Chapter 5
Five
"As iron is eaten away by rust,
so the envious are consumed by their own passion."
—Antisthenes
"My, my, wasn't he a striking fellow?" I ask. "Tall, handsome, well-mannered—naught at all like the brother."
"Aye," my daughter replies, though nothing seems to discompose her. She wears a cloak of tranquility that grates on my nerves, like shards of glass in my slipper. Where in the name of the cauldron she inherited that trait, I do not know, for even now my smile is fragile and ready to shatter.
"He'll make a fine stallion. Alas, my dear, he is not for you," I say, and still, she remains silent, a pillar of genteel strength even as I grit my teeth in fury. "I have someone else in mind," I say sweetly. "Do you remember William Martel?"
Stephen's loyal steward was a rotund man, with a head like a melon, and a face only a mother could love. As of yet, he hadn't any title to his name, but as loyal as he is to the king, I know Stephen is predisposed to rewarding him, and, after all, Martel is the one man closest to Stephen, with access even to his garderobe and cupboards. Already once, I have persuaded him to do my bidding—when he was steward to Henry. My daughter says naught, and I continue, "Alas, he's hardly the most attractive man, but I have a use for him."
"He's twice my age," she says, finally, providing the first note of unease I detect.
I smile victoriously. "Since when does age matter, my dear? Your father was thrice Adeliza's age when he wed her—fifty-three to her eighteen, and you are older than she."
"Well, we know how that went. She bore him no children, and since remarrying for love, she has borne William d"Aubigny five babes, and counting." There was a wistful sigh in her voice. "By the by… I hear she is expecting again… apparently, that's why Lord Arundel went rushing out the door."
My daughter is a silly little fool. The only reason Adeliza of Louvain did not bear Henry any children is because I cursed her womb. What good would it have done me to allow more brats to his list of successors? But her silky tone grates on my nerves. A flap of nuns passes by. I smile for their sake, nodding serenely, though I am filled with rage—in truth, not so much for my daughter's forbearing as I am for Stephen's offense to me. I know that man too well. He will undermine everything I have accomplished, only to best me. Thank the cauldrons his son has more sense, and the sooner I get him on that throne, the better off I will be.
I laugh softly. "Dearest, do you think I give a damn whether you bear Martel's brats? In fact, I would greatly prefer you did not, as I will be certain to have myself named heir to your dower, in the event you should pass before I do." My smile thins, as I cast her a sideways glance. Her enduring silence does not assuage me, and I continue, "It happens all the time you realize? Only think of your dear grandmamau, taken from us all too soon."
"Thanks to you," she says, in her sing-song voice.
Alas, all my daughters are bitches, but despite Seren's confidence and even tone, I know she is unnerved.
"That man is an ogre," she says, her mettle weakening. "And nevertheless, I maintain faith in our Mother Goddess. Whatever she sees fit to provide me, I will embrace. After all, I must remember Elspeth as my example."
Elspeth.
It is all I can do not to shriek. Her very name sends a burst of heat through my veins, and if I am not careful, it will ignite the world as I pass. If I could have my eldest here before me right now, I would introduce her to suffering unlike anything she has ever endured.
My daughter.
My betrayer.
My little Judas.
How she could best me, I do not know. None of these backwater girls have ever had the least bit of instruction and whatever magik they possess can never match my own. Simply having dewine blood is not enough to perform great feats. Much the same as an archer may not find his mark with his first shot, simply being a dewine is not proof against failure. Even with practice, success is not assured. She must have found some wellspring to strengthen her, and I would not put it past my mother to have imbued each of my daughters with her dying breath. The thought infuriates me—that woman doted on my brats and never once gave me a bit of praise. How it galls, even now, to hear the fruit of my loins described as beauteous! Unparalleled—as though I, myself, am not gifted with the prophet's blood!
"Seren… I would caution you, my dear. Do not tangle with me, or you will find yourself twisted in so many directions you may never recover."
Again, she answers with silence—silence!—as though she must be concentrating every effort to block me.
I turn slowly, regarding her with canny eyes.
