CHAPTER 10

Yulia

 

THE DAY BEFORE Terenz’s birthday, Mikal was summoned into the overlord’s private apartments, where he found Terenz dressed for riding.

“I intend to go down to the city today, to conduct business that can’t wait,” Terenz said as he grabbed his customary black jacket from a chair. “You will remain here to welcome my guests, who will be arriving at some point this afternoon. Make sure they are comfortable.”

Mikal frowned. “Why me? We’ve got servants to do that. Can’t I come with you instead?”

Terenz thrust his arms into his sleeves and pulled the jacket straight. “No. I have asked Robat to assess your swordsmanship while I am gone as I would value his opinion on what, in the words of your tutor, is shoddy blade work. Your time will be spent more productively here.”

“Not fair.” Mikal kicked out at a chair and wished it was Terenz’s leg.  

“You’re acting like a spoilt child,” Terenz snapped, casting him a scornful glance. “I suggest you act more appropriately. I expect a report on your skills, or lack of them, on my return.”

The bitterness Mikal felt at being left behind persisted all morning, even up to the point where a procession of horses arrived at the front door of the palace. Somehow, he managed to fix a smile on his face and welcomed the guests as he’d been directed.

“Is Lord Terenz waiting for us in the salon?” Cristof said, helping Andela to dismount.

Mikal shook his head. “He’s out. Won’t be back ’til later.”

Andela’s face betrayed her disappointment.

Cristof chucked her under the chin. “Don’t you worry, my dear. I’ll keep you entertained until his return.”

Andela jerked her head away.

“It is very rude of him not to be here when we arrive,” another of the ladies said. “How shall we force Lord Terenz to make amends?”

“We shall endeavour to be the most enjoyable company he’s ever experienced, so that he’ll regret missing even a moment with us,” Cristof announced. “Maybe that will cause him to realise the error of his ways, so he will choose to welcome his guests personally in future.”

“Perhaps I shall choose not to be pleasant,” the lady shot back. “I will sit with a scowl on my face to match that worn by this young man, and bring gloom to the entire proceedings.”

Mikal hadn’t realised his smile had slipped. He rearranged his face into a more pleasant expression and tried to ignore the laughter which had greeted the lady’s observation and exaggerated grimaces.

“Refreshments are ready inside,” he told the party through gritted teeth. “Won’t you follow me?”

The group entered the palace, chattering and laughing. It appeared that some of the ladies were visiting for the first time, judging by how they reacted to the tapestries and paintings in the corridors. They reached the salon and Mikal paused on the threshold long enough for them to get the “ooohs” and “aaahs” out of their system.

The salon was, apart from his bedroom, Mikal’s favourite room in the palace. It was light and airy and decorated with ornate arrangements of plaster fruit and flowers painted so beautifully, for years he’d thought they were real. In fact, there was still a grape or two missing from a bunch near the fireplace—because he’d been tempted to taste them when he was younger.

And the view . . . the gardens were visible through a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass doors which opened onto them, as well as being reflected in a dozen highly polished mirrors. Anyone standing in the centre of the room would feel as though they were surrounded by greenery.

There were plenty of sofas and velvet-covered chaises to provide seating, and cabinets filled with enough curios to interest even the most difficult of houseguests.

Robat and Gant were already there. Much back slapping and hand kissing followed as they renewed old acquaintances and forged new ones, before everyone helped themselves to food and drink from the buffet table and made themselves comfortable.

Before long, Mikal was bored. He couldn’t bear to listen to Cristof spouting on about how many new horses he’d got when he’d much rather be down in the stables himself. He couldn’t leave though—what would Terenz say? To pass the time more favourably, he grabbed a spare plate and filled it with biscuits. At least with his mouth full, he would be spared having to join in the conversation.

Mikal wandered over to a chair in the corner, half-hidden behind a large cabinet full of ornamental plates. It was a good spot from which to observe whilst passing unnoticed. 

