— 52 —

As they rode on Tobin tried not to think about what lay ahead. Ki’s first reaction had scared him more than any battle could. He believed his friend’s staunch pledge, but more than once during that long ride he caught Ki stealing puzzled looks at him, as if he was trying to see the stranger under Tobin’s borrowed skin.

I don’t want to change! he thought miserably. Looking off to the distant mountains looming black against the stars, he wondered what it would be like to just ride away from everything—from the battle, the city, his friends, his fate.

But it was only a fleeting thought. He was a Skalan warrior and a prince of the blood. Scared as he was, he would never shame himself, or betray those he loved.

His name and signet got them fresh horses along the road, and they spread word of the invasion at every stop. By dawn they were in sight of the sea again, and reached Atyion an hour past noon.

Reining in at the town gate, Tharin called up to the guards on the wall, “Open in the name of Prince Tobin, lord of Atyion. The prince has returned!”

“Ero is under siege by Plenimar,” Tobin told the startled sentries as soon as they were inside. “Spread the word. Every warrior must prepare to march back with me. No, wait!” he called as the man was about to run off. “The women, too; any who wish to fight for Skala are welcome under the banner of Atyion. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my prince!”

“Tell everyone to assemble in the castle yard.”

“Well done, Tobin!” Arkoniel murmured.

They raced on through the town, only to find the drawbridge still raised beyond the castle moat. Tharin cupped his hands around his mouth and hailed the guard, but there was no answer.

Ki shaded his eyes and squinted up at the men on the wall. “Those are Solari’s men.”

“Open in the name of the prince!” Tharin shouted again.

Presently a man leaned over the battlement by the gate head. “I have Duke Solari’s orders not to admit anyone from Ero, on account of the pox.”

“Son of a whore!” Ki gasped.

“Open at once for the prince or be hanged for a traitor!” Tharin bellowed back in a voice Tobin had never heard him use before.

Arkoniel was calmer. “These are serious matters, fellow. Fetch your master to the walls at once.”

“Solari can’t do this!” Ki exclaimed hotly as they sat waiting. “This is Tobin’s land, whether he’s of age or not.”

“The man who commands the castle commands Atyion,” Tharin muttered, glaring across the moat.

“Brother was right,” Tobin told Arkoniel. “He told me a long time ago that Solari wanted Atyion for himself.”

The sun sank another hour in its course as they fretted outside the gates. A crowd of armed townspeople gathered at their backs while they waited. Word of the situation had spread. Tharin found several sergeants among them and ordered runners sent to the outlying steadings to raise the knights. Arkoniel sent others for the town priests.

Two women emerged from the crowd and bowed deeply to Tobin. One was clad in old-fashioned armor. The other wore the white robes and silver mask of the Illioran temple.

Even with the mask, Tobin recognized her and bowed. “Honored One, Lady Kaliya.”

The priestess bowed, and displayed the many-colored dragons on her palms. “I’ve long dreamed of your coming, though I did not expect you so soon. Atyion will not forsake the rightful heir.”

Tobin dismounted and kissed her hand. “I won’t forsake Atyion. Did you know?”

“That it would be you? No, Highness, but I am most pleased.” She bent her head close to his, and whispered, “Daughter of Thelátimos, welcome.”

More priests arrived. Arkoniel and Kaliya took them aside, speaking quietly. Tobin shivered as he watched them. One by one, they all turned and silently saluted him, hands to their hearts.

Presently Solari appeared on the parapet, and called down, “Greetings, Prince Tobin. I regret the poor welcome you received.”

“Don’t you know what’s happening in Ero?” Tobin shouted back. “They sent messenger birds yesterday. The city is under attack!”

Astonishment rippled through the crowd.

“Yes, I know,” Solari shouted. “But Atyion must be protected from plague at all costs.”

“That ain’t right!” someone in the crowd yelled.

“Even at the cost of her rightful lord’s life?” Tharin shouted back. “Solari, this is Rhius’ son, and he’s here by the king’s order! Your own son is there in Ero with him.”

“Other pigeons have outdistanced you, Tharin, and my news is fresher. Lower Ero is lost and the king is trapped on the Palatine. They’ll all be dead before you can get back.”

