The fact that the Lady Bethral could see into the room from her position beside the throne was not lost on him.
She knew her business. He’d been stripped down to tunic and trous, bare of foot and chained tight at the wrists. Not uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going anywhere. There was a leather belt around his waist, with a chain leading to each of his four guards.
The stones of the floor were cold under his feet, but the throne room was hot, what with all the people crammed within. The Archbishop was looking flushed, wearing resplendent robes of gold and white and crimson. Orrin smiled grimly. That fat bastard had other reasons to sweat.
He didn’t see the High Priestess.
Trumpets sounded a fanfare, and there was a stir in the crowd. His guards craned their necks to see.
A young woman came into view, dressed in white and wearing red leather gloves. She approached the throne and knelt on the lowest step of the dais. A choir started to sing a hymn. Orrin narrowed his eyes.
That chit had defeated them?
She looked so young kneeling there, practically glowing in the white dress. He could see the birthmark, framed by the white silk. That was Red Gloves?
He didn’t believe it.
Three people stepped forward then, and Orrin’s heart beat faster. The old man had to be Chancellor Vembar. Orrin grunted in surprise to see him alive. Ezren Storyteller stood straight and tall, looking better than the last time he’d seen the man. But it was the lady in white and gold robes who drew his gaze.
Lady High Priestess Evelyn.
He caught his breath at the sight of her. She, too, stood straight and tall, shimmering in the light of the thousands of candles, her white and gold robes reflecting the light. Her hair was tied up, forming a white, thick glory about her head. Every inch a perfect priestess of the Light. As she tucked her hands within her sleeves, Orrin caught a glimpse of her silver ring.
If, in fact, one answered for one’s choices in life, Orrin Blackhart knew he was damned. But there was one thing he’d done right and well, and he was fiercely glad of it. He’d saved her. He didn’t think it would count for much in the balance. But it mattered to him.
It hit him then, hit him hard. The striving was done; the battle, over. Death was here, waiting, and part of him welcomed the possibility of oblivion. It settled in his chest, an odd sense of peace. Let it be done, then. He was ready.
Oh, but to look on her. He stared, drinking in the sight, ignoring the prayers and the rituals, until he heard the Archbishop’s ponderous tones.
“People of Palins, behold your Queen!”
A loud cheer filled the room, echoing over the crowd, as the young woman, crowned and anointed, sat upon the throne. But Blackhart had eyes for one thing only.
Evelyn’s smile.
The room quieted, and the young queen drew herself up to sit tall and straight on the throne. She raised her hands, and started to remove her gloves. “I am the Chosen, restored to the Throne of Palins. But Red Gloves is no name for a queen.” She held up her right hand, and began to tug off the glove.
There was a gasp from the crowd, and then a buzz of talk as she took off the first glove and began on the second. “From this day forth, I shall be known as Queen Gloriana.”
Another rousing cheer from the people crammed into every nook and cranny.
Gloriana held the gloves in her hand. “But let it be known, far and wide, that these gloves shall ever sit beside the Throne of Palins, to be taken up in times of defense and war. Ever shall the Sovereign wear red gloves when she wields a sword in defense of her people.”
She placed the gloves on a small table set by the throne, probably just for that purpose. Orrin suspected that the idea was Silvertongue’s.
The girl continued. “This day marks a new beginning for Palins. But there is much work to be done before we can truly celebrate. So for this night, let us mourn our dead, hold our loved ones close, and offer prayers of gratitude to the Lord of Light and the Lady of Laughter.”
The Archbishop shifted his weight, and drew Orrin’s gaze. For the briefest of moments, the man appeared displeased about something, but the look was gone in an instant.
“Next year, after we’ve worked together to restore our people’s and our kingdom’s prosperity, we will truly celebrate.”
That brought a rousing cheer. Oh, sure, promise a festival. Orrin snorted, and two of his guards turned grim faces toward him. “Your time is coming, bastard,” one growled.
“Save me from your breath, then,” Orrin replied.
