The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [145]
We haven't forgotten you, Grace. Already the Warriors of Vathris number five thousand, and more come every day. Just hold on a little while longer.
She had to pray the words to Sia rather than spin them across the Weirding, but maybe somehow, by the will of the goddess, Grace would get the message.
In the meantime, the best way to help Grace was to learn what Liendra was planning. Whatever it was, it had to come soon. The army of Vathris was to depart on the morrow under the command of King Boreas. Liendra was running out of time.
Which made her behavior earlier that morning all the more strange. They had encountered her at breakfast in the great hall, and she had been all smiles and bright laughter. She had seemed utterly unconcerned that the men of Vathris were ready to march.
“We shall see what weather tomorrow brings,” was all the golden-haired witch said. “Storms can come upon one swiftly this time of year, as I'm sure the king knows.”
Aryn had dared to relay these words to the king. After all, Liendra couldn't punish her for talking to her liege and warden. At least, she hoped not. However, Boreas had seemed every bit as unconcerned as Liendra.
“Of course Lady Liendra plots against me,” the king said, standing before the roaring fire in his chamber. “She's a witch. She can't help plotting.” He raised an eyebrow, giving her a piercing look. “No offense intended, my lady.”
Despite her fear, Aryn gave him a wry grin. “None taken, Your Majesty.” Then she voiced the question that had weighed on her mind these last two days, asking the king why he had allowed Liendra and her witches to stay in the castle.
Boreas laughed. “That's simple, my lady. It's far better to have your enemies near at hand, where you can keep a close eye on them. I do not plan on being caught unawares by any spells Lady Liendra might try to spin.”
Aryn wanted to believe that, but she didn't know if she could, and that was why they had to try to speak to Ivalaine. Until recently, she had been Matron of the Witches, and if anyone knew what Liendra intended to do, it was her. There was just one problem: Ivalaine had forbidden Aryn and Lirith ever to try speaking to her again.
The two witches turned down an empty corridor. Ivalaine's chamber lay just ahead.
“What if she's not there?” Aryn said, suddenly uncertain at the wisdom of this.
“She will be,” Lirith said. “The servingman I spoke to said the queen takes all her meals in her room.”
Aryn reached out with the Touch, but she sensed no threads nearby. She hurried after Lirith to the queen's door. They exchanged one last nervous look, then Lirith lifted a hand to knock.
The door flew open.
“Did I not tell you I would have nothing to do with you?” Ivalaine hissed.
Lirith gasped, and Aryn clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. The queen of Toloria was barely recognizable. Always in the past she had carried herself tall and straight, her flaxen hair as flawless as her skin, her eyes as clear as ice.
That woman was nowhere to be seen now. Ivalaine stooped over, her shoulders hunched like an old woman's, her gown wrinkled and soiled. Her hair was snarled and dull with oil, and scratches marred her face, as if she had been clawing at it. Her eyes were the same ice gray as always, but they seemed too bright, and they focused on nothing for more than a second.
Lirith recovered first. “Please, Your Majesty. We have to speak with you just this once. After this, we'll leave you alone, if that's what you wish.” She reached out a hand.
The queen batted it aside. “I wish you to leave me alone now. I should weave an enchantment—I should make you run away screaming.” Her fingers fluttered, then knotted together. “But my spells have fled me. The authority of the crown has fled me. Love is all I have left, and bitter comfort that is. Would that I had nothing left at all.”
She turned from the door and lurched into her room. Aryn and Lirith exchanged startled glances, then they stepped into the queen's chamber.
The smell hit Aryn at once.