“Kieba,” Gulien said, turning to face the golem because it was as close as he could come to facing the Kieba herself. He hoped he did not sound tentative or nervous. To his surprise, he actually did not feel nervous now. He felt tired almost beyond bearing. He gazed up at the glittering black crystals that served the golem as eyes and asked, “Will you tell me how long I may have to establish order in Carastind?”
The golem spoke. It spoke with the voice of the Kieba, not the kephalos. The Kieba’s voice said clearly, “You may have one year, Prince Gulien. One year to see to Carastind’s stability and to arrange for your sister to marry appropriately so that she may secure the throne. Then you will step down in favor of your sister’s lord, ending the Madalin claim on the throne.”
Oressa, obviously both startled and horrified, started to frame some kind of argument or protest. Gulien realized at once he should have warned her about this other notion of the Kieba’s, but dared not dispute it now. He gripped his sister’s arm hard, warning her to be silent, which for a wonder she was. Then he said merely, “Just as you say, Kieba. It shall all be just as you say. But I may have a year first.”
“You may. So long as you return to me the artifact that your father holds so close. Do so without delay, young prince.”
Gulien drew a breath and inclined his head to the golem. “I shall, Kieba. I thank you for your lenience. I am ashamed to ask for further generosity, yet a falcon of yours . . . a visible sign of your favor, a living symbol of my family, sent from your hand to mine. If I might yet request such a grace, in order to be certain the people of Caras remember it is by your will that I have set down my father . . .”
“Good. That’s clever,” Oressa muttered under her breath.
Gulien shook her slightly, afraid her forwardness might offend the Kieba. He said quietly, “Please, Kieba. My father’s supporters will wish to forget your power. They will raise questions of right and authority, and as most men abhor disorder and strife, they may sway the people of Caras to their opinion. Though I know I do not deserve your favor, yet I must ask for a sign that will make your preference clear to all men, and hope for your tolerance of my boldness.”
But she did not answer, and no falcon fell from the sky. The golem merely straightened, drew back, swiveled nearly in place with a rippling movement of all its legs, and strode away. Above them, one at a time, the Kieba’s strange white lights were going out, leaving Gulien to sort things out for himself. He let his breath out, trying not to feel betrayed, knowing full well the Kieba might have dealt with him far more severely than merely declining a sign of her favor.
“Rude!” said Oressa right out loud.
Gulien shook her again, a little more forcefully. He glanced after the golem, but if the Kieba had heard, there was no sign of it. He let his breath out. “It’s all right,” he said. “I can do this. We can do this. Don’t worry, Oressa. We’ll find someone you favor, someone who’ll respect your wits. Someone at once ruthless and just and kind, who has all the qualities a man needs to be a good king.”
“Oh, will we?” Oressa muttered. But she didn’t immediately refuse to even consider the possibility that Gulien might have to step down himself or that she might herself have to marry in order to secure the throne.
Not that Gulien believed his sister would continue to be meek, but he was grateful for her kindness in leaving those arguments for another day. He said firmly, “We got rid of that Tamaristan prince; we can surely deal with our own people.”
But, though he was pleased with how assured and determined this statement sounded, Gulien only wished he believed it was true.
CHAPTER 5
Gulien tapped the table gently to compel everyone’s attention, a trick of their father’s, which, for some reason Oressa didn’t understand, seemed to work better than hitting the table and yelling. Perhaps because its very restraint suggested that escalation was possible if everyone didn’t cooperate.
“This artifact, Parianasaku’s Capture, has to go back to the Kieba immediately,” her brother declared.
After that, a little space stretched out. No one argued. Not even Magister Baramis, although Oressa could see perfectly well that he wanted to object simply on general principles: He, of all their father’s advisers, had been the only one to press Gulien to give up his usurped authority and yield the crown back to his father. But even he said nothing to Gulien’s statement. Out of all the disaster and confusion of the past day, this one thing seemed abundantly clear: The Kieba’s artifact had to be returned to her immediately.
