Milady’s Wiles             by: Brandy Dewinter, with the invaluable assistance of P.J. Wright

 

Chapter 14 - Winterfair Day

If the trip to North Vale had been a saga of increasing discomfort, the trip back to Stalwart Guard was an odyssey of unbearable torture. The storm that had been the trigger for Strane’s murder had been expected to blow through and allow a few more days of moderate weather. Instead, the clouds had lowered even further and the temperature had dropped low enough that only the continued rain kept frost from forming.

It was apparent the next morning that we would never make it all the way back in our carriage. Instead, we rode horses. Baron Spencer provided sturdy carts for our baggage, including the body of Strane pic-kled in alcohol and packed in a keg.

I knew beyond doubt that when the time came for me to pay for my sin of murder my penance would be more of this trip. Unending rain caused unending mud that spattered everywhere on this unending journey. The itches under my maiden’s lover that had been irritating on the trip out and constantly troublesome in the ten days we had spent in North Vale became a screeching demand for impossible attention with each jolt and stagger and slip of my horse as we forced our way along a road turned to glue.

The trip out took four days. The trip back took eight, and even then it only ended because we required grooms to hold lanterns in our path so that we could reach the gates of Stalwart Guard long after dark. No matter how tired we were, and I was so exhausted I had to be helped down from my saddle, Mother knew nothing was more important that relief from our steel prisons. She had the water heated even as we were entering the gates and I slipped into the warm embrace before saying a single word. Julia was not far behind. It was the only time in my whole masquerade that I couldn’t be troubled to open my eyes to look at her slender form when she slipped into the water.

Mother had even provided brushes, stiff enough to assuage the screa-ming itches without being hard enough to damage our already-distressed skin. I scrubbed all the places I could reasonably reach then began to work on Julia’s back. She returned the favor as soon as the worst of her own torments had been relieved. Then we slipped down in to the heavenly warmth and tried not to fall asleep lest we drown.

"An hour ago I would have sworn that I never wanted to be wet again," I mused.

"An hour ago, I was just swearing," Julia replied, humor re-entering her body with the life-giving heat from the bath.

Mother began to wash my hair. She clucked and worried about the damage that the bad weather and limited cleansing had caused, but nothing was worth worrying about right then.

Julia’s hair was in no better shape but it responded to Mother’s gen-tle ministrations, too. While for Julia it was humor, a sign of returning life in me was my interest in Julia’s form as she leaned her elbows against the edge of the tub. She saw my gaze, even if Mother did not (or at least pretended not to notice), but this time her grin and wink indi-cated pleasure in my pleasure and appreciation. I think she got out of the tub more slowly than was her typical practice, offering me finger-span by finger-span of additional exposure.

If the water had been any shallower, I think my response would have showed regardless of how low I settled into the slowly-cooling tub. It didn’t help that Julia wore a thick, warm robe rather than her usual thin silk. At least, it didn’t help enough. After all we had been through together, after all the indignities that circumstances had forced us to weather together, after sharing a murder, for the love of God you would have thought I’d be past embarrassment at my physical response.

Well, you wouldn’t have thought it if you looked. The bright color on my cheeks was matched by a darkly red evidence of excitement that wasn’t going to diminish any time soon.

Mother noticed. How could she not? "Dear, that’s not going to be very comfortable."

"I believe I am aware of that," I said tightly.

"The palace hairdresser will simply not hear of you going to bed with wet, tangled hair so you both have to suffer his ministrations before you retire," she explained. "Considering the condition your hair was in when we started cleaning it, I suspect he is right. But that means we need to continue or it will be dawn before you even get to bed."

Continue. Such a simple word for such a trial. Still the maiden’s lovers had been cleaned while we bathed, the residue of a month of con-stant contact with our bodies removed and the inner side oiled. The silken tubes that had been our only protection from the steel were ruined beyond repair, but at least these could be replaced with new ones now that we were home. Once I was ready to take my part in our activities, Julia removed her robe. Mother provided Julia and I with sharp blades to remove the body hair that had grown surprisingly little under our devices. Oil applied directly to the skin aided a moisturization that had been des-perately needed. When we had completed all the preparation steps we could reasonably include, Mother began the laborious task of lacing us into our tormentors.

