She sighed, resigned to ignorance, and glanced at the sky.
“Here.” He proffered a small bag, tied tightly at the neck. “This is what remains of your medicine. In case, if you adapted to our world, perhaps yours will feel strange? Or maybe there is something in the between-worlds?” He shook his head. “I don’t mean to frighten you. But it was mixed for you, and so you should take it.”
“Thank you.” She tucked the bag at her waist, knotting its drawstring safely about her belt. “I hope I won’t need it.”
Tamaryl came alone to the field, descending with a sweep of wide wings to land gracefully before them. “Hello,” he greeted them both.
She didn’t look at him. Had he come from a raid? She didn’t want to know.
“Thank you, Maru, for bringing her. Ariana, are you ready to go?”
She hadn’t thought she would have any reason to remain, but the question gave her pause. She might be the only human to have spoken with Oniwe’aru, she wasn’t sure. She had experimented further with the natural Ryuven magic, though she was far from mastering it. She glanced at Maru. She had made at least one friend here, even if he were a little frightened of her.
But she did not belong here. She turned to Maru and reached for his hand, glad when he did not hesitate. “Maru, thank you for looking after me. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, rika.”
Ariana drew him close and embraced him. “I wish I could see you again.”
“Be well, Ariana’rika.”
She turned to face Tamaryl and took a breath. “You are all I was taught to fear. You were the monster beneath the bed all my childhood. But you say you want to end this war—and once, you acted on that. And you are my only chance of returning home or surviving here.” She was afraid to stop speaking, lest she lose her words or her nerve. “So I choose to believe you. I choose to trust you. And I swear, I will end this, with or without you.”
“Noble words.” She could not read his expression. “I hope you may honor them.”
Her voice was almost steady. “Did my father know?”
Tamaryl understood the question. “It should have been the stuff of legends, the White Mage and the Pairvyn ni’Ai meeting in battle. It would have been story and song for generations.” He tried to smile. “But as there was no one to witness it, we chose something else.”
Ariana did not answer.
Tamaryl stepped behind her, embracing her tightly. His chest pressed her back through the thin Ryuven clothing. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, careful of his face. “Yes.”
He spread his wings and a massing of power pressed her ear drums. Then Maru spun away and the cold dark crashed over her.
The between-worlds was black and cold and terrifying. For an instant Ariana could not breathe, could not feel, could not sense anything, but then she felt the warm pressure of Tamaryl against her back and his arms wrapped around her. “Only a moment,” he whispered in the void.
And then light burst around them and she saw blue sky, green-brown vegetation, trees in late autumn color. For a moment of pure delight she gazed down at her own world, and then panic seized her as she realized they were falling.
The ground rushed toward her and Ariana’s fingers tightened on Tamaryl’s arms. He murmured a reassurance and there was a crack as his wings caught the air. Their descent slowed with a jerk, and she clutched at him, but he did not let her slip. The ground came more slowly, but still too rapidly.
“Pick up your feet, please,” Tamaryl instructed. “And you might want to run as we land.”
Tamaryl’s wings worked around them, making his arms flex with effort, and then he hoisted her upward as he jolted into the ground. He grunted and shoved her ahead. “Go!”
Their momentum carried her for a few paces and then she steadied, coming to a halt. She turned and saw Tamaryl with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Tamaryl straightened. “Now, we must hurry. Some mage will have felt that entrance, near as we are to Alham.”
“You—you’re staying?”
“For a short time, at least. I want—to tell your father goodbye.” He shifted the small bag which hung across his torso and withdrew the silver cuffs. “I can change myself this time, but you must still seal the binding.”
A wave of cold touched Ariana. “You’re sure?”
“My lady mage, there is no time for hesitation. They will be coming.”
She nodded, straightening. “Then let’s hurry.”
