“I don’t understand,” Kate said, feeling as if she were standing on the narrowest edge of a precipice, an inevitable fall looming. She remembered Anise’s earlier warning, and dread began to pulse in her temples. “What exactly is going on here?”
“This,” Raith said, gesturing to the room, “is the headquarters of the Rising, and you are here because we want you to take your father’s place among our ranks.” He paused, then added with a wry smile, “And before you ask, Corwin’s theory about us is wrong. We have nothing to do with the daydrakes. On the contrary, we’re doing everything we can to stop them.”
23
Corwin
CORWIN STARED INTO THE DARK pit before him, and a tremor of fear passed over him from head to toes. The high priestess expects me to jump into this?
Last night, he’d finally finished reading his grandfather’s account of his uror trials, and although much of it remained vague and pointless, the section concerning the third trial had been specific enough to give Corwin worry.
I jumped into the Well of the World and passed out of this life entirely. At least for a time, Borwin Tormane had written.
The Well of the World. Corwin leaned nearer the pit, one so deep it was said to have no end. It seemed to snarl at him like a black mouth. Although the pit was called the Well of the World, the underground cave that housed it was called the Vault of Souls—in part, Corwin suspected, because of the way it echoed. A single voice speaking a single word easily became a thousand hushed whispers against the uneven rock walls and stalactite-strewn ceiling. Located beneath Mirror Castle, this was a holy place, one he’d rarely been allowed to visit before. Even today, he’d had to ask the high priestess for permission. She’d granted it without comment, although she’d sent two of her priestesses to escort him. They stood watch by the single narrow door behind him.
Corwin stretched out the torch he held as far over the pit as he dared. Nothing. There was nothing inside it to give reflection. Just a dark hole in the ground. He tried to imagine jumping into it. He couldn’t. Even though he still had the second trial to get through first, he felt ready to quit right now just to avoid thinking about taking that leap even for a moment. It made him dizzy and sick to his stomach.
“Please tell me you’re not going to jump,” a voice called behind him, and Corwin gave a start. He spun around, the torch hissing at the motion.
“Dal, you idiot,” Corwin said, spying his friend standing across the way. “You nearly scared me to death.”
“Not my normal effect on people, I’ll admit,” Dal replied, glib as usual. “But do you mind coming out of there? These beautiful ladies won’t let me go any farther, and you know how shouting gives me a headache.”
Resisting a grin, Corwin strode across the vault toward the entryway. Silently the priestesses let him pass, and he and Dal headed up the long, narrow stairs single file, arriving in the throne room a few minutes later.
The vast hall, columned along both sides, stood empty this time of day. With rain battering the long, arched windows, it was as dark and somber as a tomb. The door to the Vault of Souls rested a mere six feet from the back of the Mirror Throne, close enough that the light from Corwin’s torch was refracted a thousand times over in the reflective surface. As its name suggested, the throne was made entirely of mirrors, symbolizing the need for the king to both see and be seen at all times, honest and true. Corwin saw his face shining in it and looked away.
He turned and clapped Dal on the shoulder. “I expected you back days ago.” More than a week had passed since Dal and Signe left for Tyvald.
Dal wrinkled his nose, stepping aside to make room for the priestesses, who had stopped to seal the vault and lock it with a large key. “The morning we were set to leave, the city went on lockdown. More daydrakes sighted in the area. Took three hells’ worth of convincing the magists to leave as soon as we did.”
Corwin ran a thumb over the scar on his chin, feeling a knot clench in his stomach. The situation was worsening every day, and yet he was no closer to an answer. Depositing his torch in the empty cradle beside the vault door, he turned and headed for the nearest exit, motioning for Dal to follow. He was due in a council meeting in the next few minutes.
“What did you discover?” Corwin asked as they stepped into the corridor.
“Very little we don’t already know, about the daydrakes at least. The packs kept coming in waves, their behavior the same as nightdrakes. But Signe and I did meet a woman who claimed she saw another escaped wilder in the city the day before the first attack.”
