The Baker's Wife--complete Page 10

  He stared hard at her. “Lady Felldesh has already done so.”

  She didn’t believe him. “Yes, but...some of the songs touched me very deeply and I want to express those sentiments personally.”

  “I will tell Lady Felldesh—”

  “No,” she tried to keep her tone calm. “No, I don’t want to trouble her. She’s worked so hard in giving us this wonderful evening.”

  A door closed and Lady Felldesh began walking toward them. “I just came out to see how you were doing. Are you feeling better, goodwife?”

  Krysilla thought of the stars and felt the need to run once more. “Not entirely. I was thinking of stepping outside.”

  “She was asking if she could speak with the musicians, milady.” The manservant, by his tone, made it clear what he thought of that notion.

  “I can give them a note, if you wish,” Lady Felldesh smiled, proving Krysilla right about the manservant’s lie. “I often meet with those who play and thank them personally myself.” Her smile clouded. “Though I shall probably pass over Zhiv tonight. Come, walk with me. I’ve wanted to speak with you for some time now.”

  Unsure how to extract herself from the situation without making things worse, she nodded and followed Lady Felldesh further away from the stage. Each step echoed like thunder in her ears.

  And for the first time, she realized how badly she wanted to see the Felldesh lock Parlay had told her about.

  But she couldn’t think of a way to do this without destroying her honor, and, by extension, her husband’s, in some way.

  Hoping she could find a way, she asked, “Is Zhiv Mikailsin leaving early?”

  “No,” Lady Felldesh sighed. “I wish he would. He’s been nothing but a nuisance this entire time, and that song. As a servant of the King, it might be thought he would understand the disorder such a song encourages.”

  “The Girl with the Blue Sash?”

  “It’s a terrible song. The boy should have stopped trying to win the girl’s affections after she was lost to him. And the girl,” Lady Felldesh shook her head, golden curls dancing as she did so, “such a selfish creature. She should be happy with what life has given her.”

  Krysilla thought back on the song, and on her life. “I think it’s sweet that someone kept trying to add a little color to her life.”

  Lady Felldesh turned at that, eyes wide. Praying she wasn’t making things worse, Krysilla went on. “She obviously wasn’t happy with the man she married. When the choice is a life alone, or a life with someone else you don’t love, but like, then who can be blamed for taking the only good option you can see? I don’t think that she should have broken her promise, or that the boy who secretly loved her should have carried her away or anything foolish like that. But I can’t see how a story about a woman keeping her promise, in spite of her heart, is anything but a silly little love song.”

  Krysilla took a deep breath, silently apologizing to Parlay, wherever he was waiting, for possibly ending up in a dungeon somewhere when she should have already figured out a way to excuse herself. Lady Felldesh smiled, cold and weary. “Why do you think the girl chose the husband she did?”

  “Because she didn’t know the boy loved her.”

  “Ah, but what if she did? What if she knew all along what the boy felt? Women know when a man wants them. Men can’t hide it nearly as well as they think, especially when the feeling is mutual. The question is not whether he wanted her or not. The question is how badly.”

  Lady Felldesh spread her arms wide. “This manor, these spells, this power, all comes through my husband. I didn’t choose him because I love him, and he knows this. However, I keep my promise. I give him comfort, I provide a warm home and do all things required of my station. Now,” she took a step toward Krysilla who watched her with confusion, “this girl’s choice becomes plain. When given the option of a life of power and luxury, or a life of love with nothing, which do you think a girl should choose?”

  Krysilla didn’t hesitate. “Love.”

  Lady Felldesh chuckled, though there was something close to compassion in it. “I will tell your husband you are well.” She leaned in close enough that no one but Krysilla could hear her words. “Go to your musician then.”

  Stunned, Krysilla nodded, then turned away, hoping Lady Felldesh would keep this a secret, as she implied, even though it made her feel sick that anyone would think she was meeting a lover. Still, she saw no other option. She’d only gone a few steps when she said, “Wait.” Lady Felldesh stopped. “If you pardon the question, how was Zhiv difficult?”

