Onyx & Ivory

by Mindee Arnett

  Signe flashed a smile, one full of teeth. “From the hobgoblins, of course.” She turned her eyes on Kiran, who was listening intently from where he sat in front of Kate in the saddle. “They come at night to steal you from your bed, but if you can ask them a riddle they cannot solve, then they will spend all night trying to figure it out before vanishing at the first light of dawn.”

  “Hobgoblins?” Kiran said, sounding both scared and excited. “My ma says they’re not real. Just stories.”

  “Oh yes, they’re real. As real as the drakes of Rime,” replied Signe.

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Don’t you believe her, Kiran. Signe likes making up stories.”

  Signe grinned. “Not everything I say is a story. But I like hiding the truth in embellishments. It’s a skill we have perfected in the islands.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Kate pointed a finger at her. “But someday I will get the truth out of you. It’s only fair.”

  “I hope so. For it means we will still be friends when we are both old and covered in wrinkles, with gray hairs poking out on our chins.”

  Kiran made a noise of disgust at this, and both girls laughed.

  Afterward, once they’d brought Kiran home and were heading back to Mirror Castle, Signe turned to Kate and said, “Something needs to be done for that boy. It is no kind of life he’s living.”

  Swallowing, Kate dropped her gaze. She focused on the narrow space between Firedancer’s ears, finding comfort in the view. “I know.” It was a truth she was finding harder and harder to ignore with each passing day. Although Kiran was improving thanks to their rides, he needed more. So much more. Like friends his own age, and a chance to run and play, scrape his knees, and cause mischief.

  “You should tell Corwin the truth, Kate, as Master Raith says.”

  Kate glanced at Signe, a thrill of nerves shooting down her legs at the idea. Still she resisted, the fear of how he would react holding her back, as always.

  “The truth of what I am, Signe, it’s like my version of your Seerah.”

  “I know.” Signe gestured toward the sky with an upraised palm. “Better than you may guess.” She swallowed, the cords in her throat flexing. “I once told a secret to a man I loved. One I thought loved me as well.”

  Kate went still, shocked to realize that Signe was telling her something about her past. Something true. She forced her mouth closed and waited for her to go on.

  A wry smile crested Signe’s lips for a moment. “It was the same man who once wore the doublet you took. I don’t know why I kept it, other than to never forget the mistake I made.”

  And to never forget him, Kate guessed. She knew a thing or two about how hard it was to stop loving someone even when you should.

  “I don’t understand, though,” Kate said. “If telling him the secret was a mistake, then why do you say I should risk the same with Corwin?”

  “Because Corwin is a different man altogether,” Signe said, regret and hurt shining in her pale eyes. “He knows what it means to lose someone. He knows what it means to regret. He will understand, or at least try to. He is loyal to those he loves. Like Dal. And like you, too. You just need to give him a chance.”

  “When he’s had the chance to choose between me and his duty, I haven’t fared so well.”

  Signe shot her a hard look. “He might not have earned your honesty, that’s true. But sharing the secret of our true selves with another is always a risk, wilder or no. He might reject you, yes. But if he doesn’t, then you will get to be yourself with him at last. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t be worth it.” She paused long enough to shrug. “Besides, Kiran deserves a better life, and it’s in Corwin’s power to make it happen. That alone makes the risk worth taking. Take it for your brother, if not yourself.”

  “Bonner deserves better, too,” Kate said. An ache went through her chest, a mixture of fear and hope. Could she do it? Did she dare?

  “You deserve better, as well, Kate,” Signe said, her expression now fierce. “You must be brave enough to take it.”

