Once she had seen them go, Rianna crept back into the bed and slept. Perhaps it was the herbs, or a need to escape her thoughts. The dreams she fell into were confused and strange; when she awoke, she barely felt rested.
It was when the first glow of sunset lit the treetops that she heard the cries of the men and dogs returning. By then Rianna had bathed and dressed, and knew she must go down.
It was soon clear something was wrong. The king snapped at the grooms who helped him from his horse. He strode inside, his rage so palpable that even Sendara backed from him. Rianna wondered if she had ever seen her father like this.
It was clear what Rianna was to do. She took a step to intercept his headlong path. Took his arm. And as if she possessed some manner of enchantments herself, Elissan froze. He closed his eyes.
“So it did not go well,” Rianna said softly. “Come.” She led him to a chair. Kneeling on the floor like a maidservant, she untied and pulled off his boots for him. Then took one foot into her hands and began to rub it gently. Elissan let out a sigh that was nearly a sob, and leaned back with closed eyes. She worked that way for a while. It felt degrading, and therefore in keeping with the role she had taken. When she heard the other two men come in, she didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see Marlen’s face.
She saw Etherell first, as he threw himself onto a couch nearby. “Such a day. I hope the cooks have prepared a good dinner.”
“What happened?” said Rianna.
“We quested after the hart,” said Marlen, striding into her line of sight. “Which turned out to be more a tease than a Hannish courtesan. You know,” he added, when he saw the incomprehension in Rianna’s eyes. “Oh. All right then. Well the point is, it never showed itself. We didn’t find so much as a trail or tracks.”
“That is a shame,” she said, keeping her voice neutral as she kneaded the king’s foot. “Did you come across other game?”
“The king desired this target alone,” said Marlen in just as neutral a tone. Rianna wondered what he knew of the king’s mind. If he knew what this hunt meant to him.
“The call was intended for me,” said Elissan. “I am sure of it.” He straightened in his chair to plant his feet on the floor. Rianna ceased her ministrations and rose.
The king went on. “But today … today was silence. Nothing. As if I’d dreamed it all.”
“No dream.” It was Syme Oleir. Rianna had forgotten all about him. He shuffled from the kitchen bareheaded, his feet bare on the carpets. Formalities had been relaxed here, as they never would have been in Tamryllin. “No dream. The white queen calls.”
“Yes,” said Elissan Diar. “Yes. Come here, Syme. Tell me what you know.”
With his usual dazed expression, the Fool crossed to the king. “Father,” he said.
“Yes, yes,” said Elissan impatiently. “Come here.”
The Fool sat on the rug, cross-legged at the king’s feet. Dark eyes shadow-rimmed and large in his pale face. He looked up beseechingly, as if he sought approval from the golden figure in the chair. “It is you she calls,” he said. “No one else. Her voice is for you alone.”
“Myself alone,” Elissan repeated.
“The branch has turned to autumn, and she comes,” said Syme Oleir. “She comes. The white queen comes.”
“There he goes again,” said Etherell Lyr with a yawn. “Isn’t anyone else hungry?”
* * *
THAT night, the king brooded. This time he invited her to his room, and she felt she could only accede. She had begun down this road and now was no return.
The room of the king, adorned with gold silks, was soothing in its comfort. Almost she could forget there was a world outside, where there were tasks to be done. People she had betrayed.
Elissan was deep in thought that night. Rianna had an instinct that tonight was not the time to relapse to her usual role, to making light of his rank. In the past he’d found that refreshing, a lure, but she doubted he would find it so now. His sense of himself, of his destiny, was uncertain for the first time since she had known him. Perhaps the first time in his life.
They sat upright in the bed and read, each from a separate book. Rianna could hardly see the lines of poetry before her eyes; so focused was her attention on him, on the mood he cast on the room.
“What are you reading?” she asked at last. Looking over, she saw it was not so much a book as an old manuscript that had been sewn together. The pages looked near to falling apart.