A blow rocked his head back, and he tasted blood on his lips. The man had a hand raised for a second strike, but another grabbed his arm. “Lady Bethral said no harm. She’ll take your head with his.”
The man stepped back with a snarl, and turned away to watch.
Orrin had to wait until the ringing in his ears cleared before he could focus. The new Queen seemed to be making appointments to her Council. He didn’t really pay much attention until one name was called.
“Lady High Priestess Evelyn.”
That got his attention, as Evelyn curtsied before the throne. Orrin’s lips curved up slightly when he saw the small silver ring on her right hand.
“We offer you our formal thanks, Lady High Priestess Evelyn,” Gloriana said solemnly, “for all your services to this Throne and our people.”
Well, she had the stuffiness of a queen, that was certain.
Evelyn inclined her head with a smile. “My Queen, I did little. Others did far more.”
Gloriana shook her head, her crown glittering in the candlelight. “Your humility is refreshing, Lady High Priestess Evelyn. You are the most powerful healer in the land, and you treat noble and peasant alike. Without your aid, many more would have perished.” Gloriana took a deep breath. “For this, we grant you a boon from this Throne. Ask anything of us that you wish, and it will be given.”
Orrin’s breath caught. A priceless reward, that was certain. It caught everyone by surprise, if the silence in the throne room was any indication. Once again the Archbishop’s face twitched. Orrin’s eyes narrowed as he noticed that the fat little man looked almost green with envy, and the look he was giving Evelyn bordered on rude. Yet there was a hint of something else there, envy and . . .
“My thanks, My Queen. You are kindness itself.” Evelyn was speaking, and Orrin’s eyes were pulled back to her. “May I think on this?”
Gloriana laughed, and Orrin saw the formality melt from her face as she leaned forward. “Aunt Evie, I know you too well. You will ‘forget’ to ask.”
The entire crowd laughed, and Evelyn smiled and shrugged. “For all that, My Queen, I beg to be allowed to contemplate your offer.”
“So it shall be, Lady High Priestess Evelyn.” The girl looked fairly pleased with herself, even as she grew regal again. “Now our Council has been named, and the work must begin. Our first task is to abolish slavery and make reparations. Wherever possible, we shall return our people to their homes and restore their lives. Will you join with me, my people, to rebuild this land?”
The crowd exploded in a roar of approval.
The joy faded from the young Queen’s face. “But we must first deal with a more serious matter. Bring forth the prisoner.”
EVELYN felt the crowd around her shrink back, as if to avoid the stain as Orrin was brought forth in chains.
One look at his lean frame, dressed all in black, and she lowered her gaze. There was no denying his guilt, but the sight saddened her. She caught a glimpse of his bare, pale feet against the stones.
“Blackhart.” Gloriana’s voice was grim.
Evelyn’s gaze returned to the man. Orrin stood tall and proud, and matched grimness for grimness. “Chosen,” he said calmly.
“Warder, read the charges.” Gloriana met Blackhart’s eyes as Bethral prepared to read out the charges against him.
Lady Bethral stepped forward, a large document in her hands. “Orrin Blackhart, late of the Black Hills, hear now th
e death warrant brought against you by Her Gracious Majesty Gloriana of Palins.”
Evelyn looked down at the floor. She should rejoice that an enemy—a foul, evil man—was being brought to justice. So why did she remember the look of loyalty in his men’s eyes when he’d won their freedom?
A movement caught her eye, and she looked over at Ezren Storyteller. His eyes filled with concern, but she shook her head slightly. He gave her a wry look, then turned back to face the condemned man. She saw the slight edge of gray under the sleeve of his tunic. He’d been reluctant to wear the manacles, but she’d seen the relief in his eyes when he’d put them on. She wasn’t sure it was a final solution, but it was helping him now.
She hadn’t mentioned Bethral’s name.
“For Orrin Blackhart did willfully send assassins against the Good King Everard, Queen Rosalyn, and Heir Apparent Hugh, and did cause their deaths. Further, he did willfully send assassins against the Council of Palins as they sat in session, and caused the murders of the High Barons of—” Bethral’s voice rolled over the heads of the crowd, reading out loud and clear the list of his offenses.
