Baroness of Blood

TWENTY

The room Emory occupied was as large as his family's cottage. The bed could have held the family as well. As he stood, surrounded by opulence but wearing ripped and dirty clothing and covered with bruises and cuts, servants brought in a tub and began filling it with hot water.

When someone tried to help him take off his clothing, he blushed and asked the servants to leave. They did, sliding a bar across the door. Well, he could hardly be expected to stay otherwise.

The water felt scalding at first, then deliciously warm. The blood caked to his skin soaked off in the soapy water. He scrubbed, then laid his head against a rolled towel on the side of the tub and closed his eyes. Later, when he found himself dozing off, he got out of the tub and, with little energy left, dried off and slipped between the starched sheets.

He woke with no idea of the time. While he'd slept, however, the servants had removed the tub and laid clean clothes across the end of his bed. It hardly surprised him that he'd slept through the sound. At home, with so many sharing such a small space, he'd had to learn to sleep through anything.

Breakfast came soon after he dressed, leading him to wonder if he were being watched. He'd just started his second helping of noodles and eggs when Jorani and the baroness joined him. They sat together, sharing tea out of cups far too delicate for Emory's hands, and discussed the mood in Pirie.

Emory could tell them nothing new. Not knowing why he was here made him nervous, and when discussion became strained, they left him.

After he'd gone to bed that evening, he heard someone call his name. He opened his eyes and saw the baroness standing beside his bed, a brass lamp in hand. "Come talk with me a while."

The baroness led Emory down the twisting passage, then through the main castle entrance hall. The chamber was as big as his village square, the tapestries more beautiful than any he had seen for sale in the best Pirie shops. The stairs curved gracefully up, giving him glimpses of artwork, carvings.

It was an incredible opportunity, yet if he'd had any idea which way led to freedom, he'd have bolted. Instead, he kept his composure as best he could.

He joined her at a table beneath a bank of windows. She pulled open the shutters, and in the moonlight he could see the mists on the river below him, the hills rising on the bank.

The baroness wore a simple black gown. Her hair was combed back and her face seemed pale in the dim light. It seemed she was trying to put him at ease, and he did his best to act as if he were.

She handed him a glass of wine. His fingers brushed hers as he took it. She watched intently as he sipped it. Something about the brilliance in her eyes, or the potency of the wine made him dizzy. He put down the glass and rubbed his forehead. The feeling passed.

They talked for another hour. In time he began to speak frankly about the poverty in the village, the desire for peace, and the growing distrust of Sundell.

"Now you've married Baron Peto. What are we to think?" he asked.

"That perhaps someday, it will be a Kislovan lord ruling both lands for the benefit of all of us." She stood, walked to the door. "You look tired," she said. "We'll speak later."

Emory was sorry to return to his room, but she was right. He still felt as exhausted as he had the night before, with barely enough energy to return to the bed.

He woke with difficulty when a servant brought his evening meal. As he ate, he managed to throw off the lethargy so that by the time the baroness and Lord Jorani joined him, he was wide awake.

This time the baroness spoke of Shadow Castle. He had thought this place magnificent but apparently it was no more than a crude outpost by comparison to its neighbor. She described the changes she intended to make, the artisans she would be employing from Pirie and the rest of Kislova. When she began discussing carpentry, he beamed: that had been his stepfather's occupation.

They took him to the wharf behind the castle, where Ilsabet explained how she intended to add a pair of docks to increase the river trade to the castle and surrounding countryside.

"The work will cost a lot of money," Emory said.

Ilsabet smiled. "My husband will pay for it."

The glare of the sun on the water made Emory's head pound. He winced and leaned against Jorani for support. "I'm sorry. I think I got a harder kick to the head than I thought," he said apologetically.

Servants helped him to his room. Jorani stayed with him a while, asking how he felt, then left him.

"Will he be all right?" Ilsabet asked.

"I think so. We can probably send him home in a day or two. Once he tells everyone about your plans for the castle, they'll think twice before continuing the foolish resistance to Sundell." He walked down the hall with her, stopping outside her door. "When you write your husband, tell him I believe that in a few week's time everything will be quiet here."

