Blood and Memory E-Book

Fiona McIntosh

• Herausgeber: Bedford Square Publishers
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Quickening
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 706

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

General Wyl Thirsk of Morgravia has endured unimaginable loss at the hands of King Celimus - his best friend murdered, his sister imprisoned, and his mentor condemned to death. Now, Celimus has set his sights on the neighbouring realm of Briavel and its inexperienced Queen Valentyna, pressuring her into a doomed political marriage. Wyl is desperate to save the woman he loves from this hideous fate, but destiny intervenes. Trapped by a gift from the witch, Myrren, Wyl must embark on a perilous journey to find the elusive Manwitch, the only one capable of breaking the dangerous enchantment over him. As war looms from all directions, Wyl's quest becomes terrifyingly woven into the future of three realms - and he must confront his destiny to protect everything he holds dear.

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In blood and in memory of my own…

for William Richards

PROLOGUE

Wyl slid off the saddle on to unsteady feet. Too flustered to tether the horse, he trusted it to remain where he left it as he stumbled deeper into the copse and retched. The sickening need to be rid of the curse, to rip the sorcery free from its sinister grip, seemed to last an eternity. At the rim of his tortured mind Wyl acknowledged that this cold moonlit night was too beautiful for death… once again.

He believed he could taste the taint of the magic which had claimed his body hours earlier. Wyl did not want to remember it, but it was so fresh, so horrific in his mind, that he could not expel it. Commander Liryk of Briavel had smiled when the man called Romen Koreldy, newly banished from the realm, had suggested the Forbidden Fruit for their overnight stay before leaving for whichever border he chose. Liryk had understood that the mercenary wanted to drown his sorrows in the soft and welcoming embrace of a whore in the region’s well-known brothel. And he had smiled even wider when Romen had accepted the offer of the woman Hildyth. The commander had enjoyed her on a previous occasion and knew there would be no better place for his grieving companion to lose himself for a few hours.

Wyl Thirsk, trapped in Koreldy’s body, had felt the same… until the whore buried a stiletto deep in his heart, in an attempt to take his life. Except she did not. Romen’s body released its trapped guest so it could travel into the assassin’s and claim her life instead.

It was not a new experience for Wyl. He had felt that same wrenching sense of despair once before, and even now could hardly believe it had happened again. He was dry-retching now; knew he must force himself to stop. He looked at his hands – his smooth woman’s hands – gripping the tree he leaned against and angrily rubbed them on the rough bark to force himself to accept that he was living, not dreaming this nightmare.

Don’t think about who you’ve become. Remember who you are, he reminded himself. Remember who you are!

‘I am Wyl Thirsk, son of Fergys Thirsk of Argorn,’ he croaked with his new and strange voice. He hated its feminine pitch. ‘I am Wyl Thirsk, General of the Morgravian Legion.’

‘I am alive,’ he said, his voice becoming stronger and steadier, his mind accepting, his spirit resolute.

He repeated his mantra until the nausea finally subsided and his cramping muscles stopped answering the call to expel the enchantment. It was not possible anyway, he knew. Myrren’s gift was his to keep, unless he could find a way to stop it.

Wyl Thirsk raised his head to the starry skies and screamed his despair. It was a cry without hope. He knew all too well that no shaking of fists nor howling to the heavens could bring to an end the dark enchantment which doomed him to cheat death. Whoever might try to take his life, the curse that was Myrren’s gift would ensure that he claimed their life instead. Wyl did not know if it would ever end, only that he could not rest until he had found the key to unlock the mystery.

A wave of sadness crashed over him as he remembered Romen Koreldy, his first victim. Now Romen’s body was dead too. Wyl felt gutted to have lost the comfort of that vessel which had welcomed him, sheathed him, given him succour and life. At first so strange, it had become familiar – Romen’s essence had lived on with Wyl whilst Wyl’s true body was mortifying in a tomb. The two of them had become one… and now perhaps they must consider themselves three with this woman who embodied them. She was their shield; they were her secret.

Wyl limped to the narrow brook nearby. The water glinted in the silvery light and he threw himself down at its edge and cleansed his mouth of the taint. Lying there, he succumbed to tears; deep heartfelt sobs that shuddered through his new, womanly body. But the grief belonged only to Wyl Thirsk.

I live, he told himself again, fumbling in his pockets for the piece of linen that held the key to his life for the time being. Wrapped within it lay the bloodied ring finger of Romen Koreldy of Grenadyn, noble, mercenary and the lover of Queen Valentyna of Briavel. Wyl had retrieved it from the chamber at the Forbidden Fruit… and now he would use it. Wyl calmed his thoughts, drawing on his skills as a strategist to think through what he must do. He would send Koreldy’s finger to Celimus, the treacherous King of Morgravia, to convince him that Romen Koreldy was dead and confirm that the mysterious assassin had succeeded where others had failed. And in doing so, he would allow Morgravia’s sovereign, the betrayer, to live within a false cocoon of safety.

Wyl knew that the neighbouring realm of Briavel was Celimus’s main concern now, and his plans to wed its Queen, Valentyna, would be occupying his time. In his disguise as Romen, Wyl had aided Valentyna to hinder those marriage plans through diplomatic strategy, but Wyl knew she could not do so with ease again. He understood all too well what a tightrope of politics she was treading. Her own nobles and counsellors were pressing for the marriage and the peace and prosperity it would bring to Briavel. In fact, both realms were clamouring for a royal wedding, captivated by the romantic notion that the joining of their sovereigns would create harmony, and possibly an heir who would once and for all unite the realms.

It made perfect political and strategic sense. When Celimus had first broached the subject with him, Wyl could hardly believe the far-sighted plan this young king had devised to force the two warring realms to set aside their history of hate once and for all. He had even agreed to help shape such a union, until his inner sense warned him that Celimus’s intentions were not as straightforward as they at first seemed. His decision not to support the King’s wishes led to the slaughter of his best friend, Alyd Donal, and the imprisonment and degradation of his own sister, Ylena. It was with the knowledge that Ylena’s life lay in his hands that Wyl had agreed to travel into Briavel, escorted by a band of mercenaries, to win its princess for the King of Morgravia.