  29

  Corwin

  ON THE MORNING OF THE second uror trial, Corwin woke early and made his way down to the stables. He’d barely slept all week, not since the start of the War Games. Dozens of dignitaries from all twelve Rimish cities were in the castle, keeping his presence in constant demand. He spent his days observing the games—mock battles, tournaments at arms, horse races, and so many other events, all done to celebrate the unification of Rime fifty years ago. It used to be his favorite time of year, and he wished more than ever that the high priestess had chosen to keep the games and the uror trial separate, if only so he could participate in the activities like he used to. By the end of each day, his mind was so overwrought that it took him hours to settle his thoughts enough to sleep, his body not tired enough to force the issue. Last night, however, had been the worst by far. What sleep he did get had been restless, full of strange dreams. Most of them involving an impossible black and white horse.

  The uror colt nickered when Corwin arrived outside his stall door the following morning. He peered in at him, and he peered back, neck arched and ears pricked forward. Corwin stepped inside, and the colt retreated to the back of the stall, tossing his head and prancing in place. He’d had little handling, most of the grooms too afraid to do much more than lead him outside to graze.

  Corwin cooed at the colt, slowly holding out his hand. “Easy, good fellow. What are you so nervous about this morning?”

  The colt tossed his head again before reaching his long neck toward Corwin. His nostrils flared, and he snorted once. Corwin held still, letting the horse inspect him. A moment later, the soft, velvety muzzle brushed against his fingertips. Tingles slid up Corwin’s arm at the touch. It might’ve been his imagination, but he didn’t think so. Although the animal acted like an ordinary horse, he was anything but ordinary. Corwin stepped closer to the colt, running his hands down the sleek, muscled neck—the black side of him, although some of the white of his mane spilled over the top in striking contrast.

  For a moment, Corwin remembered his dream. In it, he’d been riding the uror horse into battle, the two of them in perfect unity and focus as they faced a shadowy, unknown foe—thousands of faceless soldiers spilling onto the Rimish shore from red-sailed boats. Astride the uror stallion, though, he hadn’t been afraid. Just determined, exhilarated at the fight and the victory waiting within his grasp.

  Nothing at all like he felt right now, with the second trial looming. Yesterday, he’d been given a glimpse of what it would entail—a maze. A maze in the sky.

  It didn’t resemble the second trial his grandfather had gone through in the slightest. That seemed easy by contrast—a hunt through Jade Forest after some mythical creature Borwin never quite got around to describing. Even if it had been invisible, it would’ve been easier than this, Corwin thought when he first saw those raised stone platforms. His eyes hadn’t been able to make sense of it. It shouldn’t be possible. More than a hundred boulders hung suspended over the training field, some close together and others far apart. There were stones with stairs leading up, some with stairs leading down, some spiraled and some straight. There were stones with holes in their centers, ones that slowly revolved. At the very top, on a narrow platform, rested a jeweled crown on a mirrored pedestal. The goal was simple: reach the top and seize the crown.

  Getting there, however, would be anything but simple.

  Sighing, Corwin ran his hand down the uror colt’s nose. “If I only knew how to fly, it would be easy,” he said.

  “Is his highness worried about the trial?”

  The voice gave both Corwin and the colt a start. The horse stamped all four feet on the ground, just missing Corwin’s toes before he wheeled around, retreating to the far corner of the enclosure again.

  Taking a breath to calm his racing heart, Corwin stepped out of the stall and gave the newcomer a stiff smile, surprised but not disappointed to see it was Minister Rendborne. Cor
win cleared his throat. “That depends. Are you bearing another helpful journal, one with a map to the top perhaps?”

  The master of trade let out a theatrical sigh. “I’m afraid not. I did see a drawing for a flying contraption inside one of my books, but it was written by a man called Melchor the Mad. I didn’t think you would find such a person worthy of trust.”

  “You’re probably right. I don’t believe mortal man was ever meant to ascend such heights, mad or otherwise.”

  Rendborne laughed, and the sound immediately set Corwin at ease. “Too right you are, but that is why there are gods involved.”

  “Gods or magic?” Corwin asked, arching an eyebrow. Dal had planted the idea in his mind when the two of them first saw the hanging stones. “Looks like something a wilder could do, doesn’t it?” Dal had said. “An earthist or an aerist. Maybe both.”

