8
FATE
“AND WAS THAT THE last he said on the subject?” Pharinet asked. Her eyes felt hot in their sockets, her heart was beating so heavily it felt twice its normal size. Khaster nodded. “Yes. Val would not speak of it again.” He turned to Pharinet for the first time since he’d begun the story. “I am concerned for him, Pharry. A taint has put itself upon him. I fear he will end up like the royal filth of Magrast, disdainful of life itself, cruel and selfish.” “I can’t believe that,” Pharinet said. “I know him, Khas. It’s not in him.” “There may be many things in him of which we’re not aware.” Pharinet turned away. She climbed off the bed and went to the window. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Khaster clearly knew nothing of the sea dragons, but surely the emperor’s family did. It was the prime reason the Palindrakes had been subjugated in the first place. Now, they had placed the Dragon Heir in the heart of the realm of the fire-drakes. Everna and the others of the Sisterhood maintained these beings of fire had been banished by the sea dragons thousands of years before. Pharinet was not so sure. If they had been banished, maybe Valraven, delivered to them upon a plate, his heart carved away, would be suitable inducement for them to risk a return. Then what might happen? More than a battle of arms. The sky might bleed for it. Pharinet rested her head against the cool stone of the window casement. By Foy, she had felt the fire-drakes’ burn the previous night. She had summoned it. Entities of the elements moved beyond human understanding. Had she, and Valraven, unwittingly catalyzed a new drama? Had Ellony been a casualty of this? Maybe the emperor’s family had planned it all along. They had sent Valraven back to Caradore, full of the fire-drakes’ breath, and he had exhaled it over a priestess of Foy, contaminated her with its smoke. She shuddered. Khaster’s hands curled around her shoulders. “I have distressed you. I’m sorry. Perhaps I was too frank in my story.” Pharinet curled her hands over his. “No, no, it’s not that. Really. I just fear that the empire has somehow become closer to us, more real, since you and Val went to Magrast. It’s touching us now, Khas, and I don’t like it.” Khaster sighed and rested his chin on the crown of her head, staring out into the night, where the waves heaved restlessly about the sea caves. Lances of spray were thrown high. The sea was wild that night. Enraged? “We have lived in a dream,” he said. “This was waiting for us always. Our parents lived through it, and their parents before them. It is our curse.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Ellony was no better. The physician feared that her body would burn away in its fever. Khaster and Pharinet could not yet go to Norgance. Once again, Ellony was the center of attention, as servants rushed back and forth with steaming basins of herbal water, with delicate soups and milky drinks. Ellony herself could not bask in this treatment, as her mind wandered a realm far from reality. Pharinet forced herself to visit the sickroom. Ellony was wasting away. Her skin was no longer pale, but sallow, as if a jaundice ate at her from within. Standing at the end of the bed, Pharinet struggled to understand her conflicting feelings. A dark, cruel part of her hoped that Ellony would not get well, while another part, that which she hoped represented her true self, was aghast at what had happened. Khaster was right: Ellony was innocent. One evening, Pharinet went down to the beach. The waves were low, but heavy and watchful. She tried to conjure up feelings of empathy and worry for Ellony, but it felt as if the place inside her where these emotions should be was only an empty hole, with a wind blowing through it. What has happened to me? Pharinet wondered. How can I be so cold inside? I don?t want to be. Then, an insidious voice whispered in her mind. Perhaps it is because the sea dragons are cold. You need fire to warm you. But Ellony is a warm creature, Pharinet thought. And she is probably more devoted to the old beliefs than I am. She sighed, and stood at the nibbling lip of the tide, holding back her hair with both hands against the wind that blew from the sea. “If I cursed her, I did not mean to,” Pharinet said aloud. “I want her to be well. Make her so, I beseech you.” She wanted a response, some kind of sign, but none came. The elements seemed to be preoccupied. Clouds hurried across the sky; the sea wrestled with its own anxieties. You are like the waves yourself, Pharinet thought. Your feelings of anger and jealousy ebb and flow. At high tide, you could kill. At