The Night Holds the Moon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  About the Authors

  Books by Colleen Thompson:

  The Night Holds the Moon

  Copyright © 2011 by Colleen Thompson and Parke Roberts

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication:

  For Annie.

  Forever.

  Chapter One

  A maiden of virtue will brook no waste

  In a household well-ordered she will remain chaste

  And in time will be sought for her rightful reward,

  A maiden of virtue may marry a lord.

  --traditional verse of Lhant

  Elzin burrowed further into her nest of blankets. She pulled the thickest over her face to ward off the light of morning, which was, as always, obscenely bright through her eastward-looking windows. From beneath the covers, she gave a small gasp and bolted upright. The sunlight! The morning!

  Without even a pause to kiss the cheek of the young man curled up beside her, Elzin leapt naked from her bed, hopping from one foot to the next as she pulled on thick woolen stockings against the chill of the granite floor. Had the great clock struck yet? Telriss preserve her, what was the time?

  Over her head flipped the pink, silk gown. Getting the dress past her middle took some tugging; the extra helping of lamb pie she supposed, or perhaps the half-dozen spiced quail's eggs. Gods! You might think with all her night's exercise, a few extra bites wouldn't show!

  She scooped a hand down the front of her gown, adjusting her ample bosom so the precious fabric would not be strained. For her hair: three yanks of the brush--all she could spare--and a fistful of curls from each side tied in back with a huge pink silk bow. The rest poured to her shoulders, honey whipped to frothing. She fluffed it as she glanced guiltily at the door.

  Still not a tone from the clock.

  Elzin bounded out, slamming the door, last night's slumbering lover forgotten. Her soft boots skidded as she rounded the corner of the servants' wing; she whined as she passed the communal women's facility. Even nature would have to wait.

  "Nezwann -- the clock!"

  The chambermaid looked up through an open door, her face lightly dusted with ash from the hearth she swept. "Sweet Telriss, child! Not tolled yet, but you'd better be running!"

  Run she did, far to wider halls of Councilor's Row, where she had to dodge bustling attendants, arms laden with rich garments, platters, kettles and the like. Here lavish apartments sprawled behind rows of great double doors, carved and gilded with noble names: Seaworthy, Azinhill, Tower… The second names of the noble folk, bestowed by the crown with their titles. But she was simply Elzin--no last name, thank you--a lady in waiting but never a lady, a single name and a single room well off in the far-flung servants' wing. It just wasn't fair; with so far to go, no wonder she was so often late!

  Sandicrest, Riverweal… not too much farther… Steersman--

  "Gold!" she cried. "My Lord Gold, I mean. Ow!"

  He ground bony fingers into her arm. Elzin followed the pain open-mouthed where he led her. "Ill-mannered girl," the duke said as he kicked the door shut behind them. "A vassal from my own province, yet you fail to drop me a proper curtsey."

  "I didn't see--"

  "I'm getting tired of disobedient servants. Why, yesterday, my pretty stableboy was too preoccupied to hear me call for my carriage. Would you like to know where he was?"

  "My Lord, I'm not sure--"

  "With you. So very, very busy -- with you."

  "You're hurting me."

  "Am I?" He twisted her arm further, pulling it behind her so as her knees bent he might lay his chin on her shoulder. His breath roared hoarse in her ear, drowning out all other sound.

  "I watched," he said, barely suppressing a giggle. "It was quite educational. But I've yet to see why such a talented girl would waste her gifts on a pock-faced boy with nothing for her in his pockets but manure."

  The blonde quivered with revulsion as Gold ran his hand along her flank. "Please, let me go. I'll be late. The Queen will have me whipped."

  "I know." Lord Gold chuckled, turning her to him as he kneaded the fingers sunk deep in her flesh. Elzin whimpered softly. "And with each stripe I want you to remember that it could be worse. Much worse. I want you to remember who it is that could protect you, if only you'd be such a very good girl…" His free hand slid lower.

  The door swung inward.

  "By Shador!" he howled. "Get out!"

  A flock of sheets and pillowcases took to the air, joined by the sputtered apologies of the round-faced household servant who bent frantically to retrieve them.

  "My Lord Gold! Oh, dear, I thought -- that is, I didn't mean to interrupt--"

  Elzin seized the chance to pull away. Gold reached for her only to have the house servant lunge opportunely between himself and his quarry to scoop up a fallen pillowcase.

  "Telriss have mercy!" exclaimed the woman as the little lord stumbled over her, clawing at the empty air for Elzin's tresses. Yards down the hall already, Elzin breathed thanks to the goddess for Felwann's quick wits. Her friends were so good to her. She must do something nice. A party! Yes! She'd have a talk with Third Cook Brenzil…

  As she sprinted down the long, grey corridors of the Queen's wing, the guards took little notice, except to wink and smile, for the sight of Her Majesty's youngest lady in waiting dashing through the halls was not at all uncommon. Besides, they all knew her brother Elzmere, who was -- or had been -- captain of the Prince Royal's elite guard. That was, before his disappearance.

