The Oracle’s Queen
The Oracle’s Queen
Lynn Flewelling
The gripping conclusion a thrilling fantasy adventure trilogy filled with necromancy and bone-chilling magic from the bestselling US author of the Nightrunner series.Long ago Skala was ruled only by Queens, in accordance with prophecy. King Erius, fearing that the prophecy might be evoked as a means to dethrone him, had most of his female relatives assassinated. When his sister fell pregnant with twins, two of Skala’s wizards were warned by the oracle and took steps to conceal the girl who survived her twin brother at birth. Now Prince Tobin has been revealed as Princess Tamir, the true heir to the throne – and Skala has never been more in need of a true Queen.But at the age of fifteen Tamir is deeply confused by the new identity that has been thrust upon her, and feels betrayed by the wizards who tricked her and all her friends. Her demonic twin still haunts her, but now that the spell concealing her identity has been broken, the bond between them is severed. Brother is no longer under Tamir’s control, and he is bent on vengeance for the sins committed against him.Meanwhile Erius’s son Korin, Tamir’s beloved cousin, has claimed the throne and declared her a traitor. But as the country slides into civil war the people begin to acclaim Tamir as their saviour. Tamir strives to avoid conflict, but Korin’s weakness and Tamir’s honour will lead them to the ultimate clash of wills.
THE ORACLE’S QUEEN
Book Three of the Tamír Triad
Lynn Flewelling
Copyright (#ulink_f2c38ea8-f4f6-5639-bd67-f4771473b9bb)
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
Copyright © Lynn Flewelling 2006
Lynn Flewelling asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007113125
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9780007404599
Version: 2016-03-14
Dedication (#u1d7a11aa-a93b-5c0f-9733-64473c5334b9)
For Patricia York
August 14, 1949–May 21, 2005
Wish you were here to see how this one ended. Thanks for always reminding me “it’s not the number of breaths we take, but the number of moments that take our breath away.”
Catch you later, my good, dear friend.
Contents
Cover (#u41a23dea-a4b1-5aaa-b425-e94a786e14e0)
Title Page (#uc58ae0b0-86ca-5831-8732-6c4d15287c88)
Copyright (#u0bb23982-9b12-560d-b1b3-ffe1af33eb29)
Dedication (#udd942cad-239c-5e17-8436-97f1f67b0899)
Chapter 1 (#u3b4a2240-9e4b-5f7c-9b91-954cb3952963)
Chapter 2 (#ud2bd5865-2be3-5baa-bd50-a10278bf3956)
Chapter 3 (#u9764f83f-b8e8-5001-ac79-af1b4f9e13c1)
Chapter 4 (#u7a4b1866-1f30-59d7-b681-65fb2ab6fa95)
Chapter 5 (#uceb5a39c-a25a-5c17-b66a-9c4c79223260)
Chapter 6 (#ua922e2cd-7dff-5a6d-b453-e796eec9ba05)
Chapter 7 (#ue991a751-8275-5aca-94f6-424f9d49cab7)
Chapter 8 (#ub1551779-19cf-5499-a251-7bbd640e85b7)
Chapter 9 (#u99a69826-c91e-537d-8709-40e43c86a88e)
Chapter 10 (#u3ea2daa5-a5f1-55ae-b4e6-a1b2cc36c5e7)
Chapter 11 (#u6e08c241-d96f-5e1d-8edb-959d240da5ab)
Chapter 12 (#u569b66ca-ef8a-5df4-965b-63d50aa5feb3)
Chapter 13 (#u31412604-b75d-50cb-b2f9-58d4baa0fae7)
Chapter 14 (#u444f76ca-4d4a-589c-ad5c-da3ae651244e)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Afterword (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Praise (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_63e84d46-45f0-56e6-8dab-d3d703521dbf)
The cold night breeze shifted, blowing stinging smoke from old Teolin’s campfire into Mahti’s eyes. The young witch blinked it away, but remained squatting motionless, his bearskin cloak pulled around him like a little hut. It was bad luck to fidget during this last crucial step of the making.
The old witch hummed happily as he heated his knife again and again, using the tip and edge to incise the rings of dark, intricate patterns that now covered most of the long wooden tube. Teolin was ancient. His wrinkled brown skin hung on his skinny frame like old cloth and his bones showed through. The witch marks on his face and body were hard to read, distorted by the ravages of time. His hair hung over his shoulders in a thin tangle of yellowed strands. Years of making had left his blunt, knobby fingers stained black, but they were as nimble as ever.
Mahti’s last oo’lu had cracked one cold night this past midwinter, after he’d played out an elder’s gallstones. It had taken months of searching to find the right kind of bildi branch to make a new one. Bildi trees weren’t scarce, but you had to find a sapling trunk or large branch that had been ant-hollowed, and the right size to give a good tone. “High as your chin, and four fingers broad”; so he’d been taught and so it was.
He’d found plenty of flawed branches in the hills around his village: knotted ones, cracked ones, others with holes eaten out through the side. The large black ants that followed the rising sap through the heartwood were industrious but undiscerning craftsmen.
He’d finally found one, and cut his horn stave from it. But it was bad luck for a witch to make his own instrument, even if he had the skill. Each must be earned and given from the hand of another. So he’d strapped it to his back over his bearskin cloak and snowshoed for three days and nights to bring it to Teolin.
The old man was the best oo’lu maker in the eastern hills. Witch men had been coming to him for three generations and he turned away more than he accepted.
It took weeks to make an oo’lu. During this time it was Mahti’s job to chop wood, cook food, and generally make himself useful while Teolin worked.
Teolin first stripped the bark and used live coals to burn out the last of the ants’ leavings. When the stave was fully hollowed he went out of earshot to test the tone. Satisfied, he and Mahti rested and traded spells for a week while the hollow branch hung drying in the rafters near the smoke hole of Teolin’s hut.
It dried without warping or cracking. Teolin sawed the ends square and rubbed beeswax into the wood until it gleamed. Then they’d waited two more days for the full moon.
Tonight was the sit-still.
That afternoon Mahti had scraped away the snow in front of the hut and dragged out an old lion skin for Teolin to sit on. He laid a large fire, with more wood stacked within easy reach, and hunkered down to tend it.
Teolin sat down wrapped in his moth-eaten bearskin and set to work. Using a heated iron knife, he etched the rings of magic onto the wood. Mahti watched with rapt attention as he fed the fire, marveling at how the designs seemed to flow from the tip of the blade, like ink onto deerskin. He wondered if it would come so easily to him, when the time came for him to make oo’lus for others?
Now the Mother’s full white face was high overhead and Mahti’s ankles ached from squatting, but the oo’lu was nearly done.
When the last of the rings was complete, Teolin dipped the mouth end in a little pot of melted wax, then rolled a softened lump of it into a thin coil and pressed it in a ring to the waxed end of the horn. He squinted across at Mahti, gauging the size of his mouth, and pinched the wax in until the opening was about two thumbs wide.
Satisfied at last, he gave Mahti a toothless grin. “Ready to learn this one’s name?”
Mahti’s heart beat faster as he stood and stretched the stiffness from his legs. His last oo’lu, Moon Plow, had served him seven years. In that time he’d become a man and a healer. Honoring the Moon Plow mark, he’d planted many fine children in women’s bellies at Mother Shek’met’s festivals. His sons and daughters were scattered through three valleys and some of the oldest were already showing witch’s talent.
When Moon Plow cracked, this cycle of his life ended. He was twenty-three summers old, and his next future was about to be revealed.
Drawing his own knife, he cut his right palm and held it over the mouth of the oo’lu as Teolin held it. A few drops of his blood fell inside it as he sang the claiming spell. The black tracery of witch marks across his face, arms, and chest tickled like spider feet. When he thrust his hand into the fire, he didn’t feel the heat of it. Straightening, he moved to the far side of the fire and faced the old man. “I’m ready.”
Teolin held the oo’lu upright and chanted the blessing, then tossed it across to Mahti.
He caught it awkwardly in his fire hand, gripping it well below the center. Even hollow, it was a heavy thing. It nearly overbalanced, and if it had fallen, he’d have had to burn it and start all over again. But he managed to hang on to it, gritting his teeth until the witch marks faded completely from sight on his arms. He took the horn in his left hand and inspected it. The shiny black print of his fire hand was branded into the wood.
Teolin took it back and carefully examined how the marks of Mahti’s splayed fingers intersected the carved designs. He was a long time at it, humming and sucking his gums.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mahti. “Is it a bad luck cycle?”
“This is the Sojourn mark you’ve made. You better spit for it.”
Teolin scratched a circle in the ashes at the edge of the fire with his knife. Mahti took a mouthful of water from the gourd and spat forcefully into the circle, then turned away quickly as Teolin hunkered down to interpret the marks.
The old man sighed. “You’ll travel among strangers until this oo’lu cracks. Whether that’s good luck or bad, only the Mother knows, and she doesn’t feel like telling me tonight. But it’s a strong mark you made. You’ll travel a long way.”
Mahti bowed respectfully. If Teolin said it would be so, then it would be. Best just to accept it. “When do I go? Will I see Lhamila’s child born?”
Teolin sucked his gums again, staring down at the spit marks. “Go home by a straight path tomorrow and lay your blessings on her belly. A sign will come. But now, let’s hear this fine horn I’ve made for you!”
Mahti settled his mouth firmly inside the wax mouthpiece. It was still warm and smelled of summer. Closing his eyes, he filled his cheeks with air and blew gently out through loosened lips.
Sojourn’s deep voice came to life with his breath. He hardly had to adjust his playing style at all before the rich, steady drone warmed the wood beneath his hands. Gazing up at the white moon, he sent a silent thanks to the Mother. Whatever his new fate was, he knew already that he would do great magic with Sojourn, surpassing all he’d done with Moon Plow.
By the time he finished the claiming song he was lightheaded. “It’s good!” he gasped. “Are you ready?”
The old man nodded and hobbled back into the hut.
They’d agreed on the payment their first day together. Mahti lit the bear fat lamp and set it by the piled furs of the sleeping platform.
Teolin shrugged off his cloak and undid the ties of his shapeless robe. The elk and bear teeth decorating it clicked softly as he let it fall. He stretched out on his pallet, and Mahti knelt and ran his eyes over the old man’s body, feeling compassion tinged with sadness rise in his heart. No one knew how old Teolin was, not even the old witch himself. Time had eaten most of the flesh from his frame. His penis, said to have planted more than five hundred festival seeds, now lay like a shrunken thumb against his hairless sac.
The old man smiled gently. “Do what you can. Neither the Mother nor I ask more than that.”
Mahti leaned down, kissed the old man’s lined brow, and drew the fusty bearskin up to Teolin’s chin to keep him warm. Settling beside the platform, he rested the end of the horn close to the old man’s side, closed his eyes, and began the spell song.
With lips and tongue and breath, he altered the drone to a sonorous, rhythmic pulse. The sound filled Mahti’s head and chest, making his bones shiver. He gathered the energies and sent them out through Sojourn to Teolin. He could feel the song enter the old man, lifting the strong soul free of the frail, pain-wracked body, letting it drift up through the smoke hole like milkweed fluff. Bathing in the light of a full moon was very healing for a soul. It returned to the body cleansed and gave a clear mind and good health.
Satisfied, Mahti changed the song, tightening his lips to weave in the night croak of a heron, the booming boast of grandfather frog, and the high, reedy chorus of all the little peepers who knew the rain’s secrets. With these, he washed the hot sand from the old man’s joints and cleansed the little biting spirits from his intestines. Searching deeper, he smelled a shadow in Teolin’s chest and followed it to a dark mass in the upper lobe of his liver. The death there was still asleep, curled tight like a child in the womb. This, Mahti could not cleanse away. Some were fated to carry their own deaths. Teolin would understand. For now, at least, there was no pain.
Mahti let his mind wander on through the old man’s body, soothing the old fractures in his right heel and left arm, pressing the pus away from the root of a broken molar, dissolving the grit in the old man’s bladder and kidneys. For all its wizened appearance, Teolin’s penis was still strong. Mahti played the sound of a forest fire into his sac. The old man had a few more festivals in him; let the Mother be served by another generation bearing his fine old blood.
The rest was all old scars, long since healed or accepted. Allowing himself a whim, he played the white owl’s call through Teolin’s long bones, then droned the soul back down into the old man’s flesh.
When he was finished, he was surprised to see pink dawn light shining in through the smoke hole. He was covered in sweat and shaking, but elated. Smoothing his hand down the polished length of the oo’lu, he whispered, “We will do great things, you and I.”
Teolin stirred and opened his eyes.
“The owl song tells me you are one hundred and eight years old,” Mahti informed him.
The old man chuckled. “Thank you. I’d lost track.” He reached out and touched the handprint on the oo’lu. “I caught a vision for you while I slept. I saw the moon, but it was not the Mother’s round moon. It was a crescent, sharp as a snake’s tooth. I’ve seen that vision only once before, not too long ago. It was for a witch from Eagle Valley village.”
“Did she learn what it meant?”
“I don’t know. She went away with some oreskiri. I’ve never heard anything of her return. Her name is Lhel. If you meet her in your travels, give her my greeting. Perhaps she can tell you the meaning.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that. But you still don’t know if my fate is a good one or a bad one?”
“I’ve never walked Sojourn’s path. Perhaps it depends on where your feet take you. Walk bravely in your all travels, honor the Mother, and remember who you are. Do that and you will continue to be a good man, and a fine witch.”
Mahti left the old man’s clearing at dawn the next day, Teolin’s blessing still tingling on his brow.
Plodding over the crusty snow, Sojourn a comforting weight across his shoulders in its sling, he smelled the first hint of spring on the morning air. Later, as the sun rose over the peaks, he heard it in the dripping of water from bare branches.
He knew this trail well. The rhythmic crunch and rasp of his snowshoes lulled him into a light trance and his thoughts drifted. He wondered if he’d plant different kinds of children now than he had under the Moon Plow sign? Then again, if he were to travel far, would he plant any children at all?
He wasn’t surprised when the vision came. He often had them at moments like these, tramping alone through the peace of the forest.
The winding path became a river under his feet, and the sinew and bent ash of his snowshoes grew into a little boat that bobbed gently on the current. Instead of the thick forest on the far bank, there was open land, very green and fertile. He knew in the way of visions that this must be the southland, where his people had once lived, before the foreigners and their oreskiri had driven them into the hills.
A woman stood between a tall man and a young girl on that bank, and she waved to Mahti as if she knew him. She was Retha’noi like him, and naked. Dark-skinned and small, her fine, ripe body was covered with witch marks. The fact that she was naked in the vision told him that she was dead, a spirit coming to him with a message.
Greetings, my brother. I am Lhel.
Mahti’s eyes widened as he recognized the name. This was the woman Teolin had spoken of, the one who’d gone away with the southlanders on a sojourn of her own. She smiled at him and he smiled back; this was the Mother’s will.
She beckoned him to join her but his boat would not move.
He looked more closely at the others with her. They were black-haired, too, but the man’s was cut short and the girl’s hung in long waves around her shoulders rather than the coarse curls of his people. They were taller, too, and pale as a pair of bones. The young man had an aura of strong magic about him: oreskiri, surely, but with a hint of power Mahti recognized. This witch, Lhel, must have taught him something of their ways. That was troubling, even though Teolin had spoken no ill of her.
The girl did not have magic, but Lhel pointed to the ground at the girl’s feet and Mahti saw that she had a double shadow, one male, and one female.
He didn’t know how to interpret the vision yet, except that these two were both living people, and southlanders. He was not afraid or angry to see them here in his mountains, though. Maybe it was the way the other witch rested her hands on their shoulders, love so clear in her dark eyes. She looked at Mahti again and made a sign of bequeathing. She was giving these two strangers into his care, but why?
Without thinking, he set the new oo’lu to his lips and played a song he did not recognize.
The vision passed and the forest path returned around him. He was standing in a clearing, still playing that song. He didn’t know what it was for; perhaps it was for the southlanders. He would play it for them when they met and see if they knew.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_875854e0-1cc9-5635-a9b2-27dd19b28d65)
“It’s one thing to accept one’s destiny.
It’s quite another to live it.”
I am Tamír!”
Ki stood beside her in that ruined throne room, the acrid stink of the burning city thick in the air, and watched as his friend declared herself a woman and rightful heir to the throne. Imonus, high priest of Afra, had brought Ghërilain’s lost gold stele as proof. It was as big as a door and he could see Tamír reflected in it, crowned by the ancient prophecy engraved there:
So long as a daughter of Thelátímos’
líne defends and rules, Skala shall
never be subjugated.
She didn’t look much like a queen yet, just a ragged, tired, too-thin girl in battle-stained men’s clothing. She hadn’t had to strip for the crowd this time, but there was no mistaking the jut of small pointed breasts through the loose linen shirt.
Ki averted his eyes with a vague pang of guilt. The thought of how her body had changed still gave him a sick feeling.
Iya and Arkoniel stood with the priests at the foot of the dais, still in their dirty robes. They’d helped turn the tide of battle, but Ki knew the truth about them now, too. It was their doing, all the lies.
The oath takings and rituals dragged on and on. Ki scanned the crowd, trying to share in the joy he saw around him, but all he could think of at that moment was how young and thin and brave and worn out Tobin—no, Tamír—looked.
He tried the unfamiliar name in his mind again, hoping to make it stick. He’d seen the proof of her sex with his own eyes, but he still could not get his mind around it, or his heart.
I’m just tired.
Had it only been a week since they’d ridden for Atyion at the king’s order? Just a week since he’d first learned the truth about Tobin, his dearest friend, his heart’s brother?
He blinked away the sudden stinging in his eyes. His friend was not Tobin anymore. There she stood, right in front of him, yet he felt as if Tobin had died.
He glanced sidelong at Tharin, hoping the man hadn’t noticed his weakness. Teacher, mentor, second father, he’d slapped Ki when he’d panicked that night on the road to Atyion. Ki had deserved it, and he’d been grateful for the correction. He’d stood fast with Tharin and Lynx a few days later when Tobin had sliced the fragment of Brother’s bone, and the witch’s magic with it, from his own breast on the steps of Atyion castle, calling down the mystical fire that burned away his male body. Horrified, they’d watched as Tobin bled and burned and somehow lived to strip withered flesh away like a snake shedding last year’s outworn skin, leaving in his place this wan, hollow-eyed girl.
The rituals ended at last. Tharin and the newly organized bodyguard closed ranks in front of them. Close by Tamír’s side, Ki saw how she wavered a little as she stepped down from the dais. He slipped a discreet hand under her elbow, steadying her.
Tamír pulled her arm away, but gave him a small, tight smile, letting him know it was only pride.
“May we escort you to your old chamber, Highness?” Tharin asked. “You can rest there until arrangements can be made elsewhere.”
Tamír gave him a grateful look. “Yes, thank you.”
Arkoniel made to follow, but Iya stopped him, and Tamír did not look back or summon them.
The palace corridors were packed with the wounded. The air was rank with the stench of blood. The fish pools set into the floors were stained pink with it. Drysian healers were at work everywhere, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of those in need of their skills. Tamír looked around sadly as they hurried on, and Ki could guess her thoughts. These soldiers had fought under Erius’ banner and fallen for Ero. How many would have fought for her? And how many would serve under her now?
Reaching her old chamber at last, she said, “Keep guard out here, Tharin, please?”
Ki hesitated, thinking she meant to leave him, too, but she dispelled his doubts with a sharp glance and Ki followed her into the ransacked room that had once been their home.
As soon as the door was closed she slumped back against it and let out an unsteady laugh. “Free at last! For now anyway.”
That voice still sent a shiver through him. Tobin wasn’t yet sixteen, and hadn’t lost his high, boyish voice. Still hoarse from battle, Tamír sounded just the same. In the gathering gloom, she even looked like Prince Tobin, with her warrior braids and long black hair falling forward around her face.
“Tob?” The old name still came too easily.
“You can’t call me that anymore.”
Ki heard the echo of his own confusion in her voice and reached for her hand, but she brushed past him and went to the bed.
Nikides lay as they’d left him, still unconscious. His sandy hair was plastered to his cheeks with sweat and blood, and the bandages around his side were crusted with it, but his breathing was even. Tamír’s little page, Baldus, was curled asleep at his feet.
Tamír rested a hand on Nikides’ brow.
“How is he?” asked Ki.
“Feverish, but alive.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Of the nineteen original Companions, five were dead for certain, and the rest missing, except for Nik and two squires. Tanil would be lucky to survive the brutal torture he’d suffered at the hands of the Plenimarans. Lynx still seemed recklessly intent on not surviving his fallen lord, Orneus, yet he’d come through every battle without a scratch.
“I hope Lutha and Barieus are still alive,” Ki murmured, wondering how their friends would fare without them. He sat down on the floor and ran his fingers back through his tangled hair. It had grown long over the winter. The thin brown braids framing his face hung to his chest. “Where do you suppose Korin went?”
Tamír sank down beside him and shook her head. “I still can’t believe he’d abandon the city like that!”
“Everyone says it was Niryn’s doing.”
“I know, but how could Korin let that bastard sway him like that? He never liked him any more than we did.”
Ki said nothing, keeping his bitter thoughts to himself. From the day they’d met, Ki had seen the weakness in the Prince Royal, just as clearly as Tamír had seen the good. It was like a streak of poor alloy in a fine blade, and had already betrayed him twice in battle. Royal or not, Korin was a coward, and that was unforgivable in a warrior—or a king.
Tamír shifted over, leaning against his shoulder. “What do you suppose Korin and the others thought if they’ve heard news of me?”
“Nik or Tanil can tell us that when they wake up, I guess.”
“What would you think, in their place?” she fretted, scratching at a bit of dried blood on the back of one hand. “How do you suppose it will sound to anyone who wasn’t there to see?”
Before he could answer that, Arkoniel slipped in without knocking. Unshaven, one arm in a sling, he looked more beggar than wizard.
Ki could hardly bear to look at him. Arkoniel had been their teacher and their friend, or so they thought. But he’d lied to them all these years. Even knowing the reason, Ki wasn’t yet sure he could forgive him for that.
Arkoniel must have read his thoughts or his face; the sudden sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “Duke Illardi has offered his villa as a headquarters. The grounds have strong walls and there’s been no plague in that ward. It’s a safer place for you than here. The fires are still spreading.”
“Tell him I accept his offer,” Tamír replied without looking up. “I want Nik with me, and Tanil, too. He’s at the camp we overran yesterday.”
“Of course.”
“And we should save what we can of the royal library and archives before the fire spreads.”
“Already seen to,” Arkoniel assured her. “Tharin’s placed a guard on the Royal Tomb, as well, but I’m afraid there was some looting.”
“Seems I’m always saddled with caring for the dead.” Tamír rose and walked out onto the broad balcony that overlooked the palace gardens and the city beyond. Ki and Arkoniel followed.
This part of the Old Palace was hardly touched by the destruction outside. Snowdrops and banks of white narcissus glowed in the failing daylight. Beyond the walls, smoke hung heavy over the city, lit from below by flames.
Tamír gazed up at the red-stained sky. “One of the last things my uncle said to me before we rode for Atyion was that if Ero is lost, Skala is lost. What do you think, Arkoniel? Was he right? Were we too late?”
“No. It’s a terrible blow, certainly, but Ero is only one city among many. Skala is wherever you are. The queen is the land. I know things look grim to you right now, but births are seldom easy and never clean. Rest a bit before we ride. Oh, and Iya’s spoken to some of the women in your guard. Ahra or Una can stay with you tonight.”
“Ki is still my squire.”
The wizard hesitated, then said quietly, “I don’t think that’s advisable, do you?”
Tamír rounded on him, pent-up fury blazing in those dark eyes. Even Ki took a step back in the face of it.
“It is advisable because I say it is! Consider that my first official proclamation as your queen-to-be. Or am I just a wizard’s puppet after all, like my uncle?”
Arkoniel looked stricken as he pressed a hand to his heart and bowed. “No, never that. I swear on my life.”
“I’ll remember you said that,” Tamír snapped. “And you remember this. I accept my duty to Skala, the gods, my line, and my people. But right now, I warn you—” A quaver crept into her voice. “Don’t cross me in this. Ki stays with me. Now just—go away!”
“As you wish, Highness.” The wizard quickly retreated, but not without a sad look in Ki’s direction.
Ki pretended not to notice. You put her here. You can damn well suffer the consequences along with the rest of us!
“Prince Tobin?” Baldus stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Tamír’s valet, Molay, had hidden the child in a trunk during the final attack. When Tamír and Ki had found him afterward, he was too exhausted and terrified to notice the change in her. He looked around in confusion. “Where’s the princess you were talking to, Lord Ki?”
Tamír went to the child and took his hand. “Look at me, Baldus. Look closely.”
The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Highness, are you bewitched?”
“I was. Now I’m not.”
Baldus nodded uncertainly. “An enchanted princess, like in the bard’s tales?”
Tamír managed a pained smile. “Something like that. We need to get you someplace safe.”
Chin trembling, the child fell to his knees, clutching her hand and kissing it. “I’ll always serve you, Princess Tobin. Please don’t send me away!”
“Of course I won’t, if you want to stay.” Tamír pulled him to his feet and hugged him. “I need every loyal man I can find. But you must call me Princess Tamír now.”
“Yes, Princess Tamír.” The child clung to her. “Where’s Molay?”
“I don’t know.”
Ki doubted they’d see him again on this side of Bilairy’s gate. “Get some sleep, Tamír. I’ll keep watch.” To his surprise, she didn’t argue. Stretching out beside Nikides on the bare mattress, she turned on her side and surrendered at last to exhaustion.
Ki pulled up a chair and sat with his sword unsheathed across his knees. He was her squire and he would do his duty, but he studied that shadowed face with the heavy heart of a friend.
Darkness had fallen when Tharin came in with a lamp. Ki blinked in the sudden light. Tamír sat up at once, reaching for her sword.
“Everything’s ready, Tamír.” Tharin stepped aside to make way for the litter bearers who’d come for Nikides. Lynx followed, carrying Tamír’s discarded armor.
“I’ve assembled an escort for you in the front court and Manies has gone for your horses,” said Tharin. “You’d best wear your armor. The streets are far from secure.”
Ki took the Aurënfaie hauberk from the other squire. Lynx understood. This was Ki’s responsibility, and his honor.
He helped Tamír put on the supple mail hauberk, then buckled on the breastplate for her. These pieces, as well as what Ki, Lynx, and Tharin wore, had all come from the Atyion armory. Wrestling with the unfamiliar buckles, he wondered what had become of the armor they’d left behind in Ero that night. Lost with everything else, Ki thought with regret. His had been a gift from Tobin, one of her own designs.
Tamír, he thought, catching himself. Damnation! How long before that came naturally?
The rest of the royal guard was mounted and waiting for them in the courtyard. Beyond the wall, the Palatine was as bright as day from the fires still burning there. The hot breeze was against them, and ash had drifted over everything like a grey killing frost.
There were at least a hundred riders assembled, many of whom held torches to light the way. Most of the horses had shorn manes, Ki noted. Mourning for the king, perhaps, or lost comrades. The few remaining men from the Alestun guard were at the forefront, still keeping together as a group. Aladar and Kadmen saluted him and he returned it with a heavy heart; too many missing faces there.
Lady Una was there, too, with Iya, Arkoniel, and the ragtag collection of wizards Iya had gathered. The rest were soldiers still wearing the baldric of Atyion, Captain Grannia and her women foremost among them.
Lord Jorvai and Lord Kyman, Tamír’s first allies among the nobles, waited with sizable contingents of their own riders.
Left-handed Manies hoisted Tamír’s tattered banner aloft. It still showed the blended coat of arms of her parents, Ero and Atyion together. A long black ribbon was tied to the top of the staff, out of respect for the dead king.
“You should ride under the royal banner now,” said Tharin.
“I haven’t been crowned yet, have I? Besides, Korin took that with him, too.” She leaned closer, whispering, “So many? It’s less than three miles to Illardi’s house.”
“As I said, the streets are still dangerous. A lot of Erius’ men have refused to join us. They could still be out there somewhere, planning who knows what.”
Tamír settled her sword on her hip and went down the steps to the tall black horse a man still wearing Erius’ colors was holding for her.
“Keep your eyes open and stay close to her,” Tharin muttered as he and Ki followed.
“I will!” Ki shot back under his breath. What did Tharin think he was going to do, go woolgathering as if they were out for a hunt?
As Ki swung up onto his borrowed horse, he saw that Tamír had drawn her dagger. Her horse’s mane had not been shorn. She grasped a hank of the coarse black hair and cut it free, then singed it in a nearby torch. It was a symbolic act, but a worthy one. “For my kin,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “And for all who died bravely for Skala.”
From the corner of his eye, Ki caught Iya smiling and shaking her head.
Ki and Tamír rode at the center of the column, shielded on all sides by armed riders and wizards. Jorvai took the forward position, and Kyman and his men the rear guard. Tharin rode with Tamír, and the two wizards flanked them. Baldus clung wide-eyed behind Arkoniel, a small bundle clutched in one hand.
With much of the Palatine still in flames, the usual route to the gate was impassable. Tamír and her column crossed the ruined park to a small secondary gate behind the ravaged drysian grove.
This way took them past the Royal Tomb. Tamír glanced up at the scorched ruins of the portico. Ranks of priests and soldiers stood guard there, but most of the royal effigies were gone.
“Did the Plenimarans knock down the statues?”
Iya chuckled. “No, the defenders on the Palatine dropped them on the enemies’ heads.”
“I never went back,” Tamír murmured.
“Highness?”
Ki understood. The night they’d first come to Ero, Tamír had taken her father’s ashes down into the royal crypt and seen her mother’s preserved corpse. That had been the only time she’d ventured into the catacombs, avoiding them even on Mourning Night and the other holy days. Ki figured that after living with Brother all these years, she’d had her fill of the dead.
And where’s he now? he wondered. There’d been no sign of the demon since the unbinding ceremony. All the bits of bone from the doll had burned away with the magic. Perhaps Tamír was finally free of him, as Lhel had promised.
And he’s free, too. Ki still recalled the look of agony on Brother’s face in those final moments. Despite all the fear and pain he’d caused over the years, and the harm he’d tried to do, Ki hoped that the angry spirit had passed the gate at last, for everyone’s sake.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_91010bcb-e3aa-5858-960a-77d8447e4bcd)
The city outside the Palatine was in chaos, the air filled with angry cries and the sound of weeping. The rain had lessened, but ragged clouds still hung low over the city. Fires still raged in some of the wards, and an endless stream of refugees choked the streets. Soldiers stood guard outside the gates, trying to keep people from returning to salvage or loot.
Tamír looked around at these people—her people. Most of them had no idea who was passing them tonight. What would they think if they saw her abandoning the capital?
“By the Flame, I’m tired of sneaking about in the dark,” she muttered, and Ki nodded.
Smoldering foundations and lurking freebooters weren’t the worst of the dangers in the ruined city. Hundreds of bodies, the victims of battle and plague, lay rotting in the streets, breeding more disease. Most of the Scavengers who tended to such things were dead themselves.
Tamír’s guard doused their torches once they were free of the city, not wanting to serve as targets for any lurking enemy archers. The north high road was crowded with a dark, seething line of people, horses, and carts of every description stretching away into the night.
Have I already failed? she wondered again.
If the Lightbearer wanted a queen so badly, then why had the Immortal chosen such a dark moment to reveal her? She’d put the question to the Afran priest earlier, but Imonus’ maddeningly serene smile had been her only answer. The priests and wizards were delighted with this turn of events, despite all the suffering that came with it.
And yet the sight of all these homeless people left her feeling very small and tired. How was she to help them all? The burden of this new role, and all the uncertainty that came with it, bore down on her like a great weight.
“Don’t worry,” Tharin said quietly. “Things will look better in the morning. The clouds are breaking up. I can see the stars already. See that group over there?” He pointed up at a constellation. “The Dragon. I take that as a good omen, don’t you?”
Tamír managed a wan smile; the Dragon was one of Illior’s signs. She’d been a devotee of Sakor all her life; now every sign and omen seemed to come from the Lightbearer. As if in answer to her thoughts, an owl hooted loudly somewhere off to their right.
Imonus caught her eye. “Another good omen, Highness. When you hear the Lightbearer’s bird, you salute the god.” He showed her how, touching three fingers to his forehead between his brows.
Tamír copied the gesture. Ki and Tharin followed suit, then other riders around them who’d heard and seen.
Is it because they’ve accepted Illior’s hand in all this, or because they’ll follow anything I do?
She’d always been in Korin’s shadow at court and seen how everyone went along with whatever he did. If that was to be the case, she vowed to set a better example than he had.
Duke Illardi and his mounted escort met them on the road. Tamír and the Companions had guested with him often, during the hot days of summer. He was a pleasant, greying fellow, who’d always reminded her a bit of Tharin.
“Greetings, Highness,” he said, covering his heart with his fist as he bowed from the saddle. “Delighted as I am to offer you hospitality once again, I regret the circumstances.”
“So do I, your grace. I’m told you’re willing to swear fealty to me, and support my claim to the throne?”
“I am, Highness. We’re an Illioran house and always have been. I think you’ll find a good many others around the country who will be glad to see the Lightbearer’s prophecy upheld at last.”
“And plenty who won’t,” Lord Jorvai put in as they set off again. “The Sakor factions who enjoyed the king’s favor won’t so readily see his son displaced. Some have already left the city on account of him.”
“Will it be civil war, then?” Illardi asked.
The question sent a chill through Tamír. Forgetting her resentment for a moment, she turned to Iya. “Will Korin fight me for the crown?”
“With Niryn still alive and dripping poison in his ear? Yes, I’d say it’s likely.”
“Skalans fighting Skalans? I can’t believe that’s what the Lightbearer wants of me!”
They reached Duke Illardi’s estate without challenge. Large beacon fires burned along the tops of the walls, illuminating the archers stationed there.
Beyond lay a pleasant, rambling stone villa set on a promontory overlooking the sea. The Plenimarans had attacked as they passed; black-fletched arrows still littered the bailey yard and gardens, but the gates had not been breached.
Tamír and the others dismounted at the main entrance to the house. Two pillars carved with Illior’s Eye flanked the doorway and a crescent moon decorated the lintel. When they’d visited here in Erius’ time, Sakor’s Flame had been painted there. Tamír hoped Illardi didn’t change his loyalties too quickly, or too often.
He’d always been a kind host to the Companions, however, and he seemed sincere now as he bowed and said, “All that is mine is yours, Highness. I’ve ordered a bath and food prepared. Perhaps you’d prefer to take them in your chambers?”
“I would, thank you.” Tamír had suffered through enough formalities for one day.
He led her to a set of rooms on a terrace facing the sea. Baldus clung to her hand, and Ki and Tharin followed. In addition to the main bedchamber there was a sitting room, dressing room, and antechambers for her guard. In the heat of summer these rooms had been pleasantly cool. Now they were dank despite the candles and hearth fires burning there.
“I’ll leave you to rest and refresh yourself, Highness,” said Illardi. “My servants will bring you anything you require.”
“I’ll see the men settled in,” said Tharin, discreetly withdrawing to leave her alone with Ki. “Come, Baldus.”
Baldus looked panicked and Tamír nodded to him. “You’ll attend me.”
The child gave her a grateful look as he scampered to join them.
Despite the damp, the hangings were warmly colorful, and the bedsheets were clean and smelled of sunshine and wind.
Baldus looked around the unfamiliar chamber. “What do I do, my lady? I’ve never attended a girl before.”
“I have no idea. Help me off with these boots, for starters.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed and chuckled as the boy struggled with her boots. “I think we could fit your whole family in this bed, Ki.”
He dropped into a chair and grinned. “And the dogs, too.”
Baldus gave the boot a final yank and tumbled back, his already dirty tunic covered in mud.
Tamír regarded her filthy sock and the rest of her stained clothing with a wry smile. “I don’t look much like a lady, do I?”
“I don’t imagine Queen Ghërilain looked much different, after her great battles,” said Ki, as Baldus wrestled off her other boot.
“I stink, too.”
“You’re not the only one.”
Ki’s hair hung in dirty tangles around his haggard, unshaven face, and the tunic over his hauberk was filthy. They both reeked of blood and battle.
Baldus hurried over to the washstand and poured water into the basin. Tamír washed her face and hands. The water was cool and scented with rose petals, but by the time she was done it was stained the color of rust. Baldus emptied the basin out the window and poured fresh for Ki.
“Maybe he shouldn’t do that,” Ki warned. “It might not look right to people, him waiting on your squire, too.”
“People can go hang,” Tamír snorted. “Wash your damn hands.”
Trestle tables were brought to the terrace. Tamír and her people ate with the duke and his two young sons, Lorin and Etrin. Ki had played with them on their previous visits and found them to be good, solid sorts, and smart.
Lorin was a tall, quiet boy a few years younger than Tamír. His brother, who was of an age with Baldus, stared at her wide-eyed throughout the meal, as if expecting her to change form again before his eyes.
Baldus staunchly carried out his duties here, too, until Tamír coaxed him into sharing her bench, and made him eat a few morsels from her portion.
As soon as the meal was done servants cleared away the dishes and Illardi spread out charts of the harbor to assess the damage.
“The Plenimarans knew their job. While the land forces attacked the shoreline, their sailors cast burning pitch on every vessel they could reach and cut the mooring lines. I’m afraid all your warships are at the bottom of the harbor now, or burning on the far reach. Only a few small carracks escaped. Twenty-seven enemy vessels were captured.”
“Any word of how many ships escaped?” Tamír asked.
“The lookouts at Great Head claim no more than ten.”
“Enough to carry home word of their defeat,” Jorvai noted.
“Enough to carry word of Ero’s weakness, too,” Iya warned. “We cannot afford to be taken by surprise again. I have several of my wizards watching the sea, but without knowing where to look, they may not find them. Tell the lookouts to be vigilant, especially in foul weather.”
Illardi and the others left at last. A large bathing tub had been carried in and filled as they dined and Ki eyed it enviously. They’d lived in the saddle for days.
“Baldus, go into the corridor and keep watch with the guards for a while,” said Tamír. She flopped down on the bed and nodded toward the tub. “You want first go?”
“No, you go on—That is—” A week ago Ki wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Now he could feel his face going warm. “I should step out—shouldn’t I?”
It seemed a logical enough conclusion, but Tamír suddenly looked close to tears. “Do I disgust you that much?”
“What? No!” he exclaimed, astonished both by the sudden change of mood and that she’d jump to such a harsh conclusion. “How can you think that?”
She slumped forward with her face in her hands. “Because that’s how I feel. Ever since Atyion, I’ve felt like I’m trapped in a bad dream and can’t wake up. Nothing feels right! I have this empty feeling in my trousers—” Ki saw color rise in her cheeks, too. “And these?” She glared down at the hard little points under the dirty linen of her shirt. “They ache like fire!”
Ki found himself looking anywhere but at her. “My sisters said the same when they ripened. It passes as they grow.”
“Grow?” She looked horrified at the prospect. “But you want to know the worst of it?”
She pulled the shirt off over her head, leaving herself naked from the waist up except for her parents’ rings on a chain around her neck. Ki hastily averted his eyes again.
“That. You can’t even look at me, can you? Every day since Atyion I’ve seen you flinch and turn away.”
“It’s not like that.” Ki faced her squarely. He’d seen naked women enough growing up. She didn’t look any different than one of his sisters, apart from the mottled bruise on her shoulder where she’d been struck during the first attack on the city. It had faded to a green-and-yellow blotch, stippled at the center with the purpled imprint of the chain mail that had stopped the arrow. “It’s—Damn it, I can’t explain it. Fact is, you don’t look all that different than you did before.”
“Lying doesn’t help, Ki.” She hunched in on herself, arms crossed over her tiny breasts. “Illior is cruel. You wouldn’t touch me when I was a boy and now that I’m a girl, you can’t even look at me.” She stood and stripped her breeches off, angrily kicking them aside. “You know a hell of a lot more about girl’s bodies than I do. Tell me, do I look like a boy or a girl now?”
Ki shuddered inwardly. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with what he saw. The dark sprinkling of hair covering her cunny looked the same as any girl’s. No, it was knowing what used to be there that made his belly clench.
“Well?” She was still angry, but a tear rolled down her cheek.
The sight of it made his heart ache; he knew how much it took to make her cry. “Well, you’re still skinny, and your ass has always been kind of flat. But lots of young girls are like that. You’re not so old yet to be—ripening.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “That is, if you—”
“Bleed with the moon?” She didn’t look away, but her face went a darker shade of scarlet. “I did, sort of, before the change. Lhel gave me herbs that stopped it, mostly. But I suppose I will now. So now you know it all. These past couple years, you were sleeping with a boy who bled!”
“Damn, Tob!” This was too much. Ki sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. “That’s what I can’t fathom. The not knowing!”
She shrugged miserably and reached for the dressing gown someone had left across the end of the bed. It was a lady’s gown, velvet trimmed with silver lace and embroidery. Tamír wrapped herself in it and huddled against the bolsters.
Ki looked up and blinked in surprise. “There now, that makes a difference.”
“What?” Tamír muttered.
“It makes you look more—girlish.” This earned him a dark glare.
Determined to make things right between them, he looked around and spied an ivory comb on the dressing table. This must have been a lady’s room, or else Illardi’s duchess had taken pains to equip it properly. There were pots with fancy lids and little odds and ends he couldn’t guess the use of.
Taking up the comb, he sat down next to her on the bed and forced a grin. “If I’m to be your tiring woman, Highness, can I fix your hair?”
That got him an even blacker look, but after a moment she turned her back to him. He knelt behind her and began working at the tangles, taking it in sections like Nari used to.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”
“What am I up to?”
“Currying the skittish horse?”
“Well, it needs doing. You’re all full of knots.”
He worked in silence for a while. Tamír had thick hair, and it was almost as black as Alben’s, but it wasn’t as straight as his. When he was done, it fell in thick waves down her back.
Gradually her shoulders relaxed and she sighed. “This isn’t my fault, you know? I didn’t choose this.”
“I know that.”
She looked back over her shoulder. With their faces mere inches apart, he found himself lost for an instant in those sad blue eyes. The color reminded him of the Osiat, the way it looked on a clear day from the headlands at Cirna.
“Then what is it?” she demanded. “It feels so different between us now. I hate it!”
Caught off guard, Ki let his mouth run away with him and spoke the truth. “Me, too. I guess I just miss Tobin.”
She turned around and gripped him by the shoulders. “I am Tobin!”
He tried to look away, to hide the tears stinging his eyes, but she held him.
“Please, Ki, I need you to be the same!”
Ashamed of his own weakness, he pried her hands from his shoulders and held them tightly between his own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But now, you’re—”
“Just a girl?”
“No. You’re to be queen, Tamír. You are already, by right.” She tried to pull away, but he held on. “A queen this grass knight can’t sleep close with on cold winter nights, or swim with, or wrestle—”
“Why not?”
It was Ki who pulled away this time, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes. “It wouldn’t be proper! Damn it, if you’re to be queen, you have to act the part, don’t you? You’re still a warrior, but you’re a woman, too—or a girl, anyway. And boys and girls? They just don’t do all that. Not nobles, anyway,” he added, blushing. He’d made do with servant girls, just like everyone else, but he’d never felt ashamed of that until now.
Tamír sat back, lips set in a grim line, but he could see the corners trembling. “Fine. Leave me, then, while I bathe.”
“I’ll go see how Nik and Tanil are doing. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
Ki headed for the door. She didn’t call him back, just sat there glaring a hole in the bed. Ki slipped out and set the latch softly, his heart in turmoil, then turned to find Tharin and Una watching him expectantly.
“She’s—uh—going to bathe,” Ki mumbled. “I’ll be back.”
Ducking his head, he brushed past them. As he strode away, it felt like a door of a different sort had slammed shut between them, with him on the outside.
Tamír fought back more tears as she undressed and slid into the tub. She ducked under the water and briskly rubbed the soap over her hair, but she couldn’t escape her thoughts.
She’d always been odd, even as Tobin, but Ki had always understood and accepted her. Now it seemed he could only see the stranger she’d become—a homely, scrawny girl he was too embarrassed to look at. She slid a finger through the ring that had been her mother’s, gazing down at the profiles of her parents. Her mother had been beautiful, even after she’d gone mad.
Maybe if I looked more like her? she wondered glumly. Not much chance of that.
She wanted to be angry with Ki, but this sumptuous room suddenly felt too lonely without him. Her gaze strayed to the large bed. She’d seldom slept alone. First there’d been Nari, her nurse, then Ki. She tried to imagine replacing him with Una and cringed, remembering that embarrassing kiss the girl had given her, believing Tobin was just a shy, backward boy. There’d been little time to speak with her since the change, but thanks to Tharin and his organizing, it would be hard to avoid her now.
“Bilairy’s balls!” she groaned. “What am I going to do?”
Survive, Sister. Live for both of us.
Tamír sat up so abruptly water sloshed over the side onto the floor. Brother stood before her, a faint but unmistakable shape untouched by the fire or candle glow.
“What are you doing here? I thought—I thought you’d gone on.”
It was hard to look at him now—the image of the young man she thought she’d be. He was as pale as ever, his eyes as flat and black, but otherwise he looked as he would have in life, right down to a faint tracing of dark hair on his upper lip. Suddenly shy under that unblinking gaze, she wrapped her arms around her knees.
His hard, whispery voice invaded her mind. You will live, Sister. For both of us. You will rule, for both of us. You owe me a life, Sister.
“How do I repay a debt like that?”
He just stared.
“Why are you still here?” she demanded. “Lhel said you’d be free when I cut out the piece of your bone. The rest of you burned up with the doll. There was nothing left, not even ash.”
The unavenged dead do not rest.
“Unavenged? You were stillborn. They told me.”
They lied. Learn the truth, Sister. He hissed the last word like a curse.
“Can you find Lhel for me? I need her!”
The demon shook his head and the hint of a smile on his dead lips sent a chill through her. The bond of skin and bone was sundered. Tamír could no longer command him. The realization frightened her.
“Are you here to kill me?” she whispered.
Those black eyes went darker still and his smile was poisonous. How many times I wanted to!
