The Mage fell to his knees.
He made a motion as if to drop the Stone, or at least to put it down. His arms curled toward his chest, and began to tremble. The crystal blue light intensified until it seemed to burst from him, from his eyes, his ears, and mouth. Cracks appeared in the skin of his face and head, his shoulders, his elbows, and wrists, and light poured out, filling the room. Suddenly the blue light became crimson, and then a yellow so bright, that Dhulyn shut her eyes and turned away, burying her head in Parno’s shoulder.
“Zania.” Edmir was so startled by the sound of his own voice that for a moment he was not sure he had actually spoken aloud. “Zania,” he said again. Realization brought him to his feet, his hands to the bars of the door. “Valaika,” he called out as loudly as he could. “Wait! Valaika, hold on!”
“I assure you, Kedneara the Queen will wish to speak to me.” Section Leader Megz Primeau was holding onto her temper by main force of will. She knew the door page was only doing his duty, and that she had to be patient. It was hard, though, considering what was resting on the passing of even minutes.
“Kedneara the Queen has retired for the night,” the page was saying. “We cannot disturb her, even for you, Section Leader.”
Megz thought quickly. The guard commander had been injured and taken to the infirmary; where would his deputy be? And would she be able to convince him in time? As she was having this thought, noises and a sharp cry from within caused the door page to turn his head. Megz took advantage of this momentary lapse of discipline to push her way past him. Once she was actually in the anteroom, the page made only a token effort to stop her, and settled for preceding her into the inner chamber.
There they found the queen fallen to the floor beside her couch, her chamber pages trying to support her head and shoulders as she coughed and gasped for air. There were horrible wet sounds coming from her lungs, and Megz grimaced. She’d heard just such sounds coming from soldiers whose lungs had been pierced by arrow or blade.
“Sit her up, quickly,” she said, striding forward and drawing off her gloves.
“I’ll send for the Mage,” the door page said.
“No!” Kedneara the Queen coughed more violently after the exertion of speaking that single word. She waved her hand to emphasize her point.
“Whisper, my Queen,” Megz said. She lowered herself to her knees, slipped her arm around the queen’s waist, and put her own shoulder behind the queen’s.
“Edmir. Section Leader, it was Edmir.” There was blood on the queen’s lips. “His hair dyed and rings in his ears, foolish boy. But it was Edmir.”
“Yes, my Queen.” The three pages looked at one another, mouths agape, fear and confusion on their faces.
“You are my White Sword,” rasped Kedneara the Queen.
“I am, my Queen.”
“That stinking piece of Red Horse dung.” More coughing.
“Yes, my Queen.” No one could say that Kedneara the Queen was not quick to see the point.
“I must go, Section Leader, I must go in person.”
“I know, my Queen, the Black Guards told me.” Megz looked up. “You heard her, she must go down to the Black Dungeon.”
“But we cannot move her,” the young man who was evidently the senior page was shocked, his fear showing in the trembling of his voice.
“We must,” Megz said. “Only Kedneara the Queen herself can stop the executions.”
“But, Section Leader—”
“Now!” The effort made the queen start coughing again, and Megz gritted her teeth as precious minutes were lost.
“Bring that chair,” Megz said, nodding at one of the guest chairs next to the table at which Kedneara the Queen was accustomed to break her fast. The queen’s taller, heavier chair would tire them out before they even reached the dungeons. As soon as the chair was close enough, Megz assisted Kedneara to her feet, and settled her in.
“You two.” Megz pointed to the two huskier pages. “Pick up the queen and follow me. You, fetch four torches and bring them immediately to the Black Stairs.” Megz knew where the torches were kept, ready at all times, and knew that as slowly as they could move, carrying the queen, the third page could quickly catch them up. She would have been better off with guards, even ones unfamiliar with the path to the dungeons, but there was no time. No time.
