And another, awful thought: What if it wasn’t love of her family that drove her to think that way? What if love was the cloak to conceal a coward?
This thought as she stripped to her underclothes and began to dress. The gown for the coronation had been picked well in advance. Three gowns she had, for the three occasions that mattered most in her life at the palace: Silver for the winter ball; for the coronation, gold brocade. And a third dress, red velvet, belted with intertwining fillets of gold and crystal. The one for her wedding to the king.
Rianna was grateful that she didn’t need a maid’s help with the fastenings of this gown. And she knew how to dress her own hair. For today, she made a braided coronet of some, allowing the rest to flow unhindered. A crown, she realized belatedly; but decided the symbolism, however unintended, would serve.
Then there were the knives she strapped to her thigh and between her breasts. The latter knife viciously slender so it would not disturb the shape of the bodice; a silver-hilted dirk.
There may yet be a chance, and if so, she would take it. And hope her father would have the sense to take himself and Dari far, far away.
Music had begun to flow upstairs. Musicians, tuning up for the day’s events. The procession would wind through the major thoroughfares of the city. Elissan and Sendara Diar would scatter largesse to the crowds, loaves of bread, and coin. Then would come the ceremony in the Great Hall, with the doors to the courtyard left open so the adoring public might catch a glimpse.
And after that, festivities, spilling out in the streets; wine and music provided for all the people. Elissan knew how to win their hearts. The city was fickle, Rianna thought disgustedly; they cared not that the throne had been seized by magic, that good men had been executed. They imagined a sun-haired king could rescue them from grief.
She had fastened the diamond collar at her neck and begun to choose out rings.
Another knock at the door. Rianna’s lips tightened. Whoever had come to fetch her would get the rough side of her tongue, Chosen or not. She was not a servant, to be bidden and threatened. She put away the jewel box and went to the door.
It was Carille. “My lady.” She was white. “I have news. It’s what you wanted, but—but not. I am sorry.”
Rianna felt sick. She pulled Carille into the room and closed the door. “Quick,” she said. “Tell me.”
“It’s him,” said Carille. “Marlen Humbreleigh.” She swallowed. “I’m so sorry, my lady. He is alive, in one of the cells below. One of the most remote, and heavily guarded. That’s why we had such trouble finding him.”
“You found him,” said Rianna tightly. “Then why are you sorry?”
The girl avoided her eyes. “He is unconscious. And”—these words tumbled out—“they say he’s not like to ever wake again.”
More music from below, a gathering of strings and flutes. Rianna closed her eyes. Then: “Tell me where,” she said, hearing herself as if from a distance. In flat tones Carille told her the exact location of the room.
Rianna nodded. Then patted Carille’s hand. “You have done well.” She took the jewel box out from its drawer, fished the sapphire earrings from their compartment. “These are for you. For your wedding day. May it be a happy one.”
“My lady,” Carille said as her hand closed over the jewels. “What will you do?”
Rianna shook herself, as if from sleep. She’d thought she hadn’t had hope, but it seemed … it seemed she had. Now that was done.
“Don’t you worry about that, girl,” she said. “Go on now. You shouldn’t see me again. It is going to be dangerous after today.” She reached out, on impulse, to smooth a curl that had come loose from Carille’s cap. “Forget all this,” she said, “and go back to your life.”
* * *
THE ferryman let them ashore in a cove. It was carpeted with sand, strewn with seaweed. The rest of the coast was stony. As they clambered from the boat, Julien asked, “Will you wait for us?”
“I have other tasks,” said the ferryman. “But you paid the fare. I’ll return when you call.”
They watched him go. The boat slipped away into the mists and from sight.
“Well, he’s talkative,” said Dorn. “Now what?”
“Now I go on,” said Julien, “and you wait here.”
What he next uttered was recognizably, and inventively, a string of curses. He glared from beneath his sodden hair. “I’ll be damned if I wait here. What do you take me for?”
