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, reveal- ing 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.

 

Che 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

 

  

 

 

 

Despite her best intentions, Tamir 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.

 

Tamir 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 under-steward.

 

Tamir 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." Tamir 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 bum 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. Tamir 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, Tamir 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. Tamir 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," Tamir snapped, embarrassed.

 

Baldus had prepared her room for the night. He looked expectantly behind her as Tamir came in. Looking for Ki, she thought.

 

Una helped Tamir 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.

 

Tamir 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."

 

Tamir 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?" Tamir asked miserably.

 

"No. I just thought it might ease your heart a little, to know the truth."

 

Tamir 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!" Tamir 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!" Tamir said firmly, cheeks aflame again.

 

Una laughed softly. "Good night."

 

Tamir 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.

 

Tamir 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. Tamir 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 Tamir 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.

 

Tamir 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

 

  

 

 

 

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 swellof 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 Aurenfaie 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

 

  

 

 

 

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 Oreska had been a noble concept; now she and Arkoniel were faced with finding out whether or not their wizards could actually work together.

 

Tamir 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 Tamir 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 Tamir 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 Tamir's eyes light up as they were presented. Ethni was close to Tamir'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 Tamir. "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 chil- -dren underfoot. "You are Tamir'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 Tamir by turns, ready to protect her from any threat. This had to be done discreetly, with so many of Tamir'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 Tamir 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 Tamir 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 Tamir.

 

"Our daughter of Thelatimos 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

 

  

 

 

 

As the sunnier days of Nythin lengthened across the land and the roads dried, Tamir 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?" Tamir 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 Tamir, cajoling, begging, and complaining.

 

Worse yet, the lords who'd come to join her were growing restless. Tamir 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. Tamir 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.

 

Tamir kept the two of them by her at all audiences and they guided her when necessary.

 

It was during this time, too, that Tamir 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 Tamir. "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 Tamir 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 Tamir'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."

 

Tamir 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.

 

Tamir 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 Tamir.

 

"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."

 

Tamir 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."

 

Tamir nodded, but still wondered how many warriors Korin was gathering, with the Sword of Gherilain 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. Tamir 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.

 

Tamir 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 Tamir 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 Tamir. "I'd have made sure one way or the other."

 

One rainy afternoon a few days later another familiar face appeared at her court.

 

Tamir 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."

 

Tamir 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?" Tamir 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 Tamir 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 Gherilain in your hand. I will gladly give my life for that, Princess Tamir." 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 Tamir, 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

 

  

 

 

 

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 Tamir, 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 pagath-i'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 south-landers 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 south-landers.

 

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 simple-minded 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.

 

 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 bull-roarers. 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

 

  

 

 

 

The weather around the isthmus was always unpredictable, but even here, summer finally arrived with wanner days and sorter 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.

 

Korin found seasoned generals among the newcomers, including Morus, whom he'd declared admiral; Lord Nevus, the eldest son of Duke Solari; and eager, fierce Lord Ursaris of Raven Tor, said to have some of the finest horsemen in the northern territories. Ursaris had arrived only recently, but had quickly found a place of honor at the king's table. More than once, Lutha had seen the man speaking with Niryn and put it down to the wizard's influence. All the generals seemed to be cozy with the man.

 

At night the long tables in the great hall were filled with grim-faced lords who drank Korin's health and swore by Sakor to take Ero back for her rightful king.

 

Passing these same men on the corridors or in the castle yards, however, Lutha caught snatches of muttered arguments and heated debates. It was no secret that the treasury at Ero had been lost. There was talk that their young king had not distinguished himself in battle. Many scoffed at that, but even Korin's defenders had begun to wonder why he still made no move to march against the pretender.

 

Men stopped talking and guiltily looked away when they saw Lutha's baldric, but he overheard enough to concern him. A few nobles had slipped away in the night, but most stayed, professing loyalty to the memory of Korin's father.

 

There were rumors aplenty about Tobin, or Tamir, as he was calling himself now, in addition to the reports brought back by Niryn's spies, but they were confused and hard to credit. But one rumor that did seem to run consistent was that the Oracle at Afra had sent her own priests to bless this changeling queen.

 

There was also talk of a huge golden tablet with a spell on it. One spy who actually saw the thing reported that it was the golden stele of Gherilain, which had once stood in the Old Palace. This was immediately denounced by Niryn as a forgery. Everyone knew that the great tablet had been destroyed.

 

"Illiorans, treasonous priests and rogue wizards: that's who would foist a sham queen on you!" Niryn told any doubters. Each night at the feast table he found reason to rail against the rebel faction. "Traitors, all of them. And treason cannot be tolerated. Lowborn or highborn, they must be seen for what they are, a threat to the peace of Skala. Like snakes in long grass, they have lain in wait. Now they're slithering out to bite at what they think are weak heels."

 

"What do you make of it, then, Lord Niryn?" a grizzled lord named Tyman challenged one night as they sat drinking in the great hall. "Can a wizard change a boy into a girl?"

 

"Without the aid of a sharp knife and four strong men to hold him, you mean?" the wizard replied with a sly grin.

 

That got a good laugh from the assembly. Lutha was sitting by Caliel, though, and felt his friend shudder at the joke. He felt a bit sick himself.

