Darkburn Book 3: The Gates of Kelvha by Tayin Machrie - HTML preview

Chapter 28

“The Lady Janeya is deeply distressed,” she told Nerogun with all the aloof dignity that she could muster. But no emotion, because Nerogun liked distress, and she would not give him the gratification of seeing her own.

It had taken her a while to track down the Post-Regent. Eventually she had found the Sergeant of the Guard, who told her sombrely that Lorolo had been dragged off, not to the Tell Tower, as she had expected, but to the dungeons underneath the armoury.

Meya was not sure if that boded worse or better for Lorolo than the Tell Tower. She felt some sympathy for him, but did not allow herself to feel too much, because he had got himself into this position. He must have known how totally forbidden his actions were. A low-born, foreign, vain and foolish boy.

When she descended the damp stone steps into the basement where the dungeons were, she felt the chill wrap itself around her like a shroud. It was dark, the gloom barely made coherent by the scattered flaring torches set along the wall.

She saw Nerogun there in the shadowy tunnel ahead of her, talking to the armourer Iajo: a mannerless brute of a man whom she knew little and liked less. She did not approve of the way his eyes raked over her as she approached. Ignoring him, she addressed herself only to Nerogun.

“Oh, Janeya is very distressed, I am sure,” said Nerogun with a sneer. “Most dismayed at having her debauchery found out. And with a foreign slave! Did she think no-one would ever realise?”

“I have no idea what you may think you know, my lord,” answered Meya stiffly, “but I can assure you that as far as I am concerned, Lorolo’s uninvited assault on the Lady Janeya came as a complete shock to her.”

“Oh, yes, very shocked she looked when I walked in on them! Quite aghast, with her petticoat around her ankles!”

Iajo laughed. Meya wondered if she dared reprove him – dared reprove either of them – and decided not. It was clear that Janeya had been spied upon and betrayed to Nerogun; probably by one of the maids. But for Meya to express any sympathy with Janeya would be most unwise.

“May I see the prisoner?” she asked. The three heavy dungeon doors were all closed, the small barred windows in each one obscured by shutters. Whichever of the dungeons held Lorolo, she could hear nothing. Not so much as a whimper.

“You wouldn’t want to,” said Iajo with a leer. “Not a pretty sight, at present.”

It crossed her mind that he might already be dead. And that that might be the best thing for all concerned. “He will be whipped, of course, and returned to his home town in disgrace,” she said coolly.

“Whipping will be the least of it,” said Nerogun.

“And the Lady Janeya?” she said.

“What of the low, degraded, shameless bitch?”

She looked him full in the face. “My Lord, she is a high lady of the castle. I trust you will not speak of her that way before her uncle.” The Keeper of the Keys was of high standing if not high understanding. Janeya’s father had stood higher still amongst Kelvhan nobility; it was a shame, she thought, that he was dead.

“Melegan has been too lax with her. She may have deluded him – he’s not the brightest spark – but she does not cozen me. I will speak of her exactly how she is,” retorted the Post-Regent.

“What do you intend to do with her?” asked Meya as calmly as she could.

“I will consider.”

“Exile?” It came to her that once she herself was married, she could offer Janeya a home outside the castle. Although it was hardly fair to embroil Huldarion in this scandal, she ought to do all that she could.

But Nerogun was shaking his head. “Oh, no, I think exile is too easy on her. I think she should be publicly disgraced.”

Meya was about to ask why; but her mind leapt immediately to the answer. She knew why.

Because the idle and benevolent Melegan, she thought, is not to Nerogun’s liking. Nerogun wants the Keeper of the Keys brought down by several rungs, and his power redistributed. She had a strong instinct about who the new Keeper of the Keys might be.

She could say none of this. Instead she dropped a low, respectful curtsey. “While you complete your deliberations, may the Lady Janeya return to her own quarters?”

“No, she may not.”

“Then perhaps it is best if I keep her in my rooms for now,” said Meya. “They are secure. Being on the ground floor, my windows are barred. May I ask the Sergeant to appoint a guard to be set outside my door?”

