It would be wasteful. Shameful. Inexcusable, to sacrifice the many for just one, and she would not.
She could make no other choice. So why then did she feel such pain?
Elzin's hand settled on her shoulder like a dove. "Please, I can't wait any longer. Are you going to come with me?"
"I can't," the girl choked out softly. "How can I choose between you and him? He is my father."
But to let Elzin go, to warn her of nothing…
Her choice had been made already. She was Kyr. She did not forget.
Elzin drew the hand away, her sad face a map of glistening black rivers. A damp, dark apron clung heavily to her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Already the first wet tendrils snaked out from her sodden boots to nose their blind way down the rough stone steps. So much blood.
Midnight would toll soon, the time when all spells must be renewed. Yet Elzin was far from her journey's end. The tunnel was long, the way treacherous. The Saire claimed she must play to live. If midnight caught her in the tunnel…
Perhaps her father need do nothing. Perhaps, in the end, the Saireflute would claim its own. And this one death, at least, would not be at his hands.
Unexpectedly, the Saire reached out and embraced her. An overwhelming attar, heavy and sweet, flooded her nostrils.
Blood. The Saire had covered her in it.
"Thank you, Castandra. Thank you for everything. Don't cry. I'll be back. You'll see."
The lantern's light descended, then vanished.
o0o
The last faint echoes of her footfalls faded. Elzin stared at her disloyal feet. The silence, no less than the tunnel walls, seemed to close about her like a tomb.
"Go on," Elzin urged. "Go on!"
Firmly rooted in her fear, her feet remained motionless as tree stumps. What if he'd guessed? What if he waited for her, even now?
Her free hand crept to her throat, remembering.
Caldan. He had always known just what to do.
Moon sets at dawn. Moon sets and so do you.
"I don't want to die."
Die, the darkness beyond her lantern whispered.
Maybe she ought to go back. She could push her way through the woods, skirt the city's fringes to amass a loyal crowd, and march right up to the gate.
She could, but he'd have thought of that and of some way to prevent her. He thought of everything, Caldan. And anyway, there was too little time.
If only she had planned! She might have sent the herb woman earlier with a note. Surely there was someone she could trust. Jenir. Jenir had loved her once. Loved her still, if she was any judge of men. No, Jenir would not have betrayed her.
She could have gone to him, if only she hadn't run. But then, she always ran. It was her first and strongest instinct. When her father had grown violent, she had run to Castle Sheldwinn. When she had discovered herself both Saire and pregnant, she had run all the way to Tarska to escape the queen. The night that Caldan had killed Heratinn and tried to murder her, it had been easy to find reasons to run again.
Not reasons, excuses.
"Elzin! Elzin!" The memory of shouting filled the empty darkness. Her people, not Caldan's. And she knew now how to rouse them. She need not have run at all.
If only she had not waited, had not used her child, her fatigue, her fear, as excuses in a vain hope for some sort of miraculous rescue, the kind that fell to maidens in all the bards' sweet songs.
Moon sets at dawn. Moon sets and so do you.
"Shut up!" she hissed through clenched jaws.
This wasn't fair! Wasn't she the Chosen, the most powerful Saire in centuries? Why hadn't the Flute rescued her? Why hadn't it whisked her to it, or itself to her? Why hadn't it just appeared, like that stupid necklace always had? If nothing else, she had been sure the necklace would return, in her mug, on her pillow, wedged in the boards of the herb woman's weathered old stoop, but somewhere, as it always had before, and that it would give her a clue as to which course to take. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. She was alone, with no one to guide her. Just as when her brother left her.
Just as when her brother had been murdered.
She understood now why Caldan had killed him, what he had hoped to gain. It had always been so much easier just to let someone else decide for her. Before, that someone had been Elzmere. Caldan had wanted to make sure there would be no one else to guide her, no one else but him.
