‘You expect me to dispute that, don’t you? Well, I won’t. I am afraid. It is because I believe you and my brothers to be capable of anything. I am afraid of what you will do. Why can’t you accept I’m not like you? You can’t keep me here, and you can’t have Rav, and that’s the end of it.’
‘You know very well. You’ve never shown an interest in him before, so I can only assume you’ve decided he could be useful to you in some way.’
‘You are harsh,’ said Tatrini. ‘I know I’ve not been a good mother to you, Ren, and have been neglectful of my duties as a grandparent. You must appreciate it has been difficult for me to keep hold of the reins I have snatched for myself here. I have had little time for the gentler aspects of womanhood. But that will change. When you look into the future of Magrast, you see blood, smoke and fire, but I see only light.’
‘Stop it now,’ Varencienne said. ‘You will not convince me.’
Apparently not, Tatrini thought. She heard doors opening close by, and knew that reinforcements were nigh. She had sent for Rav from the nursery, aware how her grandson’s feelings were running. Leo was a good boy, with the potential to be greater than Bayard, if his older brothers didn’t corrupt him along the way. He did as she asked and reported back to her in detail. She knew every word of the conversation Leo had had with Rav the previous day. Every word. Even those inspired by what Bayard had said to his younger brother.
One of Tatrini’s ladies came into the room, ushering Rav before her. Tatrini did not look at her or the child, but watched Varencienne’s face. She saw dismay and despair. Varencienne too knew how Rav felt. ‘This is low, mother,’ she said softly, shaking her head.
‘I’ve asked Rav to join us so that he may given a voice,’ Tatrini said. ‘We are discussing his future after all, and he is the Dragon Heir.’
Rav looked embarrassed, clearly uncomfortable with the rancour hanging in the air between the adults.
‘You set Leo to work on him, didn’t you?’ Varencienne said.
‘Rav,’ said the empress, ‘how would you feel about coming to school here in Magrast and spending more time with your father?’
Rav glanced sheepishly at Varencienne. He was half Palindrake and therefore the instinct to have his own way was not quite as strong as it was in his uncles. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, obviously worried about offending his mother.
‘You can speak freely,’ Tatrini said. ‘Your mother wants to know how you feel as much as I do.’
‘He is too young to make such a decision,’ Varencienne said. ‘This is ridiculous.’ She went to her son and took his hand. ‘Come along, Rav, we’re leaving.’
Tatrini rose from her chair. ‘Ren, you are making a grave mistake.’
Varencienne would not answer, put her hand upon the door knob.
‘Rav is in danger,’ Tatrini said. ‘It has been foretold. He must remain here in Magrast for his own safety.’
She saw her daughter pause, her spine stiffen. There was no other response for a moment, and in that brief time, Tatrini realised she had unwittingly hit the right mark. ‘You know, don’t you,’ she murmured, the surprise in her voice genuine.
Varencienne turned round. ‘Tell me what you mean,’ she said. ‘Tell me!’
‘My augur, Lady Pimalder, has warned me that Rav should not return to Caradore, because he would be threatened.’
‘In what way?’
Varencienne wasn’t arguing. She wasn’t retaliating in any way. What could this mean? ‘Whoever threatens him is powerful, because Grisette could not see through their defences. This is a real danger, Ren. I did not want to speak of it, but it is clear I must.’
‘Mama?’ Rav said fearfully.
‘I had a dream last night,’ Varencienne said. ‘Someone was trying to throw Rav into the seac’ She glanced down at her son, who was now clinging to her skirts.
‘Caradore is out in the middle of nowhere,’ Tatrini said quickly. ‘Here in Magrast, Rav would be surrounded by the Magravandian army and his father would be close.’
‘But who would want to harm him?’
Tatrini went to her daughter, put an arm about her. ‘I do not yet know, but I will. You must realise that the Palindrakes are an important family to the Malagashes. Enemies could seek to use Rav against us.’
‘But who? One of my brothers?’