He had to admit, the women were stunning. They were all dressed in fine gowns, with sparkling stones dangling from earlobes or glittering on wrists and around throats. The men were hardly plain by comparison. Their clothes were more subdued, true, but the richness and quality of the fabrics more than made up for their lack of bright colour. The only thing which marred the perfection of the scene was Robat’s scarred face, although even that seemed to be lending a hint of roguish glamour to the occasion, judging by the number of ladies fawning over him.

Too late, Mikal noticed Andela making her way towards his hiding place. Was she going to make him talk? No, thank goodness. She walked straight past him and stood by one of the open glass doors, looking wistfully into the garden. Her coppery curls were piled high on her head today, and she was wearing turquoise silk.

“Are you hoping to see anything special out there?” Gant, who’d excused himself from the main group, joined Andela at the window. He spoke in an undertone, just loud enough for Mikal to hear from his concealed corner. “The return of our absent overlord perhaps?”

Andela coloured and turned away from the garden. “I’m sure he will attend us directly, on his return.”

Gant smiled and leaned against the door frame, brushing something from his jacket. Mikal recognized the gleam in his eye. It always, always meant trouble . . .

“Shall I tell you a story?” Gant ignored Andela’s sigh and shaking head, and leaned closer. “It’s a tale about a beautiful young lady, who fell deeply in love with the overlord of Koltarn but found herself shunned by the object of her affections.”

Andela gasped and spun away.

“Don’t you want to hear why?” Gant murmured. “Oh, but you must . . . I can tell you exactly why Terenz is so cold towards you.”

Andela hesitantly returned to his side.

Gant nodded with satisfaction. “Well, where to begin? I think . . . yes . . . I first saw Mikal when he was presented to court at Bernea.”

What? Mikal’s hand—and the biscuit in it—froze, mid-air. He stopped chewing.

“He was two or three, I suppose, I didn’t take much notice,” Gant continued. “Children are all noise and filth and trouble at that age, don’t you think? I do remember that his father, Sevastyan, was like a dog with two tails, showing off his beloved son and heir. He was a very close friend of Terenz’s you know, at least until he got married. Mikal’s mother, Yulia, well . . . She was the most beautiful woman I’d seen at court in a long time. Pale skin, blue eyes, hair like liquid gold. That’s who Mikal got his looks from, you know.” He paused and eyed Andela, who was as motionless and as pale as a statue. “Overlords have always been able to take their pick of the women at court. Timat never did of course, he was quite the gentleman and only wanted Ailsa at his side. But Terenz is a man to take full advantage of his position, as you know from your own experience. He decided he wanted Yulia—”

“She was married!” Andela exclaimed.

Gant waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “What of it? It had never stopped him before. But this time, it was more complicated. This was the wife of a friend. To get Sevastyan out of the way for a while, Terenz sent him to subdue the bandits who were roaming the forest and disrupting the trade routes. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, Sevastyan was killed during a skirmish. Terenz acted the grieving overlord magnificently of course, tried to comfort the young widow pining for her husband. But she rejected all his advances.” He watched Andela, clearly enjoying her obvious discomfort. “They say she died of a broken heart but in reality, she threw herself from the battlements of the castle in Bernea.”

Sudden tears blurred Mikal’s vision.

Andela sighed and clasped her hands together. “I wondered why he became so distant . . . I thought my feelings for him were too obvious, that he saw it as weakness and wanted to punish me for it. But in reality, he loved another?”

Gant looked thoughtful. “You know, Terenz will someday need a wife and heir, but I think he still desires a ghost. Perhaps soon though, you will have a better chance of capturing the heart of our esteemed overlord.”

“How can I, if what you have told me is true?”

Gant stepped closer and murmured in Andela’s ear. Mikal caught only a few of the words.

“The boy . . . key . . . reminder of Yulia . . . Mikal . . . out of the way . . . your many attractions . . . chance to be appreciated.”

