“We have Kate Brighton,” Edwin said. “Take the city as soon as the sun sets.”
“Yes, your majesty,” a voice echoed from out of the stone. “The black-powder stores have already been destroyed. Farhold will be ours again by morning.”
Kate’s stomach clenched like a fist. It couldn’t be possible. This small stone communicator, or whatever it was, couldn’t reach all the way to Farhold. And yet, she could tell by the smug smile on Edwin’s face that what she was hearing was real. Somehow he’d found a way to breach Farhold’s defenses.
“I must express my gratitude, Kate,” Edwin said. “For leaving your city so conveniently. Now, thanks to you, this gods-cursed war is finally at an end.”
12
Corwin
NEVER BEFORE HAD CORWIN FULLY appreciated the magic of a library, and the magicians who wielded its power—librarians. Previously, when Corwin had gone to the royal library, he’d avoided those who worked there, distrusting them same as any Sevan. But once he started on his quest to uncover Rendborne’s activities, the librarians quickly became willing allies, happy to help. The pursuit of knowledge was a unifying endeavor, it seemed.
“Why yes, of course I remember Lord Rendborne,” the senior librarian said. He was a small man, made even smaller by the too-large robes he wore, and bearing the unlikely name of Lutho Lazerleen. To Corwin’s surprise he was not Sevan by birth but from one of the nations Seva had conquered years before. “He spent most of his time in the ancient history section.”
Corwin frowned, turning to gaze at the section in question—one that occupied the entire top floor. It would take him years to go through it all. “Do you have any idea what he was looking for?”
Lutho gave him a curious look, as if one could want more from a library than the sheer joy of reading. “I’m afraid not.” He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose, giving Corwin’s guards a sidelong glance, but they weren’t paying much attention. One yawned in obvious boredom, and Lutho turned his gaze back to Corwin. “But I can give you a list of the books he borrowed during his time here.”
“These books are available for borrowing?”
“Only to those granted the trust by the Godking.”
Corwin nodded. “Yes, I would like to see it, please.”
A short while later, Lutho returned with the list, which contained more than two dozen texts. To his curiosity, one of them was The Rise and Fall of Magic. Many of the others bore similar titles, and several were histories of Seva, including one whose title had been circled in heavy black ink. Corwin showed it to Lutho. “What can you tell me about this one?”
Lutho’s bushy eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “That is one Lord Rendborne failed to return.”
Corwin suppressed a smile at the little man’s outrage. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I don’t understand the title. Li Mevath de Sevan?” he said, struggling with the foreign words.
“Yes, that’s correct,” Lutho said. “It means The Death of Sevan. It’s written in Aeos, the language of the gods.”
“I’ve heard of Aeos,” Corwin said. “The priestesses in Rime speak it.”
Lutho gave a polite cough. “I’m sure they speak some dialect of it. They’re varied, you know. Many scholars believe that when the gods still roamed the world in their physical form, all the peoples spoke the same language. We only diverged after the gods ascended to the incorporeal realm.”
“The Death of Sevan,” Corwin said, staring at the title. “Do you know what it’s about? Is it a prophecy?”
“Not at all. The title refers to Sevan the god, not Seva the land, although once the two were more or less one, such as how Norgard is derived from Noralah, or Farhold from Farrah. But the story is about just what it says: the death of Sevan at the hand of the first Godking, Fanen.”
“That story is in The Rise and Fall of Magic as well.” Corwin pointed to the title on the list, intrigued by the coincidence, which must not be one at all.
“Yes,” Lutho said, “although the Li Mevath goes into much more detail. The entire book is dedicated to the story instead of one small section.”
“Was there only the one copy?” Corwin asked.
“I’m afraid so, but there is a translation into the common tongue. It’s not a very good one, though. The author wasn’t well versed in Aeos, and so much of the nuance is lost. He also had a reputation for impatience and was said to have left out whole sections he deemed irrelevant.”
