Our Lady of the Snow Page 19

  They prayed together for a while, both struggling—though neither knew the other’s predicament—to understand the unanswerable questions in their minds. Marine’s confusion over the Corolla Lights” return was as great as ever; but, strangely, when she was in Nanta’s company she found the confusion ebbing a little and a measure of her old faith returning. Perhaps it was the fervency of Nanta’s religious devotion, or possibly it was simply the effect that this private and very peaceful sanctum had upon her spirit. Whatever the truth, Marine found comfort here, and but for Nanta’s trouble she would have been content.

  Nanta, though, was very far from content. Her fear for Osiv was growing by the day, and the fact that neither she nor Marine had been able to unearth any clues at all added fuel to the fire. The sprite had not appeared to her again (or so she believed), and her pleas for enlightenment still received no answer. Four days ago she had resolved to take steps of her own to watch over Osiv: spend time with him, be vigilant, protect him by the simple fact of being with him. But her duties had made it impossible. Since Arctor’s death there had been a great increase in the official demands made on her, and very recently the workload had become heavier still. Always there were papers to be read, petitions to be answered, documents to sign; she barely had a moment to herself, and there was simply not enough time for her to spend more than a few minutes each day with Osiv. Even this interlude wouldn’t have been possible if she had not insisted and given the servants no chance to argue.

  She glanced sidelong at Marine, who appeared to be lost in her private contemplations. Another day of waiting and hoping, only for the hope to come to nothing again. It couldn’t. go on for ever. Something would break, sooner or later. Something would have to.

  Which, perhaps, was what she feared most of all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That night the Corolla Lights returned for the third time. And their appearance set the final seal on Father Urss’ resolve.

  Already, in the city, the omen was being interpreted as he had feared. The network of spies sent out by Urss and Beck to monitor public feeling reported that Osiv IV had become an object of huge attention, almost an icon, and the populace confidently believed that his reign would launch Vyskir into a new and wondrous phase of its history. It was time to prove the populace wrong.

  Early the following evening a cryptic message was sent to the imperial physician from Urss’ office in the seminary, and within an hour Urss had made the necessary arrangements. The physician had been party to the scheme from the start and believed that he had Urss’ complete trust. He was, Urss reflected, a foolishly credulous man. In circumstances like these, trust—with one or two very particular exceptions—was not an option. But that matter could be dealt with later; at present he had a more important objective.

  Everything was prepared now to the smallest detail; including the Imperatrix’s guaranteed absence while the thing was done. Urss had decreed that a special ceremony was to be conducted in the temple, to give thanks for the Corolla Lights. The imperial family were to attend as a mark of the ceremony’s importance, and for good measure Urss and Beck would also be present and on clear public show. Even Pola would be kept well away from the suite. Urss hardly imagined that she would shed a tear for Osiv, but it was as well to take every precaution. So, all was ready. There was nothing more to do but wait.

  Urss sent word to this effect to Kodor, and was surprised when Kodor responded by summoning him to his apartments. Curious, and just a little apprehensive, Urss answered the summons and was shown to an anteroom, where the prince was waiting for him.

  “Thank you for your message, Father Urss,” Kodor said. His face gave nothing away, and Urss bowed.

  “I hope the arrangements meet with your approval, Your Highness.”

  “They do; but for one thing. The matter of who is to administer the concoction. I presume it will be the imperial physician?”

  “Yes, sir. He’ll go to the Imperator’s rooms on a pretext, and then—”

  “That, Father, is the problem. For one thing, I don’t entirely trust the man. And for another, neither does Osiv.”

  Urss pursed his lips. “I understand your misgivings, sir; but I don’t think there’s any cause for concern. As you know, when this is over…” He let the sentence tail off, and Kodor, who had been taken into his confidence on that score, returned a hard smile.

  “Yes, I know what the physician’s fate will be. But that’s not my point. What if he should lose his nerve? He is, after all, going to assassinate the Imperator, and whatever he may think or say now, when it comes to actually committing the act he may see it in a very different light.”

