Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [77]
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Maddyn heard the news from Owaen. He woke from a sound sleep just as his fellow captain came running into the barracks with a candle lantern in his hand.
“Maddo?” Owaen sounded hesitant—an odd thing in itself. “Uh, Maddo, you'd best get up and dress.”
“Why? What's happened?”
With a long sigh Owaen sat down on the bunk opposite. The lantern light threw dapples of shadow over his face. Maddyn sat up and threw the blankets back.
“What is it, Owaen? For the love of the gods, tell me!”
“The princess is dead. She threw herself down from the leaning tower.”
The shadows danced as Owaen's hand trembled. With an oath he bent down and set the lantern on the floor. Maddyn could only stare at him.
“It's a ghastly thing,” Owaen said finally. “Uh, mayhap you'd best—I mean, Nevyn—ah horseshit and a tub of piss, too! I don't know what to say.”
“No more do I,” Maddyn whispered.
As he got up, Maddyn felt nothing at all, no surprise, no grief, nothing. He dressed, he buckled on his belt, he put on his boots, and felt nothing. All around him Wildfolk materialized, grey gnomes, mostly, who sucked on their fingers while they stared with solemn eyes.
“Maddo?” Owaen said. “Are you all right?”
“Of course not,” Maddyn said. “I'll just be off to find Nevyn.”
At the mention of Nevyn, the Wildfolk disappeared. Maddyn picked up the candle lantern and took it with him when he left the barracks.
Outside the rain had stopped. When he looked up he could see a tear in the clouds and a glitter of stars for one brief moment; then the wind closed over the brightness. Like her life, he thought. A bright moment, and then it was gone. All at once he could no longer stand. He dropped to his knees, set the lantern down on the cobbles, threw back his head, and howled. It wasn't keening, really, just a howl, more rage than grief—he felt it rock him back and forth as he howled, over and over, without a true word in it.
Dimly he heard a voice, calling his name—a man's voice, Nevyn. The old man knelt and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Stop it!” Nevyn shook him like a child. “Stop it, Maddo!”
Eventually, Maddyn did. By the lantern light he stared openmouthed at the old man. “Did you hear me?” he said at last.
“The Wildfolk fetched me. Come with me. I don't want the prince to see you in this state.”
“Curse the prince!”
“Don't tempt me! Now get up off this wretched wet ground, and let's go up to the women's hall. Her women will have washed her body by now. No one's going to dare begrudge you entry there tonight.”
“I don't want—”
“Don't argue!” Nevyn grabbed him by the arm with surprising strength. “Let us go, bard. Now.”
In the women's hall candles blazed. The dead thing that once had been Bellyra lay on a trestle table of the sort women set up for finishing bed hangings, and indeed, under her lay a half-finished panel of embroidered red wyverns. She wore only a white shift, clinging to her body here and there with damp. At her head Elyssa stood brushing her lady's hair, her face white and set. She never looked up once.
“You know, Maddo,” Elyssa said, “I wish to every god that you and she had ridden off together. I would have helped you leave with my blessings.”
Maddyn tried to speak, but his mouth had gone as dry as cold ash in a hearth. Dimly he was aware of someone weeping nearby. He glanced round, expecting to see a servant. In the curve of the wall Lady Degwa sat on the floor. She was curled up, knees to chest, her arms wrapped tight around herself, and she rocked like a terrified child, back and forth as she wept.
“I never meant,” she was whispering. “I never meant harm.”
Maddyn ignored her and walked over to the improvised bier. Bellyra's face—he stared, shaking, at what was left of her beauty, smashed against stone, purple and red, raw like meat.
“I'll lay a bit of silk over her,” Elyssa whispered. “For the burial.”
Maddyn nodded