Corwin found the idea of an impatient scholar both amusing and improbable. “May I see the translation? And I would like to see the rest of the books listed here as well.”
Rather than look put out at what was surely a large request, Lutho appeared delighted. “I’ll start fetching them now.”
Corwin spent the rest of the day poring over volumes, reading until his eyes felt like shriveled grapes inside his skull and his thoughts like grain mash. There was so much here, much of it interesting, but none of it particularly useful to figuring out what Rendborne was up to, at least not that Corwin could see. A fair number of the books dealt with myths and stories about the gods as they’d been before the Ascension, when they’d lived like ordinary men in human bodies. The most compelling part of these, Corwin felt, was the way they spoke of the gods as if they had been real. Not in the sense that he knew them to be real—as enigmatic beings to be worshipped from afar, appeased with prayers and sacrifices—but real like Corwin was real, or Eravis or Zan or Lutho, hardly more than humans with extraordinary powers.
Perhaps that’s why Rendborne wanted to read of them, Corwin thought. The Nameless One called himself a god, the Lord Ascender. Perhaps these readings were nothing more than an attempt to validate those beliefs.
An hour past nightfall, Corwin finally closed the books and returned them to Lutho, who was still in his tiny office, examining a manuscript.
“May I borrow the translation of The Death of Sevan?” Corwin asked. It was the only one of the group that he felt was significant enough to read from cover to cover.
Lutho reluctantly granted him permission, once Corwin pointed out that he was the Godking’s son-in-law and surely worthy of the trust. “But you must promise to return it the moment you’re done. We’ve already lost the original and can’t afford to lose both, no matter how poor the translation.”
“I swear by the goddess Noralah herself.” Corwin put a hand over his heart, smiling as he remembered one of the stories he’d read earlier, about Noralah as a young woman and an argument she’d gotten into with her brother Rindar, patron god of Rin and ruler of the wind. The two decided to resolve the matter with a horse race. But Rindar cheated, giving his horse wings halfway through and soaring across the finish line first. In retaliation, Noralah bound all future horses to be too heavy to ever fly again. The story made her seem very human indeed.
Satisfied by Corwin’s vow, Lutho handed him back the book, and Corwin took his leave, heading quickly for his quarters. He was past due for his nenath, and the need was upon him.
He arrived in the main chamber to find Eravis sitting at the table playing cards once again. A crystal decanter sat in front of her, containing some amber liquid. She looked up at his arrival, and he saw something strange in her gaze, her eyes slightly out of focus. “Have you been drinking, your highness?” It was a stupid question—clearly she had—but what he’d really meant to say was, “How much have you been drinking?” It didn’t seem she could’ve consumed enough for her eyes to be out of focus—the decanter was nearly full.
She raised her glass and took a large swallow. “Emberic, the very best brandy in all of Seva. It was a belated wedding present from the governor of Belloss. Cheers to us.”
Corwin knew of the drink. When he was a mercenary for the Shieldhawks, they used to smuggle it in by the cartload. Emberic was potent stuff, and clearly Eravis had little tolerance to be so far into her cups after so little.
Uneasy with this version of her, Corwin crossed the room to the end table where the n
enath waited. He poured a glass and drank it down, wishing it were mere brandy. He considered helping himself to Eravis’s bottle but decided not to. He was too tired. All he wanted was to go to sleep and give his mind a chance to recover before starting the search for answers anew in the morning.
He turned toward the door, but stopped at the sound of Eravis hiccuping. She had proved useful last night with her information about Rendborne, and he wondered what else he might learn from her, especially in an intoxicated state. Pulling out the opposite chair, he sat down. “Would you like to play another game of Peril?”
“No,” she said, not looking up. She was playing with the Sevan deck again, the Rimish one nowhere in sight.
Corwin wasn’t a fool. Sensing her anger was for him, he stood and headed for the bedroom, intent on a bath and sleep. She could take the divan for once.
“We’re already playing a game, you know,” Eravis said as he reached the door. “And we’re both going to lose.”
