The Oracle's Queen

  “Sheathe your blades unless you mean to use them,” he said instead, trying to make light of it. “Bilairy’s balls, Alben, are you calling me a traitor now?”

  The others slowly put away their knives and Lutha heard Barieus let out a faint, pent-up breath.

  Urmanis gave him a chagrined smile and ruffled Lutha’s hair. “These are uncertain times, little brother. You should think before you open that foolish mouth of yours. I feel bad about how things are between Korin and Caliel, too, but don’t let your heart blind you to your duty. Korin isn’t the one who’s betrayed Skala. Tobin has.”

  Lutha shook his hand off and pushed past him to the door. “I’m as loyal as you, and so is Cal,” he threw back over his shoulder. “You’ve no right to accuse us, just for speaking honestly! Korin doesn’t need lackeys and slaves, like some Plenimaran Overlord. He needs warriors. Skalan warriors! Don’t you forget what we are.”

  By the time he’d made it out the door he was shaking and doubly glad of Barieus close behind him. He was so angry he had to spit three times to ward off drawing bad luck for it.

  “What’s going on?” Barieus asked as soon as they were safely behind their own door. “How can they just sit there in that hall, watching Fox Beard insult Caliel like that?”

  “I don’t know. And then they have the gall to question my loyalty, right to my face?” Lutha spat again and paced the narrow room. “Maybe they’re all going mad as old Agnalain herself! I’ll tell you one thing, though. If Korin doesn’t make up his mind which way he’s going to jump soon, those cheers won’t be so loud.”

  Niryn saw better than Lutha the impatience among the warriors. The young king felt it, too, and would have led them out tomorrow, but for Niryn’s subtle intervention. The wizard realized the risk, putting off the fight, but he was not ready to slip Korin’s leash just yet.

  Nalia’s tiring woman, Tomara, had taken fondly to her new mistress, but she was still Niryn’s willing informant. When she came to Niryn’s room the previous night, it had been with a long face.

  “Her moon flow’s come again,” she said, holding out the bloodstained linen for proof.

  Frowning, Niryn went to one of the large, locked chests that lined his chamber and sorted through the bags of herbs stored there. Selecting three, he mixed dried leaves and blossoms in a basin and carefully packed them in a linen bag.

  “Make her teas with this and see that she drinks them. She will kindle.”

  “Of course she will, young and strong as she is,” the old woman assured him. “And the young king so attentive, too!” She gave the wizard a wink. “The sheets bear witness to that.”

  Niryn smiled and gave her a sester.

  Sitting by his window later, gazing up at Nalia’s tower, he murmured, “You must kindle for me, my girl.” He was not worried, only impatient. He’d foreseen an heir born to the stock of Erius. It would be so.

  Chapter 15

  Captain Ahra’s scouting party returned early one rain-soaked morning near the end of Gorathan with more news of Korin’s position at Cirna. Most of the northern lords had declared for Korin, and trade from that area had stopped.

  Ahra came directly to the audience chamber, still in her armor and muddy boots. She dropped to one knee before Tamír, left hand on her sword hilt, and raised her right fist to her heart. “Prince Korin has a sizable force gathered, perhaps five thousand men, and twenty ships. I have a list of the nobles who’ve declared for him.”

  “Is Lord Niryn still with him?”

  “Yes, and everyone is scared to death of the bastard and the handful of wizards he has left. Your loyal garrison there was slaughtered, and his grey-back Guard put in their place.”

  “Any news of the Companions?” Ki asked.

  “Lord Caliel and Lord Alben were seen, and there are said to be others, but I wasn’t able to learn who or how many. Master Porion is with them. Korin isn’t showing himself much outside the keep.”

  Tamír exchanged a worried glance with Ki and Nikides, wondering if Lutha and Barieus had survived.

  “Leave it to Alben to scrape through,” Ki muttered. “Garol’s probably right there beside him, too.”

  “It’s good that Caliel and Master Porion are still with him, though,” Nikides mused. “They could always talk sense to him.”

