Lynet looked down at the cold clay remains that had so recently held her father. It was strange, she thought, how fast the color in a person’s flesh fled when life was gone. Was the soul itself red?
In the distance, Bishop Austell was saying, “Bear him to the chapel. One of you … you … send for Meg and Father Lucius. He must be washed …”
Is the soul red?
Men came forward. They hoisted the awkward weight of their steward’s body onto their shoulders. Bearing it well, like the workmen they were, they carried the corpse away, with the bishop walking before them. Where all had been silence, a flood-tide of noise now rose. Voices, running feet, the commotion of bodies rushing into the hall, men and women shouting questions, screams and cries as folk saw the corpse carried past.
All Lynet could do was stand and stare at the blood that was left behind.
“Lady Laurel, what’s happened?”
“God above, she’s killed the steward!”
Blood. They saw the blood, on her, on her hands, on father’s hands, on Mark’s hands, on Iseult’s livid face, on Tristan’s corpse, so much blood …
“No!” declared Laurel. “This was Colan Carnbrea’s work!” Laurel will not call him brother. No more brother. Never again. “He is murderer and outlaw, and so are any who give him aid or succor!”
Laurel was holding her. Lynet recognized her sister’s touch. It was as well. Her legs had gone numb, and she did not think she could stand anymore.
There was running, and weeping, and shouts. She could not make out any of it clearly. The fog had crept in from outside, settling over her eyes and heart. Eventually, hands led her away to another place. They stripped off her bloody dress and sat her down.
After a time, Laurel crouched in front of her. Lynet could clearly see her sister’s white, strained face. A clay basin rested on the floor beside her. Laurel wet a cloth in the basin’s clear water and began gently to wash Lynet’s face, laving their father’s blood from her skin. Slowly, the touch of the water revived her, breaking open her stupor so that the grief could flow.
Lynet’s will to move returned in a rush, and she clasped her sister’s wrists. They said nothing, just stayed like that for a long moment, both letting their tears fall in silent rivers until the deep wells within them ran dry.
Only then did words return to Lynet. “Mary, Mother of God. Laurel, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel whispered, wringing the rag out into the basin. “If Peran and Mesek go to war, and I do not think they will spare Cambryn. We can only hold the house if Captain Hale has men enough, and he may not. Folk are scared, Lynet. They may run.” She ran both hands over her hair. Long locks of hair had come loose from her braid and drifted across her cheeks and brow.
Lynet struggled to clear her thoughts. Think. Accept. Understand. You cannot weep your way out of this problem. “We cannot hold alone.”
“No,” agree Laurel, lifted her face again, and Lynet saw how hard it had gone. “We cannot.”
“Then we must get help.” Her mind was not yet completely clear, and she could not say from where. There was one obvious place to turn, but she hesitated. Despite all he had done and all Lynet had seen, Colan’s words from the day before came back, and she could not dismiss the fear of treachery they had planted. That fear kept her from forming any answer for her sister. That fear, and new guilt layering itself over the old.
If she had stood by Colan when he needed her, this would not be happening. Their father would still be alive and Colon’s urge to treachery would still sleep undisturbed.
No. I cannot give way to that. No. She made herself speak. “We must send for the queen.”
“Must we?” Laurel stood and carried the basin to the small table, setting it there. “What we know now is that Anger against Arthur is running high.” Laurel gripped either side of the basin, watching the wall but seeing memory. “Bringing Queen Guinevere back may start the war rather than end it.”
“Will Arthur abandon his queen to her fate if war does come? If she is here and in danger, his men will follow.”
Laurel stared at her in frank surprise. “That is a hard bargain.”
“What other one can we make?” asked Lynet, striving for some of Laurel’s cold reason.
Laurel said nothing for a long moment. In that silence, Lynet read her sister’s thought. “You cannot be considering going to Morgaine,” Lynet breathed.
Laurel’s brows arched. “I cannot?”
“No,” said Lynet at once.
“Do you remember what Colan said?”
“He lied. How can you believe he did anything but lie?” Lynet’s voice took on a shrill edge that resonated inside her ears, making her remember her own shouts. Murderer! False son! How could Laurel believe anything he had said? And yet, and yet, God help her she could not forget in those few moments before blood and insult had overwhelmed his sense, when he spoke with such compelling wisdom. Even father had listened to what he had said.