“Another one escaped from the golds?”
Shrugging, Dal brushed the arms of his tunic, sending up a cloud of road dust. It seemed he’d made it inside before the rain started. “She wasn’t certain. The wilder had been just a boy when the golds took him nearly two years ago, and by her own account he looked much changed from when she’d known him.”
“I see,” Corwin said, doing his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. He’d hoped for more, although he should have been used to disappointment by now. He’d felt the same after hearing Master Raith’s report. The attacks were random, difficult to trace, and with few signs of human involvement, wilder or otherwise. Raith had even gone so far as to speculate that perhaps the Rising wasn’t behind the attacks at all, but Corwin remained skeptical. If not they, then who? There seemed no answer. He’d finally received a reply from the gold order in Andreas. They didn’t deny or confirm anything about Ralph Marcel. Instead, the letter stated that such records were private, protected by the rules set down in the League Accords. There was nothing Corwin could do about it, high prince or no.
“What were you doing down at the Well of the World, anyway?” Dal asked, drawing Corwin out of his reverie. “That place gives me a chill that has nothing to do with how cold it is down there.”
“Actually, the hole itself seemed quite warm,” Corwin said. “But I was merely contemplating the third trial.” This wasn’t entirely the truth. He’d come down today in particular to avoid seeing Kate. His rooms where he’d been reading overlooked the cavalry fields, and he’d spotted her through the window. Before he knew it, he’d wasted a full ten minutes watching her take Firedancer through her paces and was soon fighting the urge to go down and speak to her. He’d been fighting that urge all week, actually, ever since their disastrous interlude. He wished it had never happened, that he’d never allowed himself to taste what he couldn’t possess. The memory of it was bound to drive him mad.
“The third trial?” Dal asked as they turned left, down another, narrower corridor. “Don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself? We haven’t even gotten to the second trial yet.”
“True, but the second is only four weeks away and the third soon to follow,” Corwin replied. Then, trying to change the subject, he added, “The high priestess has determined the second will take place during the War Games. She says that all of Rime should have a chance to witness the uror.” He had been looking forward to the War Games, an annual festival celebrating the unification of Rime, but now he dreaded its approach.
“All hail the high king,” Dal said, rolling his eyes.
Hearing an unusual noise ahead, they both slowed down as they approached an alcove. “Is someone there?” Corwin called.
There was the sound of rustling fabric, then Minister Rendborne appeared at the base of the alcove, his golden eyes overly bright. He rubbed his hands together nervously, the glow of his magestone ring winking.
“Your highness, forgive me. But yes. We were just, uh . . .”
Corwin covered his mouth to keep from laughing as he spotted Maestra Vikas standing just behind the minister of trade. He didn’t need to see the red flush around her lips to understand the two had been enjoying a secret tryst.
“No need to explain,” Corwin said. “I’ll, uh, see you at the meeting.”
Rendborne bowed his head, and Corwin and Dal moved on, neither speaking until they rounded another corner.
“Well, that was strange.” Dal made a face. “I didn’t think magists enjoyed that sort of thing.”
Corwin snorted. “They’re still human, you know.” Although the match did surprise him. He pictured the charismatic Rendborne with someone more interesting, and certainly more fun, than Vikas. Then again, perhaps opposites did attract.
“Yes, but making love to that cold lady would be like sleeping on a bed of ice,” Dal said, giving a shiver.
Laughing, Corwin clapped Dal on the shoulder again. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too, although what in the three hells have you done to Kate in my absence?”
Corwin tried to hide his wince but failed. “Nothing . . . why do you say that?”
“I saw her on the way in just now, and she barely spoke to me. If her eyes were daggers, I believe she would’ve speared me through the heart.”
Corwin huffed, wishing he could deflect the question, but this was Dal. He wouldn’t give up until he got the full story.
“Corwin, what did you do?”
