THREE DROPS OF BLOOD

by Michelle L. Levigne

  They toured the fortress, all the public rooms, the healing rooms, the storage rooms, the offices of the seneschal and chatelaine, the common rooms for the Valors, the armory, and the archives. Meghianna satisfied herself that nothing essential had changed since she left in the fall.

  She began to suspect something when her father led them on a tour of the gardens, and took extra time to show her the walled garden that was always her province. Seedlings and cuttings had been planted as she had requested in the diagrams she sent to the fortress half a moon ago. Meghianna was pleased to see more people took her instructions seriously now, not just humoring her because she was the Warhawk's daughter. Still, there was no reason for her father to devote so much time to something she could just as easily examine on her own.

  Efrin pointed out the spring growth in other parts of the gardens, where the kitchen staff had dominion, where the healers grew fresh ingredients for their herbal potions, and the flowers for decorating the ladies of the Court. Meghianna's suspicion grew when he led her away from the stables, which should have been the next logical step, to the barns where several new litters of puppies and kittens frolicked in the sunshine and shadows. Their next stop was the mews, to visit the ancient warhawk that sat on the top of her father's chair during High Court sessions.

  "Papa, when we are going to the stables?" she finally asked, stopping short in a patch of sunshine between the mews and the Valors' training field. Efrin stopped just as short, his mouth open, one hand gesturing in the opposite direction. Meghianna knew something delightful was planned when her father glanced at Mrillis, as if asking a silent question.

  "I have said nothing to her that you have not heard," the enchanter said, and shrugged. The caution he displayed in not looking her in the eye hardened Meghianna's suspicions.

  Her surprise was in the stables--that much was obvious.

  Stables equaled horses.

  "A pony? You got me my own pony?" Meghianna remembered just in time to stifle her squeal. The falcons and hawks didn't appreciate high-pitched noises.

  "Of course not." Her father took hold of her hand again. "Why would I get you a pony, when all the animals in the Stronghold are yours as Queen's Heir?"

  "But if it comes from you, Papa, that makes it special." She trotted along next to Efrin, and nearly tripped over her own feet when she tried to look over her shoulder at Mrillis, who walked several steps behind them. Meghianna felt very tempted to pout, but having seen her new half-sister pout, she disliked such an infantile tactic. Besides, she was busy unraveling this new puzzle. She had been so sure the stables held her surprise, and logic said it had to be a pony.

  "Hmm, yes, and I'm more thankful than ever you're out of the reach of my enemies on the Council most of the year."

  "Why?" She giggled a little when Efrin made a face at her.

  "If they convinced you to speak on their behalf, I would never be able to stand against them. You, my sweet, know exactly the right thing to say to turn my heart into melted candle wax." He stopped short on the threshold of the stables and bowed grandly as he gestured for her to go in ahead of him.

  Chapter Two

  Meghianna saw the mist-colored shape standing in a shaft of light coming through the vent door in the sloped roof. A man in the Warhawk's livery held its reins, but the proportions were all wrong.

  "A horse, not a pony," she whispered. Meghianna looked over her shoulder at her father. Efrin and Mrillis grinned, their faces bright in the sunshine. Nalla, of course, wore an expression that was a mixture of pleasure on her behalf, and all the caution and horror of a dutiful nursemaid. A moment later, she burst out laughing and leaped into her father's arms. "A grown horse, for me?" She kissed both her father's cheeks. "I'll need a ladder to get into the saddle."

  "You'll grow fast enough, I'm afraid," Mrillis said.

  "Do you like her, Meggi?" Efrin said.

  "Yes, Papa. Very much." She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed until he pretended to choke, and laughed.

  "Mist is full-grown, but she is small for her breed," Mrillis said. "She is very intelligent, and very gentle. Usually, horses as smart as her tend to be bad-tempered. Mostly because they're independent, and believe they know better than their riders."

  A snort from inside the stable startled the four of them. Nalla stood back, crossed her arms over her chest, and shook her head instead of laughing with the others.