He looked up, looking young as long locks fell forward into his eyes. “It is a text of the Otherworld,” he said. “One of the few we have. I’ve been scouring it for mentions of this white queen.”
Rianna infused her tone with some of her old mockery. “All right. That’s enough. Lie down.”
“What…” But he was starting to grin as she tugged the manuscript from his hands. Aware of his eyes, she placed it carefully on the bedside table. Then she rested her arms on his chest, her chin on her hands. Her eyes turned seriously to his.
“You are a poet,” she said.
“Yes.”
“What you need,” she said, “is inspiration. Don’t you think?”
She had flung her leg across him and begun to work at the fastenings of his collar. This time it wasn’t dark. When his shirt parted she saw the scar: black, gold-edged, writhing the length of his left side. It was nothing ordinary. She could imagine it opening to unleash his life.
Elissan stroked her hair as she moved down, and down. Tonight she wouldn’t risk pregnancy. His hands in her hair were urgent, tender, and more than once he cried her name.
* * *
SOON afterward he slipped into sleep. After some restless turns so did she. Later she awoke when it was still dark to see him seated in a chair, lit in a bar of moonlight. He was lacing his boots. He spoke gently when he saw her. “Hush now.” His mark of the Seer like a risen star; his features looked sensitive in its light, and wise. “I think I know … what I must do. The call was for me. I must go alone. Sleep.”
And so she did. She’d been having unquiet dreams, and slept no more soundly when she returned to them. When she awoke to the bright and empty chamber, she felt sunk in the layered deliciousness of the bed. She wanted to stay in here awhile. Watch the gold light on gold brocade. Just stay with the calm and beauty of this place that seemed detached from all her cares and accorded no judgments.
Moments or an hour may have passed. She began to hear a commotion downstairs. She listened, thinking perhaps there was some trouble in the kitchen—a dropped tray, a broken decanter. But it didn’t stop. She began to hear voices raised. Men shouting. The most dangerous sound she knew.
Rianna slid into her robe. It was not appropriate to appear as she did, leaving the king’s room. But the dread that gripped her in that moment overrode all such concerns. She grabbed her knife from its hiding place in her pile of clothes. By the time she left the room she was running.
When she reached the top of the stairs, looking down, she saw all she needed.
Elissan Diar stood there, his teeth bared like an animal. In one fist he gripped a handful of a man’s hair, his other arm flung around the man’s neck. The man’s head tipped back, and Rianna saw it was Marlen. His eyes were glazed; blood trickled from his mouth.
“He ambushed me,” the king spat. There was a cut in his cheek, blood in his hair. “I was questing for the hart. And then a masked man jumped from the trees. But his sword—ah. I recognized that.”
Etherell Lyr appeared behind the king, holding what looked like a bloodstained rag up for Rianna’s inspection. “He thought himself clever,” he said, sounding amused. “To mask himself. That he’d be taken for a thief as he fled the scene.”
She remembered: Marlen, their last evening beside the fountain. You’re the first they’d suspect.
Marlen had never meant to try for a bit of blood. He’d planned to kill Elissan Diar right there, and end it. And it should have worked. He had the advantage of surprise, was
the younger of the two, and a renowned swordsman. All elements in his favor. And yet.
She saw Marlen’s wrists and ankles were tied. When Elissan dropped him, he collapsed.
“Take him downstairs,” Elissan commanded the manservants who had materialized around them. “We leave for Tamryllin on the morrow. For now … we’ll question the traitor. He’ll tell us everything.” With a booted toe he kicked Marlen in the ribs. “You’ll wish for death,” he said. “Many times over.”
* * *
“HE’LL kill you.” She had come down to the cellar. In an aisle between rows of wine casks he’d been tied to a chair. He was conscious now.
“Get out of here, Rianna,” he said. “They’ll be down any moment.”
“You planned this.” Her voice sounded dead to her. “You always meant to kill him.”
“Otherwise you would have,” he said. “You think I don’t know? And there would be no escape for you. It’s different for me.” His laugh was hollow. “Or was meant to be. I did hope to escape. Get Marilla, flee over the border if need be.”
