“What happened here?” I wondered out loud.
Dafne looked up from the book she was reading and peeked through her curtain to see what I looked at, then gave me a grave look. “The war.”
Rayfe and his horrible armies. “The Tala did all this? Why would they attack innocent farmers?”
“That’s how demons do,” Dulcinor assured me. “They don’t care a whit for innocence. They slaughter everything in their path. I hear their foul creatures even eat people alive.” Marin said nothing, her needles clicking as they wove the yarn piece she worked on.
Dafne cleared her throat. “In truth, most of these outlying farms were cleared by the armies defending Windroven.”
“Why?” The concept flabbergasted me. Had Hugh mentioned this to me? Surely not. But then, we never discussed unpleasant things. He hadn’t liked to see me distressed.
“Because, in a siege situation, the defenders must make sure the attackers lack as many resources as possible.” Dafne closed her book, using a finger to mark the page. “The people inside the castle can only last as long as the supplies do. It’s good strategy to limit what the attackers can access.”
It made sense, though I’d never thought about it before. “But the siege didn’t last that long.”
“Because Andi’s marriage to Rayfe stopped it. That’s the only reason. It could have gone on much longer.” Dafne’s round face looked pinched and I vaguely recalled she’d lost her family—and heritage—to a siege during the campaigns that made my father High King. “She couldn’t bear to have this kind of devastation occur to protect her.”
“She married him to rescue me,” I argued.
“You’re so lucky those wicked Tala didn’t harm you, Princess!” Lady Dulcinor fanned her flushed face, though she kept the fur robe mounded on her lap.
I nodded as if I agreed but wondered if it was luck. For all that they’d kidnapped me, King Rayfe and his men had been careful with me, even kind. They were terrifying, of course, all long, wild hair and fearsome beastlike eyes—and all those wild, strange animals around them!—but Rayfe had promised I wouldn’t be hurt. And I hadn’t been.
Instead Andi had traded herself for me. Wasn’t that what had happened?
Dafne watched me, seeming serene, but that undercurrent of lies wafted through the back of her gaze, the burnt-toast scent in the air turning my stomach. She knew something about it. Secrets that weren’t hers to tell.
Andi’s secrets.
Feeling the chill, I closed the curtains. Better not to look.
Alarmed shouts and the bellowing cry of a horse in pain jerked me from a sleepy doze on the second afternoon. Dulcinor emitted a thin wail and began praying to Glorianna so loudly that she drowned out all outside noises except for Ursula’s sharp commands, cutting through the tumult.
Dafne, who’d had her curtain open, shook her head at me. “I can’t see anything.”
On the other side of the carriage, the clang of weapons burst out, with crackling ricochets of orders and a tumult of incoherent yelling. Full of dread, yet burning to find out, I twitched my own curtain. Marin leaned over and put her sturdy hand on mine.
“Best not, Your Highness,” she said quietly. “Sometimes the mouse best avoids the cat by staying in its hole.”
A thunder of hoofbeats roared up and past our carriage, rumbling off into the distance. We waited, Dafne, Marin, and I staring at one another, while Dulcinor wept, face buried in her skirts—which would surely be ruined by her tears and makeup.
The curtain jerked open and we all jumped, Dafne pressing a hand to her heart.
Ursula’s sharp face filled the opening, quickly surveying us for damage. “All is well. We can continue on in a few minutes.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Her narrow lips pressed together in annoyance, though not at me this time. “Highway robbers. And on the King’s Road, too. But we’ve run them off easily enough.”
Angry voices drifted down the road and I recognized one as belonging to Old Erich. Everybody else was out there, deciding things. I should be, too. Not a mouse. “I want to see.”
“You have legs. Come out and see, then.” She dropped the curtain, and the hoofbeats of her warhorse faded.
I glanced at the other women, uncertain, but Dafne nodded at me. “I want to see, too.”