“Traitor!” Ki screamed, brandishing his sword.

Solari ignored him. “Skala must be defended and Atyion is the greatest stronghold left. She must be led by a seasoned general. Give over your claim, Prince Tobin, and I will adopt you as my heir. Let the priests witness my pledge.”

“I will not!” the Illioran priestess cried, and was echoed by the others. “I send the traitor’s curse upon you!”

“You have other sons, Solari,” Arkoniel replied. “Even if we believed you, how long would Tobin survive among them with all this to gain?”

“Not a fortnight!” a woman cried out in the crowd behind them.

“Someone shoot that traitor!” someone else called out.

“Storm the walls!”

“Hang the bastards! We’ll never bend knee to ’em!”

Ki dismounted and went to Tobin. “Could you send Brother after him, Tob?” he whispered.

Somehow, Arkoniel heard and hissed, “Never ask that again, Ki. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He rode to the edge of the moat and raised his right fist in the air, clutching his crystal wand. The failing daylight struck fire through it. “Hear me, all you in the castle, and you here behind us.” His voice carried like a battle cry. “I am the wizard Arkoniel, once the pupil of Mistress Iya. You knew us as the hearth friends of Duke Rhius. By his own hand, we have also been the protectors of his only child and heir, who stands here like a beggar at his own gate!

“Solari claims he’s shutting out the plague. Has he ever done such a thing before? No, only now that he believes Ero lost. Know this, people of Atyion. These years of plague and death are the curse of Illior that King Erius brought down on the land. With the complicity of the people, he usurped the throne from Skala’s rightful heir. Princess Ariani, daughter of Agnalain, mother of Tobin—she should have been queen!”

“He speaks the truth,” Kaliya cried, displaying both palms in official sanction of his words. “Her child stands before you now, untouched by plague or famine. Prince Tobin’s holdings—Atyion, Cirna, Alestun, Middleford, Hawk’s Lee—all of them and their people have been spared. Did you never wonder why? I tell you now; it’s because Ariani’s blood runs true in his veins! Unknowing, Tobin has been your true protector, blessed by Illior and all the Four.”

The rumble grew to a cheer, but there was no response from the castle. Tobin looked around nervously. Despite the goodwill of the crowd, he felt very exposed. Solari’s archers could be looking down their shafts at them that very moment. “Now what?” he asked Tharin.

Kaliya stepped close and grasped his stirrup. “I promised you my help long ago. Do you recall?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you’ve never come seeking it. I offer it again. Give your battle cry, Scion of Atyion. Good and loud, now!”

Something in her voice gave him hope. Tilting his head back, he shouted, “Atyion! Atyion for Skala and the Four!”

Ki and the others took up the cry, and the crowd joined in fiercely, waving kerchiefs, shawls, and weapons of every sort. The sound rolled over Tobin like thunder and sang in his ears like wine.

Kaliya held up her hands for silence. “There. Do you hear that?”

The cry had been taken up inside the castle walls. “Atyion for Skala! For the Four!” It swelled to a roar, and was soon punctuated by the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.

Tharin bowed to the priestess with a grim smile. “Well done, my lady. Atyion knows her master’s voice. They’re fighting for you, Tobin. Call to them.”

“Open the gates!” Tobin cried, but there was no reply.

They mounted and sat their horses tensely, watching the drawbridge. The sun fell another hour before the sound of fighting ended and they saw a new flurry of activity above the gate.

Some sort of struggle appeared to be going on. It was brief, and ended when a man was tossed screaming and flailing from the battlements with a noose around his neck. His cries were cut short as the rope fetched taut and snapped his neck. The green silk robe he wore was as rich as a king’s; costly embroidery caught the sun as the body spun slowly at the end of the hangman’s rope.

It was Solari.

Moments later the drawbridge rattled down and soldiers surged out to greet Tobin. Some among them wore Solari’s green, but they were chanting Tobin’s name.

There were women with them, too, still in skirts and aprons, but armed with swords. One of the cooks ran to Tobin and fell on her knees before him. Offering her sword up to him with both hands, she cried out, “For Atyion and the Four!”

