Madrigal-Chapter 8
Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.
In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand’s Renaissance wedding.
I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth.
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The King was not in the Great Hall that night. When the mage arrived, he was led straight from the Hall into the King’s chambers where he found him pacing furiously.
Without preamble, he snarled, “The bastard princeling has betrothed himself to the daughter of the Duke.” He paused in his pacing and his fist came down hard on the table, rattling the tankards making the ale within each leap over the rims and splash back down. “I have been out flanked! Out maneuvered!” He stood with both fists braced on the table and his rage made him appear larger than normal. “It will not stand! I will not have it.”
“Majesty…”
The King held a heavily ringed hand up. “The question is decided. A company of soldiers leaves at first light to protect the border. Lord Vincent has been sent for; the marriage will take place ten days hence.”
Grissom’s heart clenched in anguish; his lips were stiff as he inquired. “How may I serve, majesty?”
“A gathering of signs and portents to convince the Queen the marriage will be happy.” He made a careless gesture, “Something to ease her mind. Also, Vincent’s man is here. I want you to speak with him, see what you can discover of his master. Make sure he has enough means to protect the lands from invasion. Find how loyal he is to the crown, if he can be entrusted with the lands or if I need someone to protect me from my protector.”
Grissom began a protest, “My leige, I am neither diplomat nor spy…”
Again, the King waved his hand dismissively. “You may not lay claim to either title, m’lord, but you are well versed in the deceptions of men and what clues lead to their truth. You are more cunning than any spy or diplomat I have ever had in my service. The man awaits you when you are done here.”
“Aye, majesty.” It was all he could do not to gnash his teeth. He would go away, he decided in that moment. He would do this final onerous task for his King and then he would leave. He would take his work and his books and his experiments and retire to his house in the north. He would see that the King released him; what more loyalty could he show than to see his own heart ripped from his chest? He felt in that moment that dying would be less painful than the idea of watching his love marry another.
The King heaved a sigh and began in a diplomatic tone of his own, “Grissom, I know you have a fondness for the girl, as do I. The Queen considered it a great favor when you took an interest in her when she first arrived. I also know her brother had promised she need not marry unless she wished, but his death has changed all of that.” He sat down in his chair, throwing a leg casually over the arm. “The greater good of her king and her people depend on this marriage. She is a good child; she will do as I bid in this matter.”
“As you will, highness,” his words were a barely disguised grunt. He was running out of ways to agree without howling out his pain and anger.
“Indeed, m’lord mage, it will be as I will.” The words were arrogant, but the tone was somehow an acceptance, with the weight of decisions and responsibilities for their consequences shot through it. “The page outside will take you to Vincent’s man…he has a love of wine and the servants are on order to bring you the finest once you have joined him. I’ve yet to know a man whose tongue was not loosened by the grape. I’ve told him you have an interest in visiting his master’s lands and you wish to find out more about them.” He inclined his head towards the door, dismissing the mage.
Heavily, Grissom stood. “By your leave, majesty.” He bowed to his king and quit the room; the flashes of pulsing light behind his eyes let him know he would soon be feeling the merciless bite of one of his “spells,” his mother’s term for the blinding and debilitating headaches.
Indeed, his head was heavy and pounding when he found his bed that night. He could not blame the wine for he barely sipped at the drink as he spoke to Lord Vincent’s man, Tripton. The husky, balding man was more than a servant, but less than an equal. A combination of diplomat, soldier and second in command, Tripton was indeed fond of the spirits placed in front of him and, as the king had predicted, was quite forthcoming with information about his lord and master. Tripton had convinced him Vincent would be loyal to the crown and he knew the king would be pleased with his choice. Bitter though it was for him, he could find nothing in the man’s drunken ramblings to say otherwise. The mage was ready to quit all company for the night when the man muttered something about loyalty and the word “wife.”
“What?” His voice was much too loud, much too harsh, but the drunk man didn’t seem to notice beyond raising his nodding head.
Tipton met Grissom’s gaze with bleary eyes. “I says, Lord Vincent’s a loyal man so long as you’re not his wife.”
The mage’s senses were on sudden high alert. “He dallies with other women?”
Tipton snorted into his goblet, and the sound magnified. “Nay.”
Grissom’s brow furrowed. “Boys?”
The drunken man barked out a laugh, sending drops of spittle and wine flying across the table. “Nay.” He shook his head and then looked as if he wished he hadn’t. “He never strayed from his marriage bed with woman nor man. Loved his wife, he did.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Perhaps a bit too much.”
