“You must have more to you than appears,” Aldis broke the silence first. “But that lies far buried, my lady duchess.” The sober appraisal of that speech became mockery at its close.
Lamp still in hand, Aldis swept a curtsy which made her skirts swing in a graceful swirl not one woman in a hundred could have equaled. “My lady duchess, you are served—pray partake. Doubtless the fare upon which you were forced to break your fast of late has not been of the best.”
She returned the lamp to the table and drew up a stool, her manners a subtly contemptuous counterfeit of a servant’s deference. When Loyse neither moved nor answered, Aldis set forefinger to lip as if puzzled, and then smiled.
“Ah—I have not been named to your fair grace, have I? My name is Aldis, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to this, your city of Kars where you have long been awaited. Now, does it please you to dine, my lady duchess?”
“Is it not rather your city of Kars?” Loyse put no inflection into that question, it was as simply asked as a child might do. She knew not what role might aid her now, but to have Yvian’s mistress underrate his unwilling wife seemed a good move.
Aldis’ smile grew brighter. “Ill-natured tittle-tattle, gossip, such as should never have reached your ears, my lady duchess. When the chatelaine is missing, then there needs must be someone to see that all is done mannerly, as our lord duke would wish. I flatter myself in believing that you shall find little here, your fair grace, that must be changed.”
A threat—a warning? Yet if either, most lightly delivered in a tone which gave no emphasis. But Loyse believed that Aldis had no intention of yielding what power she had here to a wife married for reasons of state.
“The report of your death was a sad blow to our lord duke,” Aldis continued. “Where he was prepared to welcome a bride, came instead an account of an open tower window, a piece of torn robe, and the sea beneath—as if those waves were more welcome than his arms! A most upsetting thought to haunt our lord duke’s pillow by night. And how greatly relieved he was when came that other report—that Loyse of Verlaine had been bewitched out of her senses by those hags of the north, taken by them as hostage. But now all is well again, is it not? You are in Kars with a hundred hundred swords to keep a safe wall between you and the enemy. So eat, my lady duchess, and then rest The hour is not far off when you must look your best to ravish the eyes of your bridegroom.” The mockery was no longer light—cat-claws unsheathed to tear the deeper.
Aldis lifted the covers from the dishes on the tray and the odor of the food turned Loyse’s emptiness into a sudden pain. This was no time for pride or defiance.
She smeared her hand across her eyes as might a child who is come to the end of a crying bout, and got to her feet, clutching at the bed post to steady her steps. A lurch brought her to the table edge and she worked her way along the board to drop onto the stool.
“Poor child! You are indeed foredone—” But Aldis made no move to approach her and for that Loyse was thankful. A small part of her resented fiercely that the other watched while she had to use both hands to bring a goblet to her lips; her weakness was a betrayal.
But Aldis did not matter now. What did was restoring the wavering strength of her body, clearing her head. That Aldis had come here might in turn lead to something. Though Loyse could not yet see the advantage in the visit.
Warmth from the liquid she swallowed spread through her; the surface fear ebbed. Loyse put down the goblet. She did not want a wine-born muzziness clouding her thoughts. Now she pulled a bowl of soup to her and began to spoon it up, the savor of it reaching her. Duke Yvian was well served by his cooks. Against her will Loyse relaxed, relished her supper.
“Boar in red wine,” Aldis commented brightly. “A dish you shall find often before you, lady; since our gracious lord relishes it. Jappon, the chief cook, has a master hand for it. My lord duke expects us to mark his likes and dislikes and be attentive to them.”
Loyse took another sip of wine. “Vintage of a good year,” she commented, striving to hold her voice to the same even lightness. “It would seem that this lord duke of yours has also a palate. I would have believed tavern wine more to his taste, since his first man draughts came from such casks—”
Aldis smiled more sweetly. “Our lord duke does not mind allusions to his somewhat—shall we say—irregular beginnings. That he won Karsten by the might of his sword arm—”
“And the backing of his blank-shields,” Loyse cut in blandly.
“And the loyalty of his followers,” Aldis agreed. “He feels pride in that fact and often speaks of it in company.”
“One who climbs to heights must beware of the footing,” Loyse broke a slice of the nut-flour bread in twain and nibbled its crust.
“One who rises to heights makes very sure that the footing on that height is smoothed,” Aldis countered. “He has learned not to leave aught to chance, for Fortune is fickle.”
“And wisdom must balance all swords,” Loyse replied with a hill proverb. The food had drawn her out of her misery. But—no overconfidence. Yvian was no stupid sword swinger, easily befooled. He had won Karsten by wits as well as fighting. And this Aldis— Walk softly, Loyse, walk softly, beware of every leaf rustle.
“Our lord duke is paramount in all things, with sword, in the council chamber and—in bed. Nor is his body misshapen—”
Loyse hoped her sudden freeze had gone unnoted, but she doubted that. And Aldis’ next oblique shaft confirmed that doubt.
“They speak of great deeds done in the north, and that a certain misborn, misshapen churl who swings a stolen ax there led the van—”
“So?” Loyse yawned and then yawned again. Her fatigue was not pretended. “Rumor always wags a wide tongue. I have eaten; is it now permitted that I sleep?”
“But, my lady duchess, you speak as one who considers herself a prisoner. Whereas you are paramount lady in all Kars and Karsten!”
“A thing I shall keep in mind. But still, that thought, as uplifting as it is, gives me not as much joy as some rest would do. I bid you good eve, my Lady Aldis.”
Another smile, a tinkle of laughter, and she did go.
But nothing covered the sound Loyse listened for—the scrape of key in lock. Paramount lady she might be in Kars, but this night she was also prisoner within this chamber—and the key lay in other hands. Loyse sucked her lower lip against her teeth as she considered what that might lead to.
She gave the room a measuring survey. The uncurtained bed, as was usual in a room of state, stood on a two step dais above the flooring. There were windows in two walls. But as she loosed the inner shutters of one after another, she discovered beyond a netting of metal mesh through which she might thrust her fingers to the second joint, but no farther to freedom.
There was a chest against the far wall, wherein lay some garments she did not examine past the first glance. But she was still tired, her whole body ached to stretch out on the bed. There was one more task she set herself to, and it was one which left her weak and trembling. Sleep she must, but no one would come upon her unawares, for the table was now an inner barrier across the door.
Though she was so tired she felt that it would require a vast effort to raise her hand to her head, sleep did not come as Loyse lay there, staring up into the rafter frame which had supported canopy and curtains. She had not turned down the lamp and that made a fine glow by which she could see every part of the chamber.
In the past she had known a similar disquiet—strongest of all in that temple or shrine of the forgotten race where the hidden passages of Verlaine opened to the clean sky. The hidden ways of Verlaine . . . For a moment it was as if their dankness, the acrid odor of them, was about her now. Witchcraft! You could sniff it when you had known it before. Loyse’s nostrils pinched as she drew in a deep lungful of air. After all, she did not know all the secrets of Estcarp—and once before she had had a part of one here in Kars, while she and Jaelithe had fished in many pools for such scraps of information as might aid the northern cause. So there could still be agents of the Guardians hereabouts.