Actually, the fit was not too bad this time. My waist had shrunk considerably and what fat I had had redistributed to hips and bosom. Even without the maiden’s lover I might be able to wear Mother’s gowns.

Now why was that desirable?

Only in one area was the fit distressingly uncomfortable. However, as it had done so frequently before, that very discomfort eventually brought about a reduction in the distress, leaving it compressed enough to minimize further problems.

Once we were safely locked away Mother handed us robes and we were led into the outer chamber. The palace hairdresser insisted that we spend what was left of the night with our hair wrapped around short, thick wooden pegs, but by then we were too tired to care. Someone, I never knew who, practically carried us to bed and I fell into a pit so deep that minor distractions like wooden pegs and compressed intimacies had no relevance.

The next morning they had relevance. Of course my maiden’s lover always had relevance in my life. Even the change in my body shape that made it less painful did nothing to relax the stiffness at the bosom and the rigidity in the nether plate. What was less expected was the effect the wooden pegs had on my hair. Great, bouncing curls remained behind when they were removed the next morning. With these energetic yet de-lightfully feminine shapes to build upon the palace hairdresser provided us with unfettered hair that was nonetheless formally styled. A new style of formality, to be sure, but wonderfully elegant. Gowns to take advan-tage of this energy were selected and we went to the throne room with joyful exuberance.

Neither the joy nor the exuberance lasted very long. Lyonidas held an inquisition into the death of Strane that was frankly hostile. Ac-tually, Lyonidas was silent while Reynal was hostile. He started in on Julia as soon as Mother took her seat.

"What were you doing when Strane met his untimely death?"

I interrupted her response. Perhaps a month in charge of an indepen-dent party had awakened within me a sense of responsibility. Whatever the reason, I would not stand idly by while someone attacked one who had been part of my group.

My eyes locked on Lyonidas while I spoke, though my words were for Reynal. I did not use the simpering voice I had once used. Instead, I spoke in calm, reasoning tones, using only the musical animation of a feminine voice to force Reynal to accept my intercession.

"Excuse me, General, but could you explain what is going on?"

He sputtered a bit, but I still looked only at Lyonidas. In his eyes I saw pain and embarrassment and guilt, and even a bit of fear that I knew was not for himself. I felt the power of the white-cold mind building within me and I knew I could use any of those seams in the tapestry of his mind to insinuate suggestions he already appeared half ready to accept. I would not, though. This was not a time for coercion, not of Lyonidas. I let a memory of our last kiss float up into my own eyes, balanced by sadness of my own that one who had been so close to me would trust me so little.

General Reynal was speaking by this time and I let his words become part of my conscious thoughts.

"We are trying to get to the bottom of what happened to Lord Strane."

I finally let my eyes move from Lyonidas to Reynal and asked, "Have you read the reports we provided?"

"Yes, but there are several irregularities," claimed Reynal.

"Which things in the reports, specifically, seem irregular?" I asked, still speaking in dulcet tones of sweet reason, eminently ready to help in any way that I could. As long as that did not involve interrogation of my people directly.

"I don’t believe Strane would just slip on some steps and fall hard enough to break his neck!" Reynal declared.

"Have you inspected Lord Strane’s body?" I was finding that the Queen’s technique of asking questions instead of answering them was pretty effective.

"Yes, and the damage is not right."

"His neck is not broken?" This earned him the derision of an ele-gantly lofted eyebrow.

"No, it is broken, all right, but not from a fall," Reynal asserted.

"Have you seen the steps at North Vale?"

"No, but, . . ."

I interrupted again, "Then on what basis do you make that claim?"

"Strane would not have fallen. He was the most sure-footed rock climber in High Canyon."

"Did you know he often went to that balcony with Lady Julia?" Now I was controlling the questions, sending them into a tangent that Reynal had not expected.

"Yes, but . . ."

"Do you know what they would do on that balcony?" This brought a nice gasp from the audience in the throne room.

Reynal just snorted, but my eyes were back on Lyonidas, and I spoke again before Reynal formed an answer.