  Urss’ eyes narrowed. “You think that he might fail us?”

  “I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

  Urss said: “Ah …”

  “Then we come to the second complication,” Kodor continued. “As I said, Osiv does not trust the physician either; in fact he thoroughly loathes all his physicians, because he naturally

  associates them with medicines and other unpleasantness. So when the man tries to give him a potion, he won’t take it willingly. He’ll have to be forced, and he’s surprisingly strong. Too strong, I’d say, for the physician to cope with unaided. Add that to the first complication, and I think we might have a problem.”

  Urss stroked his own chin, considering. He had not been aware of Osiv’s aversion to physicians; used, himself, to being obeyed without question, it hadn’t occurred to him that this difficulty might arise. Now he saw that Kodor had highlighted a potentially serious problem.

  Kodor said, “There’s only one way that I can see to get round the obstacle, Father Urss. Osiv must be given the potion by someone he trusts. And unless we take the risk of involving outsiders, that leaves us with only one choice.”

  Urss looked at him. “You… ?”

  “Me.” Even in the soft candlelight Kodor’s grey eyes looked as hard as stone. “And I’m willing to do it.”

  Urss left Kodor’s suite ten minutes later. Kodor waited a further half-hour, then put on an old hide coat kept for purposes such as this and made his way, by a very convoluted route that few in the court were aware of, out of the palace and into the Metropolis. He had some final arrangements to make, and something to procure. When both were done, he would be ready.

  ****

  “But I’ve spent so little time with him these past days!” Nanta protested wearily. “I must see him, Dorca. I insist on it!”

  “Your Majesty, there simply isn’t the time,” Dorca told her again. “The temple ceremony is to begin in an hour, and for the Imperatrix to be late is unthinkable!”

  “Prince Kodor isn’t even attending the ceremony,” Nanta said with an edge to her voice. “Isn’t that more unthinkable?”

  “His Highness has a cold, I understand, and it’s bad enough for him to have taken to his bed. Otherwise—”

  “Otherwise he would do his duty, as we all must. All right, I know.” Nanta sighed heavily. “Very well, I’ll do what you all want of me. But I will see Osiv when the ceremony is over.”

  “Of course you will, madam, and I’ll make quite sure that nothing happens to prevent it.” Dorca bustled to where yet another new gown, still in the dreadful shades of morning, hung ready to be laced on, and Nanta gave herself up to the inevitable. Four hours, the ceremony was to last. Four hours of sitting in the temple, closeted in the imperial box with only court dignitaries and her senior ladies-in-waiting for company. And Pola, who seemed incapable of even speaking to her. She would welcome Osiv’s society when she returned.

  “Tell him that we’ll have our meal together tonight,” she said. to Dorca. “Tell him that I promise it.”

  “I will, madam. Now, if by your leave we may just help you out of your day gown…”

  When her dressers finally departed, satisfied that their mistress was ready, only five minutes remained before the escort was due to arrive for the royal progress to the temple. Dorca, who was
also in the party, had gone to hastily put on her own veil, and suddenly something in Nanta rebelled. In a few quick strides she was at the door, and she hurried to Osiv’s playroom, throwing back her veil as she went so that her appearance would not frighten him. She did not knock but went straight in.

  And came face to face with Kodor.

  “Sister…” Kodor’s expression was one of startled chagrin. “I thought you had left for the temple.”

  “And I thought you were confined to your bed,” Nanta rejoined. “It seems we were both misinformed.”

  He shrugged, a helpless, almost boyish shrug that she thought was intended to be endearing. “I confess; it was an excuse. There’s nothing wrong with me, except for a very powerful desire not to attend the ceremony.”

  She smiled, though without humor. “I wish I could be as defiant as you.”

  “You’re the Imperatrix; it makes defiance a great deal harder. I thought I would spend a little time with Osiv. I’ve brought a new toy for him, look.” He held out a small and brightly painted wooden wagon. “It’s for his fortress garrison. There are horses to go in the shafts, and twenty of his soldiers can fit inside.”

