by T L Greylock
Perrin looked at her sharply, alert now. “You know who that is?” he asked, waving a hand at the bones on the floor.
“Cyprian II, the Fisher King, the Prince Beneath the Moon.” The names rushed out of Eska on a wave of elation.
Perrin opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again. “You mean that’s an Alescuan king.”
“Yes.” The single word hovered between them, caught somewhere between Eska’s certainty and Perrin’s skepticism.
“Everyone knows the Alescuan kings and queens lie in their tombs of gold beneath the Mountain of the Long Night. Well, all of them except the last, of course.”
“Everyone knows,” Eska said. “Exactly. Breaching the tombs in the mountain would be dangerous, difficult. Even if we had a precise map, which we don’t. Don’t think I’ve not contemplated it—not to steal anything,” Eska added, rolling her eyes at Perrin as he began to interject. “From an academic standpoint. And out of curiosity,” she admitted. “But if anyone were to attempt such a feat, what better way to keep the kings and queens and all their vast treasures safe than to bury them elsewhere?” Eska glanced down at the bones around her feet. “And what better way to hide them than among the dead of centuries past, in graves dug long ago, graves the existence of which we hardly even know.” She returned her attention to Perrin. “Look, I’ll show you.” Taking up the left humerus bone in her gloved hands, Eska had to keep herself from shoving it in Perrin’s face. “I should have seen it before, but I was distracted, we were all distracted. This bone, we thought it was broken, and it is, but that’s not the whole story.” She pointed at the shattered end. “See how blunt it is? And how smooth the edges are? Only time and healing does that. That’s why we never found the lower bones of the left arm—not because we left the site before we could uncover them, but because there are none to be found. This individual lost part of his arm long before he died.”
Perrin frowned. “I’m a bit foggy on my Alescuan dynasty, but it seems to me I recall a childhood rhyme in which a king was rather violently deprived of his left arm—lost it above the elbow.”
“Cyprian II, seventh ruler in the Alescuan dynasty. A lion bit it off.”
Perrin was quiet for a moment, his gaze roaming over the bones. “All right, I’m enjoying this. But surely there are any number of arm-less skeletons buried in the earth.”
Eska grinned. “Surely. But I don’t imagine there are very many skeletons missing their left arms and demonstrating signs of a debilitating illness.”
Perrin crossed his arms over his chest. Eska imagined the gesture was meant to keep his growing enthusiasm for her theory in check. “Go on.”
“There’s fracturing in his shin. The one you did such a fine job cleaning out.” Eska returned the humerus to the linen and exchanged it for the bone in question. “I assumed upon first glance that the cracks were a natural occurrence due to age and time, but here,” she knelt by Perrin’s chair and pointed while pulling a small square of glass from her pocket, “you can see many of them are in various stages of healing.” Eska held the magnifier close to her eye and leaned down.
Perrin bent his head for a closer look at the tiny fissures, taking the magnifier when Eska offered it to him. “I concede that to my grossly untrained eye, it would appear some of these are mending. What does that mean?”
“The Prince Beneath the Moon had a disease of the bone. So scholars speculate now,” Eska added. “In his lifetime, he was known to suffer extreme pain in his legs. His physicians had no diagnosis and the king kept the severity of his ailment secret from all but those closest to him. It wasn’t until many decades after his death that a physician’s documentation of his condition—the terrible extent of it—came to light.”
Perrin examined the cracks once more. “And these are consistent with the disease he had?”
“As far as can be determined, I’d say they are.”
Perrin leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Eska’s face. “How certain are you of this?” He gestured around them. “Of all of this?”
Eska took a deep breath. “I can’t make the bones tell me who they are.”
“I should hope not.”
“And there are tests I’d like to carry out—in Arconia. But given the apparent age of the bones and the identifying markers,” she trailed off and exhaled loudly. “It’s a strong case, Perrin.” The thrill of the words she was speaking raised the hairs on her arms.
Perrin gave a slow nod in response.