 

Suddenly he felt eyes on him and looked up to see that cur Moriel watching him again, no doubt storing up things to tattle to his master later on. Lutha had had more than his usual ration of wine. With a snort of contempt, he threw his mazer at the nosy little whoreson's head. Moriel ducked it and scuttled away into the crowd.

 

"If you mean by magical means, however, then I must disappoint you," Niryn went on. "There is no spell in Oreska magic that could do such a thing. It would take nothing short of necromancy to effect such a transformation."

 

"Necromancy? In Skala?" Caliel asked dryly. "I thought you and your Harriers had rooted out that sort of thing long since. Don't tell me you missed a few?"

 

Niryn smiled down the table at him. "Necromancy is always a threat, my lord, and we must be vigilant against it."

 

"But why would the Oracle's own priest throw in with necromancers?" Caliel persisted.

 

"We have no proof that this is so," Niryn replied sharply. "When we march on Ero and capture these traitors, I'm certain you will find that it is all a tissue of lies."

 

"If we march," someone down the table from Lutha muttered.

 

"An Illioran plot," Korin muttered over the rim of his cup, his voice a bit slurred. "They hounded and cursed my father to his grave. They betrayed the city to the Plenimarans!"

 

"What?" exclaimed Ursaris. Lutha exchanged a surprised look with Caliel. It was the first they'd heard of such a plot.

 

Korin nodded darkly. "I have my spies and my sources."

 

Lutha and Caliel exchanged another discreet look at that; Lord Niryn was in charge of the king's spies, and all information came to Korin from him.

 

"All of you who were in the city—You saw their crescent marks appearing everywhere for months before the attack," Korin went on, addressing the general company. "You heard them speaking treason against my father on every corner, saying he brought plague and famine on the land by wearing the crown. My father, with all his victories! The man who healed the land like a kind father after the ravages of his mad mother!" Korin brought his wine cup down hard on the table in front of him, so hard that the dregs splashed up the front of his tunic. His dark eyes flashed and his voice shook. "My father was a good man, a hero of Skala! Ariani was nothing but a child and the enemy was at the gates. Would you have had a child on the throne then? Where would we be now, eh?" He was on his feet now, nearly shouting. "And she turned out as mad as her mother, didn't she? And now Tobin?" He paused, chest heaving.

 

Lutha watched with growing alarm; this was how King Erius had acted when the fit came on.

 

"I always thought he was out for himself, from the day he showed up in Ero," Alben drawled, chiming in as usual to support any slander against Tobin. "You were good to him, Korin, better than a brother, and here's how he repays you."

 

Korin slumped back into his chair, looking rather dazed. "Mad. He's gone mad!"

 

"How do we know for certain?" Caliel asked. "With all respect, Lord Niryn, I don't know these spies of yours. I don't know how reliable they are as observers. And I doubt any of them know Tobin as we did." A more ominous silence fell over the table as Niryn turned to Caliel again. "You doubt the king's judgment in this matter, Lord Caliel?"

 

Caliel tensed, sensing his misstep, and Lutha saw him look to Korin for support. Korin concentrated on paring an apple, as if he was paying the conversation no mind.

 

The other lords and warriors watched this exchange like a pack of wolves, gauging who the strong ones were and whom they could pick off later. Caliel wasn't coming off well. Even Alben and Urmanis were carefully keeping their own counsel.

 

Lutha was ashamed of his own silence. Before he could think what to say, however, Cal caught his eye and shook his head, warning him off. Lutha unhappily complied.

 

"I'm only saying that we're a long way from Ero here," Caliel went on, speaking to Korin as if no one else was in the room.

 

Korin just went on with his apple, cutting a slice and dipping it in his wine.

 

"We'll know the truth of it when we've captured Prince Tobin and all his traitors!" said young Nevus. "We're ready to follow our true king, aren't we?" he cried, and was greeted with a cheer.

 

"We'll celebrate the summer solstice on the Palatine!" someone else shouted.

 

"Aye, Majesty, give the word! We can be there by week's end," Master Porion said.

 

Korin smiled and pressed his fist to his heart in acknowledgment, but he didn't stand to announce a campaign.

 

Looking around, Lutha felt the same current of impatience he'd sensed before, unspoken behind all the shouting and pounding of wine cups.

 

The company broke up soon after, leaving Korin's allies to find their way back to their drafty tents or sleep drunk in the hall on benches and tabletops. Lutha trailed after Caliel, hoping to speak with him, but he just shook his head and retreated alone to his own room.

 

Disheartened, Lutha was on his way back to his chamber with Barieus when they were waylaid by the other Companions and drawn into Urmanis' chamber.

 

"What's gotten into Cal?" Alben demanded. "Why is he turning his back on Korin now, when he needs him most?"

 

"Turning his back?" Lutha looked in disbelief from him to Urmanis. "Haven't you been paying the least bit of attention? I know you never liked Tobin, but are you ready to let Niryn play Lord Chancellor and high priest and Sakor only knows what else like this? You know what Korin can be like, and with all that's happened, he's worse than ever—"

 

The Companions had always spoken honestly among themselves, lord and squire alike, even to Korin. So neither Lutha nor Barieus was prepared when the others drew their daggers and backed them into the corner farthest from the door.

