Chapter 21 #2
“It heeded the trueborn sovereign,” said a low voice. Mutters of agreement went round the room.
The Rennais had been plying the roads and rivers of their cold green country for years uncounted before the Romans ever marched west. They had long memories.
They knew what the duchess was asking of them and what it might cost. Rennes had been besieged during the last war of succession, had almost been taken by sappers digging under the city walls.
Only by fortunate chance had their great-grandfathers heard the tunneling, had countermined and killed the intruders.
They understood what it would mean for war to come under the walls of Rennes.
Anne waited.
At length, one said, “Highness, if your marriage stands, will we not be vassals of the Holy Roman Empire?”
Anne said, “Maximilien of Austria has resigned all claim to Brittany after his death and promised also that whoever inherits his title will not also be duke of Brittany. As he has a son from his first marriage, I hope very much that my firstborn son will be raised here and inherit the duchy in his own right.”
She was glad they could not know how much her palms sweated, how much she regretted this precipitate arrival, with no husband, with no Austrian army camped in the pastures by the western gate to give substance to her far-reaching plans.
But there was the unicorn’s mane in her hair, and also this tale of the sea-drake.
She could see that both had struck them deeply.
It lifted her heart that they might follow her because of her own deeds, not merely because of her birth or their duty.
Another said, “Is it certain that Maximilien of Austria will come to our aid, Highness?”
Her answer was measured. “He and I are married in law, and he owes us his protection. The contracts will be provided for your perusal. And”—her mouth went dry, but she said it evenly—“my lord of Orléans, whom you remember as a friend of my father’s, has gone to hasten my husband’s arrival.
I have done all I can. But my lord of Austria is a chivalrous prince, and I believe he will keep his word. ”
“We had heard that Orléans was in the pay of France,” said the eldest. “Can he be trusted?”
More glances flew around the room. Louis of Orléans had cut a fine swath through Brittany in the days of Anne’s father, but they all knew the terms of his capture, his imprisonment, and could probably guess the terms of his release, and that he’d broken them.
“He can be trusted,” said Anne. She didn’t want to give them details. Her face suddenly felt hot.
On and on they wrangled, but Anne, sensitive as a weathervane, could sense the room turning in her favor. They had crowned her, and it went against their pride for France to come and say they could not now have their chosen sovereign.
“Very well,” said the eldest at last. “We shall prepare for a siege and for the coming of Maximilien of Austria. God be with us, and with him. And with you, Highness.”
When Anne smiled, the room cheered.
She feasted them all afterward, had fresh wine poured, took time for merriment.
She told them, laughing, of the unicorn-hunt, and the confusion of France.
It was well past Vespers when they went away at last, and Anne, smiling still through her exhaustion, knew that, for the moment, she had their trust.
But the hall of the Guardhouse felt empty when they had gone.
The servants were drawing the cloth from the boards.
Her guests’ voices seemed to echo on the flagstones.
Anne had drunk a glass of wine too many; it made her unsteady when she and Henri climbed to her suite above.
Henri was full of plans to man and defend the city walls.
Anne smiled and listened and tried not to feel that her very conception of the world had turned fragile as old cobweb.
She was still surprised by stray shadows when she turned her head too quickly, and sometimes she fancied her skin burned where the silver blood had splashed her.
Moreau would be riding with the French army, a danger she did not know how to counter.
There was a solar over the great hall, a sitting room built to take the summer light, with her bedchambers adjoining.
It was nearly bare, since it was not ordinarily furnished and Anne had not been able to bring any household goods.
But someone had unearthed a great sheepskin rug, and on this Elesbed and Isabeau were sitting knee to knee before the fire.
It had wanted only the absence of nurse and tutor and strict routine for an unbreakable friendship to spring up.
When Anne walked in, Isabeau was asking, in fascinated tones, “But what was it like, this castle in the Lost Lands?”
“I don’t know. It was so dark,” said Elesbed, biting a knuckle.
“Moreau said it was called the castle of Never-Was. I don’t know why.
I think maybe the korriganed built the castle.
It didn’t make any sense. A mortal’s mind wouldn’t have thought to build anything that way at all.
It had very beautiful rooms, but Butter wouldn’t let me go into any of them.
Butter made me go through these dark places instead and scratched me with her paw until I listened to her.
Suddenly I saw a fire, and then I saw the duchess.
My mamm always said that cats know more than we think. ”
Elesbed saw Anne just then. She sprang, blushing, to her feet.
Anne smiled at them both. “You were very brave, Elesbed. But I think everyone ought to go to bed.” Her head swam from the wine; she wished greatly to lie quiet and think.
“I should like to see a castle in the Lost Lands,” said Isabeau, standing too. She was glowing with enthusiasm. She spun with an imaginary sword. “And to dare all things in the deathless wastes.”
Anne said wryly, “First things first, Belle. We must solve the problem of the besieging French.”
But when Isabeau was asleep, Anne, who had been desperate to sleep, lay awake, holding herself rigid, with all the doors of their bed flung open against the sticky heat, thinking, Be damned to you, Orléans, you did make everything harder.
Her skin was hot; her body wouldn’t settle.
Her mind was a scramble of hope and fear and endless planning.
The moonlight poured in.
Finally she slipped softly out of bed, lifting her hair to cool her neck, and stepped through the door into the solar, thinking she would sit quiet in the coolness of the deep window embrasure. Better than lying sweating in her shift.
