Page 49 of Among the Burning Flowers
She usually spent the mornings at prayer. Now she went straight to the library, where she read every bestiary andchronicle she could find, looking for some way to defeat the creatures. Ordinary weapons could be used to slay wyverns – harpoons, javelins, even bows – but it was impossible to bring them all down at once. Only the Saint’s Comet had that power.
An enormous banner had always hung between the floors of the Library of Isalarico, displaying the crest of the House of Vetalda. The new one showed the True Sword on a red field, torn in twain, flanked by wyverns. Marosa tried not to look at the blasphemous image.
‘Donmata?’
The voice came from her right. Marosa looked up to see Lord Wilstan Fynch.
‘Your Grace,’ she said, surprised. ‘I have not seen you in some time.’ She closed her book. ‘How are you?’
‘As well as I can be. We are confined to the Vaulted Gallery,’ he said. ‘After what happened to Sir Robrecht, I was happy to obey.’ He sat beside her. ‘But I convinced the Vardya to let me take a brief turn this morning. I hoped that I might find you here.’
‘I hoped that the pages of history might yield a way out. So far, they have not.’ She looked him over. ‘You should wear gloves, my lord. None of the creatures are inside, but my father—’
‘Yes. Itisthe plague, then?’
Whatever Fýredel had done to her father in the bowels of Mount Fruma, it was eating away at his body.
Sometimes he appeared to be himself, other than his misty eyes. When Marosa had first seen them, she had thought he was blind, but from what she could tell, he saw more than ever. On lucid days, he commanded the Privy Council in person. More often, he walked the corridors like a bonelesssoul, with a strange fire in the grey, staring at every servant and courtier.
He seemed to understand the risk that he might spread his condition. His Grooms of the Stool made certain to cover his body, except for his face, which drooped like melting wax, gradually sinking away from the bone. From time to time, blisters appeared on his skin, as if he had been scorched. They scarred the way deep burns did, leaving raised welts in their wake.
‘Some new form of it, perhaps. Otherwise he would already be dead,’ Marosa said. ‘I am sorry that you are trapped here with us.’
Fynch looked away.
‘I came to find you,’ he said, ‘to make a confession, Your Radiance. I did not mean it to be so, but … I may have thwarted any chance of aid from Virtudom.’
‘Your Grace?’
Fynch took some time to continue.
‘A few days before Fýredel woke,’ he said, ‘I sent a message to my daughter, telling her a terrible suspicion I had formed. A suspicion that will have made her see your father as her enemy, and prejudiced her against the idea that his turn to evil was forced.’
‘What suspicion?’
‘It is better that you see for yourself.’
‘Whatever it is, surely our allies in Virtudom would never think us willing servants. What would we gain from pledging allegiance to Fýredel, who burned Yscalin once before?’ Marosa leaned towards him, even as he avoided her gaze. ‘You told me that ours is an old and strong friendship. For more than seven hundred years, we Yscals have been loyal to the House of Berethnet.’
‘Had I had foreseen what was to come, I might have chosen my words with more care. Alas, I cannot take them back. But if you wish to understand my reasons, go to the Privy Sanctuary.’
‘The Privy Sanctuary has been sealed. I am forbidden to pray to the Saint.’
‘Lady Priessa may be able to obtain the key. Her father has it in his possession,’ Fynch said. ‘When you have seen, come to visit me, if you can.’
He was gone before she could answer.
Marosa stayed where she was for some time, heart thumping behind her stays. Returning her book to the shelves, she strode back to her apartments.
Priessa sat beside the window, circles under her eyes. She closed her prayer book when Marosa arrived.
‘Essa,’ Marosa said, ‘does your father ever let you into his study?’
‘Not alone.’ Her eyes were raw, curls pouring to the small of her back. ‘Why do you ask?’
She wore only a black kirtle and linen shirt over her smock. With King Sigoso distracted, most of the courtiers were dressing for the heat. The Knight of Courtesy would forgive them.
‘Lord Gastaldo has the key to the Privy Sanctuary,’ Marosa said. ‘I need it.’
