The Bone Doll's Twin

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Apparently. So, how shall we get you up to the house? Slow and painful or fast and painful?”

  Arkoniel managed a wretched grin. “Fast.”

  Tharin mounted behind him and reached around Arkoniel for the reins, then kicked the horse into a canter. Every pounding hoofbeat sent a hot stab up Arkoniel’s arm. He fixed his eyes on their destination and held on as best he could with his good hand.

  At the top of the hill they rode across a wide wooden bridge and on through a gate into a paved yard. Mynir and Nari were there, with a large-boned woman in the stained apron of a cook.

  Nari had aged, too. She was still plump and ruddy, but there were streaks of grey in her thick brown hair.

  They helped him down and Tharin supported him through a dim, echoing hall to the kitchen.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” Nari asked as Tharin eased him down onto a bench beside a scrubbed oak table.

  “The child,” he croaked, resting his spinning head on his good hand. “Come to see the child. Is he well?” Tharin gently took his swelling wrist in both hands. Arkoniel gasped as the man felt for damage.

  Nari raised an eyebrow at him. “Of course he’s well. What makes you think he isn’t?”

  “I just—” He caught his breath again as Tharin probed deeper.

  “That’s lucky,” he told Arkoniel. “It’s just the outer bone, and a clean break. Once it’s set and bound it shouldn’t trouble you too badly.”

  Mynir fetched a slat and some strips of cloth.

  “Best have this first,” the cook said, giving him a clay cup.

  Arkoniel downed the contents gratefully and felt a numbing heat spread quickly through his belly and limbs. “What is this?”

  “Vinegar, brandywine, with a little poppy and henbane,” she told him, patting his shoulder.

  It still hurt like hell when Tharin set the bone, but Arkoniel was able to bear it without complaint.

  Tharin bound the slat in place with the cloth and a leather thong. When he was done he sat back and grinned at Arkoniel.

  “You’re tougher than you look, boy.”

  Arkoniel groaned and took another gulp from the cup. He was beginning to feel quite sleepy.

  “Did Iya send you?” Nari asked.

  “No. I thought I should come pay my—”

  “So one of you could finally spare us a visit, could you?” a harsh voice snapped.

  Jarred back to alertness, Arkoniel found Rhius scowling at him from the kitchen doorway.

  Tharin rose and stepped toward the duke as if he expected violence. “Rhius, he’s hurt.”

  The duke ignored him as he crossed the kitchen to glare down at Arkoniel. “So you’ve finally come back to us, have you? Where’s your mistress?”

  “She’s still in the south, my lord. I came to pay our respects. We were both so sorry to hear of your lady’s death.”

  “So sorry that it took a year for you to come?” Rhius sat down across from him and glanced at the wizard’s bound wrist. “But I see you won’t be leaving us anytime soon. I leave for Ero tomorrow, but you may stay until you’re fit to ride.”

  It was a far cry from the welcome they used to enjoy under Rhius’ roof, but Arkoniel suspected that he was lucky the duke didn’t toss him into the river.

  “How is the king?” he asked.

  Curdled anger curled Rhius’ lip. “Very well, thank you. The Plenimaran raids have ceased for the harvest season. The crops are ripening. The sun continues to shine. It seems the Four smile on his reign.” Rhius spoke quietly, his voice devoid of inflection, but Arkoniel read betrayal in those hard, tired eyes. Iya would have talked of patience and visions, but Arkoniel didn’t know where to begin.

  Just then an eerily familiar face peered in around the corridor doorway. “Who’s that, Father?”

  All the harshness left Rhius’ face as he held out his hand to the boy, who came and pressed close to his father’s side, looking at Arkoniel with shy blue eyes.

  Tobin.

  There was nothing of the hidden girl child in this plain, skinny lad. Lhel had done her work too well. But Tobin’s eyes were the same striking blue as his mother’s and, unlike his demon twin, Tobin looked well cared for except for the fading pink scar that marred his pointed chin. Arkoniel stole a quick glance at the triangle of smooth pale skin that showed at the unlaced neck of the child’s tunic, wondering what Lhel’s stitching looked like after all these years.

