Mystic Guardian Page 8

  Nevan swung away from the table. “I’ll go with you. I’ve nothing to hold me here, and you might need an extra hand with the sails and navigation.”

  “I can sail a sloop on my own. Waylan can’t sail the Destiny without you. But I thank you for the thought.”

  His friends stood there, clenching their fingers into fists, looking angry and unhappy.

  Trystan did not know how to say farewell. He had thought this last was his final journey, and now he might never see his beloved home again. Acting as if he were only going for a short swim, he nodded, and strolled from the tavern, wearing the clothes of the Outside World.

  The goats he kept in town ran to butt against his boots in hopes of acquiring the treats he usually carried on him. When he was very young, other boys had taunted him over his softness for animals, but his pets’ affection filled an empty place in his life as an orphan. So he’d pounded sense into his friends over the years, and confident in himself, he was no longer discomfitted by anything or anyone. Until Mariel had come along.

  Pulling a leather bag from the pocket of his tailed frock coat, Trystan fed his pets by hand, scratching their silken heads in farewell. He would have to see Erithea before he left—just in case he never saw her again. He had to explain to her children somehow. His fifteen-year-old nephew, Kerry, would have to travel as translator sooner than his age should allow, if Trystan did not return.

  He didn’t need to say anything to Lissandra. She already knew, and she did nothing to change her mother’s decision. A future Oracle had to learn to be cruel in her objectivity, but he would have liked some sign that she would miss him. He’d lost his parents years ago, and his sister had her own family to keep her occupied. He was just realizing how much he craved a home and a family he could call his own. Lissandra would have fulfilled that dream.

  The future of the island was now in his hands in a manner he hadn’t expected. If Mariel survived her swim, he had to prevent her from speaking of the rare treasures here, sending the greedy to overrun and destroy their way of life.

  It was a horrifying responsibility, but one he was fully prepared to uphold. He buckled in his sword and rapier and strode from the village.

  ***

  Swimming to shore in the gray dawn of the fourth day since her departure, Mariel stood when her feet touched sand. Every muscle of her body ached as she lugged the belt with the chalice on it to the rocks that hid her clothes.

  Once dressed, she rubbed the mottled metal of the old cup and pondered the best method of disposing of it. The blue stones twinkled like blue eyes in the dawn’s early light, and she smiled. “You would like to live in luxury, would you not?” she asked of it. “You do not belong in a musty old cabinet. You should be polished to a lovely shine for all the world to see.”

  And that’s when she thought of her father’s distant cousin, the baroness.

  The lady was seldom in Pouchay and scarcely acknowledged the existence of her poor country relations, but she had wealth and no one to spend it on but herself. Perhaps she could be persuaded to buy the chalice.

  Mariel was exhausted and needed rest, but she could not return to Francine empty-handed. Once she was dressed in her plain black gown and white apron, determination forced her up the cliffs to the vicomte’s castle fortress, where the baroness was often in residence.

  She braided her wet hair and shoved it into her cap on the way up the cliff. She needed to look as modest as was possible when she greeted the guards and asked after her cousin. She had avoided the upper echelons of society since her father’s death. Eduard’s name didn’t offer enough protection for women who wandered about without maid or consort, and she disliked drawing attention to herself. But this matter was too important for her to be squeamish.

  To Mariel’s relief, the guard reported the baroness was currently in residence. Mariel wound her way through the narrow alleys inside the castle walls without incident at this early hour and prayed that her cousin was an early riser. In her present state, she would fall asleep if she must cool her heels waiting for the lady to awake.

  She caught the Baroness Celeste Beloit preparing for bed.

  “Mariel St. Just!” the baroness cried as the maid led her into the over-perfumed, over-decorated bedchamber. “I thought you married and long gone from here.”

  “It is my sister who married, my lady.” Mariel curtsied as she’d been taught, although balancing with the awkward cup in her arms wasn’t easy. “She and her husband are expecting a blessed event shortly.”