‘No,’ said Tatrini. ‘That much is definite. Someone else.’ She examined her daughter’s face and could tell that Varencienne had ideas of her own, but that she would not speak. It didn’t matter. ‘I know you are afraid that Magrast will soon be thrown into civil turmoil and that Rav’s life could be at risk. But the change, when it happens, will not occur that way. I promise you this, Ren, upon my life. May the fire drakes strike me dead if I lie.’
For the briefest moment, Varencienne leaned against her mother. ‘He should not have heard this,’ she murmured. ‘He is so young.’ She pressed Rav against her.
Tatrini squeezed Varencienne’s shoulders and crouched down beside the boy. ‘There’s nothing to fear, Rav. I will keep you safe, and so will your father. You are a very important person, and as you grow older, will have to become used to the fact that in some ways this makes you vulnerable. Here in Magrast, you can learn how to be strong, like your father is. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Rav nodded, his face dark with fear, streaked with tears. ‘Mama,’ he said again, and put his face back against Varencienne’s gown. Now it came to it, he was afraid of being separated from her.
Tatrini stood up. ‘You could remain here with him, Ren.’
Varencienne stared at her mother, and Tatrini had the distinct impression that the very fact of Rav’s endangerment in Caradore meant her daughter would have to return there. It was to do with her suspicions of who was involved. She straightened up, recovered her poise. ‘I’m not saying I will let Rav stay here forever, mother,’ she said, ‘but until I know the nature of this danger, I consent to him remaining here under Val’s care. Rav must live in his father’s apartments, and suitable guardians must be found for him. If Val is agreeable to this, I will make no further objection. But you must swear to me that Rav will be well guarded at all times. There must be no gadding about with Leo, no being left to his own devices with other children, even within the palace or the homes of courtiers. Will you promise me that?’
‘I swear it,’ Tatrini said. Privately, she was surprised by this capitulation. She’d thought she’d have to use far more persuasion. The dream must have seemed very real. ‘We must work together to learn about this threat,’ she said.
‘I will uncover it,’ Varencienne said. She lifted Rav’s chin in her hand. ‘You can stay here for a while, my love, but never forget where your home is. Do you understand?’
The boy nodded, his lower lip trembling.
‘Ren,’ said Tatrini, ‘if you insist on going home, you might well be in danger yourself. You should reconsider.’
‘I am not afraid,’ Varencienne replied. ‘I will meet whatever awaits me with courage and fire. I will know the truth.’
Chapter Seven: The Power of Princesses
So, Shan thought, here is Caradore. They had climbed up from the beach, twelve men fighting against the wind that had transformed the dune grasses into a whispering, rippling ocean, blown flat yet undulating in the spectral light. Clouds, big as heavenly galleons, surged across the sky, skirting the uncanny blue halo around the moon. Shan was first to reach the top of the cliffs and here he paused. A landscape of rock and wild grass and twisted trees stretched away from him. Great white owls drifted like flotsam on the night wind. In the distance, lights upon hills: the castles and manses of the noble families of Caradore. The night seemed alive around him, as if spirits streamed through his body and plucked with invisible fingers at his hair. This was indeed a magical land.
Taropat came up beside Shan, breathing heavily, which Shan thought was nothing to do with the exertion of the climb for Taropat
was extremely fit.
‘You are home,’ said Shan.
Taropat said nothing. Shan wondered what the man was thinking. Only a few miles away, his wife lay sleeping in Caradore Castle, unaware of his presence on this soil. Did Taropat want to see her again? Was he remembering her rich dark hair, her wild laugh? Did he want to love or kill her? Pharinet Palindrake believed he was dead. He could rise up like a ghost beside her bed, fill her with fear, condemn her for her treachery. Perhaps her heart would stop. But Taropat had no intention of going to Caradore.
The ship had waited offshore from Cos for a week before beginning the journey west. Seven days of tension. Taropat had insisted he would know the right moment to lift anchor. They had ten Cossic warriors with them, men who were ill-used to sea travel and restless with the delay. In Cos, Taropat had hired a large fishing vessel, so as not to arouse the suspicion of any imperial patrols. They must be in and out of Caradore quickly. Timing was crucial.
