Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 34
“If you have time, madam.”
“I do.”
Now that he had the chance to speak, the words stuck in his throat. "That newly-hired woman at the palace--"
"Radegunda? The witch! May I ask why you hired her?"
She tilted her head. "But I thought you knew. She's a healer, skilled in herbs and such. She cured His Majesty's backache."
"I fear you are gravely mistaken.” He paused, considering bluntness or subtlety and decided the former was best. “She's a witch."
She flinched, as if he'd struck her. Seeing her frightened expression, he pressed his point. "You know as well as I that magic is forbidden in the kingdom. For her own sake, I beg you, send her away. Do you want her to suffer at the stake?"
"Sir, I fear you are mistaken. She has done much good at the palace. Surely she has shown no signs of practicing the evil craft." She gave him a level look. "What makes you think she's a witch?"
"She told me."
Her hands jerked. "When? When did she say this?"
He related saving Radegunda from the thugs. "She admitted to me that she is, indeed, a witch."
"Very well.” She nodded and retrieved a paper from her desk, as if in dismissal. “I shall speak to her."
"That's all, just speak to her?” he asked, every muscle tense. “You must send her away."
"I 'must'?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
“What I mean is, I would want no harm to come to her.” He licked his lips. "I have suffered from witchcraft. A sorceress killed my wife and baby." Will the heartache ever go away?
"I'm so sorry!" She frowned. "I didn't know you'd been married."
"A long time ago."
Keriam fingered her pearl necklace. "I find it difficult to believe she's an enchantress, with all the good she's done at the palace. I have only your word about her.”
“Talk to Radegunda, then. See what she says, madam. Remember, witchcraft is illegal in the kingdom. If found guilty, she could be burned at the stake."
"Major, you don't need to instruct me in the law. This much I will do. I will investigate the matter.”
He started to rise, painfully aware he could expect no more for now. Sacred shrine. Radegunda must leave the palace.
* * *
After Roric left the antechamber, Keriam breathed a long sigh, but puzzlement disturbed her thoughts. Yes, she knew that Radegunda had andhashelladh--the second sight--but that didn't make her an enchantress. She wondered why the woman would confess such a thing to Roric Gamal. And what if Roric knew she had the second sight, would he consider her a witch? There must be more here than she understood. She'd speak to Radegunda, ensure that the healer woman understood the danger in practicing witchcraft.
She glanced at the statuette of Talmora, and for only a moment, she thought it moved, as if the Goddess wanted to tell her something. Quickly, she dismissed the thought as only a figment of her imagination.
Despite her concerns about Radegunda, she laid a hand on her breast, wondering why Roric’s presence always sent a warm glow through her, a quickening of her heartbeat. Recalling his deep voice, his every gesture, she smiled to herself, each image playing itself again and again in her mind. She shook her head, telling herself she dreamed idle fantasies, wild illusions that had no place in her life, longings that would forever remain unfulfilled.
Tossing aside these futile yearnings, she brought her mind back to her immediate concern–Radegunda.
Later that evening, after the kitchen staff had gone to their quarters and a peaceful quiet had settled over the palace, Keriam found Radegunda in the still room. The healer woman worked at the hearth, where a sweet-smelling concoction bubbled in an iron cauldron over the fire. Pine torches in iron sconces provided dim illumination in the dusky twilight, casting wavy shadows across stone walls that reflected the heat from the hearth and made the room uncomfortably hot.
“Radegunda.”
Next to a long table, the woman spun around, as if caught in a crime; then a cautious smile spread across her face. "Princess Keriam.”
Leaning against the wooden counter opposite, Keriam returned the smile, wanting to put the woman at ease. She must broach the subject of magic with care. "Is everything to your satisfaction here?" Her gaze shifted to the various wooden bowls of petals and herbs that rested on the table where the healer worked. Pleasant herbal fragrances floated through the air. "Do you need anything else?"
