Sara Douglass – The Axis Trilogy 2 – Enchanter

Jayme had been quick to seize these rumours and make them his own — Faraday wondered if they had been his all along.

“He has been struck by a miasma of the Forbidden,” Jayme had ventured, and many had listened. “Their evil presence has stretched right into the heart of Carlon to implant the noxious notion of an alliance with them into Priam’s mind.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Now all can see how the Forbidden work, now all can see the wickedness of their actions. Has not the Seneschal been teaching this for many hundreds of years? Is this not why we drove the Forbidden from our fair land in the first instance?”

And with the rumours and the King’s increasing madness, Faraday’s hopes died. Borneheld would take the throne and throw all Achar’s resources against Axis. Now the brothers would tear Achar apart in their hatred for each other, tear it apart until finally they stood sword to sword in the Chamber of the Moons. As th< vision had foretold.

Faraday bowed her head, trying to rub away her tears.

Borneheld had stayed with Priam constantly, and all remarked on the devotion that he showed his uncle. Day after day Borneheld had followed Priam about the corridors, offering him comfort, and holding his chalice for him so that Priam could wet his throat whenever he became thirsty. And when Priam had finally collapsed into his bed, Borneheld had helped care for him. Holding his head as Priam drank from the chalice, wiping his lips as he lowered his uncle’s head to the pillow.

Faraday did not believe the charade of devotion for an instant. In those hours when he was not at Priam’s side, Borneheld whispered with Jayme or one of his advisers. Gilbert hung about their apartments like an evil shadow, and Moryson glided along the corridors, the hood of his robe pulled close about his face.

Solicitous during the day, at night Borneheld slept badly, tossing at Faraday’s side, his hands gripping the sheets. He muttered in his dreams, but Faraday could not catch his words, and the one night she had awoken him to save him from his nightmares and offer him a drink of water, he had screamed and struck the goblet from her hands.

After that Borneheld slept in another room, saying Faraday no longer pleased him and her presence disturbed his sleep. Grateful for her empty bed, Faraday nevertheless wondered.

Judith leaned back, and Faraday gave her a fresh cloth.

“I thank you,” Judith murmured, then leant back to her husband’s- dying.

Four days ago, when Faraday had sent Judith to snatch some sleep, she had sat by Priam’s bedside and laid her hands on the man. She had reached for the power of the Mother so she could heal Priam as she had healed Axis.

But Faraday had reeled back from the King’s prone form almost instantly. What she had felt underneath her hands had been no natural illness. Dark enchantments had writhed beneath the King’s skin. For long minutes Faraday had sat shaking, waving away a servant’s murmured concerns. Enchantments? But how? By whom?

She had no dearth of suspects for the murder of Priam. Borneheld, obviously, but the whole Brotherhood of the Seneschal would doubtless fight for the privilege of slipping a knife into Priam’s back, and Faraday also wondered if some of the nobles thought they might have too much to lose if the King concluded an alliance with the Icarii and Avar.

And yet who among all those could wield dark enchantments? Faraday had felt the power, but she could not understand it. It was like and yet totally unlike what she had felt from Axis.

Priam was in the final grips of a murder, and a murder effected by enchantment.

Embeth put a hand on Faraday’s arm, bringing the woman back into the present. Faraday nodded her thanks, and realised that Jayme had reached across the bed and touched Judith’s hand.

“I am sorry, my Queen, but I must commence the Service soon. Priam, well, he has only a small amount of time left.”

Judith took a great gulping breath, her fragile shoulders heaving, then nodded. “Begin, Brother-Leader.”

Jayme began intoning the Service of Passage, the age-old service meant to ease the soul of the dying into the next world. The words were beautiful and comforting, exhorting not only the dying to meet his maker with joy and thankfulness, but exhorting all those who grieved to remember that on the other side of death Artor waited to receive Priam into His eternal care. It was the duty of the dying to make a good death, to remember his faults and his sins so that Artor would accept him into His care, and it was the duty of those witnessing the death to make sure that the dying made their death the best one possible.