"A bittersweet victory since it means that Peto will come back to me," she said and touched his cheek.

Inside her room, she barred her door, as was her habit, and sat at her table. There she opened her journal and began to write.

I've determined the concentration of web needed to produce illness rather than coma or death. It astonishes and heartens me to realize Jorani has no inkling of what I did, even though he was there when I served it to the boy. If one who knows of the poison can't detect its presence, no Sundell healer will.

Tonight in private, I intend to administer another, smaller dose to the boy. I need to see if the tiny bit more will sicken him again, put him into a coma, or kill him. If the latter happens, I'll make use of it since I've also mixed the potion that is supposed to revive the dead.

I wonder if the formula will work, and what the curse associated with it might be. I wish I could be more open about my work, but Jorani makes that impossible. I've decided it would be wise for him to be elsewhere for a time while I test all the new things I've learned.

She put the journal aside and took out a sheet of parchment. Dipping her quill into the ink, she thought a moment and began to write.

Dearest husband,

It was a long and sad ride back to Nimbus Cas-tie, but a necessary one. We've arrested three men for attacking Sundell troops. Shaul believes they were more frightened than dangerous. Given their youth, I intend to be merciful but not overly so.

I also want to share my good news. I think we're going to have a child. Think of it, Peto, an heir for both our lands. I know it's too early to be sure, but I have many of the first signs. If this news turns out to be only wishful thinking, I know we'll be together soon to try again. In the meantime, we have the duties of our lands to keep us apart.

So far, things go well here, though I wish the people would look to me rather than Jorani for advice. Jorani supports me, but they are so used to him that it is difficult for me to take charge. Though it pains me to mention it, he is feared in this land; it is difficult for me to pacify the people with him here, and because of our years together I don't want him to know I need him well away. I'm hoping you can think of some reason for him to leave-either for Argentine or Shadow Castle-and word the request as if it were your idea. It only need be for a few months at most; then I want him back, for I have always valued his advice.

With the most important news out of the way, she went on about more trivial matters, mentioning the primitive conditions at Nimbus Castle and the changes she hoped to make. Perhaps she should not have written him so quickly; the news might make him rush to her side. Nonetheless, it was better for him to think she was with child early rather than write later when she was certain. Better he be disappointed than suspicious. She also requested that he ask Sagra to come to Nimbus Castle. "Now that Greta is gone, I have no one whose company I enjoy as well," Ilsabet wrote. "But please ask her if she wishes to come. She may be a bondwoman, but we will get along much better if she has a choice."

Now that the awe of being in this bed, this room, and inside the castle walls had worn off, Emory considered the reasons for his being here and decided he didn't like them.

Jorani and the servants were far too kind, too ready with answers he wanted to hear. He was also beginning to doubt he would be released, especially now that he was ill. He'd just begun wondering if Jorani had done something to him when servants carried in his breakfast and a second plate for the baroness.

Her hair, falling loose over her shoulders, was white against the deep blue of her gown. As they ate, he could not help noticing her perfectly oval eyes, the delicate hands that covered her mouth each time she laughed.

She did not seem to be thinking of her impression on him. Nonetheless, she often watched him so intently that he began to wonder what she expected of him. When she poured him a glass of cider, he looked down at it without drinking.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I fear Lord Jorani."

She frowned, then broke into laughter. "Ah, poisons! No, we would not go to such trouble if we meant to kill you," she said.

"To experiment?"

"Jorani outgrew that need long ago." She sipped from her own glass, then held it out. "If you're concerned about the cider, drink mine."

He flushed. "No," he said and picked up his glass. He'd taken no more than a sip when the dizziness he'd felt yesterday returned. This time his hand went numb and the goblet fell, splattering the juice across the brocade tablecloth.

"Baroness," he whispered, staring at her in horror as a triumphant smile grew on her thin lips.

"Jorani has no need to experiment. I do," she said.