Gant stepped back, boldly looking Andela up and down like a butcher inspecting a prime cut of meat. He caught her wrist just before her palm made contact with his cheek.

“How dare you,” Andela hissed, trying to twist her arm free.

Gant pulled her closer, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened. Andela winced. “I dare, because I have his interests at heart. And they are not best served by the boy remaining so close. The question has arisen recently of Mikal’s continuing education and I believe Terenz is considering some advice which suggested a position for him. In Bernea. Miles from Koltarn.” He released Andela’s arm, and she rubbed furiously at the marks left by his fingers.

“Really?” Her eyes were wide with hope.

Gant nodded, smiling. “With the boy out of the way, you will be free to exorcise any remaining ghosts. And for the good of Koltarn, maybe our esteemed overlord will turn back to the living—”

Blinded by a red mist, Mikal dropped his plate and launched himself at Gant. Fists flailing, he landed several blows before he was grabbed from behind, arms pinned to his sides. He began to kick then, not caring who or what came into contact with his boots. There was a grunt of pain when his foot found a target, and the grip on his arms loosened. Mikal tore himself free, swung a fist, and felt a vicious stab of joy as his knuckles connected with Gant’s jaw. He grabbed Gant’s jacket and drew his arm back for another blow.

“Stop!” Robat yelled.

The red mist cleared.

Mikal saw Robat, frowning at him. Then he looked down, at the mess of broken porcelain and spilled food at his feet. Up again, at Andela staring at him with horror. And then Mikal looked at Gant. He was still holding Gant’s jacket, still had his arm drawn back ready for a second strike.

Mikal dropped his hands to his sides as he took in the shocked tableau around him. Oh gods, what had he done?

Gant sneered at Mikal as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Then he turned away. Dismissing him. Because he was nothing.

It was all too much. Mikal hurtled through the open door and into the garden. He ran and ran and did not stop until his lungs were bursting. Clutching at the stabbing pain in his side, he collapsed into the undergrowth, somewhere on the very edge of the palace grounds.

It couldn’t be true—could it? Everything he thought he’d known, about how he came to become Terenz’s ward, was untrue? It was almost beyond belief. Sick to his marrow, Mikal tried to remember life before Terenz.

There were broken moments, vague and insubstantial. Wrestling matches with a man who might have been his father. Songs sung at bedtime. By his mother? The metallic ring of his father’s spurs on stone and the gleam of a blade, followed by absence. Could he really remember his mother wailing in despair when a messenger arrived with a bloodied jacket, or was that just his imagination? Either way, he remembered that the singing stopped and then even his mother was gone, replaced by a tall dark man who had looked at the young boy with deep sadness and tears in his eyes.

Terenz.

Had the tears been for Mikal’s father . . . or his mother?

Mikal dredged his memory for their faces. Tried so hard to remember a detail, no matter how small. That’s all he wanted—the curve of a jaw, the arc of an eyebrow, the shape of an ear. But it was no use. He’d been too young. His parents were little more substantial now than a half-remembered dream. Gone. And Terenz had taken them away from him.

Anger replaced grief. Mikal scrambled to his feet and snatched up a large stick. With sweeping strokes, he thrashed at the nettles and brambles, screaming and yelling with each swinging cut. He beat a path through the plants, ignoring his aching arms, his raw throat and the sweat which blinded him. Exhausted at last, he threw the stick away and looked around. He found himself near the pavilion.

The pavilion had been built right on the edge of the cliff where there was an almost vertical drop to the rocks and sea below. Mikal climbed the steps and leaned out over the waist-high balustrade. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked down. Was this the kind of view his mother had seen—a dizzying drop to the ground, hundreds of feet below—when she had decided she could not bear to live any longer without her husband? Why hadn’t she thought of her son? Had he meant so little to her? Why had she left him alone?