It was tricky to maneuver the chair on the circular stairs, and only hoarsely whispered orders from the queen herself kept the pages moving. Once at the bottom, another coughing fit forced them to stop completely while the queen recovered. With a whispered apology, Megz placed the first two fingers of her left hand under Kedneara the Queen’s jaw, and felt her heart beat, thready and irregular. Megz pulled her lower lip through her teeth. Where did her duty lie strongest, with keeping the queen alive, or with saving Prince Edmir?
“My Queen,” she said finally. “I fear you should rest.”
“No.” The once vibrant voice was whisper thin, but unmistakable in the eerie quiet of the corridor. No one was in any doubt of what Kedneara wanted.
“I will go before you,” Megz said. “And light the sconces. The rest of you, bring the queen as quickly as you possibly can.” Red splotches in otherwise white faces already showed the pages’ unaccustomed exertion. But there was also some curiosity in their rounded eyes.
She raced down the corridor, pausing only to light the sconces as quickly as she could, and reached the door while the sounds of the queen advancing behind her grew faint. She did not wait, however, but tugged fiercely on the bell pull as soon as she reached it.
“Please wait,” she said, as soon as the notes of the bell died away. Though she could not see beyond the bars of the gate, Megz knew at least one Black Guard was there. “Kedneara the Queen comes, please proceed no further.”
“We cannot stop without word from the queen herself.” It was the same soft voice Megz had heard before. “The first of the prisoners is already being bled.”
“Will you tell me which it is?”
“It is the woman.”
Megz turned and ran back to where the two pages, now red-faced and short of breath, still struggled with the queen’s chair.
“My Queen,” she said. “They have not begun on the prince, we are in time for him at least, but you must hurry.”
Kedneara the Queen signaled that the pages put her down, which they did with relieved grunts.
“I can go faster on my own feet,” she said. “There is not so much farther to go. My son.” She swallowed. “Give me your shoulder, White Sword.” Megz knew she should protest, that she should protect the woman who was the queen from the impulsiveness of the woman who was the mother. But she could not bring herself to argue. They were already too late to save the Jarlkevoso, if they stood here arguing, they would lose their chance to save the prince. And saving Edmir felt like the right thing to do, however much damage it might do to the queen. Though it seemed that at the moment she was not so much the queen, as she was Edmir’s mother.
So Megz bent forward, helped the queen put her arms around her neck, and straightened, lifting the other woman to her feet. With one arm around the queen’s waist, and the other hand keeping the queen’s arm around her own shoulders, Megz set off down the corridor toward the barred door of the Black Dungeon as quickly as she could.
“Shallow breaths, my Queen,” Megz murmured as they reached the door.
Kedneara turned to the door, and with an effort that Megz felt tremble through her own body, raised her hand to clutch one of the bars in the door.
“Open for me,” she said. “I am Kedneara of Tegrian, and I would have my prisoners back.” The queen’s voice bubbled unpleasantly, and Megz’s stomach chilled.
The door opened without a sound, and a Black Guard stepped back to allow the queen to enter.
“My prisoners,” she whispered.
“The younger one is still whole and will be brought immediately, Kedneara the Queen.” The Black Guard bowed his head. “But the older
prisoner has already been cut.”
“Can you stop the bleeding?”
Megz looked sideways at the queen’s face, so close to her own. Evidently Kedneara knew exactly what was done here in the Black Dungeon. Then Megz took a closer look. That was not a shadow on the queen’s face, but blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.
“A chair for the queen, quickly,” Megz said. “And bring more light.” But the Black Guard did not move until Kedneara herself waved her hand.
“Look at me, my Queen.” Megz dared to give Kedneara a shake. “Stay with us. It won’t be much longer.”
The arm around Megz’s shoulder tightened, and Kedneara the Queen lifted her head. Megz held the queen’s gaze with her own. What she saw there made her hiss in her breath.
Edmir could hear footsteps, and a confused murmuring of half-recognized voices. Shadows formed and retreated at the far end of the corridor outside his cell, as lights were struck and carried away. A Black Guard carrying a stool with a low back appeared out of the darkness, and ran down the corridor toward what Edmir judged was the entrance to the dungeons.