  “Perhaps, but they’ll stand by him, no matter what,” Tharin mused.

  Tamír nodded and turned back to Ahra. “Anything else to report?”

  “Well, Korin wears his father’s crown now, and carries Ghërilain’s sword. He claims to be king.”

  “It is not valid. He has not been properly consecrated,” said Imonus.

  “I guess that didn’t stop him,” Ahra replied. “He’s sent out heralds, calling for the nobles of Skala to join him against you, Highness. Prince Korin claims you’re nothing but a mad boy in a dress, the puppet of rogue wizards and priests.”

  Tamír’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair; the words cut her to the quick. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurt all the same, to have her own fears confirmed.

  “Niryn’s put that into his head,” Nikides offered, though he didn’t sound very convinced, either.

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” said Ahra. “Korin has taken a new wife, too. The Princess Consort Nalia, they call her. I heard her called Nalia the Plain, and Nalia the Marked, too, on account of some birthmark on her face.”

  Tamír rubbed at the dark pink stain on her left forearm. That was said to denote wisdom. She wondered what this other woman’s mark meant.

  “Are you sure you heard right?” asked Lynx. “Korin’s not the sort to take an ugly girl into his bed.”

  “Supposedly she’s of the royal blood, some degree of cousin. Her mother was Lady Ana, who married Lord Sirin of Darie.”

  “I remember her,” said Iya. “She had a wine stain birthmark on her face, too, and no chin to speak of, but she was intelligent and wellborn enough to find herself a good husband. The Harriers murdered her during the purges. I never heard of any child, though. How old is she said to be?”

  “About Prince Korin’s age, I believe,” replied Ahra.

  “Couldn’t she be an imposter?” asked Nikides.

  “It’s possible, of course, but they’d be foolish to try such a sham. The truth is easily learned,” said Imonus.

  “The truth can be manipulated,” said Arkoniel. “Still, it would be foolish to try and pass off a false heir when Korin himself can claim royal blood.”

  “Niryn must want the added legitimacy of a direct female bloodline,” said Iya, frowning. “By the Light, he was playing a long-sighted game. Tamír, if Korin fathers a daughter on her, that child could make a claim to your throne.”

  “No one has a clearer claim than Princess Tamír!” Kyman objected. “She is the daughter of the rightful heir, and of the unbroken line of Ghërilain. I say the sooner we do away with Korin and this upstart girl the better. Get rid of them both before they breed!”

  “Would you have me become my uncle so quickly?” Tamír sighed.

  Kyman bowed, but he was glowering through his beard. “I meant no disrespect, but you must understand that the existence of such a child would be a threat.”

  Iya nodded darkly. “It’s true, Tamír.”

  Looking into Iya’s pale, hard eyes, Tamír felt a sudden chill, as if Brother had come up behind her. The demon was nowhere to be seen, but the uneasy sensation lingered. “I am the daughter of Ariani, of Ghërilain’s line, and Illior’s Chosen. I do not fear any distant cousins or their unborn children.”

  “You’re all jumping at shadows anyway,” said Ki. “Korin has never planted a child that lived.”

  “I pity this Nalia more than I fear her,” Tamír said softly. No one else there, not even Ki, had seen what she had, standing beside Korin in that birthing chamber: Aliya screaming in agony on a blood-soaked bed, dying to birth a dead thing with no arms or face. “If Illior means for me to be queen, then I shall be queen; but I’ve t
old you already, I won’t rule with a kinswoman’s blood on my hands.”

  For once Tamír was glad of her long skirts. They hid the way her knees shook as she stood. “What I declared before the walls of Ero I declare to you all now; anyone who murders kin of mine, any kin, is my enemy!”

  Everyone bowed to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Tamír saw Arkoniel and the other wizards doing the same with their hands to their hearts. Iya alone remained unmoved, regarding Tamír with that unblinking gaze that had frightened her as a child. A twinge of that same fear angered her now. It reminded her too much of how she’d felt around Niryn.

  Tamír retreated to her chamber after the audience, clearly needing to be alone. Ki and Tharin followed but found the door closed against them.