  “Ah, excellent.” The lady gazed into her gilded mirror to cream the powder off her face. Widowed young, she’d lived alone for years. Although she appeared almost Mariel’s age, she must be close to forty. “And what brings you here so unexpectedly? Surely that is not your father’s silver you carry?” She nodded at Mariel’s reflection to indicate the chalice.

  “No, it is a pewter cup I found half buried in the sand,” she lied. “It has pretty gems on it and is useless to us.” Francine would never forgive her if she begged for food, and the cost of bread was so steep, that it was frivolity to ask for it. Best to request coins, then choose whatever was fresh on the market. “I would like to buy some presents for the baby,” which really wasn’t a lie, “and thought perhaps you would know someone who might be interested in purchasing it.”

  White powder wrinkled in the lady’s frown, but she turned on her vanity seat and held out her hands for the object. “One cup has little purpose. One needs a set.”

  Holding her breath, Mariel handed over the pretty chalice. The blue gems reminded her of the sea and beckoned to her. She almost hated to let it go.

  The baroness gasped when she touched the stem. Instead of handling it with disdain, she examined the cup reverently. “It has an interesting vibration,” she murmured in admiration.

  Vibration? Mariel blinked sleepily at her cousin, wondering which of them had lost their mind, or had she lost track of the conversation? She really needed to get some rest.

  “It’s winking at me!” the lady cried in delight, cradling the chalice in her arms. “This is exactly the sign I needed. Thank you so much, my dear! I shall accept the chevalier’s proposal. The cup will make a lovely wedding gift for a financier of his extraordinary good sense.”

  “Then you will buy it from me?” Mariel prodded, hoping her cousin did not think this was a generous gift.

  “My dear, I will give you anything you like. Name your price.” The baroness set the cup on her dressing table and stroked it with the fondness one expends upon a pet.

  Staggered by this generosity, Mariel asked for enough wheat to feed a village, a price so obscene, she could not believe anyone would pay it.

  Still staring at the winking chalice as if she could not turn away, the baroness nodded. “Of course, child. If it is wheat you want, I’ll pay the vicomte to open his stores. And give you some coins for yourself and the babe. You must call me Celeste, and ask Francine if she will make some of her lovely lace for my wedding present.”

  Almost fainting from hunger and fatigue, Mariel bobbed another curtsy and prayed she wasn’t dreaming. One cup could provide plenty for all? Was this how the golden god saved them? It was a miracle, after all!

  ***

  “Isn’t this worth the wait?” Mariel crowed ecstatically, sitting at the table and watching her sister rip into the soft golden crust fresh from the baker’s oven. “I’m sorry I made you fret for so long, but it could not be avoided. The sea does not give up its treasures easily.”

  She had left the wheat with the baker and gone home to sleep for hours. Not until the first loaf had been delivered to their door had her sister dared to wake her.

  “I feared this time you had drowned,” Francine said, tears rushing to her eyes as she watched Mariel hungrily sniff the hot bread. “I would rather starve than see you die for me.”

  “Well, I’m not fond of starving, so you’ll have to live with the fact that I’d rather drown at sea than starve on land.” M
ariel pulled off a hunk of yeasty soft bread for herself. “Besides, I’m far more likely to starve than drown. You know that. Have you had word from Eduard yet? Has the Assembly bargained with the king for wheat?”

  Mariel knew better. The men gathering in Paris wouldn’t do anything so practical as to ask for bread when all the country starved. They would argue politics until they turned blue, brought out swords, and started killing each other. The best she could hope was that Eduard would have the sense to come home then. The word that the king’s mercenary armies were gathering around Paris did not sound as if any agreement was near.

  Until Eduard came home, she had to distract her sister from fretting. It couldn’t be good for the child she carried. Smugly, Mariel caressed the coins in her pocket. She even had enough left from the sale of the chalice to host a banquet for the midwife and all the relatives who would descend upon them when the child was born. The old piece had been worth far more than she’d imagined. The nobility had strange tastes. Although, considering the odd behavior of the baroness, perhaps it was an even stranger charity.