  The child’s long black hair was shiny and, though no one would have taken him for the son of a princess in such garb, his simple tunic was clean and well made. Looking around at the others in the room, Arkoniel recognized a love for this solemn child that made his heart ache with a strange burst of compassion for the demon, an abandoned child shut out from the warmth of hearth and family while its double grew up in comfort and warmth. It was aware. It must know.

  Tobin didn’t smile or come forward to greet him; he just stared at Arkoniel. Something in his stillness made him seem as strange as his ghostly twin.

  “This is Arkoniel,” Rhius explained. “He’s a—friend I haven’t seen in a very long time. Come now, introduce yourself properly.”

  The boy made Arkoniel a stiff formal bow, left hand on his belt where a sword would someday hang. There was the wine-colored faver mark on the outside of his forearm, like the print of a rosebud cut in half. Arkoniel had forgotten about that, the only outward sign left of the girl’s true form.

  “I am Prince Tobin Erius Akandor, son of Ariani and Rhius.” The way he moved reinforced Arkoniel’s initial impression. There was nothing of a normal child in his manner. He had his father’s dignity, but not the stature or years to carry it off properly.

  Arkoniel returned the bow as best he could seated. The cook’s draught seemed to work more strongly the longer it was in him, making him dizzy. “I am most honored to make your acquaintance, my prince. I am Arkoniel, son of Sir Coran and Lady Mekia of Rhemair, fostered to the wizard Iya. Please accept my humble service to you and all your house.”

  Tobin’s eyes widened. “You’re a wizard?”

  “Yes, my prince.” Arkoniel held up his bandaged wrist. “Perhaps when this feels a bit better, I can show you some of the tricks I’ve learned.”

  Most children greeted such an offer with exclamations of delight, or at least a smile, but Tobin seemed to retreat without moving a muscle.

  I was right, Arkoniel thought, looking into those dark eyes. Something is very wrong here.

  He attempted to rise and found that his legs and head would not cooperate in the effort.

  “That draught of Cook’s isn’t done with you,” Nari said, pressing him back onto the bench. “My lord, he must lie down somewhere, but none of the guest chambers are fit to sleep in.”

  “A pallet here by the fire is all I need,” Arkoniel mumbled, nauseated again. Despite the brandy burning his belly and the warmth of the day, he felt chilled all over.

  “We could set up a bed in Tobin’s second room,” Mynir suggested, ignoring Arkoniel’s much simpler solution. “It wouldn’t be such a climb for him.”

  “Very well,” Rhius replied. “Have some of the men fetch whatever you think necessary.”

  Arkoniel sagged against the table, wishing they’d just let him curl up here by the hearth so he could get warm. The women went to fetch linens. Tobin went out with Tharin and the steward, leaving the wizard alone with Rhius.

  For a moment neither man said anything.

  “The demon frightened my horse,” Arkoniel told him. “I saw it clearly in the road at the bottom of the meadow.”

  Rhius shrugged. “It’s here with us now. I see the gooseflesh on your arms. You feel it, too.”

  Arkoniel shivered. “Yes, I feel it, but I saw it in the meadow, as clearly as I see you now. Tobin looks just like it.”

  Rhius shook his head. “No one has ever seen it, except perhaps for—” “Tobin?”

  “By the Four, no!” Rhius made a sign against bad luck. “He’s bee
n spared that much, at least. But I think Ariani did. She made a doll to replace the dead child, and sometimes spoke to it as if it were real. But I often had the feeling that it wasn’t the doll she was seeing. Illior knows, she paid little enough attention to her living child, except at the end.”

  Arkoniel’s throat tightened again. “My lord, words cannot express how sorry—”

  Rhius slammed a hand down on the table, then leaned forward and snarled, “Don’t you dare weep for her! You have no right, no more than I!” Lurching to his feet, he strode from the room, leaving the startled wizard alone in the demon-haunted kitchen.

  The chill pressed in around him and Arkoniel was certain he felt a child’s cold hands on the back of his neck. Thinking of the dead shrew, he whispered, “By the Four—Maker, Traveler, Flame, and Lightbearer—I command you! Lie down, Spirit, until Bilairy guides you to the Gate.”