“Though,” Eska said, “I would prefer if Albus were here to confer on the theory.”
“Albus?”
“A deceptively infuriating, most beloved librarian,” Eska said, smiling as she imagined her friend hunched over a book, a pose she knew all too well, a forlorn meal ignored at his elbow, his hair violently askew from being ruffled in concentration an untold number of times.
“You mean to say there is a person in existence who knows more than you?”
Eska laughed. “I am a rather well-versed encyclopedia, Perrin. Albus, however, he is a library unto himself.”
“I’m assuming you’ve thought of the repercussions of this, of the knowledge that the kings and queens who once ruled over our Seven Cities are not buried where we have always thought them to be buried—or at least one of them isn’t.”
She had. In fact, she had thought of little else since forming the theory the day before. She nodded. “It would change what we understand about the end of the dynasty, about their unlikely overthrow, the loyal followers they left behind, and the rise of the Seven Cities as we know them.” Somehow, as she spoke those words, her voice remained impassive and sober. Beneath it, she was a bundle of questions and nervous energy.
There was also a small part of her mind that was aware that a discovery of that magnitude might be exactly what she needed to wipe away the false accusations from Toridium. The Archduke would take an interest in protecting any citizen of Arconia with such an achievement to her name.
Perrin was looking down at the bone in his lap, looking but not touching, as though the enormity of its identity, of the man to whom the bone had belonged, was suddenly too much to take in.
Eska removed the bone from his lap and returned it to the rest. She began to organize the skeleton as it ought to be, joint by joint.
“You ruled by terror, Cyprian,” she murmured as she worked. “Some might believe it the pain that drove you to such anger and violence.” She placed his toes beside each other, one by one. “But pain, even such terrible pain as you suffered, could never be an excuse for the deaths of so many innocent Seycherrans.”
“You would pass judgment on a long dead king?”
“Are we not allowed to judge our forebears?”
“Discuss, argue over, rant and rhapsodize and compose poetry, yes. But judgment? It’s so very final.” Perrin spoke the words easily, his gaze moving with Eska’s hands, as though he did not put much stock in his own opinion.
“Cyprian ordered a forced march across the very plains which later became his burial place, sending hundreds of Seycherran laborers to certain death, all because he wanted to build a pleasure garden in the small corner of Toridium these immigrants had made into their home.” Eska’s hands were still and she waited until Perrin’s gaze rose to meet hers. “Children, Perrin.” He had the grace to look ashamed. “Some kind hearts followed the Seycherrans, trying to bring them forbidden aid. Water. Food. Blankets. Do you know what they found?”
Perrin shook his head.
“Mothers and fathers, dead, their own wrists gnawed open, their blood staining the dry ground. They tried to nourish their children with their own blood, Perrin. The little ones were curled around them, fingers tucked into the palms of their parents’ lifeless hands, eyes staring at the cloudless sky and the killing sun.” Eska took a deep breath, not bothering to mask the tremor of anger in her voice. “Do you really think Cyprian beyond judgment for such a crime?”
“I remember now,” Perrin said, his voic
e quiet. “I learned that. Once.”
Eska bent her head and continued placing the bones. “I could go on about the Alescuan kings and queens and the lives they ruined, but I’m afraid it’s a long list.”
“And yet the discovery of these bones delights you.”
Eska looked up, ready to sharpen her tongue and her gaze, but the sight of the unfocused softness in Perrin’s eyes, the wrinkle in his brow, brought her up short. She sighed. “They are a discovery to be proud of. How could they not be? And, yes, to have my name alongside a discovery of such historical significance, it is a thing to be proud of. But I will never forget these bones belonged to a malevolent, vicious dynasty, men and women who did not hesitate to kill for power, who used their unmatched Carrier skills to bend the will of the world to their whims. We must never forget that.”
“I don’t think the world could ever forget what they did,” Perrin said.
“You’d be surprised what humans can forget given a combination of time and willful blindness.”
***
“Is this yours?”