“Stop!” he called. “Wait! What is going on? Where is Valaika Jarlkevo?”
Finally a Black Guard came running back to his cell, his feet making no more sound than a cat’s. “Come with me, young man,” the man said as he unlocked the door.
Edmir tried to dash past, but the Black Guard grabbed his upper arm in both hands and hung on. “Slowly,” the man said. “Do not startle her.”
Edmir allowed himself to be led, hoping from the Black Guard’s words that he was being taken to Valaika. But when they reached the end of the corridor, they turned right, toward the doorway to the upper world.
There, in the light of three candle lanterns, their pierced metal doors wide open, Kedneara of Tegrian sat on a simple stool, held upright by Megz Primeau. Three of her chamber pages stood in the outside passage, gawking through the open doorway. His mother the queen raised her head, and Edmir saw recognition in her eyes.
“Mother,” he said, coming to his knees at Kedneara’s side. “They have taken Valaika.”
A look of inquiry passed over his mother’s face, and the Black Guard behind Edmir spoke.
“She is gone, my Queen.”
Edmir took his mother’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. His shoulders shook, but he said nothing. He felt his mother’s hand, light as a breath of wind, stroke his hair. A spot of blood fell on his cheek.
“My son. Oh, my son.”
The hand on his hair fell away.
Edmir glanced up, but his mother’s eyes were closed now, her breathing stilled. “Caids take you,” he said automatically, laying her lifeless hand at her side. He could feel the cold stone under his knees, but nothing else.
Then a hand on his shoulder, Megz’s voice above his head.
“What now, my King?”
I’m King, he thought, grinding his teeth together.
Parno turned until he had Dhulyn’s face pressed into the curve of his neck, rather than on his shoulder. His chest and throat no longer felt tight, and the air moved smoothly through his lungs. He blinked, trying to clear the afterimages of brightness that still half-blinded him, though he’d had his eyes shut tight. The furniture was back on the floor, much of it broken and tumbled about. At first he thought his ears had been as badly affected as his eyes, but he swallowed, moved his jaw, and slowly he registered the sound of crying.
“Dhulyn, my heart,” he said, squeezing her on the shoulder. She pushed herself upright, blinked at him, and, frowning slightly, touched his face with her fingertips. Parno felt himself relax, and despite everything, he smiled. Dhulyn nodded, and turned away, getting to her feet.
Kera was on her knees beside Zania. The player’s face was a circle of pain, though it was Kera who was wiping away tears with her free hand. Parno rolled to his feet, ignoring Dhulyn’s offer of her hand. So far as he could see, they were alone in the room, except for the girls. There was nothing here large enough for Avylos to hide behind, and the possibility of a trapdoor could wait until they had seen to Zania.
“I can’t move the table,” Kera said. “She’s hurt.”
Leaving Dhulyn to check the rest of the room, Parno went directly to the injured girl. The table he lifted off in a moment, and he breathed more easily when he saw that both Zania’s legs were straight, and moving. Her arm told another story, however.
“Hold still, little Cat,” he told her. “It’s just the smaller, outer bone, the best kind of break you could have.” He smiled at her. “I’ve broken my own arm that way several times, and so has Dhulyn Wolfshead. It will hurt to set it properly, but not more than it hurts already. We’re not Healers, nor even Knives, but we’ve done this many times before, and we know what we’re doing. All we must do is get the arm straight, and bind it well.”
“It is Dhulyn Wolfshead, then?” Kera asked.
“Oh, yes, don’t doubt it.”
“What happened? All I saw was a bright light.”
“Time for that soon. We’re alive, and that’s all we need to know just now. Dhulyn! Can you find something to splint the little Cat’s arm? A leg from that stool might do.”
Dhulyn bent quickly and picked something off the floor.
“Parno,” she said, and something in the quality of her voice made them all turn to look at her.
She held a dull blue cylinder by the very tips of her fingers. It was dirty, and stained along one side, the exposed side, with a pale pink mist, damp and slightly greasy.