Nerogun frowned, but he could hardly object to that. “For now,” he said. He gave her a dismissive wave of the hand, and then began to turn away; but she persisted.

“My lord, I ask you to say nothing publicly of this affair until the full truth can be ascertained.”

At that he turned back to her with a sneer. “Oh, you’re worried about Huldarion, are you? Afraid that he’ll back out of the marriage once he discovers what the Kelvhan ladies get up to?”

“I imagine that you would not want that to happen,” she said evenly. And that did make the Post-Regent consider for a moment. He chewed his lip.

“Hah! All right. We’ll keep it quiet until he’s ridden away to battle.”

“When will that be?”

“I thought you’d know all his plans,” said Nerogun with another sneer. “And you must say nothing to him of it either. No going whining to him and asking him to intervene on the whore’s behalf! This is Kelvhan business, and it stays inside the castle.”

“I would not dream of mentioning it, my lord,” she said, and dropped another cold curtsey before walking away. When she was half-way to the stairs Iajo made some inaudible comment and both men laughed.

She left the clammy darkness of the dungeons and ascended with relief into the sunshine. The Sergeant was soon found, and two men were dispatched to stand guard outside her door. The Sergeant asked no questions and she offered no explanations. The guards would not stop Nerogun if he decided to enter and remove Janeya; but their presence might make him decide that such removal was unnecessary.

She returned to Janeya’s own quarters – inhabited at present only by a lower maid who was weeping as she swept – and organised the packing up of clothes and other items that Janeya might need. Janeya would sleep in Meya’s bed: Meya would sleep in her maid’s bed, Piril could have the couch, and her own maid, Eral, would have to make shift for herself somewhere. She deplored the upheaval that was necessary.

Next she visited the kitchens to arrange for food to be delivered to her rooms.

“For how long?” asked Hilfa, the second cook, in surprise and faint exasperation.

“I don’t yet know. The Lady Janeya is unwell.” Meya hesitated. Some rumour or other was bound to reach the kitchens before long. “She has been upset by the unwanted advances of a lower ranking man. She needs quiet company at present.”

“Hah,” said Hilfa. “We know all about that sort of thing.” She nodded over her shoulder. “The other one with unwanted advances. Any news yet about moving her?”

“Not yet,” said Meya, turning to look at the scullery-maid, Felipa, who stood pale and listless by the sink. That was another task she must not leave too late. While it was fresh in her mind she returned to the servants’ hall to see Greshal for the second time that day, and asked him to arrange for an alternative posting for the pregnant girl.

At least Janeya is not pregnant, she thought. Dear stars, I hope not. What a complication that would be.

“I can probably arrange to get the maid a place in Outer Kelvha,” said Greshal. “On a farm or some such. And Lorolo?”

“I think it certain that he will be removed from his post permanently. You need take no action.”

“He was an obliging boy,” said Greshal. He made no further comment. But his face was grim and set. He knew how the castle worked. Meya, for the first time, felt a little shame and sick apprehension at the thought of what Lorolo might now be suffering – if he were still alive.

Forget it, ignore it, there is nothing you can do, she advised herself as she walked back through the winding passages of the castle. Lorolo was guilty. He must have known that leading Janeya on would be disastrous.

But what if he loved her?

Meya thought about Huldarion, whom she did not love. She did not understand what love was, unless if were love for a child. And then her mind turned to Aliya: how she must protect her daughter from anything like this, from any possibility of this constricted, shackled life lived under such surveillance. It had not seemed like a prison to Meya when she was young, but she was wiser now.

Tonight I must dine again with Huldarion, she thought. And say nothing of all these dreadful things. The idea of him sitting opposite her made her shiver; yet with no fear, except of all that she now had to hide. There was something else there in her shiver when she thought of him. Anticipation. She could admit that to herself. And interest in the man behind the scars.

But she would not visit him in his room again just yet. Especially not just now. She still did not know how to talk to him. Bedding him was the easy part. Everything else was not. She already felt she had given away too much of herself: and now these added secrets… To talk to him would be doubly difficult.

