The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [195]
“That’s too many,” Neil said. “They’ll kill me, and kill you, and then kill your Cazio and z’Acatto, and we won’t have served the queen—or Anne—very well. Our duty is to them first, do you understand?”
Austra bowed her head. “Yes,” she agreed.
“And you won’t try and run off again?”
“No.”
“Good. Then let’s get going, while we still have the light.”
Austra just nodded again, but continued to stare at the ground. Neil lifted her chin with his finger. “I swear by the saints my people swear by, once we know one way or the other about Anne, I’ll do what I can for your friends.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Right. Let’s go then.”
He took them into the forest off the road and swung wide around it, keeping his bearings by the sun. To his relief, it was less than a bell before he saw light through the trees. The forest, it seemed, was great in length but narrow in breadth. By that time the sun was setting, but in the dim light he made out a castle—and farther away, a village.
“Do you know that place?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s ask in the village.”
Neil took them warily along the road, though it was all but deserted. They only had two encounters; the first was where the road split into branches headed toward the village and castle respectively. The only light was a crescent moon, but they heard the rumble of a carriage coming from the castle. Neil could only make out a shadow, but reckoned it was still a few hundred yards away. He twitched Prospect onto the town road, and the noise of the carriage soon faded behind them.
The second encounter came on the outskirts of the village, when he made out four horsemen coming toward them. He tensed in the saddle, putting his hand on Cuenslec’s pommel. In outline they didn’t seem to be armored.
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice barked from the darkness—in the king’s tongue.
Neil gripped his weapon tighter, for though the voice sounded familiar, he couldn’t place it.
“Put that away, Aspar,” another voice said. “Can’t you see who it is?”
“Not in this light. I don’t have sainted vision, like you do.”
“Well met, Sir Neil,” the lighter voice said. “I suspect we have a lot to discuss.”
CHAPTER THREE
CEREMONY
ANNE FOUND HERSELF STARING again at the girl in the mirror, recognizing her even less than she had the last time she looked, only a few hours earlier. This time she wore a bride’s wimple of pale gold safnite brocade that concealed even the few wisps of hair that remained to her. The gown was bone, with long fitted sleeves and edgings in the same color as the wimple. The face surrounded by all this seemed lost and strange.
Vespresern seemed rather pleased by the effect. “It fit you nearly without alteration,” she said. “A good thing, too, as we had little enough time to spare. My lord is in a terrible hurry.” She patted Anne’s arms. “He does so love you, you know. I’ve never seen him go against his father in even the slightest matter, before this. I do hope he’s right about everything.”
Vespresern waited, plainly looking for a response.
“He is always in my heart and my thoughts,” Anne said at last. “It’s my greatest desire to bring him all the happiness he deserves.”
She meant that much, anyway.
“It’s rare that anyone in your position is able to marry for love, my dear,” Vespresern blithered. “You cannot know how lucky you are.”
Anne remembered Fastia telling her the same thing, on more than one occasion—Fastia, who had married so unhappily. Fastia who had once played with her and made her garlands of flowers, whom she had left in argument, whom she could never apologize to.
Fastia, now meat for the worms.
Anne heard footsteps in the corridor.
“Here he comes,” Vespresern said. “Are you quite ready, my dear?”
“Yes,” Anne responded. “Quite ready.”
“Here,” the old lady said. “We’ll bundle you up in this old weather-cloak. There shouldn’t be anyone to recognize you, but safe is what we’ll be.”
Anne stood still as Vespresern draped the woolen garment over the gown. A knock sounded at the door.
“Who will that be?” Vespresern