  Tharin drew Ki away from the guards at the door and shook his head. “She’s done well, so far, with that honest kind heart of hers, but I saw doubting faces in the crowd tonight. These men are risking everything to follow her, and now we know that Korin already has more than twice her army at his command. She can’t afford to let kindness turn to weakness in front of them. Can you talk to her?”

  “I’ll try. But she’s right to say she won’t act like her uncle.” Ki paused, studying the older man’s face closely. “You think she’s right in that, don’t you?”

  Tharin smiled and patted his shoulder. He didn’t have to reach down to do that anymore; Ki was as tall as he was. “Of course. But Mistress Iya is probably right about Niryn being even cleverer than we gave him credit for. He didn’t just pull this girl out of the air.”

  “I can’t help that. What do I do for Tamír?” Ki asked, looking unhappily back at the closed door.

  Tharin squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve always taken good care of her, as a squire and a friend, and I know you’ll stand by her now. Just see that she doesn’t worry herself sick over this business.”

  “Easier said than done,” Ki grumbled. “She’s stubborn.”

  “Just like her father.” ’

  Ki searched Tharin’s face. “Did Duke Rhius have people killed for this, Tharin? Or her mother?”

  “Ariani never hurt a soul in her life, except herself and that child. Rhius did what was called for when he had to, but never for his own ends. He served Skala and did whatever needed to be done. We put down a few rebellious lords in our day, and some were got out of the way quietly. But it was for Skala. Help her accept that, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try, but you know I’ll stand with her, whatever she decides.”

  “Just as you should, and so will I. Go on now. You’re the only one she wants to see now, I’m sure.”

  When Ki slipped in, Tamír was sitting by the fire, chin resting on her hand. It was a familiar pose, as was the look of wistfulness he caught before she looked up. Ki had a sudden urge to stride over and hug her. Before he could decide whether to act on the impulse or not, Tamír turned and gave him a wry look.

  “I heard you two whispering out there. What was that about?”

  “He said to not let you fret too much.”

  “I see. How are you supposed to do that?”

  He grinned. “Get you drunk enough to sleep well for a change? I hear you tossing and muttering all night.”

  Tamír raised an eyebrow. “That makes two of us, then.”

  Ki shrugged. “You talk to Brother in your sleep sometimes. He’s still around, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? What’s keeping him around?”

  Tamír just shook her head, but Ki sensed there was much she wasn’t telling him. “He’s not done with me, I guess,” she replied at last. “Don’t worry, I can deal with him.”

  Ki knew there was more she wasn’t saying, but he let it go. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that about Korin. It must have hurt.”

  She shrugged. “Put yourself in his place. What would you think? If I could only talk to him!”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

  Tamír went to bed fretting about Korin, but it was Brother who was waiting in her dreams again, gaunt and covered in blood, his black eyes filled with hatred. He had something in his hands, something terrible he wanted her to see.

  “They did this to us, Sister!” he hissed. His hands were bloody, and at first she couldn’t understand why. All he held was one of their mother’s cloth rag dolls—a boy, with no mouth, just like all the others she’d made during Tamír’s childhood. As he thrust it at her, however, she noticed that there was blood on it, too. It was dripping from an open wound in Brother’s chest. It was raw, just as it had been in the vision she’d had of him that day at Lhel’s tree, during their second binding.

  A sudden tearing pain in her own chest stole the breath from her lungs.

  “They did this!” Brother snarled. “You! You let them live! My blood is on your hands now!”

  Looking down, Tamír saw that he was right. Her own hands were sticky with blood and she was holding Lhel’s silver blade in one hand and her sharp silver needle in the other.

  She woke panting and covered in cold sweat. The night lamp had gone out. The room was in utter darkness but she heard a noise and threw herself back against the bolsters, reaching wildly for the sword belt on her bedpost. Her hands still felt wet, sticky. Blood?

  “Highness!” Somewhere in the darkness, Baldus sounded terrified.