“I might’ve asked her to be my paramour,” he began, and quickly filled Dal in on the rest, leaving out the more intimate details of the encounter.
When Corwin finished, Dal shook his head, puffing out his cheeks. “That’s a tough blow, my friend, although not too surprising she would react that way. Paramours usually come after the marriage, not before. And if you ask me, why bother tying yourself down like that already? It seems you’ve been tied down enough with all this uror business. We haven’t had a bit of fun in weeks.” Dal paused; then a sly smile slid across his face. “Well, you haven’t, anyway.”
“The kitchens are that way, if you want to drop in and grab some salt to pour on my wounds while you’re at it.” Corwin pointed behind him.
“I’ll pass just now.” Dal’s expression turned serious. “I’m truly sorry, my friend. I don’t envy you, and I wish things could go back to the way they were before we left on that damn tour.”
Me too, Corwin thought. In the six months he’d been home from Endra and his sojourn with the Shieldhawks, he’d had no responsibilities and even fewer cares, aside from avoiding memories. But it was a little boy’s wish, a little boy’s dream—one that could never come true. And if I hadn’t gone, I never would’ve found Kate again. Even now, with the pain of her rejection still smarting inside him, he couldn’t regret that.
Corwin shook his head. “The tour wasn’t all bad. You seem to be enjoying Signe’s presence.”
“How could I not?” Dal grinned. “It’s a shame Kate isn’t more like her friend. But give her time. Maybe she’ll come round eventually. If not, some other girl will catch your fancy sooner or later. They always do.”
Corwin nodded faintly. Only it wasn’t true. No other girl had ever held his attention like Kate. Those others had been distractions, ways to pass the time. Kate made time stand still. It had been that way ever since they were children.
Coming to a stop, Corwin faced Dal. “What if . . . I’m in love with her?”
A stunned look crossed Dal’s face, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. Corwin couldn’t blame him for the reaction—they never discussed matters of the heart.
Dal cleared his throat. “If that’s the case, then I’ve no advice to give. As for myself, I don’t believe there is such a thing as love. At least not the kind the poets write about. Two people devoted to each other without fail, for all their lives? It doesn’t exist. People wander in their hearts even if they don’t with their bodies.”
“That’s a little cynical, don’t you think?” Corwin turned and resumed walking, although he kept the pace slow, not eager to arrive at the council chambers.
“I have only my parents to test the theory against, but believe me, their marriage confirms it many times over.”
Corwin held back a reply, sensing the underlying bitterness in Dal’s tone. Although they’d never discussed it outright, Corwin knew his friend’s parents were the reason he’d joined the Shieldhawks. Their marriage was rife with such scandal that Thornewall’s lord and lady were often the center of gossip in the highest circles, despite their lower-rung status among Rime’s nobility. The version Corwin heard was that both the baron and baroness played a regular game of trying to best each other over who could claim the youngest, most attractive lover. It was said that of the six Thornewall children, only the eldest two brothers could claim certain legitimacy. The rest were all supposed offspring of Lady Thornewall’s various lovers. Including Dal. If the rumors are true. Corwin didn’t know, and he didn’t plan on asking.
Still, despite how difficult it must have been for Dal, Corwin couldn’t accept his conclusion that love didn’t exist. His own parents had loved each other deeply. Even now he felt certain his father would still mourn his mother, if he had wits enough to do so. Then again, Corwin thought, such a love could exist only when it was felt by both involved, like a flower needing both sunlight and water to thrive. He didn’t know if Kate ever truly loved him. He’d seen her kiss Edwin that day, with an enthusiasm he thought only for him. The memory soured his stomach.
“I’m not sure if I hope you’re right or wrong,” Corwin said. “All I do know is that Kate won’t come around to Signe’s way of thinking. Kate Brighton changes her mind about as well as I can ride a horse standing on my head.”
“I’d like to see that,” Dal said, grinning. “But for now, I need to wash off the dirt from the road.”