Perrin held up a glazed clay jar, far too small to hold anything useful.
Eska looked up from the chest she was packing. The letter from Arconia had come that morning, clutched in the hand of an exhausted messenger who had come so close on the heels of the sun, Eska knew he had ridden through the night to complete his errand. But then, orders from the Archduke had that sort of effect on their messengers. It was from her father—but in his role as Vice-Chancelier, not as her father—and it required her return to Arconia. She would, it said, find a representative of Toridium there and it was the Archduke’s chief hope that a resolution in the matter of the death of Chancellor Fiorlieu would be found.
Perrin had declared himself well enough to travel, and though it had only been two days since he had gotten out of bed and he still was weak and thin and unendingly tired, Eska had to admit he was improving—and besides, he had little choice.
And so they were packing their belongings with the intent of leaving at once. Eska was on her knees in the library, returning her tools to their home. Perrin turned the jar in his fingers, frowning at it.
Eska shook her head. “Where did you find it?”
“It fell out of here.” Perrin lifted the reliquary in his other hand. “I was holding it upside down, not realizing the lid was unlatched.”
“Strange.” Eska got to her feet.
“I happen to agree,” Perrin said.
Together they examined the reliquary and discovered the silk bedding beneath the disc did not extend to the bottom of the interior. A second clay jar lay tucked in a corner.
“Very odd,” Eska said. She took the jars and shoved them in her satchel where she could look at them while on the road. Then she closed the reliquary, making certain the stag and the flowers were safely flat against the ivory, and wrapped it in a blanket and then placed it in the tool chest. “Perrin, please tell Gabriel we’ve nearly finished here. I’ll bring these out and then we’ll come back for the bones,” she said as she locked the chest and slipped the key alongside the clay jars. She turned and saw Perrin standing motionless over the carefully wrapped bones of the Prince Beneath the Moon. She thought she saw him sway and rushed forward to support him—and protect the bones should he fall. Perrin looked at her with a start as her hand grasped his arm, confusion knitting his brow.
“Are you all right?” Eska asked, fearing a relapse. He looked pale, but Eska couldn’t have said with any certainty whether he was any paler than he had been a moment before.
“Yes.” The word was drawn out of Perrin slowly. He opened his mouth as though to continue, then, shaking his head slightly, seemed to change his mind. Finally he said, “Just a spell of dizziness.” He tried to smile but it didn’t reach his eyes and his neck muscles were tight with tension. “I’m fine.”
Eska nodded, not because she believed him, but because she had no choice. Clearly he was still unwell, but she could only hope he could make the trip to Arconia without incident.
They loaded the remaining wagon quickly, Eska’s chest taking pride of place behind the driver’s bench, the bones wrapped in linen and canvas and tucked between the chest and Perrin. Gabriel led the horses out to the wagon and harnessed them, then took up the driver’s seat as Eska thanked Rosina for taking their unexpected appearance in stride—thanks the woman brushed off. Eska mounted the one spare horse, her satchel strapped across her back, and, after exchanging a nod with her two companions, guided her mare through the gate and out into the meadow.
The day had dawned clear and cool, but heat and clouds overtook them soon after they passed out of the Vachon Valley and began to follow the shore of a narrow lake through a wider valley surrounded by gentle, rolling slopes. Sweat began to trickle down Eska’s back, causing her shirt and vest to stick to her skin. She circled her horse back to check on Perrin, who lay with one arm flung over the side of the wagon, his forehead damp with sweat. His eyes were closed, but he opened them at the sound of her approach.
“I think I’m melting, Eska. Am I melting? Not even noon and I’ve liquefied like butter in a skillet.”
“I’m more concerned with the sun. Much longer and you’ll be a lobster. Which, by the way, goes exceptionally well with melted butter.”
“So I’m delicious, is what you’re saying.”
Eska laughed, then sobered as she glanced up at the sun. “I wish I had thought to ask Rosina for a parasol. Gabriel,” she said, “try to keep to the shade. We could all use it.” The engineer nodded and steered the wagon as close to the sparse maples and birches lining the shore as the wheels would allow.