They had gathered in the green map room, which was one of the few functional rooms remaining in the western wing of the palace. Every now and then something creaked or a tile fell outside the windows, and everyone looked up and flinched. But it was a traditional setting for important meetings, and Gulien had wanted the support lent by formal surroundings. Oressa agreed it was important for him to make every possible show of authority and confidence. She still wasn’t certain her brother could succeed in permanently usurping their father’s power. The Kieba could do anything, but she wasn’t here and their father was. Oressa had no faith in the guardsmen to keep Osir Madalin pinned up in his tower apartment.
She was sitting beside her brother at one end of the table, right out in full view, which felt peculiar and not entirely safe. In some ways she would rather have been crouching under the table or hidden behind the false panel at the far end of the room, but Gulien wouldn’t hear of it, and she supposed it was a ridiculous idea. Even though she knew just how openly people spoke when they didn’t know you were listening, and her idea had been to let everyone else arrive first and talk among themselves before Gulien even came in. She’d suggested that, but her brother wouldn’t hear of it and insisted instead that she sit beside him. Sometimes Gulien was a little . . . conventional.
Magister Baramis was seated at the other end of the table, which was fair since he was their opponent; Magister Lorren and Lord Paulin took the spaces at the sides of the table. Lord Meric had been killed in the brief, violent Tamaristan attack. Oressa was sorry for that; she’d liked Meric. Gulien had insisted on Lord Paulin in Meric’s place, which she didn’t think was an improvement. Her brother had followed Oressa’s urgent advice about the guard, though, dismissing Erren as junior captain on the grounds that he was too clearly their father’s man and promoting Kelian to take his place.
“Just promise me you won’t seduce Kelian,” Gulien had begged Oressa. “I can’t afford to hang him by his thumbs from the palace walls. Besides, I’m not sure the palace walls could take his weight.” It was true that pieces still tended to break off the shattered walls at random moments. For now the stonemasons and architects had just shut off those parts of the palace while they worked to repair the damage, but the work was slow.
Oressa had laughed and refused to promise, but she had also been scrupulously careful to behave like a proper princess around Kelian, who stood now in his proper place by the door, his arms crossed, silent and frowning. But then, no one was very cheerful at the moment.
“I think we all understand that,” Baramis said at last. “But—”
“I’ll ask him for it, and I have some hope he’ll give it to me. But if he won’t give it up, I’ll have to take it. The Kieba made it clear that this artifact somehow belongs to the Madalin kings. She was willing to see Carastind conquered to break my father’s reign. If he won’t give up her artifact, then his reign will have to be broken somehow, so that it can be taken from him.”
“We know all that,” snapped Baramis. “But—”
“Do we even know what this artifact is?” asked Lord Paulin, smoothly interrupting what promised to become a tedious repetition of an argument they’d been through half a dozen times already.
“Well, once I’m through the formal coronation and have taken the throne, I suppose it will come to me somehow. And then I’ll find out.” Gulien did not look happy contemplating this prospect.
“Your Highness, it�
��s not that simple,” Baramis argued. “If you act too swiftly or too—too ruthlessly, then you’ll lose all your father’s partisans.” He didn’t have to say himself foremost among them. “And if that happens, I honestly don’t know whether you will be able to hold Caras, and if the situation in the city becomes too chaotic, Gajdosik’s still out there, and for all we know all the rest of the Tamaristan princes lined up behind him—”
“The Kieba no doubt has more golems where the first came from,” murmured Oressa.
Baramis shut his mouth with a snap.
“She did say Gulien should move ‘without delay,’” Oressa pointed out. “Just how long do you think we should wait?”
This produced an uncomfortable silence.