How could he have guessed that even deeper treachery lay behind Celimus’s plotting? Not only had the King planned to win Valentyna’s hand in marriage by using the Thirsk name to gain an audience with King Valor, but he had ordered the deaths of Wyl and Valor by an assassin once the betrothal agreement had been made. More twisted yet was the dark mind of Celimus, who had contrived that the blame for King Valor’s death should fall on Wyl himself, relying on the skill of the assassin, Romen Koreldy, to kill Wyl and also on the sheer weight of numbers of the other treacherous mercenaries to then murder Koreldy. The Grenadyne knew too much; his life could not be spared.

Celimus, however, had not reckoned on the integrity of the assassin, Koreldy. A blood pact made between Wyl Thirsk and Koreldy ensured that whichever of them survived a duel to the death would expose the King’s treachery. But little did any of them know an even darker menace lurked mysteriously within Wyl Thirsk himself; brutal and without loyalty to anything but itself. It was a gift from the Witch Myrren to Wyl for his kindness during her trial torture and it had waited patiently to wreak its havoc. When it had finally struck it was savage and shocking, forcing Wyl’s spirit out of his dying body, mortally wounded by Koreldy’s sword blow, and into Koreldy’s body instead, thereby claiming the mercenary’s life. And now Myrren’s gift had struck again and Wyl had lost Koreldy’s form and was forced to inhabit the body of the whore, Hildyth.

Wyl surfaced from his troubled thoughts, realising that his mind was rambling over old ground. He could not change what had gone; he could only move forward now and work to protect his sister – the last of the Thirsks – and somehow thwart Celimus’s intention to control Briavel through marriage to Valentyna. But before he could do either, he had to find a means of bringing to an end this foul curse.

The seer who had first identified the magic in Wyl had told him to seek answers from the manwitch, Myrren’s true father. And that was where Wyl had to turn his attention now – he must track down the manwitch and find the answer to the enchantment.

In making the decision to let go of the past Wyl’s intense regret was knowing that Valentyna, whom he had loved from the moment she had first breezed in to his life when he was General Wyl Thirsk of the Morgravian Legion, had fallen in love with him as Romen Koreldy. His own feelings for her had only intensified during his time as Romen and he could never forgive himself for risking that love and allowing her to think that he had betrayed her when she had so relied on him.

A headache was gathering. He must find out more about who he had now become before his pain and grief over his love for the Queen claimed him completely. Valentyna could never love him now, and his punishment was to love her from afar in this strange and female body. Wyl could not bring himself to look at his new body just yet, nor touch it. But he held no such reticence regarding the woman’s memories. What remained belonged to Wyl now. They were his to remember and use.

He leaned back against a tree, exhausted, and delved. Wyl learned that he was not Hildyth the whore – that was simply a guise. He was Faryl of Coombe, a brilliant assassin, born in the midlands and familiar with places far away from Morgravia or Briavel… and riddled with secrets.

ONE

The queen had suffered a sleepless night, churning over her decision to banish Romen Koreldy. Valentyna had measured the dark hours by listening to the muted noises of the guard changing before stillness claimed the night again… until the next time. The only other distraction was the distant howl of a dog – or was it a wolf? She wondered if it was caught in one of the traps laid by poachers; or, more whimsically, she decided it had lost its mate and was venting its despair. She understood such things, for the sorrowful cry served as an echo of her own loneliness.

Valentyna asked herself the question yet again. Could she have kept the man she loved and still appeased an angry king? A king, she might add, with more than enough fighting power to overwhelm Briavel. The answer, whichever way she approached the problem, was no.

‘Damn duty!’ she murmured into her coverlets. She punched the feather pillow which brought no comfort this night.

To add to her misery, a vision of Fynch haunted her. She would never forget the way he had looked at her. He too had grown to love Romen, despite his initial misgivings about the man. In that she and her young friend were alike, and they had shared so much in the short time they had known one another. But that closeness was shattered now. Fynch was avoiding her because she had deliberately distanced herself from Romen and ordered him to be expelled from Briavel. She had cast aside the man she loved over Celimus – a man they all hated. Even a child could see that her actions made no sense. And Fynch was no ordinary child; his serious, deep-thinking manner made him special. She did not want to lose his companionship but it seemed that the day just gone had dawned solely to bring loss to her life.

King Celimus, she realised, kicking off her blankets with irritation, would probably be close to the border by now, possibly even crossing into Morgravia. Nevertheless she had no doubt his spies would keep him updated on events in Briavel and Koreldy’s banishment would feature prominently in their missives. It suddenly occurred to her that the King, on hearing this news, might have Romen tracked down. Surely Romen would be cautious? He had been warned not to set foot into Morgravia at risk of certain execution. Failing Romen’s good sense, she trusted that her own Commander Liryk would counsel him. Hopefully they had ridden through the night and would be headed north, back from where he had come. ‘Where Cailech, King of the Mountains, awaits him,’ she whispered sorrowfully.

The last time Valentyna had wept passionately was on the death of her father; the time before that was a decade ago when she had fallen from a horse. She considered herself resilient but heavy tears finally overtook her as she realised the enormity of her command. Romen had nowhere to go. Briavel alone represented safety. Beyond its borders to the north and west, people wanted to kill him. The south offered the ocean and to the east lay only fear in the little-known Wild. Fynch knew it too. She had seen the accusation in that final chilling glance he had given her. It spoke of betrayed friendships.

And he was right. What was Romen thinking during that sword fight! It was clear he had meant to kill Celimus, and where would that have left Briavel but in intense danger?

He knew how precarious her position was. What had been his intention? She had not had a chance to consider it, in truth. She had not had the luxury of thinking it through but had been forced to react swiftly in the only way possible for a monarch in her situation. She knew her decision was political but this reassurance was cold comfort.

Her heart ached. She loved Romen and she had sent him away. Briavel no longer recognised him as friend. Romen Koreldy would not be permitted to set so much as a toe inside its borders again. If recognised, he would be captured and imprisoned. Her actions had trapped him as surely as that wolf she had heard howling in the distance. Whichever way he turned, whichever borders he finally crossed, he was as doomed as their new and fragile love.