  The lady rolled her eyes. “No one has seen him. I thought bringing him here would draw him out of his shell and yet he either hides in his room or goes for very long walks. He’s most unsociable and I’ll be glad when he leaves. The Disciples applaud him as a model of humility but he seems to get even more attention through invisibility than if he paraded around the room.”

  Heart pounding, Krysilla curtsied. “Thank you, milady.” She waited until Lady Felldesh had gone back into the room, before turning toward the stage again. Glancing at the stars, she briefly wondered if something awful would send her and Parlay running for their lives into the dark night.

  Because she was almost certain now he was no lord. She was almost certain he was Zhiv Mikailsin. All she needed was proof. And the only way to get it was to meet him.

  On the side of the stage was a small gate. On the other side of the gate was a small ladder that dropped down once the gate was opened. It didn’t take long for Krysilla to open the gate and climb the ladder, and soon she was through the door the musicians used and walking down the long hall. Laughter and bits of conversation, some of it yelled, drifted from the rooms along the side. A door opened and two men, one blond and one with red hair, stumbled out, laughing hard at something someone in the room had done or said. They saw her, and stopped.

  “I’m looking for Zhiv?”

  They looked at each other, confused, then back at her. “Any reason?”

  She hesitated.

  A head popped out of the doorway. “Something wrong? I asked for mead.”

  “She’s looking for Zhiv?”

  “Yeah, well, she’ll keep looking. He left as soon as the performance was done.”

  The two men standing in the hall gestured for her to wait and they went back into the room. She could hear the conversation die down, the laughter quiet, and soon almost the entire room had stuck their heads out to look at her.

  “He’s gone,” one of the original two men said. “Left after the performance.”

  The attention she was getting made Krysilla nervous. She could hardly remember what she was supposed to say. They’re looking at me, Parlay, but not, perhaps, the way you thought. Or perhaps it was just more flattery.

  “Oh!” one slightly drunk fiddler said, eyes nearly popping out of his head. “She’s the one! The one he said left something?”

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Oh yeah. Distant relative, I think.”

  Krysilla thought of Parlay and blushed. He’d actually tried to keep her honor somewhat intact.

  “Pretty one, too.”

  “Go inside and finish your drink.” The red-haired one said. “Come on. I’ll show you his room.”

  “Thank you.” That only made her blush deepen.

  Everyone else went back inside the room, murmurs that she knew were about her fading away as she walked with the red-haired musician.

  “Don’t mind them,” he said in a low voice. “It’s just we’d heard a lot of things and Zhiv seemed focused on work when he was here.”

  “And he wasn’t here often.”

  “Exactly.”

  If Parlay was Zhiv, it would explain his absences. Though it wasn’t for the reason he thought, she said, “I’m sorry I took him away from you.”

  The red-haired musician smiled in a way that showed he liked her. “’Sall right.”

  They stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall, whic
h turned and continued behind them. The red-haired musician tried the knob. It opened easily.

  “There you go,” he said, and, with a small bow, left.

  This is worse than when I was going to walk into the meadow, she thought, and went inside.

  It was a small room, and the scent of exotic spices surrounded her, rich scents that made her think of the market and the traders and music drifting over the crowd. And a fevered minstrel who had slept in a room in her house and played his fiddle in her yard. But that was the only sign “Parlay” had been here. A small table had been pushed against the wall. A low-backed chair was tucked under it. The room was empty, otherwise. He really is gone, she thought, and found herself sad, almost to the point of tears.

  She walked forward and rested her palms on the table. Staring into the mirror, she saw a woman with a gaunt face, haggard eyes, dressed in finery that seemed ill-fitted to her class. This was a dream, she decided and straightened. A silly dream from a silly, bored, ungrateful wife who should be back home, preparing for her husband’s return. Still, she lingered, inhaling the scent of his cologne, running her fingers along the wood of the table. “They didn’t give you a very good room, did they, Zhiv?” She chuckled. The King’s own minstrel, and they put him here. “It’s a rather large mirror, though. Did they think you were vain?”

