Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 7

  “Feed me then.”

  She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but proving to Haze that she was human and making him feel pity for her felt like the right thing to do.

  Haze looked surprised. He glanced to the doorway where Powel was still standing. The former knight looked unsure, but then said: “All right. But just until you've eaten a little.”

  He sat beside her on the bed. He was slight in the waist, but broad in the shoulders; his weight formed a delve in the bed. She pushed herself to a sitting position, feeling the wiry straw in the pillow prick the soft skin on her back.

  “I'm accustomed to feather pillows,” she said.

  “Such luxuries must be nice.” He picked up the plate from the bedside table. With a knife and fork he cut a piece of meat. She could see that it was tough and that he struggled to cut it. “I'm not entirely sure what animal this is. I'm sure you’re used to the finest cuts of ham.”

  Her stomach lurched at the thought of consuming it. Perhaps its dog, she thought. Her mouth became as dry as a long-since used sponge. “I'm sure it will taste just fine,” she said bravely.

  “You lie,” he said, smiling. “But I've eaten worse and lived to tell the tale.”

  He held the fork towards her, the piece of red meat skewered on the end looked dry and old. Nevertheless, she opened her mouth and accepted the fork. She pulled the meat from it with her teeth and chewed, tasting nothing but salt. To help the meat go down she told herself that it would give her much-needed strength.

  “Tomorrow would've been your wedding day, would it not?” Haze said, tearing a piece of black bread with his hands.

  “Yes,” she said coldly.

  “Must be a disappointment for you.”

  She shrugged. “I never wanted to marry him anyway. I don’t love him.”

  He placed the piece of bread in her mouth. “What is his name?”

  “Cuthbert Thornton-King, the son of a lord.” Haze remained silent, cutting more meat, so she continued to talk, her lips feeling loose. “I don't know how much you know about the life of a wizard bearer. Our marriages are arranged by the king, our partners carefully selected from the richest of stock. Cuthbert is a kind and caring man, although I have met him only twice. How can anyone be sure of anything after just two meetings? Meetings during which we were never alone.” She opened her mouth to receive the fork again. Having been taught to never talk with her mouth full, she chewed the meat and then swallowed before speaking again. “I was in love once, though.”

  “Oh?” Haze said, looking up from the plate to meet her eyes.

  “I had a secret relationship with a commoner. A serious relationship, not just a silly girl thing.” She had never spoken of this to anyone, but she didn't think the secret mattered anymore, given the circumstances. “Tristan Adley was his name. He was a butcher when I met him, but then he became a soldier.”

  “Excuse me if I'm speaking out of turn, miss, but aren't wizard bearer's supposed to be virgins on the day of their marriage and courtship?”

  Cassandra blushed. “Yes. But I am not.”

  “Tell me about him.” She thought he seemed genuinely interested.

  “I don't know about that. I've never told anyone about any of this.”

  “I'm a good listener and it's going to be a long night. I'm pretty sure you don't feel much like sleeping at the moment?”

  She looked to the doorway. Powel was not there. Perhaps he had gone to visit one of the women behind the many doors on the landing. When she'd been brought up to the room she had seen one of the women; all curves and hair she was. Cassandra had never seen so much boob-flesh on show. Even in Kingstown, the whores did their deeds behind closed doors and would never expose themselves in public. But that's where I am now, she thought. Behind closed doors, in a whore house. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, wondering what illicit acts had taken place on the bed upon which she lay.

  “Well?” Haze said, lifting the fork to her mouth again, a piece of dried meat skewered on the end of it. “Will you tell me?”

  “I don't know where to begin,” she said, pushing the fork away with her hand.

  “At the beginning. How did you meet him?”

  She thought about Tristan, picturing him in her mind. It brought a gentle smile to her face and warmth to her heart. “He was a butcher, but I've already told you that. On occasions he would deliver meat to the castle. I rarely have the pleasure of meeting anyone new. My days are so boring, so very, very boring.” She clenched her fist and hit the bed with the frustration of all those years spent cooped up in her chambers. “I liked him. And not just because he was good looking, but because he was nice. Courteous. He had a way of talking to people, even the servants. He would never talk down to them, ever.”