  "Yes, Mist, I know you think you're smarter than everyone, but Meghianna will be your rider now," Mrillis said, "and I promise you, she is very smart. Besides, we are depending on you to take care of her as if she were your own colt. Do you understand?"

  The white shape moved away from the stable hand, and grew taller, taking on a silvery sheen as it moved to the doorway of the stables and into the sunlight. Meghianna looked into the ebony eyes of a pearly gray horse. The delicate, long face was only a little higher than her, held in her father's arms.

  "Now, shall the two of you be friends?" Efrin said. He swung her out and settled her on Mist's back. The mare nickered and bobbed her head. Her hide shivered once under Meghianna's hands as the little girl wove her fingers into the coarse, long mane in dozens of shades of gray and silver and black.

  "Thank you, Papa," Meghianna whispered, feeling tears and giddy giggles mixing in her chest. She knew how tears affected her father, so she fought the sensation until she could lock it away, and spilled smiles and laughter for both men.

  Efrin walked her around the practice fields and the inner and outer courtyards, until she grew used to riding bareback, and assured in her seating. When Meghianna went to bed that night, she wore a new bracelet made of hairs from Mist's tail and mane, and her mind was full of plans to go on adventures with her new companion. She suspected that escaping the watchful eyes of the Warhawk's bodyguards would be easy compared with escaping from Nalla--but how could she have adventures if someone always watched over her?

  "You're not like other little girls," she whispered into the darkness of her room. Meghianna heard the words echoed in a dozen other voices. It hadn't taken long for her to understand the boundaries on her life, both as the next Queen of Snows and as the Warhawk's only child. Still, that didn't mean she had to forfeit all fun, did it?

  * * * *

  "Should I send her away?" Efrin stayed at the window that looked down over the inner court of the fortress.

  Mrillis sat back, pressing his shoulders against the chair, and studied the young king. The window looked down over Meghianna's garden. That was the entire reason why Efrin had given that particular enclosed garden to his daughter--to let him at least see her during the long hours immured in his workroom each day. He had spoken about the continued threat against the girl several moons ago, wondering if it would be wiser to let her live in the Stronghold year-round to keep her safe. Mrillis slipped his hand into the stack of papers and scrolls and wax tablets, and tugged out the slip of parchment with a remnant of gold wax seal, a report sent from Captain Gynefra, detailing the accidental meeting between Megassa and Meghianna the day before. Mrillis had read through all the reports waiting for the Warhawk's attention while Efrin made farewells with the delegation of minor kings from southern Moerta. This one report had been opened already before he found it.

  That gave him a good idea of the 'her' Efrin referred to.

  "It is too late to send the child away. Meghianna already knows she exists," he said, pitching his voice to only reach as far as the window.

  The sharp turn of Efrin's head let Mrillis know his guess was correct.

  "All the more reason to keep them apart," he said, and looked down over the courtyard again. "Forgive me, but too many mistakes were made with the previous two generations of the Nameless One's children. Megassa was taken from her mother within only a few days of her birth, but she was in Trevissa's womb for ten moons. That is more than enough time to weave evil enchantments around her, embed them in her very soul, where even you can't find them."

  "Naina
n broke free of her father's evil. Belissa resisted the evil that tried to snare her mind and warp her magic after she married you."

  "Yes, and it killed her, in the end." Efrin flinched at the sharp rise in his voice. He got up from the window and retreated back into the pools of lantern light filling the workroom.

  "Trevissa is insane, was insane before she slept with you."

  "Sane enough to disguise her features with magic, so I thought she was Belissa. Sane enough to hide her pregnancy until after Bel died."

  "Trevissa cannot hurt you now. And there are those of us who believe her insanity is a result of fighting the spells that tried to control her."