Corwin sighed, debating the wisdom of rising to her bait. Any other night, he would’ve ignored her, but he knew from experience that alcohol had a way of stripping off masks. He wanted to meet the real Eravis. He faced her. “And what game is that?”
“This . . . this marriage.” She gestured around the room. “We’ve been playing at it for weeks now. You sleeping out here, tiptoeing your way around me, avoiding me like I’m some repulsive creature you can’t bear the sight of.” She broke off abruptly, her voice thick, tears eminent.
Despite all the reasons he had to despise her, he felt a wave of pity. She was just a young royal after all, inexperienced and naive, and a pawn in her father’s machinations, same as him. And enemy or not, she was still human, her emotions real and raw. It occurred to him for the first time that his rejection of her was something she felt personally and not just for the political reasons that motivated him. And personal ones as well, he thought, worry for Kate pricking him.
With a sigh, Corwin forced his expression to soften. “None of this has anything to do with you.”
Eravis looked away, the delicate cords in her throat flexing. When she finally answered, anger had steadied her voice once more. “It has everything to do with me. I’m the one who lies in that bed by myself every night and who sneaks away every morning to avoid the shame of those untouched sheets, and the certainty of the worse shames that are coming.”
“What shames? What are you talking about?” He balled his hands into fists, flustered by the uncomfortable topic. Did she think he wasn’t furious as well? Mortified by the scrutiny?
Eravis picked up the glass and took another gulp, slamming it down again. She did it badly, tipping the glass on its side, but she didn’t even notice as the remnants spilled out. “Could you really be so dense, Corwin? I’m talking about Lord Gavril, and his little mind tricks.” She tapped her forehead with her finger hard enough he heard the thump. “Do you really think that this farce will be allowed to continue? Our marriage isn’t real until it’s been consummated, which means this alliance isn’t real. My father won’t stand for it much longer.” Her sides were heaving as she righted the glass, poured another, and downed it.
Corwin stared at her, his mind on fire with a truth he’d tried to keep at bay. “Are you saying that Gavril can compel me to lie with you?” He’d convinced himself it wasn’t possible, that it was one limitation to Gavril’s power. That seemed the only explanation for why the man hadn’t forced the issue on their wedding night.
He should’ve known better. The truth was clear in every line of Eravis’s face and the rigidity in her slender body.
In answer, she poured another drink. If he’d had any doubts of her drunkenness, they were quickly dissipating. If she didn’t slow down she would pass out.
Corwin drew a deep breath, grateful that he’d already taken the nenath and had his wits about him, at least as well as he could under the circumstances. “If what you say is true, then why hasn’t he done it already?”
“Because I asked him not to!” she said, nearly shrieking.
“Why?” Corwin braced for more anger, knowing the moment the word escaped his mouth that it was the wrong one.
“Because I can’t stand the thought of it . . . the violation.” Her grip on the glass tightened until he thought it might break. “Do you know how his sway works? When he enters someone’s mind he can see everything, feel everything, as if he were doing it himself.”
Shock made Corwin stiffen. Yes, he did know how sway worked. Far better than Eravis could possibly imagine. Every time he was with Kate, they shared more than their bodies. With her sway, she made it so that they shared their minds, their thoughts and feelings intertwining until they could no longer tell whose was whose. Was that what Gavril would experience when he compelled Corwin?
No, he decided, at least it didn’t have to be that way. And yet . . .
Disgust roiled in Corwin’s belly as he remembered the licentious way Gavril had stared at Eravis the day of the Spectacles, and the way she had recoiled from him when he drew near to her. Gavril would not be the type of man to withdraw and allow them their privacy.
“Did Gavril hurt you?” Corwin said through gritted teeth.
Eravis laughed, the bitter sound sending a shiver down Corwin’s spine. “He wouldn’t dare. And why should he when all he has to do is wait until my father gives the command.”