He advanced, passing through the side of the tub to kneel before her in the water, face inches from her. The water went achingly cold, like the river below the keep in spring. The demon grasped her bare shoulders and his cold fingers bit into her flesh, feeling all too solid. See? I am no helpless shade. I could reach into your chest and squeeze your heart as I did to the fat one who called himself your guardian.
She was truly terrified now, more than she ever had been with him. “What do you want, demon?”
Your pledge, Sister. Avenge my death.
Dreadful realization penetrated the haze of fear. “Who was it? Lhel? Iya?” She swallowed hard. “Father?”
The murdered cannot speak the name of their killers, Sister. You must learn that for yourself.
“Damn you!”
Brother was still smiling as he slowly faded away.
The door flew open and Tharin and Una burst in, swords drawn.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tharin.
“Nothing,” Tamír said quickly. “I’m fine, just—just thinking out loud.”
Tharin nodded to Una and she retreated and closed the door. Tharin swept a suspicious eye around the room as he sheathed his sword.
“I’m almost done here,” she told him, hugging her knees to her chest. “I told Ki he could use the water when I’m done but it’s gone cold.”
Brother had stolen the last of the heat. No, don’t think of him right now, and what he’d hinted at. She’d had too much to bear already, without looking for murderers among what was left of her circle of trusted friends. She clung to the fact that Tharin had not been anywhere near her mother that night. But Iya had, and Arkoniel. Perhaps there had been someone else? It was too painful to contemplate.
“That’s a long face.” Tharin helped her from the tub and wrapped her in a large flannel, rubbing her hair with a corner of it.
Tamír dried herself and put on the robe again, not looking at him as she let the flannel drop.
When she was dressed, he urged her into bed and pulled the comforter up around her, then sat down and took her hand. “That’s better.”
His kind, knowing look undid her. She threw her arms around his neck and hid her face against his chest, not caring that he still stank of blood and smoke. “I’m glad you’re still with me!”
He rubbed her back. “As long as I draw breath.”
“I’m going to make you a prince of the realm when I’m queen.”
Tharin chuckled. “Bad enough you’ve made me a lord. Leave well enough alone.”
He stroked a wet strand of hair back from her cheek and gave one braid a tug. “You’re worried about Ki.”
Tamír nodded. It was half the truth, anyway.
“He didn’t look any happier than you when he left.” She felt him sigh. “You’re determined to keep him by you, aren’t you?”
“You think I’m wrong?”
“No, but you might consider the boy’s feelings.”
“I’d be happy to, if he’d tell me what they are! He treats me like I’m someone else now.”
“Well, like it or not, you are.”
“No!”
Tharin patted her shoulder. “Maybe just who you were, then, with more added on.”
“Tits, you mean?”
“You call those little flea bites tits?” He laughed at her outraged look. “Yes, your body’s changed, and that’s something that can’t just be pushed aside, especially not by a young man with Ki’s hot blood.”
Tamír looked away, mortified. “I want him to see me as a girl, to like me that way, but then again, I don’t. Oh, Tharin, I’m so confused!”
“You both need time to know your hearts.”
“You always treat me just the same.”
“Well now, it’s different with me, isn’t it? Boy or girl, you’re Rhius’ child. But you’re not a little one anymore, for me to carry on my shoulder and make toys for. You’re my liege and I’m your man. But Ki?” He picked up the discarded flannel and rubbed it over her dripping hair. “I know what your feelings for him have grown to this past year or so. He knows it, too.”
“But shouldn’t that make it easier?”
He paused in his drying. “How would you feel if you woke up tomorrow and Ki was a girl?”
Tamír blinked up at him through her tangled hair. “It’s not the same! That would make things harder between us, like when I was a boy. This way, we can—have each other. If he wants to!”
“First he’ll have to stop seeing Tobin every time he looks at you. And that won’t be easy because he’s still looking so hard to see him.”
“I know. Who do you see, Tharin?”
He patted her knee. “I told you. I see my friend’s child.”
“You really loved my father, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “And he loved me.”
“But he left you for Mother. Why didn’t you stop loving him then?”
“Sometimes love can change its form rather than end. That’s what happened with your father.”
“But your feelings never changed, did they?”
“No.”
She was old enough now to guess at what he was leaving unsaid. “Didn’t it hurt?”
She’d never seen the sorrow more clearly in his face, or the sharp edge of anger that came with it when he nodded and replied softly, “Like fire, at first, and for a long time after. But not enough to drive me away, and I can say now that I’m glad. There was a time when I’d have answered differently. I was a grown man by then, and I had my pride.”
“Why did you stay?”
“He asked me to.”
She’d never heard him say so much before. “I always wondered—”
“What?”
“After Mama got sick and turned against him, were—were you and Father ever lovers again?”
“Certainly not!”
“I’m sorry. That was rude.” Still, something in that last response intrigued her—a flash of pride. She wondered what it meant but knew better than to ask. “So what do I do about Ki?”
“Give him time. Ki could never have loved you the way you wanted as Tobin. It just isn’t in him. But he suffered over it, and now he’s suffering over the loss of who you two were together.” He draped the flannel over her shoulder. “Let him heal a while. You can do that for him, can’t you?”
She nodded. Of course she could. But that didn’t make her feel any better tonight. “Is he out there?”
“He went off by himself, but he’ll be back.”
“We’ll need more hot water for sure, then,” Tamír mused. “Should I leave while he bathes?”
Tharin shrugged. “It would be polite to ask.”
Chapter 4 (#ulink_c44c6cd4-bb83-5468-a7e6-478ee27fc797)
The courtyard was filled with soldiers and servants. Ki kept to the shadows and went to the new stone stable, where the wounded were being tended.
Illardi bred fine horses from Aurënfaie stock; his stable was far nicer than the house where Ki had been born, and considerably larger. Inside, Ki could just make out rafters and dressed stone at the edge of the lamplight. It smelled of new wood and fresh straw, but also of blood and wounds, and herbs being burned or brewed on the braziers. Half a dozen drysian healers were at work, wearing bloodstained aprons over their long brown robes.
People lay everywhere on makeshift pallets, looking like bundles of laundry laid out for washing day. Ki picked his way among them, looking for Nikides and Tanil. One of the healers noticed him and came over.
“Lord Kirothieus, are you seeking the Companions?” she asked. “We put them together, over there in that stall at the end.”
He found Nikides propped up in a deep bed of new straw. Another figure sat huddled in a far corner of the stall, muffled in several blankets. Even his head was covered.
“Tanil?” When Ki moved closer, the squire let out a soft moan and cowered deeper into the shadows. Ki settled back on his heels. “It’s all right. You’re safe here.”
Tanil said nothing, just curled more tightly in on himself.
“Ki, is that you?” It was a papery whisper.
Ki turned to find Nikides awake and blinking up at him. “Yes. How are you?”
“Better, I think. Where are we?”
“At Duke Illardi’s estate.”
“Illardi?” Nikides glanced around in confusion. “But I thought—I dreamed I was at the Old Palace. There were people dying around me. I thought I saw you—and Tobin.”
“It was no dream. We had you moved here. Lynx is still with us, too, and came through without a damn scratch! I think he and I are the only ones who did. And Una, too. Remember her?”
Nikides brightened at that. “She’s alive?”
“Yes. She ran off and joined up with my sister Ahra’s riders. She learned her lessons well. She’s a blooded warrior already.”
“So there are some of us left, after all.”
“Yes. What happened with you, Nik?”
Nikides tried to sit up and groaned. “I told them I was never cut out to be a warrior.” With Ki’s help he managed to prop himself against the wall. “I was with Korin. We were trying to get him away—” He closed his eyes against some painful memory. “I didn’t see the archer until it was too late.”
“You were lucky. The shaft missed your lung.”
Nikides shifted again and caught sight of the huddled figure in the corner. “Who’s that?”
“Tanil.”
“Thank the Four, we thought you were dead! Tanil? Ki, what’s wrong with him?”
“He was captured.” Ki leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Tortured, and—well, raped, like they do. We found him planked up against a barn north of the city.”
Nikides’ eyes widened. “Maker’s Mercy!”
“He’s in bad shape. Tamír wanted him kept close to you.”
“Tamír?”
Ki sighed. “Tobin, that is. You saw her back at the palace, remember? You spoke to her.”
“Ah. I thought I’d dreamed that, too.”
“No dream. A prophecy fulfilled, or so they say.”
“Then Skala has a queen again!” Nikides whispered. “If only Grandfather had lived to see it.” He fell silent a moment. “So, how is Tobin? Princess Tamír, I mean.”
“She’s fine.”
“She.” Nikides murmured, “It’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it? Tell me, how did it happen?”
Ki gave him a quick summary. “It was magic, but not like anything I’d ever heard of before. But I saw her myself, naked as the dawn, and it’s no trick. She’s Tamír now; Tamír Ariani Ghërilain.”
“A good name.”
Nikides was taking it very well, Ki thought sourly.
“Amazing, isn’t it, that the queen the Illiorans have been whispering about all these years was hiding right in plain sight?”
“Amazing, all right.” The bitterness in his voice left Nikides speechless for a moment.
“And Ero?” he asked at last.
“We drove the enemy out, but the city’s pretty near ruined.” Ki clasped his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. I’m told he died defending the palace.”
“Yes. I’ll miss him, but it was an honorable death.”
“What can you tell me about Korin? Do you know where they went?”
“They haven’t come back?”
“No. What happened?”
“The enemy had broken through our last defenses. They were everywhere, killing and burning. Master Porion and Captain Melnoth organized the retreat, with what soldiers they had left to cover their escape. I was unlucky, that’s all, and got cut off.”
“And they just left you?”
“You can’t blame Lutha, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He paused and Ki saw a look of pain in his eyes. “I saw him looking back at me, shouting something. He wanted to go back for me, but of course, he couldn’t. His duty was to Korin.”
“I would have, Nik. So would Tamír.”
Nikides shook his head. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to. Duty first, in all things. That’s what Master Porion would tell you, too.”
Ki kept his arguments to himself for now. Nikides was still too ill to fully appreciate the situation. “Do you know where Korin was headed?”
“No. Niryn just said to get him out of the city. We were trying for the west gate when I lost them.”
“The wizard was giving the orders?”
“Korin wouldn’t listen to anyone else by then, not even Cal.”
The drysian who’d spoken with Ki earlier came back just then and put her ear to Nikides’ chest. She looked pleased with what she heard. “You’re a lucky fellow, my lord. A few days more and you should be on your feet again, though it will take time to fully heal. I’ll send someone over with broth. See that he eats, won’t you, Lord Kirothieus?”
“I will.” Ki grinned at his friend. “Not that we ever had any trouble getting you to eat.”
Nikides made a rude gesture, then looked over at Tanil again. He’d stirred when the drysian came, and appeared to be awake. “Hello, Tanil. I’m glad you’re here. Are you hungry?”
Tanil shook his head and the blanket fell back from his face.
“Bilairy’s balls!” Nikides gasped softly.
The young squire’s face was still badly swollen and discolored from the beating, and his dark hair hung in lank strands around his shoulders. His braids had been cut off, too. Worst of all, though, was his vacant, frightened expression. He hunched in on himself, arms crossed tight across his chest. Livid bruises covered his bare shoulders, and his wrists were wrapped with bloodstained linen. He gave them a confused look, then hid his face against his knees.
“Poor fellow,” Nikides whispered sadly.
“And he was one of the lucky ones,” Ki replied softly, leaving it unsaid that his captors had been about to gut him when Tamír and her forces showed up. “The wounds in his wrists aren’t so bad. The healers say he’ll probably have the use of his hands again when they heal.”
He spoke lightly, but he and Nikides exchanged a knowing look. Wounds to the body were nothing to a warrior, but to be so dishonored and left crippled? It would have been kinder if the bastards had killed him.
The drysian woman returned with two bowls of strong-smelling broth. Nikides took a sip from his and wrinkled his nose. “Horse meat!”
“Plenty of that about,” Ki said, moving slowly and carefully to sit by Tanil. He held out the bowl. “It stinks, but it’ll put strength back into you. Come on now, try a little. It’s me, see? Nobody’s going to hurt you. Nik’s here, too.”
Tanil regarded them with empty eyes, then a hint of recognition seemed to dawn. He let Ki hold the bowl to his lips and managed a few sips before he gagged and turned his face away.
Nikides gamely downed his portion and put the bowl aside with a grimace of distaste. “You haven’t said what happened to you, since you left Ero.”
Ki quickly outlined the chaos of the past few days. “Tharin’s reorganized the remains of the old Alestun guard, along with Lynx and some of the warriors from Atyion, into a new guard for Tamír,” Ki said, all the while coaxing Tanil to drink more of the broth. “We’ve got Lord Jorvai, and Kyman of Ilear on our side already, and Illardi, and more who swore fealty after the battle. Not everyone is supporting Tamír, though.”
“That’s to be expected,” Nikides said, looking thoughtful. “Well, you can count me in as another loyal man, for whatever it’s worth.”
“Even over your Companion’s oath? She’ll send you back to Korin if that’s what you want.”
“No. I won’t say it doesn’t hurt, but in my heart I know it’s the right thing. Erius broke with the prophecy, and where did that get us? If Illior has made Tobin into a queen, then who am I to argue? So, how can I help?”
Ki clasped his friend’s hand and smiled. “Get your strength back and keep an eye on Tanil for me. Well, I better get back. Take care of yourself and do as the healers tell you.”
Ki felt a bit better for seeing his friend awake, but returned to the house unsure of his welcome. He felt bad about how things had gone earlier and was anxious to put it right.
Tamír was sitting on the bed reading a letter. She had on a long linen shirt under the dressing gown, and her damp hair hung loose over her shoulders. Baldus was curled up asleep on his pallet by the door.
She looked up as he came in, and he could tell she was trying to gauge his mood, too.
“I just saw Nik and Tanil.”
“How are they?”
“Nik’s mending. Tanil’s not doing so well. His spirit’s broken.”
“I don’t wonder. I’ll go see him tomorrow.” She gestured casually at the tub. “I had more warm water brought in.” She paused, looking uneasy again. “I can go in the sitting room—”
“Whatever you like,” Ki answered too quickly. Did she want to stay, or go? He was damned if he could tell. He had the feeling that no matter what he did, it would be wrong. When it came right down to it, though, she’d seen him naked so often that that didn’t make a bit of difference. All he wanted right now was hot water and a clean bed. “I don’t mind either way.”
After all the earlier embarrassment, he’d expected her to leave. Instead, she shrugged and went back to the letter.
Suit yourself, he thought, wondering at this new shift in the wind. He stripped and sank gratefully into the tub. It wasn’t very hot, but it was the cleanest water he’d seen in days. Settling back, he went to work with the soap and sponge.
As he washed, he found himself glancing over at Tamír. She was still engrossed in that letter. He ducked his head, rinsing lather from his hair, and looked up to find her still staring down at the parchment. It was only a single sheet. It couldn’t be taking her that long to read it.
“What’s that you’re looking at?” he asked.
She glanced up with a guilty start and colored a little, as if he’d caught her staring. Damn, this was strange!
“A letter from Lady Myna of Tynford, offering fealty,” she told him.
“Already? Word travels fast.”
She tossed the letter aside and stretched out on her stomach, chin propped on one hand. “I can’t stop thinking about Korin. A retreat’s one thing, but for him to just run off like that and leave the city open to the enemy? That doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons at the time.” Cowardice, most likely, he thought, scrubbing at a bloodstain on his left knee.
Tamír stared off at nothing for a moment, brow knitted in thought. “Damn that Niryn! It has to be him, weakening Kor’s mind.”
“I don’t doubt it. But maybe Korin wasn’t too hard to sway, either.” So much for tact.
Tamír gave him a wry look. “I know, Ki. You were right about him all along, but I still say there’s good in him, too. Once we know where he is, I’ll call for a parley. There’s got to be some way to resolve this, short of war!”
“I admit I don’t much like the idea of facing friends on the battlefield. Not even Alben or Mago. Well, maybe Mago.”
That earned him a fleeting grin. Ki stood up and reached for the dry flannel by the tub, noting how she averted her eyes. He quickly wrapped the cloth around his waist and looked around for something to put on besides his own filthy clothes.
Someone had laid out clean garments for him, too. The long linen shirt had white silk embroidery around the neck and gathered cuffs. He pulled it over his head, then stood there with the breeches in his hand, unsure what to do next.
He looked up at Tamír again and saw the same confusion. They both wanted this to be simple, like nothing had changed.
She shrugged, not quite looking at him. “Stay?”
“All right.” But he pulled on the breeches anyway, then blew out all but one lamp. He returned uncertainly to the bed, wondering if he should sleep on the floor with Baldus. Tamír was under the covers now, with the coverlet pulled up to her nose. He could just see her dark eyes watching him expectantly.
Still uncertain, he wrapped himself in a spare blanket and settled on the far edge of the bed. They lay facing each other, faces half-shadowed in the soft glow of the night lamp. Less than two arms span separated them, but it felt like a mile.
After a moment, Tamír reached out to him. He laced his fingers with hers, glad of the contact. Her fingers were warm and sun-browned from days in the saddle, not soft and pale like the girls he’d bedded. Those hands had trembled, or caressed. Tamír held his hand firm and sure, same as always. It made Ki feel very odd inside, even as he watched her eyes drift shut and her face relax in sleep. With her face pressed into the pillow and her hair spilled across her cheek like that, she looked like Tobin again.
He waited until he was certain she was really asleep, then let go of her hand and rolled on his back, teetering on the edge of the mattress and longing for the nights when they’d so innocently slept warm in each other’s arms.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_1c4dffe3-d37a-5842-a0c3-f72bbb85e967)
In the dream she was still Tobin who’d lived at the keep, and the tower door was never locked.
He climbed the stairs to his mother’s ruined sitting room at the top and found Brother waiting for him. Hand in hand, the twins climbed onto the ledge of the window that looked west toward the mountains. Between the tips of his boots, Tobin saw the river below, surging black beneath the ice like a great serpent trying to break free.
The grip on his hand tightened; it was his mother with him now, not Brother. Ariani was pale and bloody, but she smiled as she stepped off the ledge, pulling Tobin down with her.
But Tobin didn’t fall. He flew up into the sky and far over the mountains to a cliff above the dark Osiat Sea. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the now-familiar hills, and snowy peaks beyond. As always in this dream, the robed man stood off in the distance, waving to him. Would he ever see the man’s face?
Then Ki appeared at Tobin’s side and took his hand, drawing him to the brink of the cliff to show him the fine harbor that lay below. Tobin could see their faces reflected down there, side by side, like a miniature painted on silver foil.
Tamír had experienced this dream so often now that she knew she was dreaming, and turned all the more eagerly to Ki. Perhaps this time …
But as always, she woke with a start before their lips could touch.
Ki lay curled up on the far side of the bed, and opened his eyes as soon as she stirred. “You were restless. Did you sleep at all?”
“Yes. And now I’m starving.” She lay there, watching with bittersweet fondness as Ki yawned and stretched and rubbed his eyes. He’d left the front of his shirt unlaced and she could see the little horse charm she’d made him soon after they’d met, still hanging around his neck on its chain. He’d never taken it off since she’d given it to him, not even in the bath. For a fleeting moment it could have been any morning in the old days, the two of them waking up together to face a new day.
The illusion shattered as quickly as her dream had when he got up so quickly and made his way barefoot to the door.
“I’ll go find us something to eat,” he said, not looking back. “I’ll knock before I come back in.”
Tamír sighed, guessing he was anxious to give her time to get dressed.
A moment later there was a knock at the door and Lady Una stepped in, still in her mud-stained tunic and boots. She wore a new baldric with the colors of Tamír’s guard.
Baldus woke at last and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Go find yourself some breakfast,” Tamír told the boy.
“Yes, Highness.” The boy yawned and gave Una a curious look, his eyes lingering admiringly on her sword. Then he recognized her and made her a hasty bow. “Lady Una!”
Una looked down at the boy, then gave a little cry of surprise. She knelt and took his hand. “You’re Lady Erylin’s son, aren’t you? I bet you know my brother Atmir. He’s Duchess Malia’s page at court.”
“Yes, lady! We have lessons together, and sometimes we play—” Baldus trailed off and his face fell. “Well, we did—before.”
“Have you seen him, since the attack?”
He shook his head sadly. “I haven’t seen any of my friends since the enemy came.”
Una’s kind smile couldn’t cover her disappointment. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe. If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Baldus bowed to Tamír and went out.
Una straightened to attention. “Forgive me, Highness. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’ve had no word of any of my family.”
“No need to apologize. Poor Baldus. He doesn’t really understand what’s happened. I hope you both find your kin.” She paused expectantly. “Why are you here?”
Una began to look uncomfortable. “Lord Tharin thought you might need assistance, Highness.”
Suddenly self-conscious to be sitting there in nothing but a woman’s nightgown, Tamír found the robe and wrapped herself in it. “Better?”
Una made her another hasty bow. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to you, really, or how to act.”
“You and everyone else!” Tamír spread her arms. “Well, here I am. Take a good look.”
Una blushed. “It’s not that. You know, when I threw myself at you and kissed you that time? If I’d known, I’d never have done such a thing.”
Tamír still blushed at the memory. “It wasn’t your fault. Hell, I didn’t know either back then. Believe me, I don’t hold it against you. Let’s just forget it.” She raked a hand absently back through her tangled hair. “Look at you now, a warrior, after all! I guess those sword-fighting lessons were useful, after all.”
“It was a good start,” said Una, obviously relieved by the change of subject. “Although I think I was the only girl who wasn’t there just to make eyes at the boys.”
Ki hadn’t minded that at all, Tamír recalled. She pushed that thought aside at once. “So, Captain Ahra finished your education?”
“Yes. I remembered Ki’s stories about his sister, so I rode for Lord Jorvai’s holding the night I ran away and found her. I put all my trust in her, and she promised to make a soldier of me. Her methods weren’t quite as refined as yours, though.” Una grinned. “I must admit, I was a bit surprised when I met her. She’s much—rougher than Ki.”
Tamír laughed outright at that. “I’ve met his whole family, and that’s a very forgiving assessment. But tell me, why did you run away like that? There were rumors that you’d been killed by the king, or your father.”
“That’s not far from the truth. Father was terrified of losing favor with your uncle. He beat me and said I was to be sent off to live with some ancient aunt in the central islands until he could marry me off. So I ran away. All I took was this.” She touched her sword hilt. “It was my grandmother’s. Mother gave it to me with her blessing when I left. But things are different now, aren’t they? Women can be warriors again, even noblewomen.”
“Yes, even nobles.”
Forgetting her breeches and sword, Una made her a graceful curtsy. “You have my loyalty until death, Highness.”
Tamír bowed. “And I accept it. Now tell me honestly, do you think I look much like a girl?”
“Well—Perhaps if you combed your hair? And didn’t scowl so much?”
Tamír let out an unladylike snort, noting with a twinge of envy that Una really was quite pretty, with her smooth, dark hair and oval face.
Baldus peeked in just then. “It’s Mistress Iya, Highness. She wants to come in.”
Tamír frowned at the intrusion, but nodded.
Iya wore a gown of fine brown wool and a fancy leather girdle, and her long grey hair was combed loose over her shoulders, making her look younger and less severe than usual. She was carrying what looked like several dresses over one arm.
“Hello, Una. Good morning, Highness. Ki said you were awake. I hope you rested well?”
Tamír shrugged, eyeing the gowns with suspicion.
Iya smiled and held them up. “I’ve come to help you dress.”
“I’m not wearing those!”
“I’m afraid you must. There are already enough rumors flying about saying you’re only a boy playing at being a girl, without you adding to them. Please, Tamír, you must trust me in this. There’s nothing shameful about wearing a dress, is there, Lady Una? It hasn’t stopped you being a soldier.”
“No, Mistress.” Una shot Tamír an apologetic glance.
But there was still too much of Tobin in her for Tamír to give in so easily. “Ki and Tharin will laugh their heads off—and the rest of my guard, too! Damn it, Iya, I’ve worn breeches all my life. I’ll trip on the skirts. I’ll turn my ankles in slippers and look a fool!”
“All the more reason for you to get used to them now, before you have a great crowd of nobles and generals to impress. Come now, don’t make such a fuss.”
“I won’t ride in a gown,” Tamír warned. “And I sure as hell won’t ride sidesaddle! I don’t give a damn what anyone says.”
“Should a princess use such rough language?” asked Una, trying to stifle a smile and failing.
“One step at a time,” said Iya. “Besides, her grandmothers all swore like Scavenger men. Queen Marnil could make generals blush. For today, let’s just concentrate on appearances. Duchess Kallia will send her dressmaker to you. In the meantime, she was good enough to lend you some of her eldest daughter’s gowns. The two of you are close in size.”
Tamír blushed as she took off the nightgown, then felt a perfect fool as Iya and Una helped her into a linen shift and pulled a heavy green satin dress down over her head.
“What do you think of this one, before we lace it up?” asked Iya, turning her to face the mirror.
“I hate it!” Tamír snapped, barely glancing at her reflection.
“I admit that’s not a good color for you. Makes you look sallow. But you must wear something, and these are all we have.”
Tamír discarded one after another, grudgingly settling at last on a high-necked hunting gown of dark blue wool, mostly because it was plainer than any of the others, shorter in the front, and cut loose for easy movement. The laced sleeves were tied on at the shoulder, letting her move her arms easily. The style also allowed her to wear her boots rather than the soft shoes Iya had brought. When Una had laced it up, it was still loose through the bodice, but not as uncomfortable as she’d expected.
“This goes with it, I believe.” Iya handed her a leather girdle embossed with leaves and flowers. It fastened with a golden clasp and hung low on her slim hips, with a long gold-tipped end that hung down the front of the gown to her knees. Tamír picked it up, impressed with the workmanship. “This looks like Ylanti work.”
“You always did have an eye for fine things.” Una pulled out the sword pendant Tamír had made for her a few years earlier. “Are you still making jewelry?”
Tamír looked up, chagrined at being caught liking any part of this ridiculous outfit. “All my tools were lost in Ero.”
“You’ll find more, I’m sure,” said Iya. “You have the gift. You mustn’t ignore it. Now Una, see what you can do with that hair. My horse’s tail looks better.”
Tamír sat fidgeting as Una combed her hair. “Nothing too fancy. I don’t want to be fussing with it all the time like—like some girl!”
Una and Iya both chuckled at that.
“There’s no reason you can’t wear it as you always have,” Una told her, deftly replaiting the warrior braids. “All the women soldiers I know wear their hair loose, or in a long braid in back to keep it out of their faces. Let’s see how that looks.” She plaited Tamír’s hair back into a thick braid, then took a bit of red leather thong from her belt pouch. “See, no ribbons. And I promise not to make a bow, either. There. Have a look.”
Tamír faced the mirror again and was rather surprised at what she saw. “Hand me my sword belt.”
She buckled it on over the girdle, then checked her reflection again. The gown was actually rather flattering, making her look slender rather than skinny and angular. The small side braids and the sword still marked her as a warrior, but she looked less boyish than she had. She made an effort not to scowl. No one would call her a beauty, that was for certain, but her eyes seemed bluer, accented by the gown.
“I’ve been saving something for you. Your father entrusted it to me, years ago.” Iya produced a thin golden circlet from the folds of her robe and presented it to Tamír. It was beautiful, and very simple, just a band of gold engraved with a stylized wave pattern. “That’s Aurënfaie work. It was your mother’s.”
Tamír started to put it on, but Una stopped her. “No, it won’t look right with your hair back. Let me.”
She undid the large braid and combed the hair out with her fingers. Then she lifted the top layer and drew it up through the circlet before settling the ring around Tamír’s brow. She let the hair fall back over it, so that only the section of the band across Tamír’s brow showed. She smoothed the small braids back into place. “There! Now people will know you’re a princess.”
Tamír pulled the gold chain from around her neck and broke it, slipping off the two rings. She placed her father’s heavy black signet on her right forefinger, and the amethyst portrait ring on her left ring finger, where it fit perfectly. When she studied her reflection again, her expression was softer, almost wondering. This time, a girl was looking back at her, even if she did still feel like a boy in a dress.
Iya stood just behind her, one hand covering her mouth and a suspicious brightness in her eyes. “Oh, my dear girl, look at you—the true warrior queen returned at last. Una, call in Ki and Tharin, and Arkoniel, too, if he’s out there.”
Tamír stood nervously by the mirror as the men came in, with Baldus on their heels.
“You look pretty!” the little boy exclaimed.
“Thank you.” Tamír glared at Tharin and Ki, daring them to laugh.
“The lad’s right,” Tharin said, coming to her and turning her this way and that. “By the Flame! What do you say, Ki? Our girl polishes up well, doesn’t she?”
Ki had been staring at her all this time, not saying a word. At last he gave her a doubtful nod. “Better.”
“Better?” Tamír’s heart sank a little and she hated herself for it. Not in a dress for an hour yet and she was already acting like those girls at court!
“No, really,” Ki said quickly. “You’re much prettier with your hair fixed and all. That dress suits you, too. I bet you could fight in it if you had to.”
Tamír drew her sword and made a swift series of thrusts and feints. The skirts swirled around her legs, and she caught the hem with her bootheel once or twice. “It needs to be shorter.”
“You’ll start a new fashion,” Tharin said, grinning.
Una laughed. “Or a scandal!”
“Yes, it might be better if you put on breeches to fight,” mused Iya. “Failing that, though, if you’re caught off guard, try this.” She swept up the right side of her long skirt and tucked the hem into her girdle. “It’s easier to run like this, too.”
Tamír groaned, imagining a life hampered by gowns.
“Come along, Highness. Your court awaits,” Iya told her. “Let them see their queen and spread the word.”
Chapter 6 (#ulink_60915dbe-ce64-5570-91fc-b47b7bebce66)
Tamír’s first official audience was held in the villa courtyard. Flanked by her friends and new guard, she entered the winter-brown gardens to find a restless crowd of warriors, wizards, and frightened guild masters awaiting her, anxious for news.
She looked around, searching out familiar faces, and spotted Nikides slumped in an armchair near the fountain, talking with Lynx and Iya.
“I didn’t expect to see you up and around yet,” she exclaimed, oblivious to all the eyes following her as she strode over to give him an awkward hug.
“Healer’s orders,” he rasped. His round, unshaven face was parchment pale, but his eyes were shining with wonder as he stared at her.
She took his hand. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather. We could do with his counsel now.”
He nodded sadly. “He would have served you, and so will I.” He looked more closely at her. “You really are a girl. By the Light, I wanted to believe it, but it didn’t seem possible. I hope you’ll make me your court historian. I believe there are going to be wondrous things to record.”
“The post is yours. But I’m also in need of Companions. I’d like you and Lynx to be the first, along with Ki, of course.”
Nikides laughed. “Are you sure you want me? You already know what a poor swordsman I am.”
“You have other talents.” She turned to Lynx. His dark eyes were still haunted, even when he smiled. “What about you?”
“Be Lord Nikides’ squire, you mean? Lord Tharin did suggest it.”
“No. You’re my friend, and you’ve stood by me. I’m raising you to full Companion. You’ll both have to find squires of your own.”
Lynx blinked at her in surprise. “I’m honored, Highness, and you have my loyalty always! But you do know my father was only a knight? I’m a second son, with no holdings of my own.”
Tamír faced the assembly, hand on her sword hilt. “You all heard that, I suppose? Well, listen well. Loyal men and women who serve me well will be judged on their merits, not by their birth. There’s not a noble in Skala whose ancestors were born with circlets on their heads. If it is Illior’s will that I rule Skala, then I want it known that I look to people’s hearts and acts, not their birth. Nikides, you can record that as one of my first decrees if you like.”
She couldn’t tell if he was coughing or laughing as he bowed to her from his chair. “I shall make a note of it, Highness.”
“Let it be known that anyone I choose to elevate will be accorded as much respect as a noble of six generations. By the same token, I won’t think twice about taking away the title and holdings of those who prove themselves unworthy.”
She caught warning looks from Tharin and Iya, but most of the crowd cheered.
She turned to Una next. “What do you say, Lady Una? Will you join our ranks too?”
Una fell to one knee and offered her sword. “With all my heart, Highness!”
“That’s settled, then.”
Lynx knelt, too, and she drew her sword again and touched him on the shoulder. “I name you Lord—Wait, what’s your real name?”
Nikides seemed about to supply that bit of information, but Lynx stopped him with a sharp glance. “I’ve been called Lynx for so long, it feels like my true name. I’d remain so, if that’s acceptable.”
“As you like,” said Tamír. “I name you Lord Lynx, with lands and holdings to be determined later. Lady Una, I also accept your fealty. Your first charge as my Companions is to take good care of my royal chronicler. And yourselves,” she added with a warning look at Lynx.
Lynx gave her a guilty nod. “Bilairy doesn’t seem to want me yet, Highness.”
“Good. I can’t spare you.”
With that settled, she took the chair that had been set out for her and turned her attention to the assembled nobles. “My friends, I thank all of you for what you’ve done. I’ll be honest with you, as well. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next. It seems I must go against my cousin, and anyone who upholds Korin’s claim to the throne. I do not want a civil war, but it could come to that. If any of you has had second thoughts about backing me, you’re free to go. No one will stop you. But go now.”
Silence greeted this offer, and no one moved. After a moment Lord Jorvai came forward and knelt before her, offering his sword. “I swore fealty to you on the battlefield, Highness, but I do so again before these witnesses. Accept Colath as your sworn ally.”
“And Illear,” Kyman said.
One by one, all the others reasserted their oaths. No one left.
Tamír stood and raised her hand to them. “I don’t hold the Sword of Ghërilain, or wear the crown, but with the authority of Illior and before these witnesses, I accept your fealty, confirm your holdings, and count you as my dear friends. I will never forget the sight of your banners coming to my aid when I needed you most.”
When she’d finished with the oaths, Tamír turned to the guild masters and mistresses who’d been waiting nervously for her attention. One after the other, men and women wearing the insignias of their offices knelt and pledged the loyalty of their guilds. Butchers, smiths, carters, bakers, masons—it seemed an endless stream, but Tamír was glad for a chance to mark the leaders of the city’s common classes.
Finally, with the sun almost at midday, she came to Iya and the wizards.
“Your valor during the battle will not be forgotten. My lords and good people, I ask you to honor these brave wizards.”
The throng bowed or cheered with varying degrees of enthusiasm. In spite of all the wizards had done, she knew that Niryn and his Harriers had left a bad taste in the mouths of many—one that made them regard all wizards with a degree of suspicion. In fact, the free wizards of Skala had always had a mixed reputation. For every grave and serious wizard like Iya, or kindly one like Arkoniel, there were a hundred ha’penny cheats and market fair conjurers. And there were those who, like Niryn, attached themselves to the rich and powerful for their own ends. While Tamír had her own reasons for mistrust, she owed a great deal already to the nineteen wizards Iya presented.
Some wore robes, but most were dressed like merchants or minor nobles. Others looked like humble travelers, and at least half of them bore wounds from the battle. She was glad to see the fair-haired young mind-clouder, Eyoli, among them. He’d helped her reach Atyion during the battle and nearly lost his life in the process.
Two of the wizards presented, Dylias and Zagur, looked as old as Iya. Kiriar and a very pretty woman introduced as Elisera of Almak, appeared to be Arkoniel’s age, although Tamír knew enough of wizards to realize that their true ages were as hard to guess as any Aurënfaie’s.
The last woman presented was by far the most intriguing. Grey-eyed Saruel of Khatme was Aurënfaie, and wore the elaborate red-and-black headcloth, or sen’gai, and the black robes of her people. The fine black facial tattoos and jewelry that also distinguished that clan made her age difficult to guess at, and since Aurënfaie aged even more slowly than Skalan wizard-born, the guess would probably have been wrong.
Tamír’s friend, Arengil of Gedre, had taught her something of his people’s ways. “May Aura be with you in the light, Saruel of Khatme,” she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing.
Saruel solemnly returned the gesture, her head tilted a bit to the left, as if she had trouble hearing. “And in the darkness, Tamír ä Ariani Agnalain of Skala.”
“I thought all the ’faie left Ero when the Harriers began burning wizards and priests?”
“I was one of those who shared the vision given to Mistress Iya. Aura Illustri, known to you as Illior Lightbearer, smiles upon you. Your uncle committed great evils upon your land and spat in the face of our god. You are the light sent to drive away the darkness spread by the Usurper and his dark wizards. It is my duty, and my great honor, to support you in whatever way I can.”
“I welcome your aid and your wisdom.” Such pledges were never lightly made to outsiders—Tirfaie, as the Aurënfaie called short-lived humankind. “Mistress Iya, how should I reward you and your people for your service?”
“We are not tradesmen or mercenaries, come to present a bill, Highness. You know of my vision about you, yet you don’t know the extent of what I’ve done to bring that vision to fruition.
“While you grew, Arkoniel and I traveled this land, seeking out others who’d had been granted so much as a glimpse of that same vision. Some of them stand here before you now. Others await word to join us and aid you. Not all of them are powerful, but the Lightbearer has called them nonetheless, to protect you, the queen who must be.
“I tell you now, before all these witnesses, that we were not charged by the Lightbearer simply to help you to this point, then walk away—”
“That’s the same sort of talk we heard from that traitor Niryn, when he gathered his gang together,” Kyman interrupted. “He claimed they were serving the throne, too. I mean no disrespect to you, Mistress, or any of your friends, nor do I discount what you’ve done. But I’m not the only Skalan who’s a bit skittish, seeing too many of your kind together in one place again.” He turned and bowed deeply to Tamír. “Forgive my plain speech, Highness, but it’s the truth.”
“I know better than you what Niryn did, my lord. Mistress Iya, what is it you’re proposing?”
“I understand the fears Niryn and his ilk have bred,” she replied calmly. “My ‘kind’ and I know still better than you, Highness, or anyone else here, the evil the Harriers practiced.”
She reached into a fold of her gown and held up a large silver brooch inset with the copper flame of Sakor. “The Harriers imposed these on us.” The others held up brooches of their own, all except Arkoniel and Eyoli. Numbers were stamped on the back of each, a different one for each wizard. Iya’s was marked 222.
“They listed us in their ledgers like cattle.” Iya tossed the brooch on the pavement at her feet. The other wizards did the same, making a small, glittering pile. “Every free wizard in Ero was made to wear one of these,” she went on bitterly. “Those who resisted burned. Wizards who’d sworn to aid you were among them, Highness. I felt the flames as they died. Niryn meant to teach us our place, teach us to fear, but instead, he made me remember something.
“Most wizards are solitary by nature, it’s true, but in the time of your ancestor and the Great War, many of us came together with the queen and fought against the Plenimarans and their necromancers. The great chroniclers of that age credit them with stemming the tide of war.
“Niryn and his white-robed murderers reminded me what wizards can accomplish by joining forces. If the Harriers could create such power for evil, then isn’t great good also possible? I swear to you by our most sacred oath, Highness—by Illior’s Light and by my hands, heart, and eyes—that the wizards who stand before you today seek to forge a union for the good of Skala, as in the days of your ancestor, and to support you, Illior’s chosen one. We have no greater desire than that. With your permission, we would demonstrate our good faith and the power of unity before these witnesses.”
“Go ahead.”
Iya and the others formed a circle around the cast-off brooches. Iya raised her hands over them and the metal melted into a steaming puddle. Dylias waved a hand and the metal formed into a perfect sphere. At Kiriar’s command it floated up to eye level. Zagur made a sigil on the air with a polished wooden wand and the sphere flattened to a disk, forming itself into a silver mirror. Saruel stepped forward and wove a pattern on the air and the edges were transformed into a delicate frame of Aurënfaie floral tracery. Finally, Arkoniel cast a spell on the air, opening a small black portal. The mirror disappeared into it and dropped out of thin air into Tamír’s hands. The metal was still warm.
She held it up, admiring the exquisite workmanship. The intertwined copper leaves and vines that framed it were as good as anything she’d seen in a silversmith’s stall.
“It’s lovely!” She handed it to Ki to see, and it passed from hand to hand around the courtyard.
“I’m glad it pleases you, Highness. Please accept this as a gift of the Third Orëska,” said Iya.
“The what?” asked Illardi.
“Orëska is an Aurënfaie word meaning mage-born,” Iya explained. “Their magic passed by blood to our people, the free wizards, or Second Orëska. We are different in our powers than the ’faie, and often not as powerful. But now we mean to make a new kind of magic and a new way of practicing it, as you have just seen. Thus, we are a new, third sort.”
“And your Third Orëska will serve Skala?” asked Kyman.
“Yes, my lord. It is Illior’s will.”
“And you want nothing in return?” Kyman still looked skeptical.
“We ask only for the queen’s trust, my lord, and a safe place to nurture and teach the wizard-born.”
Tamír heard a few snorts and mutterings from the crowd but she ignored them, thinking of the orphans Arkoniel had already gathered and protected—just like he and Iya had protected her. “You will have it, as long as I have your loyalty.
“Now, we must turn our thoughts to Ero. Duke Illardi, what do you have to report?”
“The winter crops were not much damaged by the Plenimarans, but the grain stores were lost. If the spring crops aren’t planted, you risk starvation by winter. At the moment, however, it’s shelter and disease that most concern me. If the people scatter away to other cities, they may carry illness with them. But you can’t expect them to live on the plain in tents forever, either. Some sort of succor must be given, or you’ll have a rebellion on your hands before you’ve even begun.”
“Of course, they must be helped.”
“And they must know their help comes from you, Highness,” said Tharin. “Atyion has ample stores to draw from. Send for food, clothing, and lumber. Those the drysians deem healthy could be allowed to go there, or wherever they have kin. The rest must be looked after here.”
Tamír nodded. “Send word to my steward there at once. Lady Lytia knows best what to do. I’ve also decided to make Atyion my new capital. It’s defensible and has the resources to supply and house an army. With the treasury at Ero lost, I’ve little to work with here.
“Now, regarding Korin. I need to know where he is and if he can be reasoned with. I need to know how many wizards Niryn has with him, too. As long as old Fox Beard is with my cousin, I believe he’ll be a poisonous influence. Jorvai, Kyman, I want you to organize scouting parties. Make arrangements among your best riders and report back to me this afternoon. Thank you all again for your support.”
The audience had gone well enough, but speaking for so long had left Tamír tired and off-balance. As a young prince, she’d been groomed for leadership, but she still felt far more at home on the battlefield with a sword in her hand. These people were not asking her simply to win a battle, but decide the fate of the land.
All that, and learn to walk in skirts, she amended sourly as the assembly broke up. It was quite enough for one morning.
She caught Ki by the elbow and drew him away with her. “Come on, I need to walk.”
“You did well,” he exclaimed softly, falling in beside her.
“I hope so.” She made her way up to the wall walk overlooking the harbor and the distant citadel. The long hem of her dress was a hazard on the ladder. She caught her foot and nearly fell on top of him.
“Damnation! Give me a moment.” She braced her feet on the rungs and pulled up the edge of the skirt and undergown, tucking the hems into her leather girdle the way Iya had shown her. It worked rather well. By the time she reached the top of the ladder, she already had an idea for a special sort of brooch for the purpose. Her fingers itched for a stylus and tablet.
The sentries on duty bowed respectfully as they passed. She and Ki paced the wall for a while, then stopped at an empty embrasure and leaned on the parapet, watching the gulls circling over the waves. The day was clear, the water green and silver in the afternoon light. If she only looked east, the world seemed clean and free. Behind her, the city still smoldered, a blackened ruin, and the beaches were littered with broken ships.
“All that you said about advancing men on merit, and loyalty being rewarded? They could tell you meant it,” Ki said at last. “You had the heart of every warrior in that yard! I saw Iya whispering to Arkoniel, too. I bet even she was impressed.”
Tamír frowned out at the sea.
Ki rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re still angry at her about all that’s happened, and the way they lied to you. But I’ve been thinking it over and I see why they did all that.
“I’m mad at them, too,” he went on. “Well, mostly Arkoniel, since he was the one we knew best. Only … Well, I’ve been thinking. Don’t you suppose maybe it was hard on him, too? I see the way he watches you, and how proud he looks sometimes, but sad, too. Maybe you ought to give him another chance?”
Tamír gave him a grudging shrug. Anxious to change the subject, she tugged at the skirt of her gown. “So you don’t think I look like a complete fool in this?”
“Well, I’m still getting used to it,” Ki admitted.
“And I have to squat to piss,” she muttered.
“Does it hurt? Where your cock and balls came off, I mean? I damn near fainted when that happened.”
Tamír shuddered at the memory. “No, it doesn’t hurt, but I can’t let myself think much on it. I just feel—empty there. I don’t mind the tits half so much as that. It’s like I’m one of those poor bastards the Plenimarans castrated!”
Ki grimaced and leaned in beside her, resting his shoulder against hers. She leaned gratefully into him. For a moment they just stood there, watching the gulls.
After a moment he cleared his throat and said without looking at her, “Illior might have taken that away, but you’ve got a girl’s—parts in their place, right? It’s not like you’re a eunuch or anything.”
“I guess so.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You guess so?”
“I haven’t exactly explored,” she confessed miserably. “Every time I think of it, I feel sick.”
Ki fell silent and when she was finally able to look at him, she found he’d blushed scarlet right up to his ears. “What?”
He shook his head and leaned over the parapet, still not looking at her.
“Come on, Ki! I can tell when you’ve got something to say.”
“It’s not my place.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that from you. What is it?”
“Well—if you are a proper girl there, then—” He broke off, reddening even more.
“Bilairy’s balls, Ki, just come out with it!”
He groaned. “Well, if you are a true girl, then you haven’t really lost anything. For fuc—for fun, I mean. Girls tell me they enjoy it just as much as men do.”
Tamír couldn’t look at him either, knowing he was talking about girls he’d bedded.
“That’s what all my father’s women and my older sisters always claimed, anyway, that women are more randy than men,” he added quickly. “Maybe not the first time or two, but after that? All the ones I know claim to like doing it.”
“I guess you’d know about that,” Tamír replied.
Ki was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “You never did any of that, did you?”
“No. I didn’t fancy girls.”
Ki nodded and returned to his contemplation of the sea. They both knew whom she had fancied.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_348b40b9-ea9d-5ba4-9a45-fed48ccace3e)
Lutha sat alone, far down the long table from Korin and the others, among soldiers and minor lords he didn’t know, men who had drifted into Cirna looking for a king to serve. They knew who Lutha was, though, and eyed him curiously over their wine, no doubt wondering what he was doing so far from his rightful place. They probably thought he was in disgrace and they weren’t far off.
