants but spies.

Tobias, however, had none of these skills. So the others—most especially the highborn knights—wondered why on earth he’d been included. The lad was nothing but a cooper’s son. And as recently as the previous year he’d worked in the king’s stables, mucking out stalls, rubbing down horses, and scraping mud off gentlemen’s boots.

And the knights remembered it too. Tobias stood out from the other lads because he was so very tall, with those broad shoulders and that shock of straw-colored hair. Indeed, he was overall such a remarkable specimen of manly grace that the wags among them had taken to calling him “the young Goliath,” as in “Send for the young Goliath to unload that wagon.”

Then just last year the king had rewarded him—for some service or other, they didn’t know what—by giving him a title by royal decree and a landed estate to go with it. But that was nothing but perfume on a pig. “Lord Worthington” was still just a stable boy, not even trained to be a common foot soldier. So why the king should insist on bringing the fellow to Cortova was beyond their imagining.

As it happened, he had a very good reason, and it was as follows:

Alaric had to bring Molly. He depended on her special powers to guide him and warn him of danger. They would often be seen together, and there was really no way of hiding their mutual regard. This presented a problem. Since Molly was pretty, young, and unmarried, Alaric was afraid that King Gonzalo might misconstrue their relationship—and that would not be at all helpful in winning the princess’s hand. Molly must seem to be attached to somebody else.

With this in mind, Alaric had called Tobias back to court with no explanation, just the request that he bring his friend Lord Richard. Immediately upon their arrival they’d been ushered into the king’s reception chamber, where Molly was already waiting, along with Winifred, her old chum from their days in service. Alaric had then dismissed his servants, even his guards, ordering them to wait outside.

“Forgive me, Tobias,” he’d said, “but before the priest arrives, I must explain that we’ve created a little deception here.”

The priest? What priest?
Tobias had looked questioningly at Molly, but she was staring down at her shoes.

“He will bless our journey, and pray for a good outcome, and so forth.”

Ah. But then why were he and Richard there? And Winifred?

“However, the court shall believe—and the priest will not say otherwise—that he was called for another purpose: to hear”—he’d taken a deep breath—“your vows of betrothal.”

Tobias gasped. Molly cleared her throat. Neither had looked the other in the eye.

“If anyone asks, you will say that the wedding is set for a year from now, when Molly comes of age. I have rings for both of you to wear. Once the journey is over, of course, you can take them off again, and we’ll spread the word that the betrothal was broken by mutual consent. We’ll think up some good reason why.”

Before Tobias could say a word—his mouth was already open—the king had held up a hand to stop him. “It had to be you, Tobias. No one else would be believed, and it’s doubtful that anyone would even have been willing—”

Molly had shot the king a very hard look, and he’d left the rest unsaid.

“Are you?” Alaric asked. “Willing?”

Tobias was more than willing. Indeed, he’d have been glad to do the thing in earnest. But he said, “Your Grace, may I know the reason?”

“Of course. Your supposed betrothal to Molly will make it possible for her to travel with us, and often be seen at my side, without any suspicions that we are . . . in any way . . .”

“I understand. Yes, Your Highness, I will be glad to do whatever is needed.”

“Thank you. Winifred and Richard, please make the point of mentioning that you witnessed the ceremony. Don’t be too obvious about it, but spread the word. And Tobias, this means, of course, that you will have to come with us to Cortova. So I’ll need you to stay on at court for your preparation. You’ll be tutored in the language, as we all will; and I’ve asked the master of arms to take you under his wing—teach you a few basics of swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat.”

By this point Tobias had more or less lost the power of speech. So he’d simply nodded assent. Then, as everyone was now in agreement, the king went over to a table and opened a coffer such as jewelry is kept in. Inside were two small leather bags.

“I wasn’t sure about the sizes,” he’d explained, “so I had several rings made for each of you. One of them is bound to fit.”

Rings,
Tobias had thought.
Of course
.

The king had turned first to Molly, emptying the bag into his palm, then taking her left hand in his, studying it, selecting the right-sized ring, and slipping it onto her finger. Tobias couldn’t have said why this bothered him so much, but the king certainly hadn’t
needed
to do it that way—as if . . . well, as if
he
were being betrothed to her himself.

Then Alaric had handed Tobias the other bag, letting him choose his own ring, whichever fit best; and shortly thereafter the priest had arrived to ask God’s blessing on the journey.

Thus it was that Tobias and Molly had become a couple in the eyes of the world.

Yet nothing between them had really changed. They continued to work together to do the king’s bidding, to keep him safe, and to help him accomplish what he must for the good of Westria. They spoke to each other in couples’ code, as old friends do, and anticipated each other’s needs and thoughts. They rode side by side in companionable silence when there was nothing to say, and they laughed at jokes that no one else understood. They watched ravens circling overhead with special meaning. And they left important things unsaid because that’s how Molly liked it, and it was how they’d always been with each other.

And yet, somehow, every time Tobias removed his gloves, or reached for a slice of bread, or washed his hands, it thrilled him to see that ring on his finger—though it meant nothing, of course. He knew that. It was just a very expensive prop in a little play they were acting out.

And yet . . .