 

"You two swore an oath!" Alben growled. "You are the King's Companions and your loyalty is to him. Not to Cal or Tobin or any priest. Isn't that so?"

 

Barieus moved to cover Lutha.

 

"You know we're loyal!" Lutha gasped, less shocked by the naked gleam of steel than the doubt in his fellow Companions' eyes. "Damn it, so is Cal! We're just worried for Korin, that's all! He hasn't been himself for ages, and he's drinking so much—and—"

 

And Niryn is on him like a bad fever, Lutha thought, but something in the others' eyes stopped the words from coming out his mouth. Lutha might not be the quickest wit in Skala, but his instincts were good and telling him now that speaking ill of Niryn to anyone was unwise.

 

"Sheathe your blades unless you mean to use them," he said instead, trying to make light of it. "Bilairy's balls, Alben, are you calling me a traitor now?" The others slowly put away their knives and Lutha heard Barieus let out a faint, pent-up breath.

 

Urmanis gave him a chagrined smile and ruffled Lutha's hair. "These are uncertain times, little brother. You should think before you open that foolish mouth of yours. I feel bad about how things are between Korin and Caliel, too, but don't let your heart blind you to your duty. Korin isn't the one who's betrayed Skala. Tobin has."

 

Lutha shook his hand off and pushed past him to the door. "I'm as loyal as you, and so is Cal," he threw back over his shoulder. "You've no right to accuse us, just for speaking honestly! Korin doesn't need lackeys and slaves, like some Plenimaran Overlord. He needs warriors. Skalan warriors! Don't you forget what we are."

 

By the time he'd made it out the door he was shaking and doubly glad of Barieus close behind him. He was so angry he had to spit three times to ward off drawing bad luck for it.

 

"What's going on?" Barieus asked as soon as they were safely behind their own door. "How can they just sit there in that hall, watching Fox Beard insult Caliel like that?"

 

"I don't know. And then they have the gall to question my loyalty, right to my face?" Lutha spat again and paced the narrow room. "Maybe they're all going mad as old Agnalain herself! I'll tell you one thing, though. If Korin doesn't make up his mind which way he's going to jump soon, those cheers won't be so loud."

 

Niryn saw better than Lutha the impatience among the warriors. The young king felt it, too, and would have led them out tomorrow, but for Niryn's subtle intervention. The wizard realized the risk, putting off the fight, but he was not ready to slip Korin's leash just yet.

 

Nalia's tiring woman, Tomara, had taken fondly to her new mistress, but she was still Niryn's willing informant. When she came to Niryn's room the previous night, it had been with a long face. "Her moon flow's come again," she said, holding out the bloodstained linen for proof.

 

Frowning, Niryn went to one of the large, locked chests that lined his chamber and sorted through the bags of herbs stored there. Selecting three, he mixed dried leaves and blossoms in a basin and carefully packed them in a linen bag.

 

"Make her teas with this and see that she drinks them. She will kindle."

 

"Of course she will, young and strong as she is," the old woman assured him. "And the young king so attentive, too!" She gave the wizard a wink. "The sheets bear witness to that."

 

Niryn smiled and gave her a sester.

 

Sitting by his window later, gazing up at Nalia's tower, he murmured, "You must kindle for me, my girl." He was not worried, only impatient. He'd foreseen an heir born to the stock of Erius. It would be so.

 

________________________________________

 

Chapter 15

 

  

 

 

 

Captain Ahra's scouting party returned early one rain-soaked morning near the end of Gorathan with more news of Korin's position at Cirna. Most of the northern lords had declared for Korin, and trade from that area had stopped.

 

Ahra came directly to the audience chamber, still in her armor and muddy boots. She dropped to one knee before Tamir, left hand on her sword hilt, and raised her right fist to her heart. "Prince Korin has a sizable force gathered, perhaps five thousand men, and twenty ships. I have a list of the nobles who've declared for him."

 

"Is Lord Niryn still with him?"

 

"Yes, and everyone is scared to death of the bastard and the handful of wizards he has left. Your loyal garrison there was slaughtered, and his grey-back Guard put in their place."

 

"Any news of the Companions?" Ki asked.

 

"Lord Caliel and Lord Alben were seen, and there are said to be others, but I wasn't able to learn who or how many. Master Porion is with them. Korin isn't showing himself much outside the keep."

 

Tamir exchanged a worried glance with Ki and Nikides, wondering if Lutha and Barieus had survived.

 

"Leave it to Alben to scrape through," Ki muttered. "Garol's probably right there beside him, too."

 

"It's good that Caliel and Master Porion are still with him, though," Nikides mused. "They could always talk sense to him." "Perhaps, but they'll stand by him, no matter what," Tharin mused.

 

Tamir nodded and turned back to Ahra. "Anything else to report?"

 

"Well, Korin wears his father's crown now, and carries Gherilain's sword. He claims to be king."

 

"It is not valid. He has not been properly consecrated," said Imonus.