  “You know Eduard explained that the king must consent to tax his wealthy nobles to fill the empty treasury,” Francine chided. “Once the Assembly is agreed on how it should be done, things will right themselves.”

  “The nobles and the clergy have never in the history of France agreed to be taxed,” Mariel said. “It is against human nature to believe those in power will tax themselves.”

  “We should not be as greedy as the nobility,” Francine admonished, ignoring her sister’s pessimism. “You should give a portion of your treasure to the church.”

  “I will. I just wanted to see you eat and smile first.” Rising from her chair, Mariel tested her cap pins. She detested the cap and the bodice that squeezed the air from her, but she must look like landed gentry—however impoverished—that she purported to be. Appearances were the only protection they had in these uncertain times.

  “I trust Father Antoine will spend the coins on the poor and not on wine for himself,” Mariel said darkly. “I am tempted to hand out the coins directly to the needy.”

  “And be murdered for your purse?” Francine asked. “I really am not so blind to the ways of the world as you believe I am. Purchasing the grain was an excellent idea. We will all have bread for weeks, and no one need know from whence it came. But silver is too rare to hold safely. Take only the coins you mean to give and do not let anyone see you give them.”

  “I shall be properly humble in my charity,” Mariel said with mockery at her baby sister’s orders, handing over the coins intended for the midwife and other necessities before slipping out the door and into the village street.

  It felt very odd to see familiar surroundings after her strange journey. The ancient stones of buildings worn smooth by the ocean’s storms seemed gray and dismal in comparison to the blinding white and vivid colors of Aelynn. The hard green fruit on gnarled old cherry trees could scarcely equal an extraordinary jungle of ripe, exotic produce.

  But she was deeply grateful to have returned safely. She’d been knocked unconscious again while leaving the reefs, and it was only the small boat and a band of dolphins that had saved her. There had been times after she’d woke in the dory that she’d wondered if it all had been a strange dream.

  Except for the chalice. The wonderful, marvelous, ugly chalice.

  She skipped a light step on the way to the church. She ought to feel like a thief for stealing such a valuable piece, but it had been shoved in a dark corner and forgotten, if the dust covering it was any indication. No one would miss it. Besides, it seemed a sin to hoard wealth when others went hungry. She would steal again to survive if it meant saving the lives of many.

  Not that she would harm anyone to survive, she amended as the church came into view. If she and Francine were meant to die of starvation, then they would die. But it did seem as if God had delivered her to the island and provided the ugly bowl to prevent that from happening.

  Was that all Mama’s prediction had meant? That Trystan would sail her to a magic island where she could acquire the wealth to save the village for another few weeks? How very… disappointing.

  She halted outside the small church to genuflect and cross herself and pray for a state of grace for fear of being struck down for her theft. She couldn’t possibly confess all her sins without being thought mad or worse, so she hoped God understood.

  When she straightened, her gaze caught an unusual flash of striking gold from the direction of the harbor. She stopped to stare in dismay at a man taller and broader than any person in town striding briskly up the cobbled hillside, without the shuffle of hunger and misery.

  A man who, with just his presence, caused heads to turn and eyes to widen. A milkmaid stumbled and dropped an empty pail while turning to watch the golden god in all his furious glory. Only the clatter of metal against stone woke the maid sufficiently to send her scurrying down the hill after it.

  Mariel’s heart sank to her feet at Trystan’s grim presence, but a small part of her, the female part that she’d only just discovered, sang a song of delight.

  She could have slipped inside the church and hidden, but everyone knew her. Not even the most rebellious radical could resist the compelling presence of a village legend. Anyone Trystan asked would direct him to Francine, who would be terrified.

  Now that Mariel was on her own ground, she trusted that her friends would rescue her should Trystan try his usual feat of carrying her where he wanted her to go. She defiantly remained where she was. She was as unaccustomed to being told what to do as she suspected he was unaccustomed to being defied. An Episode of Unpleasantness loomed.