Corwin turned away from her, fists clenched with the need to hit something. It was an impossible situation. He needed to get out of it more than ever. And yet there wasn’t a way out. Not yet.
Forcing his outrage to retreat, he turned back to Eravis. To his dismay, he saw the tears standing in her eyes threatening to fall. Gently, he asked, “Is there anything we can do about it?”
She shook her head, the tears slipping past her restraint. “If there was I would already have done it. But . . .” She hesitated, lips parting with an expelled breath. “You could at least make it bearable.”
Corwin’s chest tightened with dread. “By being with you of my own free will?” He refrained from telling her that it might not keep Gavril from listening in just the same if he chose.
She nodded once and scrubbed away the tears on her face even as more fell. Pouring herself another glass, she walked over to the divan and slumped down on it. “Is that really so bad a thing for me to want? To have one thing in this life that is completely mine to have and to give? To not have it forced upon me by duty?”
“No, it’s not so bad.” Corwin said, uncertain if he fully grasped what she meant, but having a feeling he did. The part about duty at least. He understood how it felt to be torn between a desire to fulfill the duty you’d been raised for and to resent it at the same time. He’d been born a prince, destined to compete against his brother in the uror trials, and maybe, if the gods willed it, to rule. Eravis, on the other hand, had been born a princess, her duty only to marry whom she was told and produce heirs who would strengthen the alliances of her kingdom. It was unfair, but there was little she could do about it.
And being forced to share such an intimate experience with a lecherous man like Gavril because she’d been saddled to an unwilling partner was the final insult.
“It’s perfectly understandable,” he said. And he wondered if there was even more—if she didn’t also want to be loved in earnest, not matched by decree. Isn’t that what all of us want, in the end? he wondered, thinking of Kate like always. Simply to be with someone who loves us, and to love in return?
“So glad you understand.” Rolling her eyes, Eravis drank the rest of the brandy and set down the glass on the end table, upright this time. Then she leaned on the edge of the divan and closed her eyes. “If you truly understood then you would do something about it.”
Corwin was grateful her eyes were closed so she didn’t see him wince. It all made sense now. Why she had tried to seduce him that first night, and why she had seemed so uneven every night after. He could imagine the conversation she must’ve had with her fat
her, begging him to give her time to . . . to . . . try and make me fall in love with her. Guilt welled up inside him, squeezing his chest. How naive she’d been to ever hope it could happen.
Corwin considered what he could possibly say in response to that, only to realize she was asleep. No—not just asleep, but unconscious. Passed out from too much drink. Sighing, he approached the divan and leaned down, gathering her in his arms. For such a slender thing, she was surprisingly heavy as he lifted her into the air, her head lolling over his arm. Carrying her into the bedroom, he placed her on the bed. He considered covering her but decided against it, his feelings a knotted ball in his chest.
As he turned to go, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, someone walking on the balcony. Alarm surged through him, and he spun toward the intruder, hands fisted. “Whoever you are, there are guards just beyond the door.”
“Shhhh,” a low, rough voice said. “It’s me, Corwin.” A large shadow seemed to melt away from the darkness, the shape of Bonner.
With a sudden burst of elation, Corwin rushed forward and embraced him. “Bonner, I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”
His friend pulled back from him, his body stiff with tension. “We don’t have much time.” He motioned behind him, and another shadow transformed to reveal a young woman, tall and dark-skinned.
The woman glanced toward the bed. “Did you drink any of the brandy?” She spoke in the accent of someone from Kilbarrow. Rimish, then. Another wilder.
“No, only the princess. Who are you?”
“Not here.” Bonner waved them toward the door to the sitting room. “We may not have long.”
Dozens of questions swirled through Corwin’s mind, but he held them back. Once inside the living quarters, Corwin shut the door and faced Bonner and the unknown woman. As before, Bonner wore the uniform of a Sevan soldier. The woman wore a plain beige robe fitted with a green belt.
Bonner motioned to his companion. “This is Nadira Walker of Kilbarrow.”
Shadow & Flame Page 16