  Elzin skidded to a halt before the Queen's chambers. A guard shook his head sympathetically as he admitted her.

  Lady Sandicrest took her aside. "I tried, but you were too late. I told her you were getting her breakfast, but she didn't believe it. She's absolutely rabid. She wants to see you now."

  "But the clock… !"

  "Tolled minutes ago -- didn't you hear it?"

  Her blood roared in her ears, like Lord Gold's breath, drowning out everything else. Without volition, she passed through the doors the black-clad elite opened before her, until, at last, she entered the Queen's dressing chamber. For once, she failed to smile at her reflection in the wall of perfect, polished mirrors, or the scores of wardrobes filled to bursting with every sort of finery. Her eyes locked immediately onto the Queen in the hopes of guessing her mood before it was too --

  "Late!" the Queen shrilled triumphantly. An avalanche of pugs spilled to the floor as she rolled her bloated figure from
the divan. Bouncing like tan beads against the marble tiles, the lap dogs rebounded onto the couch to rub snorting in the dark stain of her sweat in velvet. "And what more important things have kept you from attending me, miller's daughter?"

  "Majesty, My Lord Gold--"

  "Enough! Will you wear twenty stripes instead of ten? Or perhaps you'd care to entertain us in the same fashion as the cook-boy?"

  The Queen bared her teeth in a rapacious grin, as if in memory of a particularly succulent meal rather than a boy's long death in a vat of his own soup. Elzin snapped shut her unruly mouth and knelt clumsily before the monarch. "Please, Your Majesty; I beg your forgiveness, in merciful consideration of my youth and inexperience in the position."

  "Really, Elzin," observed the Queen with a twisted smile, "Rumor has it that you're not inexperienced in any position."

  Elzin replied without thinking. "I thought Your Majesty hated gossip."

  "Only when it concerns me, you useless fool. Now," she sniffed, gesturing to an open wardrobe, "help me on with that dress. There will be no crying, either. Silk spots so, you know."

  o0o

  At last Her Majesty had been successfully squeezed into her gown of azure silk. As always, she would not be satisfied until she had her hair shellacked into a shiny skullcap and knotted so tightly that her ears burned crimson (surely somewhat to blame, Elzin thought, for her nasty temperament). Balancing atop a chair, the blonde reached across Her Majesty's enormous bulk to affix the final touch, the heavy crown of Sheldwinn. Perhaps the Queen would forget her punishment in the excitement of the afternoon's ceremony, the girl hoped as the regent preened before her many mirrors. If only she could get through the rest of the day without any further mistakes.

  o0o

  Trotting to keep up with the Queen and her entourage, Elzin struggled gamely with a wide wicker basket full of squirming, grunting pugs.

  It isn't just that I was late, thought Elzin dismally. She thinks I know where Elzmere's gone. Not that she did. Her brother hadn't seen fit to confide in her. In her hurry and irritation, Elzin stumbled, and the basket she carried emitted a chorus of high-pitched snarls.

  "Oh, shut up!" she snarled herself as she rushed to retake her place behind the monarch, who swept through the wide, carved portal of the Great Hall.

  With her black-clad Royal Elite at the vanguard, the Queen of Lhant cut like the prow of a ship through a colorful swirl of silk-clad lords and ladies, who curled upon themselves in her wake like the wash that breaks after the stern. Troubles forgotten, her handmaid gasped with delight over the rich hues and elaborate garments. Few ever witnessed the choosing of a Saire; the rarity of the occasion made it impossible to overdress. With the Council of Lords still in session, every noble house in Lhant had a representative available to show off their most dazzling finery. Foremost among these nobles were the lord councilors, the men empowered to make laws, though only the Queen had the might to enforce them. Not even the promise of a whipping could keep Elzin's blue eyes from lingering enviously on the graceful lines of Lady Oakfellow's plum dress or the outrageous cobalt confection of Baron Tower's sister.

  A renewed squirming among the Queen's unruly pugs nearly upset Elzin's burden and drew her attention away from the walls of the long, rectangular hall, now festooned with hothouse flowers and braided gold and scarlet ribbon just for this occasion. In her desperation to avoid tipping the basket, Elzin overbalanced and nearly fell before one of the guards grabbed her arm and steadied her.

  "Thank you," she whispered. The elite ignored her, his unrelenting attention already returned to his charge.

  The enormous hall grew still as the royal entourage mounted the dais at its western end. The Queen took her seat in the towering gold and scarlet throne which dominated the highest tier of the dais. Elzin knelt before her with the basket, and the pugs leapt onto the monarch like filings to a lodestone.

  After the briefest of curtsies, the blonde joined the other ladies in waiting in the next lowest tier behind the throne. An uncomfortable, almost intolerable silence filled the hall and settled in Elzin's stomach. Quivering with anticipation, she squirmed to the edge of the knot of her more noble fellow handmaids, the better to see. Imagine, her, a miller's daughter, standing on the dais for the selection of a Saire! In just a few moments, the Candidates would come, one by one, each a lady of impeccable breeding, education, and refinement, a virgin selected from a fine family and reared from infancy in cloistered luxury. Only one girl-child was selected from all of Lhant each year. Elzin found the idea infinitely romantic, except for the part about remaining virgin. Even so, to be so special, so admired! What would it be like?