Shame and resentment smoldered in Lutha’s heart as he watched Korin and the older Companions laughing with Niryn while Caliel, ignored, stared glumly into his mazer. Lutha had joined the Companions when he was eight years old and served Korin loyally every day since. So had Cal. Now Korin hardly spoke to either of them. And all because, their first morning here, Caliel had suggested that a Companion go back to Ero to learn the truth about Tobin and Lutha had agreed.
There had always been rumors about Tobin—the madness in his family, the demon ghost, and of course, the gossip about him and Ki. Neither Lutha nor Caliel knew what to make of this latest business, though. They’d swum naked with Tobin too many times to believe he’d been a girl in boy’s clothes. Now Lutha was torn between wondering if Tobin had somehow gone mad overnight, or if he’d just suddenly turned traitor and liar. Lutha couldn’t imagine the Tobin he knew doing either, much less Ki going along with such a farce. No, something very strange indeed was going on.
Tired of the sidelong glances of his tablemates, Lutha wanted nothing more than to steal off to his room with Barieus or Caliel and a skin of wine, but Caliel wouldn’t leave Korin’s side and Barieus currently had his hands full, trying to fill the serving duties of his fellow squires who’d fallen at Ero.
So few of us left, he thought, taking another sip of wine to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. He missed Nikides most of all. He’d been Lutha’s first friend at court, and now he was dead. Barieus had taken it hard, too, and was also quietly pining for Lynx, for whom he had a bit of a fancy.
If Korin missed them, too, he showed it by drinking more than ever at night and Niryn only seemed to encourage such behavior. With Caliel under a cloud and Tanil gone, there was no one left to curb Korin. Master Porion was as disapproving as ever, but there was little he could say, given his rank. Korin was no longer the old swordsman’s student, but his king.
It was a strange and cheerless court they kept here. Korin claimed to be the rightful king of Skala, and had even had himself crowned by a trembling priest, but they lived like exiles on this lonely, windswept stretch of the isthmus.
The fortress yards still stank of blood and fire. The garrison, still loyal to Tobin, had tried to resist, but Erius had made Niryn Protector here, and he’d had his Red Hawk Guard at the ready. They cut down the Cirna men and opened the gates to Korin. The sight of all those Skalans dead by Skalan hands had turned Lutha’s stomach the night they’d ridden in. There were women among the dead, too, and even a little page who couldn’t have been more than six. Someone had run him through. What sort of warrior killed a page?
Cirna was a formidable defensive position, though, one of the most critical in the land. It stood at the narrowest point on the land bridge connecting the Skalan peninsula to the rich farmland territory to the north. A man with a good strong arm could throw a stone into the Osiat Sea from the western wall; from the eastern wall an archer could shoot an arrow into the Inner Sea.
That also meant, however, that whichever way the wind came from, it carried the damp and salt and left it on every surface. The bedsheets were clammy and every door in the place was warped, their hinges stiff and loud with rust. No matter how many times Lutha licked his lips, he always tasted salt. Even the great hall was perpetually dank and cold, despite the hearth fires and torches that burned there day and night.
Korin was bantering drunkenly with Alben now, reaching around Niryn to tug at a lock of the young lord’s prized long black hair. Alben laughed and pushed him away. Korin swayed on the bench, jostling Caliel’s arm and spilling his wine. Alben lurched back into Urmanis, sitting beside him. Urmanis swore and pushed him back. Alben lost his balance and tumbled backward off the bench amidst much laughter. Even Old Fox Beard joined in. The wizard was especially thick with those two now, and had tried to court Caliel, but Caliel kept his distance from the man.
Lutha had never cared much for Alben or Urmanis. They were arrogant and could be mean bastards when they chose, which was often enough. They’d always gone along with all Korin’s whims, no matter how base, and they were in high favor these days.
Poor Caliel was another matter. He still had his place at the table, but something was very wrong between him and Korin. Dark-eyed, golden-haired Cal had always been the sun to Korin’s moody clouds, the one among them who, together with Tanil, could cajole him out of a vicious prank or get him to bed before he poisoned himself completely with wine. Korin seldom listened to him anymore.
Korin was better in daylight, perhaps because he stayed sober then. Still dressed in mourning, he greeted the worried nobles flocking to his court, accompanied by the remaining Companions and Porion. He wore his grief with a dignity beyond his years. In less than a year’s time he’d lost wife, child, father, and capital. Men who hadn’t seen him hesitate in battle were drawn in by his flashing eyes and ready smile. They saw his father in him: strong, hearty, and charming. Nobles old enough to be Korin’s grandfather knelt with tears in their eyes to kiss his ring and touch the hilt of the great sword at his belt. At times like that Lutha could almost forget his own doubts.
Late at night, in the privacy of his own hall, however, Korin drank more heavily than ever and that grim, haunted look returned. It was the same look he’d had after their first raid, and when he’d gotten them all cornered in Ero. When Korin was drunk, the fear showed through. And Niryn was always there at the young king’s elbow, whispering.
“Advising him,” Old Fox Beard called the bile he fed Korin.
Niryn usually kept out of sight during the day, and Lutha kept as far from the man as he could at any hour. He’d felt the wizard’s gaze on him too often. Anyone could see that Niryn meant for Korin to take up where his father had left off, but Lutha was smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself.
A few lords and officers who’d dared speak their minds had already been hanged in the bailey yard, including a handsome and popular young captain named Faren, from Duke Wethring’s regiment. His bloated corpse still hung in the yard, twisting slowly in the unrelenting breeze with a placard around its neck. It bore a single epithet scrawled in large letters: Traitor.
Only Caliel still dared stand up to the wizard, and Lutha feared for him. Others might feel the same, and Lutha knew of those who did, but Caliel was too hot-blooded and loyal to hold his tongue. He braved the warning signs and Korin’s occasional bouts of drunken abuse and stayed by his friend, even when it seemed he was not wanted.
You’re going to land yourself in the dungeon, or worse,” Lutha warned him one night as they huddled together in a sheltered corner of the windswept battlements.
Caliel leaned down and put his mouth close to Lutha’s ear. “I can’t just stand by and watch that creature steal his soul.”
It sent a chill through him that even here, alone, Caliel wouldn’t speak Niryn’s name aloud.
In addition to the few surviving Harrier wizards and his “grey-back” Guard, Niryn had Moriel. Moriel the Toad. Moriel looked more like a white rat with his pale hair and long sharp nose, but he had the cold, hungry heart of a toad. He’d lurked around court ever since his first patron, Lord Orun, had tried to put him in Ki’s place as squire.
Neither Tobin nor Korin would have anything to do with him, but he’d somehow managed to attach himself to Niryn after Orun’s death, and now it seemed there was no getting rid of the little shit short of poisoning his soup. He was called the wizard’s secretary, and though he seemed to be perpetually at the man’s side like a bleached, moist-eyed shadow, he was still up to his old tricks. He had sharp eyes and long ears and a nasty habit of turning up where he was least expected. It was whispered among the common soldiers that it had been on Moriel’s evidence that Captain Faren had been hanged.
Lutha caught sight of him now, approaching along the wall walk. Caliel snorted softly, then leaned on the parapet, as if he and Lutha were simply taking in the view.
Moriel came abreast of them and paused, as if expecting a greeting. Caliel turned his back coldly, and Lutha did the same.
“Pardon me,” Moriel murmured in that oily, insinuating tone he’d picked up from his time in Lord Orun’s house. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a lovers’ tryst.”
Caliel watched him walk out of sight, then muttered, “Filthy little ass-licker. One of these days I’ll find an excuse to slit his throat.”
Lutha elbowed him, nodding at a white-robed figure ghosting across the misty yard just below. It was impossible to tell if it was Niryn or one of his remaining wizards, but it was safest to assume that all of them were spies.
Caliel stayed silent until the wizard was out of sight. Lutha noticed how he rubbed absently at the golden ring on his right forefinger. It was the hawk ring Tobin had made for him. Caliel still wore it, even now, just as Lutha still wore the horse charm Tobin had made for him.
“This isn’t the Skala I was raised to fight for,” Caliel muttered.
Lutha waited for him to add, “This isn’t the Korin I know,” but Caliel just nodded to him and walked away.
Not yet ready to face his damp bed, Lutha lingered behind. The moon was struggling out from behind the clouds, silvering the sea fog rising over the Osiat. Somewhere out there, beyond the scattered islands, lay Aurënen, and Gedre. He wondered if their friend Arengil was awake there, looking north and wondering about them.
Lutha still cringed at the memory of the day Erius had caught them giving sword lessons to the girls on the Old Palace roof. Arengil had been sent home in disgrace and Una had disappeared. Lutha wondered if he’d ever see them again. No one handled hawks better than Arengil.
As he started for the stairs, a flash of movement on the tower balcony caught his eye. Lamps still glowed through the windows there, and he could make out a lone figure looking down at him—Nalia, Consort of Skala. Without thinking, he waved. He thought he saw her return the gesture before she disappeared inside.
“Good night, Highness,” he whispered. By rights, she was a princess, but in fact she was little better than a prisoner.
Lutha had spoken with the young woman only once before, the day of her hasty marriage to Korin. Lady Nalia was not pretty, it was true, her plain features marred by a mottled red birthmark that covered one cheek. But she was well-spoken and gracious, and there was a sad pride in her bearing that had pulled at Lutha’s heartstrings. No one knew where Niryn had found a girl of the blood, but Korin and the priests seemed satisfied of her lineage.
Something wasn’t right, though. Clearly she’d married under duress, and since then she wasn’t allowed out of her tower except for the occasional brief, heavily guarded walk on the battlements at night. She didn’t join them for meals, or go for rides or hunts, like a noblewoman should. Niryn claimed that it wasn’t safe for her to go out, that she was too precious as the last true female heir of the blood, and that the times were too uncertain.
“Doesn’t it seem a bit odd that she can’t even come down to the hall for supper?” Lutha had asked Caliel. “If she’s not safe there, then things are worse than anyone’s letting on!”
“It’s not that,” muttered Caliel. “He can’t stand the sight of her, poor thing.”
Lutha’s heart ached for her. If she’d been stupid, or petty like Korin’s first wife, then he might have been able to forget her in that tower. As it was, he found himself fretting for her, especially when he caught glimpses of her at her window or on her balcony, gazing longingly at the sea.
He sighed and headed back to his room, hoping Barieus had the bed warmed up for him.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_6f844db2-33d5-54bb-ae7d-acae644089c6)
Nalia flinched back from the low parapet and stole a guilty look at Tomara, who sat knitting in the chair by the open door behind her. She hadn’t noticed the young man on the walls below until he’d waved.
She hadn’t been looking for anyone. She’d been staring down into the paved yard below the tower, gauging yet again whether or not she’d die at once if she jumped. It would be such a simple matter. The parapet was low, hardly up to her waist. She could stand on it, or simply climb over and let go. She didn’t think Tomara was strong enough to stop her.
A moment’s courage and she would be free from this dishonorable captivity.
If Lord Lutha hadn’t startled her, she might have managed it tonight. Instead, his brief, friendly gesture had sent her shrinking back from the edge, worrying that Tomara had noticed her impulsive response.
But she just looked up from her handiwork and smiled. “It’s a chilly night, my lady. Close the door and I’ll make us some tea.”
Nalia sat at the small writing desk and watched as Tomara set about preparing the pot, but her thoughts strayed back to Lutha’s kind gesture. She pressed a hand to her breast, blinking back tears. How could something as simple as a wave to a stranger in the night make my heart race like this? Perhaps because it had been the closest thing to simple human kindness she’d known in the weeks since this nightmare had descended?
If I had the courage to go back out and do as I planned, would he still be there to see? Would he be sad that I was dead? Would anyone?
She doubted it. Korin, and the few servants and guards she was allowed to see—even Niryn—they all called her Consort now, but she was nothing but a prisoner, a pawn in their game. How could such a thing have happened?
She’d been so happy, growing up in Ilear. But Niryn—the man she’d called guardian, and then lover—he had betrayed her with breathtaking cruelty, and now he expected her thanks.
“It’s safer here, my darling,” he told her, when he’d first brought her to this awful, lonely place. Nalia had hated it the moment she’d set eyes on it, but she’d tried to be brave. After all, Niryn had promised he could come to her more often.
But he hadn’t, and a few months later madness took the garrison. One faction of soldiers, the ones with the red hawks on their grey tabards, attacked the Cirna guard. The sounds that came to her window from the yards that night had been horrifying. She’d cowered in her chamber with her nurse and little page, thinking the world was ending.
Niryn had come that night, but not to save her. With no warning or explanation he’d ushered in an unkempt, hollow-eyed young stranger who stank of blood and sweat and wine.
Niryn, who’d played with her as a child and taught her the joys of the bedchamber and made her forget her own flawed reflection—that monster had simply smiled and said, “Lady Nalia, allow me to present your new husband.”
She’d fainted dead away.
When she’d come around again she was lying on her bed and Prince Korin was sitting there, watching her. He must not have realized she was awake at first, because she caught the look of revulsion on his face just before it disappeared. He, all bloody and stinking, the invader of her chamber, looking at her that way!
They were alone, and she cried out and cowered back from him, thinking he meant to rape her.
To his credit, Korin had been kind. “I’ve never forced a woman in my life,” he told her. He was handsome under all that grime, she couldn’t help noting, and so very earnest. “You are of royal blood, a kinswoman. I have no wish to dishonor you.”
“Then what do you want?” she asked faintly, pulling the coverlet up to her chin over her shift.
He’d looked a bit confused at that. Perhaps he thought Niryn’s cold introduction was explanation enough. “My father, the king, is dead. I am king now.” He took her hand in his dirty one and tried to smile, but it was a sickly attempt. His gaze kept straying to the livid mark that ran like spilled wine from her mouth to her shoulder. “I need a consort. You will bear the heirs of Skala.”
Nalia had laughed in his face. All she could think to say was, “And Niryn has no objection?” Some part of her poor, addled mind could not yet grasp that her lover, her protector, had betrayed her.
Korin had frowned at that. “Lord Niryn was guided by prophecy to protect and hide you so that you could fulfill this destiny.”
But he was my lover! He’s had me to his bed countless times! She tried to throw the words in his face, thinking it the only way to save herself from such disgrace. But nothing came out, not so much as a whisper. An icy numbness took her lips, then spread down her throat, on down to engulf her heart and belly, and pooled at last between her legs, where it changed to a brief, hot tingle, like a lover’s parting kiss. She gasped and blushed, but the silence held. Some magic had been laid on her. But how? And by whom?
Mistaking her intent, Korin raised her hand to his lips. His silky black moustache tickled against her skin so differently than Niryn’s coppery beard. “We will be properly married, lady. I’ll come to you with a priest tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nalia said. Her voice was hers again, though faint. “So soon?”
“These are uncertain times. Later, when things are more settled, perhaps we can have a proper wedding feast. For now, it only matters that our child be legitimate.”
Our child. So she was to be nothing but a royal broodmare. For the first time in her young life, Nalia felt the beginnings of true anger.
Your friend Niryn has been in my bed more times than I can count! How she longed to shout it, but again the icy coldness stopped her lips and her breath with it. She pressed a hand to her useless mouth as tears of frustration and fear rolled down her cheeks.
Korin noticed her distress and to his credit, she saw genuine concern in those dark eyes. “Please don’t cry, lady. I know this is all very sudden.” Then he spoiled it again, when he stood to go and added, “It’s not my choice, either. But we must think of Skala.”
Alone again, she’d pulled the covers over her head and sobbed. She had no family, no protectors, no friend to turn to.
She wept long into the night, and fell asleep on the sodden pillow. When she woke at dawn, she found she was still alone and had no tears left.
She went to the east window, watching the sky brighten over the Inner Sea. Men with red hawks on their breasts patrolled the walls below, while the true birds rode the morning breeze in freedom beyond.
I’ve never been free, she realized. It had all been an illusion and she’d been such a contented fool. The anger she’d felt last night returned, stronger now. If she had no one to look to for help, then she must look after herself. She was not a child, after all. And she was done being a fool.
Vena and Alin hadn’t been allowed to come back yet, so she dressed herself and went to the writing desk. If she could not speak the truth to the prince, then she would write him a letter.
But whoever had bespelled her had been very clever. Her hand froze above the page and the ink in the quill went dry at each attempt. With a frightened cry, Nalia threw the pen down and backed away from the table. Niryn had entertained her with tales of great magic ever since she was a child, but she’d never witnessed anything more powerful than a festival conjurer’s tricks. This felt more like a curse. She tried to speak the words again, alone here in the stillness of her room. King Korin, I am not a virgin. But the words would not come. She thought again of that strange sensation that had overtaken her the first time she’d tried to confess the truth to him, the way it had coursed down through her body.
“Oh Dalna!” she whispered, sinking to her knees. With trembling fingers, she reached beneath her shift, then let out a frightened sob. “Maker’s Mercy!”
She was cursed indeed, and a virgin again. That had been the first time she’d thought of the balcony, and the long drop below.
Her nurse and page never returned. Instead, wrinkled old Tomara was sent up to serve her and keep her company.
“Where are my own servants?” Nalia demanded angrily.
“I don’t know anything about any other servants, Highness,” the old woman replied. “I was fetched up from the village and told I was to wait on a great lady. I haven’t done since my mistress passed some years ago, but I can still mend and braid. Come now, let me brush out your pretty hair for you, won’t you?”
Tomara was gentle and neat-handed, and there was nothing in her manner to dislike, but Nalia missed her own servants. She suffered through her toilet, then took her place by the window, trying to see what was going on below. She could see riders milling about and hear them on the road beyond the walls.
“Do you know what’s happened?” she asked at last, with no one else to talk to.
“Ero’s fallen, and a traitor is trying to claim the throne, Highness,” Tomara told her, looking up from a piece of embroidery. It appeared to be a bridal veil.
“Do you know who Lord Niryn is?”
“Why, he’s the king’s wizard, lady!”
“Wizard?” For a moment Nalia thought her heart had stopped beating. A wizard. And one powerful enough to serve a king.
“Oh, yes! He saved King Korin’s life at Ero and got him away before the Plenimarans could capture him.”
Nalia considered this, putting it together with the disheveled man who’d come to her last night. He ran away, this new king of mine. He lost the city and ran away. And I’m the best he can do for a wife!
The bitter thought was balm on her wounded heart. It gave her the strength not to scream and throw herself at Niryn when he came to her later that morning, to escort her to the priest.
She had no proper wedding dress. She’d put on the best gown she owned, and the hastily stitched veil Tomara had made for her. She didn’t even have a proper wreath. Tomara brought her a simple circlet of braided wheat.
There were no gaily attired attendants or musicians, either. Men with swords escorted her to the great hall. The midday light streaming in through the few narrow windows only made the shadows deeper. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw that the wedding guests were all soldiers and servants. The priest of Dalna stood by the hearth, and with him were a handful of young nobles, the Companions.
With no father to speak for her, Nalia was given over by Niryn, and had no choice but to obey. When the blessings had been said and Korin took a jeweled ring from his own finger and slid it loosely on her own, she found she was a wife, and Princess Consort of Skala.
Afterward, as they sat over a meager feast, she was introduced to the Companions. Lord Caliel was tall and fair, with a kind, rather sad face. Lord Lutha was hardly more than a boy, gangly and a bit on the homely side, but with such a ready smile that she found herself smiling back and taking his hand. His squire, a brown-eyed boy named Barieus, had the same kind look about him. The two others, Lord Alben and Lord Urmanis, were more what she’d expected; proud and handsome, and doing little to disguise their disdain for her plain looks. Even their squires were rude.
Finally, Korin presented his swordmaster, a grizzled old warrior named Porion. The man was pleasant and respectful, but hardly more than a common soldier, yet Korin treated him with the utmost respect. Taken all together, with Niryn’s wizards, too, it was an odd assembly that surrounded her young husband. Nalia pondered this as she picked listlessly at her roast lamb.
When the meal was over she was left to herself in the tower again, until nightfall. Tomara had found oils and perfume somewhere in this awful place. She prepared Nalia for her marriage bed, then slipped away.
Nalia lay rigid as a corpse. She had no illusions and knew her duty. When the door opened at last, however, it was not Korin but Niryn who entered and came to stand over her bed.
“You!” she hissed, shrinking back against the bolsters. “You viper! You betrayer!”
Niryn smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Now, now. Is that any way to speak to your benefactor, my dear?”
“Benefactor? How can you say that? If I had a dagger I would plunge it into your heart, so that you might feel a fraction of the pain you’ve caused me!”
His red beard caught the candle’s glow as he shook his head. There was a time when she’d found that color beautiful. “I saved your life, Nalia, when you would have died in the king’s purges. Your mother and all her kin were killed, but I protected and nurtured you, and now I’ve seen you made Consort. Your children will rule Skala. How is that a betrayal?”
“I loved you! I trusted you! How could you let me think you were my lover when you never meant to keep me?” She was crying, and hated herself for her weakness.
Niryn reached out and caught one of her tears with a fingertip. He held it up to the candlelight, admiring it like a rare jewel. “I must confess a bit of weakness on my part. You were such a dear, affectionate little thing. If Korin had found himself a suitable bride, who knows? I might even have kept you for myself.”
Once again, anger burned away the tears. “You dare speak of me as if I’m some hound or horse you acquired! Is that really all I was to you?”
“No, Nalia.” His voice was tender as he leaned forward and cupped her cheek, and in spite of herself, she leaned a little into that familiar caress. “You are the future, my dear little bird. Mine. Skala’s. Through you, with Korin’s seed, I will bring peace and order back to the world.”
Nalia stared at him in disbelief as he rose to go. “And you knew all this, when you found me orphaned as a babe? How?”
Niryn smiled, and something in it chilled her heart. “I am a great wizard, my dear, and touched by the gods. I was shown this many times, in visions. It is your fate, your destiny.”
“A wizard!” she threw after him as he went to the door. “Tell me, was it you who bespelled me and made me a virgin again?”
This time his smile was answer enough.
A little while later Korin came to her, stinking of wine the way he had that first night, but clean this time. He stripped naked without so much as looking at her, revealing a fine young body but a lagging arousal. He hesitated by the bed, then blew out the candle and climbed on top of her between the sheets. He didn’t even bother to kiss her before pulling up her nightdress and rubbing his soft member between her legs to make himself hard. He found her breasts and stroked them, then fumbled between her legs, trying clumsily to pleasure her a little and get her ready.
Nalia was grateful for the darkness, so that her new husband would not see the shamed, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She bit her lip and held her breath, not wanting to betray herself as she resisted memories of sweeter lovemaking, now tainted forever.
Nalia cried out when her false maidenhead was torn, but she doubted he noticed or cared. Her new husband seemed in a greater hurry than she was herself to be done with the act, and when he spewed inside her, it was with another woman’s name on his lips: Aliya. She thought he might be weeping when it was over, but he’d rolled off and left her before she could be certain.
And so ended the wedding night of the Consort of Skala.
The memory still burned her with shame and anger but Nalia could take comfort in the fact that so far, she had refused her captors the one thing they wanted from her. Her moon blood had come and gone. Her womb remained empty.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_f25f22c0-6767-5cef-bbeb-075adbd8305f)
Despite her best intentions, Tamír lost hope of leaving for Atyion anytime soon. There was still too much to do in Ero.
The sporadic spring rains held on. The footpaths between rows of hastily built shacks and tents were often more channels than byways. There’d been no time to establish wards. Nobles unlucky enough to have no estate to retreat to found themselves cheek by jowl with tradesmen’s families or half-starved beggars who’d found their way here, hoping for the queen’s generosity.
Tamír was on her feet or in the saddle from dawn until dusk, when she wasn’t holding court. Meals were often a bit of bread and meat passed to her while she worked.
The conditions had one advantage; so far, no one had tried to make her wear a dress outside of Illardi’s house. Out here she was free to stride around in boots and breeches.
The first supplies from Atyion arrived at last, in a caravan led by Lady Syra, whom Lytia had appointed as her understeward.
Tamír rode out to meet her as the caravan reached the settlement.
“Highness!” Syra curtsied, then presented her with the manifest. “I’ve brought canvas, blankets, ale, flour, salted mutton, dried fish, cheese, dry beans, firewood, and herbs for healing. More is on the way. Lady Lytia has organized temporary accommodations in the town and castle yards for those you send for shelter there.”
“Thank you. I knew she’d arrange things properly.” Tamír took a sealed document from the sleeve of her tunic and handed it to her. “I’m deeding the hundred acres of fallow ground between the north wall and the sea for an expansion of the town. People can build and settle there, and pay rent to the castle. See that she gets this.”
“I will, Highness. But does this mean you’ve decided not to rebuild Ero?”
“The drysians say the wells and earth are too badly tainted. It will take more than a year to clear. And the priests all claim it’s cursed ground. I’m being advised to burn what’s left, to purify the land. Skala must have a new capital, a stronger one. For now, it will be Atyion.”
“Now if we could just make you go there,” muttered Ki, and some of the other Companions chuckled.
A crowd was already gathering as word of supplies spread among the shacks. Tamír saw gratitude in the faces of some, but also greed, anger, impatience, and despair. There were still nearly eight thousand of them on the plain, not counting the soldiers, and there had been too many incidents of violence. Her bailiffs came before her daily to present reports of theft, rapes, and other crimes. The laws were still in force and she’d ordered more hangings than she cared to think about, but it was an impossible situation.
And this was only a temporary respite, she reminded herself. What winter crops had escaped the blight would soon be rotting in the fields if they weren’t gathered, and most of the spring crops had not been sown. By winter they must all have a harvest and a proper roof over their heads or more would perish.
Exhausting as this all was, Tamír was glad to be so busy all day long. It gave her an excuse to avoid the wizards and kept her mind off what the nights held.
Brother left her alone by day, but in the darkness the angry spirit invaded her room or her dreams, demanding justice.
To make matters worse, after a few awkward nights together with little sleep for either of them, Ki had taken to sleeping in the dressing room of her bedchamber. He’d said nothing, just quietly made the change. Now and then he also asked leave to go riding on his own after the evening meal. He’d never needed to be apart from her before. She wondered if he was looking for a girl—a real girl, she amended bitterly—to tumble.
Ki went out of his way to treat her as he always had, but something was irrevocably changed between them and there was no use pretending otherwise. When he disappeared into that little side room each night he left the door open between them, but he might as well have been in Atyion.
Tonight was no different. He’d seemed happy enough as he joined her and the other Companions for a game of bakshi, but when it broke up a few hours later he made some excuse and left. Lynx slipped out after him, as he sometimes did. Tamír longed to ask him where Ki went, but pride kept her silent.
“It’s not as if I’m his wife,” she growled, striding back to her own room.
“What was that, Highness?” asked Una, who’d been closer behind her than she’d thought.
“Nothing,” Tamír snapped, embarrassed.
Baldus had prepared her room for the night. He looked expectantly behind her as Tamír came in. Looking for Ki, she thought.
Una helped Tamír off with her circlet and boots, and Baldus hung her sword belt on the rack with her armor.
“Thank you. I can manage the rest myself.”
But Una lingered a moment, looking like she had something to say.
Tamír raised an eyebrow. “Well? What is it?”
Una hesitated, shooting a glance at the boy. Coming closer, she lowered her voice. “Ki? He’s not off to see a lover, you know.”
Tamír turned away quickly to hide her flaming cheeks. “How do you know?”
“I overheard Tharin trying to tease it out of him the other day. Ki was rather angry at Tharin for suggesting it.”
“Is it so obvious? Are all my Companions talking about me now?” Tamír asked miserably.
“No. I just thought it might ease your heart a little, to know the truth.”
Tamír sank down on the bed with a groan and rested her face in her hands. “I’m no good at this, being a girl.”
“Of course you are. You’re just not used to it yet. Once you marry and start having children—”
“Children? Bilairy’s balls!” Tamír tried to imagine herself with a big belly and cringed.
Una laughed. “A queen doesn’t just fight wars and give speeches. You’ll need an heir or two.” She paused. “You do know about how—”
“Good night, Una!” Tamír said firmly, cheeks aflame again.
Una laughed softly. “Good night.”
Tamír would almost have welcomed a visit from Brother just then. Better that than sitting here alone with such thoughts. Sending Baldus to his pallet, she changed into her dressing gown and settled by the fire with a mazer of wine.
Of course a queen must have children. If she died without issue, the land would be torn by chaos as rival factions strove to establish a new line of succession. All the same, when she tried to imagine coupling with Ki—or anyone for that matter—it made her feel very strange.
Of course she knew how sex went. And it had been Ki who’d first explained it to her, that day in the meadow with his forked stick people and blunt, country language. She wanted to laugh at the irony now.
She finished off the wine and felt the warmth of it spread. That, and the sound of the waves below her window lulled her, and she let her mind drift. As she began to doze, something Lhel had once told her came back. She’d spoken of a special power in a woman’s body, in the ebb and flow of blood that followed the moon.
Tamír had started bleeding again yesterday and spent a good deal of time since cursing the inescapable tyranny of rags and blood and the random pains that cramped her belly. It was one more cruel joke of fate, like having to squat to piss. But Una’s offhand words held truth. There was a purpose behind it all.
The thought of a great round belly pushing out the front of her tunic was still disturbing, nonetheless.
Baldus stirred on his bed, whimpering softly in his sleep. She went and drew the blanket up around the boy’s shoulders, then stood gazing down at his sleeping face, so soft and innocent in sleep. What must it be like, she wondered, to look at a child of your own? Would it have her blue eyes?
Or brown?
“Damnation!” she muttered, going for more wine.
Ki’s borrowed horse shied as a gust of damp breeze scooped a cloud of acrid smoke up from a blackened foundation just inside the remains of the north gate. Beside him, Lynx tightened the reins of his own mount, nervously scanning the dark square they were presently patrolling.
“Easy, there.” Ki rubbed his horse’s neck to calm him, then adjusted the vinegar-soaked cloth tied over his mouth and nose. Everyone who ventured into the ruins had to wear them, to fend off disease. Ki knew he was taking a pointless risk, coming here. He claimed to be helping hunt down looters, and he’d killed a few, but in truth, he was drawn back time and again, looking for familiar places. When he came upon them, though—inns, theaters, and taverns they’d frequented with Korin—it only made the ache in his heart worse.
The smell of vinegar was rank, but better than the reek that still lurked in the streets and alleys. Foul humors and the stench of rotting flesh and burnt buildings mingled with the night mists in a cloying miasma.
They rode for nearly an hour without meeting another living person. Lynx kept his sword drawn, and above his mask his eyes darted ceaselessly, scanning for danger.
There were still too many corpses lying about. The few Scavengers left were kept busy day and night, carting away the now-putrid bodies to the burning grounds. They were bloated and black, and many had been cruelly torn up by hungry dogs, pigs, or ravens. Ki’s horse shied again as a huge rat darted across a nearby alley with what looked like a child’s hand in its mouth.
The fires had burned fiercely, and even after almost two weeks, smoldering pockets of coals remained beneath the ruins, deadly traps for looters or unlucky householders seeking to salvage what they could. Up on the Palatine, broken black stonework loomed against the stars, marking where the great palaces and fine houses had once stood. It was a lonely place, but it suited Ki’s mood these past weeks.
“We should head back,” Lynx murmured at last, plucking at the rag across his face. “I don’t know why you keep coming here. It’s depressing.”
“Go on back. I didn’t ask you to come.” Ki nudged his horse into a walk.
Lynx followed. “You haven’t slept in days, Ki.”
“I sleep.”
He looked around and realized they’d come out in the theater ward. The once-familiar neighborhood looked like the landscape of a bad dream. Ki felt as much a ghost here as Brother himself. But better this than tossing on that lonely cot, he thought bitterly.
It was easier during the day. Tamír still resisted wearing women’s garb much of the time, and there were moments when Ki could pretend to see Tobin. When he let himself sleep, he dreamed of Tobin’s sad eyes lost in a stranger’s face.
So instead, he settled for stolen naps and rode down his dreams here at night. Lynx had taken to coming with him uninvited. He didn’t know if Tamír had sent him to keep an eye on him, or if he’d simply taken it upon himself to keep watch over him. Maybe it was habit, from his days as a squire. Whatever the case, Ki hadn’t been able to shake him off these past few nights. Not that Lynx wasn’t a decent companion. He said little and left Ki to the dark thoughts that continued to plague him, no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.
How could I not have known, all those years? How could Tobin have kept such a secret from me?
Those two questions still burned at the edges of his soul, though it would have shamed him to voice them. It was Tobin who’d suffered the most. She’d carried the burden of that secret alone, to protect them all. Arkoniel had made that very clear.
Everyone else, even Tharin, had accepted it readily enough. Only Lynx seemed to understand. Ki saw it there now as he glanced over at his silent friend. In a way, they’d both lost their lords.
Tamír was still awake when Ki stole in. He thought she was asleep, and she stayed quiet under the quilts, studying his face in the faint light of the night lamp as he crossed to the dressing room. He looked tired, and sad in a way that she never saw during the day. She was tempted to call out to him, invite him into the too-big bed. It wasn’t right that Ki should suffer for his constancy. But before she could gather her courage, or master her discomfort over the wet rag tied between her thighs, he was already gone. She heard the sound of him undressing, and the creak of bed ropes.
She turned over and watched the way the light of his candle made the shadows in the doorway dance. She wondered if he was lying there, sleepless as she was, watching them, too?
The next morning she watched Ki yawn over his breakfast, looking uncommonly pale and tired. When the meal was finished she gathered her courage and drew him aside.
“Would you rather I had Una take your place at night?” she asked.
Ki looked genuinely surprised. “No, of course not!”
“But you’re not sleeping! You won’t be much good to me exhausted. What’s wrong?”
He just shrugged and gave her a smile. “Uneasy dreams. I’ll be happier when you’re settled at Atyion, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
She waited, giving him the chance to say more. She wished with all her heart that he would, even if she didn’t want to hear what he might say, but he just smiled and clapped her on the shoulder and they both left their true thoughts unsaid.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_579c1408-89e5-5cd2-8aa8-0f91acbb0adb)
Niryn stood on the battlements, enjoying the damp night air. Korin had gone up to Nalia’s tower again. As he watched, the light there was extinguished.
“Labor well, my king,” Niryn whispered.
He’d removed the blighting spell from Korin; the boy would father no monsters on Nalia. It was time at last, the time of Niryn’s choosing, for an heir of Skala to be conceived.
“My lord?” Moriel appeared at his elbow, stealthy as always. “You look pleased about something.”
“I am, dear boy.” This lad was proving useful, as well. For all his faults, that odious pederast, Orun, had groomed Muriel well, to sneak and spy and sell his loyalty. Niryn could well afford it, and knew better than to trust him too far. No, he had spells around young Moriel for that, and the boy would do well not to cross him.
“Have you been keeping an eye on that new lord for me? The one who rode in yesterday?”
“Duke Orman. Yes, my lord. He seems quite taken with the king. But Duke Syrus was complaining again, about how Korin shows no sign of marching on the usurper.”
Moriel never referred to Tobin by name. There was bad blood there, and Tobin wasn’t the only Companion against whom Moriel harbored a grudge. “How is Lord Lutha faring?”
“Sullen, and hanging about Lord Caliel, as usual. I caught them whispering together on the battlements again tonight. They don’t much like the way things are right now. They think you’ve led King Korin astray.”
“I’m quite aware of that. What I need from you is proof of treason. Solid proof. Korin will not act on anything less.”
The boy looked crestfallen. “Everyone has retired. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”
“No, you may go to bed. Oh, and Moriel?”
The boy paused, his pale, harelike face uncertain.
“You are proving most valuable. I depend on you, you know.”
Moriel brightened noticeably. “Thank you. Good night, my lord.”
Well, well, Niryn thought, watching him go. It seems you do have a heart to win. I thought Orun crushed that out of you long ago. How very useful.
Niryn returned to his enjoyment of the night. The sky was clear, and the stars were so bright they turned the dark sky a deep indigo.
The men he passed on guard greeted him respectfully. Many of them were his own Guard, and those who weren’t had the good sense to show him proper courtesy. Niryn had touched the minds of the various captains, and found most of them fertile ground, well sown with doubts and fears for him to manipulate. Even Master Porion’s had been surprisingly easy to slip into; his own stolid sense of duty to Korin did Niryn’s work for him. There was no need to meddle there.
Niryn’s own master, Kandin, had taught him that the greatest talent of wizards of Niryn’s sort lay in their ability to see into lesser men’s hearts and prey on the weaknesses there. Korin’s flaws had been an open door to him, despite his burning dislike for the wizard. Niryn had simply bided his time, waiting for the seasons to turn. He took his first careful steps in the last year of the old king’s life, when Korin had already led himself astray with doubt, drink, and drabs.
In the days after the old king’s death, when the prince was lost and foundering, Niryn seized the advantage and wormed his way just as securely into the heart of the boy as he had his father.
Erius had not been so easy. The king had been an honorable man, and a strong one. Only when the madness began to eat away at his mind did Niryn find a foothold there.
Korin, on the other hand, had always been weak and full of fears. Niryn used magic on the boy, but lately a few carefully chosen words and skillful flattery worked just as well. His beloved cousin’s betrayal could not have been better timed.
Looking around the dark fortress, Niryn savored a swell of pride. This was his doing, just as the burning of the Illiorans and the banishing of countless headstrong nobles had been his work. He especially enjoyed bringing highborn lords and ladies down into the dust. He enjoyed being feared and cared not one whit how many hated him. Their hatred was the hallmark of his success.
Niryn had not been born a nobleman. He was the only child of two palace servants. During his early days at court, certain people who’d considered themselves his betters had been anxious not to let him forget that, but once he’d caught favor with the king they’d soon learned not to cross the soft-spoken wizard. He took no direct action against them, of course, but Erius had been quick to show his displeasure. Some of Niryn’s early detractors now found themselves without title or lands—many of the latter having been since given to Niryn himself.
Niryn did not regret his lowly birth; quite the opposite, in fact. Those early years had left an indelible mark on him and taught him some valuable lessons about how the world worked.
His father had been a simple, taciturn man who’d married above himself. Born to a family of tanners, his marriage had allowed him to leave behind that malodorous trade and become one of Queen Agnalain’s gardeners. His mother had been a chambermaid in the Old Palace, often working in the rooms of the queen before Agnalain went mad.
His parents lived in a tiny thatch-roofed cottage by the north gate. Each day his mother woke him while the stars were still out and they set off with his father up the long, steep road to the Palatine. They left their own humble quarter in darkness, and he could see the sky brightening as they ascended the steep streets. The houses grew larger and grander, the higher you went, and once inside the Palatine itself, it was like a great, magical garden. Elegant villas clustered around the walls and ringed the dark bulk of the Old Palace. There had been only one, back then, and it had been a lively place, filled with color and courtiers and good smells; it didn’t fall into disrepair until Erius had left it behind, after his mother’s death. The young prince could not abide the place after that, fearing his mother’s mad, vengeful ghost would come after him in the night. Years later, when Niryn had gained the young king’s trust and access to his inner thoughts, he learned why. Erius had killed his mother, smothering the mad old woman with a cushion after he learned that she’d signed an order for his own execution and that of her infant daughter, having decided they were both conspiring against her.
But when Niryn was a child, the Old Palace was still a wondrous place, with fine tapestries on the walls of the rooms and hallways, and fancy patterns of colored stone on the floor. Some of the corridors even had long, narrow pools, filled with flowering water plants and darting silver-and-red fish, set into the floors. One of the understewards had taken a liking to the red-haired boy and let him give crumbs to the fish. He was also taken with the palace guards. They were all tall, and wore rich red tabards, with handsome swords at their hip. Niryn secretly wished he might grow up to be a guard so he could carry a sword like that and stand watching the fish all day.
He often saw Queen Agnalain, a gaunt, pale woman with hard blue eyes, who strode like a man in her fine gowns and always seemed to have a group of handsome young men around her. Sometimes she had the young prince with her, too, a boy a bit older than Niryn. Erius, he was called, and he had curly black hair and laughing black eyes and his own pack of playmates called the Royal Companions. Niryn envied him, not for his fine clothes or even his title, but for those friends. Niryn didn’t have time to play, and no one to play with if he had.
He sometimes went in with his mother very early in the morning to bring the queen the ale and black bread she broke her fast with each day. Soldier’s food, his mother called it, disapproving. Niryn didn’t see why it wasn’t a proper breakfast for a queen. She sometimes gave him the crusts the queen didn’t eat and he liked it very much; it was dense and moist, rich with salt and black syrup; much nicer than the thin oatcakes the cooks gave him to eat.
“That sort of food might be good enough on the battlefield, maybe, when she was still a warrior!” his mother sniffed, as if the great queen disappointed her.
She got the same look on her face at the way there was often a young lord in the queen’s bed in the morning. Niryn never saw the same one twice. His mother didn’t approve of this, either, but she never said a word, and cuffed him on the ear when he asked if they were all the queen’s husbands.
During the day the corridors teemed with men and women in wonderful clothes and glittering jewels, but he and his mother had to turn and face the wall as they passed. They were not allowed to speak to their betters or attract any attention. A servant’s duty was to be invisible as air, his mother told him, and the child soon learned to do just that. And that was just how the lords and ladies treated him, and his mother and all the host of other servants who moved among them, carrying the nobles’ dirty linen and night soil buckets.
The queen had noticed him once, though, when his mother didn’t pull him back in time to avoid her notice. Agnalain loomed over him and bent down for a closer look. She smelled of flowers and leather.
“You have a fox’s coat. Are you a little fox?” she chuckled, running her fingers gently through his red curls. Her voice was hoarse, but kind, and those dark blue eyes wrinkled up at the corners when she smiled. He’d never gotten a smile like that from his own mother.
“And such eyes!” said the queen. “You’ll do great things, with eyes like that. What do you want to do when you’re all grown up?”
Encouraged by her kindly manner, he’d pointed shyly at a nearby guard. “I want to be one of them and carry a sword!”
Queen Agnalain laughed. “Would you now? Would you cut off the heads of all the traitors who creep in to murder me?”
“Yes, Majesty, every one,” he replied at once. “And I’ll feed the fish, too.”
When Niryn was big enough to carry a watering can, his visits inside the palace came to an end. His father took him to work in the gardens. The great lords and ladies treated the gardeners as if they were invisible, too, but his father did the same with them. He cared nothing for people, and was shy and backward even with Niryn’s sharp-tongued mother. Niryn had really never paid the man much mind, but he discovered now that his father was full of secret knowledge.
He was not patient or any less taciturn, but he taught the boy how to tell a flower seedling from a weed sprout, how to bind an espaliered fruit tree into a pleasing shape against a wall, how to spot disease, and when to thin a bed or prune a bush to make it flourish. Niryn missed the fish, but discovered that he had a talent for such things and a child’s ready interest. He especially liked using the big bronze shears to cut away dead branches and wayward shoots.
There was still no time to play or make friends. Instead, he came to love seeing the garden change through the seasons. Some plants died without constant tending, while weeds thrived and spread if you didn’t fight them every day.
No one realized Niryn was wizard-born until he was ten years old. One day several of Erius’ Companions decided to amuse themselves by throwing stones at the gardener’s boy.
Niryn was pruning a rose arbor at the time and tried his best to ignore them. Invisible. He must remain invisible, even when it was perfectly apparent that the sneering young lords could see him very well and had excellent aim. Even if they’d been peasants like him, he wouldn’t have fought back. He didn’t know how.
He’d endured taunts and teasing from them before, but had always ducked his head and looked away, pretending he wasn’t there. Deep down, though, something dark stirred, but he’d been too well trained to his station to acknowledge anything like anger toward his betters.
But this was different. Today they weren’t just taunting him. He kept at his pruning, carefully lifting the suckers away and trying not to let the long thorns pierce his fingers. His father was just beyond the arbor, weeding a flower bed. Niryn saw him glance over, then go back to his work. There was nothing he could do for Niryn.
Stones pattered around the boy, striking his feet and bouncing off the wooden trellis next to his head. It scared him, for they were trained to be warriors and could probably hurt him badly if they wanted to. It made him feel small and helpless, but something else stirred again, deep down in his soul, and this time it was much stronger.
“Hey, gardener’s boy!” one of his tormentors called out. “You make a good target.”
A stone followed the taunt, striking him between the shoulders. Niryn hissed in pain and his fingers tightened on the rose cane he’d been trimming. Thorns pierced his fingers, drawing blood. He kept his head down, biting his lip.
“He didn’t even feel it!” one of the other boys laughed. “Hey, you, what are you? An ox with a thick hide?”
Niryn bit his lip harder. Stay invisible.
“Let’s see if he feels this.”
Another stone struck him on the back of the thigh, just below his tunic. It was a sharp one and it stung. He ignored it, nipping a stray shoot with the shears, but now his heart was pounding in a way he’d never felt before.
“Told you. Just like an ox, stupid and thick!”
Another stone hit him in the back, and another.
“Turn around, little red ox. We need your face for a target!”
A stone hit him in the back of the head, hard enough to make him drop his shears. Unable to help himself, he reached back and felt the stinging place where the stone had hit him. His fingers came away smeared with blood.
“That got him! Hit him again, harder, and see if he’ll turn.”
Niryn could see his father, still pretending he didn’t know what was happening to his son. It came to Niryn, then, what the real gulf between commoner and noble was. Niryn had been taught to respect his betters, but he’d never fully appreciated until now that the respect was not returned. These boys knew they had power over him and delighted in using it.
A larger stone hit him on the arm as he bent to retrieve the shears.
“Turn around, red ox! Let’s hear you bellow!”
“Throw another one!”
Something larger hit him in the head, hard enough to daze him. Niryn dropped the shears again and fell to his knees. He wasn’t quite certain what happened after that, until he opened his eyes and found himself lying under the arbor he’d been tending, watching unnatural blue flames devouring the carefully tended vines.
His father did come then, dragging Niryn away from the scorching blaze.
“What’ve you done, boy?” he whispered, more alarmed than Niryn had ever seen the man. “What in the name of the Maker did you do?”