  Nanta’s annoyance faded. “He’ll be delighted.”

  “I think so, too. I was going to give it to him, but he’s asleep.”

  “Is he?” That surprised her; at this time of day Osiv was usually at his most lively. “Perhaps he didn’t sleep properly last night.” She should have known if that was so, and should have done something about it… Nanta pushed the guilty frustration away and added, “When he wakes, please tell him that I’ll come to him as soon as I return from the temple.”

  She thought Kodor hesitated a bare moment before replying, “Yes. I will.”

  A patter of footsteps heralded Dorca, agitated. “Madam, the escort is—Oh!” She hastily curtseyed to Kodor. “Your Highness; I had no idea—I thought—” But she was too flustered to know what she did think, and she turned to Nanta again. “Your Majesty, we will be late!”

  “Go, sister,” Kodor said, smiling at her. She had the strangest feeling that the smile didn’t come as readily as usual. “We’ll meet again this evening.”

  He bowed to her before she went out, and Nanta’s last impression of him—a strong one—was of a look in his eyes that she could not interpret and which made her, without reason, uneasy. As Dorca flurried her like a mother hen towards the corridor and the waiting escort, she looked back. But Osiv’s door had closed.

  “Your Majesty…” Dorca pleaded desperately.

  “Yes, Dorca, I am coming.” With one last, questioning look, Nanta went to do her duty.

  ****

  Kodor leaned back against the door, shutting his eyes and allowing his pent breath to escape in a long hiss. He had not expected that, and should have been more careful to ensure that Nanta was gone before making his move. But time was against him. There was still so much to be done, and he himself would have to be back in the palace before the ceremony ended and the royal party returned. It would be a very, very close-run thing.

  He walked back into Osiv’s bedchamber. Osiv was, indeed asleep, thanks to a quick-acting soporific that Kodor had brought back from his foray into the city. It would have been too dangerous to take the drug from the palace physicians” supplies; though the chance of discovery was slim, it couldn’t be risked. The dose had been strong, and with luck Osiv would not wake until well into the night, by which time he would have reached his destination.

  Bracing his muscles, Kodor lifted his brother from the bed and laid him gently on a chaise at the far side of the room. Then he went to the window, opened it and gave a soft, low whistle. Shadows moved among shadows in the gloomy courtyard below, and through a fine film of snow Kodor saw his two accomplices emerge from where they had been waiting. They looked up—the snowfall smudged the detail of their faces—and Kodor signalled over his shoulder. Gestures acknowledged that they understood, and he withdrew from the window and closed it again.

  A few minutes later the two men arrived at the outer door. Kodor went to meet them, and stood back as they carried something long and bulky into the suite. Their burden was a rolled-up carpet; anyone seeing them would simply have assumed that Kodor had arranged for some new gift to be delivered for the Imperator. The men bowed but did not speak. Could not speak, in fact, for these were the two mutes who, until his marriage, had been a part of Osiv’s entourage. After the wedding they had been given small pensions and dismissed, as their presence was considered unfitting and even distasteful once Nanta was installed in the apartments. But Kodor had known where to find them, and had known, too, their deep-rooted loyalty to their old master. Now they were to serve their master again, and in a more important capacity than they had ever done before.

  Wedging the door so that it could not be opened from the outside, Kodor led the mutes through to the bedchamber, where they laid the carpet down and unrolled it. A corpse slid out on to the floor. It was the body of a man, of similar age, height and build to Osiv, and with hair of the same color. Its face, though, was unrecognizable, for it was twisted and horribly discolored, the suppurating skin almost black, and so bloated that the eyes were invisible.

  Though he had known what to expect and had steeled himself for it, a shudder of revulsion still knifed through Kodor, and after one look he turned away.

  “You’ve done well,” he told the mutes. He didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, how or where they had found their victim. His only stipulation had been that they must choose someone who had no family or loved ones to grieve for him. There could be no room for guilt or remorse; Osiv’s life was more important than that of any stranger.

