They were due today. Orla knew everything had been readied for their arrival. Chambers had been made, the Small Hall had been prepared. The Council had been informed eventually, of course. A visit by the Uruhenshi High Command was not the sort of thing that could be kept secret. And now everybody waited.
She had been staring at the shapes of the letters on the page, seeing objects in them, houses and fire and carts and brooms, when she’d sensed a sudden shift in the feeling of the Palace. It happened sometimes. This was a place where news and rumours travelled at the speed of an in-taken breath. She sensed the emotion without even intending to. A rise in expectation, anxiety, curiosity, spreading through the hundreds of minds around her – it was like a scent of burning on the air. She couldn’t miss it.
She put the book down and stood, made as if to stretch, and looked once more out of the window. And then she saw them: rows of horsemen approaching. This looked less like the High Command, and more like the entire Uruhenshi army, she thought. She guessed they placed less trust in the binding ties of friendship set in place by the Treaty than the King did.
The horses were like none she’d seen before; they were tall, black, with vivid red ribbons plaited into their manes and tails that looked like flames as they flickered and moved in the wind. They seemed to step in unison. The soldiers wore full battle gear, with helmets shining and spears resting on their shoulders, the symbol of the Watching Eye bright on their chests. Row after row of them crested the rise before the Palace.
Did the King know the High Command would travel in such style? Would they have enough to feed the men and the horses, were there enough beds and stables? Orla would never have wondered at such things before, but her time with the King had made her very aware that much of the work of ruling a Kingdom was taken up with such practical reckonings.
‘Spectacular, isn’t it.’
Orla jumped. Roland stood behind her, arms crossed. He wasn’t wearing his usual grey robe, but was dressed in what she guessed must be his formal outfit: a deep sea-blue with patterning of gold embroidery. It caught the blue of his eyes, so for the first time she saw that he had a regal aspect to him, the look of one who might be placed in command.
‘I was just up here doing some study,’ Orla said quickly.
Roland squinted at the books before her. ‘Ah yes, Gerushi Verbs. You never know when they’ll come in handy, do you?’
Orla blushed. ‘I like the library, it’s peaceful. Nobody comes and bothers me here.’
‘I take the hint. I just thought I’d see if you wished to join us for the ceremonial welcoming. It will be tremendously dull - these things always are - but it is the first time the High Command has set foot within Kir-Enkerelan, so somewhat of a historic occasion.’
Orla felt a sudden rush of nausea.
He would be there. After so long imagining it, she would finally see him, face to face.
‘You don’t have to, of course, if you’re really engaged with your studies…’
She felt dizzy, weak.
‘No. I’ll come,’ she said.
✤
Music filled the hall, a melancholy tune that Orla had not heard before. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the rising flow of expectation and curiosity and anxiety and boredom around her. She hated crowds; they left her feeling pummelled and exhausted. She focused on the music, tried to let herself hear and feel nothing else. And then the tune faltered, the voices rose in sudden whispers then stilled to silence. There was no sound but the sound of footsteps, a kind of rhythmic drumming. She opened her eyes.
Where was he?
The crowd parted to create a walkway through the centre of the hall and a row of soldiers, not carrying spears now but still glinting with armour and swords, entered. Orla felt a collective shiver of horror. Uruhenshi soldiers in the Summer Palace? The silence became heavy, leaden. Then, behind the soldiers, six figures, faces scarred with the formal criss-cross of the High Brethren, cloaked in black, vivid yellow symbols of the Watching Eye on their chests. Orla scanned them carefully but did not see the one she looked for.
Behind them, a larger group, dressed in grey. Her skin prickled. She sensed him immediately, even among so many people, even with so much excitement and so many thoughts filling her mind. And then she saw him. She had prepared herself for this moment but still she felt her legs growing weak, a flash of cold then searing heat burning her face, a black dizziness threatening the edges of her sight.
No. She had to stay clear, focused, calm.
And then she saw. Beside Piroxi. She took an involuntary breath. She couldn’t believe it. Kendrid. What was he doing there? He was nobody, an unimportant cleric to a poor neighbourhood. He had never shown any interest in power or influence or politics. What was he doing with Piroxi?
He would recognise her, she realised. There was no doubt. And her plan would be ruined.
As the music began again, a harsh, military sounding tune with a repetitive, thudding drum beat, Orla ducked her head, whispered an apology to Roland, and turned to leave.
‘Wait,’ he said, taking hold of her arm. And suddenly there was a dramatic shift, something stronger than even when the High Command had entered, a sense of uncertainty that warped into horror. Orla looked up. On the dais at the far end of the hall two guards were bent over carrying something. She saw Aderon walking at their side. They were carrying a man slumped in a chair. The King.
Orla felt the sudden flurry of thought enveloping the room like a swarm of bees filling the air. There had been rumours, of course, but there were always rumours and many had not believed them. To actually see him like this, damaged, not even able to stand… The woman beside Orla shook her head, slack-jawed.
‘I hope he has not overplayed…’ Roland murmured.
The guards set the chair down in the centre of the dais and there was a sudden low drum-roll. The whispers ceased and a kind of desperate waiting began. Aderon stepped forward.