“A fine poet,” said Julien, straight-faced. “Well-versed in the art of cursing.”
“I’m serious. Do you think I’ll send you into danger alone? You think that of me?”
She crossed her arms before her chest. “Look. It’s not my idea. What I’m … what I’m feeling is that I must go on alone. You know, from the Seer’s mark. What’s more, I don’t think you’ll be able to come with me. The mark is what allows me to go farther.” She looked up at him earnestly. “Dorn, I don’t want to be alone. I’d so much rather you were with me.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” he said. “I’m certainly not waiting around in this cove.” Adjusting the Branch, which must have been awkward to carry, he moved to stand beside her.
“All right,” she said, resigned. And perhaps relieved. “Come, then.”
They strode forward together. Julien began to pick her way over the sharp stones. Delicate white seashells with thin purple stripes were scattered in profusion, crunched underfoot.
She was alone.
“What…” Julien looked back. Saw Dorn standing in the cove, staring after her. “Aren’t you coming?”
He looked dazed. Then deeply annoyed. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean you—”
“I mean I can’t! All right?” Dorn kicked at the sand. “You’ll have what you asked. I can’t seem to take a step out of this cove. It’s like walking into a wall.”
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Go on,” he said. “Get—whatever it is you’re supposed to get done, done. And then come back so I can get out of here. And tell the enchanted powers, while you’re at it, that they are a massive bother.”
“I will,” she said, “but—Dorn…”
“What?” His look of annoyance increased. As if he knew already what she would say.
She drew a breath. “If, for any reason … I don’t come back … You have the means to get out of here. Please don’t wait too long for me.”
He cursed again. “I refuse to be a pawn in this game,” he said. “I will not be a fucking coward. I will stay here, in this cove, until I rot. This place will have my bones before I leave you behind. So you’d best come back. You hear me?”
“I love you,” she said. Then turned quickly away. And didn’t turn back again as she made her way across the pebbles. She felt the heat of embarrassment in her ears and her hands shook, but her tread was steady. She hoped it showed resolve. Rather than what she felt, which was too complex to sort out. Where the pebbles ended was a hill, steep-sloped and green. She began to climb.
The hill turned out to be of an odd shape, though she could only tell once she reached the top. She stood awhile to catch her breath. The wind was stronger here at the summit. It smelled of grass. She looked down she saw water, silver-blue.
The hill was perfectly round, and flat at the top. At its center was a hedge that flowed with the shape of the hilltop, in circular fashion. Labyrinth Isle. She approached. The hedge was tall as a stand of poplar trees, and dense. She could see nothing at all through the leaves.
She began to traverse the circle of the hedge. Below crashed the waves; above, a flock of geese flew crying past.
It took time, though she never knew how long, before she arrived at the door. It was oak, and nearly overgrown with ivy. She felt a touch of wind at her neck, featherlike. A murmur: Enter, Seer.
Julien opened the door to the hedge maze.
* * *
THE king’s procession had returned from its roun
ds. It was afternoon. Rianna had absented herself, pleading a chill. Instead she had stood in the Great Hall, in her gold gown, drinking wine from a jeweled chalice.
First to enter the palace was a row of the Chosen. Their pace like a grim march. Behind them, the king. Elissan Diar was resplendent in white. All but his cloak, a rich crimson, lined with ermine.
Behind the king, another row of Chosen, and musicians to announce his passage. And then Sendara Diar and Etherell Lyr, looking to Rianna’s jaundiced eye like siblings.
When the king saw her, Rianna raised her cup. “To the king of Eivar,” she said. “His reign be everlasting.”
At once, she felt cold. Everlasting? What had made her say that?
“Let my beauty come to me,” said the king to the guards who surrounded him. Then laughed when they remained steadfast in place. “We must forgive my boys. They are zealous on my behalf. After, my love, we will celebrate this day. And this night, the start to all our nights together.”
