‘My Lord, you must not indulge in the luxury of despair. Your people need you. Orla, continue.’
Orla swallowed. Had Aderon just corrected the King? Surely that was an executable offence?
She closed her eyes once more and reached out.
What she encountered was still dark and cold and full of empty rage, but something had changed. He had contained himself. He had reconfigured himself, so that what she met now was not inchoate anger but a mind, recognisable. Tired and faded but strong.
Tell Aderon that I hate this bloody view
Orla smiled.
‘The King would prefer a seat at a different window,’ she said.
‘That can be arranged,’ Aderon said. ‘Continue.’
They bring me no news. They think I am feeble and do not wish to burden me with it. But I want to know. I must know. I must know what befalls my people. I command weekly updates, at a minimum. Aderon may speak for me, you may Read and Estredik (Orla caught an image of the man along with the name: it was the toad-man, Council Chair) may report. This I command. Tell him.
Orla repeated, as closely as she could, what the King had communicated to her. The throbbing in her skull was becoming stronger, fiercer. She pushed it away.
‘That will be done,’ Aderon bowed his head. ‘The Council will not like it.’
The Council be damned
The thought was so forceful that Orla started in her seat.
‘Um, the King is not concerned whether the Council likes it or not,’ she said, paraphrasing as diplomatically as she was able.
‘I am sure those were not the words he used,’ Aderon said. ‘But I trust the intent is correctly rendered.’
There was a grunt and a jerk. The King’s assent, Orla guessed.
Stare all you like girl, I would too if I were you. This is your King, dribbling like an old dog. Better they should have killed me.
‘Don’t say that,’ Orla said quickly, without thinking to whom she spoke. Then she swallowed. She waited for his anger.
Don’t bother, I know it’s the truth. I am damned by all the Gods from here to the other side of the Turmoil. But so be it. Ants carry weights many times greater than their own bodies and they are only insects. This is my burden. I’m damned if I’ll go easily to the Gods after all they’ve put me through.
Orla caught Aderon watching her face as though trying to read for himself the King’s thoughts reflected there.
‘He is… angry, but determined,’ she said, and heard the King make a noise, a kind of choking in his throat.
‘I believe you just made him laugh,’ Aderon said. ‘For the first time in approximately seven years. You must have some skill with words, my lady.’
Orla blushed.
‘I just… there are some things that the King may say that I may not. I phrase them as best I can.’
‘A natural diplomat, is she not?’ Aderon said, looking to the King this time. ‘Continue, my lady.’
The pain behind her temples was increasing. It began to sing, a noise that filled her skull, buzzed behind her eyes. She felt sick. She felt hot and cold and dizzy all at once. She leaned a hand on the side of the stool to steady herself.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t feel well,’ she said.
‘You don’t look well,’ Aderon examined her closely.
Oh Gods, she was going to vomit. Her first meeting with the King and she would disgrace herself beyond repair.
‘Please, I think I have to stop.’
She sensed, through the haze of pain, the King’s awareness of her. It was hard for him to see her properly, he had trouble turning his head and focusing his gaze, but she still sensed the razor-sharp touch of his attention on her.
Is it the Reading that does it to you, child?
She gathered herself and shook her head. ‘I’m just tired, my Lord. It will pass.’
Do you have everything you need?
‘My needs are being provided for,’ she said quickly, looking at the ground. She could feel Aderon’s gaze burning into the back of her neck. He could only hear her half of the conversation, she realised. It must be infuriating, after years of being unable to communicate with his King, to be so close but not able to hear the King’s true voice, except through her.
You shall come back. Soon. Tomorrow. Tell the Council I command it.
She restrained the shudder that passed through her. She turned to Aderon.
‘The King wishes that I return tomorrow. Please inform the Council that this is his command.’
Aderon bowed. ‘Gladly. Now I think you both should rest.’
Go. Forget me. This is not your King, this is just a husk, to be blown by the wind and eaten by crows.
‘I will be back tomorrow,’ she said evenly.
Chapter thirty-three
It was almost worth everything she had been through to see the look of fury on Genevieve’s face when Aderon addressed the Council.
‘But this is outrageous,’ a silver-haired man declared and began to stand. He looked ready to continue the sentiment, but Aderon pinned him with a glance and he sputtered and lowered himself back into his seat.
‘This,’ Aderon declared, the accent of his voice adding emphasis to the word, ‘is the command of the King.’
She saw on the faces of a few a look of shock. But others, such as Galed and Estredik, as she now knew toad-man was named, seemed relieved, as though the burden of decision and responsibility had been taken from their shoulders; as if this were the outcome they had been hoping for all along.
Aderon left before the Council meeting concluded. Roland bid Orla to stay, and they sat and listened as discussions moved on from the King’s pronouncements.
Also sitting, observing proceedings, were a number of the Uruhenshi delegation, their faces unreadable, hands clasped on their laps.
The launch of the vessel the day before had been a successful occasion, or so it seemed from the accounts that Councillors provided of it. Orla knew that Shiiaan had been invited to travel on it. She’d seen her racing excitedly through the hallways, saying her last goodbyes with her usual wild enthusiasm.