“Do we know he was mistaken about everything?” Laurel asked, her voice both steady and reasonable. “What if it is the queen who has led us to this place?”
“Queen Guinevere is not responsible for our father’s death.”
“Isn’t she?” Laurel’s calm began to crack. Her breath grew heavier and her words took on a brittle edge. “Away in Camelot, she holds our reins, but forgets our welfare. Sir Tristan commits outrage, and where is she? Queen Iseult is dead and King Mark is weakened and where is she?”
Laurel wanted to give way, but she could not. They were all that was left now, the only ones who stood between their land and the ravages of war and anarchy. “No, Laurel. Morgaine is Colan’s friend. Peran spoke of her as friend to him as well. She knew of his rebellion at the very least. She may have even helped. You know as well as I do she works her will by stealth and trickery.”
But Laurel would not relent. “Yes. Morgaine works by stealth, and she wins.”
“Will you seek the aid of one who supports treason?” Lynet’s voice broke on the last word. “If she is willing to remove one king by stealth, what will she do to another?” Laurel remained unmoved and Lynet’s jaw hardened. “Let me tell you what I know, sister. It is shadows and stealth that breed murder. It is lies and deception. You …” her voice shook. “We cannot do what Colan has done. We cannot look for somewhere else to put the blame for what has happened other than where it belongs. With our family. With Colan, and with you and me,” Laurel looked into the fire a long time, the golden light reflecting in her sea green eyes. “And with our father.”
It was the truth and Lynet knew it for the truth, and even though she spoke it herself, it was almost too much to bear. She felt her throat and jaw quiver, in anticipation of tears to come. “One of us must go to the queen. We must call on Arthur’s aid. If they come to our aid, then all will be right. If they do not …”
Weariness drew Laurel’s skin tight across her bones, and made each line of her face sharp and hard. “If no, we are in the right to do whatever we must to keep our folk and our land together.”
Lynet nodded. “Yes. Whatever we must.”
They met each other’s eyes. Laurel’s shone with the bright sea fire. Laurel would do as she must. Whatever she must, and for a terrifying moment, Lynet saw how much Laurel resembled Colan.
“We will call a council, and we will find a way to put these words into action.” Laurel reached out suddenly and gripped Lynet’s hand hard. “We must stand united in this, sister. If any see us divided or indecisive everything will shatter in an instant.”
Lynet could scarce breathe for the enormity of it all. Part of her wanted to hide like a child. Part cursed and howled at her parents for abandoning her to this. Part wanted nothing more than to send Colan to hell with her bare hands for all she seemed to have taken up his cause. And some small, absurd part was wondering if there was enough beer and cider left to serve such a council as they must now convene. They would have to talk with Jorey, and soon.
“We stand together, sister, and one way or another, our enemies will learn Cambryn does not stand alone.”
And so it was done. Fires and the torches were lit in the great hall. The banners and the shields were all hung. Chairs were set around the central fire and the last of the Spanish wine was brought from the cellar to fill the silver goblets. Captain Hale was there and Lock with him. A full twenty men lined the hall under his charge. Bishop Austell, his strong hand clutching his crook as if it were a holy relic, sat at Laurel’s right. Tor, who knew more of the tin and the river than any other man in Cambryn, wrapped both his battered hands around the silver goblet that looked as flimsy as an eggshell in his massive grip.
Mesek sat across the fire from Laurel and Lynet, and Peran a quarter turn of the circle from him. Lynet did not know what persuasion the captain and the bishop had used to get them to agree to the council, but it had not been enough to keep them from coming armed, or from each having his own men interspersed among Cambryn’s; a thing that would never have happened had their father been alive.
Laurel stood. Both she and Lynet had dressed carefully for this meeting, and Laurel was resplendent in her gown of emerald silk embroidered about its hems and trailing sleeves with leaping dolphins. Her cloak was black as midnight, setting off the pallor of her hair and skin. Gold and carbuncles flashed at her throat and adorned her hands. Even Iseult had never looked more the queen. “It has been decided that Cambryn will send a delegation to Camelot at once,” said Laurel. “They will return with Queen Guinevere, so that she may settle the disputes between our people, and, if she will not stay, then appoint a new steward to take up the lawful rule of the land.”