 

"I guess that didn't stop him," Ahra replied. "He's sent out heralds, calling for the nobles of Skala to join him against you, Highness. Prince Korin claims you're nothing but a mad boy in a dress, the puppet of rogue wizards and priests."

 

Tamir's hands tightened on the arms of her chair; the words cut her to the quick. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, but it hurt all the same, to have her own fears confirmed.

 

"Niryn's put that into his head," Nikides offered, though he didn't sound very convinced, either.

 

"I wouldn't doubt it," said Ahra. "Korin has taken a new wife, too. The Princess Consort Nalia, they call her. I heard her called Nalia the Plain, and Nalia the Marked, too, on account of some birthmark on her face."

 

Tamir rubbed at the dark pink stain on her left forearm. That was said to denote wisdom. She wondered what this other woman's mark meant.

 

"Are you sure you heard right?" asked Lynx. "Korin's not the sort to take an ugly girl into his bed."

 

"Supposedly she's of the royal blood, some degree of cousin. Her mother was Lady Ana, who married Lord Sirin of Darie."

 

"I remember her," said Iya. "She had a wine stain birthmark on her face, too, and no chin to speak of, but she was intelligent and wellborn enough to find herself a good husband. The Harriers murdered her during the purges. I never heard of any child, though. How old is she said to be?" "About Prince Korin's age, I believe," replied Ahra.

 

"Couldn't she be an imposter?" asked Nikides.

 

"It's possible, of course, but they'd be foolish to try such a sham. The truth is easily learned," said Imonus.

 

"The truth can be manipulated," said Arkoniel. "Still, it would be foolish to try and pass off a false heir when Korin himself can claim royal blood."

 

"Niryn must want the added legitimacy of a direct female bloodline," said Iya, frowning. "By the Light, he was playing a long-sighted game. Tamir, if Korin fathers a daughter on her, that child could make a claim to your throne."

 

"No one has a clearer claim than Princess Tamir!" Kyman objected. "She is the daughter of the rightful heir, and of the unbroken line of Gherilain. I say the sooner we do away with Korin and this upstart girl the better. Get rid of them both before they breed!"

 

"Would you have me become my uncle so quickly?" Tamir sighed.

 

Kyman bowed, but he was glowering through his beard. "I meant, no disrespect, but you must understand that the existence of such a child would be a threat."

 

Iya nodded darkly. "It's true, Tamir."

 

Looking into Iya's pale, hard eyes, Tamir felt a sudden chill, as if Brother had come up behind her. The demon was nowhere to be seen, but the uneasy sensation lingered. "I am the daughter of Ariani, of Gherilain's line, and Illior's Chosen. I do not fear any distant cousins or their Unborn children."

 

"You're all jumping at shadows anyway," said Ki. "Korin has never planted a child that lived."

 

"I pity this Nalia more than I fear her," Tamir said softly. No one else there, not even Ki, had seen what she had, standing beside Korin in that birthing chamber: Aliya screaming in agony on a blood-soaked bed, dying to birth a dead thing with no arms or face. "If Illior means for me to be queen, then I shall be queen; but I've told you already, I won't rule with a kinswoman's blood on my hands."

 

For once Tamir was glad of her long skirts. They hid the way her knees shook as she stood. "What I declared before the walls of Ero I declare to you all now; anyone who murders kin of mine, any kin, is my enemy!"

 

Everyone bowed to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Tamir saw Arkoniel and the other wizards doing the same with their hands to their hearts. Iya alone remained unmoved, regarding Tamir with that unblinking gaze that had frightened her as a child. A twinge of that same fear angered her now. It reminded her too much of how she'd felt around Niryn.

 

Tamir retreated to her chamber after the audience, clearly needing to be alone. Ki and Tharin followed but found the door closed against them.

 

Tharin drew Ki away from the guards at the door and shook his head. "She's done well, so far, with that honest kind heart of hers, but I saw doubting faces in the crowd tonight. These men are risking everything to follow her, and now we know that Korin already has more than twice her army at his command. She can't afford to let kindness turn to weakness in front of them. Can you talk to her?"

 

"I'll try. But she's right to say she won't act like her uncle." Ki paused, studying the older man's face closely. "You think she's right in that, don't you?"

 

Tharin smiled and patted his shoulder. He didn't have to reach down to do that anymore; Ki was as tall as he was. "Of course. But Mistress Iya is probably right about Niryn being even cleverer than we gave him credit for. He didn't just pull this girl out of the air."

 

"I can't help that. What do I do for Tamir?" Ki asked, looking unhappily back at the closed door.

 

Tharin squeezed his shoulder. "You've always taken good care of her, as a squire and a friend, and I know you'll stand by her now. Just see that she doesn't worry herself sick over this business."

 

"Easier said than done," Ki grumbled. "She's stubborn."

 

"Just like her father.'"

 

Ki searched Tharin's face. "Did Duke Rhius have people killed for this, Tharin? Or her mother?"

 

"Ariani never hurt a soul in her life, except herself and that child. Rhius did what was called for when he had to, but never for his own ends. He served Skala and did whatever needed to be done. We put down a few rebellious lords in our day, and some were got out of the way quietly. But it was for Skala. Help her accept that, won't you?"

 

"I'll try, but you know I'll stand with her, whatever she decides."

