The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [134]
He tried to think about mountain pasture and wide blue sky, but instead his mind kept replaying just a few things.
Had the entire embassy really been a sham, a disguise for assassination? Would Anne really have ordered that? Would Muriele have been part of it?
Maybe, maybe. Queens were forced to do that sometimes, weren’t they? It was childish to think otherwise.
But Anne had insisted he go along. Did she know? Know that he knew Brinna? Did she think that he would kill her if Alis failed?
Should he, if he got the chance? Could he, if it was his queen’s wish? After all, it was his fault that Hansa even had a Hellrune.
And the thing that kept burning up through everything else was the memory of his kiss with her out in the marshes around Paldh, the touch of her lips and the sweet gift of her against him.
Someone was humming a weird little song. Fingers traced along Neil’s bare spine, up to his shoulder, along his ruined sword arm, back up around the edge of his ear. He smiled and rolled that way.
Hazel eyes gazed down from a delicate face framed in dark tresses. She had a sad little smile on her lips.
“Fastia,” he gasped, his heart thundering.
“I know you,” the ghost sighed. “I remember you.”
Neil tried to sit up but found that he couldn’t. His body seemed impossibly tired and heavy.
“I kissed you once, too.”
“I’m sorry, Fastia,” he whispered.
“Why? For kissing?”
“No.”
“I’m almost gone,” she said. “The river is taking me. Whoever you are, I’ve almost forgotten you. If you ever wronged me, it’s in the water now.”
“I love you.”
“You love her.”
“Yes,” he said, miserably.
She stroked his cheek. “No need for that,” she said.
“Did she bring you here?” he asked.
“No. She’s like a doorway, and through her I saw you. You drew me here.”
“I do love you.”
“I’m glad I was loved,” she said. She closed her eyes. “Something is coming,” she said. “You need to go back. I wanted to tell you that.”
She bent and brought her lips to his, and he felt a tickle. Then she began singing in a language he didn’t know. He found himself wanting to sing it as well, to leave his flesh and join Fastia. But the song faded, and her with it, until she was gone.
He started and was awake.
Footsteps. Someone was coming. It didn’t sound like the jailer.
It wasn’t; it was four guards. They didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask them anything; he just let them lead him out of the hole and back up into the halls. They took him back to the chamber where he’d seen Brinna and left him there alone.
He was wondering what to do, when the small door opened and the girl came in with a pitcher and filled an alabaster washbasin.
“My lady asks that you bathe yourself,” she said in Hanzish. Her eyes were darting, fearful, not like the last time.
“I’m to leave you alone while you do so. Fresh clothes are there.” She pointed to some garments folded on the chair he’d sat in before, then exited the way she had come.
He stripped off his filthy weeds and scrubbed himself from head to toe. A bath would have been better, but when he was done, he felt so much more human that it was shocking. When he was dry, he slipped on the hose, breeches, and shirt that had been provided and stood waiting, enjoying the ability to straighten his limbs, back, and neck all at the same time.
The girl stuck her head in a bit later, and a few moments after that Brinna entered, wearing the same, or an identical, black gown. She did not, however, have the mask with her.
Her expression didn’t tell him much, and for a little while that was all he got. Then she walked over and took her place in her armchair.
“Please sit,” she said.
He complied.
“Things are complicated,” she said. “I wouldn’t have had you stay in that place if they weren’t.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he muttered.
“I doubt that, but that’s not this discussion.”
She looked down and cleared her throat softly.
“There are three reasons you’re here and not dead or still imprisoned,” she said. “The first is that I believe you