The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [133]
“The Sefry.”
“Them, yes. But there are others, with different goals.”
“But you must have sent your brother to Saint Cer. He and his men tried to murder Anne then.”
She shook her head. “I had nothing to do with that. The Dunmrogh boy betrayed her there to your uncle, who was in fact working with my father.”
“Is Robert here?”
“Yes.”
He digested that for a moment. “Is my queen safe?”
“You mean Muriele now. Yes and no. Safe for the moment. But safe here, in Hansa? Not remotely.”
She held Neil’s gaze so long that his scalp began to prickle, but she finally looked away again.
“We’ve spoken enough for now,” she said. “A longer talk will raise suspicions, and to be frank, I haven’t decided what to do with you.” She picked up her mask. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you better accommodations, but that, too, would attract attention.”
“I have to try to help my queen,” he said. “You know that.”
“I do,” she said softly. “I’ll do what I can to help Muriele.”
“And Anne?”
But Brinna didn’t reply. She just replaced the mask on her face.
“Why do you wear that?” he asked.
“I spoke of a higher calling,” she murmured. “Perhaps I will tell you about that one day.”
She turned and left through the same concealed panel, and a few moments later guards appeared and returned him to his cell.
Muriele sipped wine and leaned on the timeworn balustrade of a stone balcony. Below her, a stream coursed noisily through a narrow white-walled gorge very pleasantly grown in hemlock, spruce, and everic. The balcony supporting her was carved from the living rock of the ravine.
“Who made this place?” she asked Berimund as he joined her.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m told that the style of the carving resembles that of the Unselthiuzangardis, the, ah, ‘Wicked Kingdoms.’”
“That was during what we called the Warlock Wars.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Anyway, I believe it was probably the refuge of a sorcerer or perhaps the secret dwelling of his mistress. My wulfbrothars and I found it when we were in farunya.”
“Farunya? That’s this province?”
He looked at her blankly a minute, then laughed. “No,” he said. “Farunya—that’s when boys who are almost old enough to be men band together and wander, hunt outlaws, pick fights with hill tribes. My wulfbrothars and I went out for years, went all the way into Zhuzhturi. When we returned—those of us who returned—we were made men and warriors. Any boy who hopes to fight in a hansa must go in farunya first.”
“You lost friends?”
“There were forty of us to start with. Thirty-two came back. Not bad considering some of the fights we got into.” He grinned. “Those were good times. And that’s how I know my brothers won’t betray me. We were forged into men together. It’s a strong bond.”
The thing about betrayal, Muriele thought, is that only someone you trust can really betray you.
She didn’t say it, though. If Berimund was wrong, he was wrong. Her saying something wouldn’t serve any purpose.
“So, this place,” the prince went on. “We spotted it from down there. Took us five days to find the entrance above. We came back later and furnished it. We swore to keep its location secret.”
“That’s why you blindfolded me.”
“Jah. Even then, I had to put it to a vote with my men.”
“I’m flattered they allowed it.” She let her gaze drift back down to the river. “So what now?”
“We wait for my father to calm down,” he said.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“In that case, we’ll have to wait until he dies, I think.”
“Well,” Muriele said, “at least there’s wine.”
Neil lay in the dark, wondering if he was going mad, wondering how long he had been there. He thought he probably slept a lot, but the distinction between sleep and waking was starting to blur. His only indication of the time was when they brought his food, but he was always a little hungry, so he