  Although Corwin had meant the question to be rhetorical, Rendborne replied, “Is there any difference?” He gestured with his right hand, palm up so that the glow from his magestone ring shone against the floor.

  Corwin blinked, taken aback. It sounded like blasphemy, except the man had a point. Of all the things he’d seen since the uror began, nearly all of it could’ve been accomplished by magic, both wilder and magist. The mist atop the Asterion could’ve been a water gift. The illusions, nothing more than magist spells. He supposed even the visions of his father and the Sevan soldier could’ve been summoned with some form of spirit magic. He glanced back at the stall. All known magic except for the uror sign.

  Rendborne seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he said, “Did you know that my predecessor once received an offer to buy your father’s uror sign?”

  Corwin swung his gaze back to the man. “You’re joking.”

  “Indeed not.” A look of disgust crossed Rendborne’s face. “It was a wealthy merchant from Endra. He offered a king’s ransom in gold and jewels.”

  “But why?” Corwin pictured Murr, trying to fathom what someone would do with a live wolf, one who obeyed only his father.

  “I expect it was for the same reason my clerks receive ten missives a day from foreign merchants requesting permission to trade with the League for their spells and trinkets. There’s an entire world out there, and yet all the magic resides in Rime.” Rendborne motioned to the horse. “And that animal there is pure magic. There are people who would kill for it.”

  The thought chilled Corwin. He didn’t see what possessing an uror would do for anyone, but he could see a dozen reasons why the enemies of Rime would want it dead, the Godking of Seva most of all. It was a sign, a symbol of Norgard’s power and might. The thought brought a new and troubling possibility to mind. “I wonder what would happen if an uror sign died before the trial ended.”

  “It’s happened once before,” Rendborne replied, matter-of-fact. “But in that case, it was an heir who killed it, making the outcome obvious. The innocent brother was named king and the killer became the Nameless One.”

  Corwin inhaled his shock. “I’ve never heard that before. About the killing, I mean. But you must be talking about the brother of Morwen, son of Rowan. My great-great-granduncle.” The title was used in all the texts he’d read about the two brothers.

  “The very same. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard it before.” Rendborne made a dismissive gesture. “I only know the story because I’ve an obscene fondness of reading. The master of trade’s private archives are half the reason I petitioned for the job. But I doubt it’s a tale the high priestess wants told. Especially not to the heirs during the uror trial.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s prudent.” Corwin glanced at the uror sign, somewhat unsurprised to find the horse watching him. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. The idea of someone killing him turned his stomach. Forcing his gaze back to Rendborne, Corwin decided it was time to change the subject.

  “What brings you down to the stables this morning?” he asked. “If not to offer me more books.”

  Rendborne rolled his golden eyes. “I need to speak to Master Cade. It seems Lord Nevan of Andreas wishes to make a trade for a dozen warhorses.”

  “I see.” Corwin pressed his lips together, holding back a grin. “And here I’d thought maybe Maestra Vikas was lurking about.”

  “Yes, well, not this time.” Rendborne gave a fake cough, his hand rising unconsciously to the necklace of talons he wore, eight of them hung from a silver chain around his neck. “Thank you for your discretion on that matter. It’s . . . ah . . . appreciated.”

  Corwin grinned in earnest now, amused by the man’s discomfort, but in a friendly way. “Of course. What’s life without a few secrets?”

  Rendborne returned the grin. “Indeed. But I must be off. Good luck today, your highness.”

  Corwin watched him go, then returned his attention to the uror colt. He debated lingering awhile longer with him, then decided he’d rather find Kate. But when he arrived at Firedancer’s stall, there was no sign of her. It didn’t surprise him, not with how busy and crowded the castle had been all week, but he couldn’t help the disappointment he felt.