  Hands on hips, she caught Trystan’s gaze from half way down the stony hill. Poppies danced in reds and pinks along a sagging picket fence across the street. The stone wall of the church’s cloistered garden and cemetery lined the space between them. Arms filled with a basket of fresh laundry, a laundress stepped from her shop, and swiveled in awe to follow Trystan’s path up the hill. He strode past without noticing, his narrowed gaze focused entirely on his goal.

  Mariel shivered. She’d like to think his attention was because of her great beauty, but she was a tall, gawky black crow in this gown and cap. She was amazed he even recognized her.

  The way he made her feel, she hardly recognized herself. She was awestruck, and consumed with improper thoughts that a maiden should not acknowledge.

  The golden god seemed even taller and broader in the narrow gray street of her home. In a futile attempt to blend in with her world, he wore an elegant navy silk coat with gold frogging and white lining to match his white breeches. The buckles on his knee-high boots gleamed with gold. A jeweled scabbard hung on his hip. Except for the absence of powdered wig, he possessed the accouterments of an aristocratic gentleman.

  But he was too large, too forceful, too mysterious to fit the role.

  “I have not said a word to anyone about your home,” she stated when he halted in front of her. “You are asking for trouble returning here. Everyone knows the legend of the golden god.”

  “I am not a legend,” he growled down on her. “I am a man who has been driven beyond his limits by a female with the brains of a tree frog. You could have killed yourself out there!”

  She blinked back her astonishment at this strange argument, and continued on the course of attack she had assumed. “Now that you see I am not so foolish, you may go back to where you came from without fear of my spoiling your life. I have taken care of my people without any help from you, thank you very much.”

  Trystan’s smile was most unpleasant. “And how did you perform this miracle? By multiplying loaves and fishes?”

  Shocked at his sacrilege, she nervously jiggled the coins in her pocket. “The sea occasionally throws out its treasures,” she lied with the defensiveness she’d had to learn from the time she could swim. “I sold an ugly old cup to a lady at the castle who thought it would make an excellent wedding g
ift.”

  She talked too much when she was nervous. But she couldn’t calm down beneath that icy blue gleam that seemed to pierce to her heart and see the truth.

  “An ugly old cup isn’t likely to feed a village,” he said with suspicion. “I’ve brought the coins from my last voyage with me. We will leave them with your sister to dispense as necessary. Then we will return to my home and say the vows you promised.”

  Flee or argue? Neither seemed practical, but she had more experience at arguing than fleeing. “I left so you needn’t say that vow! Go back. Tell them I died. I promise never to say a word about that strange dream I had that is already fading from my poor, mad, overexerted female brain.”

  Dismissing her sarcasm, Trystan caught Mariel’s elbow and forced her to follow him down the street toward the harbor or be ignominiously dragged. “You will say the vows that will ensure that silence, and I will return you, just as promised.”

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew marriage vows involved more than saying words. “Return me whole, just as I am?” she asked with irony.

  Trystan shot her another glare that said she had guessed rightly. A burning in her midsection warned she wasn’t entirely averse to his intent to physically claim her. If she listened to her animal nature, she’d agree to her own ruin without a qualm.

  “I believe your kind calls it a marriage of convenience,” he said dryly. “I support you and yours, and you grace my bed when I ask. Do you have some lover you will disappoint?”

  Put that way, in terms she understood, it almost made sense. Except he had already made it clear he was being forced into this, and she saw no advantage to either of them.

  “I believe in my world,” she mocked as he tugged her past the silversmith, “you would be purchasing the prestige of my family with such a marriage. That is not the case here, is it?”

  Trystan halted to grab both her elbows and practically rubbed his nose to hers. “I am purchasing my damned life and yours!”

  Shaken by his response, Mariel could not immediately find her tongue. Purchasing their lives? Surely the old woman would not really kill them? If so, his home was as violent as hers.