“What happened?”
“I … couldn’t do it.” For the first time, Marlen’s guard wavered; he sounded anguished. “He was so strong, Rianna.”
Rianna covered her eyes. She thought his face would haunt her all her life. “I can’t bear this.”
“Rianna.” He regained himself and became stern. “I betrayed Darien. Remember? I’m the reason he’s dead. This is what’s coming to me. And you’re a cold bitch who can bear anything. I’ve seen it for myself.”
She couldn’t smile. “Darien wouldn’t want this.”
“It’s a shame,” he said, as if he didn’t hear. “I’d ask you to kill me, but we can’t afford the risk. They’d know it was you.”
“I could…” she began. The idea made her gorge rise.
“No. I will have to endure questioning,” he said. “It’s up to you to complete our task. I pray it won’t cost your life. I can do nothing more.”
A new voice. “Rianna.”
Etherell Lyr stepped from behind the casks. “This seems an odd place for you.”
She felt carved of ice. All but her stomach, which roiled with acid. There was no way to know what he’d heard.
“I should be here,” she said. “To witness the questioning.”
He tilted his head in that mock-interested way he had, that she had come to hate. She hated that he frightened her. As usual, he sounded cool and unbothered. “And why is that?”
“Because,” Rianna said, her voice strengthening as Elissan Diar emerged from behind the casks as well, “I will soon be queen. A partner in the king’s justice. I should see that justice carried out.”
The king stood there, watching her. Blood still marked his cheek. His eyes like blue ice. He seemed to weigh her words, his gaze passing between her and Marlen.
“You are a cold one,” he said at last to her. “Yet like fire in my arms. I may never know all there is to you.” He extended his arm, a king’s gesture. “You may watch. If you swear to say nothing of what you see tonight.”
“I swear.”
“Come out, Syme,” said Elissan Diar then, in a different tone. Now he sounded impatient. “Stop hiding. Or I’ll have Etherell drag you, and you won’t like it.”
The Fool scurried into view. He looked ill. “I’m here,” he said. “Please don’t hurt me, Father.”
“You know your duty,” Elissan Diar said curtly. “We have questions for this man. You know what to do.”
Marlen had lifted his head to stare at the Fool. “Let me guess,” he said. “He’s going to sing. Cruel, Elissan. Beneath even you.”
Etherell Lyr cuffed him on the temple. Rianna kept herself from wincing. She felt as if she had taken root in the flagstones of the cellar floor; that she was stone.
“Syme,” said Elissan.
The Fool dragged himself forward. With each step he whimpered.
“Stop that noise,” said the king. “Now.”
Syme Oleir came up beside Marlen. Trembling, set his hands to each side of Marlen’s head, as if to confer a blessing. “I’m sorry,” he said. With sudden clarity.
And then he changed. A green luminescence filled Syme’s body. He lit up the cellar. As if his flesh were transparent, and some creature of light was contained within. He threw back his head, face contorting. He wept. The light grew brighter. The tears of Syme Oleir against the green were like black blood.
So these were enchantments, Rianna thought, feeling disassociated from it all as if she floated. The thing men killed and died for. Who knew it would be so ugly?
She made herself be present, look at Marlen. To witness. Saw his eyes grow wide before the first scream.
* * *
THAT night he took her fiercely and without a word. Rianna endured it until it was done. The king fell asleep immediately, leaving her staring into the night. They were in her room. After watching Marlen’s torture she had retreated here to be alone. He’d followed, hellbent and silent, not waiting for her to disrobe. Just skirts hiked up in the dark, more silence, until it was done.
Marlen had revealed nothing. Not about her, nor even about Lin or his mission. The torture went on until Syme Oleir collapsed. The green light died and he looked no more than himself again; once more diminished. Etherell Lyr had slung the slight figure over his shoulders to take him upstairs.
Marlen was slumped in the chair, but the king pronounced him alive.
As she lay in the dark Rianna thought of going down to him. If there was anything she could do for enchanted wounds. There was nothing she could do, but she could still be there. He should not be alone in the dark.
