NOVEL NEXT Chapter 67: Winner's Move
Sir Conrad had advanced quickly through the ranks, unseating first the young Caldiffan prince before conquering both Sir Gad and his son Malkin. His current opponent, Sir Syphrett, had been a favorite to take the champion's crown. His father was Lord Teivel, a former military commander, and Syphrett had followed closely in his footsteps, ascending to knighthood at the tender age of eighteen before himself taking command on the battlefield. He was best known, however, for his role in escorting a young Elke of Ahnderland from her home in the east to Kriftel, a voyage he had undertaken when still a squire and which had been fraught with many difficulties but ended, ultimately, in success.
Notably, he had managed to rescue Elke from a troupe of bandits said to have been dispatched by Lord Marius, then the crown prince of Ahnderland, and see her safe return. Of course, the incident had not come to pass without accusations of a most wicked nature being hurled at both sides, with Marius asserting that the assault had been arranged to tarnish both his name and claim and Lothar's men arguing that the young prince would rather see his sister killed than married to the Emperor of Aros.
But that had been some twenty years ago, and though Syphrett was no longer a young man, he still retained his reputation and his battle-sharpened prowess. He waited now on the south end of the list atop a white stallion. The creature, Winterbane, though pristine in color and costume, bearing an erminois caparison that hung to its cannons, had a fiery temperament that demanded the attention of two grooms.
On the other end of the list, Sir Conrad sat astride a blood bay of a somewhat more subdued disposition, Raith the horse was called, named for a winning move on the tafl board. He was not so handsomely dressed as the other horse, wearing only that barding necessary to deflect the wayward blow of a lance; Sir Conrad had been sincere in his claim that he had not come to Kriftel with a mind to compete in the tournament.
The shouts of the crowd swelled as the squires handed up lances, and in another moment, the herald cried.
Mouse's heart was in her throat as the blood bay kicked up its legs and raced down the list. Sir Conrad couched his lance firmly beneath his right arm, his left slung with a targe painted with two lions passant on a field of red and sable. Dust lifted into the air. The earth shook. At the last moment, he shifted his left shoulder back while his right arm held steady. The points of his coronel found the erminois of house Teivel, and with a splintering crack, shards of ash went flying, scattering across the tilled earth of the yard.
Mouse breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Sir Conrad circle the yard. The points were now three in his favor. One more pass and he would advance yet again. She glanced over her shoulder at the Empress who sat slouched in her chair, a look of dissatisfaction on her dark face. Sir Syphrett had been her champion, and she was about to see him lose.
The two knights positioned themselves at opposite ends of the list, Sir Syphrett taking up a gold and sable lance while Sir Conrad took one washed in white.
The tournament was nearing its end. Two days of contest remained, after which little more than ceremony remained. The camp outside the western wall would fold itself flat before being carried away piece by piece. The crowds would thin, and the sound of shouts and song would dim. And Mouse would remain, as ever, with the sound of her own worries and anxieties, her questions and doubts and fears ringing in her ears.
Marius had asked for something she could not give; her options were therefore few. Foremost among these was to try and find another means by which to negotiate, either with the Lord of Ahnderland himself, or with whomever had taken the vial of poison from her rooms. Mouse had her great suspicions as to who this person was, and whether she would have more luck with them or with Marius was difficult to say.
Another course was to go to the constable, to confess her ignorance and throw herself at her mercy before any accusation could be issued against her.
Or, and to this plan Mouse was partial, she could run away. She could flee Kriftel, as she had so often imagined, passing through the piked gate and darting down Sallowman's alley, disappearing down the cobbled streets of the town before vanishing into the great world. She could gather what little coin she had, steal a horse from the stables, and ride north. She could cut her hair, stay at inns along the way, travel across the fields and through mountains, all the way to the narrow sound, until at last she came to the mighty Manau.
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She could have a new life, a life that was her own, a life spent elsewhere than in someone else's shadow.
The herald cried, and Mouse's eyes fixed themselves on Sir Conrad, her heart hammering with the pounding of the horse's hooves upon the ground. His arm was down, his lance steady, his shield braced. He slid his left shoulder back and made the winning move.