  The mutes nodded and bowed their thanks. They lifted the corpse on to the bed, and Kodor fetched one of Osiv’s nightgowns. The man had been dead long enough for the rigor mortis stage to have passed (though not for decay to have begun) and dressing him was relatively easy. When it was done, they spread his limbs at sprawling angles to give the impression that he had suffered a violent fit, and completed the picture by rumpling the bedcovers. Squashing his fastidious instincts, Kodor took a detailed and critical look at their handiwork. He was satisfied: no one could possibly tell that this was not Osiv. Father Urss would see nothing amiss, and the imperial physician’s examination of the body would be a mere pretence. The deception was as foolproof as he could reasonably hope.

  He nodded to the two men. “That will do excellently. Now; help me with the Imperator.”

  Osiv’s next journey would be undignified, but at least it would be brief. The mutes laid him on the carpet, then carefully, reverently, rolled it up around him. In one of the palace’s more remote courtyards a carriage was ready to transport them all out of the Metropolis, and once they were clear of the city Osiv would be transferred to a waiting dog-sleigh. Kodor would return to the city then, but Osiv would be taken on to the forest, to Kodor’s own hunting lodge. The lodge had every comfort, and with the devoted mutes and two other servants to tend him, he would be safe and secure for as long as need be.

  Dusk was gathering rapidly in the courtyard. The carriage was waiting, its driver—also trusted, and well-paid into the bargain—muffled against the bitter cold. Inside the carriage were furs and rugs and hot stones, together with a basket of food and drink and another full of toys. Osiv was lifted in. Then as Kodor made to climb after him, his eyes caught a flicker of movement at the courtyard’s far side.

  He saw it clearly in the instant before it dodged—or faded?—out of sight. A frost sprite… Kodor’s blood chilled and his hands were suddenly unsteady. Why had it been watching him? What did it want?

  The other men hadn’t noticed the creature, and Kodor suspected that it would not show itself again. Nonetheless, when he was inside the carriage and seated beside the sleeping Osiv, he rubbed the fogged window to clear it and peered out, alert for any further telltale signs. There were none; if the sprite was still there it was taking care, now, to stay hidden.


  The carriage springs sagged a little as the mutes got in and sat down. The door was closed and the coachman’s face appeared briefly at the window. Kodor nodded. “Move off when you’re ready.”

  “Your Highness.” More creaking and sagging as the man climbed up to the box, then slowly, quietly, hooves and wheels muffled by the snow, they were away.

  The carriage drove soberly through the Metropolis, and the curtains stayed closed. People in the streets paid the vehicle little heed; it bore no crest and thus could not belong to anyone of particular importance, so there was no need to crane in the hope of glimpsing some eminent personage inside. They crossed the river (which was mostly frozen now, though the ice wasn’t yet thick enough for the winter fairs and markets to begin) by one of the lesser bridges, then took the north-eastward road towards the forests. It was heavy going once they were clear of the city; the snow had thickened in the last few days and the ground was better suited to runners than to wheels. Kodor looked out at what little he could see of the passing landscape, and hoped they would be able to reach the rendezvous point.

  Then, as he looked at the dark blurs of the roadside pines, he realized that something was following them.

  It was no more than a shadow on the snow, cast by the carriage lamps, but from its shape Kodor knew instantly that it was no part of their entourage. This was something separate; fleet, running, keeping pace with them just behind the rear wheels. Whether it was animal or human or something else, he couldn’t tell. Sometimes it seemed to lope on four legs and sometimes on two, and it had an angularity that was disturbingly incongruous.

  He pressed his face to the corner of the window, trying to see further back and closer in, to get at least a glimpse of the thing’s substance. But the big, turning wheel blocked any view. There was just the unidentifiable shadow.

  The mutes had noticed Kodor’s sudden disquiet and were watching him anxiously. They hadn’t the assurance to sign to him, but their gazes fixed on his face and their eyes were filled with questions. Kodor let the curtain drop and said tersely, “What weapons do you carry?”