The Born Queen

by Greg Keyes

  A general murmur went up from what had been a stunned silence.

  “He is the real Fratrex Prismo,” L’Ossel went on. “He is the one meant to lead us in the final days.”

  Hespero rallied what little remained of his strength and shook himself free of the supporting hands.

  “I will not brook doubt,” he said. “Time is short, and too much has to be done. If anyone else would challenge me, let it be now.”

  He lifted his chin. Against all odds, he had survived both the fane and Fabulo. He had nothing left now. If even the weakest of them challenged him, it was all over.

  But instead, they all went to their knees.

  And a few days later, he was titled Fratrex Prismo Niro Marco.

  It had a nice ring to it.

  DARIGE

  Stephen snapped awake, his heart thundering in his chest.

  “What?” he gasped.

  But no one answered. Something had awakened him—something loud, or bright, or painful—except that he couldn’t quite remember whether it had been a sound, a light, or a feeling. Had it been in the waking world or across the night divide? His scalp and palms tingled, and he felt like an insect mired in molasses.

  Then the wind came in the open window, cool and clean, and the liminal moment faded.

  He pressed the page of the book he’d been studying, realizing that he’d literally fallen asleep with his nose in it, and, as the waking terror faded, felt like chuckling at himself. What would Zemlé say?

  She would make some joke about him being obsessed, but she understood. He tucked a ribbon to mark his place in the tome, then regarded the sheet of lead next to it with its faded engravings. It was the epistle, the letter that had led him to this place. Although he had translated the cipher it was written in long before, he felt something basic was escaping him, hidden in the text, some clue to the secret for which he was searching.

  He rose and went to the east window and then paused. Hadn’t he left it shuttered?

  A glance around the room revealed no intruder or any place that might conceal one. It was an open, airy space, carved of living stone but with enormous windows for each direction of the wind, hung with framed crystal thicker than the length of his thumb. Closed, they were translucent, suffusing the chamber with ample pleasant light during the day, but open, they offered a rare view. So far as he could tell, this was the highest room in the vast complex of caves and tunnels that riddled Witchhorn Mountain, hollowed out from a spindly upthrust on the east side of the peak the Aitivar—the inhabitants of the place—called the Khelan, or “spit.” He didn’t know what they called this upper room, but he’d named it the aerie. Sunrises were splendid from there, pulling above the jagged peaks of the Bairghs, and he fancied on a clear day he could see almost to the Midenlands south and as far east as the inlet of Dephis, because at times he thought he saw the liquid shimmer of a great water, although that could well be a trick of the light.

  He shrugged. He must have left it unlatched, and the wind had blown it open.

  It was dusk now, and the Witchhorn cast its long shadow out toward the blue haze of the horizon. North and south of the mountain’s umbra, the pikes and ridges burned orange, and a few stars were furtively appearing in the deep of the sky.

  He savored a long, happy breath and put his palms on the marble sill, leaning forward a bit.

  It was as if he had placed his hands on a hot stove, and he yelped from the pain and surprise. He stumbled back, staring at his hands in shock.

  In a few heartbeats he began to calm down. The stone hadn’t been hot enough to burn his skin from such a brief contact; it had been mostly the surprise. He ventured back and touched the sill again. It was still very warm.

  He felt the near wall, but it was as cool as the evening air.

  He glanced around uneasily. What was going on? Had he unwittingly triggered some ancient Sefry shinecraft? Were volcanic vapors rising through the mountain? Curious, he continued along the wall toward the next window, then the next. There wasn’t anything unusual there, but when he came to the stone stair that descended farther into the mountain, he found the banister unusually warm, too.

  He went back to the eastern window, knelt, and touched the floor. There it was, a warm spot. And a little more than a kingsyard farther there was another—a trail of them, leading to the steps…

  His scalp was tingling now.

  What had come through here? What had walked past him as he slept?