Valentyna twisted beneath her remaining sheet, trying to escape thoughts of his touch which brought a new kind of ache to her body. She would have given herself gladly to him that night before the tourney, but his had been the voice of calm amongst the waves of passion. It was Romen who had pulled back, Romen who had made her understand the reason for holding onto the most precious commodity for a new Queen. Virginity was wealth, he had counselled. More importantly, it was power. A virgin Queen was an irresistible magnet for appropriate suitors. Except she wanted no husband… unless it was Koreldy.

She rubbed her tired but stubborn eyes and sat up. This would not do. Pulling on a soft robe against the chill, Valentyna moved to the window and looked out towards the dark woodland she loved so much.

‘It might work,’ she murmured, as an idea gathered resonance in her thoughts. She could meet him somewhere outside of Briavel’s borders, somewhere safe where they could rendezvous in secret. If only she could feel his kiss just once more it would be enough, she reasoned, hardly believing it herself. She would take Fynch too. Between them they would mend friendships, renew loyalties, rekindle the flame which had burned brightly between them all. She could apologise for making the hardest of decisions, and she knew Romen already understood – his eyes had told her so when they regarded her so gently despite her harsh words. She could ask him why he had risked so much. They could set things straight between them. Perhaps she could even find a way around the expulsion order, when time had passed and life was less precarious. Perhaps there was a chance for them one day.

‘Where are you now, Romen?’ the Queen of Briavel whispered towards the trees, longing to see her lover one last time, not knowing that at this very moment he was just a few miles from entering her own castle’s walls.

Far sooner than she could have imagined, Valentyna would cast her eyes upon Koreldy once more; kiss him again as she had so desired.

Liryk’s expression was grim; beneath it anger seethed. This should not have happened. The Queen had deliberately granted Koreldy the chance to make a new life elsewhere when she could so easily have commanded death. There was friendship between the two, possibly more if his intuition served him well. He could not blame her. Who could help but fall under Koreldy’s spell?

The Briavellian Guard emerged from the cover of the woodland that surrounded the northern border of the palace grounds. Commander Liryk glanced to his left, where the corpse of the man he hardly knew but had comfortably called friend lay in a cart, wrapped in sacking.

Combined sorrow and guilt threatened Liryk’s stern demeanour, forcing him to look back towards the castle.

They had arrived at the famous Bridge of Werryl where past sovereigns, remembered faithfully in marble, stood proudly either side to guide visitors into the palace. He raised his hand towards the ramparts where he knew his guards had seen their fellow soldiers approaching through the light mist of dawn. The gate was up, he noticed. He grimaced; he would have to take a hard look at security again and ensure the castle remained closed to all visitors until permission was formally granted. After Valor’s sudden death everyone had been extra careful but recently he had noticed a general slackening of vigilance. With an assassin on the loose who knew what could happen. Their Queen must be better protected.

In the courtyard he handed his horse’s reins to the stableboy and gave orders for Koreldy’s body to be taken to the chapel and laid out. Like his men, Liryk was tired. They had ridden through the night, determined to bring the body back as quickly as possible to ensure that gossip disappeared with the evidence. With no body, no sign that an assassination had occurred, the story would rage for a day and then hopefully be forgotten. The Forbidden Fruit’s women would be entertaining in that same chamber this very night, all sign of the recent bloodshed washed away. His mouth twisted at the thought. Poor Koreldy. He deserved better.

Tired or not, the next hour would be the most difficult. Liryk suspected that no matter how he counselled her, their headstrong Queen would want to see this corpse for herself. He shook his head, resigned. Valentyna was an early riser. Best to see her immediately and get the ugly business done with.

Liryk made his presence known to Krell, the Queen’s Chancellor and former servant to King Valor. He was a calm and solid force amongst Valentyna’s advisers and Liryk liked the man. He wondered if Krell ever slept, for the Chancellor always seemed to be available.

‘May I ask if it is urgent, Commander Liryk?’ Krell said, shifting papers around on his desk. ‘This is an irregular hour to be requesting an audience.’

The soldier nodded. ‘Something unexpected. She must be told.’

‘Bad news?’ the Chancellor enquired. Liryk’s expression was enough to foreshadow this would not be a happy meeting.

‘It is, I’m afraid. Koreldy is dead.’

The Queen’s servant looked up sharply from the orderly piles of paperwork which he dealt with daily for his monarch, sorting tasks into priorities and keeping Valentyna’s mind firmly on her duties. He understood that the woman needed space to still enjoy her youth and had single-handedly eased Valentyna into her challenging role as sovereign, allaying her fears, guiding her with informed skill, instinctively knowing what her father would have expected. In terms of administering the realm, he was a blessing to them all, a man who could rarely be ruffled. However, the expression on his normally well-guarded face was all shock at this moment. Liryk was convinced that Krell wanted to ask if he was quite sure but had checked himself.

Liryk confirmed it anyway. ‘I’ve had him laid out in the chapel. I imagine the Queen will want to view the body.’

‘Indeed. She will not be persuaded otherwise,’ Krell replied. He walked around from behind his desk. ‘This is dark news, Commander. I’m sorry to hear it. In spite of the reason for his expulsion, Koreldy was a good man for Briavel and…’

Liryk guessed that the Chancellor wanted to add that Koreldy was a good man for Valentyna as well; instead the Chancellor held his tongue and asked the Commander to wait while he sought an appointment with her majesty immediately. He left Liryk alone with his bleak thoughts and fatigue.

When Liryk was shown into her study, he could see Valentyna had not slept well. Her eyes lacked their usual sparkle and dark smudges beneath made them appear hollow in the much too pale face. He wished once again he could escape this task and hoped Krell had forewarned her of the tidings.

She was wearing a satin robe and had obviously come in a hurry straight from her chambers, not caring about her state of dress, but then Valentyna had never been one for vanity. He had known this fine young woman since she was newborn and she had always treated him as a kindly uncle – she still did, in fact. He noticed she managed to muster a smile for him, rising above the concerns that had troubled her slumber.

‘I am glad to have you back, Commander Liryk,’ she said formally.She crossed the room and took both his hands in her own, falling into her usual, less regal manner. ‘Now, ease my worry,’ she said. ‘Tell me it all went smoothly.’