Handsome Elzmere, with his golden curls, his broad, strong shoulders. If she stayed here, no one would ever know. No one would ever punish Caldan for his murder. These last few years, Elzmere had been everything to her: father, mother, friend. The least that she could do was try, this one time, on her own, for him and for the son who might never even know he was the child of a Saire.
Moon sets at dawn. Moon sets and so do you.
No, not me, thought Elzin. Not this time.
This time, it's his turn.
She stroked the smooth, wooden handle of the herb woman's final gift, mindful of the danger of its other end.
And then she began to set one foot before the next.
o0o
The dark walls seemed to give them birth; they emerged rather than were revealed. But it was only a trick of the light, a trick of her memory. This was not the mist, and they had already been here, waiting.
Though their tails slowly waved her a greeting, Dagger and Arrow slid away from her touch. She whispered their names, softly, so no echo repeated them. She stooped and presented her hands, coaxing as if she had tidbits to offer. But for every step she made towards them, they took another and circled away, wary, paws dancing on lamplight, deft between the bright, scattered jewels of her blood.
She sank to her knees. "Please. I don't want to go alone."
They stood at the edge of the circle of light, twin sculptures, watching, their eyes other jewels in their fine, chiseled heads.
Elzin rose and took the lantern, knowing for sure now he waited, knowing for certain what he would do. Still, she continued on the path she had chosen, and to her comfort, two shadows now followed two paces behind.
Her hands trembled as she set the lantern in the niche beside the hidden door. Lifting the glass, she blew out the flame.
She cringed as the darkness pounced on her like a cutthroat. Behind her, something stirred, and suddenly she realized that Caldan might have been waiting for this all along, for her to be in the dark, in the tunnel, where she could scream and scream and no one would ever hear.
Her hands flailed desperately for the latch as in panic she threw all her weight sideways against where the door should be. It had to give, it had to, and then her hand struck something and the stone wall spun on its axis. With the tapestry pulled back there was nothing to impede her, and she spilled, twisting backwards, into the light.
Her eyes opened, and he was waiting, just as she had known he would be. But there the fulfillment of her expectations ended. Many times she had imagined their final confrontation, and in those imaginings, Caldan had worn many faces, many shades of hatred, triumph, or glee. Sometimes the goddess was with her, and she could imagine his awe; better still, his fear. But not this. Never this.
Not grief. Not pain.
"Elzin." His voice was as she remembered it, deep, yet quiet, its music sorcery that for her had once rivaled the Flute's.
"Elzin," he said.
o0o
Dagger and Arrow stepped daintily over her, then sat by the door and waited. He wondered, for a moment only, how they had confused his orders, why they had not rushed directly here to warn him that the tunnels had been entered.
It would have been best, to finish it in the tunnels, quickly, without ever having to see her face. It was dangerous to have her here, to feel this way. Dangerous.
He could not help himself. He knelt behind her head.
"I never wanted to hurt you."
Dark red tears swelled, then rolled sluggish trails to her temples. Everywhere, blood leaked from her as if her insi
des had been crushed. He could not imagine how she had made it through the tunnels. He did not know how she found the strength for speech. "I lost my baby, Caldan." Her voice was the soft sough of wind, dying among branches of pine. "He's dead. You killed him, too."
He bowed his neck. So many innocent dead. Let her be the last…
"You will never understand, and I dare not hope you will forgive."
A cough, more a feeble sigh, lifted fresh blood to the corners of her mouth. "Caldan." Her lips moved, and he bent closer, just a little “Can you… hear me? …tell you… tell…"
He hesitated, and in that stillness, the castle clock tolled the passing of one day, and the beginning of another. Midnight, when all spells must be renewed. He felt now the ache of his knees against the unyielding tile floor, and he slipped both hands down to tenderly lift the back of her skull from the hard surface. Never had he seen one of them lose so much blood and live.
"Elzin. I could spare you further pain. You need only ask."
Her face contorted with effort. Her lips formed words, but he could not hear. He leaned far over her, awkwardly overbalanced, his weight on the back of the upturned hands that gently cradled her head.