Taropat signalled to the Cossics behind them and walked silently into the band of trees that skirted the coast road. Shan followed with the others. They were here because of a vision, which was driven by Taropat’s obsessions. Shan was still not entirely convinced they were doing the right thing.
Soon after they’d fled Breeland, following the Seven Lakes quest, Taropat had begun to dream of Valraven Palindrake. To him, the dreams were hideous nightmares. He came out of them disorientated and sometimes raving. He said the Dragon Heir would come to wear the Crown of Silence. There was nothing they could do.
‘Can we not change fate?’ Shan had said, trying to inspire hope within his mentor. ‘Haven’t we proved that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Taropat had answered, and they were words that rarely passed his lips.
In Cos, it had taken them months to find Princess Helayna. Taropat now had the power of the Dragon’s Eye within him, and most of their map derived from impressions in his mind. It was as if the land didn’t exist until he’d invented it in front of them. A tree with a bent limb. A cross-road marked by scorched earth. A pool surrounded by willows. That is the way.
They could not speak of what had happened at Sinaclara’s house, because even to think of it filled them with a fury it was impossible to dispel. They would kill each other if they broached the subject, inspired only to violence, to hate. It seemed Magravandias only had one enemy – Helayna, exiled princess of Cos. She had become a saint in their hearts, the one true royal soul left alive. They must find her. Shan thought that Taropat would want Helayna to help him steal the Crown from Sinaclara, and once had even suggested so in covert terms. But Taropat had shaken his head. It took Shan a while to realise why. Taropat, though a powerful magus, was afraid of Sinaclara, perhaps afraid of the Crown itself. It had become evil in his eyes.
Taropat wanted to know Helayna’s plans. He intended to offer her his aid rather than the other way around. Both he and Shan had been changed by their quest in Magravandias. Shan was the avatar of the Dragon’s Claw, potentially a great warrior. Taropat was the magus of the Dragon’s Eye, his powers intensified and honed. They lacked the bard of the Dragon’s Breath, of course, because that was Tayven. And they did not have a true king to serve, but perhaps they could make a true queen and find themselves another bard.
As winter took a grip on the gaunt crags of The Rhyye, the mountain range that bisected the country, Cossic warriors had taken them prisoner. Since her brother’s capitulation to empress Tatrini, Helayna had become doubly suspicious and paranoid. Shan later learned they were lucky not to have been killed outright, which was the usual fate of strangers who strayed into the princess’s territory. For a while, she refused to see them. Apart from their clothes, all their possessions were taken from them, and for a week they lived in a wooden cage dusted with snow, exposed to the elements, fed with mush that appeared to be fodder for pigs. They spent all their time huddled together, seeking warmth. The guards could not be bribed, for there was nothing to bribe them with. The Cossics either couldn’t speak Magravandian or Breenish, or pretended they couldn’t. All the prisoners could do was repeat Helayna’s name and try to draw pictures in the air to show they were not enemies.
One night, Taropat lost his temper. His fingers had become numb and he was afraid he would lose them to the cold. Without warning, he leapt to his feet, knocking Shan aside. He roared in rage, flinging back his ragged brown cloak. He raised his arms high, his blue fingers splayed above his head. Stamping his feet, he called out in a tongue Shan did not know, perhaps Caradorean. After a few minutes, some of the Cossics came out of their makeshift dwellings, no doubt wondering what the noise was. Taropat snarled at them, his hair wild around his head and shoulders, his teeth gleaming whitely through his thin beard.
‘Taropat, no!’ Shan hissed, afraid they would be beaten or killed.
Taropat’s body suddenly jerked and then a spear of light shot down from the heavens. It struck the frozen soil outside the cage, sending up a spray of pebbles and ice. Taropat gripped the bars of the cage, shook them so that snow thunked down from the slatted roof. He gestured madly with his arms, and more lights came whizzing out of the frost-rimed trees, earthlights that bobbed and swerved around the astonished people.
‘Helayna!’ Taropat had yelled, and she had come, then.
The princess could speak Magravandian. She stood before their prison, a tall woman in a warrior’s garb, swathed in a thick wolf-skin cloak. Her face, though handsome, was hardened by bitterness and grief. She said, ‘Speak, then.’