‘As Voice of the King, I welcome the Uruhenshi High Command. Their presence here is a signal of the strength of the promise that binds us.’
He paused, and the musicians played a short, ringing melody.
‘As you see, the King’s body has been weakened by a recent illness, but his mind and spirit are strong. He is determined as ever to serve the people of the Seven Isles.’
He paused again. There was silence in the hall.
‘I invite the High Commander to join his Lordship, and receive a token of our appreciation and welcome.’
To his credit, the High Commander made no reaction but stood, bowed low as was proper, and slowly mounted the steps to join Aderon and the King. He bowed once more, then slowly bent one knee.
‘The King has asked that you accept this medallion as a symbol of our welcome and the bonds of our friendship. It bears the King’s own seal.’
Aderon raised his arms high and lowered a chain around the neck of the High Commander. A medallion glinted gold under the flickering lamplight. There was a sudden intake of breath. This was a gift that indicated trust beyond what was written into the Treaty, a depth of alliance that had never before been offered to any from outside the Kingdom.
The High Commander stood.
‘If I may but say a few words in response,’ his voice rang out, rich and true, his accent so slight as to be almost unnoticeable.
Aderon nodded to indicate the King’s approval.
‘The Uruhenshi have long looked on the Seven Isles with the concern of an elder brother for a younger. We saw you misled, betrayed, abused by those with no feeling or concern for your ways. It was a dream long-awaited when we were able finally to help you overcome your oppressors. But now, I say this. I have walked the streets of Ekenshi and Tok and Tev. I have seen them amongst you still. The Dryuk. Who knows what information they are sending through secret channels to their armies, waiting on the island of Aturi? Who knows what plans have been made?’
Orla thought of Din. As if he were sending information or p
lotting to overthrow the Seven Isles! He was Dryuk, but he’d been born on Ekenshi, like everyone else she knew, and he knew no other life. And he’d been killed for nothing more than the accident of his birth. She gritted her teeth as the High Commander continued to speak.
‘When you will rise up and cry: no more? The scourge of the Dryuk must be forever cast from the shores of Sondaria. They rally their troops on what was once your sister-isle. The Uruhenshi stand ready, we wait only your word, to crush the illness before it is able to grow and spread…’
Orla felt stirrings all around her. A ripple of applause passed through the room. She looked to Roland, alarmed, but could read nothing from his face. Surely this was not the King’s intention, to allow the High Commander to show up his weakness before his own Court?
‘I shall say no more, as this is best a matter for discussion between your King and myself, but know that we stand with you, now and at any future time of need…’
The applause grew louder.
‘Well that was not so boring as I expected,’ Roland said quietly. ‘Now might be the time to leave,’ and he stood, took Orla’s hand, and she followed him through the crowd, feeling dizzy as waves of excitement washed over her, and then out past stolid-faced guards to the emptiness of the corridor beyond.
Chapter forty-three
She hadn’t been into this section of the Palace since the first day she’d arrived. The ceilings were lower, the walls patched with old and new paint, the floor was clean but bare and worn by the constant pacing of feet.
The woman she’d asked directions had glared at her with undisguised enmity. Orla understood. She wasn’t welcome in the servant’s quarters. She had no place here. But she didn’t care. She had to find Mishi.
She counted the doors, five, six, seven, and stopped at the eighth hoping she hadn’t mixed herself up somewhere along the way. They all looked the same.
She took a breath, then knocked quietly. A moment later, the door swung open and a round-cheeked golden-haired girl answered.
‘Yes, my lady?’ the girl said curiously, though with none of the forbidding of the older woman.
‘Um… I’m looking for Mishi,’ Orla said awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry. I thought this was her room.’
‘You’ve got the right door,’ the girl said, ‘I’ll call her up for you.’ And the door closed and she heard a yelling ‘Mish!’ and an answering question in reply.
A moment later, the door opened again. Mishi saw her and breathed an audible sigh. ‘Ah Orla, I didn’t know who it was going to be. Thought I might be in trouble. But what’s the matter?’
‘You know how early on I said I would never let you do me up like one of the Court women, and you tried and tried to convince me and I refused?’
Mishi nodded, and Orla could see the smile just restrained on her lips.
‘Well I’ve changed my mind. I’m sorry. I was stubborn. I was just… I didn’t want to lose myself, you know. But I would like you to.’
‘Certainly, Orla.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Um, I’d like you to do it now.’
‘Now?’
‘I’m sorry, I know I should have asked sooner. There’s a banquet this afternoon for the Uruhenshi delegation that I have to attend and I… I just feel I should look the part. You understand?’
Mishi allowed the smile to bloom. ‘Of course, Orla. I’ll get my things. I can meet you back in your chamber if you like?’
‘Thank you,’ Orla breathed.
✤
Mishi was as good as her word. Only ten minutes later Orla was sitting before the mirror gritting her teeth as Mishi used the special wire comb that she’d heated over the fire to twist and then bind Orla’s hair in a series of tiny loops. At first it burned and stung painfully, but after a while her scalp seemed to have become numb, and the pulling began to feel almost relaxing.