Evelyn offered a silent prayer for all those slain that fateful night.
“For Orrin Blackhart did willfully make war upon the Baronies of Summerford and Athelbryght and Farrentell, caused whole towns, villages, and farms to be set to the torch, murdering the innocents contained within, and offering the men, women, and children to rape and slaughter.”
Evelyn had known that the evils committed by Blackhart were long and deep, but the list seemed to go on forever.
“For Orrin Blackhart did cause to be raised and sent forth the odium against the High Barons, and caused wanton destruction of fields and farms, crops and livestock, to the detriment of the people and the Crown—”
Yet she’d seen something in those eyes, something beyond the darkness. She glanced at him again, standing there in chains, Darkness personified.
And yet . . .
Gloriana would pronounce sentence, and he’d be executed. They’d end the ceremony and the real work would begin. She’d return to the business before her, and her healing rounds among the poor. The Archbishop would probably corner her and suggest that her boon be used for the betterment of the Church. She’d—
Save him, a woman’s voice whispered in her ear.
Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes went wide. Her entire body seemed to vibrate to the sound of that voice, like a bell that had been rung. She glanced around, but no one was near her, and no one else seemed to have heard. All eyes were on the prisoner, listening to the list of charges.
Save him.
The voice was powerful and compelling, and echoed in Evelyn’s mind and heart. She’d never heard that voice, before, but she knew with all her heart who spoke. It could be no other than the Lady of Laughter.
For a heartbeat, she rejected the command. The man was guilty, he had done the things he was charged with . . . the anger of the Queen, the High Barons, the Council . . . the Archbishop . . . oh, especially the Archbishop. If she survived this, she’d be cleaning old, forsaken shrines for years.
There was no reason to do this, no reason to assume that the man could be redeemed, if that was even poss—
Save him. There was laughter behind the words now, but it was clearly a command. Evelyn shivered. Part of her trembled at what she was about to do.
Part of her remembered hazel eyes, and rejoiced.
As you will, Lady, Evelyn prayed silently as she moved forward.
ORRIN didn’t see the Priestess until she stood between him and the young Queen.
He’d been listening to the litany of his crimes, some of which he’d done, some of which he hadn’t. Which was which didn’t seem to matter. In for a copper, in for a gold. If there were Gods to be faced, he suspected their list would be more accurate.
But a swirl of white and gold robes brought him back, and he blinked as Evelyn stood there.
The Queen raised a hand, and the Lady Warder went silent. “Lady High Priestess Evelyn? What—”
“I wish to claim my boon, Your Majesty.”
Gloriana’s face filled with confusion. “This could not wait until—”
He watched as the Priestess drew a deep breath and interrupted again. “I claim this man, his horse, and his sword.” Her voice sounded odd as it spilled into the room.
And then he truly heard her words.
A storm erupted in his heart, and his chains rattled as he clenched his fists. The crowd was murmuring, and he could see the anger growing in their faces.
The Priestess stood still as the winds of shock and outrage swirled around her. Orrin could see the Queen’s confusion, the horror on the faces of the High Barons gathered around her. Evelyn stood unmoving, the quiet calm in the center of the storm.
“Lady High Priestess, do not do this.” Orrin kept his voice low, a bare whisper. “I am steeped in blood and death, and you waste your mercy on me.”
She’d heard him. Her head turned ever so slightly, and he saw the barest flash of her blue eyes. But her back straightened, and with a slight shift she once again faced the throne. This time, her voice rang through the silent room. “As my boon, I claim the life of Lord Orrin Blackhart of the Black Hills.”
NINE
“LORD no longer, if ever he was.” Gloriana had recovered her wits, and looked grim. “Condemned man, a creature of the darkest evil. Lady High Priestess Evelyn, I would urge you to withdraw your request. This man is a coldhearted killer, and—”
“The High Priestess has gone mad. Or been bewitched by Blackhart.” The Archbishop was turning purple and sputtering in his indignation.
