The Still by David Feintuch Read Free Book Online Page A

us both, and raise Pytor to do what he’s told. His mind isn’t yet made.” He peered out the window, at the trumpeters below. “I don’t want to die, Roddy. Protect me.”
    “I can’t protect myself.” I sat again at the silent bed. “Mother, what do we do?”
    No reply.
    “Will the Power be mine, if I am King under a regent?”
    The silent form waited for eternity.
    I blurted, “If only I’d listened!” Always I’d been prone to interrupt her, impatient at the careful organization of her thoughts. “Forgive me, Madam.” I knelt, caressed once more the cold hand.
    “Does Uncle Mar have the Power?” For a moment I imagined Elryc’s high voice was Mother’s.
    “No, only a King can—” My eyes darted. “The Chalice and Receptor. Where did she keep them?” I ran past the trunk room into Mother’s dressing chamber, threw open the wardrobe, pushed aside the hanging clothes. Nothing. Once they’d been in the vault, but I recalled the day I’d been—what—thirteen? Mother had demonstrated the rite that summoned the Still, and like a foolish boy I’d been disappointed that no candles had dimmed, no thunder crashed, no velvet curtains swayed. Yet it couldn’t have been otherwise; Mother’s Power had long been extinguished.
    That day, the Vessels had been set on the marble table. Mother took my hand and placed it in the proper place. Excited, still a child, I’d had no curiosity as to where the emerald-studded Receptor had been stored. I’d seen no clue, and had not asked.
    “In a chest?” Elryc sounded hopeful.
    I cursed; Mother had at least a dozen trunks and a vast collection of garments. The Vessels could be anywhere. I flung open the first, pawed among carefully folded clothing, slammed down the lid. “Check that one with the brass straps.” I crossed to the door, undid the bar, pulled him in. “Rustin! Help us find the Receptor and Chalice.” I waved to the trunk room.
    “This is her chamber? I’ve never been admitted before.” When visiting the castle Rustin had the run of my quarters, and we roamed the ramparts without hindrance. But though Mother might receive family or intimates in her rooms, no others ever saw them, even my companions.
    He opened a trunk, blushed at the undergarments within, resolutely plunged his hands to the bottom. “Not here.” He moved to another. “Where’d you see them last?”
    “There.” I pointed to the pleasant salon under the high windows.
    We searched on. A soft knock at the door, which we ignored. After a few moments, another, more insistent.
    With a curse for which Mother would have boxed my ears, I flung open the door. Rowena and Hester not far behind. “Roddy, you left Duke Margenthar and the nobles at the stairs! He demands I open the outer door, and really there’s no reason I shouldn’t.”
    “The reason,” spat Hester, “stands in front of you.”
    I snarled. “Five minutes, tell him.”
    “But you can’t—”
    The old woman closed in on Rowena, murder in her eyes. I blurted, “Hester, we need you inside. Please.”
    To the Nurse, mother took precedence over vengeance. She hobbled in and I slammed the door.
    “Where’s Mother’s Power?”
    She gaped. “In her soul, her essence. It’s—”
    “The Receptor!”
    She peered past me to the trunk room. “What do you louts meddle with, that’s none of your— her clothes? Elryc! Shut that lid or I’ll take a stick to you!” My brother leaped from the trunk. Hester brushed me aside, darted to the wardrobe, almost stumbling in her haste. “Have you no respect, no decency? Are you Llewelyn’s boy?” She snatched Rustin’s ear, led him yelping to the wall. “Your filthy hands touched my lady’s garments?” A cuff. “Out!” She herded him to the door.
    Rustin’s eyes fastened on me in silent plea; it roused me from stupor. I said, “Hester, he’s helping—”
    “Oaf!” The old woman stamped her foot. “What would Lady Elena think of these carryings on? Were she