Liryk glanced towards Krell who was passing behind her majesty with some papers. The Chancellor shook his head slightly and Liryk felt the weight of his task settle like a stone in his throat. Krell was following protocol – he had left the bad news entirely for Liryk to deliver.

Valentyna was searching his face, a confused smile on her lips now. ‘What is it? Krell tells me you have news which cannot wait. I presume you wish to report that Romen Koreldy was seen safely to a border. But which border? I must know,’ she said, her words coming out in a rush.

Liryk’s eyes came back to rest sadly upon her own. ‘May we sit, your highness?’

‘Oh, of course, how remiss of me. You’ve obviously been riding through the night to be back here so fast.’ She gestured towards one of the comfy armchairs. ‘Please.’

‘Thank you.’ He sat slowly, taking every last moment he could before he had to share his tidings with this lovely young Queen. So much grief around her. He wished Krell had remained in the room, but knew the man had done the right thing once again and given them privacy.

Valentyna sat in the chair opposite.

‘You look very pale, your highness.’ He blurted his thoughts aloud.

She nodded. ‘You know me too well. I did sleep badly. I’ve anguished over yesterday’s decision, Liryk. It was the appropriate action to take for Morgravia’s King and the dutiful thing for Briavel. But oh, it was a poor decision for me personally. I miss Koreldy more than most would realise.’

Liryk was shocked. He sensed the friendship had run deep but had no idea it had progressed so far and so quickly. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, risking her further confusion whilst he gathered up his anguished thoughts.

‘My apologies, sir. I should not burden you with affairs of my heart,’ Valentyna said to fill the awkward pause, sorry that she had spoken as she had.

She noticed the sad expression on Liryk’s face when he opened his eyes and sat forward again. He even took her hand, held it gently but firmly in his large, gnarled soldier’s hands. He sighed heavily and when he said, ‘Your majesty,’ as though his shoulders carried the very weight of the realm, her intuition told her she did not want to hear whatever it was he had to report. She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from begging him to say no more.

He began to speak, his tone measured, his words carefully chosen. Valentyna looked at Liryk’s hands covering hers, trying to shut out the voice, concentrating on the gingery hair there which made her think of Wyl Thirsk of all people. Poor lovely Wyl Thirsk with his thatch of orange hair and freckles. She recalled the way he had blushed whenever her eyes glanced towards his, and that his smile, so hard to win, was bright and joyful when it came. He should never have died. He had fought courageously for a realm which was not even his own, in order to save the life of his enemy. She had liked him the instant they met; had felt a connection to him somehow, which was hard to shake. The young man entered her mind at the oddest of times to this day and there were moments – not that she would admit openly to it – when Fynch’s suggestion that Wyl Thirsk was still amongst them rang true with her.

It was an odd situation. Normally she did not take to people so readily; she was wary of folk by nature and downright suspicious of strangers from Morgravia. But Wyl was not what she had expected. He was forthright and humble. Just a little in awe of her father, which she had appreciated because it showed respect – even between enemies. And her father had liked him and, more importantly, had trusted him. That much was obvious. She recalled how Romen had told her that Wyl had fallen desperately in love with her on that first meeting. How shocked she had been and, strange though it sounded, how flattered. There had been something special about Wyl Thirsk. Despite his lack of stature, about which she had gently poked fun at him, he had a strong presence… and there had been a chemistry of sorts between them. Valentyna recalled how he had not felt ashamed to weep in front of her and her father, or accept her comfort for the loss of his friend and fear for his sister. She had loved that about him.

Liryk’s voice spoke on. As though from a distance, she heard him talking about a place called the Forbidden Fruit. It sounded like no establishment she would ever visit and yet she would like to. She wished she could see such things, understand them better. Apparently Romen had gone with a woman there. She knew what this meant but she tried to ignore it. She wanted to believe that the bathing and smoothing had been an innocent activity to ease the tension of that strange and joyless day. But it was more than that – she could read as much in the way Liryk told of it.

She heard the name Hildyth. A hateful name. She despised the woman, a stranger she had never met nor ever would. A whore. Romen’s whore.

She imagined the stranger laughing with him, unself-conscious at being naked with this handsome man. The whore would feel his fingers on her body, his tongue, his lips… Valentyna tried to convince herself, as these visions raged, that Romen had used the whore because he could not have his true love, his Queen. His Queen had banished him, had marked him as no friend of hers, or of Briavel’s. He had to bury his grief somewhere and he had chosen to do so at the Forbidden Fruit, sheathing himself within a woman called Hildyth. Was this what Liryk was so hesitant to tell her – that Romen had spent the night with a paid woman, she thought bitterly.

It seemed not. There was more to this tale. As he continued, her throat caught… and then began to close as though it meant to stop her breathing. Liryk was speaking of a knife, of a fingerless hand.

She looked up suddenly, as though the picture he was describing had only now become clear. The Commander stopped speaking, disturbed by the change in her manner.

‘I… Liryk… I don’t understand.’ There was a tremor in her voice and she hated it. Hated it almost as much as she hated Hildyth for taking pleasure in Romen’s body when he was meant for a Queen.

It broke every protocol but Liryk did not care – the Queen of Briavel, loved by all since a little girl, needed comfort. He moved to sit beside her and put his arm around his young sovereign, pulled her to his broad chest as a dear uncle might. She allowed him to because she was scared. She had heard the words but did not believe them. She would need him to say them again.

He spoke in a near whisper this time, his lips close to her hair which smelled of fresh lavender. ‘Your highness,’ he said gently, ‘Romen Koreldy was murdered last night. We have nothing more than the whore’s description of a man she saw running down the hall. Understandably she was distraught, so the details are somewhat vague…’ He stopped, not sure of what else to say.

As he pulled away the Queen’s gaze was locked on his face but her expression suggested her mind was far away. ‘Dead?’ she said, as though testing the word on her tongue. He nodded.

Valentyna moved fast, leaping to her feet, grabbing her Commander’s shirt in her fists. ‘Romen’s dead?’

‘Yes, my Queen. He was murdered,’ Liryk answered as gently as he could.