It was Tharin’s cousin who’d greeted him on his first visit here. Dismounting, Tobin accepted the blade and gave it back to her. “Rise, Grannia. You’re a captain again.”

Another great cheer went up, echoing between the castle walls and the town. It seemed to lift Tobin back into the saddle on waves of sound, leaving him dizzy and elated. Then Arkoniel was beside him again.

“It’s time, Tobin,” he shouted over the noise.

“Yes, I know.”

Flanked by his companions and the chief priests, Tobin rode across the bridge into the huge bailey beyond. The brief battle there had left scores of dead, mostly Solari’s men. Others had been herded into several corrals and knelt there under the watchful eye of Atyion archers and swordsmen.

Tobin rode in a wide circle, taking in the situation. Most of Solari’s men had sided with Atyion in the end.

“The castle is yours, Prince Tobin,” said Tharin.

Duchess Savia and her children were waiting for him at the head of the castle steps. The duchess held her head up proudly, but he saw the fear in her eyes as she pulled her children closer to her. Jobin’s heart turned over in his breast as he saw the same fear in the children’s eyes. He’d feasted and played with them the last time he was here, and held little Rose on his knee. Now she clung to her mother’s skirts, wailing with fear at his approach.

Savia fell to her knees. “Kill me if you will,” she cried, holding her hands out to him in supplication. “But I pray you in the name of the Four, spare my children!”

“You are under my protection,” Tobin assured her. “I swear by the Four and the law of Skala that no harm will come to you!” He looked around. “Is Lady Lytia here?”

“Here, my prince,” she called, stepping out from the crowd below.

“Lady Lytia, I proclaim you Steward of Atyion. See to it that my order is made clear to the garrison. No harm or insult is to be offered to the duchess and her children. They can stay in their chambers under guard for now. When you’ve seen them safely there, give the order for my banners to be raised.”

“I will, my prince.” The approval in her pale eyes as she gently guided the weeping duchess away warmed Tobin even more than the cheering had.

“You’d better address the garrison now,” Tharin advised.

Despite his success so far, Tobin’s stomach tightened into a cold knot as he looked out across the sea of expectant faces.

“Warriors of Atyion,” he began, and his voice sounded thin and reedy in the open air. “I thank you for your faithful service this day.”

Arkoniel stepped closer and whispered in his ear as they waited for the cheering to subside. Tobin nodded and took a deep breath.

“Good people of Atyion, you have loved me for my father’s sake, I know, and welcomed me as one of your own. Today—” He faltered, his mouth dry. “Today the warships of Plenimar fill the harbor before Ero. The city is in flames and the enemy is at the gates of the Palatine.”

He paused again, gathering his thoughts as the angry outcry subsided. “Today, I stand before you not only as the child of Rhius, but of Ariani; she who should have been queen.” He stopped again, so scared he thought he might be sick right there in front of everyone. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself on. “Skala must have a queen again, if she is to survive. I have—I have something very odd to tell you, but…”

He turned desperately to Arkoniel. “I don’t know how to tell them. Help me, please!”

Arkoniel bowed, as if in answer to some stern order, and raised a hand to the crowd for their attention. Ki moved in beside Tobin and clasped his shoulder. Trembling, Tobin shot him a grateful look.

Arkoniel reached inside his plain tunic and pulled out a silver amulet of Illior. “Warriors of Atyion, some of you know me. I am Arkoniel, a free wizard of Skala, follower of Iya. My mistress and I are the chosen protectors of Prince Tobin, ordained by Illior Lightbearer through the Afran Oracle sixteen years ago. My mistress was granted a vision while Ariani’s children were still in the womb. You’ve all heard that the princess bore twins, and that the girl perished and the boy lived. That’s not completely true. My mistress and I witnessed the births that night, and have kept the truth of the matter a secret until today.

“I tell you now that it was the girl who lived, not the boy. By the will of Illior and for the sake of Skala, the girl child was by the most fearsome and difficult magics given the form of her dead brother in order to escape murder at the hands of the king and his minions. That girl child stands before you now as Prince Tobin!”

Silence. Tobin could hear ducks quacking on the moat beyond the wall, and dogs barking in the village. Then someone yelled, “That ain’t no girl!”