"All settled, princess, although I'm used to more light. But I'm not complainin', just makin' a statement." She wiped her woolen apron across her shiny forehead. The flickering candle flames caught her movements, distorting her shadow on the wall. "I make up my lotions, soaps and such every evening. Once in a nineday, my partner, Adsaluta, comes and picks them up to sell at the shop. We share the proceeds."
Keriam nodded, impatient to get to the subject, but in a roundabout way. "Have you always lived in the capital?"
The woman jerked back, knocking over a wooden bowl of rose petals. "N-no, madam.” She brushed the petals back into the bowl while she talked. "I-I lived in a village on the outskirts of Moytura before I came here. M-my house burned to the ground."
"I'm so sorry! How terrible for you!" Keriam sucked in a breath, her gaze scanning the room to ascertain that there were no eavesdroppers. "Radegunda, what are your feelings on magic?"
A guilty look captured the old woman's face. "Magic, madam?"
"Practicing magic.” Keriam folded her arms across her chest.
Radegunda paused, staring down at the floor. She looked up and spoke in a quiet voice. "Madam, I am skilled in the healing arts--"
"Which some may construe as enchantment," Keriam said, "but that doesn't answer my question."
"Princess Keriam, may I ask why you want to know about my-my skills? What makes you think I practice magic?" She bowed her head. "If I may ask."
“One of the king’s officers has spoken to me of your skills.”
"I seen him this morning! I don't know his name--"
"Roric Gamal, the king's steward now, since Fergus Morrigan was . . . uh, died."
"Oh, my," the healer said with a crestfallen look. "Back in my village, he saved me from thugs who was beatin' me. I didn't know he worked for the king. He was wearin' his cloak so I couldn't see no palace emblem." She brushed her hand across her glistening forehead. "An' I guess I was too upset to notice, even if I could see it."
"Why were the thugs beating you?" Keriam asked, although she was sure of the answer.
"They called me a witch, and--"
"And are you? Radegunda, if you practice good magic, your secret is safe with me."
"Only good magic. Never evil."
"Ah, now we are getting somewhere. As long as you do no harm--"
"Never, madam.” She shook her head fiercely. “As I say, only good."
"Something I must tell you--Roric Gamal still retains his officer's rank and has influence with His Majesty. He may cause trouble, since he greatly fears witchcraft. Stay away from him." Keriam wished she could follow her own advice. But something drew her to him, as though her mind–and her heart–had no will of their own. “Best you stay away from Roric Gamal,” she repeated.
"Oh, madam, I will."
Another thought hit Keriam. "If you have the second sight, why didn't you know that Roric Gamal works for the palace?"
"Like I said, I was too upset to catch that fact at the time he saved me. Anyway, my ability don't always work when I want it to. Sometimes it comes to me unexpected-like, especially in dreams."
"Ah, yes." Keriam nodded. It was the same with her, but she'd never admit it to anyone, least of all the druids, who held the power of life and death over all the people of the kingdom. Satisfied with the information she'd gathered, she pushed away from the counter. "It is agreed then. I'll say nothing of your skills, and I hope you realize it's to your advantage to say nothing of mine." She regretted the threat immediately.
"I'll keep quiet, princess. I promise."
"That's settled, then." She sniffed appreciably at the aromatic scents wafting from the wooden bowls. "Your customers must enjoy your toiletries. They surely do have tempting scents."
"Indeed, madam. I'll send some lilac soap and talcum powder up to your room tomorrow."
"Thank you. I'm looking forward to using them.” She turned to leave. What if Roric Gamal discovered her powers? Even though she knew no magic, he could easily accuse her of witchcraft. What if he saw her specter on one of her nightly sojourns, or discovered she had the second sight? She shuddered at the thought. If only she could follow her advice to Radegunda and stay away from him. But circumstances and concern for her father had thrown them together. And something else she was afraid to identify, an attraction that grew stronger every day, more intense each time she saw him.
Even if Roric suspected Aradia, what could they do about the steward's widow? Since Fergus had been buried several days go, Aradia had shown no desire to return to her village. The sorceress should be an actress, Keriam fumed, recalling the woman's tears as Fergus lay in his grave. What kept her here, if not Balor? King Malachy's advice about the evil woman returned to haunt her.