  The cold intensified around him and the bright room darkened as if a thunderhead had covered the sun. A large clay pot flew from a shelf and shattered against the opposite wall, narrowly missing his shoulder. A basket of onions followed, then a wooden bowl of dough and a platter. Arkoniel slid hastily under the table, broken bones forgotten for the moment.

  Scant yards away, an iron poker scraped across the stone hearth in his direction. He tried to dive away toward the door, but came down on his bad wrist and collapsed with a strangled scream, eyes screwed shut in agony.

  “No!” A boy’s high clear voice.

  The poker clattered to the floor.

  Arkoniel heard whispering and footsteps. Opening his eyes, he found Tobin kneeling beside him. The room was warm again.

  “It doesn’t like you,” Tobin said.

  “No—I don’t think it does,” Arkoniel panted, content for the moment to stay where he was. “Is it gone?”

  Tobin nodded.

  “Did you send it away?”

  Tobin gave him a startled look, but said nothing. He was a few months shy of his tenth birthday, but looking into that face now, Arkoniel could not have put an age to it. Tobin looked at once too old and too young.

  “It listens to you, doesn’t it?” he asked. “I heard you speaking to it.”

  “Don’t tell Father, please!”

  “Why?”

  Now Tobin looked like any frightened little boy. “I—it would make him sad. Please, don’t tell him what you saw!”

  Arkoniel hesitated, recalling the duke’s violent outburst. Crawling out from beneath the table, he sat on the floor next to Tobin and rested his hand in his lap. “I take it all this—” He looked around at the broken crockery. “It isn’t going to surprise anyone?”

  Tobin shook his head.

  “Very well, then, my prince, I’ll keep your secret. But I’d very much like to know why the demon obeys you.”

  Tobin said nothing.

  “Did you tell it to throw the dishes at me?”

  “No! I’d never do that, on my honor.”

  Arkoniel studied that strained, earnest little face and knew Tobin spoke the truth, and yet there was some great secret behind those eyes. Another house of closed doors, he thought, but here at least he sensed the chance of finding the keys.

  Voices came from the direction of the hall. “Go on, then,” he whispered.

  Tobin slipped out the courtyard door without a sound.

  Thank you, Illior, for sending me here, Arkoniel thought, watching him go. Whatever darkness surrounds this child, I’ll make it right, and stand by her until I see her crowned in her rightful form.

  Chapter 17

  Arkoniel staggered a bit as Nari and Tharin helped him upstairs. The sun had fallen behind the peaks, casting the whole house into dusky gloom. Tharin carried a clay hand lamp and by its light Arkoniel made out the faded, flaking colors of the painted pillars in the great hall, the tattered banners from long-forgotten battles hanging in shreds from the carved beams overhead, and the tarnished brass lamps festooned with cobwebs. Despite the fresh strewing herbs among the rushes on the floor, there was an underlying odor of damp and mice.

  The upstairs corridor was darker still. They brought Arkoniel into a dusty, cluttered chamber on the right. A lamp on a stand shed enough light to see what appeared to be a miniature city taking up one side of the room. A few other toys lay scattered in the corners, but they had an abandoned look.

  A few old chests and a wardrobe with a cracked door stood against the bare stone walls. An ornate oak bedstead had been set at an awkward angle near the window. It was a handsome piece, carved with vines and birds, but bits of cobwebs still clung to it here and there.

  Tharin helped Arkoniel to the bed and pulled off his boots and tunic. The wizard couldn’t suppress another groan as he slid the sleeve over his broken wrist.

  “Go fetch him more of Cook’s brew,” Nari said. “I’ll get him settled.”

  “I’ll have her make it strong enough to help you sleep,” Tharin told him.

  The scents of cedar and lavender rose from the eiderdown as Nari drew it over him and propped his arm on a cushion. The blue silk cover still showed fresh creases from being packed away. “You don’t get many guests here, I gather,” Arkoniel said, sinking gratefully into the deep, musty-smelling bed.

