The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [160]
“I’d really like to draw some sort of picture of the dun,” Bellyra remarked one morning. “A map, I suppose I mean. I don’t have the slightest idea of how to go about it.”
“No more would I, Your Highness,” Maddyn said. “But Otho might. He seems to know a fair lot of odd lore.”
“That’s true, and it’s a good idea.”
They had left the main ward behind by then and gone round to the back of the broch complex to one of the odd little spaces marked off by the walls and rubble of buildings long gone. Pale sunlight fell on the dark stones with no power to warm them and cast black shadows onto the muddy ground. As usual the pages had run on ahead, this time to climb up a pile of old cobblestones that looked dangerously unstable.
“Shall I go fetch them, Your Highness?” Maddyn said.
“In a moment. They won’t kill themselves straightaway, or so we can hope. I’ve got a thing I want to give you.”
Bellyra took a small twist of cloth out of her kirtle and handed it to him. When he opened it, he found a silver ring, a flat band engraved with roses. He turned it between thumb and forefinger to admire the blooms, so tiny yet so perfectly drawn that it seemed he should be able to smell their scent.
“Well, see if it fits you,” Bellyra said impatiently.
“It’s a lovely thing,” Maddyn said, “but truly, do you think I should take a gift from you?”
“Of course! Why would I have Otho make it if I didn’t want you to have it?”
“I’m worrying what others might think. Gossips, I mean.”
“I’ve given lots of other people little trinkets over the years.” She was smiling at him. “And in fact, I asked Maryn if I should reward you for being so patient. He said indeed I should. So just don’t go bragging about it, and no one will think twice.”
Maddyn laughed and slipped the ring over the middle finger of his right hand. He had to squeeze it over his knuckle, but it fit snugly but comfortably once he had it seated.
“Otho’s got a good eye,” Bellyra said. “I thought he’d have to take it back and size it, but it’s meant to be yours, sure enough.”
“You have my humble thanks, my lady. It’s a splendid thing, and I’m honored that you’d think of me.”
“Are you really?”
“I am. A gift from you is worth half the earth to me.”
Bellyra smiled in a way he particularly liked, glancing away as if she were a young lass and still shy. He would have given the other half of the earth to kiss that smile, but always he was aware of the dun looming over them, with a hundred windows like a hundred eyes.
“We’d best go in,” Bellyra said. “I’m supposed to be teaching Riddmar about Cerrmor, as if the poor child will be able to remember all the things I’ve told him! And we’d better not let those pages break their necks.”
After he escorted the princess back to the women’s hall, Maddyn decided to go back to the barracks before he joined the other men for the noon meal. He crossed the ward, thinking of very little, but at the stairs leading to his quarters he paused. Had someone called his name? All at once he knew he was being watched. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising and spun around, his hand on his sword hilt. Lady Merodda was standing about ten feet away, her hands decorously folded at her waist, and studying him with unblinking eyes. In the sunlight her yellow hair gleamed as if it had been oiled.
“That ring,” she whispered. “It binds my heart. It chokes me.”
Without thinking he raised his hand.
“It bodes evil to me,” Merodda went on. “But a worse evil to you, silver dagger.” She tossed back her head and laughed. “But a far far worse evil to you.”
The laughter died in mid-peal. She had vanished.
Maddyn felt himself tremble, and cold sweat sheeted down his back. He sat down on the stairs rather than risk climbing them, and tried to think. Was he ill? Had he imagined the whole thing? If the apparition actually had been a ghost, had she spoken true about his ring? He looked down at his hand and the silver roses. How could he give up the token his lady had given him, when it would cause her hurt to see him without it? He would do