"It seems that some men of High Canyon visit Achaiean maidens on high balconies. Sometimes they kiss." I let pain that was only too real into my eyes as I said this and then let my eyes drop when I continued. "Sometimes, I suppose, the men of High Canyon even enjoy this experience enough to look forward to doing it again."

I sighed, still looking down, then with a shrug I looked up and care-fully avoided Lyonidas’ eyes. "Though I wouldn’t know about that. Still, Lady Julia has told me that Strane kissed her the night before. He seemed most anxious to return with her to the balcony that evening, though it was raining. She hesitated at the doorway and slipped."

Now I turned to look Reynal directly in the face and gathered up the power of the white-cold mind to full purpose. My voice hardened with righteous anger as I continued, "General Reynal, Strane was a man whom my closest friend found appealing enough that she would consent to his kiss. He gave his life to protect her from injury. I don’t care whether he was from Achaiea, or High Canyon, or some place we’ve never heard of, that was a noble gesture. I will not have you degrade the nobility of an honorable man with accusations formed from ignorance. You have the sworn statements of your own men that this was an accident. You have the sworn statements of Achaiean nobles that this was an accident. Will nothing satisfy you except more blood?"

I had reinforced this claim with all the power of the white-cold mind that I could call upon. Reynal wanted to believe that Strane had died a noble death rather than an ignoble one. His only possible murderer was Julia and the thought that a mere girl could have beaten a warrior of High Canyon was distasteful to him. With these existing desires to build on Reynal was no longer a problem even as I finished speaking.

Lyonidas was another matter. I refused to use the special powers of my mind on him. I don’t know why, but I would not extend the lie I was living to even greater deceit. Instead, I looked at him then moved to kneel at his feet.

With head bowed as though to the executioner’s axe, I offered, "If only blood will satisfy you, then take mine. No one is more responsible for his death than me."

Sometimes the best way to lie is with the absolute truth. The con-viction in my voice needed no special enhancement since it was true. Regardless of the falsehoods I had showered on Reynal, I had not lied to Lyonidas. And so I had not had to use the power of my mind to impress on him belief in a lie, however desirable.

His large hands reached down to me, one to cup my chin and gently force me to look up, another extended in an offer of support in rising. I let my hand accept his offer and let him help me to my feet.

Though I had not used any powers beyond those available to all women, still there was conviction in his eyes as great as that I had imposed on Reynal.

"Let there be no more talk of this," Lyonidas pronounced. "Strane died in an accident and no further pain will change that fact. Come, let us all take an early lunch and have you tell us of your journey."

He glanced at Reynal for acceptance but that was already in place. Though it would have been more proper for Lyonidas to escort Mother, he did not relinquish his hold on my hand and we walked to the dining hall together. Neither Mother nor Julia had said a word in the inquisition, though both wore small smiles of gently surprised appreciation for the way things had turned out.

The rest of the day went much better. Julia’s sharp wit found humor, now that it was in the past, in things that had been impossibly unpleasant at the time. It seemed that each clod of mud that had hit me in the face had been deliberately aimed by a particularly accurate horse, coinciden-tally the one that she was riding. She, on the other hand, had stayed pristinely clean throughout the journey, though she had slipped in unno-ticed since the drenched woman on the horse next to me had clearly been someone else, not the elegant Julia.

While she was entertaining the dinner guests, Lyonidas leaned over and whispered to me, "Did you visit any balconies while you were there?"

I nodded, a small smile playing at my eyes.

"Did you visit them with anyone?"

This time I shook my head in negation. I could see the humor in his eyes, the promise that I had once wanted so much. Yet now I only wanted Julia’s kisses, right? Why did the smile on his lean face interest me so much? Why did my breath get short at the thought of standing once again on a balcony with Lyonidas?

I felt the flush building in my cheeks even as I pointedly leaned back to listen to Julia’s latest story. After a moment, when I glanced back, Lyonidas was still looking at me with that humor in his eyes. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I let my own glance slip downward to study the frilly cuff on my elegant gown until the corner of my awareness absorbed that he had leaned back into his own seat.