“Well, that’s done!” Mesek slapped his palms down on his thighs. “It is a wonder you bothered to call this council. As usual, the children of Lord Kenan will have things their own way.”
“Master, you agreed to hear what our ladies would say,” Bishop Austell reminded him coldly.
Mesek snorted. “And heard I have. By the time our precious and lawful queen comes to her home again, my men will be dead and my people burned out of their houses by the Treanhal. What then for me and mine?”
Laurel turned ever so slightly toward Master Peran. “Master Peran? Will you agree to wait for the queen’s judgment?”
Peran’s burn seemed to pulse in time to the leaping of the flames before him. “What good has judgment brought me?” he rasped. “I sought the law. It has brought only more murder, and kept this man alive.”
“Will you blame the law you broke?” sneered Mesek. “Be grateful our ladies are too tender hearted to order your death themselves.”
Lynet heard the sharp note beneath the chieftain’s bitterness. She saw the way his hands curled in on themselves and how his teeth bared as he spoke. In that moment, she knew what she had missed before.
Mesek was frightened. His manner was that of a wolf at bay, snarling and lunging at the dogs, knowing that as soon as it ceased to attack it would die. What had been a matter of a few cattle and legal bloodprice had gone terribly wrong. Now his enemy was corrupting what rule there was left in the land. How could he not fear for his own?
Why had Peran even come? His actions showed clearly he was not interested in justice, only vengeance. That question had already been asked, but Lynet could not remember by who. She remembered Peran said he wanted Mesek shamed, but if Mesek had done murder before witnesses, shame was already upon him.
What truly drove Peran to this place?
She works by stealth. It was her name that Peran used to bring Colan to trust him. Our land the wedge between Mark and Arthur. The remembered words assembled themselves in a new order. Oh, God of Mercy. Laurel was ready to go to Morgaine. What if Morgaine already here?
Lynet drew herself up, wishing she could be as cool as Laurel. “We do not speak of what has been done, but of what must be done next,” she said. “What good will war bring us? It will prevent the planting and the fishing and the tinning, and that, in turn will ensure we all starve when winter comes. War will allow the raiders of all lands to rob us blind and hunt us like deer in the wilderness. Is this better than waiting for the queen and the law?”
Peran blinked, and then, he looked away. His hand scrabbled at the arm of his chair, looking for something to hold onto and finding nothing. Lynet did not let her gaze shift from him. If you are going to deny me, Master, you must do so here and now, before God and all who gather here.
“Ever the orator, your sister,” remarked Mesek casually to Laurel.
“I bid you quiet, Master,” replied Laurel evenly.
“So you go to Camelot,” said Peran at last. “How do we know you will return?”
“That is simple matter, Master Peran,” said Laurel. “My sister goes to Camelot, but I remain here, under the watchful gaze of yourself, and Master Mesek, and all your men.”
That seemed to genuinely take him aback. “You’d permit yourself to be hostage to your sister’s word?”
No trust. All burned away by what has happened, murder or betrayal or something more. Nothing but ash left in your heart.
“Would you accept anything less, Master?” Laurel asked, utterly calm. “If so, tell us, and we will surely agree to your terms.”
Lynet curled her hands, her fingernails digging into her sweating palms. This was the only throw of the bones they had in this gamble, and if it failed … then God have mercy on them, for no one else would.
“God’s legs!” cried Mesek suddenly, slamming his cup down. “I’m beginning to wish you had just killed me, Peran. Let it be done. Let the girl go to Camelot and get the queen. Let her go to elf land and fetch a pot of gold. Just let it be done, or the Eirans and the Saxons and every other vulture will find us here bleating like lambs in the pen!”
Peran’s face twitched beneath the mask of his burn. “Very well,” he said. “Let her go.”
At these words, the bishop bowed his head, and slowly, solemnly began to pray. But Lynet did not join him. She just watched Peran Treanhal as he watched her, wary, disbelieving. She thought of Laurel left alone in this man’s keeping, and despite all she knew the depth of her sister’s strengths, she shuddered.
God grant me speed, she prayed in her own heart. God soften the hearts of those I must plead before.
And God of Mercy, God of Life, protect my sister from this man, and from the one using him as a shield.