The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [123]
As the boat arrived, a slender figure in black hose and surcoat leapt off to secure the moorings; it took an instant for Anne to realize that the figure was female, a girl of perhaps thirteen. In the next blink she understood that all but one of Robert’s retainers were unarmed young women. The single man wore a gold filigree brooch on his mantle that identified him as a knight, but he was likewise weaponless.
Robert certainly didn’t seem very worried.
When the craft was secure, he rose from his makeshift throne, grinning.
“My dear Anne,” he said. “Let me look at you.”
He stepped out upon the stone, and Anne felt a shock run through her feet. The rock beneath her went suddenly soft, like warm butter, and everything blurred. It was as if the world around her were melting.
And then, just as suddenly, all was firm again, re-formed.
But different. Robert was still there, handsome in a black sealskin doublet sequined with small diamonds. But he stank like rotting meat, and his skin was translucent, revealing the dark riverine network of vessels beneath. Even more peculiar, his veins did not end at his flesh but trailed off into the earth and air, joining the otherworldly waters of her vision.
But unlike the man she had seen dying, leaking the last of his life into the headwaters of death, everything was flowing into Robert, filling him, propping him up like a hand thrust into a stocking puppet.
She realized she had stepped back, and her breath was coming fast.
“That is near enough,” Artwair said.
“I only want to give my niece a kiss,” Robert said. “That is not so much, is it?”
“Under the circumstances,” Artwair replied, “I think it is.”
“None of you see it, do you?” Anne asked. “You can’t see what he is.”
The puzzled gazes that brought confirmed her guess, and even in her own vision the dark rivulets were fading, though not entirely vanished.
Robert met her gaze squarely, and she saw something weird there, a sort of recognition or surprise.
“What am I, my dear? I am your beloved uncle. I am your dear friend.”
“I don’t know what you are,” Anne said, “but you are not my friend.”
Robert sighed dramatically.
“You are distraught, I can see that. But I can assure you I am your friend. Why else would I protect your throne as I have?”
“My throne?” Anne said.
“Of course, Anne. Liery has kidnapped Charles, and in his absence I have acted as regent. But you are the heir to the throne, my dear.”
“You admit this?” Artwair said.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? I have no reason to go against the Comven’s decision. I have only been awaiting her return.”
“And now you plan to give me the crown?” Anne asked, staring in disbelief.
“Indeed I shall,” Robert agreed. “Under certain conditions.”
“Ah, now we’re to the viper’s bargain,” Artwair said.
Robert looked annoyed for the first time since his arrival.
“I’m surprised by the company you keep, Anne,” he said. “Duke Artwair was commanded to protect our borders. He has abandoned that duty in order to march upon Eslen.”
“To return the throne to its rightful owner,” Artwair said.
“Oh, really?” Robert replied. “When you began your march west, you knew that Anne was alive, well, and ready to take her place in Eslen? But that was before you had seen her, or spoken with her. In fact, how could you have known that?” He switched his gaze to Anne.
“How do you imagine he knew you were alive, my dear? Have you ever asked yourself exactly what our dear duke might want from this bargain?”
Anne had, in fact, wondered just that, but she withheld her confirmation.
“What are your terms?” she asked.
Robert nodded appraisingly. “You’ve grown up, haven’t you? Though I have to say, I’m not sure I like your hair cut short. It seems mannish. When it is long, you look