Orla tried to listen as a Councillor from Tev spoke at length of the high hopes the Sond held for continuing good relations with the Uruhenshi, and Estredik briefly set out the timetable for construction of the second vessel. It was an effort to follow the speeches. She found her mind wandering. She had slept deeply after her meeting with the King but she still felt drained and vague, as though she were suffering the lingering effects of an illness. It was hard to listen, to take in the words that were uttered. All her energy was required to contain her mind, to keep it from straying to the thoughts of those around her. She may have received an invitation from the King, but she was still bound by the terms of the edict. If she was found to have used her power in breach of those terms, the punishment would be merciless. And aside from that, she needed to save herself for her meeting that afternoon. The reading seemed to be taking a greater and greater toll on her. She did not know how she would continue, if the King wished to meet with her every day. She would need some excuse…
She was surprised by Roland placing a hand on her arm. The Council had concluded and the Councillors were leaving, trailed by their assistants, young, serious-faced men and women carrying the piles of leather-bound volumes and parchments that had guided their discussions. Orla thought of Merryn for a moment. This was a future she had imagined for her. It could have happened too, if she hadn’t… Tears stung.
‘We may go,’ Roland said. ‘Unless you’d like to stay and admire the tapestry.’
‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’
‘As I can see,’ Roland replied sternly, though with the usual spark of kindness in his voice. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to be bored to stupefaction by the deliberations of our honourable Councillors.’
They walked down the corridor then climbed the stairs and turned down another corridor, then another, before reaching the turning that led to her chamber. Orla was surprised
to realise that she knew exactly where she was. She recognised the turnings, knew the paintings on the walls. She knew the view from each of the windows that lined the corridor like parapets on a battlement. This place that had been so strange, so completely overwhelming and confusing to her not long ago, was becoming familiar.
‘Are you prepared for your appointment this afternoon?’
She nodded.
‘I have asked Aderon to collect you from your chamber. I will unfortunately be otherwise occupied.’
‘What will you be doing?’ she asked, innocently. Roland had been away more and more frequently in recent weeks.
‘Oh you know, this and that. Card games mostly. If my run of luck continues I shall win a small fortune from Lestris li-Vaturi.’
He opened her chamber door and paused to allow her to enter, nodding to the guards seated on either side. She may have the King’s agreement to begin her work as Reader, but the terms of the edict were otherwise unchanged. She thought of Ged a moment, and any remnant of brightness seemed gone from the day.
Roland poured himself a drink and sat down in his usual seat. ‘So how did the King seem to you?’
‘Why even ask? You must know how he is.’
‘I know how he appears,’ Roland corrected her. ‘Nobody has known truly how he is for some time now. I have hoped. I have wondered. But I have not known.’
‘He is frustrated and angry,’ she said. ‘And bored.’
‘His mind has not suffered the wreckage that has become of his body, then?’
‘His mind is strong.’
Roland sighed. ‘I had hoped so. For all our sakes. But I had never been sure. I mean, how could we know? The fact that news of his illness hasn’t spread is only due to the most stringent efforts of Aderon and the Council, though their motives have been entirely divergent. The rituals of the Uruhenshi have helped too, of course. Better to say we have a King who is undertaking the brekh than that we are ruled by an invalid.’
Orla had heard that rumour, that the King had so faithfully adopted the precepts of the Uruhenshi that he had committed to an extended period of silence in order to cleanse his past sins.
‘What do you think will happen now?’ she began. ‘The Council surely will not like to lose the control that they have gained…’
‘The Council are divided. That is nothing new. Since the loss of Aturi there has been no certainty, no stability. And now this business with the ships...’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘But that is not for you to worry about. Your duty is clear. You will do it, I have no doubt. The rest is of no matter.’
Orla frowned. Kynan had promised her that helping the King would be helping avenge her sister’s death, but she didn’t now see how that could happen. The King was broken. Still a king, yes, but damaged beyond recognition. He would not have the strength, even if he had the intent, to push the Uruhenshi from their shores, to take back control of the destiny of the Sond, to end this nightmare power of the Brethren. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps the only way she could avenge Merryn would be to act herself against the one who had wronged her.
But then she thought of the Palace halls, filled with dark-robed Brethren. Kill one and another would just take their place, she knew. It would make no difference. And there would always be more Penitents and there would always be more suffering. Unless they were gone. All of them. The only hope was to clear them from the Seven Isles altogether. Anything less was just rearranging the cutlery, as her Amma used to say.
‘It appears that while we were attending the Council you have had a visitor,’ Roland passed her a scroll. ‘I almost sat on it. I fear they overestimate your ability in Khuri.’
‘I can read,’ she said stiffly. ‘Ged taught me.’
She took the scroll and sensed it as she touched the paper. Her guess was right: it was from Ged. It happened to her, very rarely, that objects carried resonances of those who had been in contact with them. Usually it was only with her sister, or Din, or Joseph, and all she’d get was glimpses: a mood, an image, the fading after-shape of a thought. And only when they’d touched them very recently. She looked around the room. How had he delivered it, if they were banned from contact with one another? One of the guards must have allowed it in.