  “Do you want some of this?” Haze said, producing a bottle from the inside of his jacket.

  “What is it?”

  “Wine. Strong stuff, too.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I don't know . . .” She was sometimes allowed wine, but most of the time she drank water. Good for your wizard bearer's body, her maids would say. A body that will give birth to the next great wizard.

  “Come on,” Haze said. “Live a little. There's no one here to tell you off. Graff won't be back until the morn, remember.”

  “Yes, then,” she said. The enthusiasm in her voice must have startled Haze as he looked at her with amusement. Nevertheless, he passed her the bottle. She held it between her chained hands, paused for a moment to consider the thought of Haze's spittle on the rim, and then decided it didn't matter and took a swig. As she swallowed, the liquid warmed her throat and eventually her belly like the radiating heat from an open fire.

  “Now tell me more about this Tristan.”

  “He started to bring roses for me. Each week, when he brought the meat, he would have a rose of the deepest red hidden at the bottom of his basket.”

  “Did you have to hide it?”

  “My love for him? Yes.”

  “I meant the rose.” He chuckled and took a swig from the bottle before offering it to her again. She took another gulp, enjoying the warmth as it spread about her stomach.

  She found her lips becoming loose with the alcohol. She talked and talked, about things she had never before dared to share. Haze listened, occasionally nodding. And if she stopped he would urge her to continue.

  “One day, when he arrived with the fresh meat, quite by chance, we were alone . . .”

  “Where is everyone?” Tristan Adley said.

  “They're out,” Cassandra said. Her breathing had become heavy, her voice quivered and her heart pounded. “There's a tourney today, don't you know?”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot,” Tristan said, placing the basket on the table. “Shall I take the meat into the kitchen?”

  “There's no one in there either. All the staff are in attendance.”

  “So how come you're not there?”

  She'd feigned illness so that she didn't have to attend. Chances like this do not present themselves every day. “I said that I didn't feel like going.”

  “So, we're completely alone?” Tristan said. There was a sparkle in his eye and, despite her naivety, she knew why.

  “Not completely. Lambert Germain is lurking somewhere, but he won't bother us. He's as deaf as a post.”

  “Will we be making lots of noise, then?”

  Cassandra felt herself blush. She looked away, feeling embarrassed about her choice of words. I didn't mean it like that, she thought. But she couldn't help the illicit thoughts that filled her head in response.

  “Do you have a rose for me?” she said.

  “I certainly do.” He uncovered the meat and pulled a rose from the side of the basket. She went to take it from his hands, but he snatched it away. “If there's no one here, then perhaps I could have a kiss in return for this rose.”

  She felt her cheeks burning again, betraying her. She'd never kissed anyone before.

  “Well?” Tris
tan urged.

  She pushed a long strand of her dark hair behind her right ear and licked her lips. He was a head-height taller than her, so to reach his lips with hers she had to stand on the tips of her toes. As she balanced, she stumbled forwards and had to place her hands on his chest to steady herself. He grabbed her arms with hands stronger than she'd ever known and pulled her close. Before she even realised what was happening, he pressed his lips against hers.

  Cassandra stopped talking then. What followed she would never speak of, especially with a fallen knight of the realm, however nice he appeared to be. But she couldn't help her thoughts returning to that morning some months prior . . .

  She smiled, placing her head against Tristan's chest. She'd kissed someone, a commoner, and that was forbidden, she knew. The king would have Tristan's head for such an act.

  “I'm surprised they left you here alone,” Tristan said, “knowing I would be delivering meat.”

  “They sent your father a note instructing him not to send you,” Cassandra said, “but I bought it from the messenger boy with a gold coin.”

  “You did what?” He held her at arm's length.