  A few minutes later, a page arrived, summoning him to the training field. Today marked the last of day of the War Games, comprised of individual event finals—archery, tent pegging, rings, and mounted swordplay. Corwin’s presence was required on the main stage, not to witness the winners but to be ready to start the uror trial once the trophies had been given. The high priestess had decided the trial would make for a memorable way to end the event. If not for the uror, Corwin would’ve been out on the field right now competing instead of watching.

  As it was, he found the rounds not half as interesting as when Kate had done her Relay trial back in Farhold. Instead, his gaze kept drifting to the stone maze hovering above the training field. He did his best to study it, trying to visualize the path he would take to reach the top. Sitting beside him on the stage, he saw Edwin doing the same, neither brother speaking as the hours wore on toward midday and the start of the trial.

  Finally, the competition concluded, and the priestesses arrived to escort Corwin and Edwin onto the training field, where two small tents had been erected near the maze. With a crowd of courtiers and nobles from all the twelve cities gathered around, the high priestess spoke to the princes briefly, then waved them each into a tent with a suggestion that they spend the remaining time in prayer.

  At least I get to stay clothed this time, Corwin told himself, but that offered little comfort in the isolation inside the tent. He did make a feeble attempt to pray, but the sound of voices outside kept interfering. Giving up, he sat down to wait it out, only to surge to his feet a moment later when the back side of the tent rose up and a figure slid beneath it.

  “Kate,” he said, surprise raising the tenor of his voice. He lowered it at once, taking in her nervous look. “What are you doing here?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, then dropped them to her sides. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

  “Will you be watching, then?” The question was absurd, and he knew it as soon as he said it.

  A slow smile crossed her face. “Someone has to heckle you. Who better than me?”

  He grinned at that, remembering the game of insults they used to play during their many races and mock battles.

  Kate pressed her lips together. “Will you . . . meet me in my quarters afterward? There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Curiosity at what it could be sent a flutter through Corwin’s stomach. “Of course. That is, if I survive the climb.” He forced a smile, but Kate didn’t return it.

  “You will win this day,” she said, holding him with a fierce gaze. “The uror selects only the worthy, and you are worthy, Corwin.”

  Before he could reply, Kate turned and disappeared beneath the tent, leaving him alone once more. But her words lingered. You will win.

  He didn’t know if that was true, but for the first time he thought maybe he wanted it to be.

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nbsp; Mounting the first platform was easy, but with a single glance skyward, Corwin knew it would be the only one that was. He could see Edwin far across from him, standing on his own platform, head tilted back toward the maze above.

  The two princes waited for the horn blast that would signal the start. Corwin flinched at the loud noise when it came, the nervous energy inside him igniting like oil in a torch. Channeling it, he ran toward the nearest platform above and jumped, just making it. One down, a million to go.

  Or so it seemed. The next two were much the same as the first, but from there, several options awaited his selection. He chose the nearest one—the obvious choice—but the moment he jumped onto the platform, it immediately began to drop toward the ground. Cursing, Corwin spun and leaped back to the one he’d been on before, just barely making it across. The sinking stone continued falling all the way to the ground, landing with a soft thud against the grass. Below him, the crowd let out a collective murmur of surprise.

  Wiping his brow, Corwin studied the remaining two options, both within reach but farther away than the sinking stone had been. He decided on the harder one this time, assuming that had been the point of his failure with the last one. He leaped for it, barely managing to grab the edge, but at least the stone held true this time.

  Moving on, he was more careful in his decisions, not automatically selecting the easiest path. The one time he did, the platform shifted out of place the moment he stepped on it, forcing him to retreat once more.

  But the choices weren’t always so obvious. A short while later he selected a platform that began to spin the moment he touched down on it, moving with such force that he was thrown off his feet.

  By the time he managed to stand, he was so dizzy he could barely see where to go next, until finally he leaped for another platform at random. This one thankfully didn’t move. It had a single spiraling staircase rising up out of its center. He climbed it, painfully aware of how far down the ground now was.