“What manner of magic could do such things?” a bearded Dalnan priest demanded, and his words set off a greater outcry, as the soldiers and townspeople who’d crowded into the bailey all began talking at once.

Tharin, Ki, and Lynx closed in around Tobin, hands on their sword hilts. Arkoniel’s knuckles went white as he clutched his wand, but it was the Illioran high priestess who stilled the crowd.

Kaliya clapped her hands over her head and a crack of thunder echoed between the walls. “Let them finish!” she cried. “Would I be standing here with them, and these my brethren of the other temples, if we did not think there was some meaning in their words? Let the wizard speak!”

Arkoniel bowed to her and resumed. “For fifteen years you have known this brave young warrior as the son of Rhius. Today, by the will of Illior, you are privileged to see her revealed at last as the true heir of the Skalan throne. You are blessed, people of Atyion. It is you who will bear witness that a rightful heir ordained by Illior has returned to you. You proved your good faith when you overthrew the traitor Solari. Put the seal on it by bearing sacred witness now with these priests of the Four.”

There were a few scattered exclamations and grumblings as Arkoniel motioned everyone away from Tobin.

“He’s too exposed! Can’t we do this inside the hall?” Tharin muttered.

“No, it must be seen. Please, Tharin, you must step back.”

Tharin gave Tobin a last tense look, and Ki and the others grudgingly moved aside with him, but only to the far end of the stairs. The priests did the same on the other side.

Though his friends were no more than twenty feet away, Tobin suddenly felt very alone and exposed. No one was cheering or chanting his name now. The bailey seemed like a sea of skeptical eyes.

Kaliya smiled, as if she sensed Tobin’s mounting fear and accepted it with compassion. The others watched with obvious unease.

Arkoniel came to Tobin and presented him with a thin silver knife; it had been Lhel’s. “She gave me this sometime ago. Use it with courage,” he whispered, kissing Tobin on both cheeks. He’d never done anything like that before. “Remember what I described to you. Begin with the doll. Be brave, Tobin. These are your people watching.”

My people. The entire throng seemed to be holding its breath. Clutching the knife, Tobin felt his fear seep away, leaving him with the same inner stillness he felt before battle. Even so, his hands shook as he pulled out the doll and felt for the hair cord in the fold of its neck. Slipping the tip of the blade under it, he cut it and let it fall away. Then he sliced open the worn muslin and emptied the crumbling herbs, yellowed wool, and all those bits of delicate bone from the doll’s body. Something small and shiny tumbled out, and bounced down the stone steps. It was the golden tablet bearing the Oracle’s words. He’d forgotten he’d hidden it there. It landed at the feet of a bearded sergeant, who hesitantly picked it up. When Arkoniel motioned him to stay where he was, he held it up, and whispered, “I hold on to it for you, shall I, my prince?”

Then Brother was standing there beside him, watching him with hungry black eyes. Judging by the sudden cries and gasps, others could see him, too.

“Your clothes,” Arkoniel called softly. “You must take them off. Ki, help him.”

Brother hissed softly as Ki approached but did not try to stop him. Not letting himself hesitate or think, Tobin took off his sword belt, the studded coat, and shirt and handed them to Ki. Brother’s presence raised gooseflesh along his arms. The ghost stood close beside him, bare-chested now. Tobin quickly shucked off his boots, socks, trousers, and, after another moment’s doubt, his linen clout. Ki gave him a wan smile as he added them to his pile. He was scared, too, and trying not to show it.

“It’s all right,” Tobin whispered, pulling the chain over his head and holding it out to him. “Keep these for me.”

Ki closed his fist around the ring and seal and raised his hand to his heart, saluting Tobin as he retreated to his place with Tharin.

Naked, Tobin faced the crowd and felt for the bone shard. There it was, just below the skin. The tiny ridges of Lhel’s stitching were rough against his fingertips.

“Quickly!” Brother hissed.

Tobin looked into his brother’s black eyes one last time as he raised the silver knife. “Yes.”

Bracketing the lump with two fingers, he pressed the knife’s sharp point to the taut skin. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but his touch was deft. He grimaced as it broke the skin. Blood trickled down.