She couldn’t do that if she was to survive; and she was their last line of defense. She, and Lin Amaristoth—wherever the Court Poet was now.
Rianna thought of stabbing the king where he lay. His throat looked tender, unprotected. But if he should wake … He is so strong, Rianna.
From Marlen’s voice, more than his words, she understood. He had meant: Like nothing human.
The forest quiet, once a wonder, now seemed to tighten around her like a silk trap.
Rianna hadn’t known Elissan Diar was to be feared more than an ordinary man. She hadn’t planned for that contingency.
* * *
IN the morning when she went downstairs she could not help crying out. What swam in a pool of blood on the table in the front hall, dripping on the rug, the first thing she saw.
“You don’t like it?” Elissan was grinning. She tried not to look at him with loathing. Made herself look at the table instead. There, its blood seeping into the fine-grained wood, was a decapitated head. The white hart. Eyes that looked sad to her in death. Its crown as Elissan had said: twelve tines.
“I was surprised,” she said at last. “And someone will have to wash the carpet.”
“I went out again,” he said. “This time with no one to hinder me.” His grin turned fierce. “The white queen’s promise is kept.”
Sendara had come in. She looked fragile and pretty this morning in her lace dress. She halted in awe at first sight of the head. Then leaped to her father with a joyful light in her eyes. “All this time, we’ve lacked a sigil,” she said. “Will this be it?”
Elissan took his daughter’s hands. Both radiant in the morning. “Your destiny and mine, my love,” he said. “It comes.”
PART II
CHAPTER
8
THE water was calm and it was near evening. Silver-grey lapped at black coastal rock. The color of these waters might shift a thousand times in a day as the sun wove in and out of clouds. Deep blue when it was high and bright, green when occluded, and just before sunrise or at dusk, that silver. And there were variations between: blue-grey and green-grey and silver-grey. All these variations, to him, signified one thing. All the days, from his thirteenth year until now, had added up to it. A feeling beyond thought.
Home was more than a place.
Dor
n Arrin bent to the ground, picked up a round, smooth stone, and threw. The stone skipped six times on the water before it plunged.
The sound of light applause. Dorn looked to its source. “I didn’t ask for your approval.”
“Not in so many words,” said Etherell Lyr. “Not exactly.”
“Why are you here?”
“I thought I’d have a go.” Etherell picked up a stone from the bank, and threw. His arm was careless; the stone sank without skipping.
“You didn’t try,” said Dorn.
“True.” The other man looked thoughtful. Winds whipped his hair in a gold tangle. “I suppose I didn’t care enough. That often happens.”
Dorn looked away from him to the water. Grey and silver predominated now that the sun was gone. “I’ve been journeying a long time,” he said. “It’s felt like years. Sometimes I think I’ll never see you again.”
Etherell was now standing near to him. Without having moved. He reached out to touch Dorn’s cheek. “If I see you again, I’ll have to kill you,” said Etherell. “Part of the job, I’m afraid. I’m quite getting into the role of Crown Prince. There are annoyances, but the prospect of power is … well, it’s new to me.”
Dorn didn’t want to move. “Why would anyone want me dead?”
Etherell backed away. His arm fell to his side. “So you don’t see,” he said. “You don’t know.” He smiled then. “Soon you will.”
* * *
WHEN Dorn woke, he had to remind himself where he was. That had become standard. As if his mind failed to grasp the changes. Each day was a new remembering.
In one way little had changed. He was in his old room at the Academy. Etherell’s bed across the room was neat, as if he might return anytime.
It took a moment, then, to recall the current situation. That there were no lessons downstairs. No morning meal in the dining hall. The castle, once crawling with students, was empty. Or nearly—on another floor, Julien Imara might still be sleeping. At ground level were the living quarters of the cook and the groundskeeper, the only ones who had stayed. When Dorn and Julien had returned—finding themselves on the rock coast of his dream—it was autumn and the Seers and students were gone.
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