Chapter 56
Shianan’s head had cleared by the time they came for him, but the throbbing ache gave no sign of ending soon. The guards were curt and avoided eye contact, uncomfortable with an officer as prisoner. His wrists were bolted behind him between two crimped iron bars, and he could not wipe the itching clotted blood from his face or probe the numerous hurting bruises.
He ascended dozens of steps, shuffled across a room, and climbed dozens more. He did not know how they had settled upon him at last, but at least it was done. He knew exactly what to expect.
The thought brought no comfort.
The guards pushed him upward to the older wing of the castle. Shianan’s fingers coiled and uncoiled around what he could reach of the unyielding shackle. He swallowed bile.
“Inside,” someone ordered gruffly, and Shianan moved obediently forward and then dropped to his knee.
For one hideous long moment nothing happened, and Shianan held his breath as he knelt, head aching and wrists weighted behind his bent back and guards waiting ominously on either side. He could think of nothing at all.
“Bailaha,” ground the king finally, his voice thick with disdain and anger.
“Your Majesty.” The usual salutations were far out of place.
The king frowned down at him. “I see you resisted arrest?”
“It was the men, Your Majesty,” the guard captain offered. “They were angry about Caftford and kind of seized on the arrest. We stopped it as soon as we could.”
King Jerome grunted. “So your own soldiers dislike and distrust you.”
Shianan said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“You were to recover the Shard,” the king said darkly. “And now we find you yourself may be the thief.”
Shianan scraped his fingers against his shackles and swallowed hard. If he confessed now, he would have only his secrets left to be wrung from him. If he held his tongue now, he could surrender the information he had already determined to offer. But it was all he could do to keep from blurting that he had taken the Shard.
“You have no response?”
Shianan tried to make his mouth form words. “Your Majesty, I ask the basis of this accusation.” He had fully expected to be arrested as a scapegoat, but did they know anything? Had he been careless?
“You were seen. A man saw you leaving the east door of the Mages’ Wheel three nights ago carrying a wrapped bundle.”
Shianan’s head twitched with surprise. He had left by the western door, with the Shard in a pack beneath his cloak.
“Bailaha!” the king demanded.
“It is not true,” Shianan managed. It wasn’t.
“No? You call this witness a liar?”
Shianan gambled. It was only a matter of time, anyway. “Your witness must have been mistaken, Your Majesty. I was in the Wheel that night, but I left by the western door.”
Fury radiated from the king. “There was no reward—this man did not profit by reporting you. Why would he have seen you at the east door?”
Why, indeed? “I don’t know, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps we were deceived.”
Shianan’s heart quickened.
“Despite all my generous gifts, I always wondered if you might betray us one day, and this is the realization of all my fears. You were so anxious to protest your fealty to us. But after your protestations, still you brought the Gehrn, you were at the shield’s collapse and the murder of our B
lack Mage, and you were admittedly present when the Shard was stolen on the eve of the new shield’s creation.”
Sweet Holy One, did they think he had helped murder Ariana to break the shield?
“You have not found the Shard, due to guilt or to simple incompetence, but you were seen carrying something from the Wheel. It’s possible you are the traitor who laid us vulnerable to attack.”
It was only the falsified witness which convicted him?
“Get him up,” snapped King Jerome. “I know, Bailaha, there is scant evidence yet to convict even one so suspicious. But a confession can do a great deal in the Court of the High Star. Take him out and get the truth from him.”
Shianan’s heart stopped, and for the first time he pulled against the guards. They gave him a reflexive jerk that brought him around by his trapped arms.
Someone rushed into the room, a blur on the edge of Shianan’s hazed vision. “Stop this! Father—what is this?”
“Keep quiet, Soren. He was seen.”
“Someone saw the Shard? I don’t believe it, Father. He’s innocent.”
Shianan stared at Soren. That the prince would come to defend him—and now, of all times, now when there was nothing to defend….
“No,” he heard himself say hoarsely. “No, I’m not.”
The room went silent as Soren’s head turned. “You stole the Shard?”