She nodded. Her fingers around the cup had grown numb.
After. Her eyes followed a group of Chosen who bore the crown on its red cushion. Her first time seeing it. It was not what she expected. The crown was delicate, tall, and fashioned of what appeared to be white crystal. It was translucent, absorbing and containing all the light.
“Where did that come from?” she murmured.
Suddenly Etherell Lyr was at her side. “No one knows,” he said. “It was in the king’s room one night. He said it came to him in a dream. We are going to be an odd family, aren’t we, Mother?” He laughed into her eyes.
“I pity your mother,” she said coolly. Was unprepared for the sudden surge of hatred in his eyes.
Syme Oleir danced before them. He was dressed in red and gold motley for the occasion. “All is ready, ready at last,” he chanted. He spun on gold pointed shoes. “Ready for the White Queen.”
“Perfect,” Rianna said, refilled her cup, and drank too fast.
* * *
AT the entrance to the maze was a stone bench. There was clothing folded on it. As Julien approached to examine it, the door to the maze swung shut behind her. And clicked, as if locked.
Dress yourself. That murmur again.
With only a moment’s hesitation Julien stripped. First her cloak, then the dress her sister had made, dark blue wool, with lace at the collar and cuffs. In her underclothes and boots she shivered and inspected the clothes from the bench. The dress was black with silver trim. It slid easily over her head. And fit as if tailored for her. Though black, it was smooth and shining. There was a cloak, also black, lined with silver fur.
She’d left her bag behind in the cove. Unless she planned on carrying her blue dress and old cloak throughout the maze, she’d have to leave them here. She folded them neatly, not knowing quite what she felt. There was a good chance she’d never see these things again.
She knew the meaning of the black and silver. Had never thought to wear it herself. She was too new a Seer, and made wrong. So she’d thought.
There was no more guidance from the maze. Julien had a choice now—right or left. She took a right. It was vital to keep on, to hope there was a reason for all this. Ahead and around her were hedges, nothing else. The maze confronted her with a new choice at every turn. The hedge was so high as to block the sun; she felt cut off from the world, more than this Isle already was.
The sun was high when she reached a clearing in the maze: a space like a courtyard, paths leading from it in all directions. At its center a stone fountain green with moss. Rising from the fountain was a small, raised platform of stone. Sunlight glanced from the water, from the platform, and Julien saw what looked like a spark. She drew nearer.
There, resting at the center of the fountain was a ring.
The wind a gentle tease of sound. Take it.
Julien reached out carefully, mindful that she could easily drop the ring in the depths of the fountain. Inlaid in the ring was a single, large pearl.
She tried to recall the lore of gemstones. What was the pearl?
She couldn’t remember. She put it on the second-to-last finger of her right hand, as she had seen poets wear their rings. The pearl seemed to grow luminous for a moment, but that may have been the sunlight. The day had turned clear and bright, warm for winter in the north.
Now she noticed that around the rim of the platform where the ring had been were carved symbols. She remembered these from her reading—runes. But the meaning of the runes was lost.
As she watched, the symbols wavered, shifted. Became letters she could read. One phrase, rounding the rim of the platform.
I have worn many faces.
It sounded familiar, as if she’d heard it spoken in a dream. She ran her fingers along the engraving. The wind was quiet.
Which way now? she asked the wind. Three possibilities branched from this courtyard, unless one counted the way she’d come.
There was no answer. Julien was left to trust to her impulse. Or was it the mark that guided her? So she went on, choosing at random the path directly ahead. Was again plunged into the confusion of the maze. Her pace was stately, by necessity, for the black and silver raiment was heavy. With time, Julien fell into a rhythm. She walked at a slow pace, chose new pathways, and listened for the wind.
She didn’t know how long she wandered in this way until she reached another clearing. Here she halted a moment to stare. Surrounded by birch and willow trees was a gazebo of intricate shape. It seemed carved of ivory. And everywhere were flowers. Hollyhocks waved like tall dancers in the breeze; roses crept around its pillars and amid the latticework. Wisteria dripped from the archways, scattering petals on the ground.