Niryn sat up slowly and looked around. A small crowd was gathering, servants and nobles alike, while others ran for water. The three boys who’d been tormenting him were gone.
Water had no effect on the blue fire. It continued to burn until the arbor was reduced to ash.
Guardsmen came with the water carriers and their captain demanded to know what had happened. Niryn couldn’t answer them because he had no idea. His father remained dumb, as usual. At last a broad-shouldered man pushed through the crowd, dragging one of Niryn’s attackers by the ear. The young lord cringed beside him.
“I understand this young rascal was using you for target practice,” the soldier said to Niryn, still holding the boy almost up on his toes.
Even in such an embarrassing position, the boy was looking daggers at Niryn, letting him know what his fate would be if he told.
“Come on now, lad, find your tongue,” the man demanded. He wasn’t angry with Niryn, it seemed, just impatient to complete an unpleasant task. “I’m Porion, swordmaster to the Royal Companions and I’m responsible for the behavior of the boys. Is he one of them who hurt you?”
Niryn’s father caught his eye, silently warning Niryn to keep silent, stay invisible.
“I don’t know. I had my back to ’em,” Niryn mumbled, staring down at his dirty clogs.
“You sure about that, lad?” Master Porion demanded sternly. “I had it from some of his fellows that he was one of them.”
He could feel Master Porion’s eyes on him, but he kept his head down and saw the young lord’s fine bootheels settle in the grass as the older man released him.
“All right then, Nylus, you get back to the practice yard where you belong. And don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you!” Porion barked. The young lord gave Niryn a last, triumphant smirk and strode away.
Porion remained a moment, staring pensively at the ruined arbor. “Word is you did this, lad. That the truth?”
Niryn shrugged. How could he? He didn’t even have a flint.
Porion turned to his father, who’d been lingering nearby. “He’s your boy?”
“Aye, sir,” his father mumbled, unhappy not to be invisible to this man.
“Any wizard blood in your family?”
“None that I know of, sir.”
“Well, you’d better get him to a proper wizard who can judge, and soon, before he does something worse than a little fire.”
Porion’s face grew sterner still as he glanced back at Niryn. “I don’t want him on the Palatine again. That’s the queen’s law. An unschooled wizard-born is too dangerous. Go on, take him away and get him seen to, before he hurts someone.”
Niryn looked up in disbelief. The other boy had gotten away with hurting him, and now he was to be punished? Throwing caution to the wind, he fell at Master Porion’s feet. “Please, sir, don’t send me off! I’ll work hard and not make any more trouble, I swear by the Maker!”
Porion pointed to the ruined arbor. “Didn’t mean to do that, either, did you?”
“I told you, I couldn’t—!”
Suddenly his father’s broad hand closed over his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. “I’ll take charge of him, sir,” he told Porion. Gripping Niryn’s thin arm, he marched his son like a criminal out of the gardens and away from the palace.
His mother beat him for losing his position and the small pay that went with it. “You’ve shamed the family!” she railed, bringing the belt down across his thin shoulders. “We’ll all go hungry now, without the extra silver you brought home.”
His father stayed her hand at last and carried the sobbing boy up to his cot.
For the first time in Niryn’s life, his father sat by his bed, looking down at him with something like actual interest.
“You don’t remember nothing, son? Are you telling me the truth?”
“No, Dad, nothing, until I seen the arbor burning.”
His father sighed. “Well, you done it, putting yourself out of a position. Wizard-born?” He shook his head and Niryn’s heart sank. Everyone knew what happened to those of their station unlucky enough to be born with a touch of wild power.
Niryn didn’t sleep at all that night, caught up in dire imaginings. His family would starve, and he’d be set out on the road to be marked and stoned, all because of what those young lords called fun! How he wished he had spoken up when he had the chance. His face burned at the thought of his own fruitless obedience.
That thought took root, watered with shame at how he’d let a single look from the guilty one silence him. If he’d spoken up, maybe they wouldn’t have cast him out! If those three boys hadn’t used him for their sport, or if his father had made them stop, or if Niryn had moved or turned sooner or tried to fight back—
If, if, if. It ate at him and he felt the dark feeling well up again. In the darkness, he felt his hands tingling and when he held them up, there were blue sparks dancing between his fingers like sheet lightning. It scared him and he thrust them into the water jug by his bed, fearing he’d set the bedclothes on fire.
The sparks stopped and nothing bad happened. And as his fear subsided, he began to feel something new, something else he’d never felt before.
It was hope.
He spent the next few days wandering the marketplaces, trying to catch the attention of the conjurers who plied their trade there, selling charms and doing fancy spells. None of them were interested in a gardener’s boy in homespun clothes. They laughed him away from their little booths.
He’d begun to think he might indeed have to starve or take to the road, when a stranger showed up at the cottage door while his parents were away at their work.
He was a stooped, ancient-looking man with long dirty whiskers, but he was dressed in a very fine robe. It was white, with silver embroidery around the neck and sleeves.
“Are you the gardener’s boy who can make fire?” the old man asked, staring hard into Niryn’s eyes.
“Yes,” Niryn replied, guessing what the old man was.
“Can you do it for me now, boy?” he demanded.
Niryn faltered. “No, sir. Only when I’m angry.”
The old man smiled and brushed past Niryn without an invitation. Looking around the spare, humble room, he shook his head, still smiling to himself. “Just so. Had your fill of ’em and lashed out, did you? That’s how it comes to some. That’s how it came to me. Felt good, I expect? Lucky for you that you didn’t set them on fire, or you’d not be sitting here now. There’s lots of wild seeds like yourself, that get themselves stoned or burned.”
He lowered himself into Niryn’s father’s chair by the hearth. “Come, boy,” he said, gesturing for Niryn to stand before him. He placed a gnarled hand on Niryn’s head and bowed his own for a moment. Niryn felt a strange tingle run down through his body.
“Oh, yes! Power, and ambition, too,” the old man murmured. “I can make something of you. Something strong. Would you like to be strong, boy, and not let young whelps like that take advantage of you ever again?”
Niryn nodded and the old man leaned forward, eyes glowing like a cat’s in the dim light of the cottage. “A quick answer. I can see your heart in those red eyes of yours; you’ve had a taste of what wizardry is, and you liked it, didn’t you?”
Niryn wasn’t certain that was true. It had scared him, but under this stranger’s knowing gaze, he felt that tingle again, even though the man had withdrawn his hand. “Did someone tell you what happened?”
“Wizards have an ear for rumor, lad. I’ve been waiting for a child like you, these many years.”
Niryn’s pinched, parched young heart swelled. It was the closest thing to praise he’d ever known, save for one time; he’d never forgotten the way Queen Agnalain had looked at him that day and how she said she thought he’d do great things. She’d seen something in him, and this wizard did, too, when all the rest wanted to cast him out like some rabid dog.
“Oh yes, I see it in those eyes,” the wizard murmured. “You have wit, and anger, too. You’ll enjoy what I have to teach you.”
“What is that?” Niryn blurted out.
The old man’s eyes narrowed, but he was still smiling. “Power, my boy. The uses of it and the taking of it.”
He stayed until Niryn’s parents came home, and made his offer. They gave Niryn over to the old man, accepting a purse of coins without even asking his name or where he would take their only child.
Niryn felt nothing. No pain. No sorrow. He looked at the two of them, so shabby compared to the old man in his robes. He saw how they feared the stranger but didn’t dare show it. Perhaps they wanted to be invisible now, too. But Niryn didn’t. He’d never felt more visible in the world than that night when he walked away from his home forever, at the side of his new master.
Master Kandin was right about Niryn. The talents that had lain dormant in him were like a bed of banked coals. All it took was a bit of coaxing and they leaped to burn with an intensity that surprised even his mentor. Master Kandin found Niryn an apt pupil and a kindred spirit. They both understood ambition, and Niryn found he lacked nothing of that.
Through the years of his apprenticeship, Niryn never forgot his time at the palace. He never forgot how it felt to be nothing in the eyes of another or the way the old queen had spoken to him. Those two elements combined in the crucible of his ambition. Kandin honed him like a blade and, when his mentor was done, Niryn was ready to return to court and make a place for himself. The lessons of his childhood were not forgotten, either. He still knew how to seem invisible to those from whom he wished to hide his power and purposes.
He’d missed his chance with Queen Agnalain. Erius had put his mother out of the way before Niryn could establish himself, and taken his young sister’s rightful place on the throne.
Niryn, now a respectable young wizard and loyal Skalan, had gone to pay his respects to the girl one day at the pretty little house her brother had installed her in on the palace grounds. By rights she should have been queen, and there was already muttering in the city about prophecies and the will of Illior. Niryn put no stock in priests, considering them nothing but skilled charlatans, but he wasn’t above putting their game to his own uses. A queen would be best.
The lessons he’d learned among the roses and flower beds came back to him then. The royal family was a garden in its own way, one that needed proper tending.
Ariani, the child of one of her mother’s many lovers, was the rootstock of the throne. As the only daughter of the queen, her claim was strong, perhaps strong enough to overthrow that of her brother, when she was old enough and carefully groomed and supported. Niryn had no doubt he could nurture a faction on her behalf. Sadly, he found the stock to be diseased. Ariani was very pretty and very intelligent, but the fatal weakness was in her already. She would suffer her mother’s fate, and earlier. It might have made her easier to control, but the people still had dark memories of her mother’s mad ways. No, Ariani would not do.
That decided, he insinuated himself into Erius’ court. The young king welcomed wizards at his feasts.
The young king was made of stronger stuff than his sister. Handsome and virile, strong in body and mind, Erius had already won the hearts of the people with a string of impressive victories against the Plenimarans. As weary of war as they were of royal madness, the Skalans turned a deaf ear to dusty prophecies and ignored the grumblings of the Illiorans. Erius was beloved.
Fortunately for Niryn, the king also had a strain of his mother’s weakness in him, but just enough to make him malleable. Like his father’s espaliered fruit trees, Niryn would trim and prune the young king’s pliant mind, bending it to the pattern that best suited his use. The process took time and patience, but Niryn had a great deal of both.
Niryn bided his time, finding other wizards he could use and forming the Harriers and their guard, ostensibly to serve the king. Niryn chose carefully, taking in only those he could be sure of.
With Erius he prepared the ground, discrediting any who stood in his way, most especially Illiorans, and gently coaxing the king into killing any female of the blood who might challenge his hold on the throne.
Erius grew more malleable as his mind became less stable, just as Niryn had foreseen, but there were always unforeseen events to contend with. Erius had five children, and the eldest daughter had shown great promise, but plague struck the household, killing all of the children save one, the youngest and a boy. Korin.
Niryn had a vision then, of a young queen, one of his own choosing, who would be the perfect rose of his garden. It was a true vision, too, that came to him in a dream. Like many wizards, he paid little more than lip service to their patron deity, the Lightbearer. Offerings and the drugged sacred smoke of the temples had nothing to do with their power. That came with the blood of their birth; a tenuous red tie back to whatever Aurënfaie wanderer had slept with some ancestor and given the capricious magic to their line. Nonetheless, he found himself offering up a rare prayer of gratitude when he woke from that dream. He had not seen the girl’s face, but he knew without question that he’d been shown the future queen who, with his careful guidance, would redeem the land.
Prince Korin would not have been the child Niryn would have chosen to breed his future queen from. There’d been other girls, and one of them would have made his task easier, letting the disaffected have their queen and their prophecy again. Even he could not discount the years of famine and illness that had blighted Erius’ reign. A girl would be best, but like any good gardener, Niryn must work with the shoots that matured.
It was about this same time that he found Nalia. He’d gone with his Harriers to dispatch her mother, a distant country cousin of the queen, with royal blood in her veins and that of her twin babes. One girl child had been comely, like her father. The other had inherited her mother’s disfigurement. Something like a vision stayed Niryn’s hand over the marked child; this was the next seedling for his garden. She would bear daughters of her own, if left to grow and properly tended. He secreted her away, making her first his ward and then, when the humor took him, his concubine. Wizard-born, he had no seed to plant in that fertile womb.
Korin was not a stupid boy, or an ignoble one, not at first. He instinctively distrusted Niryn from an early age. But he was weak-spirited. The wars kept the king away, and Korin and his Companions were left to run wild.
Niryn lent only the occasional small encouragement here and there. Some of the Companions were quite helpful, albeit unwittingly, as they led Korin into the wine houses and brothels of the city. Niryn began more rigorous tending when Korin began to spread his seed about. It was an easy matter, with his wizards and spies now well established, to put any royal bastards out of the way. Princess Aliya had been a regrettable pruning. The girl was healthy, and intelligent, too, but lacked the usual sort of flaw that he could exploit. No, she would in time prove to be a dangerous weed in his garden, strengthened by the prince’s love.
By the time Erius died, Korin was a dissipated young rake and a drunkard. The death of his pretty wife and the horror of the misshapen fruits of her womb left him broken and lost, and ripe for the first harvest.
Niryn broke from his pleasant reverie and looked up at the darkened tower again. There, high above this sheltered haven, the seed of the next season was being planted.
Chapter 11 (#ulink_412e54db-7703-5ee2-a67c-87d1047ea0ee)
After a lifetime as a free wizard, wandering where she chose, Iya now found herself not only with an untried, and at times unwilling young queen on her hands, but a pack of her own kind who needed organizing, as well. The Third Orëska had been a noble concept; now she and Arkoniel were faced with finding out whether or not their wizards could actually work together.
Tamír had kept her word and insisted from the start that Iya’s wizards be made welcome in Illardi’s house, despite the grumbling from some of the lords and generals. In return, they found ways to make themselves useful, making small useful charms like firechips and roof wards. Iya, Saruel, and Dylias all knew a bit of healing and helped where they could, with the drysians’ blessings.
Arkoniel’s own little group of wizards had arrived at the end of Lithion. Iya had been touched by the joy with which he’d greeted them. He’d truly missed them, especially a green-eyed boy of nine named Wythnir, whom he’d taken as his first pupil. He was a frail little thing, and shy, but Iya sensed the strong potential in him. She exchanged an approving look with Arkoniel, who was positively beaming.
Busy as Tamír was, she ordered a special banquet for them in her chambers with the other wizards and Companions that night, and Arkoniel proudly presented them.
The old ones, Lyan, Vornus, Iya’s friend Cerana, and a gruff, scowling, common-looking fellow named Kaulin were the first to bow to Tamír with their hands to their hearts.
“You are the queen that was foreseen, indeed,” Lyan said, speaking for them all. “By our hands, hearts, and eyes, we will gladly serve you, and Skala.”
The younger ones came forward next, a noble-looking pair in tattered finery, named Melissandra and Lord Malkanus, and a plain young fellow named Hain. He was about Arkoniel’s age and had the same aura of banked power about him.
The children came forward last, and Iya saw Tamír’s eyes light up as they were presented. Ethni was close to Tamír’s age, with only the faintest trace of magic about her. The twin girls, Ylina and Rala, weren’t much stronger, nor was little Danil. Wythnir shone among them like a jewel in a handful of river stones. This was the sort of child Iya had imagined, all those years ago when they first spoke of gathering wizards, but Arkoniel seemed delighted with all of them, regardless of their ability.
“Welcome, all of you,” said Tamír. “Arkoniel has told me good things about you, and your studies. I’m glad to see you here.”
“I understand you spent some time at our old home,” Ki added. He shot Arkoniel a grin. “I hope you didn’t find it too dreary there?”
“Oh no!” Rala said at once. “Cook makes the best cakes and mince tarts.”
Ki pulled a comical stricken face. “You’re right. Now I’m homesick.”
The children laughed at that, and it set the tone for the evening. Most of the older wizards seemed quite fond of the children and had them demonstrate their little tricks for the other guests after supper. It was mostly colored lights and bird calling, but Wythnir made a dish of hazelnuts fly about the room like a swarm of bees.
Iya’s wizards were quick to welcome the newcomers, too, and she and Arkoniel exchanged a happy look. Thirty-three wizards, counting themselves, plus a handful of newcomers who’d straggled in; it was a good start.
After they had the children settled in their new rooms, Arkoniel walked with her on the walls.
“Can you imagine it?” he’d said to her, eyes shining. “The children have made such tremendous progress, with only a few minor wizards for teachers. Think what they’ll learn from these powerful ones you’ve gathered! Oh, some of them don’t have the talent to be more than healers or charm makers, I know, but a few may grow to be great.”
“Especially that boy you’ve taken on, eh?”
Arkoniel’s face glowed with affection and pride. “Yes, Wythnir will be great.”
Iya said nothing, recalling how she’d thought the same of all her early pupils. Wythnir was certainly brighter than the others, but she knew from long experience that disappointment was as likely as success with one so young, even those who seemed promising.
More important than any single apprentice or wizard was the memory of the vision she’d had all those years ago: Arkoniel an old, wise man in a great house of wizards, with a different child by his side. She’d passed the vision on to him, and she sensed it taking hold ever more strongly, now that he’d had a small taste of success.
And Arkoniel loved children. That had come as something of a surprise to Iya, who had no use at all for ordinary ones, and rarely considered wizard-born as anything more than potential apprentices. She’d loved her own students, as much as she was capable of loving anyone, but knowing that each one would leave her and go their own way eventually, it didn’t do to get overly attached. Perhaps Arkoniel would come to understand that in time, but for now, he was seeing that shining palace, full of life and learning. It showed in his eyes, and Iya knew better than to stand in the way of Illior’s will. Arkoniel was fated for a different path than the one she and her predecessors had trodden.
He still carried the cursed bowl, too, and guarded it well. Perhaps he was fated to find a safe place for it. That was on the knees of the gods, too. Iya had no regrets, and new challenges to face.
Dylias and the Ero wizards had some experience at unity, having banded together to protect themselves from the Harriers. Iya would have been happy to leave the demands of leadership to him, but everyone seemed determined to defer to her.
“The Oracle gave the vision to you,” Arkoniel laughingly reminded her when she grumbled in the days that followed. It seemed someone was always coming to her with some question of magic, and there were always children underfoot. “You are Tamír’s protector. Naturally they look to you.”
“Protector, eh?” Iya muttered. “She still hardly speaks to me.”
“She’s better with me now, but there’s still a wariness there. Do you think she’s guessed at the truth?”
“No, and we must put her off as long as we can, Arkoniel. She cannot have any distractions now and she still needs us. Perhaps she’ll never ask. It would be better so.”
With Dylias’ help, they kept watch as best they could across the sea toward Plenimar. Others stayed near Tamír by turns, ready to protect her from any threat. This had to be done discreetly, with so many of Tamír’s new allies openly distrustful of their kind.
Iya was equally distrustful of many of them, these nobles and warriors. Eyoli was recovered from his wounds and had already proven his worth. The young mind-clouder could walk into any encampment and move about freely, virtually unnoticed, listening and watching. Coupled with Arkoniel’s strange new blood spell and Tharin’s long memory for loyalties and intrigues, Iya judged Tamír to be as well guarded as could be managed.
She also found a sound ally in the Oracle’s high priest, Imonus. The man had stayed on all this time and showed no signs of leaving. He and the two others who’d come with him, Lain and Porteon, spent their days tending the makeshift Temple of the Stele, as it was called now. People came every day to see it, and to hear from the high priest’s own lips that their new queen was indeed Illior’s chosen one.
Imonus had gathered the surviving Illioran priests from Ero and counseled them to set up makeshift temples in the camps. He and his own priests established the largest of these, setting up the golden stele and offering braziers under a canopy in the courtyard of Illardi’s estate, just inside the gates. Anyone coming to see Tamír had to pass it and be reminded by the prophecy of her right to rule.
Imonus spoke with the authority of the Lightbearer, and the devout believed. They left small offerings of flowers and coins in the baskets at the foot of the great tablet and touched it for luck. Destitute as most of them were, people nonetheless found food to bring to the priests, placing wizened apples and chunks of bread in the covered baskets. Then they cast their wax votives and feathers onto the ornate bronze braziers, rescued from some temple in Ero. These burned night and day, filling the air with the scent of the Illiorans’ pungent incense and the acrid undertone of burned feathers. Imonus and his brethren were always there, tending the fires, bestowing blessings, interpreting dreams, and offering hope.
Iya approached most priests with certain skepticism. She’d seen too many of them profit from false promises and false prophecies. But Imonus was honest, and devoted to Tamír.
“Our daughter of Thelátimos is strong,” he remarked as he and Iya sat together in the great hall after the evening meal. “She’s well-spoken and I see how she lifts the hearts of those she talks to.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Perhaps she had a touch of Illior’s inspiration?”
“More than a touch,” Imonus said. “She believes more in building than power. This will be both a blessing and a burden to her.”
“Is that a prophecy?” asked Iya, raising an eyebrow at him over her mazer.
He just smiled.
Chapter 12 (#ulink_40303a58-2c1c-5281-a289-b1d35571383c)
As the sunnier days of Nythin lengthened across the land and the roads dried, Tamír discovered that the news of the destruction of Ero and her own transformation had not always traveled in tandem. Confused emissaries were still arriving from distant holdings. Some came with belated replies to the war summons sent out by King Erius, expecting to find the king still on the throne. Others came looking for word of the miraculously transformed princess. A few brave souls carried terse missives frankly denouncing her as a sham.
It was from these newcomers that they heard rumors that Korin was at Cirna and building up an army there.
“That means we’re cut off from the nobles in the territories north of there, except by sea,” Tharin noted.
“And we still don’t have enough ships to matter,” Illardi added. New keels were being laid down at boatyards from Volchi to Erind, but not all of those ports had declared for the new queen. Even if they had, it took time to build ships of that size.
“Well, at least we know where he is,” said Ki.
Arkoniel and Iya tried to verify this, using the wizard eye and window spells, but to no avail.
“You can’t see into the fortress at all?” Tamír asked in disbelief.
“Whenever I try, it feels as if someone is sticking knives in my eyes,” Arkoniel told her. “Niryn has thrown up some sort of protection around the entire fortress.”
“Did he catch you trying to peek?”
“Perhaps, but we’ve been very careful,” Iya said. “He’d know to guard against such magic.”
“Is Niryn stronger than you?”
“It’s not such a difficult sort of ward. The Harriers were powerful in their way, and there are at least four of them left besides Niryn. It won’t do to underestimate them. We only saw them at work, burning wizards. We don’t know what else they’re capable of,” Iya warned. “You’ve seen what our little band can do when we put our heads together, after only a few months. Niryn has had years to explore and test the powers of his own people. I suspect they are still a force to be reckoned with, even diminished as they are.”
“What can we do, then?”
“Send more scouts,” Arkoniel suggested.
For now, that seemed to be her only option, and she did so and returned to learning how to rule.
She spent each morning holding court in the makeshift throne room they’d made of Illardi’s hall, sitting on the canopied dais, attended by Illardi, Tharin, her Companions, and a few of Iya’s wizards.
It still felt odd, sitting in the place of honor, but everyone else treated her like she was already queen. The arrangements for the displaced and incoming lords and warriors still took up much of her attention. There were endless needs to be addressed, disputes to be heard. Fights broke out and the whole camp was placed under military tribunal. The citizens were growing impatient with their situation. The miracle of their new queen was old news now; they were hungry and dirty and wanted more than the promises of their priests that life would improve.
Hundreds who’d been judged healthy by the drysians had already been allowed to leave. Some went to Atyion. Others had family in other cities. But there were still over a thousand left in the encampment and even with supplies from Atyion and other towns, careful rationing was necessary, which made for short tempers.
Some of those left were too sick to move, many had nowhere to go; but most still wanted to return to the city and try to rebuild or reclaim what they could, despite warnings about tainted water and cursed ground. Day after day, they appeared before Tamír, cajoling, begging, and complaining.
Worse yet, the lords who’d come to join her were growing restless. Tamír had made it quite clear that she was in no hurry to precipitate a civil war, especially since she’d had no word from Korin yet. All her generals and advisors insisted that her cousin’s continued silence had to be taken as a bad sign, and in her heart, she suspected they were right.
Bored warriors were a danger to all. There were fights between rival factions, murders, rapes, and pilfering. She left the disciplining of the culprits to the nobles they answered to, but knew she either had to use them or send them home.
“Work parties,” Tharin advised. “Most of them are yeomen and farmers when they’re at home. Put them to work and keep them out of trouble!”
Most of her nobles had been amenable to the idea, and so she had a sizable force to work the fields and carry on with the cleansing of the city.
It was exhausting and discouraging work, trying to keep order. Tamír wasn’t trained for this and felt the weight of it all as a personal responsibility.
“If I’m to be the queen that saves them, then why doesn’t the Lightbearer show me how?” she complained to Imonus.
“There has not been one report of plague,” the priest pointed out.
That didn’t put bread in anyone’s mouth, as far as she could tell.
She was not without help, however. Duke Illardi had experience in such matters and vetted many of the supplicants for her. He was well respected and better versed in the ways of court than her warlords. Soon he was acting as her unofficial chancellor.
Nikides was proving invaluable, as well. He’d learned firsthand about matters of court protocol from his illustrious grandfather. Tactful, deeply knowledgeable in history and court procedures, and wise beyond his years, he quickly earned respect even from the older country lords.
Tamír kept the two of them by her at all audiences and they guided her when necessary.
It was during this time, too, that Tamír saw a different side of Tharin. She’d always known him as a steady and fair-minded man, a staunch warrior and friend. Now she discovered shrewdness in him, born of years at her father’s side at court and on the battlefield. He had never sought to lead, but he was a good judge of character and had a long memory. Thanks to her father’s power and influence at court, there were few among the higher nobles whom Tharin had not met at one time or another.
One morning a young knight appeared with a message from Duke Ursaris of Raven Tor. The duke had arrived the previous day, with a force of five hundred riders and men-at-arms, but had not yet come to pay his respects.
Tharin knew Ursaris from their days in Mycena and privately expressed his distrust to Tamír. “He’s a staunch Sakoran, and owes your uncle both his title and his lands, which were seized from a lord who maintained his allegiance to Ariani after Erius took the throne.”
The duke’s messenger shifted nervously until Tamír took notice of him, then bowed low, looking like a man with a distasteful duty to perform. “I am Sir Tomas, and I bring greetings from his grace, Duke Ursaris, son of Melandir, to—” He swallowed uneasily. “To Prince Tobin of Ero.”
Tharin caught Tamír’s eye and lifted one eyebrow slightly. She acknowledged the caution with a slight nod and gave the young man a stern look. “You may tell your lord that I am Tobin no longer. If he wishes parley with me, he can come himself and greet me by my proper name.”
“You may also tell your lord that in the future if he wishes to spy out the situation, he should not send a known cat’s-paw under the honorable banner of a herald,” added Tharin, glowering down at the startled fellow.
“I am a knight, Lord Tharin!”
“Then you’ve come up in the world by quite a mark. I remember a camp runner with a talent for picking pockets and telling clever lies. I remember you, Sir Tomas, and your master, too.”
“So do I,” old Jorvai growled from the back of the audience chamber, where he’d been playing dice with some of the other lords. He came forward, dropping a hand to his sword hilt. “And like Lord Tharin here, I have a good memory for faces and reputations. Ursaris always wanted his bread buttered on both sides.”
Tamír held up a hand to stay them. “If your master wishes to support me, then tell him he is welcome in my court. If not, he should be gone by morning or I’ll consider him my enemy.” It was no idle threat and the man knew it.
“I will report your reply, Highness.” He bowed and hurried out.
Tamír and her guard rode out by Beggar’s Bridge to see what Ursaris would do. By sundown he’d decamped and marched west, taking his warriors with him.
“Good riddance!” Ki called after them, rising in the saddle and waving his middle finger at their retreating backs. “You cowards!”
“He’s not, you know,” Tharin said. “Ursaris is a good leader and his men are brave.”
“They didn’t believe the truth about me,” said Tamír.
“I doubt it mattered one way or the other to him,” Tharin replied. “He’s made up his mind to back Korin.” He leaned over and clasped her shoulder. “He won’t be the only one, you know.”
Tamír sighed, watching Ursaris’ banners dwindle in the sunset light and dust. “I know. Do you think that Korin has lost people to my side, too?”
Tharin waved a hand around at the spreading cluster of tents and corrals on the plain. “There they are, and more coming every day.”
Tamír nodded, but still wondered how many warriors Korin was gathering, with the Sword of Ghërilain and his father’s name?
Such thoughts made her all the more grateful for the familiar faces around her.
Not all of them were as they had been, however.
Tanil’s wounds had healed, but his mind was still unhinged. Tamír and Ki visited the squire every day, in the room he now shared with Lynx. He slept a great deal and spent most of his waking hours staring out the window at the sea. The others even had to remind him to eat. His once-lively brown eyes were dull now, his hair lank and dirty around his shoulders, except for the two small tufts of unevenly shorn hair at his temples, where the enemy had cut off his braids. It was a mark of shame for a warrior. Quirion had been made to cut off his own, when he was banished from the Companions for cowardice. Now Tanil would have to prove himself worthy again, before he would be allowed to plait in new ones.
Tamír doubted he cared. The only person he would willingly talk to was Lynx, and he said very little to him. Lynx often sat quietly with him when he wasn’t needed elsewhere, concerned that he might do himself harm.
“Bad enough what those Plenimaran bastards did to him, and then left him alive with the shame of it, but he feels he failed Korin, too,” Lynx confided to Tamír and the others. “His mind wanders and he wants to go looking for him, thinking Korin fell in battle. Other times he thinks he hears Korin calling for him. I have to set a guard on his door when I’m not there.”
“How did Korin take it, losing him?” Ki asked Nikides.
“Hard. You know how close they were.”
“But he didn’t go back to look for the body, to give his friend proper rites?”
Nikides shrugged. “There wasn’t time. The citadel was overrun right after that and Lord Niryn convinced Korin to flee.”
“I’d have found a way,” Ki muttered, exchanging a look with Tamír. “I’d have made sure one way or the other.”
One rainy afternoon a few days later another familiar face appeared at her court.
Tamír was presiding over a dispute between two displaced millers over the ownership of a small, undamaged granary outside the city walls. She’d watched her uncle at this many times, but found it just as boring to adjudicate as to watch. She was doing her best not to yawn in their faces when Ki leaned down and touched her shoulder.
“Look there!” He pointed into the crowd of petitioners that ringed the hall and she caught sight of a head of golden hair. Leaving Nikides to sort out the millers, she hurried across the hall to greet her father’s liegeman, Lord Nyanis. She hadn’t seen him since the day he accompanied her father’s ashes home from that last battle. His welcoming smile now swept that memory away with happier ones and she embraced him warmly. He was one of the few lords she’d known, growing up at the keep, and she’d always liked him. Even as she embraced him, however, she remembered that he and Lord Solari had once been friends, as well as her father’s warlords.
“So here you are!” he laughed, hugging her like he had when she was a child at the keep. “And Ki, too. By the Four, look how the pair of you have grown! And fine warriors, too, by all reports. Forgive me for not coming sooner. I was still in Mycena when word of the Plenimaran raid reached me, and the spring storms on that coast forced us to march back.”
Tamír pulled back. “Have you heard about Solari?”
Nyanis’ smile faded. “Yes. I always told him his ambition would be the ruin of him, but I had no idea he’d throw in with the likes of Niryn. I’d seen nothing of him since your poor father’s passing. If I’d known, I’d have tried to reason with him and do more to protect you. As it is, I do have news for you, though it’s not good. I’ve had word from Solari’s eldest son, Nevus, on my way here. The fool wanted me to help him oppose you and take Atyion.”
“I hope you told him no?” Tamír said, grinning.
Nyanis chuckled. “Your father was my liege, and I’ll pledge my sword to you, if you’ll have me.”
“Gladly.”
He looked her up and down; she’d come to expect such scrutiny from those who’d known her before the change, and recognized the wonder mixed with disbelief.
“So this was Rhius’ great secret? I spoke with Tharin on my way in. He says I’m to call you Tamír now. Or should it be Majesty?”
“Highness, for now. It’s important that I follow the laws and rituals.”
“That would include getting back the queen’s sword.”
“Yes.”
“Then I will see it in your hand, Highness.” Nyanis knelt and presented his sword to her, right there in the bustle of servants and milling plaintiffs. “In the meantime, I repeat the pledge of my heart and my sword to the scion of Atyion. I will see the crown of Skala on your brow and the Sword of Ghërilain in your hand. I will gladly give my life for that, Princess Tamír.” He stood and sheathed his sword. “Let me present some other allies I brought to you.”
Arkoniel happened by as she was greeting the knights and lords. “Lord Nyanis! I’d not heard of your arrival.”
“Wizard!” He clasped hands with Arkoniel. “Still minding your charges, I see. Were you ever able to teach either of them to write properly?”
“One of my greatest accomplishments,” Arkoniel replied, smiling.
Taking a bitty of the red. That’s what Lhel had called the spell when she first taught it to Arkoniel. Away from prying eyes, he pressed the tiny drop of Nyanis’ blood from beneath the sharpened corner of his little finger’s nail and spread it over the pad of his thumb, then spoke the words she’d taught him. Like Tamír, he wanted to trust the man, but Solari had been a harsh lesson. He felt the tingle of the magic working, and then relief when no hint of evil intent came to him from the blood.
He’d used this spell often, and had already found a few lords who weren’t to be trusted. Satisfied about Nyanis, he returned to the audience chamber, looking for more newcomers to greet.
Chapter 13 (#ulink_7b7790d9-d176-5f34-bfa6-0ee7a6f98175)
Mahti’s first vision for this journey had been a river, and so it seemed, though his feet never left dry land. The trails he was drawn along led him east and north for the next two turnings of the moon.
For the first weeks he traveled through valleys he knew, following each one down from the peaks like the spring melt trickling down in little streams to swell the larger ones at the bottom, where the villages lay. He met with those he’d healed and those he’d bedded, and learned the names of children he’d fathered. Some begged him to stay, but the old ones who knew how to read the marks on his oo’lu gave him gifts of food that could be lightly carried and sang parting-forever songs when he moved on.
He soon left the valleys he knew, but Mahti was not lonely, for the ghost witch Lhel was often with him. She came into his dreams at night, telling him of the girl she’d shown him in that first vision. Her name was Tamír, and she’d been a boy until recently, sharing a body with her dead brother. Lhel had made that magic, with the Mother’s blessing, but she’d died before she could see the girl completely into womanhood. This, and the unhappy ghost of the boy, kept her own spirit earthbound. Like many witches, Lhel was at ease in spirit. That she stayed for love rather than for vengeance had made her a pagathi’shesh, a guardian spirit, rather than a noro’shesh, like the girl’s twin.
Lhel showed him that spirit, too, and he was fearsome, bound to Lhel and to his sister by rage. Playing his vision song, Mahti saw the spirit cords that bound them all together. They were very strong.
“I watch over her, but I wait for him,” Lhel confided, lying next to Mahti on his pallet in the darkness under an oak. “I will guide him on when he is ready to let go.”
“He hates you,” Mahti pointed out.
“As he must, but I love him,” she replied, resting her cold head on Mahti’s shoulder and wrapping her cold arms around him.
Lhel had been a beautiful woman, with her thick hair and ripe body. The marks of the goddess covered her skin like twig shadows on snow and her power still clung around her like a scent. She inflamed Mahti’s flesh as if she’d been a living woman. Because she was a pagathi’shesh, he lay with her like a living woman under each full moon, but only then. By the full light of the Mother’s face they might make more guardian spirits together, who could be incarnated as great witches later on. Any other night risked making the souls of murderers and thieves. But she often lay with him, even without coupling, and he wished he’d known her in life.
She was also his guide, and in his dreams showed him rocks and trees to look for to keep him on the path he’d chosen. She told him of other people around the girl who had been a boy, showed him faces: a boy with brown, laughing eyes; a fair-haired southland warrior filled with love and sadness; the young oreskiri he’d seen in the first vision, who was filled with pain; and an old woman oreskiri with a face like flint. He would know the girl by these people, Lhel said.
The way grew harsher as he pushed ever east and north, and so did the people who lived there. They were still his own kind, but they lived too close to the southlanders to be generous or welcoming to a stranger heading in that direction. They showed him scant courtesy, just enough not to offend the Mother, and sent him on his way with silence and suspicious looks.
On and on he went, and the mountains shrank to hills. The Retha’noi villages grew smaller and meaner and farther between, then there were no villages at all, just the occasional camp of hunters or a lone witch.
Another two days and the hills gave way to forest and spring rushed up to meet him, even though at home he knew people would still be breaking ice on the water buckets in the morning. Here the grass was green and lusher than any meadow he’d known. The flowers were different, and even the birds. He knew from the old tales that he had at last reached the outlying lands of the southlanders.
The first ones he met were a family of wandering traders who’d had dealings with the Retha’noi and greeted him with respect in his own language. The patriarch’s name was Irman and he welcomed Mahti into their tent like kin and sat him at his side by the fire.
When they’d washed their hands and eaten together with his wife and sons and all their wives and children, Irman asked after hill people Mahti might know, then asked the nature of his journey.
“I’m seeking a girl who was once a boy,” Mahti told him.
Irman chuckled at that. “Can’t be many of those about. Where is she?”
“South.”
“South’s a big place in Skala. From where you’re sitting, it’s just about all south from here. Go north and you’ll soon find yourself in the Inner Sea.”
“That is why I must go south,” Mahti replied agreeably.
Irman shook his head. “South. All right then. Your kind has a way of getting where you need to go. You carry a fine oo’lu, too, I see, so you must be a witch.”
The man said it with respect, but Mahti caught an undercurrent of fear. “You people distrust my sort of magic, I’m told.”
“Like poison and necromancy. I don’t think you’ll get very far if people know what you are. I’ve seen some of the good you folk can work, but most Skalans would burn you without a second thought.”
Mahti considered this. Lhel had said nothing of such dangers.
“Do you speak Skalan?” Irman asked.
“Yes, I have learned it from a boy,” Mahti answered in that language. “Our people are learning it from traders, like you, so know to protect ourselves. I am told to say I am from Zengat, to fool them.”
At least that’s what he thought he said. Irman and the others stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“I am not saying the words?” he tried again.
“You’re getting a few of them, here and there,” Irman replied, wiping his eyes. “People will take you for simpleminded rather than Zengati, talking like that. And the Zengat aren’t exactly loved in Skala, either.”
So it would be harder than he thought, making his way in a place where no one liked or understood him. “If you will teach me to speak better, I will heal your ills and make good charms for you,” he said in his own language. He pointed over at one of Irman’s women with a big belly. “I will play blessings for the child.”
The young woman glared at him, muttering something in her own tongue.
Irman growled something at her, then gave Mahti an apologetic look. “Don’t mind Lia. She’s from the towns and doesn’t understand your folk the way we hill people do. I’ll take your healing on my animals, if you swear to me by your moon goddess you mean no harm.”
“By the Mother, I swear I work only good,” Mahti promised, pressing a hand to his heart and gripping his oo’lu.
He stayed three days in the forest with Irman and his clan, practicing his Skalan and laughing at himself and his people who’d thought they knew the language. In return, he healed a spavined ox and played the worms out of Irman’s goats. It scared his hosts a little, when the witch marks showed on his skin as he called his power, but Irman let him heal a rotten tooth all the same, then asked him to play over his old wife, who had a lump in her belly.
The old woman lay shivering on a blanket under the moon, while her whole clan looked on with a mix of wonder and concern. Mahti gently felt the swelling and found it hot and angry. This called for a deep healing, like the one he’d done for Teolin.
He drew Irman aside and tried to explain about playing the spirit out of the body in order to work there without disturbing it.
The man rubbed his cheek where Mahti had driven out the bad tooth. At last he nodded. “You do what you can for her.”
Mahti settled down beside her and rested the end of the oo’lu near her hip. “You sleep now, woman,” he said, using his newly learned Skalan. “Good sleep. I make you not sick. You give me—” He didn’t know the right word for it. He needed her agreement.
“I give you leave,” the woman whispered. “It won’t hurt none, will it?”
“No pain,” he assured her.
He droned her to sleep and called her spirit up to bathe in the moonlight, then set to work exploring her abdomen. To his relief it was only an abscessed ovary. A bad one, to be sure, but he soon cooled the hot humors and drew them away. It would take a few days and some cleansing herbs to finish the job, but when he played her back and bade her open her eyes, she pressed a hand to her side and smiled.
“Oh yes, that’s much easier! Irman, he is a good healer. Why do folks tell such tales of them?”
“We can make harm,” Mahti admitted. “Bad witches, too, but also those who fight the southlanders.” He gave the others an apologetic little bow. “Not friends, but those who kill us to take away our land.”
“Is it true, your people used to live all the way to the eastern sea?” one of Irman’s grandsons asked.
Mahti nodded sadly. The old ones still sang of sacred places by that salt water—rock shrines and sacred springs and groves that had gone untended for generations. The Retha’noi still had their hills and mountain valleys because the Skalans didn’t want them yet.
On the fourth morning he prepared to take his leave. He’d dreamed of Lhel again the night before and she was impatient for him to move on, but to the north again, not south.
Irman gave him food and clothes to help him move better along his journey. Their tunics and trousers fit closer than his loose shirt and leggings, and they weren’t sewn with any charms. Mahti sewed some on the inside of the tunic, and kept his elk and bear tooth necklace and bracelets. He accepted a Skalan knife, too, and hid his own in a cloth bag with the food they’d given him.
“What about your horn?” Irman asked as Mahti fitted it into its cloth sling. Mahti just winked. It was easy enough to make people not see it if he chose.
“Now can I tell that I am Zengat?” he asked, grinning.
“Better than saying what you are, I guess,” Irman said. “Are you sure you have to do this ‘sojourn’ of yours? You’d be better off heading home.”
“The goddess will help me.” He didn’t tell him about Lhel. Southlanders didn’t understand the dead.
He walked south until he was out of their sight, then turned north all that day and the next, and the forest grew thinner. He could see over the tops of the trees in places, to an endless expanse of flatland. It was green, and dotted with forests and lakes. He hurried on, anxious to see what it was like to walk in such a place, with the sky so wide overhead.
He went on like this for three days, when his feet brought him to a wide river. There were many villages and farms, and herds of cattle and horses.
He could not swim, so he waited for darkness to look for a way across the water. The moon rose full and white in a clear sky, so bright his shadow showed sharp and black on the dew-laden grass.
He had almost reached the river when he met a new group of southlanders. He’d just left the safety of a small wood and was striding across the moon-bright meadow when suddenly he heard voices. Three men ran out of the dark wood and made straight for him. Mahti dropped his traveling sack and pulled the oo’lu from its sling, holding it loosely in one hand.
The men came on, letting out cries that were probably intended to frighten him. Mahti’s fingers tightened on the smooth wood of the oo’lu, but he was smiling.
The men drew swords as they came close. They smelled dirty and their clothes were ragged.
“You!” the tallest one hailed him roughly. “I can smell the food in your bag from here. Hand it over.”
“I need my food,” Mahti replied.
“Bilairy’s balls, where you from, talking like you got a mouthful of stones?”
It took Mahti a moment to puzzle out what the man was asking. “Zengat.”
“Fuck me, a Zengat, way down here all by his self!” one of the others exclaimed, stepping closer.
“You not fight me,” Mahti warned. “I wish not to harm any.”
“Well ain’t that sweet?” the tall one growled, closing in. “And what you going to ‘harm’ us with? That walking stick? I don’t see no sword on your belt, friend.”
Mahti cocked his head, curious. “You call me ‘friend’ but voice and sword say ‘enemy.’ Go away, you. I will go my own way in peace.”
They were almost close enough to strike. Mahti sighed. He’d given fair warning. Raising the oo’lu to his lips, he blew a catamount cry at them. His attackers sprang back in surprise, as he’d hoped.
“Balls, what were that?” the third one said. He sounded much younger than the other two.
“You go,” Mahti warned again. “I kill you if you don’t.”
“That ain’t no Zengat,” the leader growled. “We got us a filthy little hill witch here. That’s one of them fancy bullroarers. Cut his throat before he gets up to mischief!”
Before they could attack Mahti began the drone of the bees. They stopped again, and this time they dropped their weapons and grabbed their heads in pain. The young one fell to his knees, screaming.
Mahti played louder, watching the other two fall writhing to the ground. The blood that burst from their ears and noses looked black in the moonlight. If they were innocent men, the magic would not hurt them so. Only the guilty with murder in their hearts and blood on their hands reacted like this. Mahti played on, louder and stronger until all three stopped thrashing and crying out and lay still in the grass. He changed to the song he’d used to lift the souls out of the bodies of Teolin and Irman’s old wife, and played over the body of the leader. This time, however, he ended it with a sharp raven’s croak that severed the thin thread of spirit that tethered the soul to the body. He did the same with the man in the hat, but let the boy live. He was young enough that perhaps this life hadn’t been his choice.
The spirits of the two dead men flittered around the bodies like angry bats. Mahti left them to find whatever afterlife southlanders had and continued on his way without a backward glance.
Chapter 14 (#ulink_1e8d55e6-e123-542c-99b5-5c8f70f0a61b)
The weather around the isthmus was always unpredictable, but even here, summer finally arrived with warmer days and softer winds. The coarse grass above the cliffs came to life, looking like a strip of green velvet stretched between the blue and silver seas on either side. Small flowers carpeted the waysides and even grew from the cracks in the stonework along the walls and in the courtyards.
Riding along the cliffs with Korin and the Companions, Lutha tried to find hope in the new season. Rumors still came thick and fast from the south, carried by the shaken warlords and nobles.
A sprawling encampment was slowly spreading over the flat ground before the fortress, nearly five thousand men in all. It wasn’t only cavalry and foot, either. Fifteen stout ships under the command of Duke Morus of Black Stag Harbor rode at anchor in Cirna harbor. By all reports, Tobin had only the few that had survived the Plenimaran raid.