It was too early yet to confess—but he would confess eventually, and somehow he didn’t want Prince Soren to believe falsely in him. Shianan gulped. “I—did.”
“You—!” The prince’s eyes widened. He glanced down and then back at Shianan. “You did?” Abruptly he pushed past the captain and drove his fist hard into Shianan’s diaphragm, jolting him from the ground and making the startled guards stumble.
Shianan fought a long, heart-stopping moment for breath. Even if he’d been able to draw air, he could not have met the prince’s eyes.
“Soren,” interrupted King Jerome. “If you’re satisfied, we were about to send him to be questioned.”
“I’ll do it myself,” Soren growled. “Give him to me, please.”
“To you?” King Jerome looked puzzled, then worried, then vaguely resigned. “Then you may have charge, if that’s what you want. Only remember we need the Shard recovered, and there must be enough of him left to execute.”
Soren made a sharp gesture toward the captain. “Take him to the eastern walks,” he ordered. “We’ll do it there.” He turned to the king and bowed. “Sire, I apologize for my intrusion. Thank you for the chance to avenge myself of my embarrassment.”
The guards pushed Shianan toward the door.
“Why did you come at all? Why did you think him innocent?”
“I thought he was not the kind to betray you. But it seems I was wrong.”
The guards bowed in the king’s direction, shoving Shianan’s head down with them, and then backed out the door. Once in the corridor their pace increased, as if by unseen signal, and Shianan stumbled as they dragged him along.
They hauled him up narrow twisted flights of stairs without room for even two abreast, Shianan tripping sideways up stone steps as they pulled and shoved. When they reached the top and emerged into evening light, the captain turned and struck him.
Pain burst through Shianan’s bruised and swollen face. Arms braced him from behind as he rocked and held him steady for the next blow.
It will be worse.
The captain hit him again, and Shianan grunted with the impact. The open sky whirled about him.
“Men are out there dying, and you stole the Shard.” He threw another punch into Shianan’s face. “I guess since they’re common honest men, it doesn’t matter? Not royal bastards?” He hit him again. “Because only a royal bastard would do such a thing!” And again.
You don’t understand, Shianan thought blearily, reeling. You don’t understand a thing.
“Oh, I understand just fine,” the captain snarled. Shianan hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “And I hope there’s no soft gloves for you, whoreson.” He struck Shianan again. And again.
“Captain!” came a guttural whisper from one of the guards. Shianan hung in their grip and caught his breath, tasting blood. When his eyes focused again he blinked and saw fine leather boots.
“I see you started without me,” Prince Soren observed dryly. “Caftford, eh?”
“We didn’t have to have Caftford,” the captain muttered. “But I’m sorry, Your Highness, for going ahead. I should have waited for if you wanted something different.”
Soren gestured to the crenelated wall. “Fix him to something there, maybe that torch ring. I don’t want him leaving while we—talk.”
Shianan wanted to look at Soren, to show he was not intimidated, he was not broken yet, but it hurt to move his head, and one eye was swelling closed.
They had to unfasten his shackles to get his hands over his head—they weren’t to the point of breaking his arms and shoulders, not yet—but there was no chance of flight. They bound the iron bars to the ring and stepped back, leaving him leaning against the stonework.
“Bring a light, one of you,” the prince ordered, “and then leave us for a while.”
They went. Shianan dragged his eyes upward. “Well?”
Soren looked coldly at him. “It really disagrees with me, beating a man already battered.” He drew back and hit Shianan hard in the gut. “But then I think of those lying dead at Caftford, and I wonder how many will be dead in the next raid, and suddenly I feel no qualms at all.”
Shianan coughed and fought to speak. “You—you could save—time.”