“Cut deeper!” Brother crooned.

Tobin cut again, twisting the knife, and searing fire shot through him as the tip found its target. He fell to his knees, and the knife clattered to the stone stairs beside him.

“Release me!” Brother screamed, crouching to show Tobin the bleeding wound on his own breast. Blood ran down his cheeks in scarlet tears. “It hurts! Finish it!”

Gasping, Tobin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. The pain was too much.

“Now!” a woman shouted. “It must be now, daughter!”

Opening his eyes, Tobin saw the ghosts.

They stood in a circle around him, all of them crowned and all holding the Sword of Ghërilain upright before them. He didn’t recognize them—the tomb effigies had been too crude to capture their living features, but he knew who they were. Ghërilain the First stood there watching him, and his own blood-soaked grandmother. And that gaunt, sad-faced man beside them—he must be Thelátimos, the last rightful king.

Cool fingers brushed his brow. Tobin looked up into the one face he had seen before. It was Tamir, the murdered queen. It was she who’d called out to him, and she spoke again now. Courage, daughter. It must be now, for Skala!

Someone put the knife back in his hand. It was Ki. He wept as he knelt beside Tobin.

“You can do it,” he whispered, and retreated. He looked like he was sending Tobin to his execution.

Tobin raised the knife. Pain pulled his lips back in a snarl as he gouged deeper. He’d always imagined that the tiny shard would slip out like a splinter, but the flesh had grown fast to it, like a tree bole healing around a nail. He twisted the blade again and heard someone screaming. It sounded like Brother but his own throat was raw with it.

The tiny fragment came free, still sheathed in a pulpy shred of raw flesh. He scarcely had time to feel it between his fingers before a new wave of pain engulfed him, beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

White fire engulfed him, so intense it was icy cold. Caught in that inferno, he couldn’t breathe or think or scream or hear, but somehow he saw Brother, felt the spirit grappling with him, enfolding him, passing through him like a cold black shadow at the heart of that white fire.

And then the pain was gone and Tobin was curled in his side on hot, smooth stone in the sunlight. The ghosts were still around him, but fainter now, like shapes made of grey gauze. The stairs were scorched black in a great circle around him.

And Brother was gone.

Looking around, he did not see the shocked, silent onlookers, only that his twin was not there. He felt it, too; an aching emptiness filled him. There had been no farewell between them, no parting words. He had cut Brother from his body and the ghost had left him. Tobin could scarcely comprehend it.

“Tob?” A warm hand clasped his elbow, helping him sit up. It was Ki.

Tobin reached out to him, then froze in horror, staring down at the strange skin covering his arm. From fingertips to shoulder it hung in loose colorless shreds like a rotted glove. His whole body was the same; his skin was in tatters around him, flayed by the horrendous magic he’d unleashed. He rubbed gingerly at his left forearm and the skin fell away, exposing smooth, whole skin below. The wine-colored wisdom mark was still there, brighter than ever.

He flexed his fingers, brushed his hands together, and rubbed at his arms, shedding the old skin like a snake in spring. He rubbed at his face and felt a thin, dry mask pull away, leaving the crescent-shaped scar still visible on the chin. The fire had somehow spared his hair, but he could feel the old scalp pulling apart beneath it.

He ran his hands down over his chest and stopped, only beginning to fully comprehend what had happened. The old skin that covered his chest was pulled tight, bulging like—

Like a maiden’s bodice.

Shivering, Tobin stripped the old husk away and stared down at her small breasts.

Tobin was dimly aware of a growing murmur as she stood and looked down. Her boy’s genitals had wizened to dried husks. She pulled at the loose skin above them and they sloughed off and fell away.

Ki turned away, a hand clamped across his mouth, and she heard him retch.

The world was going slowly grey around her. She couldn’t feel the stairs under her feet anymore. But Tharin was with her, wrapping a cloak around her, holding her upright. And Ki was back, too, his arm tight around her waist. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

The priests and Arkoniel were there, too, and the cloak had to be opened, an inspection made. Tobin kept her eyes on the sky above their heads, too numb to care.

“It’s all right, Tob,” Ki murmured.