‘You’re doing well,’ Mishi said encouragingly. ‘I remember my first time when Mam set my hair. I didn’t sit as still as you are, that’s for sure. Got boxed for cussing I did…’
Orla smiled. She couldn’t imagine Mishi cussing in any universe.
‘So, did you see them?’ Mishi asked.
‘See who?’
‘The High Command. Preyna said he gave quite a speech.’
Orla breathed in through her nose. ‘Oh, sorry,’ Mishi said, assuming it was the comb catching on Orla’s hair that caused the sudden discomfort.
‘He spoke,’ Orla said evenly.
‘And the King…’ Mishi breathed. ‘I can hardly believe it. Did you know, Orla?’
‘The ailment is of his body not his mind. His faculties are not impaired.’
‘Faculties are one thing. But he cannot walk Orla. He cannot even sit up straight. He cannot hold a sword. How can he protect us and guide us when he probably cannot even use the pot without assistance?’ She blushed suddenly, as though only just realising what she had said and who she’d said it to. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s okay, I’m sure it’s what most people are thinking.’
Orla leaned back and Mishi continued, pulling her hair into long finely woven threads, twirling it tightly, pressing the comb to set it, and then binding it with a tiny jewelled pin.
‘How long does this usually take?’ Orla asked, wondering whether she’d even be ready by the afternoon.
‘Hair will be done in an hour or so, face will take a little longer.’
She wondered, as she watched Mishi work, whether the King had outplayed his hand. It must be a temptation for those in power to over-estimate the degree of loyalty people held for them, to assume a love unchanged by circumstance. From what Roland had told her, the King had been deeply loved and had inspired great loyalty when he first ascended to the throne. But that had been years ago, before Orla was even born. For her and for Mishi and others their age, all they’d known had been a ruler who had chosen the wrong allies, who’d failed to provide for his people, who was unable to protect them from the depredations of those more powerful than them. Under those circumstances, loyalty to some distant figure who’d been barely glimpsed in years was sure to erode.
‘Will you look at that now,’ Mishi breathed. Orla focused on her own reflection once more. The transformation was startling. The binding of her hair revealed the structure of her face and skull, changing her appearance dramatically. Her cheekbones seemed higher, her eyes larger, the curve of her lips more graceful.
‘You just wait for the paint,’ Mishi said. ‘They won’t recognise you, girl. You won’t recognise yourself.’
‘It’s perfect,’ Orla said quietly. They would never know her, she thought. They would never see her coming. And for the first time that day she felt a shiver of excitement as she realised that her purpose was near.
✤
An hour later Mishi had left and Orla lay on her bed. She was feeling shaky with hunger but she couldn’t eat. She didn’t want to damage the work of art that was her face. And besides, her stomach was churning with anxiety. She wasn’t sure if she could keep anything down even if she tried. She went over the plan again in her mind. The potion had been transferred into a tiny drop-bottle, small enough for her to easily conceal in the palm of her hand. She’d been practicing on Rashwin, the huge wolfhound that periodically lounged beside the fire in the Small Hall. She didn’t need to read, she didn’t need to use words, but with concentration she could send in a way that seemed to cause the animal discomfort. It was something she’d noticed from time to time when she’d been working for Joseph but she’d tried to avoid it, and had never thought of it as something that might be of use to her. In the crowded hall, during a serious and formal event, an agitated wolfhound would be certain to cause at least a few moments of chaos. It would only take one of those moments for her to drop in the poison. It would work, she knew it would. She closed her eyes and smelt again the scent of the strange herbs Feona had burnt. They filled her nostrils as though the woman was before her eve
n now. She felt Feona’s hands on her face, closing her eyes, murmuring words in a language she’d never heard before or since. Soul-bound. She struggled to open her eyes. I’m close, she told herself. So close.
She’d never thought to ask what would happen when her purpose was achieved. She would be free, she guessed, whatever that might mean. Free of whatever power had drawn her here, and brought her to this moment. Free to join her sister in the Realms of Ishkarin beyond. She shivered.
Through the high window of her chamber she could just see the new leaves budding on the tree outside. She didn’t expect to ever see it flower.
Chapter forty-four
Roland paused a moment when he saw her, but didn’t say anything. Orla walked beside him, for once feeling what it was like to pass unnoticed within the Palace. Her back was held straight by the starch of the dress she wore, the high collars seeming to lengthen her neck and limit the turn of her head. She understood now why the Court women seemed to glide, unseeing, down those long hallways. It was not that they had some unnatural poise, but that their dresses made it so. And the paint that Mishi had applied seemed to freeze her face into a stern, expressionless set. Were she to smile it would likely crack.
‘The King will expect you by his side,’ Roland said in a low voice. ‘Aderon is with him already. The High Commander will be seated directly opposite. You must be careful, Orla. This thing he seeks from you is dangerous, very dangerous. It is not in accordance with the old laws that govern your duties. But what you learn might make all the difference…’
She heard a hopefulness in Roland’s voice that had not been there for many weeks. Orla winced. She had almost forgotten her supposed purpose here today. While she was readying herself as an assassin, the King was expecting her to be his spy. For the first time, she had a moment of doubt.
The Dying Flame Page 21