All the same, she remembered that she needed to let Huldarion know about the adulterated wine. She might be hard-pressed to do that this evening. But if he was forced to drink it, at least the unknown drug would be diluted.

That reminded her of Boral and Shebel, whom she had abandoned in the sick-room several hours ago. Meya returned there now and found it empty. She sat down heavily on one of the beds and closed her eyes, letting her shoulders slump for a moment now that nobody was watching.

I am like a jay, she mused somewhat bitterly, a well-adorned and bustling bird that hurries round the castle in an endless search for buried acorns. Or trying to bury acorns where others will not find them. What chance have I against the watching crows? And what will I need to bury next?

Eventually she stood up, squared her shoulders and walked briskly back to her own rooms where the pair of guards now stood barring the way.

“I trust I am allowed into my own chamber,” she said severely to the men, who looked a little shame-faced as they stepped aside for her. As soon as she entered, she saw why they had appeared abashed. Janeya was still there, thankfully, but so were two other ladies – Sina, which was bad enough – and, worse still, Durba, the mute Rider of the Vonn.

She strode back to reprimand the guards. “What are they doing here? Why did you let them in?”

“They were already in your chambers when we arrived on duty, ma’am,” one muttered.

“It’s quite true,” said Sina, who had followed Meya to the door and now spoke with unaccustomed boldness. “My maid told me Janeya was in trouble, so I came straight here to see how I could help.”

“But the Rider!” Meya was appalled at the stranger’s presence. The mute woman had strolled up to join Sina and was holding her arm; so Meya marched the pair of them back into the parlour, closing all the doors behind her to make sure that there was no chance of the guards overhearing anything. She was thankful for the certainty that her chambers held no spyholes.

“I saw Durba in the corridor and I asked her to accompany me,” said Sina.

“You what?”

“Durba is my friend,” said Sina, in a voice much louder than her usual mouse’s squeak. “Her presence gives me courage.” Meya scrutinised her with some amazement. Sina had indeed shown courage for one normally so timid.

But to drag a Rider into the middle of this mess…

“Lady Durba’s presence means the spreading of rumour and potential scandal straight into the Riders’ camp,” she told Sina reprovingly.

“No, it doesn’t. She can’t speak.”

“She can write.”

“But she won’t. She’s discreet – aren’t you, Durba?”

The woman nodded. Meya had no faith in her discretion; but it was too late now. She strode into her bedroom to find Janeya, who was lying stretched out on the bed – no longer crying, thank the stars, although her face was damp and streaked with tears.

On Meya’s entrance she sat up at once. “How is Lorolo? Have you seen him? Where is he?”

Meya found it difficult to answer. “I haven’t seen him. Nerogun has him held somewhere. I’m not sure where exactly. But not in the Tell Tower, I know that much,” she added, for the tower was notorious for holding prisoners: or rather, for not holding them. Too many supposed suicides had been found lying at its base for anyone to contemplate a stay there without fear.

Janeya let out a shuddering sigh that might have been relief. “What will happen to him?”

“I don’t know.” Meya sat down on the bed, and tried to take Janeya in her arms. It was not successful; the girl pulled away. So she sat back again. “I have suggested to Nerogun that Lorolo should be exiled – sent back home.”

Janeya nodded dully and put her hands up to her cheeks. “I pray they’ll do so,” she murmured. Although Meya thought it unlikely that that was all that Lorolo would suffer, she made no comment.

Not a word from Janeya about what might happen to her. She probably hadn’t even thought about it yet. So Meya would have to.

Public disgrace, Nerogun had said. What form would that take? It would not be pretty. The precedents were not good. She patted Janeya’s unresponding hand, whilst thinking of the Lady Chireya, who had been at the centre of those whispered stories fifteen years ago – her affair with the castle steward, her disgrace and eventual suicide. A fall from the Tell Tower, naturally. And the steward had ranked much higher than poor Lorolo. Although the old king had still been alive then, his health was poor; Nerogun was already Regent in all but name.