“Oh, no. Before any of that, I need you to tell where the Shard is now. So keep that in mind, Bailaha—you prolong everything while you keep that secret.” He crossed his arms. “And aside from the king’s order, I have my own question: Why did you do it?” He looked probingly at Shianan. “I ask because I believe you when you say you stole the Shard. But I also believed you when we talked over that pitiful little fire in the rain, when you said—though not aloud or in so many words—you would do anything for a scrap of praise.” He exhaled. “I know that sounds harsh, but it’s what I heard. It wasn’t difficult to recognize it.”
Shianan stared with his one eye.
“And since that conversation must have taken place only hours after you stole the Shard, I cannot reconcile it in my mind. Did you think committing the greatest of crimes would call his attention to you? Did you think conspiring with the Ryuven would somehow avenge yourself on him?”
Shianan shook his head and looked at the edge of the walk. “No. Never.”
“Never?” Soren regarded him from inches away. “Then what possessed you?”
Shianan licked his bleeding lips. “I—I did it to save a life.”
Soren struck him again, this time across the face. Shianan reeled and the shackles pulled him upright.
“To save a life?” Soren repeated furiously. “To save a life?” He jabbed a finger to the northeast. “Is that what happened in Caftford? Did you save them?”
Torn muscles ground as Shianan shook his head. “There had not been a raid in months, and I—I thought—a few days….”
Another blow. “Explain!”
“Stop.” Shianan tried to spit blood, but it only dribbled from his mouth. “I’ll tell you—you should know, you—but don’t hit me. I’ll tell you myself.”
“The time for that has passed,” Soren growled, but he crossed his arms again and waited.
Shianan’s head throbbed. “The shield—when it fell….”
The door to the tower stairs opened. “Brought your light, Your Highness.”
The guard set the lamp and left. Soren turned back to Shianan. “I chose this place because I want everyone in that yard to see.” He pointed toward the busy courtyard below them. “Every soul there knows you’re being questioned. But the wind will carry what we say over the wall.” He hesitated. “That’s not to say I will protect you. If you stole th
e Shard, you must pay for that treason. But I want to know for myself what madness took you.”
Shianan swallowed painfully. “Ariana Hazelrig did not die.”
“Ari…. The Black Mage? She was killed in the collapsing shield.”
“She did not die. She was carried away by a Ryuven.”
“She was inside the shield. That’s not possible.”
“I saw it, Your Highness. I saw the Ryuven, I saw him take her. The shield was unstable, Mage Hazelrig said that. The ritual had undone it—I don’t know, I’m not a mage. But I saw the Ryuven appear and I saw him take her.”
“She would have been killed. They’ve never returned a captured mage.”
“She was not killed. There was a message.”
“What?”
Shianan would have to go carefully here. “The night the Ryuven came here, when there was a—”
“The night you were drunk,” supplied Soren disdainfully.
“They never found a reason for the intrusion. It was because he came only to leave a message, that the Black Mage was safe and would return when she had recovered from the crossing.”
Soren stared. “And you told no one?”
“Her father. But we were afraid to say the Ryuven had given us a message.”
“Why? Why spare her at all?”
Shianan tried to shrug but was hindered by the hurt and angle of his arms. “Perhaps they respect the White Mage.”
“So you stole the Shard?”
“If the shield were remade, she wouldn’t be able to come back.”
Soren gave an incredulous sneer. “A brilliant ploy to keep the shield down. They dangled a story, and you gave them all of Caftford. And more.”
There was a startled cry from the yard below. A runner burst through the gate, shouting faintly, “Ryuven! Ryuven, in Alham!”
Chaos boiled below as mages and soldiers hurried to respond, and Soren whirled furiously on Shianan. “I hope they find you bound here,” he snarled. “There hasn’t been an attack on Alham in ten years or more—and you’ve just let them in.”
But someone cried and pointed toward the open gate, and the activity paused. A feminine form ran through the gate, followed closely by a boy in dull silver wrist cuffs. Ariana scanned the yard and ran to the mages already assembling. Most stared in amazement or shock, but the figure in white robes dashed forward and threw his arms around her.
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