“To what end?” Again, he knew his voice to be too sharp and again Tripton seemed not to notice.
“A bad end for the lady, to be sure.” He reached for the flagon and lifting it unsteadily, made a poor job of refilling his drink.
The mage attempted to get him to elaborate, but all for naught. When it became clear the man would say no more, Grissom wearily left him singing tavern tunes in the King’s meeting room.
The pain had begun shortly into the interview and increased gradually until it became a demon pulsing on the right side of his head. The noise from the Great Hall only intensified the pounding and he moved through as quickly as the agony within his skull would allow. The journey to the tower and up the winding stairs proved nearly insurmountable. He paused when he reached Sara’s alcove, wanting her to be there, but of course, she was not. He rested his head against the cool stone and breathed in the night air, hoping to settle the nausea that roiled in his stomach. Eventually he made himself move and slowly climbed the rest of the way, so unsteady at the last that he hugged the wall to prevent himself from pitching down the stairs.
He struggled out of his cloak and shoes, but had not the energy for anything else other than moving his head out of the bed to retch on the floor when the nausea could no longer be held at bay. The smell was vile, but the searing agony in his head forbade him from moving.
The pain made it difficult to form thought but he was aware of one constant in his wracked and ravaged brain, “Sara.”
He was unsure how long he lay there or if he slept, but as if his thoughts of her on the tempo of his pain had conjured her, she was there. Her soft scent filled his room and he heard her quiet voice speaking words he could not understand.
He opened his eyes to confirm she was indeed there.
As ill fortune would have it, she was there but accompanied by the blinding light of the risen sun and he groaned and closed his eyes as the brightness caused a fresh assault of pulsing pain in his head.
“The light must be hurting him. Shutter the windows, Gregory.”
Attempting to even his breathing, he concentrated on her voice.
She barely spoke above a whisper but every sound appeared magnified. “How long has he been like this?” She sounded anxious; he wondered who had caused her to be fretful.
“He was like this when I arrived.” Gregory’s voice was also quiet and threaded through with worry.
Grissom frowned. What had them so vexed? If only the agony in his head would go away, he could perhaps help. He sought to sit up but the movement caused further stabbing within his skull and his stomach to roll again, he cried out then winced at his own voice. Cool fingers ran over his forehead in a soothing caress. “Be still,” she whispered.
He felt a damp cloth pressed lightly against his forehead. “Sara…” he muttered.
“Hush,” she calmed.
Sighing, he relaxed back into his bed. After a time he heard Sara speak quietly to Gregory. “We’ll need some valerian.”
“Yes, lady.” He heard the sounds of his young assistant moving around the room.
“Have you any feverfew?” She continued to stroke across his brow with the cloth and he felt the fingers of her other hand smoothing through his hair.
“I…I know not, my lady.” Gregory sounded confused and anxious. “It is not an herb I have been schooled in.”
“No matter, I have some in my stores in my chambers.” She continued to stroke through his curls, seeming to be taking measure of the weight and texture as the strands slid through her fingers. He concentrated on the feel of her fingers and how very pleasant her caress was. “Warm some wine, but don’t let it boil. Have you any bread or broth?”
He did not discern Gregory’s answer as another pulse of pain shot through his skull and he lost awareness of all but the agony thrumming through him like the wrath of a fiend.
When next he had awareness, a soft arm was raising him, pressing a cup to his lips, urging him in Lady Sara’s husky voice, “Drink. Drink.”
Then there was blessed darkness and oblivion.
The candles were flickering low against the night when next he woke. The pain was still there, but much less; he felt unutterably weak. The ugly smell of bile was no longer on the air and the shutters had been opened again to allow the fresh air to waft through his rooms.
The rustle of fabric alerted him to another presence in the room; he cautiously turned his head to see the Lady Sara shifting on a stool, to draw closer to the candlelight as she read. He gave a weary smile and closed his eyes again.
When he opened them again, the pain was vanished, the sun was up, the candles out, the shutters closed and the lady gone.
Madrigal-Chapter 1
Madrigal-Chapter 2
Madrigal-Chapter 3
Madrigal-Chapter 4
Madrigal-Chapter 5
Madrigal-Chapter 6
Madrigal-Chapter 7
Madrigal-Chapter 8
Madrigal-Chapter 9
Madrigal-Chapter 10
Madrigal-Chapter 11
Madrigal-Chapter 12