Mouse looked up from her cup of wine around the crowded hall. The air, which had previously born the aroma of spiced mutton and gooseberry, was now fouled by the pungent and unmistakable stench of dung: the ponies had been brought inside to keep out of the rain and were now being ridden up and down the gallery by screaming women as the men looked on, while somewhere, a middling bard known as Beric the Baleful was singing, his lamentable melody punctuated by squeals of delight and laughter.
Mouse's gaze flitted across place, in search of someone. "The barking dog," that was what Ludger had called Johannes. But Mouse knew him as something else, a prowling wolf, a snake about to strike. She thought of the increasing violence of their recent encounters, her hand moving instinctively to her wrist. She thought of the anger she had seen in his eyes, the maliciousness in his voice. It had frightened her.
She bit down on her lip.
If Johannes had been the one who had taken the poison from her rooms, she was lost. He would wield it against her, to what ends she did not know, but she was certain that through either accusation or manipulation, he would find a way to ruin her.
When had his teasing and tormenting turned to such vitriol, she wondered, and why?
She thought of the purple bruise on the nobleman's cheek, the mallow in his outstretched hand. She picked up her cup and examined the bottom of it, her stomach turning. She thought of the way he had looked at her upon her arrival from Silver Lake, as though he had not expected her to return.
She would need to bargain with him, to find out what he wanted and strike some sort of deal. She drained her cup, determining herself to seek out the nobleman, but no sooner had she risen from her seat than she saw the Empress herself push back her chair and rise. Her task would have to have to wait, and it was with a twinge of something which might have as easily been relief as defeat that she followed with the rest in Her Majesty's attendance.
Mouse kept quietly toward the back of the retinue, as she often did, following Katla, Daria, and the other ladies of the camarilla out of the great hall and up the step of the keep, shuffling down the long corridor until they reached the Empress's chambers, where all of them were dismissed, all but one.
"Away with you," the Empress said. "All but Mouse."
Mouse dutifully followed in through the tall, gilded door of the Empress's rooms, not bothering to be disappointed. The air was warm and heavy with the smell of woodsmoke and beeswax. She watched the woman pry off her slippers and throw herself into the blue embroidered chair across from her painted tables, moving to attend her before she was stopped.
"There is a writ on the desk that wants your signature," the Empress said.
Mouse froze, blinking in confusion. There was something that required her signature? She stole a glance down at the desk that stood no more than a yard from her, where a parchment lay, held in place by an ink well.
"You will need to take it to the chancery."
Mouse's eyes found the maid, who had already begun unclasping the necklace from around the Empress's neck. Uncertain of whether she meant to but too curious to resist, she stepped over to the desk and carefully moved the well, picking up the sheet of parchment. Her eyes danced swiftly over the words as her brow drew together in a furrow.
All of Mouse's holdings had been escheated to the crown, given over to the state upon her parents' death. But the writ she now held in her hand would see seisin returned to her. She looked up.
"Not now," the Empress snapped. "Later."
Mouse swallowed down her unease and looked to the maid, who was watching her uncertainly. She dismissed the woman with a nod and went to take her place, unclasping the rest of the Empress's jewelry and setting it gently upon the table.
"I'll have to give him something for you, I suppose," the Empress murmured.
Mouse's eyes met the Empress's in the glass for only a moment before darting away again.
What did it mean?
Mouse's mind turned itself over as her fingers worked clumsily to pull the pins from the Empress's hair, replacing them in a small silver dish. She stepped over and picked up an ornate ivory comb from the table, which she began to work through the ends of the Empress's long, dark tresses.
She could not make sense of it, of any of it. If her parents were who Ludger said they were, how could she have been left a will?
She pulled the comb through the Empress's hair, her mind trying to puzzle it out.
A will, whether or not in escheat, would display her parentage, clearly and in no uncertain terms. It would be known not only by the chancery, but by anyone who had seen or heard of it. It simply did not signify. How could such a thing exist? And how could the Empress know of it?
Mouse looked down at her hands, recoiling at the dark web of hair matted between her fingers. Her hand trembled as she dropped the comb to the floor, a sudden sickening feeling coming over her. She looked into the glass where she found the Empress's eyes, wide and dark, two black moons in a paling face. There had been something oddly quiet in her behavior all the evening, something that Mouse had been unable to name. Mouse's gaze went to the cup that sat upon the table, and her heart stopped in her chest.
The woman was being poisoned.