low tide, you repent. If you did curse Ellony, you alone are responsible. You alone can lift it. So she went back to Ellony’s room, and found her sleeping there. The room was lit only by a flickering night-light. A nurse dozed in a chair nearby, but did not wake at Pharinet’s soft intrusion. She lifted a cold, white hand from the counterpane and murmured, “I give to you my strength. Come back to us, Elly. Be well again.” Ellony’s lips moved slightly and her eyes opened. “Pharry,” she said in a husky voice. “I dreamed of you.” “Hush now,” Pharinet said, leaning down to smooth the hair from Ellony’s face. “Sleep deep and find your strength.” “Pray for me.” “I have. I will.” Ellony smiled a little and closed her eyes once more. Her fingers gripped Pharinet’s hand quite tightly. She could not pull away. Only when Khaster came looking for her could she bring herself to prise Ellony’s hand from her own. Despite visiting Ellony several times a day, Pharinet was always glad when the cloying air of the sickroom released her. Her steps would lighten as she hurried away. Downstairs, her husband and brother would await her. What else could they do during these terrible days but console one another? Every day until Khaster and Valraven went back to Magrast, they would ride out with Pharinet into the countryside. They were drawn to visit sites where they had played as children, and these times were both joyous and poignant. The tension between Valraven and Pharinet vibrated like a plucked harp string. They could touch and embrace in front of Khaster, for he would think nothing of it, but they resisted. The ache of longing was sweeter if its gratification was denied. On one occasion, Pharinet was in the stableyard alone with her brother, while Khaster searched for his boots indoors. Pharinet resolved to make good use of this time. “Khas has told me many things about you,” she said. Valraven, standing beside his horse to adjust the saddle girth gave her a brief pointed glance. “Has he?” Pharinet smoothed the horse’s neck. “He has indeed. Are you considering an affair with a royal prince, Val?” Valraven laughed. “Khaster has been talking. The Magravands upset him, because he can’t understand their ways. I just go along with them. It’s easier.” “And how far are you prepared to go in this course of action?” Valraven’s hands became still upon the leather strap. He took a breath. “Bayard just likes playing games with people. Khaster is over-reacting. He saw something he found uncomfortable and thinks the worst.” “He is also concerned about your connection with the Splendifers. He thinks the odor of the fire-drakes ill becomes you.” “Khaster is too loose with his tongue. He is dangerously close to becoming what Bayard accuses us of. He should not go whining to his wife in that way. Pharinet expelled a gasp of shocked laughter. “Val! How dare you say such a thing. I won’t have you adopting the Magravand view of women with me.” “I didn’t intend to.” “I don’t want secrets between us. Khaster was right to tell me his thoughts. I can see that you certainly won’t.” Valraven swung himself up onto the horse’s back. “Didn’t I warn you of what I am becoming? A day or so ago, you said you accepted that.” Pharinet looked up at him. He was a dark stranger. She could almost see the smoke of the fire-drakes hanging around him. Why then did she want him more than ever? “Don’t treat me as anything less than yourself, and I will accept it. That is one change I will not tolerate.” “You are part of me, Pharry.” He might have said more but at that moment Khaster came into the yard. They rode down to the shore and galloped through the spume at the edge of the tide. Am I betraying my heritage? Pharinet thought. The sky was overcast, and the green of spring insanely bright against it. They came upon a drowned sea bird, spread out like an angel in the sand. Tomorrow, the men would leave. Ellony remained a virgin in her damp, troubled bed, but Valraven seemed unconcerned. Like Pharinet, he dutifully visited his wife several times a day, but once free of Caradore it was as if Ellony di
d not exist. Pharinet brought her horse up alongside her brother’s; Khaster was some distance behind. “We must be together once more before you go,” Pharinet said. Valraven turned his head to her. “How? Will you drug the attentive Khaster?” “No. I will tell him I need some time alone in the shrine tonight, to offer the proper prayers for his and your safety. He will respect this. He is most superstitious at this time.” “As you wish,” Valraven said, and spurred his horse forward.
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