  He's beautiful, she thought. The most beautiful creature I've ever seen. And I really don't think he knows how beautiful he is.

  “It was the only way to get you alone,” she said, feeling her voice quivering with the force of her words. “And it might never happen again.”

  “Kiss me again, then, if this is to be the only time I can do such a thing.”

  Cassandra looked around the hall for Lambert. He wasn't there, but she felt uneasy. “Not here,” she said. “Come with me, to my bedchamber.”

  She took his hand and pulled, but he remained where he was standing, resisting her. “I'll be publicly hanged if I'm found in your bedchamber, Cassandra. Or at the very least thrown into the cells beneath the tower never to see the light of day again.”

  She thought about that for a moment. Is it fair to make him take such a risk? she thought. Could I stand to lose him for such a frivolous act?

  “No one will see,” she decided. “We have two hours at least, maybe three.”

  “But I don't have that long. My father will expect me back.”

  “We'll make something up. I'm good at that. Come with me. Let's not waste anymore time.” She felt like her whole life pivoted on this one reckless moment.

  She pulled his hand again and he took a step with her. Then another. Then another. Before she knew it they were both in her bedchamber: something completely forbidden by any law made by any king that had ever ruled Elt. She felt fear in the pit of her stomach, but despite this, she giggled as she closed the door. They stood for a moment, just looking at one another. She felt her chest heaving and her heart pounding. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. She felt his hand on her waist, moving up, tracing the curve of her bodice, his thumb and forefinger spreading apart to cup her breast. But she wanted to feel his hand on her skin; to appreciate the sensual touch of another. She turned away from him, urging him to unfasten her bodice. He fumbled with the lace, his hands more used to cutting meat rather than the intricate fastenings of a woman's garment.

  “Hurry!” she said.

  “I'm trying. Who in God's name would make a garment that is so difficult to unfasten?”

  “The finest dressmaker in all of Elt, that's who.”

  “Then he needs to seek a new profession.”

  Despite Tristan's obvious frustration, she felt the garment loosen and she was able to push it from her shoulders. She turned to him, naked from the waist up. No man had ever seen her this way; only her house maids were allowed to look upon her naked flesh.

  She watched his eyes go back and forth between her small breasts.

  “This is your first time too, isn't it?” she said, hoping.

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving her naked torso. She reached out and took his right hand, placing it on the rise of her left breast. She felt him gently squeeze it. Then, everything moved with a frenzy. Soon they were standing naked, their skins pressed together, their tongues entwined. She felt his manhood hard between them, but she was too scared to look at it. She was moistening for him, though; although she had never been taught about such things, she just knew. She led him to the bed, pulling him on top of her. This is insane, she thought. But she'd never wanted anything more. Parting her legs, she felt his manhood probing at her. Around the castle were many paintings of kings of old and as Tristan pushed himself into her she felt them all cry out in anger and disgust. The butcher boy was making her a woman.

  It wasn't long before he finished and although she sensed she hadn't reached her natural climax, she knew that would come, on the next time. We'll learn together, she thought. We'll discover each other’s bodies in the same way other lovers have throughout history.

  “Giz is back.” Powel's voice startled her from her daydream. “I'm sorry to interrupt your little party,” Powel continued, “but we should take it in turns to get some sleep.”

  Haze put the plate of food down on the bedside table.

  “Don't let Powel keep watch on his own,” Cassandra said, grabbing Haze's arm the best she could despite the chains that bound her wrists.

  “Don't worry,” Haze said. “I'll sleep in here, on the floor.”

  The former knight took off his jacket and made it into a makeshift pillow beside Cassandra's bed. The fire in the hearth was dying down; the light in the room dimming to a flickering glow. Fingers of darkness spiked the walls and she felt afraid again. At least Haze is here, she thought. She couldn't deny that she felt safer with him around. He's the best of a very bad bunch. Despite her fear and the feeling of impending doom that shrouded her, she felt tired. What will the morrow bring? she wondered. Perhaps a Kingstown army will rescue me during the night. She could only hope, but something told her that come the morn she would still be lying in this flea-ridden bed leagues from home.