Faraday watched Jayme carefully, trying to discern the slightest note of satisfaction in his voice, the faintest gleam of triumph in his eyes. But if Jayme felt any of these emotions, he hid them well.

“Priam,” he asked very softly, resting his three middle fingers on the King’s waxen forehead, “listen to me. You must bind yourself to Artor’s care, but you must remember that He will only receive you into His care once you have confessed your faults, flaws and sins. Priam, confess your sins now, that Artor may receive you with love.”

Priam’s eyelids opened. His cracked lips moved soundlessly, and Jayme motioned to Borneheld for the chalice.

“Drink, my King,” Jayme whispered, “drink so that you may confess your sins.”

Faraday stared at the chalice for a moment, disturbed. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her stomach. The more she stared at the chalice, the more she realised that there was something evil, shadowed, about it. Dark letters hovered about its rim, and Faraday felt her marrow chill. It was the source of the dark enchantment that killed Priam!

Nonetheless, Priam seemed to have been revived by the sip of water. He started to mumble, and Judith’s eyes filled with tears — he was remembering the early years of their marriage, when all had seemed so bright, so full of life, when they were still convinced that healthy children lay only a year or two into the future. Unusually for a court-arranged union, Judith and Priam had enjoyed a marriage filled with love, even when disappointment at their childlessness sometimes threatened to overwhelm them.

“Yes, yes,” Jayme encouraged Priam, his eyes gleaming strangely, “confess all, confess all that Artor may receive you.” Faraday stared at Jayme. He and Borneheld had handled the chalice. How was it they stayed healthy and Priam sickened? She averted her eyes, but her gaze was instantly caught by Moryson. What was the man doing? He was standing behind Jayme and Borneheld, the hood of his robe pulled close, but Faraday could see his lips moving silently and his eyes riveted on the chalice.

As Faraday stared Moryson suddenly lifted his eyes to hers…and grinned.

Faraday shuddered. The man’s eyes were as ice, and they bore relentlessly into her own.

“Faraday?” Embeth murmured at her side, and Faraday finally tore her eyes away from Moryson.

When next she looked Moryson had his eyes back on the King, his face a mask of sorrow.

A spasm crossed Priam’s face, and his entire body convulsed. Judith gave a soft cry of distress and grasped Priam’s hand as tightly as she could. A trickle of bloodied froth issued from Priam’s gaping mouth, and Embeth leaned over and wiped it away. The King’s eyes now stared sightlessly at the canopy of his bed and his breath came in great uneven gasps.

Judith’s mouth trembled, but she whispered to her husband words of love and farewell.

Then Priam rallied, and reached out a quavering hand. He pulled Judith’s head close to his mouth. He whispered into her ear. Faraday saw Judith’s entire body stiffen in reaction.

Finally Judith sat back, her face impassive. Priam’s head sank down onto the pillow, his fingers trailed down Judith’s face one last time, and then he died.

There was silence. After Priam’s incoherent madness of the past weeks, his end had been surprisingly peaceful.

Finally it was Moryson who spoke. “The King is dead,” he said, and turned to Borneheld. “Long live the King.”

A strange expression crossed Borneheld’s face, then Jayme pulled the amethyst ring of office from Priam’s finger and slipped it onto Borneheld’s thick digit. “Long live the King,” Jayme intoned. “King Borneheld.”

Faraday, watching, experienced a feeling of unreality.

Borneheld’s eyes, burning with naked triumph, met hers above the bed. “My Queen,” he said.

Faraday slipped quietly into Judith’s chambers. She had spent the past three hours helping Judith and Embeth lay Priam’s body out. The passing of a King required formal ceremonies, prayers, rituals, and the washing and preparing of Priam’s body to lie in state. As Priam’s widow, Judith had overseen all of this, her fragile face calm, emotionless. Her demeanour, as always, gracious and regal. But Faraday had seen that Judith was close to collapse, and now wanted to make sure she was resting as comfortably as her grief would allow.