She sprung like a trap, wrenching him to her. Something sharp and hot bit into his throat.
He teetered there, balanced upright only by the grace of the blade. He felt no weakness in Elzin now. The grip on his collar was firm and sure.
"So much as flinch," she said, "and I'll open your throat like a boil."
He did not move. Instead, he asked softly, "How? Saire's day is passed."
She laughed once, without humor. "Telriss is the goddess of the moon, Caldan. What makes you think she measures her days by the sun?"
"And Dagger and Arrow are the twins of Chahiri's prophecy," he mused. There were signs. I should have guessed. Their coming back with her changed them somehow.
Chahiri, I have thrown away your life--
The blade slid deeper, and the first scattered drops of his blood rose to a hot patter.
"Shut up."
He could not hope to be quick enough, but he must try--
"I want you to send your dogs for Castandra."
Castandra! "Elzin, she is innocent. She knew nothing--"
"She knows everything! She knows what you are! Killer! Murderer! Castandra has been with me! She's waiting now at the end of the tunnel, and you're going to send for her." She punctuated her order with yet another jab of the knife. "Right now!"
A few murmured words sent the hounds on their way. He sent them gladly. Castandra might wait, but Elzin had guessed wrong as to why. She thought she knew his daughter, but she did not know her well enough.
Elzin would kill him. But Castandra would finish the Saire.
So the lovers, Saire and King, would both disappear--how poetic. And in his absence, Castandra would inherit the throne. One of their own would govern Lhant. Victory anyway. Victory at last.
Yes, Castandra had hesitated at times, she had erred, but ultimately, he knew her heart. And it was Kyr.
o0o
The minutes passed like hours. Days. The backs of his hands ached sharply where they pressed against the hard tile, and his blood was a warm and steady rain against its surface. The room had cooled, or he had. Nausea kneaded his stomach in its greasy hands. Grown too heavy to lift, his head hung, and more than anything else it was the knife that held him up. The blade burrowed greedily, its appetite insatiable.
Oh, he was tired.
He wanted to close his eyes, but he feared he would close them forever. And then, he would not know.
o0o
"Your Majesty!"
Panicked by the pounding on the door, Elzin nearly yanked the highlander onto the blade.
"Your Majesty," the knocker entreated. "She has not returned, neither to the temple nor the Keep. The clock has tolled. Has she, has the Saire--?"
"Jenir?"
"Who answers for the king?"
"Jenir!" She screamed his name in fear and exultation. "Thank the Goddess! It's me! Saire Elzin! Help me! Hurry!"
Jenir's answering shout was muffled, as if he had turned away.
"No! Don't go!" she pleaded. The door shuddered once, twice, then the siege bar shattered to kindling. The door burst inward with the smash of fallen crockery and the heavy scuffle of booted feet.
"What's happened here?"
"The Saire!"
"Thank the gods!"
"Help me, Jenir! Help me! He tried to kill me!"
Suddenly, Caldan was no longer above her. She rolled away and scrabbled to her feet to face him, a torn and crumpled remnant of black cloth still clutched in one clenched fist.
Two elite held him pinioned, and she counted a good half a dozen swords at his throat and back. Yet she could not still the quaking of her body. Calm, black eyes stared back at her own, remorseless now as a shark's.
Ableman took her elbow gently. "Great Lady--"
"No! Quiet! All of you--be quiet!" She closed her eyes, concentrated. And sensed… nothing.
"Why can't I feel it?" she wailed.
"Great Lady, a physician--"
"Sea snakes take the physicians! They can't help me now!" She grasped the nearest drawer and yanked it open, pawing frantically through the contents. Sprinting to her bedside, she seized the small silver box she had taken from the treasure room to hold her necklace. Palsy made her fingers clumsy. The latch dropped closed twice before she wrenched the lid with such force the hinges twisted asunder.
"Empty!" she shrieked, hurling the box to the floor. "It's gone! And you," blood spattered from her hair as she whirled on the Tarskan, "you took it! You took them both!"
