Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [142]
“Mm.” It was a little noise, but contained a cache of pain nonetheless. He glanced up at the sky, reading the clock of the stars. “Royina, I keep you from your bed.”
But not the reverse. In the long, lonely watches of his unsleeping nights, what did he now think about? She took the hint nonetheless and rose. He stood with her, his war gear creaking.
He took her hand, half bowed, briefly pressed his cool forehead against its back. “Royina, I do thank you for these garlands of truth. I know they cost you dear.”
“They are dry and bitter thorns. I wish I could give you some better bier gift.” With all my cracking heart, I do wish it.
“I do not desire any softer wreath.”
Liss, seeing them pace once more across the court, prodded the page awake and came to the foot of the stairs to receive Ista back from Arhys’s arm. Arhys saluted them solemnly and turned away, his sleepy page pattering after. The echoes of his receding footfalls in the archway sounded like muffled drums in Ista’s ears.
IT WAS LONG BEFORE ISTA SLEPT. IN THE GRAY OF DAWN, SHE SEEMED to hear thumping and low voices in the distance, but her exhaustion drew her back down into her pillow. She fell into an evil dream where she sat at a high table with Lady Cattilara. The marchess, glowing faintly violet, plied her guest with food until Ista’s belly strained, and drowned her wits in drink until Ista lay back in her chair unable to rise for the paralysis in her limbs.
Only a much louder thumping at the door to the outer chamber roused her from this bizarre dream imprisonment. She exhaled in relief to find herself in her own bed, her body normally proportioned and mobile again, if feeling anything but well rested. By the bright lines seeping through her shutters, it was broad day.
Liss’s steps sounded, then voices: Foix’s, deep and urgent, dy Cabon’s, sharp and excited. Ista had already swung out of bed and pulled her black robe about herself when the door between the chambers opened and Liss poked her head in.
“Royina, something very strange has happened . . .”
Ista pushed past her. Foix was dressed for the day in blue tunic, trousers, boots and sword, his face flushed with exertion; dy Cabon’s white undertunic was on askew, its front buttons mismatched with their buttonholes, his feet yet bare.
“Royina.” Foix ducked his head. “Did you see or hear anything, at Lord Illvin’s chambers or on the gallery, along about dawn? Your room is closer than ours.”
“No—maybe. I fell back to sleep.” She grimaced in memory of the unpleasant dream. “I was very tired. Was there something?”
“Lady Cattilara came at dawn with some servants and carried off Lord Illvin on a pallet. To take him down to the temple to pray over, and consult with the temple physicians, she said.”
“The temple physicians should come up to attend upon him in Porifors, I would think,” said Ista, disturbed. “Did Lord Arhys go with them?”
“The march is nowhere to be found this morning. I first learned of all this when one of his officers asked me if I’d seen him.”
“I last saw Arhys last night. He came to speak with me down in the courtyard, around midnight. Liss was there.”
The girl nodded. She had evidently wakened before Ista—she was dressed and had a tray with morning tea and fresh bread sitting ready on a table—but not much before, for this all seemed news to her as well.
“Well,” Foix continued, “I felt strangely uneasy—probably left over from the bad dreams I’d had last night, which really made me wonder about the castle food, but anyway, I made an excuse to walk down to the temple to see what was happening. Lady Cattilara had never come there. I asked around. I finally discovered that she had commandeered a supply wagon and a team of dray horses from the garrison’s stable down there. No one knew what had been loaded aboard, but the wagon, with Goram driving and one of the servants sitting beside him, was seen leaving