As he fell backward, he opened his mouth to scream, but she was beside him in an instant, her hand covering it so even the croak that managed to escape his throat was muffled. In a moment, he stopped struggling and lay faceup on the floor, his eyes raised toward the ceiling, though they focused on nothing.

"Your life depends on your answers," Ilsabet said. "Try to blink."

Though it took effort, he did as she asked.

"Try to move."

His limbs were dead, save for his eyes, which blinked furiously until even that stopped. He feared going blind, losing one of the last holds he had on the world. Her lips moved close to his face. He could smell her perfume as she said, "I'm going to kill you now. It will be painful but brief.

Though he could not move, his fear made him tremble. She raised his head, laying it across her knees. He heard her sigh of pleasure, her soft laugh. Then her hands covered his mouth, pinched his nose shut. Paralyzed, he could do nothing as his lungs began to fight for air.

She broke her promise, letting in a bit of air each time he lost consciousness until finally his body was unable to fight the inevitable any longer, and he died.

His spirit floated in a soft darkness that seemed neither frightening nor comforting. He had not been judged, he thought, and wondered what the fates would decide for him. As beams of light, bright and beautiful, began cutting through the dark veil around him, he felt warmth, life, and found himself pulled back into his body. He opened his eyes and cried out at the pain of the bright sunlight.

"So quickly," she whispered.

He tried to sit up. Pain coursed through him-an agony that made him cry out. She had killed him, then brought him back from the dead. Only the fates had that sort of power. He looked up at her, entranced by the beauty he seemed to notice for the first time. His first act when he was able to move was to kiss her hand. Then abruptly he dropped it. He seemed bewildered, as if the knowledge of what she had done had vanished as dreams do upon awakening.

"Now you do as I command," she said.

His expression did not change when she said those words, as if he had lost all his own will.

Seeming to fear that his sudden adulation would be suspect, the baroness gave Emory a dozen silver coins and a final command. He was to return to Pirie, tell everyone her plans for Kislova, and come back to her in a month to discuss what he'd learned.

She watched him go, walking swiftly down the narrow peninsula road and up the cliff road toward the village. An hour ago he'd been dead. She'd brought him back.

What price would the fates demand for such power?

The thought sobered her, but she put it from her mind and sought out Jorani, who was in his tower room writing letters for Sundell.

"Tell Peto I let the boy go," she told him. "He looked well enough and when he asked it seemed the right moment." She told him what she asked Emory to do.

"It's good that he's gone back because the two we let go earlier apparently told everyone Emory was our hostage. This morning five of his friends managed to separate one of the Sundell guards from the rest of his patrol and beat him nearly to death before they were overcome. We've locked them up. Since the guard will most likely die, I hardly think we can let them go."

"You're right. What happened before could be seen as a misunderstanding. This, on the other hand, is sedition. Separate the men into individual cells. Let them sit in the darkness and rot until the town itself petitions for their release. That's the time to show mercy if we choose to."

She left him to his letters. Later, in a sharp slanted script that showed her excitement, she described what she'd done.

From the Diary of Baroness Ilsabet

As the boy clutched his neck and fell, I watched him, feeling what he felt, the delight his pain gave me.

I knelt beside him and told him I would kill him, intending to be swift. But when I touched him and felt him shiver like some helpless wild creature in my hands, something came over me, an excitement I did not understand. I played with him, bringing him to the edge of death a dozen times, then reviving him. It seemed I could feel his spirit pleading for release, begging me, then hating me for the pain, the death.

And the first thing he did when he could move was grasp my hand as if he were not worthy to touch me, and kiss it. What a magnificently perfect curse-to

Elmme Berqstrom kill a man and make him your slave. I find it ironic that such power should come from a book abandoned and forgotten in Sundell!

Now that I know the amount of web necessary to induce a coma, I'll begin to perfect the amount. After I left Jorani, I went down to the dungeons, stood in the darkness and studied our new prisoners. One seems to be the approximate size and age of my husband. I'll use him as I used the boy until I have exactly the proper dosage to slowly destroy Peto.

And after my child is born, I'll be ready. I wait anxiously for that moment.

"Marishka's warnings be damned," she whispered aloud as she put away her book.