“Not—Tobin,” she whispered. Her lips were sore, and her throat was raw.

“Yes, she must take a woman’s name now,” Kaliya said.

Arkoniel let out a soft groan. “We never discussed that!”

“I know,” Tobin whispered. The ghostly queens were with her again. “Tamír, the queen who was murdered and denied. She came to me—offered me the Sword. Her name—” The grey fog rolled away and tears stung her eyes. “And Ariani, for my mother who should have ruled. And Ghërilain, for Illior and Skala.”

The ghostly queens bowed to her, then sheathed their swords and faded away.

The priestess nodded. “Tamír Ariani Ghërilain. May the name bring you strength and fortune.” Turning to the crowd, which had fallen silent again, she cried out, “I bear sacred witness! She is a woman, and bears the same marks and scars.”

“I bear witness,” the priestess of Astellus echoed, and the others with her.

“I call on you all to bear witness,” Arkoniel shouted to the crowd. “The true queen has returned to you! By the wisdom mark on her arm and this scar on her chin I verify that this is the same person standing before you now, but in her true form. Behold Tamír the Second!”

Won over at last, the people began to cheer, but even that could not drown out the rending crack that rang out behind Tobin. The ornate wooden panel over the castle door—the one carved with the sword of Sakor—split and fell away, revealing the original stonework below.

The Eye of Illior once more guarded Atyion.

Tobin raised her hand to make reverence. But the roar of the crowd caught her, swept her up into the air as the world went black around her.

In that same moment the Afran Oracle laughed aloud in the darkness of her cavern.

Biding with half a dozen other wizards in the ruins of an Ero tavern, Iya staggered and covered her face as a brilliant burst of white light blinded her. Behind her closed lids the light slowly faded to reveal the face of a black-haired, blue-eyed young woman. “Thank the Lightbearer,” she whispered, and her companions echoed the words with the same reverence and wonder. Then with one voice they shouted it aloud. “Thank the Lightbearer! The queen returns!”

In the mountains north of Alestun the wizards of Arkoniel’s exiled Third Orëska saw that same vision and hurried to find one another, crying out the news.

All across Skala, wizards who’d accepted Iya’s small tokens, and many who had been deemed unworthy, shared the vision and wept for joy or shame.

The vision struck Niryn a twofold blow as he paced the ramparts. He recognized that face despite the transformation and raised his fists at the sky, raging at the Lightbearer’s betrayal and Solari’s, and the failure of his own assassins to remove the Scion of Atyion from his path.

“Necromancy!” he cried, swelling like an adder in his rage. “A false face and a false skin! But the strands are not yet woven.”

A Harrier guard unwise enough to approach his master just then was struck blind and died a day later.

Lhel woke in her lonely oak tree house and cast the window spell. Looking through, she saw Tharin bearing the girl down some passageway. Lhel gazed into that still, sleeping face. “Keesa,” she whispered, and was certain she saw Tobin’s eyelids flutter a little. “Keesa, remember me.” She watched a moment longer, making certain that Ki was with them, then closed the portal.

It was winter yet in the mountains. Crusted snow crunched under her feet as she limped to the spring, and ice still ringed the dark pool.

But the center was clear. Leaning over the water, she saw her face in the gently rippling surface, saw how old she looked. She’d had no moonflow since the winter solstice and her hair was more white than black. Left to a normal life among her own people, she would have a husband, children, and honor. Yet her only regret as she crouched over the water was that she left no daughter to tend this sacred place—the mother oak and its sacred spring—lost for so long to her people.

She turned her palms up to the unseen moon and spread the seeing spell over the water. A single image rose in the dark water. She studied it for a moment, then walked slowly back to the hollow oak and lay down on her bed, palms upturned at her sides again—empty, accepting—and listened to the wind in the branches.

He came silently. The weathered deerskin flap over the door did not stir as he entered. She felt him stretch out beside her, cold as a snowbank, and wrap his arms around her neck.

I’ve come back to you at last.

“Welcome, child!” she whispered.

Icy lips found hers and she opened her mouth willingly, letting this demon they’d called Brother steal her last breath as she had stolen his first. The balance was restored.

They were both free.