Morning in the Mists

Ughelor was the crown of a misty moor, and never was it more obscured than in the morning. The sun was a dagger of light in the sky, never sharp enough to pierce the clouds as it liked to. Rachel most often saw it as the last and most powerful of the surface gods' attempts to break through their hated rivals' stronghold, but it wasn't enough. Mollethin's bedchamber was high enough to be free of most of the mist, allowing some of the light to come in through her window as she lay in bed. Her sorcery made it a simple thing to remember dreams, and to manipulate them while she was still within them. The night before she and Cador had sailed on a sea of torments. The deep gods had drowned the knights and their camp in alternating fancies of carnality and **** inflicted on their bodies. This day there wasn't a soul for miles that was untouched by it. For the masters of the castle, it was invigorating; the rest would be sleepwalking through the day.

She drew her naked body out from the four postered bed and enjoyed the feeling of the chilled stone against her bare feet. This body of hers had been one of the prime features of the hallucinations the night before. In one moment she wielded a knife to flay a man, and the next that same man had been inside her. It would be impossible for their guests to see her and not be stalled by a half remembered dream. Today she would dress to chasten them: faded black, and loose fitting, like a priestess's drudgery. She resisted the urge to style herself in a wimple. Too unsubtle, she thought.

By the time she arrived at the foot of the tower there was someone waiting for her. The priest had been thin the day before; today he looked like he'd been locked in a dungeon for weeks without food. "Good morning, father!" she said giddily.

Lefwith turned his eyes on her, very nearly lost. "Lady Rachel. How did you sleep?"

"Well," she said.

"Unfortunately I can't say as much. New places... I miss my bed, at St. Ifor's." He winced.

I hadn't asked, she thought. "What a pity. Can I do something for you, father? Or are you leaving us already?" The man was a bore, but she nearly wanted him to stay. Seeing him broken and bloodied would bring her great satisfaction. They might even make a saint of him for it, in the end. Both of them could profit from it.

"Yes. I've spoken to Lord Cador already. Yesterday you did a great deal to assuage my suspicions, but still I feel like I would be lax if I did not interrogate you both properly." He didn't look like he had the strength to speak, much less to apply an inquisitorial eye to their relations.

"Interrogate? Oh, Lefwith, I hope you don't mind if I call you Lefwith. Questions, even incisive ones, yes, of course! But a friend can't interrogate a friend. I know we only met yesterday, but I do consider you a friend." She showed her teeth to the priest.

Lefwith tried with everything he had to pick out which threat he heard in her words was real. "Have it how you like," he said, moving past it. "Cador has told me he'll wait for us outside the castle. He seems to think that nature will make him more convincing. I'll tell you now, and I'll tell him as well when we go to him: I am experienced in these things. Tricks of rhetoric or appeals to virtue won't deceive me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Lefwith," she said. "Show me the way! And while we go, why don't you tell me all about your... experience?"