There was no chance to find out what balcony excursions he might have wanted that week, nor the next. The autumn storms had come in earnest for that year, making all exposed parts of the castle too unpleasant for noc-turnal exploration. Instead, after supper I would retire to my rooms, to my music, to my studies, to my painting. Usually I would play for a while before turning to quieter pursuits. After my room had fallen silent one evening Minah knocked discreetly, then entered.

"You play very will, Highness," she said.

"It’s nice that you think so," I smiled in return.

A conspiratorial grin lit her face as she said, "Oh, I’m not the only one who thinks so."

She was begging for a question, but she didn’t have to beg too hard.

I gave her what she wanted immediately. "Who?"

"Well," she giggled like a happy child, "it seems Milord Regent has found occasion to wander by your rooms most evenings lately. He stands outside while you play, then moves on when you stop."

"Lyonidas listens to me play?" I needed confirmation.

"Yes, Highness, nearly every evening."

"Hmm," I mused, "then Minah, this is what I want you to do . . ."

A few nights later tunes of High Canyon found there way into my prac-tice sessions. Minah had found someone who knew some of Lyonidas’ favorites. I had no idea how Minah found out what I needed, or who she asked, but she seemed to me to be the best spy in the two kingdoms, at least for matters like this.

It was only at the end of the month, nearing Christmas, when the rain finally changed to softly-falling snow. Behind this last front the air was crisply cold but the clouds were gone and there was no wind. The contrast was wonderful. The sun was bright and almost seemed warm. The soft blankets of snow seemed clean and pure after ages of drear. Clearly a celebration was in order.

It even got brought up in Council, by Lyonidas who surprised us by attending. His seat had been left empty to reflect his right to attend, but he hadn’t bothered since the first interminable session on mundane matters. Mother and I still brought our cats so Reynal found his duties took him elsewhere even on this occasion when Lyonidas attended.

Hugh of Sandars rose to announce the first issue. Not surprisingly he had something boring on tap just in case a High Canyon noble chose to attend. Before he even got started, though, Lyonidas gently interrupted.

"Your pardon, Lord Chamberlain, but I wonder if I might take the Council’s time to discuss an issue of some importance before you get to your scheduled topics?"

Hugh wouldn’t have looked more surprised if Lyonidas had reached out and tugged on his beard. His mouth fell open just as though his beard truly had been pulled and he spluttered incoherently for just a moment. Even Queen Selay didn’t surprise him with topics. If there were something she wanted discussed, she informed Hugh and got it on the schedule beforehand.

Still, there was nothing he could do but agree so he nodded jerkily and sat down.

I had been watching Lyonidas, after a brief glance to absorb the impact on Hugh, so I saw the warm gleam in his eyes before he spoke. A grin that he couldn’t quite contain started to show as Hugh spluttered to his seat, prompting a grin of my own that I tried very hard to hide from our honorable Chamberlain.

Lyonidas stood as he addressed the Council, "Good members of the Council of Achaiea, you know that we of High Canyon do not celebrate the birth of your Christ. Still, we do honor the solstice that represents the turning of the seasons toward longer days. I would like to suggest a holiday, a Winterfair, that we can both celebrate. The weather has moderated at least for a while and I think the people could use a little warmth in their hearts to offset the cold."

Would he have even cared six months ago when he first arrived? Six months ago! I had not even realized it had been so long. The changes in Lyonidas were dramatic. Where before he had been a strange man of High Canyon, with more wit and humor than others, now he was more a strange man of Achaiea. He knew of the workings of an agricultural society with specialized craftsman. He knew of the benefits of restitution over punishment in justice. Yet I had not realized he knew of the joy that his father seemed to have denied in his own life. There is a great difference between a simple sense of humor and a joyful appreciation of God’s world. It seemed that Lyonidas had bridged that difference.

As Lyonidas sat down, Hugh looked at Queen Selay. Queen Selay nodded to Hugh and said, "I think that would be a good idea. Let us proclaim it quickly before the weather changes yet again."