He was relieved when the door clicked softly open and Krell entered, carrying a mug of steaming liquid. Liryk caught a waft of dramona. It was a wise choice. The medicine was strong and would help with the shock.

Valentyna became aware of Krell and his presence helped her to compose herself. She released her grip on Liryk and felt for the chair behind her to sit down again. She realised she was wringing her hands and clasped them firmly together until she had regained control of them. The Queen took a long, deep breath. She remained silent for a moment or two longer and then lifted her chin, fixing with a steady dark blue gaze the man whose news had just stuck a blade into her heart. There was some pleasing symmetry to that notion, she thought bitterly, for if her ears had heard correctly, a blade in the heart was the manner in which Romen had died.

‘Commander Liryk, you will tell me everything once again so I understand thoroughly the events which unfolded last night.’ The Queen’s words fell like ice crystals now. They matched the wintry expression which had frozen her lovely face. She was not to be argued with.

And so for the third time that morning Liryk told his sad tale, this time sparing her no detail. He delivered his report in the detached military manner he knew best, devoid of emotion and embellishment.

‘It was only later that we discovered his ring finger had been removed,’ he concluded.

‘Why?’

‘A trophy perhaps, although I do believe, your highness, that this was an assassination. People who kill for money must provide proof of the death before they are paid in full. It is my belief that Koreldy was murdered by someone’s order.’

‘Whose order?’

One name hung silently between them. Neither dared speak it. If they did it would become truth, and the repercussions should they act upon that truth were too daunting to contemplate.

Instead Liryk chose a safer path. ‘We have no firm evidence as to who perpetrated this.’

‘Other than the blade,’ she replied.

‘Yes, highness. Other than the weapon.’

Krell took this moment to offer the Queen the mug of medicine. ‘Drink it all, your majesty,’ he whispered before taking his leave.

Valentyna smelled the dramona, knew its intention and put it aside. They would not sedate her. ‘Did Koreldy say anything to you before he died?’

The Commander nodded. ‘He told me that he did not kill your father. He wished you had given him a sign that you knew him to be innocent of all accusations levelled at him.’

Valentyna’s newly calmed expression faltered at the words. She knew Liryk had not meant to drive a further wedge of pain into her. She expected him to be truthful, after all. What she did not suspect was that his honesty carried only to a certain point. Liryk had told Koreldy that he would not do anything to dissuade the Queen from marriage with Celimus, even though Koreldy had begged him to. He held his tongue now. For Briavel’s sake, the marriage should go ahead.

Valentyna drew on every ounce of her courage to remain composed and not crumple. That would come later. Right now she had to learn everything she could about why Romen had died.

‘The whore…’

‘Hildyth?’

‘Yes,’ she said, irritated to hear the name again. ‘Where is she now?’

‘She asked if she could leave after she had told us everything she could. She was very upset, as you can imagine.’

‘Did it not occur to you, Commander, that the whore might have been involved? She could have allowed the killer entry? Could even have killed Koreldy herself?’

‘Yes, your majesty.’

‘And?’

She watched the colour rise in her chief of security. ‘She could not have killed Koreldy because he would have been too strong for her. You know what an artful fighter he was. As for her being involved – yes, it had occurred to me, but I decided she was innocent.’

‘Why?’

There it was again – the hesitancy, a flush of red at the neck. ‘I have met her before, highness. She did not strike me either as violent or anything more than a young woman trying to make the best of her situation.’

‘I see,’ said Valentyna, understanding perfectly. Romen Koreldy was not the first of her acquaintances to lie with this woman. Clearly Liryk had intimate knowledge of Whore Hildyth. ‘I want soldiers sent immediately to bring this woman to the castle for questioning. Can I leave that with you?’

Liryk nodded, embarrassed. ‘Of course.’

‘Where is Romen now?’ she asked, just managing to keep her voice steady as she said his name.

‘In the chapel, your highness.’

‘Thank you, Commander Liryk. I know you must be extremely tired. Please take your rest. We shall speak again when you are refreshed. I apologise for having kept you so long…’ and then her voice softened ‘… and for losing myself there for a few moments. It was a shock.’

She watched Liryk’s relief at her words. Perhaps her cool detachment had unsettled him, although was this not the very quality a Queen must exhibit? She could not be prey to shrieking hysterics but must control her own emotions and deal calmly with any situation.

‘I understand fully, your majesty. In truth, I don’t believe I have come to terms with it myself yet.’

‘He died as a result of a blade through the heart, that’s right, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘Driven into his chest with expert precision. The killer knew what he was doing.’

‘So it would have been quick?’

‘Dead before Koreldy even realised he’d been struck,’ he assured her, although not quite believing it himself.

She nodded that he may depart and he stood and bowed gladly, flooded with relief that his ugly task was done.

TWO

Knave knew. The dog had woken him in the night with a howl so sorrowful it hurt Fynch to hear it. They had been sleeping rough in the woods because Fynch could not bear to be in the castle after all that happened. Most of all, he could not face the Queen. She had done something so unexpected that he had been unable to disguise his feelings over her actions – not that he had any right to disapprove of someone so above him in status. They were friends, though. Friends did not cast each other aside. She needed Romen – why could she not see that?

It was true that he too had been wary of Romen originally; how could he not be? It was Fynch who had overheard King Celimus plotting with Koreldy to assassinate Wyl Thirsk. But it was also Fynch who had noticed the curious attachment Wyl’s dog, Knave, had shown for Koreldy when they had tracked him back to Pearlis. Fynch had been shocked to see the mercenary with Ylena and to hear that he had brought Wyl’s corpse back to Stoneheart for the formal burial it was due. It was he alone who had worked out that something very strange had occurred, something magical.

Fynch believed in magic and so did not suffer from the same wariness of it as most Morgravians, or dismiss it like the Briavellians. His suspicion that Wyl Thirsk was somehow still amongst them had been gradually confirmed: firstly by Knave’s affection for a stranger, and secondly by Koreldy’s uncharacteristic actions regarding Ylena and his desire to clear the Thirsk family name. Fynch’s intuition was rewarded when Koreldy had admitted to being Wyl Thirsk, and told him of the Quickening, the frightening phenomenon that had given him life and taken that of the real Romen Koreldy.