Oh, Janeya, she thought. What do I do with you? Once I am married to Huldarion I might be able to take you out of here – but only if Nerogun lets me. If he allows you to stay alive that long.

And he certainly will not let me if I seem to care too much about you. He takes pleasure in thwarting me: a woman who does what she wants is anathema to him. So I must be cautious.

“I need to change my dress, and go to dinner with the nobles,” she told Janeya. “Nothing will be said about you there. Nerogun is happy to keep the matter quiet.” For the moment. “Food will be brought here for you and the maids. So stay calm and try to rest until I come back.”

When she bent again and attempted to kiss Janeya, the girl turned her face away. Meya shrugged mentally. She knew she was at present the most useful friend Janeya had inside the castle, and it was a pity Janeya did not realise it.

She turned to Sina. “Do you wish to stay here with her?”

Sina nodded.

“Very well. But I am afraid Lady Durba must leave,” said Meya firmly. Sina was beginning to remonstrate when Durba stilled her with an embrace and many gestures. Sina clung to her, but Durba gently put her aside. She mouthed Tomorrow, and bowed to Meya before walking from the room.

After Meya had changed her dress – neither high-born girl offering her any privacy, which annoyed her slightly – she spoke to the two maids, Eral and Piril, counselling them not to leave Janeya unattended. She was stern with them, she knew. For who had betrayed Janeya? She had thought Piril a steady maid-servant, but somebody had given Janeya away to Nerogun: somebody close enough to see what was going on.

And now at her harsh tone the girl began to weep, sobs wrung painfully out of her. It was exasperating. Piril was not normally so feeble – not like some of the other maids.

“What is it, Piril?” she demanded.

The girl shook her head. Meya’s own maid Eral gave her an appealing look. So Meya took Eral aside and listened to her faint apologetic murmurs.

“My lady, Piril did not mean for this to happen. But the Lord Post-Regent commanded her to keep a watch on Lady Janeya, and to let him know if she was to meet Lorolo.”

“I see.”

“The Lord Nerogun said that – well, you see, the thing is, Piril has a brother working in the stables, and he – he – well, the Lord Post-Regent said he had been…” Eral took a deep breath and leaned forward to mouth in Meya’s ear. “Caught with another stable-boy.”

Meya nodded resignedly, and turned to the weeping maid. “Piril. You did both wrong and right. The Lord Nerogun must be obeyed, but betraying your mistress was wrong.”

“Lord Nerogun already knew about Lorolo,” Piril whispered.

What did he not know? The thought froze Meya’s heart. Janeya had been watched through the spyholes, or followed on Nerogun’s orders, doubtless. Spies everywhere. And Nerogun just waiting for his chance to seize his prey.

“Well, what’s done is done,” she said. “But your mistress is in great trouble, Piril. Be loyal to her now. Support her in any way that you are able.”

The maid controlled her sobs at last. “Yes, ma’am. I will, I promise. But – but, what about my brother?”

“You have done all you can for him,” said Meya. She doubted very much if the stable-boy would be pardoned, no matter how many orders Piril followed. The ways of the castle would not allow it.

I hate this place, she thought suddenly and vehemently, and then was shocked: for it was something she had never thought before. Her devotion to Kelvha, its great castle and its ancient families had shaped her life.

Yet she was aware of a double strand of thought about her home. Proud of the castle’s long history, she had sometimes vowed she would do anything to save it from destruction. Even so she did not want her daughter to grow up here. Increasingly she saw the hollowness behind the imperious walls and fine adornments: the castle’s very fabric seemed to be full of holes.

How much of that is due to Nerogun? she wondered, as the guards let her out of her own quarters. Lifting her heavy skirts so that they did not brush the cobbles, she crossed the courtyard, aware that she was surely watched from some high window or another.

Nerogun has made Kelvha strong, she thought. When the old king grew weak it was Nerogun who forged alliances, fought the rebels, and strengthened both our borders and our trade. Kelvha has seldom been so prosperous as it is now – thanks to him.

And the castle’s spyholes predate Nerogun by centuries. The customs have not changed. So what right do I have to complain?