"I did," he admitted matter-of-factly.
"Telriss curse you, murderer!" Not one elite checked her advance, and in three strides she once again had the knife at his throat.
"Where are they?" she hissed.
How she hated him for his eerie calm. He did not so much as flinch. "I will never tell you."
"He means it," said a new voice at her back. "He never will."
"Castandra!"
"Take her!" Ableman ordered.
"No! Leave her alone." Vision swimming with scarlet tears, Elzin withdrew her blade. "She saved my life. You did, Castandra. Please, help me again. Think of my son. Think of Venwinn. Please, I'm dying, Castandra!"
Strain pulled the sorceress's white skin even tighter across her high cheekbones, and her eyes wore the fierce and frightened look of a wild thing cornered.
She turned to him. "Father, please--"
"Mine were the only hands upon it. I have nothing more to say."
"I'll have him saying something," snarled Jenir. "Ten minutes, Great Lady, and I'll--"
"You'll waste your time!" snapped the sorceress. "You waste it now! Elzin, we must search." The girl's eyes caught her father's, flicked away. "We'll use my hounds."
"What about this one?" asked Ableman.
"Put him somewhere he can't hurt anybody,” said the Saire. “It's his lies that are the worst; all his lies… Let him have nothing more to say! If he speaks again, kill him."
"Elzin!" Grief and fury twisted the sorceress's features, then surrendered to resignation. "Time is short. We'll start here: just you and me, and no distractions."
"Great Lady--"
"You heard her," said Elzin. "Please go."
"You must not be left unprotected with the spawn of that--"
"Get out, Captain Ableman! All of you! I order it! Go away. Leave us alone."
o0o
"Roses on gold," said Castandra. Her voice was quiet and even, as had been her hand on the closing door. Gentleness was called for now. On the other side the elite waited; with the siege bar smashed to so much kindling, she could not keep them out. And she did not want them in.
"What?" said Elzin.
"Your blood makes roses on the gold upholstery."
Distracted, the Saire dropped her gaze to the divan, and Castandra stooped unseen to re
trieve a torn shred of black cloth. Very cunning, my father. I understand what you would have me do. She offered the cloth to Talisman's sensitive nose.
'Mine were the only hands upon it.'
The courser waved her tail.
"I've really come pretty far, haven't I, Castandra?" said the Saire. Her fingernails worked restlessly at the rare metal threads as if she would unravel them. "I mean, I've been all across Lhant. I've made it through just about everything--the Queen, a war. I had my baby in a swamp. I made it all the way back here. I even stopped Caldan. It just doesn't seem fair that now," she paused to swipe away the blood that welled beneath her nose, "that now, I mean, it's over, isn't it? Just like that. He won't tell me where the Flute is, Castandra. You're right--he really won't. He’ll die first; I'll die, too."
The dark remnant disappeared into Castandra's pocket. "Elzin, you must trust me. I will not let you die." The coursers wound themselves anxiously about her skirts, awaiting her word.
"Seek," she said.
o0o
He had probably planned to hide it forever. But not yet, not until Saire's day had ended and the Flute's chosen had been destroyed. Still, it would be hidden well, if close to hand. Accessible, yet in a place where no search, casual or otherwise, would be likely to reveal it. She would wager it was right here, in the room. In fact, with time so short, it could be said she had.
"No," said Castandra. Talisman cocked her head at the doorway through which the king of Lhant had been propelled at sword point. Scraping the door gently, the courser tried once more to underscore her choice as to the direction of her quarry, but at Castandra's gentle reprimand and the command "resume", Talisman then tasted the air and trotted to the unused bed, sorceress at her heels.
The hound began to nose something on the bedcovers.
The Saire half stood. "Did she find--?"
"No. Not the Flute. Something else."
Something very close, thought the sorceress. We seek a lowland weapon, and Talisman has found one for us. Not that ancient weapon, the Saireflute, but another. A different weapon of your kind. A sword.
The Night Holds the Moon Page 44