 

"Just as you should, and so will I. Go on now. You're the only one she wants to see now, I'm sure."

 

When Ki slipped in, Tamir was sitting by the fire, chin resting on her hand. It was a familiar pose, as was the look of wistfulness he caught before she looked up. Ki had a sudden urge to stride over and hug her. Before he could decide whether to act on the impulse or not, Tamir turned and gave him a wry look.

 

"I heard you two 'whispering out there. What was that about?"

 

"He said to not let you fret too much." "I see. How are you supposed to do that?" He grinned. "Get you drunk enough to sleep well for a change? I hear you tossing and muttering all night."

 

Tamir raised an eyebrow. "That makes two of us, then."

 

Ki shrugged. "You talk to Brother in your sleep sometimes. He's still around, isn't he?" "Yes."

 

"But why? What's keeping him around?" Tamir just shook her head, but Ki sensed there was much she wasn't telling him. "He's not done with me, I guess," she replied at last. "Don't worry, I can deal with him."

 

Ki knew there was more she wasn't saying, but he let it go. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that about Korin. It must have hurt."

 

She shrugged. "Put yourself in his place. What would you think? If I could only talk to him!"

 

"I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon."

 

Tamir went to bed fretting about Korin, but it was Brother who was waiting in her dreams again, gaunt and covered in blood, his black eyes filled with hatred. He had something in his hands, something terrible he wanted her to see.

 

"They did this to us, Sister!" he hissed. His hands were bloody, and at first she couldn't understand why. All he held was one of their mother's cloth rag dolls—a boy, with no mouth, just like all the others she'd made during Tamir's childhood. As he thrust it at her, however, she noticed that there was blood on it, too. It was dripping from an open wound in Brother's chest. It was raw, just as it had been in the vision she'd had of him that day at Lhel's tree, during their second binding.

 

A sudden tearing pain in her own chest stole the breath from her lungs.

 

"They did this!" Brother snarled. "You! You let them live! My blood is on your hands now!"

 

Looking down, Tamir saw that he was right. Her own hands were sticky with blood and she was holding Lhel's silver blade in one hand and her sharp silver needle in the other.

 

She woke panting and covered in cold sweat. The night lamp had gone out. The room was in utter darkness but she heard a noise and threw herself back against the bolsters, reaching wildly for the sword belt on her bedpost. Her hands still felt wet, sticky. Blood? "Highness!" Somewhere in the darkness, Baldus sounded terrified.

 

And there was Brother, a glowing, snarling presence at the end of her bed. He wasn't naked or bloody, but he still held that mouthless doll in one hand, while with the other he pointed at her, silently accusing.

 

Her fingers brushed the strap of her scabbard, and she cried out again as strong, warm hands closed over hers. "No! Leave me alone!"

 

"It's me, Tob!"

 

She jerked in Ki's grasp but he held on, and that was somehow comforting, as comforting as hearing him use her old name. She knew without looking that Brother was gone.

 

The door flew open behind them and a guard was silhouetted in the lamplight from the corridor, sword drawn. Baldus let out a startled yelp as the door struck him.

 

"Highness, what's wrong?" Captain Grannia demanded.

 

Ki dropped Tamir's hand and stepped back from the bed, dressed in nothing but a long shirt. "Just a nightmare. Her Highness is safe."

 

Tamir could only imagine what this must look like. "A nightmare, as he said," she snapped. "Go back to your post and close the door."

 

Grannia gave them a last confused look, saluted, and obeyed.

 

Tamir expected Ki to go back to his cot, but instead, he sat down and pulled her close. Too shaken to object, she sagged against him, glad of his arm around her. She was glad for the darkness so he wouldn't see how it made her blush.

 

"I think we might have just started a rumor," she muttered.

 

Ki chuckled. "As if we haven't already."

 

"Highness?" Baldus whispered. He still sounded scared.

 

"It's all right," Ki told the child. "The princess just had a very bad dream. Go to sleep." Tamir's eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough now to make out Ki's form, but she'd have known him anyway. Ki bathed often when he had the chance, but always seemed to smell faintly of horses and leather, fresh air and wine and clean sweat. It was a nice smell, comforting and familiar. Without thinking, she reached up and buried her fingers in the soft hair at the back of his neck and felt his start of surprise.

 

He hugged her and whispered, "What was that all about?"

 

"Don't know." She didn't want to think about it any more, not in the dark like this. Baldus was still whimpering, over there by the door. She knew too well what that felt like, to be afraid in the dark.

 

"Come here," she called to him.

 

The child climbed onto the bed and curled trembling against her legs. She reached down and made sure he'd brought a blanket with him, and then stroked his hair to comfort him. It felt cool and coarse under her fingers, nothing like Ki's.

 

"I'm sorry, Highness," the child whispered, voice hitching.

 

"Sorry for what?"

 

"For not being brave. I thought I saw a ghost. I thought you saw it, too."

 

She felt Ki's arm tighten around her. "It was just a bad dream."

 

Baldus fell asleep quickly and Ki carried him back to his pallet, then returned to the edge of the bed.