She is blocking me, I realize. And suddenly, as we near my apartments, I catch the tang of fear on my tongue, even as it drifts to me on the aether. I smell it stronger, and stronger as we approach my quarters, and I know instinctively before we arrive: Something has gone awry.
My reaction is swift as an adder's. Reaching out, I grasp Seren by the tender flesh of her arm, and wrench open the door to my apartments, pushing her inside. "What in the name of the Goddess have you done?"
Inside the room, Arwyn faces me, her face pale, and I sense both my daughters trembling as I slam the door, realizing at once that my prickly little Rose is gone.
"Where is she?"
Arwyn shakes her head and I narrow my gaze, attempting to read the girl's thoughts. Like her sister, her mind is now closed to me like a padlock against thieves.
I bristle, shifting my attention to Seren, doubling my efforts, and Seren, I realize—the tricky little witch—has mastered the art of artifice. Some of her thoughts are open to me; others have receded to the darkest corners of her mind, like little cockroaches hiding from the light. But they cannot persevere, and I will break them. And nevertheless, a frustrated growl bursts from my throat as I shove my loveliest daughter toward her cowering sister. And then… another thought occurs to me, even before the two chance to embrace—the grimoire.
My eyes fly to the trousseau where I have safeguarded the Book so long. My feet do not move as I summon my mother's box. The lock clicks. The lid flies open to reveal a void that seeps into the marrow of my bones.
My grimoire… it is gone.
The single word that roars from the depths of my lungs is thunderous enough to bring a shiver to the rafters. "Where?"
"How should I know?" says Seren all-too sweetly. "I was with you!"
"Liars!" I shout. "Filthy liars!"
Suddenly there is a knock at the door, and I slam my hand down so both my daughters are brought to their knees, their beautiful faces contorting with pain as their knee-joints crack against the hardwood floors. They should be so fortunate if all I do is break their legs. Summoning all my composure, I press a finger to my lips, bidding them to silence, hoping our visitor will leave.
Seren's anger is like a crack of thunder against the silence. "I will not?—"
I don't care what she is about to say. "Gwn?o ar gau!" I cut my hand through the air, viciously, whispering the words as another knock beats upon the door. And, even as I turn, I sense the stitches piercing the insides of my daughters' lips, sewing their mouths shut with invisible but infrangible threads. By the time I place my hand on the door knob, they are duly silenced, kneeling dutifully, as though preparing to pray.
"My lady," says the matron who greets me. She peers nervously within, and I, of course, have naught to hide, so I swing the door open, smiling with certainty that my daughters appear beatific in their reverent poses. I, too, join my hands together as though in prayer, and my daughters both mimic my gesture and bow their heads as I do.
"What pious young ladies," says the maid admiringly. And her brows slant with apology as she adds. "I beg pardon for disturbing you, Lady Blackwood, but his Grace begs you join him in his chambers."
It is all I can do not to shriek with despair. "Right now? Are you quite certain?" I tilt her a forbearing glance. "You see, I have only just returned from the hall."
"Aye, Lady Blackwood. I am certain. And in his present mood, ye'd best not keep him waiting."
She hasn't any clue how close I am to cutting out her tongue for daring to advise me.
"My dear, you are too kind," I say. "You must know well enough the title is no longer mine, but I thank you just as well for your deference—and your advice. Please, my dear, can you not apprise the king that I am… indisposed?"
The woman shakes her head. "Nay, my lady. He stated quite clearly that you must come at once, and?—"
"And what?"
She fidgets nervously. "If you do not, he shall provide an escort."
I exhale annoyedly and turn to my daughters, cutting them a warning glance. I wave a hand to release them, and say, "Please, my dears, find your sister at once. I expect she will be waiting here, in this room, when I return."
Both girl nod at once, and, reluctantly, I move to follow the king's messenger. Alas, there is no way to avoid this summons, so I must deal with the missing grimoire when I return.
"Pray she is not lost," I say to them, and I know the menace in my tone is not lost to the woman at my door. She shivers as I pull the door closed behind me, and she hurries away, leaving me to follow.
Never mind… I know the way…