  "You've been trying for six years to make me pity her. I can't and I won't." Efrin shrugged and dropped into his chair with enough force to make the heavy wooden legs skid backwards a few fingers' width. He sighed. His bowed shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes. "I know you examine Megassa regularly, to ensure no spells have snared her or erupted from inside her like diseased seeds, but that is no reassurance to me. Our enemies killed my Bel, when I had just learned to love her. Meggi is safe from them, thanks to your spells and her own strong imbrose, but that doesn't mean they won't use that miss-born girl to hurt her someday. I won't risk it."

  "Sending Megassa away again won't make Meghianna safer. Better to keep her here, where everyone knows who she is, how she came to be. That was our original mistake, thinking we protected both girls by keeping Megassa anonymous and hidden. We were wrong. It is only by the grace of the Estall that we narrowly escaped the child falling into the hands of your enemies." Mrillis sighed. "Yes, she will grow up knowing that few will ever trust her, because of her heritage. But there is safety in truth. She will be watched, and she will know she is watched, and we will be warned if she ever decides to move against us."

  "A sad way for a child to live. I sometimes wish Trevissa had succeeded in killing her." Efrin shook his head and held up a hand, stopping Mrillis when he opened his mouth to speak. "Yes, I know she is my child, even if I sired her unknowing and unwillingly. Yes, I know she is innocent. But did we do her any favors, saving her from her mother, to raise her a pariah? If only she could have stayed safe in ignorance, where she was loved for herself." He shrugged again. "That is all the love and pity I can spare her. Does that make me a lesser man?"

  "It makes you a wise and wounded man, to know your flaws and faults," Mrillis offered gently.

  He ached for the young Warhawk, still seeing him as the eager, smiling little boy who had sat on his knee and begged sweets and stories. Mrillis still thought of him as 'the boy,' rather than High King, defender of the entire World.

  Efrin sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fists. "So, Meghianna has met her sister." He gestured at the report from Gynefra in Mrillis' hand. "Their resemblance could cause us problems in the future."

  "Megassa seems upset that someone looks like her, rather than intrigued," Mrillis offered. "I wouldn't worry about it. Or rather, I wouldn't worry for long."

  "Oh?" He leaned back in his chair again. "What do you know?"

  "The flow of imbrose in her flesh, as it strengthens with her growth, will change Meghianna's hair. There is a reason why the woman who heads the Stronghold is referred to as Queen of Snows, and not just because of the Lake of Ice that guards her door. If she is as strong as I suspect, Meghianna's hair will be snowy white by the time she is fifteen."

  Efrin nodded slowly, eyes hooded as he thought over that bit of information. "Do you know, I actually think that might be some comfort? I won't see her mother as she grows up. I ache for Bel, and all we never had. Some might say having her living image in front of me would be a gift, but I disagree."

  Mrillis kept silent, and wondered when it would occur to Efrin that Megassa might grow up to resemble Belissa, since Trevissa had looked so much like her cousin.

  * * * *

  Mrillis had personally trained the mare, Mist, to be Meghianna's pet and mount and guard. It pleased him to see the instant affection that sprang up between the delicate child and the deceptively delicate mare. It pleased him more to watch Efrin riding alongside his daughter, laughing with her and not worried that the slightest miss-step or errant gust of wind would harm Meghianna. Part of the reason she lived half the year at the Stronghold was to shield her from her father's over-protective, guilt-spawned tendencies. True, she needed to learn her duties and destiny as Queen of Snows almost from birth, but Efrin Warhawk didn't need to know the other reason for his precious daughter living away from him.

  Meghianna knew better than to wander around the Warhawk's fortress, and certainly not to do it without at least Nalla in attendance. So it surprised Mrillis to see the girl scampering across the open courtyard to the stables in the dewy shadows of dawn only three days after her arrival in the fortress. He didn't hesitate to tap the nearest Thread and reach through it to touch the child's mind.

  He found Meghianna giggling with Nalla over her breakfast of bread, milk, and stewed apples in her quarters.

  "Megassa!" he called, leaning over the railing of the walkway at the top of the wall, using a flicker of imbrose to make his voice ring off the cobblestones.

  A flicker of green cloth appeared in the doorway of the stables for a moment, but the child didn't step back out into the sunshine.

