The Catswold Portal

Braden watched Olive, both amused and annoyed because he really didn’t want to think about the damned door. But hell, she just wanted to talk. He said, “I know the test is supposed to be accurate, but did they say anything about possible misreading, a false result through some—oh, chemical change in the door itself, something unnatural?”

“Unnatural?” Olive said, her interest rising.

“Like garden chemicals,” he said quickly, “something sprayed or spilled on it.”

“Oh no, I didn’t ask about that. Perhaps I should. Yes,” she said, “I guess I’d better write and find out.”

After she left, he wondered why he’d said that. He wondered why he felt so strongly that the door ought to be left alone.

Chapter 13

Melissa slipped quickly into the king’s chamber. With any luck he would stay in the orchard for a while, waiting for her. The pastries would get cold, the ale would get warm, and he would be furious, but she would worry about that later. Maybe she would have found the mirror and escaped to the cellars before he left the orchard.

The king’s chamber was dark, the purple draperies were drawn closed. The shadows were dominated by a huge canopied bed, its thick black bedposts were carved with four Hell Beasts: basilisk, hydras, lamia, and manticore. She had a quick, unwanted vision of making love with the king, observed by those beasts.

She tried to open the wardrobe but could not. She tried one spell then another, and had begun to think she would fail when, on the eighth spell, the door snapped open wide. Velvet and cashmere coats burgeoned out. Kneeling, she reached behind the rich garments and behind the soft leather boots, feeling for a hidden door.

But the wardrobe wall was smooth. She felt its floor. He must have twenty pairs of boots. She moved each pair, felt under it then put it back. She whispered all the opening spells she knew, but no part of the wardrobe stirred. She was standing on tiptoe, feeling beneath the upper shelf, when behind her the chamber door creaked open.

The king did not seem surprised to see her there. He shut and bolted the door, and with a flick of his hand he made the mantel lamp burn. “My dear, this is a much better place for a tryst. How clever of you.” He took her hands and drew her close; she held herself very still.

He kissed her lightly. “I will do nothing you do not wish, my Melissa. But I can see in your eyes that you do wish it.” He stroked her cheek. “Have you ever made love, sweet Melissa?”

She felt as nervous and spell-cast as a trapped beast. Her mind spun and fought, and still she stood frozen. He watched her knowingly, but then he released her and moved away.

He poured wine from the decanter on the mantel and handed her a goblet. “You did not come to join me in bed, sweet Melissa. What were you looking for?” Looking into his eyes was like swimming in black seas. As his look changed from heat to suspicion, she wanted to bolt out the door.

He said, “It takes a lot of nerve to search the chambers of royalty.” He drew his hand down her cheek, letting it rest on her shoulder. “You are of value to the queen, Melissa. Surely you know that. Just as you are of value to me.” He stroked the back of her neck. His touch was uncomfortably soft; she flinched with an almost animal repugnance.

“Why…” She choked. “Why should I be of value to the queen?”

He drew her close again, stirring her desire despite her repugnance. “How old are you, Melissa?”

“Seventeen.”

“And where do you come from?”

“From Appian.”

He smiled. “You do not need to tell me the lies you tell the queen. And, of course, she does not believe you. Melissa—do you remember your mother?”

“Of course I remember her. Why would you ask about my mother?”

“Perhaps we can make a bargain.” He began to unbutton her dress.

She moved away. “You—could have any girl in the kingdom.”

“Why should I have any girl, when I can have the loveliest? Melissa…” He drew her close and kissed her throat.

“If you breed me a healthy heir, Melissa, by the laws of the Netherworld you will be the new queen of Affandar.” Again he smiled, his look too intent. “If you were queen of Affandar, Melissa, what would you do?”

Excitement gripped her suddenly with the heady challenge. If she were queen of Affandar, she could free the peasants. She could free other nations, and dethrone Siddonie’s puppet kings. She stared at him, mute.

He said, “Do you know that Siddonie fears you?”

She laughed.

“Do you call me a liar?”

“No.”

He moved to the mantel to refill his glass, then turned, watching her. “Siddonie and I are locked in battle for Affandar. All the kingdom knows that. Siddonie would destroy me if she could. She wants no one to share her rule.

“You, Melissa—she sees in you the power to help her enslave Affandar and enslave the Netherworld.”

“I don’t understand. She mistakes me for something I am not.”

“No, she sees truly. She would use you to enslave Affandar. But, Melissa, together you and I could defeat her.”