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Lynn Flewelling
The gripping conclusion a thrilling fantasy adventure trilogy filled with necromancy and bone-chilling magic from the bestselling US author of the Nightrunner series.Long ago Skala was ruled only by Queens, in accordance with prophecy. King Erius, fearing that the prophecy might be evoked as a means to dethrone him, had most of his female relatives assassinated. When his sister fell pregnant with twins, two of Skala’s wizards were warned by the oracle and took steps to conceal the girl who survived her twin brother at birth. Now Prince Tobin has been revealed as Princess Tamir, the true heir to the throne – and Skala has never been more in need of a true Queen.But at the age of fifteen Tamir is deeply confused by the new identity that has been thrust upon her, and feels betrayed by the wizards who tricked her and all her friends. Her demonic twin still haunts her, but now that the spell concealing her identity has been broken, the bond between them is severed. Brother is no longer under Tamir’s control, and he is bent on vengeance for the sins committed against him.Meanwhile Erius’s son Korin, Tamir’s beloved cousin, has claimed the throne and declared her a traitor. But as the country slides into civil war the people begin to acclaim Tamir as their saviour. Tamir strives to avoid conflict, but Korin’s weakness and Tamir’s honour will lead them to the ultimate clash of wills.
THE ORACLE’S QUEEN
Book Three of the Tamír Triad
Lynn Flewelling
Copyright (#ulink_f2c38ea8-f4f6-5639-bd67-f4771473b9bb)
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
Copyright © Lynn Flewelling 2006
Lynn Flewelling asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9780007113125
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9780007404599
Version: 2016-03-14
Dedication (#u1d7a11aa-a93b-5c0f-9733-64473c5334b9)
For Patricia York
August 14, 1949–May 21, 2005
Wish you were here to see how this one ended. Thanks for always reminding me “it’s not the number of breaths we take, but the number of moments that take our breath away.”
Catch you later, my good, dear friend.
Contents
Cover (#u41a23dea-a4b1-5aaa-b425-e94a786e14e0)
Title Page (#uc58ae0b0-86ca-5831-8732-6c4d15287c88)
Copyright (#u0bb23982-9b12-560d-b1b3-ffe1af33eb29)
Dedication (#udd942cad-239c-5e17-8436-97f1f67b0899)
Chapter 1 (#u3b4a2240-9e4b-5f7c-9b91-954cb3952963)
Chapter 2 (#ud2bd5865-2be3-5baa-bd50-a10278bf3956)
Chapter 3 (#u9764f83f-b8e8-5001-ac79-af1b4f9e13c1)
Chapter 4 (#u7a4b1866-1f30-59d7-b681-65fb2ab6fa95)
Chapter 5 (#uceb5a39c-a25a-5c17-b66a-9c4c79223260)
Chapter 6 (#ua922e2cd-7dff-5a6d-b453-e796eec9ba05)
Chapter 7 (#ue991a751-8275-5aca-94f6-424f9d49cab7)
Chapter 8 (#ub1551779-19cf-5499-a251-7bbd640e85b7)
Chapter 9 (#u99a69826-c91e-537d-8709-40e43c86a88e)
Chapter 10 (#u3ea2daa5-a5f1-55ae-b4e6-a1b2cc36c5e7)
Chapter 11 (#u6e08c241-d96f-5e1d-8edb-959d240da5ab)
Chapter 12 (#u569b66ca-ef8a-5df4-965b-63d50aa5feb3)
Chapter 13 (#u31412604-b75d-50cb-b2f9-58d4baa0fae7)
Chapter 14 (#u444f76ca-4d4a-589c-ad5c-da3ae651244e)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Afterword (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Praise (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_63e84d46-45f0-56e6-8dab-d3d703521dbf)
The cold night breeze shifted, blowing stinging smoke from old Teolin’s campfire into Mahti’s eyes. The young witch blinked it away, but remained squatting motionless, his bearskin cloak pulled around him like a little hut. It was bad luck to fidget during this last crucial step of the making.
The old witch hummed happily as he heated his knife again and again, using the tip and edge to incise the rings of dark, intricate patterns that now covered most of the long wooden tube. Teolin was ancient. His wrinkled brown skin hung on his skinny frame like old cloth and his bones showed through. The witch marks on his face and body were hard to read, distorted by the ravages of time. His hair hung over his shoulders in a thin tangle of yellowed strands. Years of making had left his blunt, knobby fingers stained black, but they were as nimble as ever.
Mahti’s last oo’lu had cracked one cold night this past midwinter, after he’d played out an elder’s gallstones. It had taken months of searching to find the right kind of bildi branch to make a new one. Bildi trees weren’t scarce, but you had to find a sapling trunk or large branch that had been ant-hollowed, and the right size to give a good tone. “High as your chin, and four fingers broad”; so he’d been taught and so it was.
He’d found plenty of flawed branches in the hills around his village: knotted ones, cracked ones, others with holes eaten out through the side. The large black ants that followed the rising sap through the heartwood were industrious but undiscerning craftsmen.
He’d finally found one, and cut his horn stave from it. But it was bad luck for a witch to make his own instrument, even if he had the skill. Each must be earned and given from the hand of another. So he’d strapped it to his back over his bearskin cloak and snowshoed for three days and nights to bring it to Teolin.
The old man was the best oo’lu maker in the eastern hills. Witch men had been coming to him for three generations and he turned away more than he accepted.
It took weeks to make an oo’lu. During this time it was Mahti’s job to chop wood, cook food, and generally make himself useful while Teolin worked.
Teolin first stripped the bark and used live coals to burn out the last of the ants’ leavings. When the stave was fully hollowed he went out of earshot to test the tone. Satisfied, he and Mahti rested and traded spells for a week while the hollow branch hung drying in the rafters near the smoke hole of Teolin’s hut.
It dried without warping or cracking. Teolin sawed the ends square and rubbed beeswax into the wood until it gleamed. Then they’d waited two more days for the full moon.
Tonight was the sit-still.
That afternoon Mahti had scraped away the snow in front of the hut and dragged out an old lion skin for Teolin to sit on. He laid a large fire, with more wood stacked within easy reach, and hunkered down to tend it.
Teolin sat down wrapped in his moth-eaten bearskin and set to work. Using a heated iron knife, he etched the rings of magic onto the wood. Mahti watched with rapt attention as he fed the fire, marveling at how the designs seemed to flow from the tip of the blade, like ink onto deerskin. He wondered if it would come so easily to him, when the time came for him to make oo’lus for others?
Now the Mother’s full white face was high overhead and Mahti’s ankles ached from squatting, but the oo’lu was nearly done.
When the last of the rings was complete, Teolin dipped the mouth end in a little pot of melted wax, then rolled a softened lump of it into a thin coil and pressed it in a ring to the waxed end of the horn. He squinted across at Mahti, gauging the size of his mouth, and pinched the wax in until the opening was about two thumbs wide.
Satisfied at last, he gave Mahti a toothless grin. “Ready to learn this one’s name?”
Mahti’s heart beat faster as he stood and stretched the stiffness from his legs. His last oo’lu, Moon Plow, had served him seven years. In that time he’d become a man and a healer. Honoring the Moon Plow mark, he’d planted many fine children in women’s bellies at Mother Shek’met’s festivals. His sons and daughters were scattered through three valleys and some of the oldest were already showing witch’s talent.
When Moon Plow cracked, this cycle of his life ended. He was twenty-three summers old, and his next future was about to be revealed.
Drawing his own knife, he cut his right palm and held it over the mouth of the oo’lu as Teolin held it. A few drops of his blood fell inside it as he sang the claiming spell. The black tracery of witch marks across his face, arms, and chest tickled like spider feet. When he thrust his hand into the fire, he didn’t feel the heat of it. Straightening, he moved to the far side of the fire and faced the old man. “I’m ready.”
Teolin held the oo’lu upright and chanted the blessing, then tossed it across to Mahti.
He caught it awkwardly in his fire hand, gripping it well below the center. Even hollow, it was a heavy thing. It nearly overbalanced, and if it had fallen, he’d have had to burn it and start all over again. But he managed to hang on to it, gritting his teeth until the witch marks faded completely from sight on his arms. He took the horn in his left hand and inspected it. The shiny black print of his fire hand was branded into the wood.
Teolin took it back and carefully examined how the marks of Mahti’s splayed fingers intersected the carved designs. He was a long time at it, humming and sucking his gums.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mahti. “Is it a bad luck cycle?”
“This is the Sojourn mark you’ve made. You better spit for it.”
Teolin scratched a circle in the ashes at the edge of the fire with his knife. Mahti took a mouthful of water from the gourd and spat forcefully into the circle, then turned away quickly as Teolin hunkered down to interpret the marks.
The old man sighed. “You’ll travel among strangers until this oo’lu cracks. Whether that’s good luck or bad, only the Mother knows, and she doesn’t feel like telling me tonight. But it’s a strong mark you made. You’ll travel a long way.”
Mahti bowed respectfully. If Teolin said it would be so, then it would be. Best just to accept it. “When do I go? Will I see Lhamila’s child born?”
Teolin sucked his gums again, staring down at the spit marks. “Go home by a straight path tomorrow and lay your blessings on her belly. A sign will come. But now, let’s hear this fine horn I’ve made for you!”
Mahti settled his mouth firmly inside the wax mouthpiece. It was still warm and smelled of summer. Closing his eyes, he filled his cheeks with air and blew gently out through loosened lips.
Sojourn’s deep voice came to life with his breath. He hardly had to adjust his playing style at all before the rich, steady drone warmed the wood beneath his hands. Gazing up at the white moon, he sent a silent thanks to the Mother. Whatever his new fate was, he knew already that he would do great magic with Sojourn, surpassing all he’d done with Moon Plow.
By the time he finished the claiming song he was lightheaded. “It’s good!” he gasped. “Are you ready?”
The old man nodded and hobbled back into the hut.
They’d agreed on the payment their first day together. Mahti lit the bear fat lamp and set it by the piled furs of the sleeping platform.
Teolin shrugged off his cloak and undid the ties of his shapeless robe. The elk and bear teeth decorating it clicked softly as he let it fall. He stretched out on his pallet, and Mahti knelt and ran his eyes over the old man’s body, feeling compassion tinged with sadness rise in his heart. No one knew how old Teolin was, not even the old witch himself. Time had eaten most of the flesh from his frame. His penis, said to have planted more than five hundred festival seeds, now lay like a shrunken thumb against his hairless sac.
The old man smiled gently. “Do what you can. Neither the Mother nor I ask more than that.”
Mahti leaned down, kissed the old man’s lined brow, and drew the fusty bearskin up to Teolin’s chin to keep him warm. Settling beside the platform, he rested the end of the horn close to the old man’s side, closed his eyes, and began the spell song.
With lips and tongue and breath, he altered the drone to a sonorous, rhythmic pulse. The sound filled Mahti’s head and chest, making his bones shiver. He gathered the energies and sent them out through Sojourn to Teolin. He could feel the song enter the old man, lifting the strong soul free of the frail, pain-wracked body, letting it drift up through the smoke hole like milkweed fluff. Bathing in the light of a full moon was very healing for a soul. It returned to the body cleansed and gave a clear mind and good health.
Satisfied, Mahti changed the song, tightening his lips to weave in the night croak of a heron, the booming boast of grandfather frog, and the high, reedy chorus of all the little peepers who knew the rain’s secrets. With these, he washed the hot sand from the old man’s joints and cleansed the little biting spirits from his intestines. Searching deeper, he smelled a shadow in Teolin’s chest and followed it to a dark mass in the upper lobe of his liver. The death there was still asleep, curled tight like a child in the womb. This, Mahti could not cleanse away. Some were fated to carry their own deaths. Teolin would understand. For now, at least, there was no pain.
Mahti let his mind wander on through the old man’s body, soothing the old fractures in his right heel and left arm, pressing the pus away from the root of a broken molar, dissolving the grit in the old man’s bladder and kidneys. For all its wizened appearance, Teolin’s penis was still strong. Mahti played the sound of a forest fire into his sac. The old man had a few more festivals in him; let the Mother be served by another generation bearing his fine old blood.
The rest was all old scars, long since healed or accepted. Allowing himself a whim, he played the white owl’s call through Teolin’s long bones, then droned the soul back down into the old man’s flesh.
When he was finished, he was surprised to see pink dawn light shining in through the smoke hole. He was covered in sweat and shaking, but elated. Smoothing his hand down the polished length of the oo’lu, he whispered, “We will do great things, you and I.”
Teolin stirred and opened his eyes.
“The owl song tells me you are one hundred and eight years old,” Mahti informed him.
The old man chuckled. “Thank you. I’d lost track.” He reached out and touched the handprint on the oo’lu. “I caught a vision for you while I slept. I saw the moon, but it was not the Mother’s round moon. It was a crescent, sharp as a snake’s tooth. I’ve seen that vision only once before, not too long ago. It was for a witch from Eagle Valley village.”
“Did she learn what it meant?”
“I don’t know. She went away with some oreskiri. I’ve never heard anything of her return. Her name is Lhel. If you meet her in your travels, give her my greeting. Perhaps she can tell you the meaning.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that. But you still don’t know if my fate is a good one or a bad one?”
“I’ve never walked Sojourn’s path. Perhaps it depends on where your feet take you. Walk bravely in your all travels, honor the Mother, and remember who you are. Do that and you will continue to be a good man, and a fine witch.”
Mahti left the old man’s clearing at dawn the next day, Teolin’s blessing still tingling on his brow.
Plodding over the crusty snow, Sojourn a comforting weight across his shoulders in its sling, he smelled the first hint of spring on the morning air. Later, as the sun rose over the peaks, he heard it in the dripping of water from bare branches.
He knew this trail well. The rhythmic crunch and rasp of his snowshoes lulled him into a light trance and his thoughts drifted. He wondered if he’d plant different kinds of children now than he had under the Moon Plow sign? Then again, if he were to travel far, would he plant any children at all?
He wasn’t surprised when the vision came. He often had them at moments like these, tramping alone through the peace of the forest.
The winding path became a river under his feet, and the sinew and bent ash of his snowshoes grew into a little boat that bobbed gently on the current. Instead of the thick forest on the far bank, there was open land, very green and fertile. He knew in the way of visions that this must be the southland, where his people had once lived, before the foreigners and their oreskiri had driven them into the hills.
A woman stood between a tall man and a young girl on that bank, and she waved to Mahti as if she knew him. She was Retha’noi like him, and naked. Dark-skinned and small, her fine, ripe body was covered with witch marks. The fact that she was naked in the vision told him that she was dead, a spirit coming to him with a message.
Greetings, my brother. I am Lhel.
Mahti’s eyes widened as he recognized the name. This was the woman Teolin had spoken of, the one who’d gone away with the southlanders on a sojourn of her own. She smiled at him and he smiled back; this was the Mother’s will.
She beckoned him to join her but his boat would not move.
He looked more closely at the others with her. They were black-haired, too, but the man’s was cut short and the girl’s hung in long waves around her shoulders rather than the coarse curls of his people. They were taller, too, and pale as a pair of bones. The young man had an aura of strong magic about him: oreskiri, surely, but with a hint of power Mahti recognized. This witch, Lhel, must have taught him something of their ways. That was troubling, even though Teolin had spoken no ill of her.
The girl did not have magic, but Lhel pointed to the ground at the girl’s feet and Mahti saw that she had a double shadow, one male, and one female.
He didn’t know how to interpret the vision yet, except that these two were both living people, and southlanders. He was not afraid or angry to see them here in his mountains, though. Maybe it was the way the other witch rested her hands on their shoulders, love so clear in her dark eyes. She looked at Mahti again and made a sign of bequeathing. She was giving these two strangers into his care, but why?
Without thinking, he set the new oo’lu to his lips and played a song he did not recognize.
The vision passed and the forest path returned around him. He was standing in a clearing, still playing that song. He didn’t know what it was for; perhaps it was for the southlanders. He would play it for them when they met and see if they knew.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_875854e0-1cc9-5635-a9b2-27dd19b28d65)
“It’s one thing to accept one’s destiny.
It’s quite another to live it.”
I am Tamír!”
Ki stood beside her in that ruined throne room, the acrid stink of the burning city thick in the air, and watched as his friend declared herself a woman and rightful heir to the throne. Imonus, high priest of Afra, had brought Ghërilain’s lost gold stele as proof. It was as big as a door and he could see Tamír reflected in it, crowned by the ancient prophecy engraved there:
So long as a daughter of Thelátímos’
líne defends and rules, Skala shall
never be subjugated.
She didn’t look much like a queen yet, just a ragged, tired, too-thin girl in battle-stained men’s clothing. She hadn’t had to strip for the crowd this time, but there was no mistaking the jut of small pointed breasts through the loose linen shirt.
Ki averted his eyes with a vague pang of guilt. The thought of how her body had changed still gave him a sick feeling.
Iya and Arkoniel stood with the priests at the foot of the dais, still in their dirty robes. They’d helped turn the tide of battle, but Ki knew the truth about them now, too. It was their doing, all the lies.
The oath takings and rituals dragged on and on. Ki scanned the crowd, trying to share in the joy he saw around him, but all he could think of at that moment was how young and thin and brave and worn out Tobin—no, Tamír—looked.
He tried the unfamiliar name in his mind again, hoping to make it stick. He’d seen the proof of her sex with his own eyes, but he still could not get his mind around it, or his heart.
I’m just tired.
Had it only been a week since they’d ridden for Atyion at the king’s order? Just a week since he’d first learned the truth about Tobin, his dearest friend, his heart’s brother?
He blinked away the sudden stinging in his eyes. His friend was not Tobin anymore. There she stood, right in front of him, yet he felt as if Tobin had died.
He glanced sidelong at Tharin, hoping the man hadn’t noticed his weakness. Teacher, mentor, second father, he’d slapped Ki when he’d panicked that night on the road to Atyion. Ki had deserved it, and he’d been grateful for the correction. He’d stood fast with Tharin and Lynx a few days later when Tobin had sliced the fragment of Brother’s bone, and the witch’s magic with it, from his own breast on the steps of Atyion castle, calling down the mystical fire that burned away his male body. Horrified, they’d watched as Tobin bled and burned and somehow lived to strip withered flesh away like a snake shedding last year’s outworn skin, leaving in his place this wan, hollow-eyed girl.
The rituals ended at last. Tharin and the newly organized bodyguard closed ranks in front of them. Close by Tamír’s side, Ki saw how she wavered a little as she stepped down from the dais. He slipped a discreet hand under her elbow, steadying her.
Tamír pulled her arm away, but gave him a small, tight smile, letting him know it was only pride.
“May we escort you to your old chamber, Highness?” Tharin asked. “You can rest there until arrangements can be made elsewhere.”
Tamír gave him a grateful look. “Yes, thank you.”
Arkoniel made to follow, but Iya stopped him, and Tamír did not look back or summon them.
The palace corridors were packed with the wounded. The air was rank with the stench of blood. The fish pools set into the floors were stained pink with it. Drysian healers were at work everywhere, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of those in need of their skills. Tamír looked around sadly as they hurried on, and Ki could guess her thoughts. These soldiers had fought under Erius’ banner and fallen for Ero. How many would have fought for her? And how many would serve under her now?
Reaching her old chamber at last, she said, “Keep guard out here, Tharin, please?”
Ki hesitated, thinking she meant to leave him, too, but she dispelled his doubts with a sharp glance and Ki followed her into the ransacked room that had once been their home.
As soon as the door was closed she slumped back against it and let out an unsteady laugh. “Free at last! For now anyway.”
That voice still sent a shiver through him. Tobin wasn’t yet sixteen, and hadn’t lost his high, boyish voice. Still hoarse from battle, Tamír sounded just the same. In the gathering gloom, she even looked like Prince Tobin, with her warrior braids and long black hair falling forward around her face.
“Tob?” The old name still came too easily.
“You can’t call me that anymore.”
Ki heard the echo of his own confusion in her voice and reached for her hand, but she brushed past him and went to the bed.
Nikides lay as they’d left him, still unconscious. His sandy hair was plastered to his cheeks with sweat and blood, and the bandages around his side were crusted with it, but his breathing was even. Tamír’s little page, Baldus, was curled asleep at his feet.
Tamír rested a hand on Nikides’ brow.
“How is he?” asked Ki.
“Feverish, but alive.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Of the nineteen original Companions, five were dead for certain, and the rest missing, except for Nik and two squires. Tanil would be lucky to survive the brutal torture he’d suffered at the hands of the Plenimarans. Lynx still seemed recklessly intent on not surviving his fallen lord, Orneus, yet he’d come through every battle without a scratch.
“I hope Lutha and Barieus are still alive,” Ki murmured, wondering how their friends would fare without them. He sat down on the floor and ran his fingers back through his tangled hair. It had grown long over the winter. The thin brown braids framing his face hung to his chest. “Where do you suppose Korin went?”
Tamír sank down beside him and shook her head. “I still can’t believe he’d abandon the city like that!”
“Everyone says it was Niryn’s doing.”
“I know, but how could Korin let that bastard sway him like that? He never liked him any more than we did.”
Ki said nothing, keeping his bitter thoughts to himself. From the day they’d met, Ki had seen the weakness in the Prince Royal, just as clearly as Tamír had seen the good. It was like a streak of poor alloy in a fine blade, and had already betrayed him twice in battle. Royal or not, Korin was a coward, and that was unforgivable in a warrior—or a king.
Tamír shifted over, leaning against his shoulder. “What do you suppose Korin and the others thought if they’ve heard news of me?”
“Nik or Tanil can tell us that when they wake up, I guess.”
“What would you think, in their place?” she fretted, scratching at a bit of dried blood on the back of one hand. “How do you suppose it will sound to anyone who wasn’t there to see?”
Before he could answer that, Arkoniel slipped in without knocking. Unshaven, one arm in a sling, he looked more beggar than wizard.
Ki could hardly bear to look at him. Arkoniel had been their teacher and their friend, or so they thought. But he’d lied to them all these years. Even knowing the reason, Ki wasn’t yet sure he could forgive him for that.
Arkoniel must have read his thoughts or his face; the sudden sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “Duke Illardi has offered his villa as a headquarters. The grounds have strong walls and there’s been no plague in that ward. It’s a safer place for you than here. The fires are still spreading.”
“Tell him I accept his offer,” Tamír replied without looking up. “I want Nik with me, and Tanil, too. He’s at the camp we overran yesterday.”
“Of course.”
“And we should save what we can of the royal library and archives before the fire spreads.”
“Already seen to,” Arkoniel assured her. “Tharin’s placed a guard on the Royal Tomb, as well, but I’m afraid there was some looting.”
“Seems I’m always saddled with caring for the dead.” Tamír rose and walked out onto the broad balcony that overlooked the palace gardens and the city beyond. Ki and Arkoniel followed.
This part of the Old Palace was hardly touched by the destruction outside. Snowdrops and banks of white narcissus glowed in the failing daylight. Beyond the walls, smoke hung heavy over the city, lit from below by flames.
Tamír gazed up at the red-stained sky. “One of the last things my uncle said to me before we rode for Atyion was that if Ero is lost, Skala is lost. What do you think, Arkoniel? Was he right? Were we too late?”
“No. It’s a terrible blow, certainly, but Ero is only one city among many. Skala is wherever you are. The queen is the land. I know things look grim to you right now, but births are seldom easy and never clean. Rest a bit before we ride. Oh, and Iya’s spoken to some of the women in your guard. Ahra or Una can stay with you tonight.”
“Ki is still my squire.”
The wizard hesitated, then said quietly, “I don’t think that’s advisable, do you?”
Tamír rounded on him, pent-up fury blazing in those dark eyes. Even Ki took a step back in the face of it.
“It is advisable because I say it is! Consider that my first official proclamation as your queen-to-be. Or am I just a wizard’s puppet after all, like my uncle?”
Arkoniel looked stricken as he pressed a hand to his heart and bowed. “No, never that. I swear on my life.”
“I’ll remember you said that,” Tamír snapped. “And you remember this. I accept my duty to Skala, the gods, my line, and my people. But right now, I warn you—” A quaver crept into her voice. “Don’t cross me in this. Ki stays with me. Now just—go away!”
“As you wish, Highness.” The wizard quickly retreated, but not without a sad look in Ki’s direction.
Ki pretended not to notice. You put her here. You can damn well suffer the consequences along with the rest of us!
“Prince Tobin?” Baldus stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Tamír’s valet, Molay, had hidden the child in a trunk during the final attack. When Tamír and Ki had found him afterward, he was too exhausted and terrified to notice the change in her. He looked around in confusion. “Where’s the princess you were talking to, Lord Ki?”
Tamír went to the child and took his hand. “Look at me, Baldus. Look closely.”
The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Highness, are you bewitched?”
“I was. Now I’m not.”
Baldus nodded uncertainly. “An enchanted princess, like in the bard’s tales?”
Tamír managed a pained smile. “Something like that. We need to get you someplace safe.”
Chin trembling, the child fell to his knees, clutching her hand and kissing it. “I’ll always serve you, Princess Tobin. Please don’t send me away!”
“Of course I won’t, if you want to stay.” Tamír pulled him to his feet and hugged him. “I need every loyal man I can find. But you must call me Princess Tamír now.”
“Yes, Princess Tamír.” The child clung to her. “Where’s Molay?”
“I don’t know.”
Ki doubted they’d see him again on this side of Bilairy’s gate. “Get some sleep, Tamír. I’ll keep watch.” To his surprise, she didn’t argue. Stretching out beside Nikides on the bare mattress, she turned on her side and surrendered at last to exhaustion.
Ki pulled up a chair and sat with his sword unsheathed across his knees. He was her squire and he would do his duty, but he studied that shadowed face with the heavy heart of a friend.
Darkness had fallen when Tharin came in with a lamp. Ki blinked in the sudden light. Tamír sat up at once, reaching for her sword.
“Everything’s ready, Tamír.” Tharin stepped aside to make way for the litter bearers who’d come for Nikides. Lynx followed, carrying Tamír’s discarded armor.
“I’ve assembled an escort for you in the front court and Manies has gone for your horses,” said Tharin. “You’d best wear your armor. The streets are far from secure.”
Ki took the Aurënfaie hauberk from the other squire. Lynx understood. This was Ki’s responsibility, and his honor.
He helped Tamír put on the supple mail hauberk, then buckled on the breastplate for her. These pieces, as well as what Ki, Lynx, and Tharin wore, had all come from the Atyion armory. Wrestling with the unfamiliar buckles, he wondered what had become of the armor they’d left behind in Ero that night. Lost with everything else, Ki thought with regret. His had been a gift from Tobin, one of her own designs.
Tamír, he thought, catching himself. Damnation! How long before that came naturally?
The rest of the royal guard was mounted and waiting for them in the courtyard. Beyond the wall, the Palatine was as bright as day from the fires still burning there. The hot breeze was against them, and ash had drifted over everything like a grey killing frost.
There were at least a hundred riders assembled, many of whom held torches to light the way. Most of the horses had shorn manes, Ki noted. Mourning for the king, perhaps, or lost comrades. The few remaining men from the Alestun guard were at the forefront, still keeping together as a group. Aladar and Kadmen saluted him and he returned it with a heavy heart; too many missing faces there.
Lady Una was there, too, with Iya, Arkoniel, and the ragtag collection of wizards Iya had gathered. The rest were soldiers still wearing the baldric of Atyion, Captain Grannia and her women foremost among them.
Lord Jorvai and Lord Kyman, Tamír’s first allies among the nobles, waited with sizable contingents of their own riders.
Left-handed Manies hoisted Tamír’s tattered banner aloft. It still showed the blended coat of arms of her parents, Ero and Atyion together. A long black ribbon was tied to the top of the staff, out of respect for the dead king.
“You should ride under the royal banner now,” said Tharin.
“I haven’t been crowned yet, have I? Besides, Korin took that with him, too.” She leaned closer, whispering, “So many? It’s less than three miles to Illardi’s house.”
“As I said, the streets are still dangerous. A lot of Erius’ men have refused to join us. They could still be out there somewhere, planning who knows what.”
Tamír settled her sword on her hip and went down the steps to the tall black horse a man still wearing Erius’ colors was holding for her.
“Keep your eyes open and stay close to her,” Tharin muttered as he and Ki followed.
“I will!” Ki shot back under his breath. What did Tharin think he was going to do, go woolgathering as if they were out for a hunt?
As Ki swung up onto his borrowed horse, he saw that Tamír had drawn her dagger. Her horse’s mane had not been shorn. She grasped a hank of the coarse black hair and cut it free, then singed it in a nearby torch. It was a symbolic act, but a worthy one. “For my kin,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “And for all who died bravely for Skala.”
From the corner of his eye, Ki caught Iya smiling and shaking her head.
Ki and Tamír rode at the center of the column, shielded on all sides by armed riders and wizards. Jorvai took the forward position, and Kyman and his men the rear guard. Tharin rode with Tamír, and the two wizards flanked them. Baldus clung wide-eyed behind Arkoniel, a small bundle clutched in one hand.
With much of the Palatine still in flames, the usual route to the gate was impassable. Tamír and her column crossed the ruined park to a small secondary gate behind the ravaged drysian grove.
This way took them past the Royal Tomb. Tamír glanced up at the scorched ruins of the portico. Ranks of priests and soldiers stood guard there, but most of the royal effigies were gone.
“Did the Plenimarans knock down the statues?”
Iya chuckled. “No, the defenders on the Palatine dropped them on the enemies’ heads.”
“I never went back,” Tamír murmured.
“Highness?”
Ki understood. The night they’d first come to Ero, Tamír had taken her father’s ashes down into the royal crypt and seen her mother’s preserved corpse. That had been the only time she’d ventured into the catacombs, avoiding them even on Mourning Night and the other holy days. Ki figured that after living with Brother all these years, she’d had her fill of the dead.
And where’s he now? he wondered. There’d been no sign of the demon since the unbinding ceremony. All the bits of bone from the doll had burned away with the magic. Perhaps Tamír was finally free of him, as Lhel had promised.
And he’s free, too. Ki still recalled the look of agony on Brother’s face in those final moments. Despite all the fear and pain he’d caused over the years, and the harm he’d tried to do, Ki hoped that the angry spirit had passed the gate at last, for everyone’s sake.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_91010bcb-e3aa-5858-960a-77d8447e4bcd)
The city outside the Palatine was in chaos, the air filled with angry cries and the sound of weeping. The rain had lessened, but ragged clouds still hung low over the city. Fires still raged in some of the wards, and an endless stream of refugees choked the streets. Soldiers stood guard outside the gates, trying to keep people from returning to salvage or loot.
Tamír looked around at these people—her people. Most of them had no idea who was passing them tonight. What would they think if they saw her abandoning the capital?
“By the Flame, I’m tired of sneaking about in the dark,” she muttered, and Ki nodded.
Smoldering foundations and lurking freebooters weren’t the worst of the dangers in the ruined city. Hundreds of bodies, the victims of battle and plague, lay rotting in the streets, breeding more disease. Most of the Scavengers who tended to such things were dead themselves.
Tamír’s guard doused their torches once they were free of the city, not wanting to serve as targets for any lurking enemy archers. The north high road was crowded with a dark, seething line of people, horses, and carts of every description stretching away into the night.
Have I already failed? she wondered again.
If the Lightbearer wanted a queen so badly, then why had the Immortal chosen such a dark moment to reveal her? She’d put the question to the Afran priest earlier, but Imonus’ maddeningly serene smile had been her only answer. The priests and wizards were delighted with this turn of events, despite all the suffering that came with it.
And yet the sight of all these homeless people left her feeling very small and tired. How was she to help them all? The burden of this new role, and all the uncertainty that came with it, bore down on her like a great weight.
“Don’t worry,” Tharin said quietly. “Things will look better in the morning. The clouds are breaking up. I can see the stars already. See that group over there?” He pointed up at a constellation. “The Dragon. I take that as a good omen, don’t you?”
Tamír managed a wan smile; the Dragon was one of Illior’s signs. She’d been a devotee of Sakor all her life; now every sign and omen seemed to come from the Lightbearer. As if in answer to her thoughts, an owl hooted loudly somewhere off to their right.
Imonus caught her eye. “Another good omen, Highness. When you hear the Lightbearer’s bird, you salute the god.” He showed her how, touching three fingers to his forehead between his brows.
Tamír copied the gesture. Ki and Tharin followed suit, then other riders around them who’d heard and seen.
Is it because they’ve accepted Illior’s hand in all this, or because they’ll follow anything I do?
She’d always been in Korin’s shadow at court and seen how everyone went along with whatever he did. If that was to be the case, she vowed to set a better example than he had.
Duke Illardi and his mounted escort met them on the road. Tamír and the Companions had guested with him often, during the hot days of summer. He was a pleasant, greying fellow, who’d always reminded her a bit of Tharin.
“Greetings, Highness,” he said, covering his heart with his fist as he bowed from the saddle. “Delighted as I am to offer you hospitality once again, I regret the circumstances.”
“So do I, your grace. I’m told you’re willing to swear fealty to me, and support my claim to the throne?”
“I am, Highness. We’re an Illioran house and always have been. I think you’ll find a good many others around the country who will be glad to see the Lightbearer’s prophecy upheld at last.”
“And plenty who won’t,” Lord Jorvai put in as they set off again. “The Sakor factions who enjoyed the king’s favor won’t so readily see his son displaced. Some have already left the city on account of him.”
“Will it be civil war, then?” Illardi asked.
The question sent a chill through Tamír. Forgetting her resentment for a moment, she turned to Iya. “Will Korin fight me for the crown?”
“With Niryn still alive and dripping poison in his ear? Yes, I’d say it’s likely.”
“Skalans fighting Skalans? I can’t believe that’s what the Lightbearer wants of me!”
They reached Duke Illardi’s estate without challenge. Large beacon fires burned along the tops of the walls, illuminating the archers stationed there.
Beyond lay a pleasant, rambling stone villa set on a promontory overlooking the sea. The Plenimarans had attacked as they passed; black-fletched arrows still littered the bailey yard and gardens, but the gates had not been breached.
Tamír and the others dismounted at the main entrance to the house. Two pillars carved with Illior’s Eye flanked the doorway and a crescent moon decorated the lintel. When they’d visited here in Erius’ time, Sakor’s Flame had been painted there. Tamír hoped Illardi didn’t change his loyalties too quickly, or too often.
He’d always been a kind host to the Companions, however, and he seemed sincere now as he bowed and said, “All that is mine is yours, Highness. I’ve ordered a bath and food prepared. Perhaps you’d prefer to take them in your chambers?”
“I would, thank you.” Tamír had suffered through enough formalities for one day.
He led her to a set of rooms on a terrace facing the sea. Baldus clung to her hand, and Ki and Tharin followed. In addition to the main bedchamber there was a sitting room, dressing room, and antechambers for her guard. In the heat of summer these rooms had been pleasantly cool. Now they were dank despite the candles and hearth fires burning there.
“I’ll leave you to rest and refresh yourself, Highness,” said Illardi. “My servants will bring you anything you require.”
“I’ll see the men settled in,” said Tharin, discreetly withdrawing to leave her alone with Ki. “Come, Baldus.”
Baldus looked panicked and Tamír nodded to him. “You’ll attend me.”
The child gave her a grateful look as he scampered to join them.
Despite the damp, the hangings were warmly colorful, and the bedsheets were clean and smelled of sunshine and wind.
Baldus looked around the unfamiliar chamber. “What do I do, my lady? I’ve never attended a girl before.”
“I have no idea. Help me off with these boots, for starters.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed and chuckled as the boy struggled with her boots. “I think we could fit your whole family in this bed, Ki.”
He dropped into a chair and grinned. “And the dogs, too.”
Baldus gave the boot a final yank and tumbled back, his already dirty tunic covered in mud.
Tamír regarded her filthy sock and the rest of her stained clothing with a wry smile. “I don’t look much like a lady, do I?”
“I don’t imagine Queen Ghërilain looked much different, after her great battles,” said Ki, as Baldus wrestled off her other boot.
“I stink, too.”
“You’re not the only one.”
Ki’s hair hung in dirty tangles around his haggard, unshaven face, and the tunic over his hauberk was filthy. They both reeked of blood and battle.
Baldus hurried over to the washstand and poured water into the basin. Tamír washed her face and hands. The water was cool and scented with rose petals, but by the time she was done it was stained the color of rust. Baldus emptied the basin out the window and poured fresh for Ki.
“Maybe he shouldn’t do that,” Ki warned. “It might not look right to people, him waiting on your squire, too.”
“People can go hang,” Tamír snorted. “Wash your damn hands.”
Trestle tables were brought to the terrace. Tamír and her people ate with the duke and his two young sons, Lorin and Etrin. Ki had played with them on their previous visits and found them to be good, solid sorts, and smart.
Lorin was a tall, quiet boy a few years younger than Tamír. His brother, who was of an age with Baldus, stared at her wide-eyed throughout the meal, as if expecting her to change form again before his eyes.
Baldus staunchly carried out his duties here, too, until Tamír coaxed him into sharing her bench, and made him eat a few morsels from her portion.
As soon as the meal was done servants cleared away the dishes and Illardi spread out charts of the harbor to assess the damage.
“The Plenimarans knew their job. While the land forces attacked the shoreline, their sailors cast burning pitch on every vessel they could reach and cut the mooring lines. I’m afraid all your warships are at the bottom of the harbor now, or burning on the far reach. Only a few small carracks escaped. Twenty-seven enemy vessels were captured.”
“Any word of how many ships escaped?” Tamír asked.
“The lookouts at Great Head claim no more than ten.”
“Enough to carry home word of their defeat,” Jorvai noted.
“Enough to carry word of Ero’s weakness, too,” Iya warned. “We cannot afford to be taken by surprise again. I have several of my wizards watching the sea, but without knowing where to look, they may not find them. Tell the lookouts to be vigilant, especially in foul weather.”
Illardi and the others left at last. A large bathing tub had been carried in and filled as they dined and Ki eyed it enviously. They’d lived in the saddle for days.
“Baldus, go into the corridor and keep watch with the guards for a while,” said Tamír. She flopped down on the bed and nodded toward the tub. “You want first go?”
“No, you go on—That is—” A week ago Ki wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Now he could feel his face going warm. “I should step out—shouldn’t I?”
It seemed a logical enough conclusion, but Tamír suddenly looked close to tears. “Do I disgust you that much?”
“What? No!” he exclaimed, astonished both by the sudden change of mood and that she’d jump to such a harsh conclusion. “How can you think that?”
She slumped forward with her face in her hands. “Because that’s how I feel. Ever since Atyion, I’ve felt like I’m trapped in a bad dream and can’t wake up. Nothing feels right! I have this empty feeling in my trousers—” Ki saw color rise in her cheeks, too. “And these?” She glared down at the hard little points under the dirty linen of her shirt. “They ache like fire!”
Ki found himself looking anywhere but at her. “My sisters said the same when they ripened. It passes as they grow.”
“Grow?” She looked horrified at the prospect. “But you want to know the worst of it?”
She pulled the shirt off over her head, leaving herself naked from the waist up except for her parents’ rings on a chain around her neck. Ki hastily averted his eyes again.
“That. You can’t even look at me, can you? Every day since Atyion I’ve seen you flinch and turn away.”
“It’s not like that.” Ki faced her squarely. He’d seen naked women enough growing up. She didn’t look any different than one of his sisters, apart from the mottled bruise on her shoulder where she’d been struck during the first attack on the city. It had faded to a green-and-yellow blotch, stippled at the center with the purpled imprint of the chain mail that had stopped the arrow. “It’s—Damn it, I can’t explain it. Fact is, you don’t look all that different than you did before.”
“Lying doesn’t help, Ki.” She hunched in on herself, arms crossed over her tiny breasts. “Illior is cruel. You wouldn’t touch me when I was a boy and now that I’m a girl, you can’t even look at me.” She stood and stripped her breeches off, angrily kicking them aside. “You know a hell of a lot more about girl’s bodies than I do. Tell me, do I look like a boy or a girl now?”
Ki shuddered inwardly. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with what he saw. The dark sprinkling of hair covering her cunny looked the same as any girl’s. No, it was knowing what used to be there that made his belly clench.
“Well?” She was still angry, but a tear rolled down her cheek.
The sight of it made his heart ache; he knew how much it took to make her cry. “Well, you’re still skinny, and your ass has always been kind of flat. But lots of young girls are like that. You’re not so old yet to be—ripening.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “That is, if you—”
“Bleed with the moon?” She didn’t look away, but her face went a darker shade of scarlet. “I did, sort of, before the change. Lhel gave me herbs that stopped it, mostly. But I suppose I will now. So now you know it all. These past couple years, you were sleeping with a boy who bled!”
“Damn, Tob!” This was too much. Ki sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. “That’s what I can’t fathom. The not knowing!”
She shrugged miserably and reached for the dressing gown someone had left across the end of the bed. It was a lady’s gown, velvet trimmed with silver lace and embroidery. Tamír wrapped herself in it and huddled against the bolsters.
Ki looked up and blinked in surprise. “There now, that makes a difference.”
“What?” Tamír muttered.
“It makes you look more—girlish.” This earned him a dark glare.
Determined to make things right between them, he looked around and spied an ivory comb on the dressing table. This must have been a lady’s room, or else Illardi’s duchess had taken pains to equip it properly. There were pots with fancy lids and little odds and ends he couldn’t guess the use of.
Taking up the comb, he sat down next to her on the bed and forced a grin. “If I’m to be your tiring woman, Highness, can I fix your hair?”
That got him an even blacker look, but after a moment she turned her back to him. He knelt behind her and began working at the tangles, taking it in sections like Nari used to.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”
“What am I up to?”
“Currying the skittish horse?”
“Well, it needs doing. You’re all full of knots.”
He worked in silence for a while. Tamír had thick hair, and it was almost as black as Alben’s, but it wasn’t as straight as his. When he was done, it fell in thick waves down her back.
Gradually her shoulders relaxed and she sighed. “This isn’t my fault, you know? I didn’t choose this.”
“I know that.”
She looked back over her shoulder. With their faces mere inches apart, he found himself lost for an instant in those sad blue eyes. The color reminded him of the Osiat, the way it looked on a clear day from the headlands at Cirna.
“Then what is it?” she demanded. “It feels so different between us now. I hate it!”
Caught off guard, Ki let his mouth run away with him and spoke the truth. “Me, too. I guess I just miss Tobin.”
She turned around and gripped him by the shoulders. “I am Tobin!”
He tried to look away, to hide the tears stinging his eyes, but she held him.
“Please, Ki, I need you to be the same!”
Ashamed of his own weakness, he pried her hands from his shoulders and held them tightly between his own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But now, you’re—”
“Just a girl?”
“No. You’re to be queen, Tamír. You are already, by right.” She tried to pull away, but he held on. “A queen this grass knight can’t sleep close with on cold winter nights, or swim with, or wrestle—”
“Why not?”
It was Ki who pulled away this time, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes. “It wouldn’t be proper! Damn it, if you’re to be queen, you have to act the part, don’t you? You’re still a warrior, but you’re a woman, too—or a girl, anyway. And boys and girls? They just don’t do all that. Not nobles, anyway,” he added, blushing. He’d made do with servant girls, just like everyone else, but he’d never felt ashamed of that until now.
Tamír sat back, lips set in a grim line, but he could see the corners trembling. “Fine. Leave me, then, while I bathe.”
“I’ll go see how Nik and Tanil are doing. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
Ki headed for the door. She didn’t call him back, just sat there glaring a hole in the bed. Ki slipped out and set the latch softly, his heart in turmoil, then turned to find Tharin and Una watching him expectantly.
“She’s—uh—going to bathe,” Ki mumbled. “I’ll be back.”
Ducking his head, he brushed past them. As he strode away, it felt like a door of a different sort had slammed shut between them, with him on the outside.
Tamír fought back more tears as she undressed and slid into the tub. She ducked under the water and briskly rubbed the soap over her hair, but she couldn’t escape her thoughts.
She’d always been odd, even as Tobin, but Ki had always understood and accepted her. Now it seemed he could only see the stranger she’d become—a homely, scrawny girl he was too embarrassed to look at. She slid a finger through the ring that had been her mother’s, gazing down at the profiles of her parents. Her mother had been beautiful, even after she’d gone mad.
Maybe if I looked more like her? she wondered glumly. Not much chance of that.
She wanted to be angry with Ki, but this sumptuous room suddenly felt too lonely without him. Her gaze strayed to the large bed. She’d seldom slept alone. First there’d been Nari, her nurse, then Ki. She tried to imagine replacing him with Una and cringed, remembering that embarrassing kiss the girl had given her, believing Tobin was just a shy, backward boy. There’d been little time to speak with her since the change, but thanks to Tharin and his organizing, it would be hard to avoid her now.
“Bilairy’s balls!” she groaned. “What am I going to do?”
Survive, Sister. Live for both of us.
Tamír sat up so abruptly water sloshed over the side onto the floor. Brother stood before her, a faint but unmistakable shape untouched by the fire or candle glow.
“What are you doing here? I thought—I thought you’d gone on.”
It was hard to look at him now—the image of the young man she thought she’d be. He was as pale as ever, his eyes as flat and black, but otherwise he looked as he would have in life, right down to a faint tracing of dark hair on his upper lip. Suddenly shy under that unblinking gaze, she wrapped her arms around her knees.
His hard, whispery voice invaded her mind. You will live, Sister. For both of us. You will rule, for both of us. You owe me a life, Sister.
“How do I repay a debt like that?”
He just stared.
“Why are you still here?” she demanded. “Lhel said you’d be free when I cut out the piece of your bone. The rest of you burned up with the doll. There was nothing left, not even ash.”
The unavenged dead do not rest.
“Unavenged? You were stillborn. They told me.”
They lied. Learn the truth, Sister. He hissed the last word like a curse.
“Can you find Lhel for me? I need her!”
The demon shook his head and the hint of a smile on his dead lips sent a chill through her. The bond of skin and bone was sundered. Tamír could no longer command him. The realization frightened her.
“Are you here to kill me?” she whispered.
Those black eyes went darker still and his smile was poisonous. How many times I wanted to!
He advanced, passing through the side of the tub to kneel before her in the water, face inches from her. The water went achingly cold, like the river below the keep in spring. The demon grasped her bare shoulders and his cold fingers bit into her flesh, feeling all too solid. See? I am no helpless shade. I could reach into your chest and squeeze your heart as I did to the fat one who called himself your guardian.
She was truly terrified now, more than she ever had been with him. “What do you want, demon?”
Your pledge, Sister. Avenge my death.
Dreadful realization penetrated the haze of fear. “Who was it? Lhel? Iya?” She swallowed hard. “Father?”
The murdered cannot speak the name of their killers, Sister. You must learn that for yourself.
“Damn you!”
Brother was still smiling as he slowly faded away.
The door flew open and Tharin and Una burst in, swords drawn.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tharin.