  Now he wished he hadn’t wanted to be alone and had allowed some of the Aitivar to accompany him.

  Whatever it was, it had ignored him when he was at his most vulnerable. Surely it wouldn’t hurt him now.

  He strained his saint-blessed senses. He didn’t hear anything, but there was a faint scent a little like burning pine, but with a musky, animal component, too.

  He looked back out the window, examining the drop that stayed sheer for two hundred kingsyards. Whatever had come, it must have flown.

  He glanced back at the stair, and then he remembered. Zemlé was down there where whatever it was had gone. Maybe it had left him alone because he was asleep, but if she was awake…

  He suddenly heard dogs barking—Zemlé’s hounds—and everything went pale.

  He wasn’t a fighter by nature, but he wished he had thought to carry a weapon: a knife, at the very least.

  Swearing that from now on he would do so, he grabbed his lantern and started down the stairs.

  The dogs suddenly stopped barking.

  The aerie wasn’t the only chamber in the Khelan. The whole thing was rather like a small castle or mansion or, perhaps more aptly, a wizard’s tower. Fifty-seven steps brought him to the next chamber, which he and Zemlé had dubbed the Warlock’s Bedroom. It was carved in a high vault, and although there were no windows as such, numerous long shafts brought light in from different directions, depending on the time of day, offering not only illumination but also a rough sort of clock.

  The scent was stronger on the stairway, cloying in his nostrils, and when he burst into the chamber, he had the start of a good panic. Zemlé’s three great beasts were at the far end of the room, facing the hall where the stair continued down. They weren’t making a sound, but the hair on their necks was up.

  “Zemlé!”

  He could see her on the bed, one bare leg thrown out from beneath the quilt. She wasn’t moving, and she didn’t respond to his shout. He raced to her side.

  “Zemlé,” he repeated, shaking her.

  Her lids fluttered open. “Stephen?” Then her brows dropped. “Stephen, what’s wrong?”

  Gasping for breath, he sat on the bed.

  Zemlé sat up, reaching for his arm. “What?”

  “Nothing, I—I think something came through here. I was afraid it might have hurt you. Didn’t you hear the dogs?”

  “They started up,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. “They do that. This place spooks them.” Then her vision seemed to clear. “Something?”

  “I’ve no idea. I fell asleep, upstairs—”

  “Nose in your book.”

  He stopped. “You came up?”

  “I guessed. If you’d gone to sleep on purpose, I rather think you would have come down here with me.” She shrugged. “Or do I flatter myself?”

  “Ah, no, you don’t.”

  “But go on.”

  “The, umm, the window ledge was hot.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Hot?”

  “I mean really hot. Burning, almost. And the banister of the stairs and the floor, in places, as if something really blistering walked through.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve no idea. But what with all of the greffyns and utins and waurms and generally ancient nasties I’ve seen lately, it might be anything. A salamandra, maybe.”

  She stroked his arm. “Well, it didn’t hurt you and it didn’t hurt me, did it? Or even the dogs. So maybe it’s a friendly burning-invisible thing.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe
friendly like Fend.”

  “Fend hasn’t made the slightest false move,” she pointed out.

  “He tried to kill me.”

  “I mean since he became the Blood Knight and swore himself to your service.”

  “Well, right, but…he will, mark my words. Anyway, it’s been less than a month. He’s up to something.”

  She shrugged. “Do you want to keep trailing this beastie of yours? I can get dressed.”

  He blinked, suddenly understanding that in sitting up she hadn’t brought the covers with her and was quite nude.

  “That’s something I’d hate to ask,” he murmured.

  “And generally untypical of men,” she replied.

  “Still…”

  “Just wait.” She swung her slim legs off the bed and stepped onto the floor, crossing a few paces to a dressing gown that lay rumpled there. As she slid it over her head and her white body vanished into it, he felt a strong stirring. Why should it be more erotic for her to dress than the opposite? But there it was, a fact.