 

"This isn't the first time I've heard you calling out to him in your sleep, Tamir, just the worst. Can't you tell me what's going on? I know he's lurking around. I can feel him sometimes, and I see the way you go still all of a sudden, staring at something no one else can see. If there's anything I can do to help—"

 

She found his hand and drew him back down beside her. "He's still angry at me about the way he died, but he can't tell me what it is, except that I must avenge him," she whispered.

 

Ki was quiet for a moment, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles with a soothing rhythm that sent chills up her arm. At last he said, "There's something I never told you."

 

"About Brother?"

 

"Yes. I'd forgotten all about it. It happened the day Lord Orun died."

 

"That was years' ago." She'd tried to forget that day, too, when she'd watched Brother kill her abusive guardian with a single touch of his hand.

 

"That day you went to see him, I stayed behind at your mother's house, remember? I never told you—I never told anyone—but I saw Brother that day, while you were gone. That was the first time.

 

"I was pacing around in Tharin's room, fretting over why Orun wanted me gone and worrying about you being alone with him and all. Then, out of nowhere, Brother just appears and says something like 'Ask Arkoniel.' It scared the piss out of me, but I asked what it was I was supposed to ask the wizard about. He wouldn't say, though, just stared at me with those dead eyes of his and disappeared." He paused. "Then they brought you back half-dead and told us about Orun and I forgot all about it. But now, with him still hanging on this way, it makes me think. Do you suppose Arkoniel knows more about him than he lets on?"

 

Brother's empty hissing laugh in the darkness was answer enough for both of them.

 

"If Arkoniel knows something, then Iya must, too," she replied.

 

"So maybe you should talk to them? I know you're still angry with them, but they have to help you, right?"

 

Tamir gave a grudging shrug and Ki sighed and settled more comfortably beside her. His breath stirred a strand of hair against her face. "I don't like to admit it, but I guess I'm getting past being mad at Arkoniel. And why would Brother say to talk to him if he didn't know something?" "Something else they've been lying to me about all my life?" Tamir muttered bitterly.

 

"I know, but I believe them when they say they wanted to protect you any way they could. Ask him, will you?"

 

"I guess I'll have to. I just haven't found the right moment, with all that's had to be done. Maybe—Well, maybe I don't want to know."

 

Ki put his arm around her again and hugged her. "You still care for Arkoniel, don't you?"

 

Tamir nodded. In the months since the change, she'd begun to remember how it had been before. She was still hurt at the deception the wizards had practiced, but deeper than that ran the memory of what a patient, kind teacher Arkoniel had been. She hadn't welcomed him then, either. He'd been awkward and known nothing of children, but even so, he'd done his best to ease her loneliness. And it had been Arkoniel who'd convinced her father and Iya to bring another child to the keep, a companion for her. Ki.

 

Sitting here next to him like this, the simple fact of his presence fending off the darkness and fear, she decided that she could forgive Arkoniel a great deal on that account. Whether that forbearance extended to Iya remained to be seen.

 

"Maybe you don't have to ask them," Ki whispered suddenly. "Maybe you could go to the Oracle's priest instead."

 

"Imonus?"

 

"Why not? He speaks for the Oracle, doesn't he? You could at least ask him."

 

"I suppose so." She was still getting used to the idea that the Lightbearer was her own special patron. "I'll talk to him in the morning."

 

She reluctantly lay back against the pillows, knowing Ki would leave her and go back to his cot.

 

He didn't. Instead, he settled against the bolsters beside her and kept a hold on her hand. After a moment she felt him shift, and then the quick, awkward press of his lips against her hair.

 

"No more bad dreams tonight," he whispered.

 

Not trusting herself to speak, Tamir just squeezed his hand and rested her cheek against it.

 

Ki hadn't meant to kiss her. It had been a sudden impulse, and it left him blushing in the dark. Her silence afterward left him even more confused, but she hadn't pushed him away or taken her hand away.

 

What am I doing? he thought. What does she want me to do?

 

What do I want to do?

 

Her breath was warm and even against his wrist, her cheek smooth against his fingers. He knew she didn't use scent but he could swear there was a new sweetness rising from her hair, something decidedly unboylike. For an instant, it was just him and any girl, on a bed.

 

Not just any girl, he reminded himself, but that only increased his confusion. Was she asleep, or waiting for him to get under the covers with her?

 

As a friend, or as a lover?

 

Lover. The thought made him go hot and cold all over and his heartbeat quickened.

 

"Ki?" A sleepy whisper. "Lie down, why don't you? You'll get a crick in your neck."

 

"I—urn—All right." Ki slid down a little.

 

Her breath was against his cheek now, and one of her braids had shifted to tickle across his hand. He reached to move it with his free hand, but paused a moment, noting how silky it felt between his fingers. He thought of how her fingers had felt against the back of his neck and felt a ghost of that same tingle.

 

A girl's touch, even with callused fingers.

 

He turned his head a little and felt her breath against the corner of his mouth. What would it be like, to kiss her mouth? His heart was beating so hard now it hurt. He turned away, close to panic. Mixed into the confusion was a slight but unmistakable stir of arousal, something he'd never experienced around her before. Not like this.

 

"Tamir?" he whispered, not even sure what he wanted to say.

 

His only answer was the gentle sound of her sleeping breath.