  A mournful drum beat down her daydream. A black-robed priestess entered the hall. Drumbearer marched with eyes downcast, striking her palms to the sacred instrument strapped about her frail waist, a drum whose head was said to be covered with the skin of one of First King's enemies. Elzin peered hard at the drum, looking for evidence of its supposed humanity.

  More black robes entered: five, six, then finally the seventh, all Mothers of the Faith, servants of Telriss, goddess over women. Although this day was their proudest, they entered solemnly, with lowered heads and humble expressions. Last came Mother Kanzal, the Keeper of Virgins. Elzin had never taken much notice of her before, but the silver belt, brighter than the Mother's silver hair, marked her station, as did her burden: a blood red pillow resting upon a golden tray whose handles she gripped tightly in her hands.

  The drumming ceased, and Mother Kanzal raised her charge high above her head, as if holding it aloft for the inspection of the gods. Deep within the cushion's folds a slender rod of silver glistened like waves beneath a moon: the Saireflute, the holiest mystery of the island. The Flute's mistress had been laid to rest, and today a new Saire would be chosen.

  With a pair of golden tongs, Mother Kanzal reverently lifted the cushion from its tray and placed it upon a silver table. When all fell silent, she began the litany.

  "In First King’s reign, the Isle of Lhant became a bloody cauldron,

  boiled by the flames of greed,

  stirred by the northern savage,

  filled with that mortal poison: War.

  For each man, women wept.

  For sons and husbands -- brothers, cousins,

  For the men that women bore.

  And as they wept, the women prayed."

  The Keeper of the Virgins turned again to the Flute.

  "The Goddess of the Moon was troubled by their tears.

  Moved by their prayers, the goddess wept as well.

  A single tear, as silver as spring rain,

  A single tear, for the women of the Isle,

  A single tear, to bind them all as one,

  A single tear, found by the virgin Saire."

  As the last echoes of the litany throbbed against granite, the Saire candidates filed into the front of the hall. Each was dressed in a shining white gown with hundreds of delicate folds, even the smallest, a babe in the arms of a white-haired Candidate. Each wore a thin silver band, glistening like the Flute, atop her head. Forgetting her woes, Elzin lost herself in the beauty and solemnity of the moment when each girl and woman knelt, one by one, with bowed heads before the Saireflute. The youngest girls had to be helped. The first, a tiny child barely able to sit upright, turned back toward the Candidate who had held her, outstretching her chubby arms and wailing in confusion. Elzin held her breath. What would happen if the Saireflute chose a baby Candidate? It was a question that had long been argued by the priestesses, but the Flute had never made its choice of a girl younger than Saire, who had been thirteen when she found it. From youngest to oldest, the Candidates stepped forth; those old enough prayed the instrument would show some magical sign to mark its acceptance.

  With a serene smile the final Candidate, the eldest, passed the white-gowned infant she cradled to Mother Kanzal. She, the last, must be the Chosen. What sign would the Saireflute give her, Elzin wondered as the withered, white-h
aired woman sank stiffly to her knees. Humbly, the Candidate bent her head; her tears of gratitude splashed to the hard, cold floor as she waited. And waited. And waited.

  But, like the hall, the Flute was silent. At last, the woman raised her tear-streaked face in disbelief, unable to comprehend her failure--the failure of them all. All the Candidates had failed, losing everything after a lifetime of training that had prepared them for nothing else. Elzin wondered where it was they went, what it was they did when they remained unchosen. Surely, it mustn't be anything too bad, she reassured herself. After all, they all came from proper families, families who wore fine clothes and collected tax instead of grubbing in the mud to pay it. Families like that must love their daughters well enough to welcome them back home.

  Like thunder, a murmur rolled along the prestigious audience as the final candidate, rejected, backed away.

  Elzin's heart knocked against her ribs at the rising rumble of the crowd. Because of the Saireflute's uncertain nature, the noble audience had arrived prepared for anything -- or at least for anything but nothing. This nothing, though, might cause trouble for the Queen somehow, thought the blonde, and when Queen Hulgmal felt troubled, she was very likely to take it out on someone else. Perhaps someone already promised lashes.

  She clutched her elbows as numerous voices vied for the Queen's attention, each with its own theory on what had caused the problem. Soon there were loud calls to try the procedure again. Perhaps the Flute would change its mind.

  The Queen rose to her feet, determined to quell the confusion, and as she stepped, she tripped over the cascade of yelping pugs that poured from her skirts. Her crown tumbled from its oily perch atop her head. Bouncing with a dull clang to the lower tier of the dais, it rolled to a stop where each Candidate had knelt before the Flute.

  Mortified, for she herself had placed the crown on the monarch's head this morning, Elzin scrambled past the others, falling to her hands and knees in her haste to retrieve it.