But Wyl had forbidden Fynch from sharing this knowledge with Valentyna, which was why the Queen’s decision to banish Koreldy had been so painful for the boy. He loved Valentyna and wished he could tell her the truth outright, but he knew it would be in vain. How could anyone, especially one who could not conceive of sorcery, believe such a tale?

He had hoped to see Romen before the guards escorted him from Werryl – that way he could have heard Wyl’s plans, however thin they may be. But it had not been permitted. Knave had wanted to follow Wyl’s trace, but Fynch had exerted his own authority for once and told his companion they should wait. They needed to plan their next move. The boy sensed that the dog would always find its master, and they could catch up with Wyl later. Now he needed time to ‘tidy his mind’, as he liked to think of it, to consider all options. So the woods had become their hiding place.

Fynch had expected to spend a few days there, but outside events began to have their own crushing impact.

No amount of shooshing or cajoling had quieted Knave’s howling during the night. It was a strange sound, filled with despair. The dog was closed to him, so he could not work out what was troubling him, and neither did Knave want to be touched or spoken to. So Fynch had tossed and turned all night, trying to shut out the terrible keening. He had finally fallen asleep, only to be roused again by the dog at first light. The boy sleepily obeyed the beast’s wish to be followed. Clearly Knave had an objective.

They slipped into the castle grounds, waving to the guards and getting a familiar raised hand back. Knave was making for the main courtyard. The reason why became all too clear with the arrival of Commander Liryk and the Guard.

The boy and the dog had watched the soldiers enter the bailey. Liryk looked grave and weary. They saw him hand the reins to the stableboy and heard him give an order to his men, although Fynch had not been able to make out the words.

As Liryk left the courtyard and entered the castle, Fynch noticed that Knave was no longer at his side. Instead the dog was moaning by the cart which had rolled in after Liryk. He watched as the men struggled to lift something out of the cart, and felt a claw around his throat, squeezing tight and hard. Instinctively he knew they were carrying the corpse of Romen Koreldy. His heart felt as though it had cracked in two.

Distraught, he followed the soldiers into the cool chapel with its exquisite carved whitestone and simple yet sophisticated structure whereby six slim, smooth pillars somehow held up the entire building. The ceiling was frescoed with mythic scenes depicting the glory of Briavel. But none of its beauty impacted on the silent handful who entered its glorious space this morning.

Fynch felt relieved to be granted permission to be present. He stood, rigid with despair, next to the body, disturbed by its pallor. Romen had been browned from the sun; he should not be this ghostly. A guard, sensitive to the friendship which had existed between the dead man and this child, gently explained that a great deal of blood had drained from the body at the time of death which would account for its pale appearance. Fynch was not so sure he had needed to hear the reasoning, but he whispered his thanks all the same and was glad when the man stepped away.

The soldiers, all known to him, murmured their sympathies. One even apologised for not keeping Romen safe. Fynch wanted to cry out that Koreldy could take care of himself, but he had obviously been duped then murdered. Instead he accepted their commiserations silently and, relieved, watched them gradually depart.

He and Knave were alone at last with their friend and he felt it would be all right now if he cried. He reached out and smoothed back a few stray hairs from Romen’s face. Wyl had adopted Koreldy’s fastidiousness and would not like his hair to look so scruffy. Those who had dealt with the body in Crowyll had done their best, mercifully wiping away most traces of blood and putting him in a fresh shirt. Still, he was hardly tidy and he would hate to be seen so dishevelled. Fynch kissed his friend’s forehead before laying his own head on Romen’s cool chest and allowing his sorrow to echo through the chapel.

The dog sniffed the body long and carefully. Presumably satisfied that his master no longer breathed, he lay at Fynch’s feet. Knave was patient. It was as though he understood that it was Fynch’s turn now to grieve.

Valentyna felt her composure slip as she stepped quietly into the chapel, flanked by Krell and Liryk who had insisted on accompanying her. On seeing the child draped over the corpse, she felt the sickening lurch of a cry rushing into her throat. It was real; death was here. Krell’s guiding hand – a gentle, well-timed touch steering her down the short aisle – rescued her. She fought the grief back and was able once again to view the poignant scene before her.

Fynch looked so small, so vulnerable. She desperately wanted to hold him in her arms, to cling to the living. Instead, as she silently drew up beside him, she risked taking his hand. She knew she chanced a rebuke, for who could blame a youngster for not keeping his emotions in check? She was relieved when he did not pull away from her touch but straightened and stepped back from the corpse to stand next to her. Valentyna looked down into the tear-stained face and was rewarded by a watery smile. It was enough.

‘We lost him,’ he whispered, his voice leaden with sorrow.

‘Yes,’ she replied, now finally finding the courage to look fully upon the body of the man she had loved.

Neither Krell nor Liryk stirred, and Fynch and Knave too stood like statues, whilst Valentyna stared at Romen, seeing nothing for the moment other than how handsome he was in such stillness.

‘May I?’ she asked, pointing tentatively towards his shirt.

Liryk’s sad eyes blinked. He nodded gently, knowing what she wished to see.

‘He’s so pale,’ she whispered.

‘There was a lot of blood lost,’ Fynch replied, his voice coming as though from far away.

She felt herself lurch inwardly again as a picture of Romen’s body spewing forth its lifeblood swam into her mind. Undoing the shirt buttons she revealed his chest, no longer warm and filled with love for her. Valentyna needed to see the ugly wound where the blade had been expertly driven into his flesh to puncture his heart, all of its love draining out on to the floor of a brothel while a whore called Hildyth shrieked as she watched him die. Or had she killed him? The nagging thought would not leave her.

Knowing looks passed between the two men as the Queen lingered over the corpse. ‘Your highness,’ Krell uttered, after clearing his throat lightly. ‘Do not torture yourself any further.’

‘But I must. I sent this man to his death.’

‘No, your highness!’ Liryk spoke up. ‘You gave him his life… and a chance to make a new one. King Celimus would surely have had him killed.’

‘Perhaps he did,’ Fynch muttered to himself, but they all heard it.

Valentyna tore her gaze from Romen and turned to Fynch. ‘Tell us what you think.’