“Nothing,” Tamír said quickly. “I’m fine, just—just thinking out loud.”
Tharin nodded to Una and she retreated and closed the door. Tharin swept a suspicious eye around the room as he sheathed his sword.
“I’m almost done here,” she told him, hugging her knees to her chest. “I told Ki he could use the water when I’m done but it’s gone cold.”
Brother had stolen the last of the heat. No, don’t think of him right now, and what he’d hinted at. She’d had too much to bear already, without looking for murderers among what was left of her circle of trusted friends. She clung to the fact that Tharin had not been anywhere near her mother that night. But Iya had, and Arkoniel. Perhaps there had been someone else? It was too painful to contemplate.
“That’s a long face.” Tharin helped her from the tub and wrapped her in a large flannel, rubbing her hair with a corner of it.
Tamír dried herself and put on the robe again, not looking at him as she let the flannel drop.
When she was dressed, he urged her into bed and pulled the comforter up around her, then sat down and took her hand. “That’s better.”
His kind, knowing look undid her. She threw her arms around his neck and hid her face against his chest, not caring that he still stank of blood and smoke. “I’m glad you’re still with me!”
He rubbed her back. “As long as I draw breath.”
“I’m going to make you a prince of the realm when I’m queen.”
Tharin chuckled. “Bad enough you’ve made me a lord. Leave well enough alone.”
He stroked a wet strand of hair back from her cheek and gave one braid a tug. “You’re worried about Ki.”
Tamír nodded. It was half the truth, anyway.
“He didn’t look any happier than you when he left.” She felt him sigh. “You’re determined to keep him by you, aren’t you?”
“You think I’m wrong?”
“No, but you might consider the boy’s feelings.”
“I’d be happy to, if he’d tell me what they are! He treats me like I’m someone else now.”
“Well, like it or not, you are.”
“No!”
Tharin patted her shoulder. “Maybe just who you were, then, with more added on.”
“Tits, you mean?”
“You call those little flea bites tits?” He laughed at her outraged look. “Yes, your body’s changed, and that’s something that can’t just be pushed aside, especially not by a young man with Ki’s hot blood.”
Tamír looked away, mortified. “I want him to see me as a girl, to like me that way, but then again, I don’t. Oh, Tharin, I’m so confused!”
“You both need time to know your hearts.”
“You always treat me just the same.”
“Well now, it’s different with me, isn’t it? Boy or girl, you’re Rhius’ child. But you’re not a little one anymore, for me to carry on my shoulder and make toys for. You’re my liege and I’m your man. But Ki?” He picked up the discarded flannel and rubbed it over her dripping hair. “I know what your feelings for him have grown to this past year or so. He knows it, too.”
“But shouldn’t that make it easier?”
He paused in his drying. “How would you feel if you woke up tomorrow and Ki was a girl?”
Tamír blinked up at him through her tangled hair. “It’s not the same! That would make things harder between us, like when I was a boy. This way, we can—have each other. If he wants to!”
“First he’ll have to stop seeing Tobin every time he looks at you. And that won’t be easy because he’s still looking so hard to see him.”
“I know. Who do you see, Tharin?”
He patted her knee. “I told you. I see my friend’s child.”
“You really loved my father, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “And he loved me.”
“But he left you for Mother. Why didn’t you stop loving him then?”
“Sometimes love can change its form rather than end. That’s what happened with your father.”
“But your feelings never changed, did they?”
“No.”
She was old enough now to guess at what he was leaving unsaid. “Didn’t it hurt?”
She’d never seen the sorrow more clearly in his face, or the sharp edge of anger that came with it when he nodded and replied softly, “Like fire, at first, and for a long time after. But not enough to drive me away, and I can say now that I’m glad. There was a time when I’d have answered differently. I was a grown man by then, and I had my pride.”
“Why did you stay?”
“He asked me to.”
She’d never heard him say so much before. “I always wondered—”
“What?”
“After Mama got sick and turned against him, were—were you and Father ever lovers again?”
“Certainly not!”
“I’m sorry. That was rude.” Still, something in that last response intrigued her—a flash of pride. She wondered what it meant but knew better than to ask. “So what do I do about Ki?”
“Give him time. Ki could never have loved you the way you wanted as Tobin. It just isn’t in him. But he suffered over it, and now he’s suffering over the loss of who you two were together.” He draped the flannel over her shoulder. “Let him heal a while. You can do that for him, can’t you?”
She nodded. Of course she could. But that didn’t make her feel any better tonight. “Is he out there?”
“He went off by himself, but he’ll be back.”
“We’ll need more hot water for sure, then,” Tamír mused. “Should I leave while he bathes?”
Tharin shrugged. “It would be polite to ask.”
Chapter 4 (#ulink_c44c6cd4-bb83-5468-a7e6-478ee27fc797)
The courtyard was filled with soldiers and servants. Ki kept to the shadows and went to the new stone stable, where the wounded were being tended.
Illardi bred fine horses from Aurënfaie stock; his stable was far nicer than the house where Ki had been born, and considerably larger. Inside, Ki could just make out rafters and dressed stone at the edge of the lamplight. It smelled of new wood and fresh straw, but also of blood and wounds, and herbs being burned or brewed on the braziers. Half a dozen drysian healers were at work, wearing bloodstained aprons over their long brown robes.
People lay everywhere on makeshift pallets, looking like bundles of laundry laid out for washing day. Ki picked his way among them, looking for Nikides and Tanil. One of the healers noticed him and came over.
“Lord Kirothieus, are you seeking the Companions?” she asked. “We put them together, over there in that stall at the end.”
He found Nikides propped up in a deep bed of new straw. Another figure sat huddled in a far corner of the stall, muffled in several blankets. Even his head was covered.
“Tanil?” When Ki moved closer, the squire let out a soft moan and cowered deeper into the shadows. Ki settled back on his heels. “It’s all right. You’re safe here.”
Tanil said nothing, just curled more tightly in on himself.
“Ki, is that you?” It was a papery whisper.
Ki turned to find Nikides awake and blinking up at him. “Yes. How are you?”
“Better, I think. Where are we?”
“At Duke Illardi’s estate.”
“Illardi?” Nikides glanced around in confusion. “But I thought—I dreamed I was at the Old Palace. There were people dying around me. I thought I saw you—and Tobin.”
“It was no dream. We had you moved here. Lynx is still with us, too, and came through without a damn scratch! I think he and I are the only ones who did. And Una, too. Remember her?”
Nikides brightened at that. “She’s alive?”
“Yes. She ran off and joined up with my sister Ahra’s riders. She learned her lessons well. She’s a blooded warrior already.”
“So there are some of us left, after all.”
“Yes. What happened with you, Nik?”
Nikides tried to sit up and groaned. “I told them I was never cut out to be a warrior.” With Ki’s help he managed to prop himself against the wall. “I was with Korin. We were trying to get him away—” He closed his eyes against some painful memory. “I didn’t see the archer until it was too late.”
“You were lucky. The shaft missed your lung.”
Nikides shifted again and caught sight of the huddled figure in the corner. “Who’s that?”
“Tanil.”
“Thank the Four, we thought you were dead! Tanil? Ki, what’s wrong with him?”
“He was captured.” Ki leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Tortured, and—well, raped, like they do. We found him planked up against a barn north of the city.”
Nikides’ eyes widened. “Maker’s Mercy!”
“He’s in bad shape. Tamír wanted him kept close to you.”
“Tamír?”
Ki sighed. “Tobin, that is. You saw her back at the palace, remember? You spoke to her.”
“Ah. I thought I’d dreamed that, too.”
“No dream. A prophecy fulfilled, or so they say.”
“Then Skala has a queen again!” Nikides whispered. “If only Grandfather had lived to see it.” He fell silent a moment. “So, how is Tobin? Princess Tamír, I mean.”
“She’s fine.”
“She.” Nikides murmured, “It’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it? Tell me, how did it happen?”
Ki gave him a quick summary. “It was magic, but not like anything I’d ever heard of before. But I saw her myself, naked as the dawn, and it’s no trick. She’s Tamír now; Tamír Ariani Ghërilain.”
“A good name.”
Nikides was taking it very well, Ki thought sourly.
“Amazing, isn’t it, that the queen the Illiorans have been whispering about all these years was hiding right in plain sight?”
“Amazing, all right.” The bitterness in his voice left Nikides speechless for a moment.
“And Ero?” he asked at last.
“We drove the enemy out, but the city’s pretty near ruined.” Ki clasped his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. I’m told he died defending the palace.”
“Yes. I’ll miss him, but it was an honorable death.”
“What can you tell me about Korin? Do you know where they went?”
“They haven’t come back?”
“No. What happened?”
“The enemy had broken through our last defenses. They were everywhere, killing and burning. Master Porion and Captain Melnoth organized the retreat, with what soldiers they had left to cover their escape. I was unlucky, that’s all, and got cut off.”
“And they just left you?”
“You can’t blame Lutha, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He paused and Ki saw a look of pain in his eyes. “I saw him looking back at me, shouting something. He wanted to go back for me, but of course, he couldn’t. His duty was to Korin.”
“I would have, Nik. So would Tamír.”
Nikides shook his head. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to. Duty first, in all things. That’s what Master Porion would tell you, too.”
Ki kept his arguments to himself for now. Nikides was still too ill to fully appreciate the situation. “Do you know where Korin was headed?”
“No. Niryn just said to get him out of the city. We were trying for the west gate when I lost them.”
“The wizard was giving the orders?”
“Korin wouldn’t listen to anyone else by then, not even Cal.”
The drysian who’d spoken with Ki earlier came back just then and put her ear to Nikides’ chest. She looked pleased with what she heard. “You’re a lucky fellow, my lord. A few days more and you should be on your feet again, though it will take time to fully heal. I’ll send someone over with broth. See that he eats, won’t you, Lord Kirothieus?”
“I will.” Ki grinned at his friend. “Not that we ever had any trouble getting you to eat.”
Nikides made a rude gesture, then looked over at Tanil again. He’d stirred when the drysian came, and appeared to be awake. “Hello, Tanil. I’m glad you’re here. Are you hungry?”
Tanil shook his head and the blanket fell back from his face.
“Bilairy’s balls!” Nikides gasped softly.
The young squire’s face was still badly swollen and discolored from the beating, and his dark hair hung in lank strands around his shoulders. His braids had been cut off, too. Worst of all, though, was his vacant, frightened expression. He hunched in on himself, arms crossed tight across his chest. Livid bruises covered his bare shoulders, and his wrists were wrapped with bloodstained linen. He gave them a confused look, then hid his face against his knees.
“Poor fellow,” Nikides whispered sadly.
“And he was one of the lucky ones,” Ki replied softly, leaving it unsaid that his captors had been about to gut him when Tamír and her forces showed up. “The wounds in his wrists aren’t so bad. The healers say he’ll probably have the use of his hands again when they heal.”
He spoke lightly, but he and Nikides exchanged a knowing look. Wounds to the body were nothing to a warrior, but to be so dishonored and left crippled? It would have been kinder if the bastards had killed him.
The drysian woman returned with two bowls of strong-smelling broth. Nikides took a sip from his and wrinkled his nose. “Horse meat!”
“Plenty of that about,” Ki said, moving slowly and carefully to sit by Tanil. He held out the bowl. “It stinks, but it’ll put strength back into you. Come on now, try a little. It’s me, see? Nobody’s going to hurt you. Nik’s here, too.”
Tanil regarded them with empty eyes, then a hint of recognition seemed to dawn. He let Ki hold the bowl to his lips and managed a few sips before he gagged and turned his face away.
Nikides gamely downed his portion and put the bowl aside with a grimace of distaste. “You haven’t said what happened to you, since you left Ero.”
Ki quickly outlined the chaos of the past few days. “Tharin’s reorganized the remains of the old Alestun guard, along with Lynx and some of the warriors from Atyion, into a new guard for Tamír,” Ki said, all the while coaxing Tanil to drink more of the broth. “We’ve got Lord Jorvai, and Kyman of Ilear on our side already, and Illardi, and more who swore fealty after the battle. Not everyone is supporting Tamír, though.”
“That’s to be expected,” Nikides said, looking thoughtful. “Well, you can count me in as another loyal man, for whatever it’s worth.”
“Even over your Companion’s oath? She’ll send you back to Korin if that’s what you want.”
“No. I won’t say it doesn’t hurt, but in my heart I know it’s the right thing. Erius broke with the prophecy, and where did that get us? If Illior has made Tobin into a queen, then who am I to argue? So, how can I help?”
Ki clasped his friend’s hand and smiled. “Get your strength back and keep an eye on Tanil for me. Well, I better get back. Take care of yourself and do as the healers tell you.”
Ki felt a bit better for seeing his friend awake, but returned to the house unsure of his welcome. He felt bad about how things had gone earlier and was anxious to put it right.
Tamír was sitting on the bed reading a letter. She had on a long linen shirt under the dressing gown, and her damp hair hung loose over her shoulders. Baldus was curled up asleep on his pallet by the door.
She looked up as he came in, and he could tell she was trying to gauge his mood, too.
“I just saw Nik and Tanil.”
“How are they?”
“Nik’s mending. Tanil’s not doing so well. His spirit’s broken.”
“I don’t wonder. I’ll go see him tomorrow.” She gestured casually at the tub. “I had more warm water brought in.” She paused, looking uneasy again. “I can go in the sitting room—”
“Whatever you like,” Ki answered too quickly. Did she want to stay, or go? He was damned if he could tell. He had the feeling that no matter what he did, it would be wrong. When it came right down to it, though, she’d seen him naked so often that that didn’t make a bit of difference. All he wanted right now was hot water and a clean bed. “I don’t mind either way.”
After all the earlier embarrassment, he’d expected her to leave. Instead, she shrugged and went back to the letter.
Suit yourself, he thought, wondering at this new shift in the wind. He stripped and sank gratefully into the tub. It wasn’t very hot, but it was the cleanest water he’d seen in days. Settling back, he went to work with the soap and sponge.
As he washed, he found himself glancing over at Tamír. She was still engrossed in that letter. He ducked his head, rinsing lather from his hair, and looked up to find her still staring down at the parchment. It was only a single sheet. It couldn’t be taking her that long to read it.
“What’s that you’re looking at?” he asked.
She glanced up with a guilty start and colored a little, as if he’d caught her staring. Damn, this was strange!
“A letter from Lady Myna of Tynford, offering fealty,” she told him.
“Already? Word travels fast.”
She tossed the letter aside and stretched out on her stomach, chin propped on one hand. “I can’t stop thinking about Korin. A retreat’s one thing, but for him to just run off like that and leave the city open to the enemy? That doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons at the time.” Cowardice, most likely, he thought, scrubbing at a bloodstain on his left knee.
Tamír stared off at nothing for a moment, brow knitted in thought. “Damn that Niryn! It has to be him, weakening Kor’s mind.”
“I don’t doubt it. But maybe Korin wasn’t too hard to sway, either.” So much for tact.
Tamír gave him a wry look. “I know, Ki. You were right about him all along, but I still say there’s good in him, too. Once we know where he is, I’ll call for a parley. There’s got to be some way to resolve this, short of war!”
“I admit I don’t much like the idea of facing friends on the battlefield. Not even Alben or Mago. Well, maybe Mago.”
That earned him a fleeting grin. Ki stood up and reached for the dry flannel by the tub, noting how she averted her eyes. He quickly wrapped the cloth around his waist and looked around for something to put on besides his own filthy clothes.
Someone had laid out clean garments for him, too. The long linen shirt had white silk embroidery around the neck and gathered cuffs. He pulled it over his head, then stood there with the breeches in his hand, unsure what to do next.
He looked up at Tamír again and saw the same confusion. They both wanted this to be simple, like nothing had changed.
She shrugged, not quite looking at him. “Stay?”
“All right.” But he pulled on the breeches anyway, then blew out all but one lamp. He returned uncertainly to the bed, wondering if he should sleep on the floor with Baldus. Tamír was under the covers now, with the coverlet pulled up to her nose. He could just see her dark eyes watching him expectantly.
Still uncertain, he wrapped himself in a spare blanket and settled on the far edge of the bed. They lay facing each other, faces half-shadowed in the soft glow of the night lamp. Less than two arms span separated them, but it felt like a mile.
After a moment, Tamír reached out to him. He laced his fingers with hers, glad of the contact. Her fingers were warm and sun-browned from days in the saddle, not soft and pale like the girls he’d bedded. Those hands had trembled, or caressed. Tamír held his hand firm and sure, same as always. It made Ki feel very odd inside, even as he watched her eyes drift shut and her face relax in sleep. With her face pressed into the pillow and her hair spilled across her cheek like that, she looked like Tobin again.
He waited until he was certain she was really asleep, then let go of her hand and rolled on his back, teetering on the edge of the mattress and longing for the nights when they’d so innocently slept warm in each other’s arms.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_1c4dffe3-d37a-5842-a0c3-f72bbb85e967)
In the dream she was still Tobin who’d lived at the keep, and the tower door was never locked.
He climbed the stairs to his mother’s ruined sitting room at the top and found Brother waiting for him. Hand in hand, the twins climbed onto the ledge of the window that looked west toward the mountains. Between the tips of his boots, Tobin saw the river below, surging black beneath the ice like a great serpent trying to break free.
The grip on his hand tightened; it was his mother with him now, not Brother. Ariani was pale and bloody, but she smiled as she stepped off the ledge, pulling Tobin down with her.
But Tobin didn’t fall. He flew up into the sky and far over the mountains to a cliff above the dark Osiat Sea. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the now-familiar hills, and snowy peaks beyond. As always in this dream, the robed man stood off in the distance, waving to him. Would he ever see the man’s face?
Then Ki appeared at Tobin’s side and took his hand, drawing him to the brink of the cliff to show him the fine harbor that lay below. Tobin could see their faces reflected down there, side by side, like a miniature painted on silver foil.
Tamír had experienced this dream so often now that she knew she was dreaming, and turned all the more eagerly to Ki. Perhaps this time …
But as always, she woke with a start before their lips could touch.
Ki lay curled up on the far side of the bed, and opened his eyes as soon as she stirred. “You were restless. Did you sleep at all?”
“Yes. And now I’m starving.” She lay there, watching with bittersweet fondness as Ki yawned and stretched and rubbed his eyes. He’d left the front of his shirt unlaced and she could see the little horse charm she’d made him soon after they’d met, still hanging around his neck on its chain. He’d never taken it off since she’d given it to him, not even in the bath. For a fleeting moment it could have been any morning in the old days, the two of them waking up together to face a new day.
The illusion shattered as quickly as her dream had when he got up so quickly and made his way barefoot to the door.
“I’ll go find us something to eat,” he said, not looking back. “I’ll knock before I come back in.”
Tamír sighed, guessing he was anxious to give her time to get dressed.
A moment later there was a knock at the door and Lady Una stepped in, still in her mud-stained tunic and boots. She wore a new baldric with the colors of Tamír’s guard.
Baldus woke at last and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Go find yourself some breakfast,” Tamír told the boy.
“Yes, Highness.” The boy yawned and gave Una a curious look, his eyes lingering admiringly on her sword. Then he recognized her and made her a hasty bow. “Lady Una!”
Una looked down at the boy, then gave a little cry of surprise. She knelt and took his hand. “You’re Lady Erylin’s son, aren’t you? I bet you know my brother Atmir. He’s Duchess Malia’s page at court.”
“Yes, lady! We have lessons together, and sometimes we play—” Baldus trailed off and his face fell. “Well, we did—before.”
“Have you seen him, since the attack?”
He shook his head sadly. “I haven’t seen any of my friends since the enemy came.”
Una’s kind smile couldn’t cover her disappointment. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe. If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Baldus bowed to Tamír and went out.
Una straightened to attention. “Forgive me, Highness. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’ve had no word of any of my family.”
“No need to apologize. Poor Baldus. He doesn’t really understand what’s happened. I hope you both find your kin.” She paused expectantly. “Why are you here?”
Una began to look uncomfortable. “Lord Tharin thought you might need assistance, Highness.”
Suddenly self-conscious to be sitting there in nothing but a woman’s nightgown, Tamír found the robe and wrapped herself in it. “Better?”
Una made her another hasty bow. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to you, really, or how to act.”
“You and everyone else!” Tamír spread her arms. “Well, here I am. Take a good look.”
Una blushed. “It’s not that. You know, when I threw myself at you and kissed you that time? If I’d known, I’d never have done such a thing.”
Tamír still blushed at the memory. “It wasn’t your fault. Hell, I didn’t know either back then. Believe me, I don’t hold it against you. Let’s just forget it.” She raked a hand absently back through her tangled hair. “Look at you now, a warrior, after all! I guess those sword-fighting lessons were useful, after all.”
“It was a good start,” said Una, obviously relieved by the change of subject. “Although I think I was the only girl who wasn’t there just to make eyes at the boys.”
Ki hadn’t minded that at all, Tamír recalled. She pushed that thought aside at once. “So, Captain Ahra finished your education?”
“Yes. I remembered Ki’s stories about his sister, so I rode for Lord Jorvai’s holding the night I ran away and found her. I put all my trust in her, and she promised to make a soldier of me. Her methods weren’t quite as refined as yours, though.” Una grinned. “I must admit, I was a bit surprised when I met her. She’s much—rougher than Ki.”
Tamír laughed outright at that. “I’ve met his whole family, and that’s a very forgiving assessment. But tell me, why did you run away like that? There were rumors that you’d been killed by the king, or your father.”
“That’s not far from the truth. Father was terrified of losing favor with your uncle. He beat me and said I was to be sent off to live with some ancient aunt in the central islands until he could marry me off. So I ran away. All I took was this.” She touched her sword hilt. “It was my grandmother’s. Mother gave it to me with her blessing when I left. But things are different now, aren’t they? Women can be warriors again, even noblewomen.”
“Yes, even nobles.”
Forgetting her breeches and sword, Una made her a graceful curtsy. “You have my loyalty until death, Highness.”
Tamír bowed. “And I accept it. Now tell me honestly, do you think I look much like a girl?”
“Well—Perhaps if you combed your hair? And didn’t scowl so much?”
Tamír let out an unladylike snort, noting with a twinge of envy that Una really was quite pretty, with her smooth, dark hair and oval face.
Baldus peeked in just then. “It’s Mistress Iya, Highness. She wants to come in.”
Tamír frowned at the intrusion, but nodded.
Iya wore a gown of fine brown wool and a fancy leather girdle, and her long grey hair was combed loose over her shoulders, making her look younger and less severe than usual. She was carrying what looked like several dresses over one arm.
“Hello, Una. Good morning, Highness. Ki said you were awake. I hope you rested well?”
Tamír shrugged, eyeing the gowns with suspicion.
Iya smiled and held them up. “I’ve come to help you dress.”
“I’m not wearing those!”
“I’m afraid you must. There are already enough rumors flying about saying you’re only a boy playing at being a girl, without you adding to them. Please, Tamír, you must trust me in this. There’s nothing shameful about wearing a dress, is there, Lady Una? It hasn’t stopped you being a soldier.”
“No, Mistress.” Una shot Tamír an apologetic glance.
But there was still too much of Tobin in her for Tamír to give in so easily. “Ki and Tharin will laugh their heads off—and the rest of my guard, too! Damn it, Iya, I’ve worn breeches all my life. I’ll trip on the skirts. I’ll turn my ankles in slippers and look a fool!”
“All the more reason for you to get used to them now, before you have a great crowd of nobles and generals to impress. Come now, don’t make such a fuss.”
“I won’t ride in a gown,” Tamír warned. “And I sure as hell won’t ride sidesaddle! I don’t give a damn what anyone says.”
“Should a princess use such rough language?” asked Una, trying to stifle a smile and failing.
“One step at a time,” said Iya. “Besides, her grandmothers all swore like Scavenger men. Queen Marnil could make generals blush. For today, let’s just concentrate on appearances. Duchess Kallia will send her dressmaker to you. In the meantime, she was good enough to lend you some of her eldest daughter’s gowns. The two of you are close in size.”
Tamír blushed as she took off the nightgown, then felt a perfect fool as Iya and Una helped her into a linen shift and pulled a heavy green satin dress down over her head.
“What do you think of this one, before we lace it up?” asked Iya, turning her to face the mirror.
“I hate it!” Tamír snapped, barely glancing at her reflection.
“I admit that’s not a good color for you. Makes you look sallow. But you must wear something, and these are all we have.”
Tamír discarded one after another, grudgingly settling at last on a high-necked hunting gown of dark blue wool, mostly because it was plainer than any of the others, shorter in the front, and cut loose for easy movement. The laced sleeves were tied on at the shoulder, letting her move her arms easily. The style also allowed her to wear her boots rather than the soft shoes Iya had brought. When Una had laced it up, it was still loose through the bodice, but not as uncomfortable as she’d expected.
“This goes with it, I believe.” Iya handed her a leather girdle embossed with leaves and flowers. It fastened with a golden clasp and hung low on her slim hips, with a long gold-tipped end that hung down the front of the gown to her knees. Tamír picked it up, impressed with the workmanship. “This looks like Ylanti work.”
“You always did have an eye for fine things.” Una pulled out the sword pendant Tamír had made for her a few years earlier. “Are you still making jewelry?”
Tamír looked up, chagrined at being caught liking any part of this ridiculous outfit. “All my tools were lost in Ero.”
“You’ll find more, I’m sure,” said Iya. “You have the gift. You mustn’t ignore it. Now Una, see what you can do with that hair. My horse’s tail looks better.”
Tamír sat fidgeting as Una combed her hair. “Nothing too fancy. I don’t want to be fussing with it all the time like—like some girl!”
Una and Iya both chuckled at that.
“There’s no reason you can’t wear it as you always have,” Una told her, deftly replaiting the warrior braids. “All the women soldiers I know wear their hair loose, or in a long braid in back to keep it out of their faces. Let’s see how that looks.” She plaited Tamír’s hair back into a thick braid, then took a bit of red leather thong from her belt pouch. “See, no ribbons. And I promise not to make a bow, either. There. Have a look.”
Tamír faced the mirror again and was rather surprised at what she saw. “Hand me my sword belt.”
She buckled it on over the girdle, then checked her reflection again. The gown was actually rather flattering, making her look slender rather than skinny and angular. The small side braids and the sword still marked her as a warrior, but she looked less boyish than she had. She made an effort not to scowl. No one would call her a beauty, that was for certain, but her eyes seemed bluer, accented by the gown.
“I’ve been saving something for you. Your father entrusted it to me, years ago.” Iya produced a thin golden circlet from the folds of her robe and presented it to Tamír. It was beautiful, and very simple, just a band of gold engraved with a stylized wave pattern. “That’s Aurënfaie work. It was your mother’s.”
Tamír started to put it on, but Una stopped her. “No, it won’t look right with your hair back. Let me.”
She undid the large braid and combed the hair out with her fingers. Then she lifted the top layer and drew it up through the circlet before settling the ring around Tamír’s brow. She let the hair fall back over it, so that only the section of the band across Tamír’s brow showed. She smoothed the small braids back into place. “There! Now people will know you’re a princess.”
Tamír pulled the gold chain from around her neck and broke it, slipping off the two rings. She placed her father’s heavy black signet on her right forefinger, and the amethyst portrait ring on her left ring finger, where it fit perfectly. When she studied her reflection again, her expression was softer, almost wondering. This time, a girl was looking back at her, even if she did still feel like a boy in a dress.
Iya stood just behind her, one hand covering her mouth and a suspicious brightness in her eyes. “Oh, my dear girl, look at you—the true warrior queen returned at last. Una, call in Ki and Tharin, and Arkoniel, too, if he’s out there.”
Tamír stood nervously by the mirror as the men came in, with Baldus on their heels.
“You look pretty!” the little boy exclaimed.
“Thank you.” Tamír glared at Tharin and Ki, daring them to laugh.
“The lad’s right,” Tharin said, coming to her and turning her this way and that. “By the Flame! What do you say, Ki? Our girl polishes up well, doesn’t she?”
Ki had been staring at her all this time, not saying a word. At last he gave her a doubtful nod. “Better.”
“Better?” Tamír’s heart sank a little and she hated herself for it. Not in a dress for an hour yet and she was already acting like those girls at court!
“No, really,” Ki said quickly. “You’re much prettier with your hair fixed and all. That dress suits you, too. I bet you could fight in it if you had to.”
Tamír drew her sword and made a swift series of thrusts and feints. The skirts swirled around her legs, and she caught the hem with her bootheel once or twice. “It needs to be shorter.”
“You’ll start a new fashion,” Tharin said, grinning.
Una laughed. “Or a scandal!”
“Yes, it might be better if you put on breeches to fight,” mused Iya. “Failing that, though, if you’re caught off guard, try this.” She swept up the right side of her long skirt and tucked the hem into her girdle. “It’s easier to run like this, too.”
Tamír groaned, imagining a life hampered by gowns.
“Come along, Highness. Your court awaits,” Iya told her. “Let them see their queen and spread the word.”
Chapter 6 (#ulink_60915dbe-ce64-5570-91fc-b47b7bebce66)
Tamír’s first official audience was held in the villa courtyard. Flanked by her friends and new guard, she entered the winter-brown gardens to find a restless crowd of warriors, wizards, and frightened guild masters awaiting her, anxious for news.
She looked around, searching out familiar faces, and spotted Nikides slumped in an armchair near the fountain, talking with Lynx and Iya.
“I didn’t expect to see you up and around yet,” she exclaimed, oblivious to all the eyes following her as she strode over to give him an awkward hug.
“Healer’s orders,” he rasped. His round, unshaven face was parchment pale, but his eyes were shining with wonder as he stared at her.
She took his hand. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather. We could do with his counsel now.”
He nodded sadly. “He would have served you, and so will I.” He looked more closely at her. “You really are a girl. By the Light, I wanted to believe it, but it didn’t seem possible. I hope you’ll make me your court historian. I believe there are going to be wondrous things to record.”
“The post is yours. But I’m also in need of Companions. I’d like you and Lynx to be the first, along with Ki, of course.”
Nikides laughed. “Are you sure you want me? You already know what a poor swordsman I am.”
“You have other talents.” She turned to Lynx. His dark eyes were still haunted, even when he smiled. “What about you?”
“Be Lord Nikides’ squire, you mean? Lord Tharin did suggest it.”
“No. You’re my friend, and you’ve stood by me. I’m raising you to full Companion. You’ll both have to find squires of your own.”
Lynx blinked at her in surprise. “I’m honored, Highness, and you have my loyalty always! But you do know my father was only a knight? I’m a second son, with no holdings of my own.”
Tamír faced the assembly, hand on her sword hilt. “You all heard that, I suppose? Well, listen well. Loyal men and women who serve me well will be judged on their merits, not by their birth. There’s not a noble in Skala whose ancestors were born with circlets on their heads. If it is Illior’s will that I rule Skala, then I want it known that I look to people’s hearts and acts, not their birth. Nikides, you can record that as one of my first decrees if you like.”
She couldn’t tell if he was coughing or laughing as he bowed to her from his chair. “I shall make a note of it, Highness.”
“Let it be known that anyone I choose to elevate will be accorded as much respect as a noble of six generations. By the same token, I won’t think twice about taking away the title and holdings of those who prove themselves unworthy.”
She caught warning looks from Tharin and Iya, but most of the crowd cheered.
She turned to Una next. “What do you say, Lady Una? Will you join our ranks too?”
Una fell to one knee and offered her sword. “With all my heart, Highness!”
“That’s settled, then.”
Lynx knelt, too, and she drew her sword again and touched him on the shoulder. “I name you Lord—Wait, what’s your real name?”
Nikides seemed about to supply that bit of information, but Lynx stopped him with a sharp glance. “I’ve been called Lynx for so long, it feels like my true name. I’d remain so, if that’s acceptable.”
“As you like,” said Tamír. “I name you Lord Lynx, with lands and holdings to be determined later. Lady Una, I also accept your fealty. Your first charge as my Companions is to take good care of my royal chronicler. And yourselves,” she added with a warning look at Lynx.
Lynx gave her a guilty nod. “Bilairy doesn’t seem to want me yet, Highness.”
“Good. I can’t spare you.”
With that settled, she took the chair that had been set out for her and turned her attention to the assembled nobles. “My friends, I thank all of you for what you’ve done. I’ll be honest with you, as well. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen next. It seems I must go against my cousin, and anyone who upholds Korin’s claim to the throne. I do not want a civil war, but it could come to that. If any of you has had second thoughts about backing me, you’re free to go. No one will stop you. But go now.”
Silence greeted this offer, and no one moved. After a moment Lord Jorvai came forward and knelt before her, offering his sword. “I swore fealty to you on the battlefield, Highness, but I do so again before these witnesses. Accept Colath as your sworn ally.”
“And Illear,” Kyman said.
One by one, all the others reasserted their oaths. No one left.
Tamír stood and raised her hand to them. “I don’t hold the Sword of Ghërilain, or wear the crown, but with the authority of Illior and before these witnesses, I accept your fealty, confirm your holdings, and count you as my dear friends. I will never forget the sight of your banners coming to my aid when I needed you most.”
When she’d finished with the oaths, Tamír turned to the guild masters and mistresses who’d been waiting nervously for her attention. One after the other, men and women wearing the insignias of their offices knelt and pledged the loyalty of their guilds. Butchers, smiths, carters, bakers, masons—it seemed an endless stream, but Tamír was glad for a chance to mark the leaders of the city’s common classes.
Finally, with the sun almost at midday, she came to Iya and the wizards.
“Your valor during the battle will not be forgotten. My lords and good people, I ask you to honor these brave wizards.”
The throng bowed or cheered with varying degrees of enthusiasm. In spite of all the wizards had done, she knew that Niryn and his Harriers had left a bad taste in the mouths of many—one that made them regard all wizards with a degree of suspicion. In fact, the free wizards of Skala had always had a mixed reputation. For every grave and serious wizard like Iya, or kindly one like Arkoniel, there were a hundred ha’penny cheats and market fair conjurers. And there were those who, like Niryn, attached themselves to the rich and powerful for their own ends. While Tamír had her own reasons for mistrust, she owed a great deal already to the nineteen wizards Iya presented.
Some wore robes, but most were dressed like merchants or minor nobles. Others looked like humble travelers, and at least half of them bore wounds from the battle. She was glad to see the fair-haired young mind-clouder, Eyoli, among them. He’d helped her reach Atyion during the battle and nearly lost his life in the process.
Two of the wizards presented, Dylias and Zagur, looked as old as Iya. Kiriar and a very pretty woman introduced as Elisera of Almak, appeared to be Arkoniel’s age, although Tamír knew enough of wizards to realize that their true ages were as hard to guess as any Aurënfaie’s.
The last woman presented was by far the most intriguing. Grey-eyed Saruel of Khatme was Aurënfaie, and wore the elaborate red-and-black headcloth, or sen’gai, and the black robes of her people. The fine black facial tattoos and jewelry that also distinguished that clan made her age difficult to guess at, and since Aurënfaie aged even more slowly than Skalan wizard-born, the guess would probably have been wrong.
Tamír’s friend, Arengil of Gedre, had taught her something of his people’s ways. “May Aura be with you in the light, Saruel of Khatme,” she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing.
Saruel solemnly returned the gesture, her head tilted a bit to the left, as if she had trouble hearing. “And in the darkness, Tamír ä Ariani Agnalain of Skala.”
“I thought all the ’faie left Ero when the Harriers began burning wizards and priests?”
“I was one of those who shared the vision given to Mistress Iya. Aura Illustri, known to you as Illior Lightbearer, smiles upon you. Your uncle committed great evils upon your land and spat in the face of our god. You are the light sent to drive away the darkness spread by the Usurper and his dark wizards. It is my duty, and my great honor, to support you in whatever way I can.”
“I welcome your aid and your wisdom.” Such pledges were never lightly made to outsiders—Tirfaie, as the Aurënfaie called short-lived humankind. “Mistress Iya, how should I reward you and your people for your service?”
“We are not tradesmen or mercenaries, come to present a bill, Highness. You know of my vision about you, yet you don’t know the extent of what I’ve done to bring that vision to fruition.
“While you grew, Arkoniel and I traveled this land, seeking out others who’d had been granted so much as a glimpse of that same vision. Some of them stand here before you now. Others await word to join us and aid you. Not all of them are powerful, but the Lightbearer has called them nonetheless, to protect you, the queen who must be.
“I tell you now, before all these witnesses, that we were not charged by the Lightbearer simply to help you to this point, then walk away—”
“That’s the same sort of talk we heard from that traitor Niryn, when he gathered his gang together,” Kyman interrupted. “He claimed they were serving the throne, too. I mean no disrespect to you, Mistress, or any of your friends, nor do I discount what you’ve done. But I’m not the only Skalan who’s a bit skittish, seeing too many of your kind together in one place again.” He turned and bowed deeply to Tamír. “Forgive my plain speech, Highness, but it’s the truth.”
“I know better than you what Niryn did, my lord. Mistress Iya, what is it you’re proposing?”
“I understand the fears Niryn and his ilk have bred,” she replied calmly. “My ‘kind’ and I know still better than you, Highness, or anyone else here, the evil the Harriers practiced.”
She reached into a fold of her gown and held up a large silver brooch inset with the copper flame of Sakor. “The Harriers imposed these on us.” The others held up brooches of their own, all except Arkoniel and Eyoli. Numbers were stamped on the back of each, a different one for each wizard. Iya’s was marked 222.
“They listed us in their ledgers like cattle.” Iya tossed the brooch on the pavement at her feet. The other wizards did the same, making a small, glittering pile. “Every free wizard in Ero was made to wear one of these,” she went on bitterly. “Those who resisted burned. Wizards who’d sworn to aid you were among them, Highness. I felt the flames as they died. Niryn meant to teach us our place, teach us to fear, but instead, he made me remember something.
“Most wizards are solitary by nature, it’s true, but in the time of your ancestor and the Great War, many of us came together with the queen and fought against the Plenimarans and their necromancers. The great chroniclers of that age credit them with stemming the tide of war.
“Niryn and his white-robed murderers reminded me what wizards can accomplish by joining forces. If the Harriers could create such power for evil, then isn’t great good also possible? I swear to you by our most sacred oath, Highness—by Illior’s Light and by my hands, heart, and eyes—that the wizards who stand before you today seek to forge a union for the good of Skala, as in the days of your ancestor, and to support you, Illior’s chosen one. We have no greater desire than that. With your permission, we would demonstrate our good faith and the power of unity before these witnesses.”
“Go ahead.”
Iya and the others formed a circle around the cast-off brooches. Iya raised her hands over them and the metal melted into a steaming puddle. Dylias waved a hand and the metal formed into a perfect sphere. At Kiriar’s command it floated up to eye level. Zagur made a sigil on the air with a polished wooden wand and the sphere flattened to a disk, forming itself into a silver mirror. Saruel stepped forward and wove a pattern on the air and the edges were transformed into a delicate frame of Aurënfaie floral tracery. Finally, Arkoniel cast a spell on the air, opening a small black portal. The mirror disappeared into it and dropped out of thin air into Tamír’s hands. The metal was still warm.
She held it up, admiring the exquisite workmanship. The intertwined copper leaves and vines that framed it were as good as anything she’d seen in a silversmith’s stall.
“It’s lovely!” She handed it to Ki to see, and it passed from hand to hand around the courtyard.
“I’m glad it pleases you, Highness. Please accept this as a gift of the Third Orëska,” said Iya.
“The what?” asked Illardi.
“Orëska is an Aurënfaie word meaning mage-born,” Iya explained. “Their magic passed by blood to our people, the free wizards, or Second Orëska. We are different in our powers than the ’faie, and often not as powerful. But now we mean to make a new kind of magic and a new way of practicing it, as you have just seen. Thus, we are a new, third sort.”
“And your Third Orëska will serve Skala?” asked Kyman.
“Yes, my lord. It is Illior’s will.”
“And you want nothing in return?” Kyman still looked skeptical.
“We ask only for the queen’s trust, my lord, and a safe place to nurture and teach the wizard-born.”
Tamír heard a few snorts and mutterings from the crowd but she ignored them, thinking of the orphans Arkoniel had already gathered and protected—just like he and Iya had protected her. “You will have it, as long as I have your loyalty.
“Now, we must turn our thoughts to Ero. Duke Illardi, what do you have to report?”
“The winter crops were not much damaged by the Plenimarans, but the grain stores were lost. If the spring crops aren’t planted, you risk starvation by winter. At the moment, however, it’s shelter and disease that most concern me. If the people scatter away to other cities, they may carry illness with them. But you can’t expect them to live on the plain in tents forever, either. Some sort of succor must be given, or you’ll have a rebellion on your hands before you’ve even begun.”
“Of course, they must be helped.”
“And they must know their help comes from you, Highness,” said Tharin. “Atyion has ample stores to draw from. Send for food, clothing, and lumber. Those the drysians deem healthy could be allowed to go there, or wherever they have kin. The rest must be looked after here.”
Tamír nodded. “Send word to my steward there at once. Lady Lytia knows best what to do. I’ve also decided to make Atyion my new capital. It’s defensible and has the resources to supply and house an army. With the treasury at Ero lost, I’ve little to work with here.
“Now, regarding Korin. I need to know where he is and if he can be reasoned with. I need to know how many wizards Niryn has with him, too. As long as old Fox Beard is with my cousin, I believe he’ll be a poisonous influence. Jorvai, Kyman, I want you to organize scouting parties. Make arrangements among your best riders and report back to me this afternoon. Thank you all again for your support.”
The audience had gone well enough, but speaking for so long had left Tamír tired and off-balance. As a young prince, she’d been groomed for leadership, but she still felt far more at home on the battlefield with a sword in her hand. These people were not asking her simply to win a battle, but decide the fate of the land.
All that, and learn to walk in skirts, she amended sourly as the assembly broke up. It was quite enough for one morning.
She caught Ki by the elbow and drew him away with her. “Come on, I need to walk.”
“You did well,” he exclaimed softly, falling in beside her.
“I hope so.” She made her way up to the wall walk overlooking the harbor and the distant citadel. The long hem of her dress was a hazard on the ladder. She caught her foot and nearly fell on top of him.
“Damnation! Give me a moment.” She braced her feet on the rungs and pulled up the edge of the skirt and undergown, tucking the hems into her leather girdle the way Iya had shown her. It worked rather well. By the time she reached the top of the ladder, she already had an idea for a special sort of brooch for the purpose. Her fingers itched for a stylus and tablet.
The sentries on duty bowed respectfully as they passed. She and Ki paced the wall for a while, then stopped at an empty embrasure and leaned on the parapet, watching the gulls circling over the waves. The day was clear, the water green and silver in the afternoon light. If she only looked east, the world seemed clean and free. Behind her, the city still smoldered, a blackened ruin, and the beaches were littered with broken ships.
“All that you said about advancing men on merit, and loyalty being rewarded? They could tell you meant it,” Ki said at last. “You had the heart of every warrior in that yard! I saw Iya whispering to Arkoniel, too. I bet even she was impressed.”
Tamír frowned out at the sea.
Ki rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re still angry at her about all that’s happened, and the way they lied to you. But I’ve been thinking it over and I see why they did all that.
“I’m mad at them, too,” he went on. “Well, mostly Arkoniel, since he was the one we knew best. Only … Well, I’ve been thinking. Don’t you suppose maybe it was hard on him, too? I see the way he watches you, and how proud he looks sometimes, but sad, too. Maybe you ought to give him another chance?”
Tamír gave him a grudging shrug. Anxious to change the subject, she tugged at the skirt of her gown. “So you don’t think I look like a complete fool in this?”
“Well, I’m still getting used to it,” Ki admitted.
“And I have to squat to piss,” she muttered.
“Does it hurt? Where your cock and balls came off, I mean? I damn near fainted when that happened.”
Tamír shuddered at the memory. “No, it doesn’t hurt, but I can’t let myself think much on it. I just feel—empty there. I don’t mind the tits half so much as that. It’s like I’m one of those poor bastards the Plenimarans castrated!”
Ki grimaced and leaned in beside her, resting his shoulder against hers. She leaned gratefully into him. For a moment they just stood there, watching the gulls.
After a moment he cleared his throat and said without looking at her, “Illior might have taken that away, but you’ve got a girl’s—parts in their place, right? It’s not like you’re a eunuch or anything.”
“I guess so.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You guess so?”
“I haven’t exactly explored,” she confessed miserably. “Every time I think of it, I feel sick.”
Ki fell silent and when she was finally able to look at him, she found he’d blushed scarlet right up to his ears. “What?”
He shook his head and leaned over the parapet, still not looking at her.
“Come on, Ki! I can tell when you’ve got something to say.”
“It’s not my place.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that from you. What is it?”
“Well—if you are a proper girl there, then—” He broke off, reddening even more.
“Bilairy’s balls, Ki, just come out with it!”
He groaned. “Well, if you are a true girl, then you haven’t really lost anything. For fuc—for fun, I mean. Girls tell me they enjoy it just as much as men do.”
Tamír couldn’t look at him either, knowing he was talking about girls he’d bedded.
“That’s what all my father’s women and my older sisters always claimed, anyway, that women are more randy than men,” he added quickly. “Maybe not the first time or two, but after that? All the ones I know claim to like doing it.”
“I guess you’d know about that,” Tamír replied.
Ki was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “You never did any of that, did you?”
“No. I didn’t fancy girls.”
Ki nodded and returned to his contemplation of the sea. They both knew whom she had fancied.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_348b40b9-ea9d-5ba4-9a45-fed48ccace3e)
Lutha sat alone, far down the long table from Korin and the others, among soldiers and minor lords he didn’t know, men who had drifted into Cirna looking for a king to serve. They knew who Lutha was, though, and eyed him curiously over their wine, no doubt wondering what he was doing so far from his rightful place. They probably thought he was in disgrace and they weren’t far off.
Shame and resentment smoldered in Lutha’s heart as he watched Korin and the older Companions laughing with Niryn while Caliel, ignored, stared glumly into his mazer. Lutha had joined the Companions when he was eight years old and served Korin loyally every day since. So had Cal. Now Korin hardly spoke to either of them. And all because, their first morning here, Caliel had suggested that a Companion go back to Ero to learn the truth about Tobin and Lutha had agreed.