Dulcinor didn’t seem to hear us, just kept weeping into the fabric she’d be sorry she ruined, now that we’d survived. Dafne made the decision and popped open the carriage door. After a quick glance about, she stepped out and held a hand up to help me down. At first there didn’t seem to be much to see, just a lot of dirt scuffed through the snow. But there—a man lay dead in a snowbank, long, dark hair snarled, several of the Hawks’ arrows protruding from his chest. Other shadows marred the snow in unsightly heaps.
Down our caravan, King Erich was indeed shouting at the lieutenant of Ursula’s Hawks, and it seemed Ursula had just joined them.
“. . . an abomination against Avonlidgh that I cannot travel through my own kingdom without being attacked by riffraff!”
“We may have crossed into Mohraya, King Erich.” Ursula stared him down, diverting him from her lieutenant. “In which case the failure belongs to me.”
He turned more purple than his expensively dyed robes. “The fault for all of this lies with the High King! For what did we trade our wealth and independence if he’s going to cower inside Ordnung and let the rest of the Twelve fall into chaos?”
Ursula’s eyes glittered brighter gray than the overcast sky. “You’re edging into treason, King Erich.”
High Priest Kir, bright pink robes the only other color in the wintery landscape, smoothly stepped up, making the circle of Glorianna in the air, which everyone echoed dutifully. “Praise Glorianna that we are all safe, and our gratitude to the brave escort that protected us! King Erich, it grows colder and I believe it may snow. Shall we retire to our conveyance and discuss these atrocious events?”
His assistant, white robes tainted by a spray of bright blood, stood close behind, head bowed so the cowl hid his face. Odd that he’d been so close to the fighting.
“An excellent suggestion.” Ursula nodded, giving her Hawks hand signals. “We shall leave the slain robbers as a caution and continue immediately.”
With that, we were escorted to the carriage. I should have said something. Led a prayer. Next time I would.
“At least it wasn’t the Tala,” I said, as much for Dulcinor’s peace of mind as anything. Marin gave me a long look as she picked up her discarded knitting. “What?” I asked her.
“They likely were Tala, Princess.” Dafne’s tone was gentle but firm. “Those men had the right coloring. And it makes sense.”
“Why haven’t they gone home, then? They should all go back to the Wild Lands and leave us be. They’ve done enough damage here.”
“That’s a good question.” Dafne looked contemplative. “Seems that they would, if they could.”
When we reached Louson, to stay at the small but decent manse of one of our father’s oldest friends, the fertile river valley looked lovely and peaceful under a blanket of pristine snow. It had taken three days of travel to fully escape the signs of the Siege of Windroven. It would not make Old Erich any happier to see this part of Mohraya looking so well.
I understood better why Andi had restlessly paced the turrets and high walls of Windroven, no matter how I begged her to stay inside. Remembering how my ladies and I had treated the first battles as a spectacle, I groaned at my foolishness. No wonder Andi hadn’t wanted to be around me.
All that time, I’d thought she’d been afraid only of being forced to marry our enemy. Instead she’d been thinking about the lands outside the walls, the dead bodies lying about the countryside. Hugh had told me not to fret about the siege and I hadn’t.
And then Kir had been the one to soothe Erich, by calling on Glorianna, after Ursula saved us all. My uselessness ate at me.
After a welcome feast
I barely touched—in fact, I excused myself early because the smell of the poached fish nearly made me lose the little I had eaten—I went to Glorianna’s chapel, to pray for guidance.
I’d been here before, when I’d paid the priests to perform a High Protection for Andi, to save her from Rayfe and the Tala. It looked much the same as it had that night—except that the rose window over the altar had since been repaired. The sight of it brought back all the emotions of that night, my desperate fear for Andi’s safety and the stark terror when the black wolf crashed through. My utter shame that I ran, leaving her behind.
“Do you pray, Princess?”
I jumped nearly out of my skin, half expecting the wolf to attack again. But no—that was done and he wouldn’t come for me. It wasn’t me he’d wanted. The assistant priest lurked in the shadows, white robes an echo of the marble walls beyond the flickering candles, still wearing that deep cowl. I hadn’t heard him speak before and now I imagined his twisted whisper came from a reptilian face, scarred into a monster’s visage.