She and Liryk held their breath. If even the youngster was thinking it, then surely their unspoken yet shared conclusion could not be far off the mark.

‘Celimus wanted Romen dead. Now he is,’ Fynch said tonelessly.

‘We cannot prove such a thing, lad,’ Liryk replied, his voice gruff with rebuke.

‘No. That’s the point, though,’ Fynch said, staring at the corpse. As he spoke he suddenly sounded a lot older. ‘You need not be a physician to see that this was an expertly achieved death. Celimus could not be seen to have bloody hands.’

All three Briavellians noted his casual use of the Morgravian monarch’s name. ‘You sound familiar with the King, boy,’ Liryk said.

‘I know him. Certainly enough about him to accept that Romen’s death could easily be by his design. We already know that Celimus thinks nothing of hiring mercenaries to kill a sovereign.’ There was a sharp intake of breath from both men, although Valentyna seemed not to react. Fynch continued as though they were discussing the weather. ‘What makes you think he would not order the death of a troublesome noble? Someone who knows too much about the comings and goings of Morgravia?’ He stopped suddenly, his look defying them to contradict him.

‘He’s powerful, son, and more than capable of such commands,’ Liryk said, impressed with Fynch’s grasp of the situation. ‘I just can’t prove the King of Morgravia is behind Koreldy’s death.’

‘No, and that’s why we must be very careful about what we say aloud,’ Valentyna warned. ‘Please, all of you – what has been aired here must remain between the five of us.’

Fynch found an inward smile. It amused him that the Queen counted Knave amongst them. He too believed the dog heard and understood everything. Knave sidled up towards him again and he laid his hand on the large head, glad of the comfort.

Without warning, a familiar dizzy sensation claimed him. Valentyna spoke again but her words sounded distant. ‘Krell, I know this is unusual, but you and I will wash Koreldy’s body.’

‘My Queen! I cannot permit—’

‘No, you cannot permit me anything,’ she said kindly. ‘This is my order, although I prefer it be a request of you.’

The old man nodded, an unhappy expression on his face.

‘I am doing this so we may keep knowledge of Romen’s death between as few people as possible.’

He is not dead! Wyl lives! A voice spoke inside Fynch’s head, which began to throb. He saw only swirling grey mist before him but he heard the words clearly. Then the mist cleared and he saw a small town fringed by fields of hops. He had no idea of its significance.

Find him. He walks in another body now, the voice urged.

The swirling sensation dissipated as fast as it had arrived and the voices of the people in the chapel no longer sounded as if spoken from the bottom of a well. Intense pain and shock reverberated through his body as he tried to think about what had happened. He knew now that the voice had come to him through Knave; he just did not know why.

Fynch felt distracted and nauseated. His mind was in turmoil. If Knave’s information was correct, then they were needlessly grieving over a man who was not dead. He walks in another body now. Had it truly happened again? Had Wyl Thirsk become the person who had killed Romen Koreldy?

Valentyna deserved to know, but what could he say to her? She would not even hear him out. She was liberal in most ways, and he would describe her as tolerant – she certainly had been of his views on magic – but she was not a believer. The Queen would probably banish him as well if he started talking about transference into another body. No. This he would have to keep to himself for the time being.

The Queen was still speaking to her Commander and Fynch struggled to bring his attention back to the people around him. ‘Liryk, I want that Hildyth creature at the palace by sunset tomorrow. Bring her before me alone. Did many other people at this place know of the murder?’

Liryk was grateful for the Queen’s tact. ‘Several, your highness. But none of them would know Koreldy. He was a stranger there. It was not crowded either, so those whose ears have already heard probably do not know his name – simply that a man was killed.’

‘Good. Your men will spread the rumour that this man was Briavel’s prisoner but that we had granted him a new life outside our borders. So far this is true. The seed you will plant, however, is that we suspect a Briavellian loyalist took offence at Koreldy’s actions at the tourney and took it upon himself to rid our realm of a troublemaker. Make sure everyone understands how keen Briavel is to pursue the betrothal. No official word, mind,’ she cautioned. ‘Tell the story in a few inns where loose mouths lurk. I will provide coin. Fret not that the story may become warped as it is retold; as long as people believe it was purely an internal problem.’

‘Why?’ Krell asked, unable to follow his Queen’s rapid line of thought.

Liryk could not help a grim smile of appreciation. He bowed: ‘Inspired, your highness.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Because, Chancellor Krell, as it’s supposedly our own work the rumours will die quickly. There is less intrigue, you see, around the death of a prisoner rather than the assassination of a noble, particularly one we supported. More importantly, in designing this plan, our Queen has deflected any potential damage to Briavel. Whether or not the person we suspect is behind this, he can only be privately grateful to her majesty for being so without guile and accepting blame in Briavel’s name.’

‘I see,’ the Chancellor replied, impressed. ‘Your majesty has inherited her father’s quick mind for strategy.’

Valentyna gave a brief, harsh laugh. ‘Oh, I do hope so. We are entering challenging waters, gentlemen, and we shall need all our wits to navigate the safest channel.’

Both men nodded their agreement.

‘What of the body, your highness?’ Krell asked gently.

The Queen sighed, inwardly proud that she had so far held on to her grief in front of these men. They were obeying her now as they would have her father. She had truly become their sovereign.

‘Liryk, to anyone nosing around, you can say the prisoner’s body was buried quickly in an unmarked grave. Make out you left it for others to do, and so it passes down the chain of command until no one really knows who took responsibility. Give the impression that neither do we care.’

‘Yes, your highness.’

‘Krell, you and I will prepare the body. Whom can we trust to bury him?’

‘Father Paryn is a good man, my Queen. He will help us to send off Koreldy with some dignity.’

‘Dignity, yes,’ she said, seeing once again her version of Hildyth enjoying her evening’s work with Romen. ‘He will be buried at a private ceremony. No one is to speak of it with anyone other than Father Paryn. Krell, please make arrangements for a site near my father.’

‘In the royal crypt, your majesty?’ His tone carried sufficient surprise that she knew he was not happy with such an arrangement.