  And then, she noticed what looked like the edge of a letter, poking out from behind the mirror. Gently taking it from its place, she pulled out the letter and opened it. The feel of magic curled around her fingers as the words on the letter glowed. You’re late, it read. Open the door.

  The writing swirled until it reformed into an apology from Zhiv for the young woman who had begged him to stay. Folding it with a shake of her head, she stuffed it into the folds of her sash. Barely believing she hadn’t missed this chance, after all, she opened the door and looked down the long hall.

  At the end, stood the man she was now certain must be Zhiv Mikailsin, his sparkling aquamarine eyes hidden in the depths of his hooded cloak. He tapped his boot, and she took off her shoes. Holding them by the heel, she padded over to where he stood. Zhiv reached in his vest pocket by his hip and took out a pendant with an opal. Handing it to her, he pulled out a second, this one gold and inscribed with the Felldesh crest. He slipped it over his head and disappeared.

  Unsure how they would find each other if they couldn’t see each other, she slipped the gold chain that held her pendant over her head as well. The world slid into a scene of black and white, with white dominating. She nearly asked how a person could function like this, but then she saw Zhiv’s outline, black lines marking him like a rough drawing in charcoal. He raised a finger to his lips, and took her by the hand.

  Krysilla’s heart began to pound as he led her along the rest of the corridor. Perhaps, she thought, minstrels are raised differently? Perhaps they don’t realize the folly of grabbing a married woman by the hand as if she were a sister or cousin? Lejer had hardly touched her the past few years, and the feel of Zhiv’s strong, warm hand wrapped around hers made her face hot.

  She got lost in all the twists and turns of what she now realized was a series of cellars. Then, he paused. Looking to his left, then ahead, he frowned. He let go of her and took off his pendant. She did the same.

  Something was wrong.

  Glancing both ways, he put his hand on the wall. He closed his eyes and lightly trailed his fingers along the stone, raising it high above his head one minute, then almost to the floor the next. Nervous, she looked both ways herself. He stood and backed away from the wall until he was next to her. Leaning in, he whispered, “Three doors. First is an illusion. He’ll know someone’s entered when we walk through.” He took the pendant with the Felldesh crest off and disappeared.

  Krysilla was about to do the same with the pendant he’d given her, when she felt his hand around her wrist, stopping her. His hand moved to capture hers again, and once more he led her, this time toward the stone wall.

  Trusting him, she walked forward with him, closing her eyes as they approached. He paused at one point, then continued leading her forward. She didn’t open her eyes. Not yet. All around her, she could feel magic, a vibration that hummed along her skin. What if she opened her eyes and the illusion was still in place? She’d think she was trapped inside a stone wall and panic.

  His voice low, Zhiv said, “Don’t touch the walls.” Then, he laughed softly. “You can open your eyes, goodwife.”

  She did, and, to her great relief, found they were in a plain, stone corridor. Taking off the opal pendant, she found herself and Zhiv in darkness. The only light shone from Zhiv’s upraised hand and she saw he had a small King’s Light attached to a chain. “Where did you find something so small?” she asked.

  “Questions, always questions.” But he didn’t seem annoyed. He held the light higher and she saw why they had stopped. Another wall blocked their way.

  “The second door?”

  “Yes. And this one feels locked. Care to try?”

  Reaching out with one hand, she felt, without touching, expecting the magic that had been in the front door. She didn’t find that here. Instead, she could feel a very straight device, with pins. Each lock, the book had said, is a puzzle. In order to unlock the door, you have to solve the puzzle. Inside the lock each of the pins were of different lengths, and held in place by springs. Feeling the way the pins were set, she asked, “Do you have the key?”

  “I wouldn’t need you if I did.”

  “Ha. I think you would have brought me along, even if you did.”