“Enjoy yourself. I’ll be stuck in another thrilling high council meeting.”
Dal clapped him on the back. “Stay resolute, my friend. I’ll come visit you this evening. Let’s have a night out, see if we can’t get you past your heartache with some overdue diversions.”
Corwin gave a halfhearted nod, then watched Dal retreat down the corridor, his mind reeling with an unreasonable jealousy. What he wouldn’t give to trade places with Dallin Thorne, sixth-born son of a minor house. If only for a day. Or ten.
Or maybe the rest of my life.
Corwin supposed his biggest problem with the high council meetings was the way they discussed the same agenda items over and over again while rarely making any true decisions. It felt like being a ribbon tied to a wagon wheel, both dizzying and wearisome.
Today they were discussing the limited availability of moonbelts to the peasantry for at least the third time. Corwin would’ve given anything to skip this one, as his mind kept replaying the events with Kate over and over again—the way it had felt to kiss her, to touch her. He hadn’t been truly aware of how many assumptions he’d made about her wearing a moonbelt until she reacted the way she did. That he was wrong in assuming, he understood, but he hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to apologize. It didn’t help that she was avoiding him as much as he was her. Every day for the past week she’d been heading out into the city and staying away for hours at a time. He’d asked the guard-tower captain to make note of her comings and goings—for her safety as well as his peace of mind—but he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she was doing out there, without him.
Tomorrow, he told himself. I will go to her in the morning and beg forgiveness. But even as he thought it, doubt pressed in. What could he say to make things right between them? What could he do?
“You’re the high prince and might be the high king,” he heard Kate saying once more. “The world will answer to you. . . .” How he wanted to believe it.
“It’s a population issue, ultimately,” Minister Fletcher was saying as Corwin forced his attention back on the discussion. The master of the hearth was easily the youngest of the high councilmembers, a thin man with skin the dark brown of driftwood and curly black hair. Corwin knew him least well of the councilmembers, as he’d been appointed to the position less than a year ago. “The peasantry have three times the number of babies as the gentry each year.”
“Of course they do,” Minister Porter replied. The master of coin seemed Fletcher’s opposite in every way—old and rotund, his skin a ruddy
pink and hair a pasty yellow, a color achieved with help from a magist tonic, Corwin suspected. “Each child who lives past infancy is another valuable worker. That’s quite the incentive for the common people. Whereas for the highborn, more children mean more dowries and inheritance concerns.”
Fletcher tapped an impatient finger on the table, not intimidated by the older man in the slightest. “Yes, but many peasant women, especially those who are aging or have suffered difficult pregnancies, would stop having babies altogether if only they had access to a moonbelt.”
“But they do have access.” Porter’s tone was heating already, as it often did in these meetings. “They’re for sale in every green-robe shop in Rime.”
Fletcher barked a laugh. “Oh, to be sure. They can visit those shops and stare longingly at the merchandise, but most of these families either can’t afford to purchase one or choose to spend that much-needed money elsewhere. Like feeding their other children.”
“What are you suggesting then, Minister Fletcher?” Porter sneered, jowls quivering. “That the high king buy the moonbelts for them out of the royal coffers? For I can assure you the League is not going to start handing them out for free.”
“That’s exactly what I’m proposing,” Fletcher replied, puffing out his chest as far as it would go, which unfortunately wasn’t far enough to impress anyone. “If we don’t curtail the population, we will soon outgrow our housing capabilities, not to mention the food stocks for the winter. People will be living on the streets, begging at our doors, starving to death.”
Porter huffed. “Overpopulation is nothing new, and we should deal with it the way we always have. Encourage the elderly and infirm to give themselves over to the gods in sacrifice. We could even lower the age of sacrifice if need be, or allow families to submit entreaties on behalf of the crippled and those unwell in mind, regardless of age.” He paused and raised his hands skyward in a gesture of honor to the gods. “Life is a wheel and so it must turn.”
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