The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [182]
“Oh, no, the mood has quite left me,” Robert said. He rolled his head back. “Let’s see,” he mumbled. “There was something else I was going to tell you, what was it?” He scratched his chin. “Right. That affair you planned at the Candle Grove—that was a good idea. I’m going ahead with it. And since it was your idea, I’m arranging for you to be present. Consider it an apology.”
He pushed himself up. “I’d better get this seen to,” he said, “and then decide whether I must kill the physician.” He bowed. “I bid you ladies good morning.”
Then he left.
When he was gone, Muriele began to shudder.
“Sit,” Alis said.
“No,” she gasped. “No, not in that chair. Not on the bed, never—never again.”
“Well, come into my room, then. I’ll make some tea. Come on.”
“Thank you, Alis,” she said.
She let the girl lead her into her apartment, and sat on the bed. Alis went to the little stove there and began to kindle it.
“What is he, Alis?” Muriele asked. “What exactly have I made?”
Alis stopped and turned halfway, then went back to her work with the stove. “In the coven,” she began, “we studied the rumors of a creature like this. But in all our histories, it is only once recorded that the law of death was broken—by the Black Jester. He made himself as Robert is, deathless and yet not truly alive. But once the law of death has been broken, it is a simpler matter to make others. One of the Black Jester’s titles was Mhwr. Those he created were called the Mhwrmakhy. In the Chronicles of the Old North Kingdom, the Black Jester was called the Nau, and his servants the nauschalken.”
“Those last are easier to wrap my tongue around,” Muriele admitted.
She still felt his hands on her, his weight pressing down . . .
“Wait,” she said, in an effort to keep her mind elsewhere. “If the Black Jester broke the law of death, how could I have broken it again?”
“It was repaired, at great cost,” Alis said.
“But it can be repaired,” Muriele said hopefully.
“We no longer know how,” she replied. “Those who did it perished in the doing.”
Muriele bowed her head, despair filling her up. “Then I deserved—”
Alis took three quick steps from the stove and slapped her, hard. Muriele looked up at her in utter astonishment, the sting still on her cheek.
“No,” Alis said. “Do not say it. Never say that, and do not think it.” She knelt and took Muriele’s hand, and there were tears in her eyes.
Muriele ached to cry, but could not find her own tears. Instead she curled up in the bed, closed her eyes, and searched behind them for a forgetful sleep.
Leoff answered the light rap at his door and found Areana there, looking puzzled and quite pretty in a dark blue gown.
“You sent for me, Cavaor Ackenzal?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Please call me Leoff.”
She smiled nervously. “As you wish, Leoff.”
“Please, come in, have a seat.” He noticed an older woman in the hall beyond her. “And you, lady, if you please.”
Areana looked chagrined. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just—I’ve never been in the palace, and it’s all so—well, I’m nervous, as you can see. This is my governess, Jen Unilsdauter. I thought it appropriate . . .” She trailed off, as if unsure of what she meant to say, or worried she’d already said the wrong thing.
“You are most welcome, Lady Jen,” Leoff told her. “Most especially if you can speak for Areana’s parents.”
“I’m no lady, young man,” she replied, “but I appreciate a compliment.”
“Please, sit, both of you.”
When they had, he returned his gaze to Areana, who was blushing.
“Leoff,” she began, “I—that is too say—”
He got it then. “Oh, no, you misunderstand, I think,” he hurriedly assured her. “I didn’t ask you here for—not that I don’t find you charming . . .” He trailed off. “This is getting worse and worse, isn’t it?” He sighed.
“Well, it’s certainly becoming more and more confusing,” Areana agreed.
“It’s this, you see,” Leoff said, patting the score on his worktable. “This is why I’ve asked you here. You’ve heard about the performance to be given at the Candle Grove?”
“Of course,