 

Oh hell! he berated himself silently, staring up into the darkness. What am I going to do?

 

________________________________________

 

Chapter 16

 

  

 

 

 

Tamir didn't have any more dreams that night, and woke early the next morning, aware even before she opened her eyes that Ki had stayed with her all night. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder and she'd shifted in her sleep, letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around his waist. He was still asleep, lying on top of the covers with his head at an awkward angle against the bolsters and one hand clasping her by the elbow.

 

For one sleepy moment it was like any other morning when they were younger. Then she came fully awake with a start, wondering if it was better to lie still and not wake him or try to get her arm free before he realized what she'd done. Frozen with indecision, she lay there, studying the planes of his sleeping face. His long hair spread across the pillow, strands of it brushing her cheek and hand. His dark lashes looked like fine brushstrokes on parchment against his tanned skin, and a scattering of fine stubble on his chin caught the morning light. His slightly parted lips looked very soft.

 

So close, she thought, just like that dream she'd had so often, when they almost kissed on the cliffs above that harbor. What would it feel like? It was so tempting, just to lean a little closer and find out.

 

Before she could find the courage, however, his eyes fluttered open and she flinched back. His hand tightened instinctively on her arm, pinning her where she lay, a breath away. So close.

 

Ki's eyes widened, then he let go and hastily slid out from under her arm, only to fall off the edge of the bed with a comical thud.

 

Just like my dreams, she thought, caught between laughter and hurt at his hasty withdrawal.

 

"Uh, good morning," he stammered, reddening as she peered down at him.

 

"You—you didn't look very comfortable—" she began, then stopped, face aflame as she saw how his nightshirt had ridden up to his waist. His exposed cock was half-erect.

 

She looked away quickly, tempted to burrow back under the covers until she could make sense of her unruly emotions. It doesn't mean anything. That used to happen to me all the time before—

 

Ki hastily pulled down the shirt and gave her a lopsided grin. "No, I was fine. And you slept! No more nightmares?"

 

"No, no dreams."

 

"Well—Good." He still looked embarrassed, even with the grin. It made her feel even worse.

 

"I'm sorry. I should have sent you back to your own bed."

 

"I didn't mind," he insisted. "I just—Are you hungry?"

 

No, I want to kiss you, she thought, annoyed.

 

It was a relief when he dressed and went off in search of breakfast. She hurried into her clothing, choosing a gown at random from the wardrobe and pulling it hastily over her shift. By the time he came back, she had her feelings under control again, or so she told herself.

 

They ate their bread and cheese and ale, and then went out together to the canopied temple in the courtyard. Little cloth banners showing Illior's Eye and the crescent moon fluttered from the ropes and poles, some of them hardly more than rags.

 

One of the Afran priests sat on a low stool under the awning, anonymous in his voluminous red robe and silver mask. Tamir knew it was Imonus by his long grey hair.

 

The golden stele caught the morning light like a mirror. There were the prints of many fingers on the smooth surface. People touched it for luck, in prayer, in wonder. Tamir pressed her palm to it, imagining her ancestors doing the same. Perhaps it was some trick of the light, but just for an instant she thought she saw the reflection of another woman, standing just behind her. The face was indistinct, but Tamir could make out a crown and sword.

 

"Good morning, grandmother," she whispered, wondering which spirit it was this time.

 

"Only a queen may see a queen there," Imonus said. "It is good that you greet her with such respect. But I think you are no stranger to spirits."

 

Tamir lowered her hand. "I thought maybe it was just a shadow."

 

"You know better than that." The man sounded rather amused.

 

It was unsettling, talking to that expressionless mask. "Can't you take that off? There's no one else around."

 

"Not while I serve, Highness. Not even for you."

 

"Oh." She fidgeted a moment under that impassive gaze, then held up the owl feathers she'd brought. "I've come to make an offering and to ask a question. I don't know the proper prayers yet, though."

 

"Place your offering and ask your question. Illior will hear you."

 

As Tamir bent to cast the feathers on the brazier, something flew over her shoulder and fell into it, scattering a few coals and sending up a little flurry of sparks. A gnarled little root lay shriveling in the flames. It began to smoke, then caught fire, smelling of earth and resin.

 

So you are here, she thought.

 

Brother had left such offerings at the small shrine back at the keep: roots, acorns, dead leaves, dead moles. She looked around but saw no sign of him except for the root. "Shadows and spirits cling around you," Imonus said softly.

 

A chill ran up Tamir's spine in spite of the warm sun on the back of her neck. "Do you see my brother?"

 

Imonus nodded. "He has caused you great pain, and you him. He haunts you still."

 

"Yes," Tamir whispered. She gave Ki a nervous half smile and went down on one knee before the priest, so she could speak softly. "That's why I came today. He wants something of me, but he speaks in riddles and he lies. Is there some spell you could use?"

 

"Do you know what it is that he desires?"

 

"Yes, but not how to give it to him. You serve the Oracle. Can you help me learn more?"

 

"I am only the servant, as you say. It is time you followed your ancestors, Tamir Ariani Agnalain, and visit Afra for yourself. The Oracle sees farther than any priest."

 

"That's days away. I have so much to do here, and I have to get my people to Atyion."