Standing, I put a hand over my belly. “Yes. I prefer to be alone.”
Instead of leaving, he sidled closer. “They did a good job of replacing the window. It’s even grander this time—a great tribute to the glory of our goddess.”
“Yes.” I held my ground, though he came nearer. My heart thumped, but I had no reason to be afraid. Or did I? That flash of utter hatred in his eyes had seemed so vivid in that moment. Surely those dark memories of the past, on top of the attack today, had made me jumpy. My personal guard was right outside. Besides, no harm could come to me here, under Glorianna’s gaze.
“All hail Glorianna.” He spoke to the rose window, and I started to echo the prayer, until I broke off, realizing he’d said it with irony, not reverence. He turned his head in an abrupt, liquid movement, and I startled, jumping back and losing my footing on the risers. His hand snaked out and seized my shoulder, steadying me. “Don’t fall, Princess. You wouldn’t want to risk the precious burden you carry.”
“Unhand me.”
He let me go and held up his hands, surprisingly brown and weathered for a priest. “No offense, Your Highness. I meant only to assist in your time of need.”
“With my balance or with prayer?”
“Yes.”
“Are you playing games with me?”
“With the future Queen of Avonlidgh and she known throughout the land as Glorianna’s avatar? Why would I risk myself in such a way?”
“My sister does that—answers a question with a question.”
“Indeed.”
“So which is it, balance or prayer?”
“Prayer is a form of self-reflection that leads to balance, but you don’t need my help. Glorianna is within you. She hears you without assistance from such as me.”
“That’s close to blasphemous.”
“And yet Glorianna does not strike me down for my words.”
“Who are you?” I tried to demand in my usual way, but my words came out sounding frightened.
“What more do you need to know, but that I am a priest of Glorianna and thus trustworthy?”
“Who once again refuses to answer my question. I could have you punished for your impertinence.”
His gaze flashed from the shadow of the cowl, like a cat’s eyes at night. “But you won’t do that, will you, Amelia?”
“I won’t, if you leave me in peace.”
“Peace is an expensive commodity—I highly doubt you can afford it.”
“What in Glorianna’s name does that mean?”
“Only that peace—true inner peace—comes from seeing yourself clearly and accepting who you are.”
I looked away, bothered that I couldn’t see his face. Bothered that there might be nothing in me to see. “You presume far too much for a lowly assistant priest. You understand nothing about me.”
“Looking in a mirror to fix your pretty face isn’t the same as seeing yourself.”
The impertinence—and the uncomfortable parallel to my own thoughts—made me gasp, and I swung on him, full of imperial rage.
“Your Highness!” High Priest Kir called from the rear of the chapel. “Had I known you intended to come here, I would have been here sooner. I will assist with your prayers.”
The assistant priest faded back, but a breath of a laugh made me think he mocked Kir and me both.
“I shall retire, then, sir.” He’d folded those coarse, tanned hands into his loose sleeves and bowed his face.
“Yes, yes.” Kir waved him away, busying himself with preparations at the altar.
When I looked again, he was gone.
4
“Who is that?” I asked Kir, who frowned a little, losing his count in the infusion of Glorianna’s wine.
“My assistant, Your Highness. I believed you’d seen him before, but perhaps in the, ah, aftermath of Prince Hugh’s tragic passing and your extreme grief—”
“Not that.” I gave rein to my irritation. Better than letting the sorrow take me over at Kir’s careless words. Just when I thought the edge had dulled, it swamped me, a wave wanting to drag me off the rocks at Windroven, cold, bitter, and irresistibly powerful. “I mean what is his name? His background.”
“Ah.” Kir smiled, composing his features into that beatific expression he favored. “These things are not known to me. He is of the White Monks.”
I’d vaguely heard of that order, over in far Nebeltfens, but I couldn’t recall why they sounded familiar. A special cult of Glorianna?