  He shook that off. She pulled on her buskins, and together they set off in search of the apparition, the dogs padding silently behind. Stephen wondered if she even believed him or if she was just being as deferential to him as the Aitivar and Fend appeared to be. He hoped not; he had been attracted by her strong and independent spirit, not her pliancy. In fact, she had been very much in control of the relationship in the beginning. Now, it sometimes almost felt that he was. It was as worrying as any other unfamiliar thing, especially considering the reverence with which the Aitivar seemed to treat him.

  “Seemed,” because they had brought him here by force, and he hadn’t forgotten that.

  But there hadn’t been anything like that since. His word was law, and so far as he could tell, no part of the mountain was off limits.

  Except the parts he couldn’t find.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It was disconcerting how well Zemlé could read his mood.

  “Watch your step,” he muttered, “not me.”

  “Come on. You’re distracted.”

  “I’m just wondering again why the Aitivar don’t know where the Alq is,” Stephen said. “It’s supposed to be the heart, the treasury of this place, and no one can point me toward it despite the fact that that’s what I came here to find.”

  “Well, treasuries are usually hidden or well guarded or both,” she pointed out. “And the Aitivar were latecomers here, too.”

  “I know,” he said.

  They’d reached the next landing and a series of galleries that might have once been ballrooms or banquet halls, so grand were they.

  He listened, but his once supernatural hearing had been damaged by an explosion a few months before. He could still hear better than the average mortal, though, and now he didn’t notice anything out of place. Feeling about, he couldn’t detect any warm spots, either.

  “Well, it could have gone ten ways from here,” he said. “Maybe I should just alert the guard.”

  “That’s what they’re for,” Zemlé said.

  He nodded. “I’ll find them; they’re just another flight down. Maybe they even saw it. You go on back up.”

  She smiled. “Fine. I’ve a mind to undress again. Will you be joining me?”

  Stephen hesitated.

  She rolled her eyes. “We’ll find the Alq, Stephen. As you said, it’s been less than a month. You spent all last night reading. Spend another night so, and I’ll begin to doubt my charms.”

  “It’s just—it’s urgent. The Revesturi expect I can find the knowledge here to keep the world from ending. That’s a bit of a responsibility. And now this…intruder.”

  She smiled and partly opened her dressing gown.

  “Life is short,” she said. “You’ll find it. It’s your destiny. So come to bed.”

  Stephen felt his face burning.

  “I’ll be right up,” he said.

  LEOFF

  Leovigild Ackenzal eased back onto a cushion of warm clover and closed his eyes against the sun. He drew a deep breath of bloom-sweet air and let the solar heat press gently on him. His thoughts began to lose their sense as the dreams hiding in the green began to tiptoe into his head.

  A thaurnharp began sounding a delicate melody that blended with the birdsong and bee buzzes of the afternoon.

  “What tune is that?” a familiar voice softly asked, startling him.

  “She’s improvising,” he murmured.

  “It sounds a little sad.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Everything she plays these days is sad.”

  Warm, supple fingers wrapped around his own stiff and ruined digits. He opened his eyes and turned his head so that he could see Areana’s red-gold hair and dark-jeweled orbits.

  “I didn’t hear you come up,” he told her.

  “Bare feet don’t make much sound on clover, do they?”

  “Especially feet as dainty as yours,” he replied.

  “Oh, hush. You don’t have to win me anymore.”

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I’d like to win you again every day.”

  “Well, that’s nice,” she said. “Good husband talk. We’ll see if you feel that way in ten years as opposed to ten days.”

  “It’s my fondest wish to find out. And again in twenty, thirty—”

  She cupped her hand over his mouth. “Hush, I said.”

  She looked around the glade. “I’m going to start calling this your solar. You always want to be in the sunlight these days.”

  Don’t you? he wanted to ask. She had spent months in the dungeons, just as he had. And just as he had, she had heard—

  No. He didn’t want to remember.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to remind you. I just—I wonder what you will do when winter comes.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not here yet, and I can’t stop it coming. We’ll see.”