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘He deserves as much. He fought to save my father’s life; he certainly saved mine. He was also…’ She paused, forcing herself to hold back the words she longed to speak. It would serve no purpose for these men to know her true feelings for Koreldy. She took a breath. ‘This is what I want.’

‘As you wish,’ Krell said, bowing.

‘Liryk, what of the men who accompanied you?’

‘All reliable, your highness. If you will excuse me, I shall round them up now and make our orders clear.’

‘Each to be paid double salary for this moon cycle. They are to understand that their silence is appreciated at the highest level.’

He nodded and bowed before taking his leave.

‘Clothes,’ Krell muttered. ‘I should organise some fresh garments for him.’

Valentyna looked again at her beloved Romen in his dusty travelling clothes.

‘He looks best in dark grey,’ she said. ‘It sets off his eyes.’ The sorrow in her voice was thick.

Krell looked sharply at his sovereign and then away. The expression of pain on her face at that moment was too raw. He knew she needed privacy.

‘At once, your highness. I shall go find Father Paryn now,’ he murmured.

Valentyna heard the door of the chapel close quietly. ‘Lock it, Fynch,’ she begged, ‘I need some time.’ And she broke down, her soft cries heartbreaking as she bowed helplessly over the cold corpse. No longer a Queen having to follow protocol or keep her emotions in check, but a young woman grieving over the death of the man she loved.

‘His killer took his bracelet as well,’ she said through her tears. She felt no shame at showing her sorrow with Fynch.

‘Yes, highness, I noticed it was missing. But it was worth nothing. He told me his sister had plaited it for him, the beads were hers from childhood.’

‘A trinket, yes, but worth everything to Romen, I imagine, and perhaps more to his killer.’

‘How so, my Queen?’

She shrugged. ‘I suppose further proof that he is dead. Anyone who knew Romen would have noticed he habitually wore that tiny bracelet.’

Fynch nodded, remaining silent.

‘He looks so peaceful,’ she admitted, her eyes drawn to the damaged hand where a finger had been carelessly hacked off.

Fynch saw she had refastened the shirt buttons to hide the brutal wound.

‘Asleep even,’ he ventured.

‘Yes. Except Romen was never still, was he? He had a special energy. We shall never hear his laugh again, or that way he mocked everyone with gentle affection.’

Fynch took a chance. ‘If I suggested this was simply a dead body and not really the Romen Koreldy you loved, what would you say?’

Valentyna looked at him, disturbed, wiping away the helpless tears. ‘I would call you cruel. Why should you suggest such a thing when you know how I feel… felt about Romen?’

It was pointless pursuing this conversation but he tried anyway. At least later he could reassure himself he had made the attempt. He swallowed. ‘Although Romen’s corpse lies here before us, I don’t believe that the man you knew – the man you loved, your highness – is dead.’

She looked at him aghast. ‘Fynch, whatever are you talking about? Stop now. This is hurtful.’

He sighed, dropped his head. ‘My apologies, your highness.’

She wanted to retain his friendship so much and yet here she was pushing him farther from herself. Valentyna moved swiftly to be beside him and then crouched so she could look directly into his large, serious eyes. ‘No, I am sorry. He is dead because I banished him. This is my cross to bear – not yours. You would never have done this to a friend, but oh, my dear Fynch, I am bound by duties and royal protocol.’

‘I understand. Really. I think I’ve got it straight in my mind why you did what you did.’

‘It’s your forgiveness I seek. I don’t want to lose you, Fynch. You and even your strange dog there are my closest friends in the world.’

Her words touched him. ‘Then you must trust me.’

‘I do.’

‘And understand what I must do.’

She noted the grave tone. ‘What must you do?’ she asked, frowning now.

‘I am leaving, your highness.’

The shock of his words stopped her tears. ‘No! Why?’

‘There is something I must pursue.’

‘Fynch, speak plainly. Tell me,’ she commanded, searching his guileless face for clues.

‘You cannot understand.’

‘Make me.’

He smiled. It was shy and rare, full of kindness. ‘I cannot, your highness. I have tried before.’

She took a deep breath, then laid her hands lightly on his shoulders. ‘Is this about Wyl Thirsk… and – what was it? Romen taking on his duties… his desires? You said you felt his presence.’

Fynch nodded. His expression was sombre. ‘More than that, but I cannot explain yet.’

‘Magic.’ She spoke the word as if it was poison in her mouth. ‘Just trust me,’ Fynch repeated.

‘But where will you go?’ There was a plaintiveness in her voice. ‘To track down Romen Koreldy’s murderer.’

The Queen rubbed a hand over her face. He could not tell whether she felt frustration, anger, despair or a combination of all.

‘You are a child,’ she said, hating to state the obvious and working hard at keeping her voice level.

‘All the more reason I shall go unnoticed, your highness. Who would bother with a child?’

‘And your purpose?’ she blurted, irritation spilling over, sarcasm evident in her tone.

If Fynch noticed he did not react. He spoke evenly. ‘I mean to see his killer with my own eyes.’ He kept as close to the truth as possible for lies did not come naturally to him.

‘And?’

Fynch was silent. She waited, knowing he was considering how best to answer her. He was always very careful in how he spoke.

‘I will decide then,’ he answered.

The cryptic reply annoyed her further. She stood and turned away, her voice hard. ‘It is your decision and you will be missed. Will you remain for the burial?’

‘There’s no point,’ he said quietly. ‘I prefer to leave immediately, unless you wish it differently.’

‘I do. We must honour him.’

‘But it is not him any more, your highness.’

‘Stop it, I beg you!’ she beseeched, the pain of his words cutting through her.

Fynch’s gaze was unblinking and honest. ‘Once again I ask for your faith. I will not let you down. Neither will he,’ he said, nodding towards the corpse.

Valentyna wanted to scream at him, shake his bony shoulders and force some sense into his head. She did neither. ‘I shall spend some time with him alone now. I insist on your presence at the burial.’

Fynch bowed but she had already turned away from him.

The burial was swift. The body was surrounded by small candles which would be permitted to burn out. A few spoken words, a quick prayer, and then Father Paryn was asking them to lay their gifts next to the body. Koreldy’s spirit would move beyond, whilst his body remained surrounded by possessions from those who had cared for him.