“You are the weaver of the web, Virago. But this web is not made of spider silk. It is made of velvet and iced not with morning dew, but the needs of wicked men.”
It was blind truth and my brother silenced me with his clarity.
“Did I not warn you? Did I not tell you of my misgivings from the moment my hands touched the velvet!” Sylvain’s voice was not only angry, it was wrathful. The fox lifted its head. Its eyes glittered dangerously as if it might lunge from my brother’s shoulders.
“Please, say no more. It will tear me apart to hear it. If you were right, I am eternally wrong and you will know it before much longer.” Uncertain of my own emotions, I sought the solace of the bath.
Sylvain followed me, his voice growing closer and louder.
“You say Duir will not miss you at the coronation, so why would he notice you absent from the revelry after, when he will surely be drunk and gorging on meat and women?”
“I do not return for Duir,”
“Why do you go again? I don’t understand you. A nobler man familiar with your recent behavior could do no more than I!”
When I tried to think of an answer as to why I was returning, all I could think of was Seton. Many things of late may have baffled me, but not the love within me.
“I’m going because I am in love. It is Seton who plays music in Duir’s court, and I will not depart until he is by my side.” When I finished, my brother’s eyes stared straight at me and for an instant, it felt as if he was seeing straight through my chest into my heart.
“I shall go with you. If Duir will not notice you, he will not notice me. He did, after all, invite me to court.”
“Court. Even the word tastes sour to me now.”
“A mug of ale can wash the bad taste from your mouth, and you shall bathe and wash the bitterness from your being!” Sylvain backed away from the stairwell.
I smiled in spite of myself and followed him.
“Come, let us drink and rid ourselves of animosity, and toast my brief yet auspicious debut at court!” Sylvain poured two mugs from the jug. Durant left my brother’s shoulders and watched us from beneath the table.
I touched my mug to his. “To you, Brother, and to all I leave behind after this final night!”
“May it be a night to remember!” He clanked his mug to mine a second time.
Chapter 15
It was hardly an hour later when we ventured from the house. As I walked, I was careful to mind my cape. The streets overflowed with people. The air was redolent with the fragrance of food, perfumes, incense, and bodies pressed together.
“Are you wearing it?” Sylvain asked, his voice close to my ear. When I hesitated to answer, he grabbed at me until his hands found and explored the lining.
“You wear your death, and for what? To mock laws and spite a fool?” He made a disgusted sound in his throat and thrust the cloak from his hands. “And does the musician wear the other?”
“Yes,” I answered. “And he is wise to the importance of discretion. You mustn’t worry. All will be well, Sylvain. It will be well.” I added the last under my breath in hopes of quieting my own fears.
“Let us hope so, Virago, or I will be visiting you in the dungeons.”
I changed the subject. “Do you not smell the saffron bread? It was always your favorite thing to eat when you were a child. Let us have a loaf and two pints before we find our way to the palace.”
“You are a lost soul in love. I shall allow you reprieve from my concerns as long as you hold them close this night. Will you promise me?”
“I promise and ask you promise to always be wise, and force me, if necessary, to listen to your counsel from this day forward!” I said this half in jest, but felt uneasy as we made our way across the street to where Duir had passed for his second and final procession to the cathedral. The street had been lined with carpet and I noticed large pieces cut away by the hands of those who wished a remembrance of the day.
“What color is the carpet?” Sylvain asked as we crossed.
“It is purple,” I answered as a young girl dropped to her knees before us and tore a piece from the already ragged edges and thrust it into an apron pocket. “The same color as the vest.”
“How lucky, you chose to show him the purple,” he mocked. “To have him wearing crimson and walk along a purple rug could have meant your head!”
“Indeed,” I replied. “Now pray my luck holds and I am able to finagle the last two loaves of saffron bread and not have to pay with my soul!”
“Allow me to do the finagling,” Sylvain’s voice grew lighter as we approached the vendors. “This is once when my handicap becomes a help instead of a hindrance.”
As promised, Sylvain procured the loaves while I attended the pints. I’d paid and collected the foaming mugs and was about to pass one to Sylvain when I heard the ringing of the cathedral bells. The coronation ceremony was complete.
“It is done, Duir has been crowned.” The words fell from him as though each pained him.
I handed him one of the pints. “So he is.” I brought my pint to my mouth. “Long live the King.”
A passerby shouted his approval and repeated my words but with greater joy.
“Long live King Duir!” Another voice rose in celebration and soon we were surrounded by the shouts of the people who knew Duir from afar and loved him as their handsome prince and would now adore him as their lord and ruler.
“I pity