There had always been rumors about Tobin—the madness in his family, the demon ghost, and of course, the gossip about him and Ki. Neither Lutha nor Caliel knew what to make of this latest business, though. They’d swum naked with Tobin too many times to believe he’d been a girl in boy’s clothes. Now Lutha was torn between wondering if Tobin had somehow gone mad overnight, or if he’d just suddenly turned traitor and liar. Lutha couldn’t imagine the Tobin he knew doing either, much less Ki going along with such a farce. No, something very strange indeed was going on.
Tired of the sidelong glances of his tablemates, Lutha wanted nothing more than to steal off to his room with Barieus or Caliel and a skin of wine, but Caliel wouldn’t leave Korin’s side and Barieus currently had his hands full, trying to fill the serving duties of his fellow squires who’d fallen at Ero.
So few of us left, he thought, taking another sip of wine to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. He missed Nikides most of all. He’d been Lutha’s first friend at court, and now he was dead. Barieus had taken it hard, too, and was also quietly pining for Lynx, for whom he had a bit of a fancy.
If Korin missed them, too, he showed it by drinking more than ever at night and Niryn only seemed to encourage such behavior. With Caliel under a cloud and Tanil gone, there was no one left to curb Korin. Master Porion was as disapproving as ever, but there was little he could say, given his rank. Korin was no longer the old swordsman’s student, but his king.
It was a strange and cheerless court they kept here. Korin claimed to be the rightful king of Skala, and had even had himself crowned by a trembling priest, but they lived like exiles on this lonely, windswept stretch of the isthmus.
The fortress yards still stank of blood and fire. The garrison, still loyal to Tobin, had tried to resist, but Erius had made Niryn Protector here, and he’d had his Red Hawk Guard at the ready. They cut down the Cirna men and opened the gates to Korin. The sight of all those Skalans dead by Skalan hands had turned Lutha’s stomach the night they’d ridden in. There were women among the dead, too, and even a little page who couldn’t have been more than six. Someone had run him through. What sort of warrior killed a page?
Cirna was a formidable defensive position, though, one of the most critical in the land. It stood at the narrowest point on the land bridge connecting the Skalan peninsula to the rich farmland territory to the north. A man with a good strong arm could throw a stone into the Osiat Sea from the western wall; from the eastern wall an archer could shoot an arrow into the Inner Sea.
That also meant, however, that whichever way the wind came from, it carried the damp and salt and left it on every surface. The bedsheets were clammy and every door in the place was warped, their hinges stiff and loud with rust. No matter how many times Lutha licked his lips, he always tasted salt. Even the great hall was perpetually dank and cold, despite the hearth fires and torches that burned there day and night.
Korin was bantering drunkenly with Alben now, reaching around Niryn to tug at a lock of the young lord’s prized long black hair. Alben laughed and pushed him away. Korin swayed on the bench, jostling Caliel’s arm and spilling his wine. Alben lurched back into Urmanis, sitting beside him. Urmanis swore and pushed him back. Alben lost his balance and tumbled backward off the bench amidst much laughter. Even Old Fox Beard joined in. The wizard was especially thick with those two now, and had tried to court Caliel, but Caliel kept his distance from the man.
Lutha had never cared much for Alben or Urmanis. They were arrogant and could be mean bastards when they chose, which was often enough. They’d always gone along with all Korin’s whims, no matter how base, and they were in high favor these days.
Poor Caliel was another matter. He still had his place at the table, but something was very wrong between him and Korin. Dark-eyed, golden-haired Cal had always been the sun to Korin’s moody clouds, the one among them who, together with Tanil, could cajole him out of a vicious prank or get him to bed before he poisoned himself completely with wine. Korin seldom listened to him anymore.
Korin was better in daylight, perhaps because he stayed sober then. Still dressed in mourning, he greeted the worried nobles flocking to his court, accompanied by the remaining Companions and Porion. He wore his grief with a dignity beyond his years. In less than a year’s time he’d lost wife, child, father, and capital. Men who hadn’t seen him hesitate in battle were drawn in by his flashing eyes and ready smile. They saw his father in him: strong, hearty, and charming. Nobles old enough to be Korin’s grandfather knelt with tears in their eyes to kiss his ring and touch the hilt of the great sword at his belt. At times like that Lutha could almost forget his own doubts.
Late at night, in the privacy of his own hall, however, Korin drank more heavily than ever and that grim, haunted look returned. It was the same look he’d had after their first raid, and when he’d gotten them all cornered in Ero. When Korin was drunk, the fear showed through. And Niryn was always there at the young king’s elbow, whispering.
“Advising him,” Old Fox Beard called the bile he fed Korin.
Niryn usually kept out of sight during the day, and Lutha kept as far from the man as he could at any hour. He’d felt the wizard’s gaze on him too often. Anyone could see that Niryn meant for Korin to take up where his father had left off, but Lutha was smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself.
A few lords and officers who’d dared speak their minds had already been hanged in the bailey yard, including a handsome and popular young captain named Faren, from Duke Wethring’s regiment. His bloated corpse still hung in the yard, twisting slowly in the unrelenting breeze with a placard around its neck. It bore a single epithet scrawled in large letters: Traitor.
Only Caliel still dared stand up to the wizard, and Lutha feared for him. Others might feel the same, and Lutha knew of those who did, but Caliel was too hot-blooded and loyal to hold his tongue. He braved the warning signs and Korin’s occasional bouts of drunken abuse and stayed by his friend, even when it seemed he was not wanted.
You’re going to land yourself in the dungeon, or worse,” Lutha warned him one night as they huddled together in a sheltered corner of the windswept battlements.
Caliel leaned down and put his mouth close to Lutha’s ear. “I can’t just stand by and watch that creature steal his soul.”
It sent a chill through him that even here, alone, Caliel wouldn’t speak Niryn’s name aloud.
In addition to the few surviving Harrier wizards and his “grey-back” Guard, Niryn had Moriel. Moriel the Toad. Moriel looked more like a white rat with his pale hair and long sharp nose, but he had the cold, hungry heart of a toad. He’d lurked around court ever since his first patron, Lord Orun, had tried to put him in Ki’s place as squire.
Neither Tobin nor Korin would have anything to do with him, but he’d somehow managed to attach himself to Niryn after Orun’s death, and now it seemed there was no getting rid of the little shit short of poisoning his soup. He was called the wizard’s secretary, and though he seemed to be perpetually at the man’s side like a bleached, moist-eyed shadow, he was still up to his old tricks. He had sharp eyes and long ears and a nasty habit of turning up where he was least expected. It was whispered among the common soldiers that it had been on Moriel’s evidence that Captain Faren had been hanged.
Lutha caught sight of him now, approaching along the wall walk. Caliel snorted softly, then leaned on the parapet, as if he and Lutha were simply taking in the view.
Moriel came abreast of them and paused, as if expecting a greeting. Caliel turned his back coldly, and Lutha did the same.
“Pardon me,” Moriel murmured in that oily, insinuating tone he’d picked up from his time in Lord Orun’s house. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a lovers’ tryst.”
Caliel watched him walk out of sight, then muttered, “Filthy little ass-licker. One of these days I’ll find an excuse to slit his throat.”
Lutha elbowed him, nodding at a white-robed figure ghosting across the misty yard just below. It was impossible to tell if it was Niryn or one of his remaining wizards, but it was safest to assume that all of them were spies.
Caliel stayed silent until the wizard was out of sight. Lutha noticed how he rubbed absently at the golden ring on his right forefinger. It was the hawk ring Tobin had made for him. Caliel still wore it, even now, just as Lutha still wore the horse charm Tobin had made for him.
“This isn’t the Skala I was raised to fight for,” Caliel muttered.
Lutha waited for him to add, “This isn’t the Korin I know,” but Caliel just nodded to him and walked away.
Not yet ready to face his damp bed, Lutha lingered behind. The moon was struggling out from behind the clouds, silvering the sea fog rising over the Osiat. Somewhere out there, beyond the scattered islands, lay Aurënen, and Gedre. He wondered if their friend Arengil was awake there, looking north and wondering about them.
Lutha still cringed at the memory of the day Erius had caught them giving sword lessons to the girls on the Old Palace roof. Arengil had been sent home in disgrace and Una had disappeared. Lutha wondered if he’d ever see them again. No one handled hawks better than Arengil.
As he started for the stairs, a flash of movement on the tower balcony caught his eye. Lamps still glowed through the windows there, and he could make out a lone figure looking down at him—Nalia, Consort of Skala. Without thinking, he waved. He thought he saw her return the gesture before she disappeared inside.
“Good night, Highness,” he whispered. By rights, she was a princess, but in fact she was little better than a prisoner.
Lutha had spoken with the young woman only once before, the day of her hasty marriage to Korin. Lady Nalia was not pretty, it was true, her plain features marred by a mottled red birthmark that covered one cheek. But she was well-spoken and gracious, and there was a sad pride in her bearing that had pulled at Lutha’s heartstrings. No one knew where Niryn had found a girl of the blood, but Korin and the priests seemed satisfied of her lineage.
Something wasn’t right, though. Clearly she’d married under duress, and since then she wasn’t allowed out of her tower except for the occasional brief, heavily guarded walk on the battlements at night. She didn’t join them for meals, or go for rides or hunts, like a noblewoman should. Niryn claimed that it wasn’t safe for her to go out, that she was too precious as the last true female heir of the blood, and that the times were too uncertain.
“Doesn’t it seem a bit odd that she can’t even come down to the hall for supper?” Lutha had asked Caliel. “If she’s not safe there, then things are worse than anyone’s letting on!”
“It’s not that,” muttered Caliel. “He can’t stand the sight of her, poor thing.”
Lutha’s heart ached for her. If she’d been stupid, or petty like Korin’s first wife, then he might have been able to forget her in that tower. As it was, he found himself fretting for her, especially when he caught glimpses of her at her window or on her balcony, gazing longingly at the sea.
He sighed and headed back to his room, hoping Barieus had the bed warmed up for him.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_6f844db2-33d5-54bb-ae7d-acae644089c6)
Nalia flinched back from the low parapet and stole a guilty look at Tomara, who sat knitting in the chair by the open door behind her. She hadn’t noticed the young man on the walls below until he’d waved.
She hadn’t been looking for anyone. She’d been staring down into the paved yard below the tower, gauging yet again whether or not she’d die at once if she jumped. It would be such a simple matter. The parapet was low, hardly up to her waist. She could stand on it, or simply climb over and let go. She didn’t think Tomara was strong enough to stop her.
A moment’s courage and she would be free from this dishonorable captivity.
If Lord Lutha hadn’t startled her, she might have managed it tonight. Instead, his brief, friendly gesture had sent her shrinking back from the edge, worrying that Tomara had noticed her impulsive response.
But she just looked up from her handiwork and smiled. “It’s a chilly night, my lady. Close the door and I’ll make us some tea.”
Nalia sat at the small writing desk and watched as Tomara set about preparing the pot, but her thoughts strayed back to Lutha’s kind gesture. She pressed a hand to her breast, blinking back tears. How could something as simple as a wave to a stranger in the night make my heart race like this? Perhaps because it had been the closest thing to simple human kindness she’d known in the weeks since this nightmare had descended?
If I had the courage to go back out and do as I planned, would he still be there to see? Would he be sad that I was dead? Would anyone?
She doubted it. Korin, and the few servants and guards she was allowed to see—even Niryn—they all called her Consort now, but she was nothing but a prisoner, a pawn in their game. How could such a thing have happened?
She’d been so happy, growing up in Ilear. But Niryn—the man she’d called guardian, and then lover—he had betrayed her with breathtaking cruelty, and now he expected her thanks.
“It’s safer here, my darling,” he told her, when he’d first brought her to this awful, lonely place. Nalia had hated it the moment she’d set eyes on it, but she’d tried to be brave. After all, Niryn had promised he could come to her more often.
But he hadn’t, and a few months later madness took the garrison. One faction of soldiers, the ones with the red hawks on their grey tabards, attacked the Cirna guard. The sounds that came to her window from the yards that night had been horrifying. She’d cowered in her chamber with her nurse and little page, thinking the world was ending.
Niryn had come that night, but not to save her. With no warning or explanation he’d ushered in an unkempt, hollow-eyed young stranger who stank of blood and sweat and wine.
Niryn, who’d played with her as a child and taught her the joys of the bedchamber and made her forget her own flawed reflection—that monster had simply smiled and said, “Lady Nalia, allow me to present your new husband.”
She’d fainted dead away.
When she’d come around again she was lying on her bed and Prince Korin was sitting there, watching her. He must not have realized she was awake at first, because she caught the look of revulsion on his face just before it disappeared. He, all bloody and stinking, the invader of her chamber, looking at her that way!
They were alone, and she cried out and cowered back from him, thinking he meant to rape her.
To his credit, Korin had been kind. “I’ve never forced a woman in my life,” he told her. He was handsome under all that grime, she couldn’t help noting, and so very earnest. “You are of royal blood, a kinswoman. I have no wish to dishonor you.”
“Then what do you want?” she asked faintly, pulling the coverlet up to her chin over her shift.
He’d looked a bit confused at that. Perhaps he thought Niryn’s cold introduction was explanation enough. “My father, the king, is dead. I am king now.” He took her hand in his dirty one and tried to smile, but it was a sickly attempt. His gaze kept straying to the livid mark that ran like spilled wine from her mouth to her shoulder. “I need a consort. You will bear the heirs of Skala.”
Nalia had laughed in his face. All she could think to say was, “And Niryn has no objection?” Some part of her poor, addled mind could not yet grasp that her lover, her protector, had betrayed her.
Korin had frowned at that. “Lord Niryn was guided by prophecy to protect and hide you so that you could fulfill this destiny.”
But he was my lover! He’s had me to his bed countless times! She tried to throw the words in his face, thinking it the only way to save herself from such disgrace. But nothing came out, not so much as a whisper. An icy numbness took her lips, then spread down her throat, on down to engulf her heart and belly, and pooled at last between her legs, where it changed to a brief, hot tingle, like a lover’s parting kiss. She gasped and blushed, but the silence held. Some magic had been laid on her. But how? And by whom?
Mistaking her intent, Korin raised her hand to his lips. His silky black moustache tickled against her skin so differently than Niryn’s coppery beard. “We will be properly married, lady. I’ll come to you with a priest tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nalia said. Her voice was hers again, though faint. “So soon?”
“These are uncertain times. Later, when things are more settled, perhaps we can have a proper wedding feast. For now, it only matters that our child be legitimate.”
Our child. So she was to be nothing but a royal broodmare. For the first time in her young life, Nalia felt the beginnings of true anger.
Your friend Niryn has been in my bed more times than I can count! How she longed to shout it, but again the icy coldness stopped her lips and her breath with it. She pressed a hand to her useless mouth as tears of frustration and fear rolled down her cheeks.
Korin noticed her distress and to his credit, she saw genuine concern in those dark eyes. “Please don’t cry, lady. I know this is all very sudden.” Then he spoiled it again, when he stood to go and added, “It’s not my choice, either. But we must think of Skala.”
Alone again, she’d pulled the covers over her head and sobbed. She had no family, no protectors, no friend to turn to.
She wept long into the night, and fell asleep on the sodden pillow. When she woke at dawn, she found she was still alone and had no tears left.
She went to the east window, watching the sky brighten over the Inner Sea. Men with red hawks on their breasts patrolled the walls below, while the true birds rode the morning breeze in freedom beyond.
I’ve never been free, she realized. It had all been an illusion and she’d been such a contented fool. The anger she’d felt last night returned, stronger now. If she had no one to look to for help, then she must look after herself. She was not a child, after all. And she was done being a fool.
Vena and Alin hadn’t been allowed to come back yet, so she dressed herself and went to the writing desk. If she could not speak the truth to the prince, then she would write him a letter.
But whoever had bespelled her had been very clever. Her hand froze above the page and the ink in the quill went dry at each attempt. With a frightened cry, Nalia threw the pen down and backed away from the table. Niryn had entertained her with tales of great magic ever since she was a child, but she’d never witnessed anything more powerful than a festival conjurer’s tricks. This felt more like a curse. She tried to speak the words again, alone here in the stillness of her room. King Korin, I am not a virgin. But the words would not come. She thought again of that strange sensation that had overtaken her the first time she’d tried to confess the truth to him, the way it had coursed down through her body.
“Oh Dalna!” she whispered, sinking to her knees. With trembling fingers, she reached beneath her shift, then let out a frightened sob. “Maker’s Mercy!”
She was cursed indeed, and a virgin again. That had been the first time she’d thought of the balcony, and the long drop below.
Her nurse and page never returned. Instead, wrinkled old Tomara was sent up to serve her and keep her company.
“Where are my own servants?” Nalia demanded angrily.
“I don’t know anything about any other servants, Highness,” the old woman replied. “I was fetched up from the village and told I was to wait on a great lady. I haven’t done since my mistress passed some years ago, but I can still mend and braid. Come now, let me brush out your pretty hair for you, won’t you?”
Tomara was gentle and neat-handed, and there was nothing in her manner to dislike, but Nalia missed her own servants. She suffered through her toilet, then took her place by the window, trying to see what was going on below. She could see riders milling about and hear them on the road beyond the walls.
“Do you know what’s happened?” she asked at last, with no one else to talk to.
“Ero’s fallen, and a traitor is trying to claim the throne, Highness,” Tomara told her, looking up from a piece of embroidery. It appeared to be a bridal veil.
“Do you know who Lord Niryn is?”
“Why, he’s the king’s wizard, lady!”
“Wizard?” For a moment Nalia thought her heart had stopped beating. A wizard. And one powerful enough to serve a king.
“Oh, yes! He saved King Korin’s life at Ero and got him away before the Plenimarans could capture him.”
Nalia considered this, putting it together with the disheveled man who’d come to her last night. He ran away, this new king of mine. He lost the city and ran away. And I’m the best he can do for a wife!
The bitter thought was balm on her wounded heart. It gave her the strength not to scream and throw herself at Niryn when he came to her later that morning, to escort her to the priest.
She had no proper wedding dress. She’d put on the best gown she owned, and the hastily stitched veil Tomara had made for her. She didn’t even have a proper wreath. Tomara brought her a simple circlet of braided wheat.
There were no gaily attired attendants or musicians, either. Men with swords escorted her to the great hall. The midday light streaming in through the few narrow windows only made the shadows deeper. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw that the wedding guests were all soldiers and servants. The priest of Dalna stood by the hearth, and with him were a handful of young nobles, the Companions.
With no father to speak for her, Nalia was given over by Niryn, and had no choice but to obey. When the blessings had been said and Korin took a jeweled ring from his own finger and slid it loosely on her own, she found she was a wife, and Princess Consort of Skala.
Afterward, as they sat over a meager feast, she was introduced to the Companions. Lord Caliel was tall and fair, with a kind, rather sad face. Lord Lutha was hardly more than a boy, gangly and a bit on the homely side, but with such a ready smile that she found herself smiling back and taking his hand. His squire, a brown-eyed boy named Barieus, had the same kind look about him. The two others, Lord Alben and Lord Urmanis, were more what she’d expected; proud and handsome, and doing little to disguise their disdain for her plain looks. Even their squires were rude.
Finally, Korin presented his swordmaster, a grizzled old warrior named Porion. The man was pleasant and respectful, but hardly more than a common soldier, yet Korin treated him with the utmost respect. Taken all together, with Niryn’s wizards, too, it was an odd assembly that surrounded her young husband. Nalia pondered this as she picked listlessly at her roast lamb.
When the meal was over she was left to herself in the tower again, until nightfall. Tomara had found oils and perfume somewhere in this awful place. She prepared Nalia for her marriage bed, then slipped away.
Nalia lay rigid as a corpse. She had no illusions and knew her duty. When the door opened at last, however, it was not Korin but Niryn who entered and came to stand over her bed.
“You!” she hissed, shrinking back against the bolsters. “You viper! You betrayer!”
Niryn smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Now, now. Is that any way to speak to your benefactor, my dear?”
“Benefactor? How can you say that? If I had a dagger I would plunge it into your heart, so that you might feel a fraction of the pain you’ve caused me!”
His red beard caught the candle’s glow as he shook his head. There was a time when she’d found that color beautiful. “I saved your life, Nalia, when you would have died in the king’s purges. Your mother and all her kin were killed, but I protected and nurtured you, and now I’ve seen you made Consort. Your children will rule Skala. How is that a betrayal?”
“I loved you! I trusted you! How could you let me think you were my lover when you never meant to keep me?” She was crying, and hated herself for her weakness.
Niryn reached out and caught one of her tears with a fingertip. He held it up to the candlelight, admiring it like a rare jewel. “I must confess a bit of weakness on my part. You were such a dear, affectionate little thing. If Korin had found himself a suitable bride, who knows? I might even have kept you for myself.”
Once again, anger burned away the tears. “You dare speak of me as if I’m some hound or horse you acquired! Is that really all I was to you?”
“No, Nalia.” His voice was tender as he leaned forward and cupped her cheek, and in spite of herself, she leaned a little into that familiar caress. “You are the future, my dear little bird. Mine. Skala’s. Through you, with Korin’s seed, I will bring peace and order back to the world.”
Nalia stared at him in disbelief as he rose to go. “And you knew all this, when you found me orphaned as a babe? How?”
Niryn smiled, and something in it chilled her heart. “I am a great wizard, my dear, and touched by the gods. I was shown this many times, in visions. It is your fate, your destiny.”
“A wizard!” she threw after him as he went to the door. “Tell me, was it you who bespelled me and made me a virgin again?”
This time his smile was answer enough.
A little while later Korin came to her, stinking of wine the way he had that first night, but clean this time. He stripped naked without so much as looking at her, revealing a fine young body but a lagging arousal. He hesitated by the bed, then blew out the candle and climbed on top of her between the sheets. He didn’t even bother to kiss her before pulling up her nightdress and rubbing his soft member between her legs to make himself hard. He found her breasts and stroked them, then fumbled between her legs, trying clumsily to pleasure her a little and get her ready.
Nalia was grateful for the darkness, so that her new husband would not see the shamed, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She bit her lip and held her breath, not wanting to betray herself as she resisted memories of sweeter lovemaking, now tainted forever.
Nalia cried out when her false maidenhead was torn, but she doubted he noticed or cared. Her new husband seemed in a greater hurry than she was herself to be done with the act, and when he spewed inside her, it was with another woman’s name on his lips: Aliya. She thought he might be weeping when it was over, but he’d rolled off and left her before she could be certain.
And so ended the wedding night of the Consort of Skala.
The memory still burned her with shame and anger but Nalia could take comfort in the fact that so far, she had refused her captors the one thing they wanted from her. Her moon blood had come and gone. Her womb remained empty.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_f25f22c0-6767-5cef-bbeb-075adbd8305f)
Despite her best intentions, Tamír lost hope of leaving for Atyion anytime soon. There was still too much to do in Ero.
The sporadic spring rains held on. The footpaths between rows of hastily built shacks and tents were often more channels than byways. There’d been no time to establish wards. Nobles unlucky enough to have no estate to retreat to found themselves cheek by jowl with tradesmen’s families or half-starved beggars who’d found their way here, hoping for the queen’s generosity.
Tamír was on her feet or in the saddle from dawn until dusk, when she wasn’t holding court. Meals were often a bit of bread and meat passed to her while she worked.
The conditions had one advantage; so far, no one had tried to make her wear a dress outside of Illardi’s house. Out here she was free to stride around in boots and breeches.
The first supplies from Atyion arrived at last, in a caravan led by Lady Syra, whom Lytia had appointed as her understeward.
Tamír rode out to meet her as the caravan reached the settlement.
“Highness!” Syra curtsied, then presented her with the manifest. “I’ve brought canvas, blankets, ale, flour, salted mutton, dried fish, cheese, dry beans, firewood, and herbs for healing. More is on the way. Lady Lytia has organized temporary accommodations in the town and castle yards for those you send for shelter there.”
“Thank you. I knew she’d arrange things properly.” Tamír took a sealed document from the sleeve of her tunic and handed it to her. “I’m deeding the hundred acres of fallow ground between the north wall and the sea for an expansion of the town. People can build and settle there, and pay rent to the castle. See that she gets this.”
“I will, Highness. But does this mean you’ve decided not to rebuild Ero?”
“The drysians say the wells and earth are too badly tainted. It will take more than a year to clear. And the priests all claim it’s cursed ground. I’m being advised to burn what’s left, to purify the land. Skala must have a new capital, a stronger one. For now, it will be Atyion.”
“Now if we could just make you go there,” muttered Ki, and some of the other Companions chuckled.
A crowd was already gathering as word of supplies spread among the shacks. Tamír saw gratitude in the faces of some, but also greed, anger, impatience, and despair. There were still nearly eight thousand of them on the plain, not counting the soldiers, and there had been too many incidents of violence. Her bailiffs came before her daily to present reports of theft, rapes, and other crimes. The laws were still in force and she’d ordered more hangings than she cared to think about, but it was an impossible situation.
And this was only a temporary respite, she reminded herself. What winter crops had escaped the blight would soon be rotting in the fields if they weren’t gathered, and most of the spring crops had not been sown. By winter they must all have a harvest and a proper roof over their heads or more would perish.
Exhausting as this all was, Tamír was glad to be so busy all day long. It gave her an excuse to avoid the wizards and kept her mind off what the nights held.
Brother left her alone by day, but in the darkness the angry spirit invaded her room or her dreams, demanding justice.
To make matters worse, after a few awkward nights together with little sleep for either of them, Ki had taken to sleeping in the dressing room of her bedchamber. He’d said nothing, just quietly made the change. Now and then he also asked leave to go riding on his own after the evening meal. He’d never needed to be apart from her before. She wondered if he was looking for a girl—a real girl, she amended bitterly—to tumble.
Ki went out of his way to treat her as he always had, but something was irrevocably changed between them and there was no use pretending otherwise. When he disappeared into that little side room each night he left the door open between them, but he might as well have been in Atyion.
Tonight was no different. He’d seemed happy enough as he joined her and the other Companions for a game of bakshi, but when it broke up a few hours later he made some excuse and left. Lynx slipped out after him, as he sometimes did. Tamír longed to ask him where Ki went, but pride kept her silent.
“It’s not as if I’m his wife,” she growled, striding back to her own room.
“What was that, Highness?” asked Una, who’d been closer behind her than she’d thought.
“Nothing,” Tamír snapped, embarrassed.
Baldus had prepared her room for the night. He looked expectantly behind her as Tamír came in. Looking for Ki, she thought.
Una helped Tamír off with her circlet and boots, and Baldus hung her sword belt on the rack with her armor.
“Thank you. I can manage the rest myself.”
But Una lingered a moment, looking like she had something to say.
Tamír raised an eyebrow. “Well? What is it?”
Una hesitated, shooting a glance at the boy. Coming closer, she lowered her voice. “Ki? He’s not off to see a lover, you know.”
Tamír turned away quickly to hide her flaming cheeks. “How do you know?”
“I overheard Tharin trying to tease it out of him the other day. Ki was rather angry at Tharin for suggesting it.”
“Is it so obvious? Are all my Companions talking about me now?” Tamír asked miserably.
“No. I just thought it might ease your heart a little, to know the truth.”
Tamír sank down on the bed with a groan and rested her face in her hands. “I’m no good at this, being a girl.”
“Of course you are. You’re just not used to it yet. Once you marry and start having children—”
“Children? Bilairy’s balls!” Tamír tried to imagine herself with a big belly and cringed.
Una laughed. “A queen doesn’t just fight wars and give speeches. You’ll need an heir or two.” She paused. “You do know about how—”
“Good night, Una!” Tamír said firmly, cheeks aflame again.
Una laughed softly. “Good night.”
Tamír would almost have welcomed a visit from Brother just then. Better that than sitting here alone with such thoughts. Sending Baldus to his pallet, she changed into her dressing gown and settled by the fire with a mazer of wine.
Of course a queen must have children. If she died without issue, the land would be torn by chaos as rival factions strove to establish a new line of succession. All the same, when she tried to imagine coupling with Ki—or anyone for that matter—it made her feel very strange.
Of course she knew how sex went. And it had been Ki who’d first explained it to her, that day in the meadow with his forked stick people and blunt, country language. She wanted to laugh at the irony now.
She finished off the wine and felt the warmth of it spread. That, and the sound of the waves below her window lulled her, and she let her mind drift. As she began to doze, something Lhel had once told her came back. She’d spoken of a special power in a woman’s body, in the ebb and flow of blood that followed the moon.
Tamír had started bleeding again yesterday and spent a good deal of time since cursing the inescapable tyranny of rags and blood and the random pains that cramped her belly. It was one more cruel joke of fate, like having to squat to piss. But Una’s offhand words held truth. There was a purpose behind it all.
The thought of a great round belly pushing out the front of her tunic was still disturbing, nonetheless.
Baldus stirred on his bed, whimpering softly in his sleep. She went and drew the blanket up around the boy’s shoulders, then stood gazing down at his sleeping face, so soft and innocent in sleep. What must it be like, she wondered, to look at a child of your own? Would it have her blue eyes?
Or brown?
“Damnation!” she muttered, going for more wine.
Ki’s borrowed horse shied as a gust of damp breeze scooped a cloud of acrid smoke up from a blackened foundation just inside the remains of the north gate. Beside him, Lynx tightened the reins of his own mount, nervously scanning the dark square they were presently patrolling.
“Easy, there.” Ki rubbed his horse’s neck to calm him, then adjusted the vinegar-soaked cloth tied over his mouth and nose. Everyone who ventured into the ruins had to wear them, to fend off disease. Ki knew he was taking a pointless risk, coming here. He claimed to be helping hunt down looters, and he’d killed a few, but in truth, he was drawn back time and again, looking for familiar places. When he came upon them, though—inns, theaters, and taverns they’d frequented with Korin—it only made the ache in his heart worse.
The smell of vinegar was rank, but better than the reek that still lurked in the streets and alleys. Foul humors and the stench of rotting flesh and burnt buildings mingled with the night mists in a cloying miasma.
They rode for nearly an hour without meeting another living person. Lynx kept his sword drawn, and above his mask his eyes darted ceaselessly, scanning for danger.
There were still too many corpses lying about. The few Scavengers left were kept busy day and night, carting away the now-putrid bodies to the burning grounds. They were bloated and black, and many had been cruelly torn up by hungry dogs, pigs, or ravens. Ki’s horse shied again as a huge rat darted across a nearby alley with what looked like a child’s hand in its mouth.
The fires had burned fiercely, and even after almost two weeks, smoldering pockets of coals remained beneath the ruins, deadly traps for looters or unlucky householders seeking to salvage what they could. Up on the Palatine, broken black stonework loomed against the stars, marking where the great palaces and fine houses had once stood. It was a lonely place, but it suited Ki’s mood these past weeks.
“We should head back,” Lynx murmured at last, plucking at the rag across his face. “I don’t know why you keep coming here. It’s depressing.”
“Go on back. I didn’t ask you to come.” Ki nudged his horse into a walk.
Lynx followed. “You haven’t slept in days, Ki.”
“I sleep.”
He looked around and realized they’d come out in the theater ward. The once-familiar neighborhood looked like the landscape of a bad dream. Ki felt as much a ghost here as Brother himself. But better this than tossing on that lonely cot, he thought bitterly.
It was easier during the day. Tamír still resisted wearing women’s garb much of the time, and there were moments when Ki could pretend to see Tobin. When he let himself sleep, he dreamed of Tobin’s sad eyes lost in a stranger’s face.
So instead, he settled for stolen naps and rode down his dreams here at night. Lynx had taken to coming with him uninvited. He didn’t know if Tamír had sent him to keep an eye on him, or if he’d simply taken it upon himself to keep watch over him. Maybe it was habit, from his days as a squire. Whatever the case, Ki hadn’t been able to shake him off these past few nights. Not that Lynx wasn’t a decent companion. He said little and left Ki to the dark thoughts that continued to plague him, no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.
How could I not have known, all those years? How could Tobin have kept such a secret from me?
Those two questions still burned at the edges of his soul, though it would have shamed him to voice them. It was Tobin who’d suffered the most. She’d carried the burden of that secret alone, to protect them all. Arkoniel had made that very clear.
Everyone else, even Tharin, had accepted it readily enough. Only Lynx seemed to understand. Ki saw it there now as he glanced over at his silent friend. In a way, they’d both lost their lords.
Tamír was still awake when Ki stole in. He thought she was asleep, and she stayed quiet under the quilts, studying his face in the faint light of the night lamp as he crossed to the dressing room. He looked tired, and sad in a way that she never saw during the day. She was tempted to call out to him, invite him into the too-big bed. It wasn’t right that Ki should suffer for his constancy. But before she could gather her courage, or master her discomfort over the wet rag tied between her thighs, he was already gone. She heard the sound of him undressing, and the creak of bed ropes.
She turned over and watched the way the light of his candle made the shadows in the doorway dance. She wondered if he was lying there, sleepless as she was, watching them, too?
The next morning she watched Ki yawn over his breakfast, looking uncommonly pale and tired. When the meal was finished she gathered her courage and drew him aside.
“Would you rather I had Una take your place at night?” she asked.
Ki looked genuinely surprised. “No, of course not!”
“But you’re not sleeping! You won’t be much good to me exhausted. What’s wrong?”
He just shrugged and gave her a smile. “Uneasy dreams. I’ll be happier when you’re settled at Atyion, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
She waited, giving him the chance to say more. She wished with all her heart that he would, even if she didn’t want to hear what he might say, but he just smiled and clapped her on the shoulder and they both left their true thoughts unsaid.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_579c1408-89e5-5cd2-8aa8-0f91acbb0adb)
Niryn stood on the battlements, enjoying the damp night air. Korin had gone up to Nalia’s tower again. As he watched, the light there was extinguished.
“Labor well, my king,” Niryn whispered.
He’d removed the blighting spell from Korin; the boy would father no monsters on Nalia. It was time at last, the time of Niryn’s choosing, for an heir of Skala to be conceived.
“My lord?” Moriel appeared at his elbow, stealthy as always. “You look pleased about something.”
“I am, dear boy.” This lad was proving useful, as well. For all his faults, that odious pederast, Orun, had groomed Muriel well, to sneak and spy and sell his loyalty. Niryn could well afford it, and knew better than to trust him too far. No, he had spells around young Moriel for that, and the boy would do well not to cross him.
“Have you been keeping an eye on that new lord for me? The one who rode in yesterday?”
“Duke Orman. Yes, my lord. He seems quite taken with the king. But Duke Syrus was complaining again, about how Korin shows no sign of marching on the usurper.”
Moriel never referred to Tobin by name. There was bad blood there, and Tobin wasn’t the only Companion against whom Moriel harbored a grudge. “How is Lord Lutha faring?”
“Sullen, and hanging about Lord Caliel, as usual. I caught them whispering together on the battlements again tonight. They don’t much like the way things are right now. They think you’ve led King Korin astray.”
“I’m quite aware of that. What I need from you is proof of treason. Solid proof. Korin will not act on anything less.”
The boy looked crestfallen. “Everyone has retired. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”
“No, you may go to bed. Oh, and Moriel?”
The boy paused, his pale, harelike face uncertain.
“You are proving most valuable. I depend on you, you know.”
Moriel brightened noticeably. “Thank you. Good night, my lord.”
Well, well, Niryn thought, watching him go. It seems you do have a heart to win. I thought Orun crushed that out of you long ago. How very useful.
Niryn returned to his enjoyment of the night. The sky was clear, and the stars were so bright they turned the dark sky a deep indigo.
The men he passed on guard greeted him respectfully. Many of them were his own Guard, and those who weren’t had the good sense to show him proper courtesy. Niryn had touched the minds of the various captains, and found most of them fertile ground, well sown with doubts and fears for him to manipulate. Even Master Porion’s had been surprisingly easy to slip into; his own stolid sense of duty to Korin did Niryn’s work for him. There was no need to meddle there.
Niryn’s own master, Kandin, had taught him that the greatest talent of wizards of Niryn’s sort lay in their ability to see into lesser men’s hearts and prey on the weaknesses there. Korin’s flaws had been an open door to him, despite his burning dislike for the wizard. Niryn had simply bided his time, waiting for the seasons to turn. He took his first careful steps in the last year of the old king’s life, when Korin had already led himself astray with doubt, drink, and drabs.
In the days after the old king’s death, when the prince was lost and foundering, Niryn seized the advantage and wormed his way just as securely into the heart of the boy as he had his father.
Erius had not been so easy. The king had been an honorable man, and a strong one. Only when the madness began to eat away at his mind did Niryn find a foothold there.
Korin, on the other hand, had always been weak and full of fears. Niryn used magic on the boy, but lately a few carefully chosen words and skillful flattery worked just as well. His beloved cousin’s betrayal could not have been better timed.
Looking around the dark fortress, Niryn savored a swell of pride. This was his doing, just as the burning of the Illiorans and the banishing of countless headstrong nobles had been his work. He especially enjoyed bringing highborn lords and ladies down into the dust. He enjoyed being feared and cared not one whit how many hated him. Their hatred was the hallmark of his success.
Niryn had not been born a nobleman. He was the only child of two palace servants. During his early days at court, certain people who’d considered themselves his betters had been anxious not to let him forget that, but once he’d caught favor with the king they’d soon learned not to cross the soft-spoken wizard. He took no direct action against them, of course, but Erius had been quick to show his displeasure. Some of Niryn’s early detractors now found themselves without title or lands—many of the latter having been since given to Niryn himself.
Niryn did not regret his lowly birth; quite the opposite, in fact. Those early years had left an indelible mark on him and taught him some valuable lessons about how the world worked.
His father had been a simple, taciturn man who’d married above himself. Born to a family of tanners, his marriage had allowed him to leave behind that malodorous trade and become one of Queen Agnalain’s gardeners. His mother had been a chambermaid in the Old Palace, often working in the rooms of the queen before Agnalain went mad.
His parents lived in a tiny thatch-roofed cottage by the north gate. Each day his mother woke him while the stars were still out and they set off with his father up the long, steep road to the Palatine. They left their own humble quarter in darkness, and he could see the sky brightening as they ascended the steep streets. The houses grew larger and grander, the higher you went, and once inside the Palatine itself, it was like a great, magical garden. Elegant villas clustered around the walls and ringed the dark bulk of the Old Palace. There had been only one, back then, and it had been a lively place, filled with color and courtiers and good smells; it didn’t fall into disrepair until Erius had left it behind, after his mother’s death. The young prince could not abide the place after that, fearing his mother’s mad, vengeful ghost would come after him in the night. Years later, when Niryn had gained the young king’s trust and access to his inner thoughts, he learned why. Erius had killed his mother, smothering the mad old woman with a cushion after he learned that she’d signed an order for his own execution and that of her infant daughter, having decided they were both conspiring against her.
But when Niryn was a child, the Old Palace was still a wondrous place, with fine tapestries on the walls of the rooms and hallways, and fancy patterns of colored stone on the floor. Some of the corridors even had long, narrow pools, filled with flowering water plants and darting silver-and-red fish, set into the floors. One of the understewards had taken a liking to the red-haired boy and let him give crumbs to the fish. He was also taken with the palace guards. They were all tall, and wore rich red tabards, with handsome swords at their hip. Niryn secretly wished he might grow up to be a guard so he could carry a sword like that and stand watching the fish all day.
He often saw Queen Agnalain, a gaunt, pale woman with hard blue eyes, who strode like a man in her fine gowns and always seemed to have a group of handsome young men around her. Sometimes she had the young prince with her, too, a boy a bit older than Niryn. Erius, he was called, and he had curly black hair and laughing black eyes and his own pack of playmates called the Royal Companions. Niryn envied him, not for his fine clothes or even his title, but for those friends. Niryn didn’t have time to play, and no one to play with if he had.
He sometimes went in with his mother very early in the morning to bring the queen the ale and black bread she broke her fast with each day. Soldier’s food, his mother called it, disapproving. Niryn didn’t see why it wasn’t a proper breakfast for a queen. She sometimes gave him the crusts the queen didn’t eat and he liked it very much; it was dense and moist, rich with salt and black syrup; much nicer than the thin oatcakes the cooks gave him to eat.
“That sort of food might be good enough on the battlefield, maybe, when she was still a warrior!” his mother sniffed, as if the great queen disappointed her.
She got the same look on her face at the way there was often a young lord in the queen’s bed in the morning. Niryn never saw the same one twice. His mother didn’t approve of this, either, but she never said a word, and cuffed him on the ear when he asked if they were all the queen’s husbands.
During the day the corridors teemed with men and women in wonderful clothes and glittering jewels, but he and his mother had to turn and face the wall as they passed. They were not allowed to speak to their betters or attract any attention. A servant’s duty was to be invisible as air, his mother told him, and the child soon learned to do just that. And that was just how the lords and ladies treated him, and his mother and all the host of other servants who moved among them, carrying the nobles’ dirty linen and night soil buckets.
The queen had noticed him once, though, when his mother didn’t pull him back in time to avoid her notice. Agnalain loomed over him and bent down for a closer look. She smelled of flowers and leather.
“You have a fox’s coat. Are you a little fox?” she chuckled, running her fingers gently through his red curls. Her voice was hoarse, but kind, and those dark blue eyes wrinkled up at the corners when she smiled. He’d never gotten a smile like that from his own mother.
“And such eyes!” said the queen. “You’ll do great things, with eyes like that. What do you want to do when you’re all grown up?”
Encouraged by her kindly manner, he’d pointed shyly at a nearby guard. “I want to be one of them and carry a sword!”
Queen Agnalain laughed. “Would you now? Would you cut off the heads of all the traitors who creep in to murder me?”
“Yes, Majesty, every one,” he replied at once. “And I’ll feed the fish, too.”
When Niryn was big enough to carry a watering can, his visits inside the palace came to an end. His father took him to work in the gardens. The great lords and ladies treated the gardeners as if they were invisible, too, but his father did the same with them. He cared nothing for people, and was shy and backward even with Niryn’s sharp-tongued mother. Niryn had really never paid the man much mind, but he discovered now that his father was full of secret knowledge.
He was not patient or any less taciturn, but he taught the boy how to tell a flower seedling from a weed sprout, how to bind an espaliered fruit tree into a pleasing shape against a wall, how to spot disease, and when to thin a bed or prune a bush to make it flourish. Niryn missed the fish, but discovered that he had a talent for such things and a child’s ready interest. He especially liked using the big bronze shears to cut away dead branches and wayward shoots.
There was still no time to play or make friends. Instead, he came to love seeing the garden change through the seasons. Some plants died without constant tending, while weeds thrived and spread if you didn’t fight them every day.
No one realized Niryn was wizard-born until he was ten years old. One day several of Erius’ Companions decided to amuse themselves by throwing stones at the gardener’s boy.
Niryn was pruning a rose arbor at the time and tried his best to ignore them. Invisible. He must remain invisible, even when it was perfectly apparent that the sneering young lords could see him very well and had excellent aim. Even if they’d been peasants like him, he wouldn’t have fought back. He didn’t know how.
He’d endured taunts and teasing from them before, but had always ducked his head and looked away, pretending he wasn’t there. Deep down, though, something dark stirred, but he’d been too well trained to his station to acknowledge anything like anger toward his betters.
But this was different. Today they weren’t just taunting him. He kept at his pruning, carefully lifting the suckers away and trying not to let the long thorns pierce his fingers. His father was just beyond the arbor, weeding a flower bed. Niryn saw him glance over, then go back to his work. There was nothing he could do for Niryn.
Stones pattered around the boy, striking his feet and bouncing off the wooden trellis next to his head. It scared him, for they were trained to be warriors and could probably hurt him badly if they wanted to. It made him feel small and helpless, but something else stirred again, deep down in his soul, and this time it was much stronger.
“Hey, gardener’s boy!” one of his tormentors called out. “You make a good target.”
A stone followed the taunt, striking him between the shoulders. Niryn hissed in pain and his fingers tightened on the rose cane he’d been trimming. Thorns pierced his fingers, drawing blood. He kept his head down, biting his lip.
“He didn’t even feel it!” one of the other boys laughed. “Hey, you, what are you? An ox with a thick hide?”
Niryn bit his lip harder. Stay invisible.
“Let’s see if he feels this.”
Another stone struck him on the back of the thigh, just below his tunic. It was a sharp one and it stung. He ignored it, nipping a stray shoot with the shears, but now his heart was pounding in a way he’d never felt before.
“Told you. Just like an ox, stupid and thick!”
Another stone hit him in the back, and another.
“Turn around, little red ox. We need your face for a target!”
A stone hit him in the back of the head, hard enough to make him drop his shears. Unable to help himself, he reached back and felt the stinging place where the stone had hit him. His fingers came away smeared with blood.
“That got him! Hit him again, harder, and see if he’ll turn.”
Niryn could see his father, still pretending he didn’t know what was happening to his son. It came to Niryn, then, what the real gulf between commoner and noble was. Niryn had been taught to respect his betters, but he’d never fully appreciated until now that the respect was not returned. These boys knew they had power over him and delighted in using it.
A larger stone hit him on the arm as he bent to retrieve the shears.
“Turn around, red ox! Let’s hear you bellow!”
“Throw another one!”
Something larger hit him in the head, hard enough to daze him. Niryn dropped the shears again and fell to his knees. He wasn’t quite certain what happened after that, until he opened his eyes and found himself lying under the arbor he’d been tending, watching unnatural blue flames devouring the carefully tended vines.
His father did come then, dragging Niryn away from the scorching blaze.
“What’ve you done, boy?” he whispered, more alarmed than Niryn had ever seen the man. “What in the name of the Maker did you do?”
Niryn sat up slowly and looked around. A small crowd was gathering, servants and nobles alike, while others ran for water. The three boys who’d been tormenting him were gone.
Water had no effect on the blue fire. It continued to burn until the arbor was reduced to ash.
Guardsmen came with the water carriers and their captain demanded to know what had happened. Niryn couldn’t answer them because he had no idea. His father remained dumb, as usual. At last a broad-shouldered man pushed through the crowd, dragging one of Niryn’s attackers by the ear. The young lord cringed beside him.
“I understand this young rascal was using you for target practice,” the soldier said to Niryn, still holding the boy almost up on his toes.
Even in such an embarrassing position, the boy was looking daggers at Niryn, letting him know what his fate would be if he told.