But it was the Muse Stone.
“Be careful.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He felt he more than deserved the look Dhulyn gave him. “He must have got past us somehow, got to the door.”
“You think he’s running about somewhere in Royal House unaware of who he is?” Dhulyn asked. “That’s the only way he would have left without it, that’s certain.” She looked at the Stone again.
“Oh, Sun and the blooded Moon.” Dhulyn was rubbing the tips of her fingers together, then she lifted her fingers to her nose and sniffed. Her lip wrinkled back to show her teeth in a parody of her wolf’s smile. She turned her head and spat on the floor over and over. She looked around her, but finding no cleaner surface, wiped off the Stone on the front of her shirt.
Dawning realization made Parno’s stomach churn and his eyebrows crawl up his forehead. Dhulyn had turned away from Avylos, turned her back to him and hidden her face. Her face, and the front of her shirt were clean, but the back of her shirt, much of the floor, and the sides of the girls’ faces, their sleeves and hands, were marked by the same residue as the Stone.
“Princess Kera,” he said. “Have you an underskirt? Would you remove it please, and use it to wipe off your mouths and faces. Quick as you can.”
“What is it?” Kera immediately lifted the skirt of her gown and pulled off her underskirt. Gathering a soft fold of it, she wiped Zania’s face before doing the same for herself.
“It’s Avylos.”
Twenty-seven
“THINK THAT, IN MY case, the force of the power only pushed me aside.” Dhulyn put down the leg of roasted duck she’d been chewing on and picked up a cloth to wipe her hands. She tapped herself on her chest. “I was still there, my Visions still came, though I thought they were dreams. And I think that even without my Mercenary Schooling—even without the Shora—I would have found my way back, perhaps through the Visions themselves, if no other way.”
“And is that what you expected to happen with Avylos?” Edmir spread a coating of nellberry jam on a slice of breast meat, rolled it up and inserted it into his mouth. They were using Avylos’ sitting room, the first chance they’d had in days to sit down together. Parno, Dhulyn, and Edmir had kept to the Mage’s wing, sorting out his books and devices, in part to learn what they could, in part to make sure nothing remained that could cause any harm. Princess Kera, using Megz Primeau and Zania to help her, had been dealing with the upheaval cau
sed by the sudden death of Kedneara the Queen.
Kedneara’s body had been retrieved from the Black Dungeon and was lying in state in the Great Hall as her pyre was being built in the center of the Royal Courtyard. High Noble Houses were coming from all of Tegrian and the subject lands to attend her burning, and the ceremonial burial of the ashes. No one disputed that Kedneara had very obviously died from the same ailment that had plagued her father, brought on by the shock and stress of recent events, and particularly the disappearance of the Blue Mage.
“It’s what I hoped would happen, yes,” Dhulyn said in answer to Edmir’s question. “I hoped that the wave of power released from the Stone would overwhelm and drown him, as it had done to me.”
“And so we’d have a different man entirely to deal with,” Kera said, nodding.
“It was a rough chance to take, just the same,” Parno said. “If you could find your way back, so could he, and he’d have all that power in him.”
“Would he? I don’t think so.” Dhulyn shook her head. “According to what Zania had told us, Avylos had no power when he first came to her family’s group of traveling players. Avylos himself told me that his power had grown little by little, which fit with what Valaika remembered of his first coming to Tegrian. I think he had no magic himself.”
Zania was nodding. “That’s what I remember my uncle telling us. He did stage magic only when he first joined the troupe, tricks that anyone could do, if they had talent and were taught the method. It was only after he learned about the Stone, and how we used it, that . . . he changed.”
“He was srusha,” Dhulyn said. “In the tongue of the Espadryni it means ‘barren,’ or ‘empty,’ though I have never heard it used in connection with people. We surmised that all the men of the Espadryni were Mages, as all the women were Marked with the Sight. But the truth must be that not all had the same degree of power, just as we have all seen different strengths in those who bear a Mark.”
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