Shan intuited she had merely been keeping them waiting on purpose. The Cossic resistance did not generally keep prisoners. He and Taropat should have guessed this. They were the only ones.
So Helayna had heard a brief version of their story. At first she did not believe it, or pretended not to. She said, ‘You lie!’ and then to her guards, ‘Kill them.’
‘Your people have seen what I can do,’ Taropat said calmly. ‘It will take many of your men to kill us, and you will lose most of them in the process. Can you afford that?’ He was bluffing, of course, and perhaps Helayna knew that. Desperation had temporarily heightened Taropat’s magical ability. Shan did not believe the man could kill others with it.
Helayna turned back to him. ‘You have not used your powers to escape,’ she said contemptuously.
‘That is because I have come to The Rhyye seeking you,’ Taropat replied. ‘I am a patient man, and appreciate your reserve concerning strangers, but I do not want to lose my hands to frost bite before you grant us an audience.’
‘Let them out,’ the princess said.
She was a cornered woman, driven into the most inhospitable terrain of Cos by Palindrake’s patrols. Like a hunted animal, she was afraid and unpredictable, but masked it with a cold savagery. Taropat had at first addressed her as ‘your highness’, but she’d turned on him in fury.
‘I have no highness, no majesty!’ she spat. ‘I am a warrior, at one with my people, without whom I would be dead. That term offends me now. It speaks of all I have come to despise.’
Namely, Shan reckoned, her brother Ashalan.
But perhaps Helayna was not as hard and ruthless as she liked to appear. She took them to her dwelling, which was a large cave she shared with the most trusted of her people, both male and female. Here she let Taropat and Shan bathe and shave. Clean clothes, of thick wool, were given to them. Now Helayna wanted to hear their story in more detail, even though it was the middle of the night. A man had built up the fire and they sat around it, talking, until way past dawn. Taropat did not hide his origins, and spoke at length about the Dragon heritage of the house of Palindrake and his dead sister’s unwitting part in it. This surprised Shan. He’d always thought Taropat was ashamed of having once been Khaster. Helayna had heard of him. The story of Khaster Leckery had become a legend, it seemed, because in some ways he was a martyr, destroyed by Magravandias. Tayven had also spoken of Khaster to Ashalan and Helayna, when he’d lived with the resist
ance.
Helayna interrupted the narrative only once, and that was when Taropat spoke of Tayven’s betrayal. It was clear Helayna was fond of him. ‘You are wrong about him,’ she said. ‘He would never serve the Dragon Lord.’
Taropat hesitated, then said, ‘Perhaps.’
‘You once loved each other. He told us. You have no proof he supports Palindrake. You ran from that woman Sinaclara’s house too quickly.’
‘Wellc’ Taropat clearly struggled for words. ‘I can only tell you what happened. Draw your own conclusions.’
After that, Shan noticed Taropat did not mention Tayven again, obviously aware he should not offend the princess, or alienate her before he’d won her over.
After the story was out, Helayna leaned back upon a pile of furs, taking swigs from a skin of crude wine. ‘Only a fool would believe you,’ she said. ‘You’ve told me a fairy tale.’
‘Yes,’ Taropat said. ‘I have. But it is still true.’
‘Palindrake could have sent you here. Perhaps Khaster Leckery is still dead and you are a lie.’
‘I would think that too,’ Taropat said. ‘But surely the utter outrageousness of our tale belies its truth? No sane spy would rely upon such a preposterous story.’
Helayna nodded. ‘True.’ She handed Taropat the skin, from which he drank.
‘We are here to offer you our services,’ he said. ‘We are the magus and the warrior of the true king. Those we trusted want Palindrake as king. It is a terrible falsehood. We cannot countenance it.’ He handed the wine to Shan. ‘Is it possible we could find a true queen?’
Helayna laughed at that. ‘Queen? Me? I am nothing now, merely a fugitive, hiding from Palindrake’s men. He has vowed to track me down, you know. It galls him I would not succumb to his glamour and Tatrini’s empty gestures, like my rat of a brother did.’
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