  “Focus.”

  She tried to glare at him, but unfortunately, it came out playful. Or must have. His smile in the dim light grew.

  Giving a frustrated sigh, she closed her eyes and waved her hand over the place where the pins were set. The closer she looked, the easier relief came. It was a simple lock, far more simple than she expected. Her relief vanished. The lock was too simple. With a wave of her hand, she checked for any sign of a trap. Nothing.

  Still wary, she gestured to lift the pins, concentrating on the feel of them as they did so, one by one, until she felt them align with the shear line, enabling the cylinder to turn and pull back the bolt that she knew stretched into the rock wall, holding the door in place.

  No trap sprang as the door opened for them. “That’s two,” she whispered.

  “One more to go.”

  But neither one moved. Zhiv stared down the dark passage, and Krysilla stared as well, hoping she could see a trap if it existed.

  “Something wrong?” she finally asked.

  “I was hoping we wouldn’t get this far.”

  “What?” Her momentary surprise was replaced with a surety that he’d expected Lord Felldesh to have already surrounded them.

  He took a deep breath and stepped forward. His frown had deepened when he turned back to her. “Nothing yet. Stay close.” He held out his hand and she took it, her mouth dry.

  Magic coursed along the walls and floor. She didn’t know what kind of spell this was or what it might do. At times, Zhiv stepped a little right of center, and sometimes to the left. She tried to follow him as best she could. Zhiv paused. She saw why.

  From here, they could see the door.

  It looked old, and out of place. Symbols similar to the ones on the rocks in the meadow covered it. Focusing on stepping where Zhiv did, she didn’t get another good glimpse until they were in front of it.

  “Well,” he said, “this is an unforeseen development.”

  “You didn’t know about the door?”

  “I knew it was an Ornic relic. That was all. I spoke with the son of the locksmith who installed it.”

  “You should have brought him.”

  “I tried. He wouldn’t budge. Had other work to do and so on.”

  Staring at the door, she shook her head. “I can’t open this—Parlay.” She almost called him Zhiv.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Just tell me what kind of lock it i
s and we’ll go from there.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hexagonal crystal pendant, set into a plain iron chain long enough to be a necklace.

  Unsure of all this, most of all herself, Krysilla reached out. The power that coursed through the door felt old and strong. It vibrated deep into her fingers, like the call of a low horn. Her eyes closed, and she lingered, knowing it was wrong to touch magic that had been formed by Ornic hands. Or words, she thought. They could cast spells simply by speaking, if the stories are true.

  And if the stories were true, the lock might be more difficult than she had first seen it. It certainly had no pins. Inside the door, she could feel sets of gears interlocked, and connected by rods at some points. Feeling along the connections, she found the puzzle: a series of small gears, each connected to an indentation, but not through any mechanism. Thin, crystal rods ran from the center of the gearshaft to the indentation, and she realized something had to be put there first. “That pendant you have, is it part of unlocking this door?”

  “Yes. What have you found, so far?”

  She told him. He nodded. “Any traps?”

  “None that I see. But the pendant is only one-half of this lock.”

  “He may have assumed no one would bother once they saw the door.”

  Krysilla continued to examine the lock. Below the indentation, she could make out a pattern among the Ornic characters written there. “Can you read this?” she asked.

  “Not well.”

  “Because I think some of the symbols are part of opening the lock.”

  “All of them might be. Or some could have been added so that those who didn’t know what to look for wouldn’t find it.” He leaned in, holding the King’s Light closer. Then, he smiled. “Most of these are new.”

  “Lord Felldesh made them?”

  “Very likely. Either way, some of them are definitely nonsense. The question is, what kind of answer would Felldesh give.” He searched for the indentation, then placed the pendant in it.

  The crystal glowed and Krysilla could feel magic running along the crystal rods. The small cylinders turned, and the rest of the gears turned with them. The characters on the door’s face began to move in slow circles, as if they were gears themselves.