Mikal roared his anger and hurt and hate at the sky, dredging the sound up from his core. His voice finally cracked, his body sagged, and he clutched at the wooden rail in front of him. He had to go back, face Gant and Robat—maybe even Terenz—and answer for his behaviour. Would he have to repeat what he’d heard? Hopefully not, but a lot depended on whether Gant wanted Terenz to know how concerned he was over the state of the overlord’s heart.

Whatever happened, nothing could change the fact that Mikal’s parents were gone, his future tied to Terenz. A dreadful pain was crushing Mikal’s heart and he tried to ignore it, focussing instead on the anger burning inside him as he wandered back to the palace. 

The sound of voices—laughter even—broke into Mikal’s dark mood and he looked up, startled. He was outside the servant’s quarters, probably not a suitable place for the ward of Lord Terenz to be, but right now, he didn’t care what Terenz thought. The laughter drew him closer to the building, promising to be a balm for his pain.

The sound was coming from a window. Peering through tattered curtains, Mikal recognised the dark-haired girl who had collided so spectacularly with Terenz in the round garden. What was her name?

“I’ll get us clean aprons, shall I, Irvana?”

Irvana—that was it. But he did not recognise the girl who had spoken. Another kitchen hand, maybe?

“We’ll be presentable then, if ’is lordship decides to thank us in person for all the veg we’ve finished peeling so carefully for ’is birthday.”

Irvana laughed, her smile making the dimple in her chin more obvious. “I don’t think he’ll bother. He’ll be far too busy having fun.” She twisted the end of her thick plait around her fingers. “It’s not often we have free time. I think I’ll wash my hair before dinner.”

“There’s water already in the jug,” the other girl said. “Shall I fetch you a clean cap as well as the apron?”

The curtains moved slightly in the breeze, blocking Mikal’s view. He shifted until he could see, but there was only one girl in the room now—Irvana—her back towards him as she untied the plait and shook out her hair.

“Mikal!”

He wheeled around. Terenz was walking towards him. Had caught him spying. Heat flooded Mikal’s face. Anger boiled up inside him again at the sight of the man who’d effectively killed his parents. 

Someone started singing.

Mikal flicked a glance towards the window.

“You’ve found something to amuse you in my absence?” Terenz kept his voice low and inclined his head in the same direction.

“A servant girl . . .” Mikal whispered. How he longed to lash out and tear at Terenz’s face.

Terenz stepped up to the open window and peered inside. A slow smile spread across his face. But then the smile froze. He fell back as though he’d been struck and something very much like fear flashed across his face.

“’Ere we go—clean cap an’ apron and almos’ time for dinner,” a girl said, from inside.

Terenz cast a last glance at the window, then grabbed Mikal by the scruff of the neck and dragged him away, heading for the nearest trees.

When they were far enough away not to be overheard, Terenz let go. “What did you see?” he demanded, pacing up and down in front of Mikal.

“Two girls—” 

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing. I’d only just looked in when you called me . . .”

Terenz stopped pacing and glared at Mikal. “I am very disappointed. I left you clear orders to see to the comfort of my guests and instead, I find you amusing yourself in the role of Peeping Tom. Disgusting.”

“It wasn’t like that. I was only—”

“I don’t want to know.”

Mikal bit back the rest of his reply. The look on Terenz’s face meant that no amount of explanation would suffice. Instead, Mikal gritted his teeth and waited. Punishment was bound to follow and he steeled himself for the inevitable. 

Terenz took a deep breath. “You will return with me to the right side of the palace immediately. You will redeem yourself with impeccable behaviour this evening or suffer my immense displeasure. I will never find you spying on the servants again and we shall speak no further on this matter. Come.” He set off at a blistering pace.

Was that it? No mucking out the stables? No extra sword practice? Mikal frowned. Terenz didn’t usually miss an opportunity like this—it was almost as though he was trying to ignore what had happened. Mikal cast a puzzled glance over his shoulder at the little window.

“Mikal. I said, come!”

Mikal ran to catch up, thanking his lucky stars that he’d got off so lightly and wondering what Terenz had seen through the window to upset him so.