‘There is nothing in the edict banning Ged from writing to me, is there?’ she asked Roland.
‘I understand you are a great scholar of High Khuri. As such I would think you could answer that question better than I can.’
He was teasing, she knew, but it irritated her.
‘Leave me,’ she said.
‘Be careful,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Even if it is not forbidden, Ged is risking much contacting you. He has lived his life within these walls, but still he is like a child in many ways.’
‘He’s not stupid,’ she said fiercely.
‘I did not say that he was. He has a unique gift. To be surrounded by such cruelty and remain so entirely innocent is extraordinary. It is also a great danger, to both of you.’
‘May Ishkarin give you a good run of cards,’ she said. ‘Close the door as you leave.’
Roland sighed, then bowed, and then left.
Chapter thirty-four
Orla sat on the bed. Her heart was racing. It was just a scroll, just words on paper. She had lived most of her life without being able to understand these marks, which still looked to her like the scratchings birds make as they scavenge for food on the muddy riverbank. Why should they matter to her now? Still, she found her hands were shaking as she unrolled the parchment.
Despite what she’d said to Roland, she was worried she would not be able to read it. For a moment, the shapes swam in front of her eyes, drifting randomly. Then, it was as though something shifted within her, and she saw words.
‘Thank you, Ged,’ she whispered.
She ran her finger over each letter, reading it out loud, forming the sounds into words, then determining the translation from High Khuri to Kesonda, the common language spoken by all the Seven Isles.
Orla, she read.
I hope that this interruption will not prevent you from continuing your studies. To help, I am transcribing a poem by the great scribe of the third Kal, Rechintarandas.
(She read over the name twice, to make sure she wasn’t adding a syllable or two that weren’t really there.)
It was originally written in Korali. It is brief, as was our time together, but worthy of careful study.
I bow before you
Gederen
Then, below, in careful scripting:
In the shadow of Ekan-Bulragi
All dreams sleep
Except one:
Of a bird flying
Above the smoke
White as cloud.
Orla read it over slowly once, and then a second time. She had heard of Ekan-Buralgi, of course. The great mountain on the island of Koralis that spewed fire and ash to herald in the new Kal, the darkness that would bring an era of chaos and disaster, but also fertility and growth to the Seven Isles; the start of the legendary Darkfall that returns magic to the world, and everything, good and terrible, that comes with it. But why would Ged send her this poem? What did it mean?
Perhaps it was just his way of encouraging her to continue her studies, she thought, suddenly disheartened. He loved learning. She read over it once more, searching for something she had missed, some clue, then with a sigh she rolled it back up and slid it into the top drawer beside the edict.
She knew she should rest to prepare herself to meet the King this afternoon. The pain in her head was almost gone now, but the thought of reading again, so soon, and now that the King had time to ready himself for it, to save up all the things he wished to communicate that he’d been unable to say this past year… She didn’t know how she would do it.
Orla let her hair down. The tight binding that held it in place added to the constant feeling of strain in her temples. Then she poured herself a glass of the amber liquid that was always kept replenished on h
er bedside table. The Vaturi called it ‘hraken’. Mishi had informed her it had many beneficial and medicinal qualities: it was a calmative, improved digestion, cleared the mind, gave a glow to the skin and hair. Orla wasn’t sure that she believed it, but it was refreshing, and had a sweet tanginess that she had come to like. She filled the glass up and put the stopper back on the carafe. She was about to drink when some sense cautioned her to pause. There, on the side of the jug, was a suggestion of white sediment. The surface of the liquid frothed very slightly.
It was probably nothing, she thought, but her recent experience with the rekheyni had left her anxious.
Joseph had taught her how to test whether an unidentified plant was poisonous. The test involved increasing levels of exposure, first to the skin, then to the lips, before finally ingesting a tiny portion. Between each experiment you waited to see whether there was any tingling, swelling, redness, or numbness. Orla looked at the liquid. The difference between a plant you might find growing in a field or in the forest and what could have been put into her drink was a matter of concentration. Prepared poison could be many times more powerful than any natural thing. It is a substance designed for a single purpose: to kill.
She thought, for a moment, about opening the window and pouring the liquid out, asking Mishi to bring her a fresh carafe. She trusted Mishi completely. But if she did that she wouldn’t know if she was right, or just paranoid.
Then she thought of the cats that hung around the kitchen hopeful of scraps. One of them was an ugly old thing, blind in one eye, limping, shedding chunks of fur. Its nose continually streamed with liquid and it often made a hacking noise in its throat, like a kind of cough. She decided before she allowed herself to think it through. If she thought about it she wouldn’t do it, and that would be a mistake.
She took her cloak from where it hung on the stand and pulled it around herself. It wasn’t a particularly cold day, but the halls of the Palace were always cool, so she wouldn’t look too out of place. She stepped out purposefully, nodding to the guards who sat either side of her doorway, a golden-haired woman and an older man, a new pair who she’d never seen before, and then made her way down to the kitchen. Thankfully nobody was around. She didn’t want to have to explain what she was doing or why. She didn’t want anyone to try to stop her.
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