 

"You must go, daughter of Ariani. Every queen has made a pilgrimage there to honor the Lightbearer's gift and seek guidance for her reign."

 

Tamir tried vainly to stifle her impatience. "Then you can't help me?"

 

"I did not say that, Highness, only that I could not answer your question. There is another offering you can make. Throw a coin in the basket and I will show you."

 

Tamir fished a sester from her purse and tossed it in the basket with the other money offerings. Imonus leaned down and took a small cloth packet from a covered pot by his feet. "Kneel before the brazier. Place another feather on the coals with this and bathe your face in the smoke."

 

Tamir cast her offerings on the coals. The feather caught fire at once and shriveled to cinders. The incense packet burned more slowly, and released a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Instead of rising straight up in good omen, however, it rolled off the coals in writhing tendrils like questing fingers.

 

"What does that mean?" Tamir asked in alarm as they coiled around her.

 

"It is the Lightbearer's breath, this smoke. Breathe it in, Highness, and you may find your answer."

 

With some trepidation, Tamir fanned the smoke up into her face and inhaled deeply. It was sweet and strong, but not unpleasant, though it made her a little dizzy.

 

The smoke enveloped her. There must have been more incense in the packet than she'd thought; it was so thick now it completely obscured the temple and courtyard from sight. She coughed and tried to wave it away from her face. It roiled before her eyes, then parted.

 

She let out a surprised gasp, for instead of Imonus and the stele, she was looking out across a high mountain pass. A road twisted sharply away before her, hugging the sides of barren stone peaks. In the distance Brother stood in the road under a painted archway, beckoning to her. Just beyond him stood a woman. Tamir was too far away to tell who it was, but somehow she could hear her words, as clearly as if she stood beside her.

 

"You shall have your answer in Afra, Tamir, Queen of Skala. You must be strong to accept it."

 

"Come to Afra, if you dare!" Brother taunted.

 

"Why can't you tell me now!" she called back, but he only laughed.

 

Tamir felt a strange shift, and just as suddenly she found herself standing by a shallow, vaguely familiar cove at night, with a three-quarter moon rising before her. It painted a glistening white trail across the dark water that seemed to end at her feet.

 

"Beware, Queen Tamir. Be strong," a voice whispered in her ear, but there was no one there. Waves lapped the sandy shoreline and she heard the low hooting of an owl somewhere nearby. "Prepare for what?" she whispered thickly, not sure if she spoke aloud or not. "Why are you showing me this?"

 

Another sound came from far out on the water. It was the splash of oars. There were tall warships riding at anchor out there. Now she could make out scores of longboats being rowed swiftly for the beach.

 

She watched helplessly as the first boats came to rest on the shingle and armed men climbed out—Plenimaran archers and swordsmen, and squires carrying shields. They passed within arm's length of her but no one seemed to take any notice.

 

She turned to look for help, but the high ground beyond the beach was empty. However, she caught sight of a familiar headland in the distance and realized where she was. This was the stretch of coast where the enemy had come ashore before. Beyond the rise was the farm where they'd rescued Tanil and the other captives.

 

Another invasion. They've come back!

 

The Plenimarans still took no notice of her, but when she tried to run, the stinging white smoke closed in around her again, making it hard to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, choking and coughing, and when she opened them she was on her knees before the brazier, with Ki close beside her, grasping her shoulder.

 

"Are you sick?" he asked, concerned. "You look terrible."

 

"The Plenimarans," she whispered hoarsely. "I saw—I saw them coming again, at night—" Ki kept a hand under her arm as she rose and brushed the dust from the front of her skirt. "I saw—I saw a second Plenimaran invasion force. It was night, and they landed up the coast, just like before." She looked at the priest again. "But before that, I saw something else—my brother, and a gateway in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere."

 

"That's the road to Afra, Highness."

 

Tamir passed a hand across her eyes as another wave of dizziness tried to claim her. "There was a woman, too. She kept calling me Queen Tamir."

 

Imonus touched his fingers to his brow. "Then queen you are, Majesty, with the Sword or without it."

 

"Listen to him," Ki urged.

 

"But—"

 

"All hail Tamir, the true queen, by the Lightbearer's own mouth," Imonus declared.

 

"Hail Queen Tamir!"

 

Tamir looked around, still a bit dazed. A small crowd had gathered and were watching her expectantly. "But—that wasn't what I was asking."

 

"Remember what you were shown," Imonus said gently. "You must go to Afra. But everything in its own time. Right now, you should go and consult with your generals and your wizards."

 

"And tell them what? That I had a dream?"

 

"A vision."

 

"But I don't even know when they're coming."

 

"You said you saw the moon. What shape was it?"

 

Tamir thought a moment. "Three-quarters, waxing."

 

"That would be tonight," said Imonus.

 

"Tonight!"

 

"Or a month off," Ki pointed out. .

 

"It could be a year off, for all I could tell. I mean no disrespect, Imonus, but I'm not used to this sort of thing."

 

The priest laughed behind his mask. "How did the vision feel?"

 

"Feel? Like I was right there on that beach with them."

 

"Then give thanks to your patron deity, Majesty, and go consult with your generals at once."