“Come on now, lad, find your tongue,” the man demanded. He wasn’t angry with Niryn, it seemed, just impatient to complete an unpleasant task. “I’m Porion, swordmaster to the Royal Companions and I’m responsible for the behavior of the boys. Is he one of them who hurt you?”
Niryn’s father caught his eye, silently warning Niryn to keep silent, stay invisible.
“I don’t know. I had my back to ’em,” Niryn mumbled, staring down at his dirty clogs.
“You sure about that, lad?” Master Porion demanded sternly. “I had it from some of his fellows that he was one of them.”
He could feel Master Porion’s eyes on him, but he kept his head down and saw the young lord’s fine bootheels settle in the grass as the older man released him.
“All right then, Nylus, you get back to the practice yard where you belong. And don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you!” Porion barked. The young lord gave Niryn a last, triumphant smirk and strode away.
Porion remained a moment, staring pensively at the ruined arbor. “Word is you did this, lad. That the truth?”
Niryn shrugged. How could he? He didn’t even have a flint.
Porion turned to his father, who’d been lingering nearby. “He’s your boy?”
“Aye, sir,” his father mumbled, unhappy not to be invisible to this man.
“Any wizard blood in your family?”
“None that I know of, sir.”
“Well, you’d better get him to a proper wizard who can judge, and soon, before he does something worse than a little fire.”
Porion’s face grew sterner still as he glanced back at Niryn. “I don’t want him on the Palatine again. That’s the queen’s law. An unschooled wizard-born is too dangerous. Go on, take him away and get him seen to, before he hurts someone.”
Niryn looked up in disbelief. The other boy had gotten away with hurting him, and now he was to be punished? Throwing caution to the wind, he fell at Master Porion’s feet. “Please, sir, don’t send me off! I’ll work hard and not make any more trouble, I swear by the Maker!”
Porion pointed to the ruined arbor. “Didn’t mean to do that, either, did you?”
“I told you, I couldn’t—!”
Suddenly his father’s broad hand closed over his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. “I’ll take charge of him, sir,” he told Porion. Gripping Niryn’s thin arm, he marched his son like a criminal out of the gardens and away from the palace.
His mother beat him for losing his position and the small pay that went with it. “You’ve shamed the family!” she railed, bringing the belt down across his thin shoulders. “We’ll all go hungry now, without the extra silver you brought home.”
His father stayed her hand at last and carried the sobbing boy up to his cot.
For the first time in Niryn’s life, his father sat by his bed, looking down at him with something like actual interest.
“You don’t remember nothing, son? Are you telling me the truth?”
“No, Dad, nothing, until I seen the arbor burning.”
His father sighed. “Well, you done it, putting yourself out of a position. Wizard-born?” He shook his head and Niryn’s heart sank. Everyone knew what happened to those of their station unlucky enough to be born with a touch of wild power.
Niryn didn’t sleep at all that night, caught up in dire imaginings. His family would starve, and he’d be set out on the road to be marked and stoned, all because of what those young lords called fun! How he wished he had spoken up when he had the chance. His face burned at the thought of his own fruitless obedience.
That thought took root, watered with shame at how he’d let a single look from the guilty one silence him. If he’d spoken up, maybe they wouldn’t have cast him out! If those three boys hadn’t used him for their sport, or if his father had made them stop, or if Niryn had moved or turned sooner or tried to fight back—
If, if, if. It ate at him and he felt the dark feeling well up again. In the darkness, he felt his hands tingling and when he held them up, there were blue sparks dancing between his fingers like sheet lightning. It scared him and he thrust them into the water jug by his bed, fearing he’d set the bedclothes on fire.
The sparks stopped and nothing bad happened. And as his fear subsided, he began to feel something new, something else he’d never felt before.
It was hope.
He spent the next few days wandering the marketplaces, trying to catch the attention of the conjurers who plied their trade there, selling charms and doing fancy spells. None of them were interested in a gardener’s boy in homespun clothes. They laughed him away from their little booths.
He’d begun to think he might indeed have to starve or take to the road, when a stranger showed up at the cottage door while his parents were away at their work.
He was a stooped, ancient-looking man with long dirty whiskers, but he was dressed in a very fine robe. It was white, with silver embroidery around the neck and sleeves.
“Are you the gardener’s boy who can make fire?” the old man asked, staring hard into Niryn’s eyes.
“Yes,” Niryn replied, guessing what the old man was.
“Can you do it for me now, boy?” he demanded.
Niryn faltered. “No, sir. Only when I’m angry.”
The old man smiled and brushed past Niryn without an invitation. Looking around the spare, humble room, he shook his head, still smiling to himself. “Just so. Had your fill of ’em and lashed out, did you? That’s how it comes to some. That’s how it came to me. Felt good, I expect? Lucky for you that you didn’t set them on fire, or you’d not be sitting here now. There’s lots of wild seeds like yourself, that get themselves stoned or burned.”
He lowered himself into Niryn’s father’s chair by the hearth. “Come, boy,” he said, gesturing for Niryn to stand before him. He placed a gnarled hand on Niryn’s head and bowed his own for a moment. Niryn felt a strange tingle run down through his body.
“Oh, yes! Power, and ambition, too,” the old man murmured. “I can make something of you. Something strong. Would you like to be strong, boy, and not let young whelps like that take advantage of you ever again?”
Niryn nodded and the old man leaned forward, eyes glowing like a cat’s in the dim light of the cottage. “A quick answer. I can see your heart in those red eyes of yours; you’ve had a taste of what wizardry is, and you liked it, didn’t you?”
Niryn wasn’t certain that was true. It had scared him, but under this stranger’s knowing gaze, he felt that tingle again, even though the man had withdrawn his hand. “Did someone tell you what happened?”
“Wizards have an ear for rumor, lad. I’ve been waiting for a child like you, these many years.”
Niryn’s pinched, parched young heart swelled. It was the closest thing to praise he’d ever known, save for one time; he’d never forgotten the way Queen Agnalain had looked at him that day and how she said she thought he’d do great things. She’d seen something in him, and this wizard did, too, when all the rest wanted to cast him out like some rabid dog.
“Oh yes, I see it in those eyes,” the wizard murmured. “You have wit, and anger, too. You’ll enjoy what I have to teach you.”
“What is that?” Niryn blurted out.
The old man’s eyes narrowed, but he was still smiling. “Power, my boy. The uses of it and the taking of it.”
He stayed until Niryn’s parents came home, and made his offer. They gave Niryn over to the old man, accepting a purse of coins without even asking his name or where he would take their only child.
Niryn felt nothing. No pain. No sorrow. He looked at the two of them, so shabby compared to the old man in his robes. He saw how they feared the stranger but didn’t dare show it. Perhaps they wanted to be invisible now, too. But Niryn didn’t. He’d never felt more visible in the world than that night when he walked away from his home forever, at the side of his new master.
Master Kandin was right about Niryn. The talents that had lain dormant in him were like a bed of banked coals. All it took was a bit of coaxing and they leaped to burn with an intensity that surprised even his mentor. Master Kandin found Niryn an apt pupil and a kindred spirit. They both understood ambition, and Niryn found he lacked nothing of that.
Through the years of his apprenticeship, Niryn never forgot his time at the palace. He never forgot how it felt to be nothing in the eyes of another or the way the old queen had spoken to him. Those two elements combined in the crucible of his ambition. Kandin honed him like a blade and, when his mentor was done, Niryn was ready to return to court and make a place for himself. The lessons of his childhood were not forgotten, either. He still knew how to seem invisible to those from whom he wished to hide his power and purposes.
He’d missed his chance with Queen Agnalain. Erius had put his mother out of the way before Niryn could establish himself, and taken his young sister’s rightful place on the throne.
Niryn, now a respectable young wizard and loyal Skalan, had gone to pay his respects to the girl one day at the pretty little house her brother had installed her in on the palace grounds. By rights she should have been queen, and there was already muttering in the city about prophecies and the will of Illior. Niryn put no stock in priests, considering them nothing but skilled charlatans, but he wasn’t above putting their game to his own uses. A queen would be best.
The lessons he’d learned among the roses and flower beds came back to him then. The royal family was a garden in its own way, one that needed proper tending.
Ariani, the child of one of her mother’s many lovers, was the rootstock of the throne. As the only daughter of the queen, her claim was strong, perhaps strong enough to overthrow that of her brother, when she was old enough and carefully groomed and supported. Niryn had no doubt he could nurture a faction on her behalf. Sadly, he found the stock to be diseased. Ariani was very pretty and very intelligent, but the fatal weakness was in her already. She would suffer her mother’s fate, and earlier. It might have made her easier to control, but the people still had dark memories of her mother’s mad ways. No, Ariani would not do.
That decided, he insinuated himself into Erius’ court. The young king welcomed wizards at his feasts.
The young king was made of stronger stuff than his sister. Handsome and virile, strong in body and mind, Erius had already won the hearts of the people with a string of impressive victories against the Plenimarans. As weary of war as they were of royal madness, the Skalans turned a deaf ear to dusty prophecies and ignored the grumblings of the Illiorans. Erius was beloved.
Fortunately for Niryn, the king also had a strain of his mother’s weakness in him, but just enough to make him malleable. Like his father’s espaliered fruit trees, Niryn would trim and prune the young king’s pliant mind, bending it to the pattern that best suited his use. The process took time and patience, but Niryn had a great deal of both.
Niryn bided his time, finding other wizards he could use and forming the Harriers and their guard, ostensibly to serve the king. Niryn chose carefully, taking in only those he could be sure of.
With Erius he prepared the ground, discrediting any who stood in his way, most especially Illiorans, and gently coaxing the king into killing any female of the blood who might challenge his hold on the throne.
Erius grew more malleable as his mind became less stable, just as Niryn had foreseen, but there were always unforeseen events to contend with. Erius had five children, and the eldest daughter had shown great promise, but plague struck the household, killing all of the children save one, the youngest and a boy. Korin.
Niryn had a vision then, of a young queen, one of his own choosing, who would be the perfect rose of his garden. It was a true vision, too, that came to him in a dream. Like many wizards, he paid little more than lip service to their patron deity, the Lightbearer. Offerings and the drugged sacred smoke of the temples had nothing to do with their power. That came with the blood of their birth; a tenuous red tie back to whatever Aurënfaie wanderer had slept with some ancestor and given the capricious magic to their line. Nonetheless, he found himself offering up a rare prayer of gratitude when he woke from that dream. He had not seen the girl’s face, but he knew without question that he’d been shown the future queen who, with his careful guidance, would redeem the land.
Prince Korin would not have been the child Niryn would have chosen to breed his future queen from. There’d been other girls, and one of them would have made his task easier, letting the disaffected have their queen and their prophecy again. Even he could not discount the years of famine and illness that had blighted Erius’ reign. A girl would be best, but like any good gardener, Niryn must work with the shoots that matured.
It was about this same time that he found Nalia. He’d gone with his Harriers to dispatch her mother, a distant country cousin of the queen, with royal blood in her veins and that of her twin babes. One girl child had been comely, like her father. The other had inherited her mother’s disfigurement. Something like a vision stayed Niryn’s hand over the marked child; this was the next seedling for his garden. She would bear daughters of her own, if left to grow and properly tended. He secreted her away, making her first his ward and then, when the humor took him, his concubine. Wizard-born, he had no seed to plant in that fertile womb.
Korin was not a stupid boy, or an ignoble one, not at first. He instinctively distrusted Niryn from an early age. But he was weak-spirited. The wars kept the king away, and Korin and his Companions were left to run wild.
Niryn lent only the occasional small encouragement here and there. Some of the Companions were quite helpful, albeit unwittingly, as they led Korin into the wine houses and brothels of the city. Niryn began more rigorous tending when Korin began to spread his seed about. It was an easy matter, with his wizards and spies now well established, to put any royal bastards out of the way. Princess Aliya had been a regrettable pruning. The girl was healthy, and intelligent, too, but lacked the usual sort of flaw that he could exploit. No, she would in time prove to be a dangerous weed in his garden, strengthened by the prince’s love.
By the time Erius died, Korin was a dissipated young rake and a drunkard. The death of his pretty wife and the horror of the misshapen fruits of her womb left him broken and lost, and ripe for the first harvest.
Niryn broke from his pleasant reverie and looked up at the darkened tower again. There, high above this sheltered haven, the seed of the next season was being planted.
Chapter 11 (#ulink_412e54db-7703-5ee2-a67c-87d1047ea0ee)
After a lifetime as a free wizard, wandering where she chose, Iya now found herself not only with an untried, and at times unwilling young queen on her hands, but a pack of her own kind who needed organizing, as well. The Third Orëska had been a noble concept; now she and Arkoniel were faced with finding out whether or not their wizards could actually work together.
Tamír had kept her word and insisted from the start that Iya’s wizards be made welcome in Illardi’s house, despite the grumbling from some of the lords and generals. In return, they found ways to make themselves useful, making small useful charms like firechips and roof wards. Iya, Saruel, and Dylias all knew a bit of healing and helped where they could, with the drysians’ blessings.
Arkoniel’s own little group of wizards had arrived at the end of Lithion. Iya had been touched by the joy with which he’d greeted them. He’d truly missed them, especially a green-eyed boy of nine named Wythnir, whom he’d taken as his first pupil. He was a frail little thing, and shy, but Iya sensed the strong potential in him. She exchanged an approving look with Arkoniel, who was positively beaming.
Busy as Tamír was, she ordered a special banquet for them in her chambers with the other wizards and Companions that night, and Arkoniel proudly presented them.
The old ones, Lyan, Vornus, Iya’s friend Cerana, and a gruff, scowling, common-looking fellow named Kaulin were the first to bow to Tamír with their hands to their hearts.
“You are the queen that was foreseen, indeed,” Lyan said, speaking for them all. “By our hands, hearts, and eyes, we will gladly serve you, and Skala.”
The younger ones came forward next, a noble-looking pair in tattered finery, named Melissandra and Lord Malkanus, and a plain young fellow named Hain. He was about Arkoniel’s age and had the same aura of banked power about him.
The children came forward last, and Iya saw Tamír’s eyes light up as they were presented. Ethni was close to Tamír’s age, with only the faintest trace of magic about her. The twin girls, Ylina and Rala, weren’t much stronger, nor was little Danil. Wythnir shone among them like a jewel in a handful of river stones. This was the sort of child Iya had imagined, all those years ago when they first spoke of gathering wizards, but Arkoniel seemed delighted with all of them, regardless of their ability.
“Welcome, all of you,” said Tamír. “Arkoniel has told me good things about you, and your studies. I’m glad to see you here.”
“I understand you spent some time at our old home,” Ki added. He shot Arkoniel a grin. “I hope you didn’t find it too dreary there?”
“Oh no!” Rala said at once. “Cook makes the best cakes and mince tarts.”
Ki pulled a comical stricken face. “You’re right. Now I’m homesick.”
The children laughed at that, and it set the tone for the evening. Most of the older wizards seemed quite fond of the children and had them demonstrate their little tricks for the other guests after supper. It was mostly colored lights and bird calling, but Wythnir made a dish of hazelnuts fly about the room like a swarm of bees.
Iya’s wizards were quick to welcome the newcomers, too, and she and Arkoniel exchanged a happy look. Thirty-three wizards, counting themselves, plus a handful of newcomers who’d straggled in; it was a good start.
After they had the children settled in their new rooms, Arkoniel walked with her on the walls.
“Can you imagine it?” he’d said to her, eyes shining. “The children have made such tremendous progress, with only a few minor wizards for teachers. Think what they’ll learn from these powerful ones you’ve gathered! Oh, some of them don’t have the talent to be more than healers or charm makers, I know, but a few may grow to be great.”
“Especially that boy you’ve taken on, eh?”
Arkoniel’s face glowed with affection and pride. “Yes, Wythnir will be great.”
Iya said nothing, recalling how she’d thought the same of all her early pupils. Wythnir was certainly brighter than the others, but she knew from long experience that disappointment was as likely as success with one so young, even those who seemed promising.
More important than any single apprentice or wizard was the memory of the vision she’d had all those years ago: Arkoniel an old, wise man in a great house of wizards, with a different child by his side. She’d passed the vision on to him, and she sensed it taking hold ever more strongly, now that he’d had a small taste of success.
And Arkoniel loved children. That had come as something of a surprise to Iya, who had no use at all for ordinary ones, and rarely considered wizard-born as anything more than potential apprentices. She’d loved her own students, as much as she was capable of loving anyone, but knowing that each one would leave her and go their own way eventually, it didn’t do to get overly attached. Perhaps Arkoniel would come to understand that in time, but for now, he was seeing that shining palace, full of life and learning. It showed in his eyes, and Iya knew better than to stand in the way of Illior’s will. Arkoniel was fated for a different path than the one she and her predecessors had trodden.
He still carried the cursed bowl, too, and guarded it well. Perhaps he was fated to find a safe place for it. That was on the knees of the gods, too. Iya had no regrets, and new challenges to face.
Dylias and the Ero wizards had some experience at unity, having banded together to protect themselves from the Harriers. Iya would have been happy to leave the demands of leadership to him, but everyone seemed determined to defer to her.
“The Oracle gave the vision to you,” Arkoniel laughingly reminded her when she grumbled in the days that followed. It seemed someone was always coming to her with some question of magic, and there were always children underfoot. “You are Tamír’s protector. Naturally they look to you.”
“Protector, eh?” Iya muttered. “She still hardly speaks to me.”
“She’s better with me now, but there’s still a wariness there. Do you think she’s guessed at the truth?”
“No, and we must put her off as long as we can, Arkoniel. She cannot have any distractions now and she still needs us. Perhaps she’ll never ask. It would be better so.”
With Dylias’ help, they kept watch as best they could across the sea toward Plenimar. Others stayed near Tamír by turns, ready to protect her from any threat. This had to be done discreetly, with so many of Tamír’s new allies openly distrustful of their kind.
Iya was equally distrustful of many of them, these nobles and warriors. Eyoli was recovered from his wounds and had already proven his worth. The young mind-clouder could walk into any encampment and move about freely, virtually unnoticed, listening and watching. Coupled with Arkoniel’s strange new blood spell and Tharin’s long memory for loyalties and intrigues, Iya judged Tamír to be as well guarded as could be managed.
She also found a sound ally in the Oracle’s high priest, Imonus. The man had stayed on all this time and showed no signs of leaving. He and the two others who’d come with him, Lain and Porteon, spent their days tending the makeshift Temple of the Stele, as it was called now. People came every day to see it, and to hear from the high priest’s own lips that their new queen was indeed Illior’s chosen one.
Imonus had gathered the surviving Illioran priests from Ero and counseled them to set up makeshift temples in the camps. He and his own priests established the largest of these, setting up the golden stele and offering braziers under a canopy in the courtyard of Illardi’s estate, just inside the gates. Anyone coming to see Tamír had to pass it and be reminded by the prophecy of her right to rule.
Imonus spoke with the authority of the Lightbearer, and the devout believed. They left small offerings of flowers and coins in the baskets at the foot of the great tablet and touched it for luck. Destitute as most of them were, people nonetheless found food to bring to the priests, placing wizened apples and chunks of bread in the covered baskets. Then they cast their wax votives and feathers onto the ornate bronze braziers, rescued from some temple in Ero. These burned night and day, filling the air with the scent of the Illiorans’ pungent incense and the acrid undertone of burned feathers. Imonus and his brethren were always there, tending the fires, bestowing blessings, interpreting dreams, and offering hope.
Iya approached most priests with certain skepticism. She’d seen too many of them profit from false promises and false prophecies. But Imonus was honest, and devoted to Tamír.
“Our daughter of Thelátimos is strong,” he remarked as he and Iya sat together in the great hall after the evening meal. “She’s well-spoken and I see how she lifts the hearts of those she talks to.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Perhaps she had a touch of Illior’s inspiration?”
“More than a touch,” Imonus said. “She believes more in building than power. This will be both a blessing and a burden to her.”
“Is that a prophecy?” asked Iya, raising an eyebrow at him over her mazer.
He just smiled.
Chapter 12 (#ulink_40303a58-2c1c-5281-a289-b1d35571383c)
As the sunnier days of Nythin lengthened across the land and the roads dried, Tamír discovered that the news of the destruction of Ero and her own transformation had not always traveled in tandem. Confused emissaries were still arriving from distant holdings. Some came with belated replies to the war summons sent out by King Erius, expecting to find the king still on the throne. Others came looking for word of the miraculously transformed princess. A few brave souls carried terse missives frankly denouncing her as a sham.
It was from these newcomers that they heard rumors that Korin was at Cirna and building up an army there.
“That means we’re cut off from the nobles in the territories north of there, except by sea,” Tharin noted.
“And we still don’t have enough ships to matter,” Illardi added. New keels were being laid down at boatyards from Volchi to Erind, but not all of those ports had declared for the new queen. Even if they had, it took time to build ships of that size.
“Well, at least we know where he is,” said Ki.
Arkoniel and Iya tried to verify this, using the wizard eye and window spells, but to no avail.
“You can’t see into the fortress at all?” Tamír asked in disbelief.
“Whenever I try, it feels as if someone is sticking knives in my eyes,” Arkoniel told her. “Niryn has thrown up some sort of protection around the entire fortress.”
“Did he catch you trying to peek?”
“Perhaps, but we’ve been very careful,” Iya said. “He’d know to guard against such magic.”
“Is Niryn stronger than you?”
“It’s not such a difficult sort of ward. The Harriers were powerful in their way, and there are at least four of them left besides Niryn. It won’t do to underestimate them. We only saw them at work, burning wizards. We don’t know what else they’re capable of,” Iya warned. “You’ve seen what our little band can do when we put our heads together, after only a few months. Niryn has had years to explore and test the powers of his own people. I suspect they are still a force to be reckoned with, even diminished as they are.”
“What can we do, then?”
“Send more scouts,” Arkoniel suggested.
For now, that seemed to be her only option, and she did so and returned to learning how to rule.
She spent each morning holding court in the makeshift throne room they’d made of Illardi’s hall, sitting on the canopied dais, attended by Illardi, Tharin, her Companions, and a few of Iya’s wizards.
It still felt odd, sitting in the place of honor, but everyone else treated her like she was already queen. The arrangements for the displaced and incoming lords and warriors still took up much of her attention. There were endless needs to be addressed, disputes to be heard. Fights broke out and the whole camp was placed under military tribunal. The citizens were growing impatient with their situation. The miracle of their new queen was old news now; they were hungry and dirty and wanted more than the promises of their priests that life would improve.
Hundreds who’d been judged healthy by the drysians had already been allowed to leave. Some went to Atyion. Others had family in other cities. But there were still over a thousand left in the encampment and even with supplies from Atyion and other towns, careful rationing was necessary, which made for short tempers.
Some of those left were too sick to move, many had nowhere to go; but most still wanted to return to the city and try to rebuild or reclaim what they could, despite warnings about tainted water and cursed ground. Day after day, they appeared before Tamír, cajoling, begging, and complaining.
Worse yet, the lords who’d come to join her were growing restless. Tamír had made it quite clear that she was in no hurry to precipitate a civil war, especially since she’d had no word from Korin yet. All her generals and advisors insisted that her cousin’s continued silence had to be taken as a bad sign, and in her heart, she suspected they were right.
Bored warriors were a danger to all. There were fights between rival factions, murders, rapes, and pilfering. She left the disciplining of the culprits to the nobles they answered to, but knew she either had to use them or send them home.
“Work parties,” Tharin advised. “Most of them are yeomen and farmers when they’re at home. Put them to work and keep them out of trouble!”
Most of her nobles had been amenable to the idea, and so she had a sizable force to work the fields and carry on with the cleansing of the city.
It was exhausting and discouraging work, trying to keep order. Tamír wasn’t trained for this and felt the weight of it all as a personal responsibility.
“If I’m to be the queen that saves them, then why doesn’t the Lightbearer show me how?” she complained to Imonus.
“There has not been one report of plague,” the priest pointed out.
That didn’t put bread in anyone’s mouth, as far as she could tell.
She was not without help, however. Duke Illardi had experience in such matters and vetted many of the supplicants for her. He was well respected and better versed in the ways of court than her warlords. Soon he was acting as her unofficial chancellor.
Nikides was proving invaluable, as well. He’d learned firsthand about matters of court protocol from his illustrious grandfather. Tactful, deeply knowledgeable in history and court procedures, and wise beyond his years, he quickly earned respect even from the older country lords.
Tamír kept the two of them by her at all audiences and they guided her when necessary.
It was during this time, too, that Tamír saw a different side of Tharin. She’d always known him as a steady and fair-minded man, a staunch warrior and friend. Now she discovered shrewdness in him, born of years at her father’s side at court and on the battlefield. He had never sought to lead, but he was a good judge of character and had a long memory. Thanks to her father’s power and influence at court, there were few among the higher nobles whom Tharin had not met at one time or another.
One morning a young knight appeared with a message from Duke Ursaris of Raven Tor. The duke had arrived the previous day, with a force of five hundred riders and men-at-arms, but had not yet come to pay his respects.
Tharin knew Ursaris from their days in Mycena and privately expressed his distrust to Tamír. “He’s a staunch Sakoran, and owes your uncle both his title and his lands, which were seized from a lord who maintained his allegiance to Ariani after Erius took the throne.”
The duke’s messenger shifted nervously until Tamír took notice of him, then bowed low, looking like a man with a distasteful duty to perform. “I am Sir Tomas, and I bring greetings from his grace, Duke Ursaris, son of Melandir, to—” He swallowed uneasily. “To Prince Tobin of Ero.”
Tharin caught Tamír’s eye and lifted one eyebrow slightly. She acknowledged the caution with a slight nod and gave the young man a stern look. “You may tell your lord that I am Tobin no longer. If he wishes parley with me, he can come himself and greet me by my proper name.”
“You may also tell your lord that in the future if he wishes to spy out the situation, he should not send a known cat’s-paw under the honorable banner of a herald,” added Tharin, glowering down at the startled fellow.
“I am a knight, Lord Tharin!”
“Then you’ve come up in the world by quite a mark. I remember a camp runner with a talent for picking pockets and telling clever lies. I remember you, Sir Tomas, and your master, too.”
“So do I,” old Jorvai growled from the back of the audience chamber, where he’d been playing dice with some of the other lords. He came forward, dropping a hand to his sword hilt. “And like Lord Tharin here, I have a good memory for faces and reputations. Ursaris always wanted his bread buttered on both sides.”
Tamír held up a hand to stay them. “If your master wishes to support me, then tell him he is welcome in my court. If not, he should be gone by morning or I’ll consider him my enemy.” It was no idle threat and the man knew it.
“I will report your reply, Highness.” He bowed and hurried out.
Tamír and her guard rode out by Beggar’s Bridge to see what Ursaris would do. By sundown he’d decamped and marched west, taking his warriors with him.
“Good riddance!” Ki called after them, rising in the saddle and waving his middle finger at their retreating backs. “You cowards!”
“He’s not, you know,” Tharin said. “Ursaris is a good leader and his men are brave.”
“They didn’t believe the truth about me,” said Tamír.
“I doubt it mattered one way or the other to him,” Tharin replied. “He’s made up his mind to back Korin.” He leaned over and clasped her shoulder. “He won’t be the only one, you know.”
Tamír sighed, watching Ursaris’ banners dwindle in the sunset light and dust. “I know. Do you think that Korin has lost people to my side, too?”
Tharin waved a hand around at the spreading cluster of tents and corrals on the plain. “There they are, and more coming every day.”
Tamír nodded, but still wondered how many warriors Korin was gathering, with the Sword of Ghërilain and his father’s name?
Such thoughts made her all the more grateful for the familiar faces around her.
Not all of them were as they had been, however.
Tanil’s wounds had healed, but his mind was still unhinged. Tamír and Ki visited the squire every day, in the room he now shared with Lynx. He slept a great deal and spent most of his waking hours staring out the window at the sea. The others even had to remind him to eat. His once-lively brown eyes were dull now, his hair lank and dirty around his shoulders, except for the two small tufts of unevenly shorn hair at his temples, where the enemy had cut off his braids. It was a mark of shame for a warrior. Quirion had been made to cut off his own, when he was banished from the Companions for cowardice. Now Tanil would have to prove himself worthy again, before he would be allowed to plait in new ones.
Tamír doubted he cared. The only person he would willingly talk to was Lynx, and he said very little to him. Lynx often sat quietly with him when he wasn’t needed elsewhere, concerned that he might do himself harm.
“Bad enough what those Plenimaran bastards did to him, and then left him alive with the shame of it, but he feels he failed Korin, too,” Lynx confided to Tamír and the others. “His mind wanders and he wants to go looking for him, thinking Korin fell in battle. Other times he thinks he hears Korin calling for him. I have to set a guard on his door when I’m not there.”
“How did Korin take it, losing him?” Ki asked Nikides.
“Hard. You know how close they were.”
“But he didn’t go back to look for the body, to give his friend proper rites?”
Nikides shrugged. “There wasn’t time. The citadel was overrun right after that and Lord Niryn convinced Korin to flee.”
“I’d have found a way,” Ki muttered, exchanging a look with Tamír. “I’d have made sure one way or the other.”
One rainy afternoon a few days later another familiar face appeared at her court.
Tamír was presiding over a dispute between two displaced millers over the ownership of a small, undamaged granary outside the city walls. She’d watched her uncle at this many times, but found it just as boring to adjudicate as to watch. She was doing her best not to yawn in their faces when Ki leaned down and touched her shoulder.
“Look there!” He pointed into the crowd of petitioners that ringed the hall and she caught sight of a head of golden hair. Leaving Nikides to sort out the millers, she hurried across the hall to greet her father’s liegeman, Lord Nyanis. She hadn’t seen him since the day he accompanied her father’s ashes home from that last battle. His welcoming smile now swept that memory away with happier ones and she embraced him warmly. He was one of the few lords she’d known, growing up at the keep, and she’d always liked him. Even as she embraced him, however, she remembered that he and Lord Solari had once been friends, as well as her father’s warlords.
“So here you are!” he laughed, hugging her like he had when she was a child at the keep. “And Ki, too. By the Four, look how the pair of you have grown! And fine warriors, too, by all reports. Forgive me for not coming sooner. I was still in Mycena when word of the Plenimaran raid reached me, and the spring storms on that coast forced us to march back.”
Tamír pulled back. “Have you heard about Solari?”
Nyanis’ smile faded. “Yes. I always told him his ambition would be the ruin of him, but I had no idea he’d throw in with the likes of Niryn. I’d seen nothing of him since your poor father’s passing. If I’d known, I’d have tried to reason with him and do more to protect you. As it is, I do have news for you, though it’s not good. I’ve had word from Solari’s eldest son, Nevus, on my way here. The fool wanted me to help him oppose you and take Atyion.”
“I hope you told him no?” Tamír said, grinning.
Nyanis chuckled. “Your father was my liege, and I’ll pledge my sword to you, if you’ll have me.”
“Gladly.”
He looked her up and down; she’d come to expect such scrutiny from those who’d known her before the change, and recognized the wonder mixed with disbelief.
“So this was Rhius’ great secret? I spoke with Tharin on my way in. He says I’m to call you Tamír now. Or should it be Majesty?”
“Highness, for now. It’s important that I follow the laws and rituals.”
“That would include getting back the queen’s sword.”
“Yes.”
“Then I will see it in your hand, Highness.” Nyanis knelt and presented his sword to her, right there in the bustle of servants and milling plaintiffs. “In the meantime, I repeat the pledge of my heart and my sword to the scion of Atyion. I will see the crown of Skala on your brow and the Sword of Ghërilain in your hand. I will gladly give my life for that, Princess Tamír.” He stood and sheathed his sword. “Let me present some other allies I brought to you.”
Arkoniel happened by as she was greeting the knights and lords. “Lord Nyanis! I’d not heard of your arrival.”
“Wizard!” He clasped hands with Arkoniel. “Still minding your charges, I see. Were you ever able to teach either of them to write properly?”
“One of my greatest accomplishments,” Arkoniel replied, smiling.
Taking a bitty of the red. That’s what Lhel had called the spell when she first taught it to Arkoniel. Away from prying eyes, he pressed the tiny drop of Nyanis’ blood from beneath the sharpened corner of his little finger’s nail and spread it over the pad of his thumb, then spoke the words she’d taught him. Like Tamír, he wanted to trust the man, but Solari had been a harsh lesson. He felt the tingle of the magic working, and then relief when no hint of evil intent came to him from the blood.
He’d used this spell often, and had already found a few lords who weren’t to be trusted. Satisfied about Nyanis, he returned to the audience chamber, looking for more newcomers to greet.
Chapter 13 (#ulink_7b7790d9-d176-5f34-bfa6-0ee7a6f98175)
Mahti’s first vision for this journey had been a river, and so it seemed, though his feet never left dry land. The trails he was drawn along led him east and north for the next two turnings of the moon.
For the first weeks he traveled through valleys he knew, following each one down from the peaks like the spring melt trickling down in little streams to swell the larger ones at the bottom, where the villages lay. He met with those he’d healed and those he’d bedded, and learned the names of children he’d fathered. Some begged him to stay, but the old ones who knew how to read the marks on his oo’lu gave him gifts of food that could be lightly carried and sang parting-forever songs when he moved on.
He soon left the valleys he knew, but Mahti was not lonely, for the ghost witch Lhel was often with him. She came into his dreams at night, telling him of the girl she’d shown him in that first vision. Her name was Tamír, and she’d been a boy until recently, sharing a body with her dead brother. Lhel had made that magic, with the Mother’s blessing, but she’d died before she could see the girl completely into womanhood. This, and the unhappy ghost of the boy, kept her own spirit earthbound. Like many witches, Lhel was at ease in spirit. That she stayed for love rather than for vengeance had made her a pagathi’shesh, a guardian spirit, rather than a noro’shesh, like the girl’s twin.
Lhel showed him that spirit, too, and he was fearsome, bound to Lhel and to his sister by rage. Playing his vision song, Mahti saw the spirit cords that bound them all together. They were very strong.
“I watch over her, but I wait for him,” Lhel confided, lying next to Mahti on his pallet in the darkness under an oak. “I will guide him on when he is ready to let go.”
“He hates you,” Mahti pointed out.
“As he must, but I love him,” she replied, resting her cold head on Mahti’s shoulder and wrapping her cold arms around him.
Lhel had been a beautiful woman, with her thick hair and ripe body. The marks of the goddess covered her skin like twig shadows on snow and her power still clung around her like a scent. She inflamed Mahti’s flesh as if she’d been a living woman. Because she was a pagathi’shesh, he lay with her like a living woman under each full moon, but only then. By the full light of the Mother’s face they might make more guardian spirits together, who could be incarnated as great witches later on. Any other night risked making the souls of murderers and thieves. But she often lay with him, even without coupling, and he wished he’d known her in life.
She was also his guide, and in his dreams showed him rocks and trees to look for to keep him on the path he’d chosen. She told him of other people around the girl who had been a boy, showed him faces: a boy with brown, laughing eyes; a fair-haired southland warrior filled with love and sadness; the young oreskiri he’d seen in the first vision, who was filled with pain; and an old woman oreskiri with a face like flint. He would know the girl by these people, Lhel said.
The way grew harsher as he pushed ever east and north, and so did the people who lived there. They were still his own kind, but they lived too close to the southlanders to be generous or welcoming to a stranger heading in that direction. They showed him scant courtesy, just enough not to offend the Mother, and sent him on his way with silence and suspicious looks.
On and on he went, and the mountains shrank to hills. The Retha’noi villages grew smaller and meaner and farther between, then there were no villages at all, just the occasional camp of hunters or a lone witch.
Another two days and the hills gave way to forest and spring rushed up to meet him, even though at home he knew people would still be breaking ice on the water buckets in the morning. Here the grass was green and lusher than any meadow he’d known. The flowers were different, and even the birds. He knew from the old tales that he had at last reached the outlying lands of the southlanders.
The first ones he met were a family of wandering traders who’d had dealings with the Retha’noi and greeted him with respect in his own language. The patriarch’s name was Irman and he welcomed Mahti into their tent like kin and sat him at his side by the fire.
When they’d washed their hands and eaten together with his wife and sons and all their wives and children, Irman asked after hill people Mahti might know, then asked the nature of his journey.
“I’m seeking a girl who was once a boy,” Mahti told him.
Irman chuckled at that. “Can’t be many of those about. Where is she?”
“South.”
“South’s a big place in Skala. From where you’re sitting, it’s just about all south from here. Go north and you’ll soon find yourself in the Inner Sea.”
“That is why I must go south,” Mahti replied agreeably.
Irman shook his head. “South. All right then. Your kind has a way of getting where you need to go. You carry a fine oo’lu, too, I see, so you must be a witch.”
The man said it with respect, but Mahti caught an undercurrent of fear. “You people distrust my sort of magic, I’m told.”
“Like poison and necromancy. I don’t think you’ll get very far if people know what you are. I’ve seen some of the good you folk can work, but most Skalans would burn you without a second thought.”
Mahti considered this. Lhel had said nothing of such dangers.
“Do you speak Skalan?” Irman asked.
“Yes, I have learned it from a boy,” Mahti answered in that language. “Our people are learning it from traders, like you, so know to protect ourselves. I am told to say I am from Zengat, to fool them.”
At least that’s what he thought he said. Irman and the others stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“I am not saying the words?” he tried again.
“You’re getting a few of them, here and there,” Irman replied, wiping his eyes. “People will take you for simpleminded rather than Zengati, talking like that. And the Zengat aren’t exactly loved in Skala, either.”
So it would be harder than he thought, making his way in a place where no one liked or understood him. “If you will teach me to speak better, I will heal your ills and make good charms for you,” he said in his own language. He pointed over at one of Irman’s women with a big belly. “I will play blessings for the child.”
The young woman glared at him, muttering something in her own tongue.
Irman growled something at her, then gave Mahti an apologetic look. “Don’t mind Lia. She’s from the towns and doesn’t understand your folk the way we hill people do. I’ll take your healing on my animals, if you swear to me by your moon goddess you mean no harm.”
“By the Mother, I swear I work only good,” Mahti promised, pressing a hand to his heart and gripping his oo’lu.
He stayed three days in the forest with Irman and his clan, practicing his Skalan and laughing at himself and his people who’d thought they knew the language. In return, he healed a spavined ox and played the worms out of Irman’s goats. It scared his hosts a little, when the witch marks showed on his skin as he called his power, but Irman let him heal a rotten tooth all the same, then asked him to play over his old wife, who had a lump in her belly.
The old woman lay shivering on a blanket under the moon, while her whole clan looked on with a mix of wonder and concern. Mahti gently felt the swelling and found it hot and angry. This called for a deep healing, like the one he’d done for Teolin.
He drew Irman aside and tried to explain about playing the spirit out of the body in order to work there without disturbing it.
The man rubbed his cheek where Mahti had driven out the bad tooth. At last he nodded. “You do what you can for her.”
Mahti settled down beside her and rested the end of the oo’lu near her hip. “You sleep now, woman,” he said, using his newly learned Skalan. “Good sleep. I make you not sick. You give me—” He didn’t know the right word for it. He needed her agreement.
“I give you leave,” the woman whispered. “It won’t hurt none, will it?”
“No pain,” he assured her.
He droned her to sleep and called her spirit up to bathe in the moonlight, then set to work exploring her abdomen. To his relief it was only an abscessed ovary. A bad one, to be sure, but he soon cooled the hot humors and drew them away. It would take a few days and some cleansing herbs to finish the job, but when he played her back and bade her open her eyes, she pressed a hand to her side and smiled.
“Oh yes, that’s much easier! Irman, he is a good healer. Why do folks tell such tales of them?”
“We can make harm,” Mahti admitted. “Bad witches, too, but also those who fight the southlanders.” He gave the others an apologetic little bow. “Not friends, but those who kill us to take away our land.”
“Is it true, your people used to live all the way to the eastern sea?” one of Irman’s grandsons asked.
Mahti nodded sadly. The old ones still sang of sacred places by that salt water—rock shrines and sacred springs and groves that had gone untended for generations. The Retha’noi still had their hills and mountain valleys because the Skalans didn’t want them yet.
On the fourth morning he prepared to take his leave. He’d dreamed of Lhel again the night before and she was impatient for him to move on, but to the north again, not south.
Irman gave him food and clothes to help him move better along his journey. Their tunics and trousers fit closer than his loose shirt and leggings, and they weren’t sewn with any charms. Mahti sewed some on the inside of the tunic, and kept his elk and bear tooth necklace and bracelets. He accepted a Skalan knife, too, and hid his own in a cloth bag with the food they’d given him.
“What about your horn?” Irman asked as Mahti fitted it into its cloth sling. Mahti just winked. It was easy enough to make people not see it if he chose.
“Now can I tell that I am Zengat?” he asked, grinning.
“Better than saying what you are, I guess,” Irman said. “Are you sure you have to do this ‘sojourn’ of yours? You’d be better off heading home.”
“The goddess will help me.” He didn’t tell him about Lhel. Southlanders didn’t understand the dead.
He walked south until he was out of their sight, then turned north all that day and the next, and the forest grew thinner. He could see over the tops of the trees in places, to an endless expanse of flatland. It was green, and dotted with forests and lakes. He hurried on, anxious to see what it was like to walk in such a place, with the sky so wide overhead.
He went on like this for three days, when his feet brought him to a wide river. There were many villages and farms, and herds of cattle and horses.
He could not swim, so he waited for darkness to look for a way across the water. The moon rose full and white in a clear sky, so bright his shadow showed sharp and black on the dew-laden grass.
He had almost reached the river when he met a new group of southlanders. He’d just left the safety of a small wood and was striding across the moon-bright meadow when suddenly he heard voices. Three men ran out of the dark wood and made straight for him. Mahti dropped his traveling sack and pulled the oo’lu from its sling, holding it loosely in one hand.
The men came on, letting out cries that were probably intended to frighten him. Mahti’s fingers tightened on the smooth wood of the oo’lu, but he was smiling.
The men drew swords as they came close. They smelled dirty and their clothes were ragged.
“You!” the tallest one hailed him roughly. “I can smell the food in your bag from here. Hand it over.”
“I need my food,” Mahti replied.
“Bilairy’s balls, where you from, talking like you got a mouthful of stones?”
It took Mahti a moment to puzzle out what the man was asking. “Zengat.”
“Fuck me, a Zengat, way down here all by his self!” one of the others exclaimed, stepping closer.
“You not fight me,” Mahti warned. “I wish not to harm any.”
“Well ain’t that sweet?” the tall one growled, closing in. “And what you going to ‘harm’ us with? That walking stick? I don’t see no sword on your belt, friend.”
Mahti cocked his head, curious. “You call me ‘friend’ but voice and sword say ‘enemy.’ Go away, you. I will go my own way in peace.”
They were almost close enough to strike. Mahti sighed. He’d given fair warning. Raising the oo’lu to his lips, he blew a catamount cry at them. His attackers sprang back in surprise, as he’d hoped.
“Balls, what were that?” the third one said. He sounded much younger than the other two.
“You go,” Mahti warned again. “I kill you if you don’t.”
“That ain’t no Zengat,” the leader growled. “We got us a filthy little hill witch here. That’s one of them fancy bullroarers. Cut his throat before he gets up to mischief!”
Before they could attack Mahti began the drone of the bees. They stopped again, and this time they dropped their weapons and grabbed their heads in pain. The young one fell to his knees, screaming.
Mahti played louder, watching the other two fall writhing to the ground. The blood that burst from their ears and noses looked black in the moonlight. If they were innocent men, the magic would not hurt them so. Only the guilty with murder in their hearts and blood on their hands reacted like this. Mahti played on, louder and stronger until all three stopped thrashing and crying out and lay still in the grass. He changed to the song he’d used to lift the souls out of the bodies of Teolin and Irman’s old wife, and played over the body of the leader. This time, however, he ended it with a sharp raven’s croak that severed the thin thread of spirit that tethered the soul to the body. He did the same with the man in the hat, but let the boy live. He was young enough that perhaps this life hadn’t been his choice.
The spirits of the two dead men flittered around the bodies like angry bats. Mahti left them to find whatever afterlife southlanders had and continued on his way without a backward glance.
Chapter 14 (#ulink_1e8d55e6-e123-542c-99b5-5c8f70f0a61b)
The weather around the isthmus was always unpredictable, but even here, summer finally arrived with warmer days and softer winds. The coarse grass above the cliffs came to life, looking like a strip of green velvet stretched between the blue and silver seas on either side. Small flowers carpeted the waysides and even grew from the cracks in the stonework along the walls and in the courtyards.
Riding along the cliffs with Korin and the Companions, Lutha tried to find hope in the new season. Rumors still came thick and fast from the south, carried by the shaken warlords and nobles.
A sprawling encampment was slowly spreading over the flat ground before the fortress, nearly five thousand men in all. It wasn’t only cavalry and foot, either. Fifteen stout ships under the command of Duke Morus of Black Stag Harbor rode at anchor in Cirna harbor. By all reports, Tobin had only the few that had survived the Plenimaran raid.
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Lynn Flewelling
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Эзотерика, оккультизм
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The gripping conclusion a thrilling fantasy adventure trilogy filled with necromancy and bone-chilling magic from the bestselling US author of the Nightrunner series.Long ago Skala was ruled only by Queens, in accordance with prophecy. King Erius, fearing that the prophecy might be evoked as a means to dethrone him, had most of his female relatives assassinated. When his sister fell pregnant with twins, two of Skala’s wizards were warned by the oracle and took steps to conceal the girl who survived her twin brother at birth. Now Prince Tobin has been revealed as Princess Tamir, the true heir to the throne – and Skala has never been more in need of a true Queen.But at the age of fifteen Tamir is deeply confused by the new identity that has been thrust upon her, and feels betrayed by the wizards who tricked her and all her friends. Her demonic twin still haunts her, but now that the spell concealing her identity has been broken, the bond between them is severed. Brother is no longer under Tamir’s control, and he is bent on vengeance for the sins committed against him.Meanwhile Erius’s son Korin, Tamir’s beloved cousin, has claimed the throne and declared her a traitor. But as the country slides into civil war the people begin to acclaim Tamir as their saviour. Tamir strives to avoid conflict, but Korin’s weakness and Tamir’s honour will lead them to the ultimate clash of wills.