A voice rose from the crowd, and the Lord High Mage Marlon moved forward, his eyes glowing with the light of a spell. “My daughter is not bewitched. Insanity, however, is still a possibility.”
Evelyn held her breath, suddenly afraid of what her father might do. With his powers, her father could kill Blackhart. And she and her father hadn’t agreed on anything since she’d entered the priesthood.
The glow left Marlon’s eyes, and he regarded her calmly, almost with . . . approval? He gave her a slow nod. Evelyn swallowed, and nodded in return before turning her attention back to the throne.
Certainly it seemed a day of miracles.
Gloriana looked confused. Evelyn was fairly sure that she also saw a bit of relief in her brown eyes. It had not been easy for her, knowing that she’d have to condemn a man to execution in the first moments of her reign. “Aunt Evie, are you certain? You have spoken before of starting a place of healing, of wishing for the land and the funds. Will you give up this dream for this man?”
Evelyn smiled at her. “My Queen, all I know is that the Goddess is not done with this man, and that she does not wish him dead. She has a use for him yet.”
The muttering of the crowd grew as the Queen considered the problem. The Archbishop was sputtering and mumbling, bending to whisper in her ear. Evelyn made a mental note to watch the man’s health. She’d already warned him about rich foods and his lack of exercise.
Blackhart was cursing, too, under his breath, and calling Evelyn all kinds of names. She was thankful that the man was still in chains, and that she was out of reach.
A sparkle caught her eye, and Evelyn looked down at the ring on her hand, blazing in the light, its star as bright as she had ever seen. It seemed to offer comfort, and she decided to take it as such, for no human face in the throne room offered any.
After what seemed an eternity, Queen Gloriana held up a hand and the room went silent. “I grant your reward, Lady High Priestess, but I do not pardon this man.” Gloriana focused on the man in chains. “Blackhart, you have your freedom. The nearest border is four days’ hard ride from here. I grant you asylum for that time. After that, if you are found within the borders of this kingdom, I will have you answer for your crimes. Am I heard?”
Evelyn turned her head just enough to see Blackhart nod.
Gloriana’s jaw worked, but she continued. “The border. My men will give you your sword and your horse.” She gestured to the guards. “See to it.”
Bethral moved to stand next to the foremost guard. “Come.” She gave Evelyn a hooded glance, and lowered her voice. “Through the kitchens.”
That was a relief. If they’d released him in front of the crowd, it was certain he wouldn’t make it out alive.
The guards pulled at the chains and Blackhart moved off, giving Evelyn a grim look. . . .
“Hold.”
Vembar stood there, leaning on his cane and looked at Blackhart, appraising him. “The Lady High Priestess Evelyn has won your life for you. Would you win a pardon as well?”
There was puzzled reaction from the nobles. Gloriana looked at Vembar, who leaned over and started to whisper in her ear. Gloriana held up a hand, and the noise in the room subsided. Vembar continued to speak, and Gloriana nodded at his words.
Blackhart looked in confusion at Evelyn, who shrugged.
Vembar straightened, and addressed the room. “The lands of the Black Hills are now infested with the foul undead that Elanore created. We’ve driven them into the hills and mountains, but Palins has no men to spare to pursue.” Vembar studied Blackhart’s face. “You know the lands and the people. Cleanse those lands, and the Queen will pardon you.”
Lord Fael of Summerford stepped from the crowd. “This man brought an army filled with undead against my people, killing innocent townsfolk or taking them for his own foul purposes. How can you—”
“Can you guard your borders and start to clear the monsters? Do you even know where to start?” Vembar asked quietly.
Lord Fael paused, considering. He puffed out a breath in frustration. “No. With the losses we’ve had, I’ll be pressed to guard my settlements and farms as it is.”
“We have a land to rebuild,” Vembar said simply. “We cannot waste anything. Including this man’s knowledge.”
White Star Page 6