  “The duke entertains his guests elsewhere, mostly.” She smoothed the coverlet over his chest. “You know it’s best this way. Tobin’s safe.”

  “But not happy.”

  “That’s not for me to say. He’s a good boy, our Tobin. I couldn’t ask for better. And his father dotes on him, or did…. The way he was today?” She shook her head. “It’s been hard on him since the princess … Her dying like that—by the Light, Arkoniel, I fear it’s broken him.”

  “How did it happen? I’ve heard only rumors.”

  Nari pulled a chair over and sat down. “The king came here to hunt. She saw him on the road from a window and dragged poor Tobin up to the tower. Well, Tobin won’t speak of it, but he had a cut on his chin, and I found blood on the windowsill.”

  “The scar?”

  “Yes, that’s when he got it.”

  “You think she meant to kill him?”

  Nari said nothing.

  Muzzy as he was from the draught, Arkoniel stared at her, trying to fathom her silence. “You don’t think—Nari, he’s scarcely ten years old and undersized at that! How would he push a grown woman out a window?”

  “I’m not saying he did! But there have been times when he seems to be possessed with the demon. He tore this room to pieces one day. I caught him at it! And the tower room when we finally found him? It was just the same.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  Nari folded her hands and frowned down at them. “I’m sure you’re right. Believe me, I don’t want to think ill of the child. But he does talk to it now.”

  “To the demon?” Arkoniel thought of the whispering he’d heard in the kitchen and Tobin’s plea to keep his secret.

  “He thinks I don’t hear, but I do. Sometimes it’s at night, sometimes when he’s in here playing alone. Poor thing. He’s so lonely he’ll talk to a ghost just for someone to play with.”

  “He has you and his father. And Tharin and the others seem very fond of him.”

  “Oh yes. But it’s not the same for a child, is it? You’re young enough to remember. What would you have done, shut away in an old house like this with nothing but servants and soldiers? And the men not even here most of the time? I’ll bet you come from a house full of children.”

  Arkoniel chuckled. “I had five brothers. We all slept in the same bed and fought like badgers. When Iya took me on, I still found children to play with everywhere we traveled until it began to show that I was different.”

  “Well, our Tobin’s as different as they come, and never has known what it is to play with another child. It’s not right. I’ve said so all along. How is he supposed to know what folks are really like, shut away here?”

  How, indeed? thought Arkoniel. “What does he do with his days?”
<
br />   Nari snorted. “Works like a peasant child and trains to be a great warrior. You should see him at it with the men, like a puppy going at bears. He’ll be lucky if he gets through the summer without another broken finger. Tharin and his father do say he’s quick, and he shoots as well as some of the grown men.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He rides when someone can take him, and makes his little carvings—oh, but he’s good at that!” She reached over to the windowsill and placed several little wax and wooden animals on the coverlet for him to see. They were quite good.

  “And he plays in here.” She pointed to the city, smiling fondly. “The duke made that for him years back. They spend hours with it. It’s meant to be Ero, you know. But he’s not allowed outside alone to ramble or fish as we did. As any child should! Noble boys his age are serving as pages at court by now. He can’t do that, of course. But Rhius won’t even allow any of the village children to visit. He’s that terrified of being found out.”

  “He’s right in that. Still …” Arkoniel pondered a moment. “What about the rest of the household. Does anyone else know?”

  “No. Sometimes even I forget. He’s our little prince. I can’t think what it will be like when the change comes. Just imagine being told, ‘Oh, by the by, pet, you’re not …’”

  She broke off as Tharin returned with the cup for Arkoniel. The captain said his good nights and left again, but Nari lingered a moment. Bending close to the wizard’s ear, she whispered, “It’s a pity Iya wouldn’t let Rhius tell him. There’s not a better friend to this family. Secrets. We’re all about secrets here.”

  The second draught had the promised effect. Arkoniel slept like a stone, and dreamt of playing fox and geese with his brothers in his father’s orchard. At some point he noticed Tobin watching them, but couldn’t find the words to invite the child to join them. Then he was sitting in his mother’s kitchen and the demon was there with him.