  Sleep came quickly, though, and it was her love Tristan Adley of which she dreamed.

  CHAPTER 8

  They came out of the tunnel at a canter. It was fully dark outside and a harsh wind blew a flurry of biting snow into Marcus's exposed face. The landscape was thick with snow; it covered the rocks in front of them like icing on a cake. The young guard took a breath of chilled air and then exhaled; he watched it mist and then disappear. He'd not yet had a moment to mourn his fellow guard and wished for such. Although not best friends, he'd trained with Gabel. They'd fought with sword in the yard while their teacher yelled instructions. Gabel had been a good young man and a clean fighter, he remembered. Marcus closed his eyes, listening to the wind whistle about his face, when the thud of hooves approached. He opened his eyes to see Stetland, his stubble frosted with snow.

  “Are you all right?” Stetland said, raising his voice to compete with the howl of the wind.

  Marcus nodded, blinking away snow. “What now?”

  “High Hunsley is about half a league that way.” Stetland pointed south past a tumble of rocks called The Caves.

  Sir John cut between them. “We better get moving. This storm is showing no sign of letting up.” The boy clung to Sir John's back as the head guard’s hair turned white with snow.

  Gladden trotted his horse past them. “I don't know about you,” the young wizard yelled over the storm, “but I'm ready for a warm fire and a safe place to rest for the night. The day's not done and we're already a man down.”

  “Volk's men would be out of their minds to leave High Hunsley in this weather,” Sir John said.

  “High Hunsley's a big city,” Stetland said. “Finding them won't be easy, even with King Merek's help.”

  “What if we block both gates?” Marcus said. “There'd be no other way for them to leave.”

  The wind howled like a pack of wolves.

  “Let's discuss it by the warmth of a fire,” Gladden yelled. He was already a good distance ahead.

  They rode headlong into the wind. Marcus kept his head down, but the
snow clung to his cheeks. His top lip became numb and he doubted his ability to talk coherently. Minutes later they came upon the city walls, high and foreboding. Atop it, archers peppered with white looked down with bows bent and arrows pointing.

  They continued on to the gate. Marcus was alarmed to see the drawbridge raised. Perhaps the water in the moat will be frozen hard enough for us to walk upon, Marcus thought.

  Pulling up their horses, Stetland shouted: “Hello. Open up.” Seconds passed like hours, but eventually the gatekeeper – Longbeard, Stetland had called him – dropped a hatch to the left of the gate, just like Christian had described. “It's I – Stetland Rouger. Drop the bridge.”

  It was difficult to hear the old man above the wind, but his hand gestures were unmistakable. He's not going to let us in, Marcus thought with dread.

  “On whose orders?” Stetland yelled.

  This time, Marcus did hear the gatekeeper’s yell: “The king. No one enters and no one leaves.”

  “We can't stay out here for much longer,” Sir John said to Stetland. “It's not just the horses, it's the boy as well.”

  “We'll find shelter, then.”

  “Where?” the wizard said. “We're on the edge of the wolds in a winter storm.”

  “Back to The Caves,” Stetland said. “There are places to shelter there.”

  Marcus didn't relish spending a night out in the cold in this strange place. The furthest he'd ever been from Kingstown was the northern town of The Warrens, and that was on tax collecting duties, during which he'd frequented the local whore houses. That made him think of Amber Tilly. I'd much rather be in her warm embrace right now. The thought even brought a smile to his chilled face.

  “Are you coming?” Gladden shouted, snapping Marcus from his daydream.

  Stetland and Sir John had already set off, disappearing into the mist of following snow. Marcus followed, back towards the tunnel they'd emerged from. If it were not for the monks, I'd suggest we shelter in there, he thought. But the cave they found in the aptly named The Caves was the perfect refuge; it was even large enough to accommodate their horses. Marcus collapsed at the back of the cave, wiping his face free of melting snow.