It is winter, she reminded herself. But there was no arguing with what she saw.
She approached the gazebo. Of course she must go inside. She mounted the steps.
Then gasped with more amazement. Her hands went to her face. In that moment she knew two things: That there on the round stone table of the gazebo was the most magnificent harp she had ever seen. And that it was for her.
Julien felt tears prick her eyes. She hardly dared to step forward, for this dream to disappear.
Claim your right, said the wind.
She stepped forward. Tested the strings. Perfectly tuned, their tone was crystalline. Each note evoking in her a similar emotion to the chime of the Silver Branch.
This can’t be mine, she thought.
The wind again. It is.
It was attached to a baldric of silver chain. When Julien lifted the harp, it seemed to have no weight; likewise when she slung it across her shoulder.
It is enchantment, she thought. It will dissolve when I leave this place. Be a dream.
It will not, said the wind. It belongs to you. Now go to the final place. It is straight, to the right, and right again.
Julien left the gazebo. The sun she stepped into seemed to cut into her, so raw was she feeling then. And happy. It was all she could do not to cradle the harp in her arms, to weep over it. She knew now was not the time.
Straight, to the right, and right again.
A short distance and she’d reached it: another door in the hedge. This one made of polished silver. She saw herself in it, and for a moment stood there mesmerized. The person looking back at Julien Imara, arrayed in black and silver, with a gold harp—with a mark that blazed even in sunlight—was without doubt a Seer.
The wind was wordless now, but she sensed a message on its current. The latch was encrusted with green gems, the same shade as the hedges. She turned it and stepped in, unless that was out—from one maze to the next.
At first it was dark. Too dark to see, yet Julien felt no fear. The wind was with her.
Time to wield your power.
The darkness lit suddenly. Julien found herself looking into a grand chamber hung with tapestries. A fireplace at one end, above which hung—oddly—the skull of an animal. Its antlers caught the light from silver candelabras that lined the walls.
<
br /> Antlers.
A nagging thought, but this dissipated as she saw the people at the center of the room. How could her eye not be drawn there, to Sendara Diar, looking lovelier than ever. Kneeling before her was Etherell Lyr, bestowing to her some gift. Julien couldn’t see the offering; whatever it was, the girl looked delighted. And he—well, he looked beautiful, too, as she remembered. She could not imagine a man who looked like him, looking at her that way. Any man, really. Not in this or in any life.
Did you want to know what has been happening across the sea, in Tamryllin?
The wind again.
“Not really,” Julien said aloud.
Now Julien saw what Etherell Lyr held out to Sendara. A gold coronet, finely wrought and studded with gems. She bent her head so he could set it on her brow. “My queen,” he said. “So you will be, one day.”
She is princess, said the wind to Julien. Someday the queen. Married to Etherell Lyr. And a Seer.
“So?”
You can change it.
The image rippled strangely before Julien’s eyes, as if she saw it in a pool, and something had disturbed the water. There are myriad paths from each moment. The smallest thing can make a change.
The image froze. Sendara and Etherell stood before the mantel with joined hands. Gazing into each other’s eyes. Julien hated the feeling the sight of it made in her stomach—knew it for something ugly. She wanted to look away. But also wanted to keep looking, as if that ugliness were a beast that demanded to be fed.
It would be easy to make a change. The voice, creeping into her thoughts. With the power of a Seer, you might reach in … influence events. Etherell Lyr might meet someone else before the wedding. Or his love could wane. Men are fickle.
“What I want,” Julien said, in as firm a tone as she could, “is to stop the coronation. That’s why I’m here.”
This is the power offered you. To act on your desire.
“It is a test.” Julien felt a rush of anger. “You’re testing me, to see if I’ll do something horrible with this power. I won’t. You can’t tempt me this way.”
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