  "Megassa, come out of there immediately!" Mrillis didn't wait for the girl to respond, but hurried along the wall and down the nearest flight of stairs.

  He reached the courtyard and called through the Threads for Gynefra and the other members of the guard who had imbrose enough to hear him. All the members of the Warhawk's personal guard were Valors, touched with some magic. Megassa had evaded her caretakers yet again, and he suspected those assigned to her care this morning thought she was still safely in her room, eating her breakfast.

  My lord? Gynefra snapped out a curse loud enough to be heard outside the guard barracks, when Mrillis put an image in her mind of what he had seen, and where the child was right that moment.

  A horse's scream responded to the curse. Mrillis recognized that sound, though Mist had never shown a flicker of bad temper before. He sent up a desperate prayer to the Estall and ran into the shadowy stables. It occurred to him that if he slowed his steps just a fraction, Mist's anger might solve Efrin's dilemma, wipe away the living evidence of duplicity, betrayal and shame, and likely protect the future. He immediately scolded himself for that unworthy thought, and turned the corner to race to Mist's stall.

  After all, despite all their precautions, there was no way of knowing if Megassa was one of the Three Drops of Blood of the prophecy, and if so, if she was the one who would suffer, abominate, or wait. It didn't do for mere mortals to try to force the Estall's warnings to suit them.

  A green shape huddled on the top of the stall wall, watching the angry mare. A toppled stool lay in front of the open stall door, giving evidence that the child had tried to mount the mare already. Mrillis thought about foolish games he and his friends had played, the risks they had taken, the dares they had thrown at each other in childhood. He knew exactly what Megassa was planning to do--drop down on Mist, to ride her. Most likely because Mist wouldn't cooperate and let her climb up.

  "Megassa--" Mrillis stopped, when the tangle of red-gold curls hanging down the child's back, the green smock and bare feet, and the little knuckles turned white from holding so tightly to the precarious perch, inexplicably reminded him of Emrillian at that age. He caught his breath, stabbed yet again with the loss of his daughter, as sharp as if it had happened just the day before.

  No, this child was not his daughter reborn, though he dreamed often of her returning to him--just as he dreamed sometimes of Ceera walking through a door, dressed in pale green and laughing, startled to see him. Why should spirits be startled to see a living man? He often woke from such dreams trembling, cold from the icy weight of impending doom, aching to hold his loved ones once again, no matter what price he had to pay.

  This child was not
Emrillian, though she had been precocious, too. She looked nothing like his daughter at that age. The only reason Mrillis could find for these momentary flashes of confusion was that seeing Megassa brought home to him afresh that he had lost Ceera to Triska, and Emrillian to Endor, the child's grandmother and great-uncle--perhaps grandfather, as well. While Trevissa was still a child, speculation had whispered that Endor had fathered the girl on his own sister, trying to consolidate the power they had inherited from the Nameless One.

  "She is not Emrillian," Mrillis whispered, and started forward again, reaching for the tense, trembling body. Wide, pale green eyes stared at him, and he realized Megassa was terrified, perched there above the restless, stomping, snorting mare.

  No, Megassa was not his daughter, but seeing her reminded him of the latest prophecy that spilled from Trevissa's lips. The child's mother was insane, and moons went by when she didn't speak more than a few sentences of common sense. Then her eyes would fill with the mist of a Seeing, her face would calm, her ceaseless pacing would still, and words would pour from her. Anyone who asked her questions would get nothing but truth. During those moments of lucidity, Trevissa had no real control over her mind and mouth, and could speak nothing but truth, even if she was alert enough to want to prevaricate.

  "Emrillian shall be born anew," Trevissa had said to him that winter day, when her caretakers had been sure she wouldn't speak at all, let alone coherent words, "and all the hope of the World will ride on her shoulders. Guard her well, for she shall be the Blood born of the Blood, given to you by she who most fears you, and her pain shall cut you twice as deeply, for you shall love her above all others, until the Blood born of the Blood shall come."