Hugh nodded, recovering his dignity. He had been afraid that Lyonidas was going to announce some onerous new tribute or demanding schedule for transferring the skills of our craftsmen. Instead, the suggestion had been as light in enduring importance as the matters that Lyonidas believed the Council typically considered. Our Chamberlain quickly assigned actions to those who would see that the preparations moved with good pace, then once again stood to announce the first official item on his schedule for the meeting. Lyonidas took this as his cue to excuse himself. Our Regent probably misinterpreted the sigh of relief as he left. It was not really because he left. It was because with him gone none of us had to listen to the deliberately pointless discussions that were meant to drive him away.

The Winterfair celebration was held on the second following day. The weather still remained clear. Hugh took advantage of this by having outdoor activities in which most of the castle staff participated. There was a massive snowball fight and for the first time warriors of High Canyon and of Achaiea joined sides against their officers. And there was a contest for the most fanciful sculptures in snow.

I was looking down on the courtyard from my balcony when I felt a presence nearby. Lyonidas had joined me. I looked at him from within the fur-trimmed cowl of my cloak.

"What brings you up here, Milord Regent?"

"You’re not supposed to call me that, My Princess."

"It is proper," I protested, but softly.

"It is not," he denied. "It is too distant. More distant than we should be."

I didn’t know what to say, what to do. A part of me was calling out to accept his offer of closeness, to cling to it, to build my life on that closeness. Yet a part of me thought always of Julia, every minute of every day. How could I resolve those two desires?

Instead of answering, I looked down at the courtyard, "The snow sculptures are very creative."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him lean against the parapet. "You’re changing the subject," he claimed with a grin I could hear without looking.

"Which sculpture is your favorite?" I asked.

He chuckled at my obstinance, but he turned to look at them. This turned out to be a bad idea, at least as it applied to the problem I was trying to avoid.

"I think that one down there," he indicated with a pointing finger.

The sculpture he selected was quite readily recognizable as a man and a woman. The man was quite tall, though lean. The woman was slender, yet shapely. One of her hands held the hem of her gown while one of his hands was around her waist. They were clearly dancing, but dance was not the end of the story portrayed by the anonymous artist. The figures in the sculpture were standing very close together and they leaned toward each other in a motion that would consummate in a kiss.

"Now, who do you suppose the artist is portraying?" he mused, that grin still so apparent in his voice it needed no visual confirmation.

"I don’t know. Perhaps the artist should add some color details," I replied. "Don’t you think the woman should have red hair?"

"No," he said softly, "I do not."

The grin was out of his voice, replaced by something not as simple to define. I looked to see his expression and found him now standing close to me. Very close.

His hand slid softly through my golden tresses. The overwhelming sensuality of it drew my eyes closed as though there were some hidden mechanism. Generations of Achaiean women had reserved that touch for their lovers only and it spoke of love even more than a kiss.

Or perhaps not, for in the next moment his lips were warming mine and their touch was even more absorbing than his hand in my hair. The hand that captured my waist and pulled me closer to him was hardly needed for my body swayed to conform to his even as my arms reached to embrace his shoulders.

Was it a good thing or a bad thing that my body now fit within my steel prison so much better? Where before a moment of his kiss had caused me to swoon, now my breath sustained me. Barely. My heart pounded with desperate needs that I didn’t understand. But it was not lack of air that interfered with my breathing.

From some distant place I became aware of applause and good-natured shouting. It seemed unimportant. Nothing in the world was more important than the touch of his lips but Lyonidas drew back just a little, though enough to turn his head.

Down in the courtyard a crowd had gathered around the snow sculpture we had been admiring. The artist, a young man who clearly had the ap-proval of the group around him, was adjusting his figures. Where before they had been only close to kissing, now the postures had been changed and the kiss was a realized promise. The attention of the crowd clearly was encouraging him to make his creation match the reality on our balcony and he was ostentatiously studying us to make sure he had his composition correct.

"Oh, we should not be doing this!" I gasped. Well, all right, the gasp was as much to get my breath back as out of any sense of propriety.

"Why not?" Lyonidas grinned. "Didn’t you enjoy it?"

"But it is broad daylight!"

"Yes, and a very fine day it is, too."

"But there are people watching!"

"Yes," he agreed, "and enjoying what they see. Don’t you want your people to be happy?"

"Yes, but . ." his lips interrupted my protest and it died away, never to be resurrected.

 

(continued in Part 15)

 

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Milady's Wiles © 1998 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.