At last the lake fell away behind them and the rough path, little more than a faint hint of wagon tracks in the ground cover, turned to the north and the shade of towering oaks and wide-spreading beeches. As a breeze cooled Eska’s skin, she caught the sound of Gabriel humming aimlessly and smiled.
“Eska.” They had traveled to the sound of Gabriel’s tune for some time before Perrin called out to catch her attention. She pulled her mare up and let the wagon pass her, then followed in its wake.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been thinking about this a great deal and I can no longer put off the question I have formed.” Perrin looked out at the passing landscape for a moment. “Arconia is my home, and yet there is no longer anything there for me.” Another pause, his eyes focused on something only he could see. “I know I have a lot to learn,” he continued, meeting her gaze at last, “but I was wondering if you might consider taking me on, if Firenzia Company might consider hiring me.” Perrin swallowed, clearly unsure of her response. “I will do whatever menial task you ask of me. Scrubbing pots and pans. Cleaning tools and brushes. I’m sure I could learn to cook.” He was rambling now. “Fetching water. Hauling equipment.”
“Perrin,” Eska said, cutting him off. “I think we can do better than employing you as a pack horse.” He smiled weakly. “I am glad you asked.”
***
They were a day out from Arconia when it happened.
They had begun to pass villages the day before, even stopped for ale and a fine meal at a small inn attached to a mill, and Eska’s mind had shifted to what lay ahead. As such, she was startled when Perrin, as they shared a small morning meal around the ashes of their fire, asked her about the clay jars they had discovered in the reliquary, specifically if she had opened them.
Shaking her head, Eska laughed a little. “I’d forgotten all about them.” Brushing crumbs from her fingers, she fished the jars out of her satchel. “I suppose we might as well see what’s inside. After all, someone thought it important enough to hide them in the reliquary.”
Later, she would fault herself for that choice and wonder if she would have made a different decision had she not been faced with answering the charges from Toridium the next day. The close proximity of the jars to the god disc should have been enough to keep her from opening them outside of the relative safety o
f the Lordican, where any number of experts could be on hand.
Or at least, that’s what she told herself afterward.
As it was, when she unstoppered one of the jars, the deep amber substance inside seemed innocuous. It smelled faintly of cinnamon.
“Is that honey?” Gabriel asked while peering over Eska’s shoulder.
“Unlikely,” Eska said.
“Then what?” That from Perrin.
“I have no idea.”
The substance was glossy and thick, the color indeed not unlike the rich honey Arconians drizzled on their sweets. Gabriel reached for the jar and Eska let him take it, then turned her attention back to her meal, eager to begin the final leg of the journey.
It was Perrin’s face that made her freeze with a mouthful of soft cheese spread over cured meat. He was staring over her shoulder, a look of horror on his face.
Eska turned.
Gabriel was crumbling.
The engineer fell to his knees, upsetting the remainder of his meal and overturning the small clay jar he had dropped at his feet. From one finger dripped a viscous amber vine. And his forearm was disintegrating, his fingers falling away before Eska’s eyes.
Eska lurched to her feet.
“My lady,” Gabriel gasped. He stared up into Eska’s eyes, desperation mixing with fear. “Please.”
Stunned, Eska could only gape. Fingers, wrist bones, forearm, all crumbled away until the engineer’s arm ended in a stump at his elbow. For a moment, all was still. Eska drew in a shaky breath. Gabriel, in shock, could only stare.
And then the first vein turned orange. Like a snake, it crept up the remains of Gabriel’s arm, soon joined by a second, then a third, a fourth. They crawled over his bicep, disappearing up his rolled sleeve before reappearing above his collar.
“Please,” Gabriel repeated. “Please. Help.”
Eska tore her gaze from his skin and met his eyes. She tried to speak. Tried to tell him it would be all right. Tried to lie. But her silence was the last thing Gabriel heard.