It was only with her first step that her sleep-addled brain thought, What is this light, it is not yet the full moon. She stopped short and a dark figure unfolded itself from the window and stood.
Her throat and belly went cold.
“Please don’t be afraid of me,” said Julien Moreau. “Highness, I beg you.” The moonlight behind him put all his face in shadow.
Anne opened her mouth on a cry. Closed it again. He had stood but not come nearer. There was too much moonlight. It wrapped them like a wall, shone in his eyes. The room outside looked hardly real. What had happened? Would they hear her if she shouted?
She wished for a gown, feeling naked in her shift, with loosely plaited hair. “How did you get in?”
“I travel by shadows,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you, Highness. The sea-drake was my mistake, but it was none of my doing.” His eyes asked for understanding.
She didn’t move. “You lied. We helped you and you lied.”
“I was then loyal to France, and a French lady came to Nantes, the descendant of my sovereign. You understand loyalty.”
“You took Elesbed away.”
“Did I have a choice? I had my loyalties, and she would have ruined everything. I regret it now. More than I can say.”
“Then loyal?” she said. “Why are you here now?” To kill her?
France could not want that. To kidnap her?
Perhaps. He hesitated, frowning. She stood well out of his reach.
Should she scream? But she wanted to know why he’d come in secret.
Why this talk if he was bent on kidnapping? She watched him warily.
He turned to look into the moonlight. His eyes had a lovely tilt in the angles of his face. “I have been a fool.”
She said nothing.
“It was the sea-drake’s blood, wasn’t it, that got you out of Nantes?”
She still didn’t answer.
He sighed. “I have rarely been so full of regret. I should have sworn you my oath from the beginning. Then I would not be coming suppliant now.”
“Are you here to swear loyalty to me?” said Anne, incredulous. “Why?”
He took a step nearer. She caught a flicker of lust in his gaze, a devouring thing. It was not about her. He wanted something she could do for him. Her mistrust deepened. “No nearer,” she said.
Softly, he said, “I know what you want above all, Highness. You want to stay in your own land and rule it.” She didn’t answer. He went on. “That is impossible now. Brittany is too weak. But what if it were strong?”
She was taken aback enough to reply. “And what, according to you, will make it strong? You yourself? You were certainly not eager to put yourself in my service before.”
“No,” he said. “Not me. Keris.” He said the name with reverence.
It was unexpected. “The lost city? What are you saying?”
“Yes, lost. It is in the Lost Lands.” His words tripped over his tongue, so fervent was he.
“I had a prophecy from the lady in the mere—long ago. She told me that a woman to whom I offered my hand would find this lost city of Keris and free it from its darkness. So for years I sought her, this wife of my prophecy. I found women in plenty, but none had the gift. The moment I saw the silver blood on your face, I knew. It was you whom I’d been waiting for.
Think of it, Highness. You can see the shadows, can’t you?
You are the sanctified sovereign of this land of Brittany.
It is you. The way to Keris would open for you.
” His eyes had a wild glitter, an obsession laid bare.
“Keris. With dragons in its bay and gold laid into its seawalls. The master of Keris would be the master of all Christendom. Come with me to Keris and I can save you. I can save your whole realm. Maximilien of Austria cannot. But I can.”
The room was taking on a smoky air of unreality. Anne was unimpressed. “What proofs have you of what you say?”
“Of your talents? Did you not survive the sea-drake’s blood?
Did you not use the shadows to escape from Nantes?
Or are you asking for proof of the existence of Keris?
Did you see the sea-drake in the garden in Nantes, wearing a harness twisted by men?
Sea-drakes, like unicorns, can travel by shadows and escape into the Lost Lands.
That is why they seem immortal. Or is it me you want proof of, my good word and bond?
Would you like an earnest of my intentions?
What if all the French horses vanished in the night?
What if it rained for a week? Only promise me your hand and your help and you’ll have it. ” He held his hands out, appealing.
He planned this, she thought, her mind clear, her heart cold.
From the moment he told me that the king of the korriganed desired my hand.
He meant to frighten me into accepting his help, making him my ally, acceding to his wishes.
The advent of the French hastened his plans. But he planned this all along.
“Promise you? How could I trust your word? You lied to me in Nantes. If ever you pledged loyalty to France, you are breaking your oath now.”
His outstretched hands closed hard one upon the other, something glittering between them.
“Never mind that.” She jerked back a step, warier still.
“I have power already. All I want is a way to the ancient city. I was born a commoner, but that won’t matter when I am crowned king of Armorica.
Help me, I beg, and save yourself. Wouldn’t you like to have Marguerite dragged to you in chains? ”
She would not like it.
She said, “I am married, I cannot marry you. Nor can I trust an oath-breaker. Take your baubles and leave me.”
His eyes were on the jewels in his hands; slowly his fingers tightened. “I have come to you in honesty, with my heart laid bare. But I could make you help me, Highness,” he said gently. “I do not want to do that.”
“How would you make me?”
“As to that,” he said, “let it be a surprise. I do think that when I come again, you will return me a different answer.”
Without another word, he walked into the shadows, taking the moonlight with him.
It felt like waking from a dream. Anne could see the room properly now.
Elesbed was stirring on her pallet by the fire, and Madeleine on her cot, lifting her head in confusion.
“Go back to sleep,” she told them, shaken.
“There is still time before sunrise.” She called softly to the guard and bade them be wary, told them to send for her brother at first light.
But she had the sinking feeling that neither guards nor Henri would be of use against a man who could walk an invisible road made of shadows and moonlight.