  She smiled, but he felt it turn in him.

  “Maybe I can write a bright music.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve ruined your nap.”

  You have, he thought, his bitterness growing. And why carp about winter?

  “Still,” she went on, her tone changing, “all you do is nap, it seems.”

  He sat up, feeling his breath begin to fire. “How do you—”

  And then a bee stung him. The pain was very simple, very direct, and he found himself on his feet howling, swatting at the air, which was alive with the swarming insects.

  He understood now. The pain of the sting had wakened his sense.

  “Mery,” he shouted, striding toward the girl where she sat with her little thaurnharp.

  “Mery, quit that.”

  But she kept playing until Leoff reached down and stopped her hands. They felt cold.

  “Mery, it’s hurting us.”

  She didn’t look up at first but continued to study the keyboard.

  “It doesn’t hurt me,” she said.

  “I know,” he said softly.

  She looked up then, and his chest tightened.

  Mery was a slight girl; she looked younger than her eight winters. From a distance she might be five or six.

  But she wasn’t at a distance now. Her eyes had been azure when they had met. They were still blue, but they seemed filmed over somehow, sometimes vacant, sometimes sharp with subtle pain a child her age should not know. Up close, Mery might be a hundred.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “What were you trying to do there?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He knelt and stroked her hair.

  “Robert won’t find us again.”

  “He took it with him,” Mery said, her voice just audible. “He tricked you into writing it, and he took it with him.”

  “It’s all right,” Leoff said.

  “It’s not,” Mery replied. “It’s not. When he plays it, I can hear it.”

  The hairs went up on Leoff’s neck. “What?”

/>   “He doesn’t play it well,” she whispered. “But now he has someone else to do it. I can hear it.”

  Leoff glanced over at Areana. She hadn’t said anything, but tears were running quietly down her face.

  “I thought you would fix it,” Mery said. “Now I see you can’t.”

  “Mery…”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I understand.”

  She lifted the thaurnharp off her lap, took it by its carry strap, and stood up.

  “I’ll play someplace else,” she said.

  “Mery, please don’t go,” Areana said.

  But the girl already was trudging off.

  Leoff watched her leave and sighed. “She expects me to do something,” he said.

  “She expects too much,” she said.

  He shook his head. “We were there, but she played it. I used her—”

  “To save our lives,” his wife gently reminded him.

  “I’m not sure I saved hers,” he said. “I thought she would get better, but she’s slipping away, Rey. It’s worse every day.”

  She nodded. “Yah.”

  “I should go after her.”

  “She wants to be alone right now,” Areana said. “I think you’d better let her. She was a solitary sort of person even before.”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay here. Rest. I need to go to the market to gather a few things for dinner. I’ll see if I can find something Mery might like. A ribbon or some drop.”

  Ribbons and candy won’t help, he thought, but he smiled and gave her a kiss.

  “I am a lucky man,” he managed.

  “We all are lucky,” Areana said. “Even Mery. We have each other.”

  “I’m not certain about that,” Leoff said.

  Areana frowned. “What can you mean?”

  “I had a letter yesterday from Lord Edwin Graham. Mery’s mother was his sister.”

  “They mean to take her away? But the duke put her in our charge.”

  “I’m not sure what he wants,” Leoff replied. “He’s sending his wife here to tell us. She’ll arrive on Thonsdagh.”

  Lady Teris Graham was tall, taller than Leoff. She had unsettling sea-green eyes and a face spotted by rusty freckles, which made her dark, nearly black hair somehow surprising. Her face was strong-boned and long like her body, and she had come in a dark green and black traveling gown that looked expensive. She had two servants and two bodyguards with her, which also spoke of money. She was younger than he had expected. Areana had seated her in their small parlor, which up until then they really hadn’t used for anything. Then she went for tea while the lady sized up Leoff.