Kill her if you must.
Chapter Nine
Dressed plainly, oblivious to the noise and laughter around him, Roric sat at a corner table in The Hungry Bear, nursing a mug of malt corma. Mostly farmers, drovers, and a few craftsmen patronized this clean but humble tavern where a multitude of aromas filled the air--the smoke from countless pipes, the yeasty smell of corma, the tantalizing fragrance of beef sizzling in the stone hearth. Lit glass lamps hung from wall hooks, relieving the room's somber dullness, masking scratches and burn holes on the furniture. Young and old customers, men and women, occupied every table of the common room. Narrow, worn stairs at the back of the room led to sleeping quarters above.
Talmora's bones! He needed a pleasure woman now. When was the last time he'd procured the services of one of those wenches? If you can’t remember that, you’re in bad shape, old man. Mindful of diseases, he kept a pregnancy shield in an inside cloak pocket. Besides, he didn't want to leave any unwanted children behind.
Raising the mug to his mouth, Roric reflected on his new position as palace steward, a responsibility that kept him engaged from dawn and throughout the day, often until the early morning hours. The king had finally insisted he take a day from his duties every nineday. And that was a suggestion he couldn't refuse, he thought, setting his mug down. Still, he missed his parents and the rest of his family, writing to them whenever time permitted, enjoying all their news from home. He sighed. Maybe someday . . .
Thankful none of the military officers or palace staff frequented this tavern, he basked in his temporary anonymity. Soon enough, he'd return to the palace, once more embroiled in all its machinations. Not that he minded the obligations his position entailed, far from it. Yet he walked a perilous path as the palace steward, but also one who must pretend to join in the plot against the king. How much longer would his luck hold out? How much longer could he lead this double life? He drummed his fingers on the oaken table. Sacred shrine! What if Balor found him out?
If Balor should succeed in his assassination--the Goddess forbid!--Roric would consider a plan that had brewed in his mind for a long time. Best if he, Roric, took part in the general's government, hoping to thwart him and eventually overthrow him, then restore Princess Keriam to the throne. Possibly he could even moderate Balor's plans and tame his excesses. What would happen if the general were permitted to run roughshod over the people of Avador? His hands clenched on the table, as if wringing Balor’s neck. If only he could!
Radegunda still resided at the palace, damn the witch! He kept his distance from her, but he wished Keriam would send her away. After Balor was arrested for treason--and he would be--Roric would approach the princess again. He would convince her that Radegunda posed a different kind of threat, but one every bit as menacing.
Draining his mug, Roric contemplated ordering another. He looked around for the serving wench, a pretty, buxom lass with blonde hair and blue eyes, not to mention swaying hips that promised untold pleasures.
She caught his glance and approached his table, a beguiling smile on her face. "May I offer you anything else, sir?"
Roric grinned. "That depends on what you have to offer."
She jerked her head in the direction of the stairs. "Let's find out."
* * *
Three evenings later, Roric left the king's study after a consultation with Tencien concerning a new bridge over the Nantosuelta River, its cost estimate and feasibility of construction before the start of the rainy season, several moonphases away. Now would be a good time to explore the dungeon, while the rest of the palace slept and before he sought his own room. After he traversed the long hallway and hurried down the stone steps to the first floor, he strode past the main hall and the extended walkway until he reached a heavy oaken door beyond the kitchen, one that warded the dungeon.
A lantern hung on the wall outside the dungeon. Using a torch from a wall sconce, he lit the lantern, then opened the creaking door. By the dim light, he passed through and closed the door behind him. He descended the stone stairs, his footsteps cautious on the dark, mold-slippery steps. The lantern light did little to dispel the stygian darkness, the floor jolting him as he reached the bottom.
The stench overwhelmed him, all but making him gag.