Oressa glanced at her brother, frowning when he evaded her eye. She was afraid that the real reason Gulien hadn’t yet simply gone on and claimed Carastind’s throne and their father’s crown was that he hated having been forced in between their father and the Kieba, hated to have people like Baramis think he had ever wanted to depose their father, and most of all hated to have their father think that. So he put things off. She thought that if he was going to have to take the crown and the throne and the artifact, he had much better go on and do it. But Gulien could be stubborn when pressed. She bit her lip to keep from arguing.
“I’ll start by simply asking him for it,” Gulien said quietly. “And we’ll go on from there. I promised the Kieba I would take the crown. It may be possible to work out a, well, a compromise, of sorts. But not one that will see my father on the throne in the coming year. I don’t think any of you would advise me to break my promise to the Kieba.” He looked around the room. No one said anything.
Baramis glowered and looked away, then looked back. “What—” He stopped, hesitated, and started over. “What do you intend to do with . . . your father?”
Gulien looked blank, as though this question hadn’t crossed his mind. Paulin frowned. Lorren looked quietly concerned. Oressa said, her tone a little more vengeful than she had intended, “Oh, I don’t know, I suppose Gulien could send Father to one of those desert retreats where men go to mourn the deaths of the gods. That would be perfectly suitable for a king who’s abdicated and left the active world.”
Everyone except Gulien looked moderately shocked. Gulien said, “Oressa . . .”
“Well? It would be perfectly suitable.”
Gulien didn’t seem angry. He just said, “We shall discuss the matter once the artifact has been recovered and returned to the Kieba. You may propose your solutions to the problem at that time. I thank you all for your support.” He stood up expectantly, and everyone rose, murmuring, and began to make their way out.
Oressa rose, too, but leaned on the back of her chair and waited. Once the others were gone, she said, “Do you . . . want me to come with you?” She didn’t want to. There was almost nothing in the world she wanted less. But she was afraid that once her brother found himself actually facing their father, he would give way. He was always the one who tried to please their father and win his regard, to be the good son. Oressa had always put all her efforts toward simply not being noticed, but at least she didn’t have to try to break a deep habit of obedience. But she knew she couldn’t say that. There were a lot of things she couldn’t say. She could only summon up all her courage and offer to go with him, in case that would help.
Gulien didn’t answer immediately, occupying himself instead by carefully lining up all the chairs exactly parallel with the edges of the table. Eventually he said, not quite looking at her, “I know things have always been difficult between you and Father. And I know it’s his fault, mostly, though it doesn’t help when you . . . Never mind. I only mean, you might try to be a little more generous. Father’s been a good king in a lot of ways. You’re too young to really remember Great-Grandfather and what happened to Grandfather and Uncle Mikel, but Father’s got reasons to be the way he is.”
Even though she’d just resolved to hold her tongue, Oressa couldn’t help herself. “Oh? You mean deceitful, manipulative, and cruel?”
“Oressa . . .” Gulien stopped, sighed, and made a helpless gesture with one hand. “Never mind.”
“You’ll be a thousand times the king he ever was—”
“Never mind!” Gulien slapped the table, not eschewing such gestures when it was only her. “At least there won’t be such a hurry about the rest of it, if he’ll only give me the Kieba’s artifact. Once I return that to the Kieba—”
“You can’t leave Caras! Not yet! Not when everything’s unsettled!” Oressa said, more sharply than she’d meant because she was upset.
“I know that!” her brother snapped. “Anyway, she said I have a year. I’ll get Parianasaku’s Capture today, send it to her . . . gods remembered and forgotten! There must be someone I can trust with the gods-cursed thing.” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “Anyway, I’ll tell Father he can give it to me freely or else I’ll have the coronation this very afternoon, take the throne and the title, and take the artifact that way. We both know what he’ll choose, given those choices.”
Oressa had to nod. “But, Gulien, even if you get this artifact, it’s dangerous to wait to claim the throne and the crown. You have to make everyone recognize that you’re king, and you have to get rid of Father somehow, and I don’t know what’s wrong with a desert retreat, especially since—”
Her brother held up a hand. “Oressa, we’ll talk about it later.” He paused, and sighed, the annoyance draining out of him. “First I’ll have to get Parianasaku’s artifact. Don’t worry. I’ll get him to give it to me.”