“And that means?” I prompted Kir, who had to conceal his frustration at losing his count again. “You can leave off on that—I don’t care for the full ceremony tonight.”
“But, Your Highness, if you wish to pray in the Temple, then—”
“Tell me about the White Monks.” I didn’t care if I sounded like a spoiled drama queen right then. Especially if it got me the answers I sought.
“They consecrate themselves to Glorianna’s service very young. They give up their names, their previous identities, all the better to make themselves vessels for Glorianna’s pure and holy presence.”
“Why are they called the White Monks—for the robes?”
“The robes are secondary, Your Highness. The White Monks spend the first three years of service under a strict vow of silence, and the name of their order reflects the stillness and purity they believe that brings. Many never speak again.”
“But this one does.”
“Did he speak to you? He rarely does.”
“He did.”
Kir looked at me expectantly and I nearly said how impertinent—even rude—the assistant had been. Then closed my lips over it. But you won’t do that, will you, Amelia? He’d called me by my name and I hadn’t noticed. How odd.
“I hope he didn’t bother you, Your Highness. You’re something of a legend among the younger priests—in truth, among the older ones, also. This one asked to accompany me in my journey here, but I trusted his taciturn nature to restrain him.”
“I’m a legend? Restrain him from what?” A flutter of pleasure threaded through me, the first since I’d heard the tragic news from Odfell’s Pass. I used to feel this, it seemed ages ago, when some troubadour sang a new song composed to me. Though I would never have told Hugh so, in my heart of hearts I’d missed it. Windroven is well off the traveled routes. And nobody writes poetry about wives.
“They see you as the incarnation of Glorianna, Your Highness.” He bowed to me, a deeply respectful and ceremonial gesture. “Her avatar, sent to us in our time of need, to combat the demonic forces that threaten to tear us asunder.”
My heart rose, painfully. “The Tala.”
He nodded. “Already they tore Princess Andromeda from our breast, leaving a gaping wound for their poison to flow in and rot us from the inside out. You fought to save her.”
“I did.” How did he see what no one else had? “I fought for her with all my might. And so did Prince Hugh.”
“Which is why she killed him.” He made the sign of Glorianna, a circle in the air. “Like a viper at your bosom, she struck at you, attempting to destroy you, also. But Glorianna protects Her avatar. She’s blessed you with the child who will save us all.”
“She will?”
“He will.” Kir made the circle again. “We have seen visions. He will be the next High King, and the Twelve Kingdoms shall flourish under his rule. We will destroy the Tala, utterly and for all and forever. We shall take back Annfwn, the paradise that should have been Glorianna’s, that Her sister stole from Her. And you shall lead us there, Glorianna’s chosen one.”
Kir’s visage gleamed with a glowing, nearly fanatical light. Could this be true? It would mean that Andi—and Ursula—were wrong about the child being a daughter. But then, they had already tried to mislead me in other ways. And Dafne, making out that Andi had been so noble—was that more misdirection? After all, Andi’s actions had spoken very loudly.
High Priest Kir came closer, then knelt before me, kissing the tips of my fingers. “Do you see the parallels in your story?”
“I’d never heard this, that Moranu stole Annfwn. I’d never heard of Annfwn before those Tala showed up.”
He nodded gravely. “It’s a wound to Glorianna’s children and so we don’t speak of it. Annfwn is said to be paradise, where we once all lived. Shouldn’t paradise belong to Glorianna?”
“But Her sister Moranu stole it?”
“Through vile treachery. It was High King Uorsin’s lifelong quest to recover Annfwn for Glorianna.”
My mouth was sticky, the scent of roses too strong with the burning candles. “What happened to his quest?”
Kir glanced from side to side, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and lowered his voice. “Salena of the Tala.”
“My mother?” And Andi carried our mother’s mark. It all began to make sense, Andi’s change, her betrayal. The half-breed blood showing through.
The Tears of the Rose Page 4