Setting the lantern down for a moment, he brushed spider webs from his hair and tunic, his eyes trying to penetrate the darkness. As he moved on, rats scurried out of his way, and a rank odor assailed him, a blend of stale urine and excrement. Cockroaches climbed the walls and skittered along the floor, crawling across his boots.
Roric slapped at the pests. "Damn it, get off!" Walking on, he nearly slipped and fell on the slimy floor but caught himself. He moved more slowly, gaining time to acclimate himself to the layout of the cells.
Under Tencien, the prison had found few occupants, but wisdom warned Roric that situation would change if ever Balor gained the throne. Since the cells remained empty, no guards were posted, but he noted a chair for one guard, and a key rack nailed to the wall above .
Holding the lantern closer, he examined the row of keys, observing they were numbered to correspond with the numbers of the cells. He grabbed a key at random and headed for the matching cell. There, an iron door faced him, with only a tiny opening at the top and one at the bottom for passing in food and water. A simple twist unlocked the cell door, and he stepped inside, his gaze covering a straw pallet--flea-ridden, no doubt--next to the wall, an iron bucket in the corner, and manacles chained to the wall. Anxious to escape the cell's foul odor, he left and closed the heavy door behind him. Four more cells lined this side of the room, an equal number of cells on the opposite side.
A wide wooden door at the end of the dungeon beckoned, and his footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he headed for the door. At the end, Roric raised the iron bar and pushed the door open, only to find a long stone tunnel, reached by descending a few steps. More rats scuttled out of the way as he proceeded along, the tunnel walls dark and slimy. After walking about twenty yards, he came to another set of steps leading upward, a hinged door above his head, no doubt concealed from the outside by a cluster of bushes. With one hard push, he opened the door and caught a cool night breeze, but more than that, information that might prove useful in the future.
How many people know of this tunnel? He'd wager not even the princess knew of it, for royalty didn't concern themselves with such crude matters.
Recollections of Princess Keriam taunted him as he emerged onto the first floor of the palace and strode across the main hall, on the way to the stairs that led to the upper floors. He knew their mutual concern for the king's safety would bring them together more often in the coming days, a prospect that sent his mind racing in different directions. Anticipation grappled with reluctance, for much as her calm, confident demeanor always lightened his mood, he feared enthrallment by her charm.
And it would be a long, long time before he forgot his wife . . . if ever.
* * *
"A moment of your time, Aradia." Keriam waited by a stone statue of Seluvia, the forest goddess, as the steward's widow approached her along the hallway. Fury blazed inside her, but despite Malachy's advice, Keriam could never murder Aradia, even if murder of a witch were possible.
"Yes, madam?" Aradia raised her eyebrows, her musk scent overpowering. Her green silk dress clung to every curve of her body, its neckline much too low for daytime wear.
Keriam tensed, but she would proceed with her plan. She must get the sorceress out of the palace. "Now that Fergus is . . . is dead, I should think you'd want to return to Mag Bregha, to your family."
"Oh, madam, I find I like it quite well here at the palace."
"Well, I find I'd rather have you gone from here. Aradia, I won't pretend I've ever had any fondness for you. And I don't understand why you've remained here so long after Fergus's death." Balor, obviously. "But it's best that you return to Mag Bregha. I'm sure you'll be happier there, away from sad memories." Keriam struggled to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "So I want you to leave no later than the day after tomorrow." Keriam paused, waiting for a reaction from the sorceress, a reaction she didn't get. "Will you need any help with packing your belongings or transporting them?"
"I have few possessions, madam, my clothes and a few trinkets. I can pack them in a case and use the palace carriage, if I may."
"Yes, of course." Keriam paused, at a loss to know what more to say. She dared not touch the witch for fear of the images her touch would invoke. "Well, then, I wish you good fortune in your future endeavors," she said, looking forward to the day she'd be rid of the woman.
But what about Balor? Keriam wondered as Aradia glided down the hallway. Surely Aradia still harbored an affection for the general. King Malachy's warning about the steward's widow returned to trouble her. Keriam couldn't believe this was the end of her association with the sorceress, but apparently it was so.