Oressa couldn’t help but worry. In the end her brother went up to get the Kieba’s artifact all by himself, though Oressa was ashamed of how she relieved she felt that he wouldn’t let her come with him.
“It’s all right,” Gulien told her, leaving her at the foot of the tower stairs. “I know I have to do this. It will be easier for him if I’m alone.” He added in a lower voice, “Easier for me, too, I hope.”
Oressa nodded unhappily. Her hands were actually trembling. It was stupid to feel like this, all shaky and small, when she wasn’t the one who had to face their father. No, she would stay out of sight and leave the hard part to Gulien. No wonder she thought it was so easy to tell her brother what he should do. It was always easy to give other people advice. She was disgusted with herself, but she still didn’t suggest again that she go with him.
“I can do this,” Gulien repeated, as though trying to convince them both. “You just wait here for me. Give me twenty minutes,” he added, smiling, “and then bring Kelian and a dozen guardsmen and come rescue me.”
His smile was tense. Her brother was joking, but not really. Oressa nodded mutely, privately resolving that she would do exactly that, if she had to.
Oressa had done her best, in the whirl of events after her brother had seized authority and made their father back down, to help Gulien choose guardsmen who might actually be loyal to him and not to their father. This meant men who had seen Gulien riding into the palace courtyard on the golem and also men who really understood that Carastind couldn’t possibly exist as an independent country without the Kieba’s favor, something that not everyone remembered because it had been a long time since the Little War, when Estenda had tried to reclaim northern Carastind as its southernmost province, and longer still since Carastind had been carved out of Greater Estenda in the first place.
Oressa knew that Kelian was intelligent and had once heard him mention a grandfather who’d told stories about the Little War, so she hoped he understood how important the Kieba was for Carastind, even more important than she was for the rest of the world. But what she knew for sure was that a man who had joined the palace guard only at the turn of the year could not possibly be as loyal to her father as a twenty-year man who’d served Osir Madalin his whole life. Kelian had certainly gone rather quiet and extremely professional when Gulien had promoted him, though, a little to her disappointm
ent, he was also extremely professional around her. But she had to admit that this was probably for the best. Anyway, the moment Gulien actually went up the stairs to the tower apartment, she sent for Kelian.
Kelian looked harried and busy, and if he was secretly in love with her, he didn’t show it. Oressa might have liked him to be just a little less sensible, but she only nodded politely when he joined her with a frown and a formal little bow.
“Your Highness. All seems well,” he told her, with an uneasy glance up the stairs.
“I’m sure it won’t really be necessary to rescue my brother,” Oressa assured him. Almost sure, but she didn’t say that.
Kelian really was extraordinarily handsome. He had a strong jaw and a generous mouth, a straight nose and high cheekbones, and it all came together in perfect proportions. He looked like a carved statue. Like a god, Oressa thought. Only of course without boar’s tusks or a dog’s head or anything of that kind. His skin was a dark tawny color, his eyes large, his eyebrows narrow and elegant, his hair the exact color of ripe wheat and curling just enough to make a girl want to run her fingers through it and watch the curls spring back. His worst habit, according to the servants’ gossip, was that he gambled now and then, but not too much. And whether he gambled or not, he sent frequent letters home to his mother in the north—as she knew from the girl who sorted the mail that came and went from the palace; the girl sighed over Kelian and was practically in raptures about his dutiful kindness and respect for his mother.
Naturally she only cared about any of that so that she could advise Gulien.
She cleared her throat. “You might send for Evan and Tadlen, though. They’d be good choices if we need more men to, um, escort my brother back down from the tower. Evan’s not too smart, but he’s completely honest. He’s never taken a bribe in his life, and if he says he supports Gulien, then he really does. And Tadlen is smart—too smart to think it’s all right if the Kieba detests Carastind’s king.”
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