  And there was Brother, a glowing, snarling presence at the end of her bed. He wasn’t naked or bloody, but he still held that mouthless doll in one hand, while with the other he pointed at her, silently accusing.

  Her fingers brushed the strap of her scabbard, and she cried out again as strong, warm hands closed over hers. “No! Leave me alone!”

  “It’s me, Tob!”

  She jerked in Ki’s grasp but he held on, and that was somehow comforting, as comforting as hearing him use her old name. She knew without looking that Brother was gone.

  The door flew open behind them and a guard was silhouetted in the lamplight from the corridor, sword drawn. Baldus let out a startled yelp as the door struck him.

  “Highness, what’s wrong?” Captain Grannia demanded.

  Ki dropped Tamír’s hand and stepped back from the bed, dressed in nothing but a long shirt. “Just a nightmare. Her Highness is safe.”

  Tamír could only imagine what this must look like. “A nightmare, as he said,” she snapped. “Go back to your post and close the door.”

  Grannia gave them a last confused look, saluted, and obeyed.

  Tamír expected Ki to go back to his cot, but instead, he sat down and pulled her close. Too shaken to object, she sagged against him, glad of his arm around her. She was glad for the darkness so he wouldn’t see how it made her blush.

  “I think we might have just started a rumor,” she muttered.

  Ki chuckled. “As if we haven’t already.”

  “Highness?” Baldus whispered. He still sounded scared.

  “It’s all right,” Ki told the child. “The princess just had a very bad dream. Go to sleep.”

  Tamír’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough now to make out Ki’s form, but she’d have known him anyway. Ki bathed often when he had the chance, but always seemed to smell faintly of horses and leather, fresh air and wine and clean sweat. It was a nice smell, comforting and familiar. Without thinking, she reached up and buried her fingers in the soft hair at the back of his neck and felt his start of surprise.

  He hugged her and whispered, “What was that all about?”

  “Don’t know.” She didn’t want to think about it any more, not in the dark like this. Baldus was still whimpering, over there by the door. She knew too well what that felt like, to be afraid in the dark.

  “Come here,” she called to him.

  The child climbed onto the bed and curled trembling against her legs. She reached down and made sure he’d brought a blanket with him, and then stroked his hair to comfort him. It felt cool and coarse under her fingers, nothing like Ki’s.
>
  “I’m sorry, Highness,” the child whispered, voice hitching.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For not being brave. I thought I saw a ghost. I thought you saw it, too.”

  She felt Ki’s arm tighten around her. “It was just a bad dream.”

  Baldus fell asleep quickly and Ki carried him back to his pallet, then returned to the edge of the bed.

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard you calling out to him in your sleep, Tamír, just the worst. Can’t you tell me what’s going on? I know he’s lurking around. I can feel him sometimes, and I see the way you go still all of a sudden, staring at something no one else can see. If there’s anything I can do to help—”

  She found his hand and drew him back down beside her. “He’s still angry at me about the way he died, but he can’t tell me what it is, except that I must avenge him,” she whispered.

  Ki was quiet for a moment, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles with a soothing rhythm that sent chills up her arm. At last he said, “There’s something I never told you.”

  “About Brother?”

  “Yes. I’d forgotten all about it. It happened the day Lord Orun died.”

  “That was years ago.” She’d tried to forget that day, too, when she’d watched Brother kill her abusive guardian with a single touch of his hand.

  “That day you went to see him, I stayed behind at your mother’s house, remember? I never told you—I never told anyone—but I saw Brother that day, while you were gone. That was the first time.

  “I was pacing around in Tharin’s room, fretting over why Orun wanted me gone and worrying about you being alone with him and all. Then, out of nowhere, Brother just appears and says something like ‘Ask Arkoniel.’ It scared the piss out of me, but I asked what it was I was supposed to ask the wizard about. He wouldn’t say, though, just stared at me with those dead eyes of his and disappeared.” He paused. “Then they brought you back half-dead and told us about Orun and I forgot all about it. But now, with him still hanging on this way, it makes me think. Do you suppose Arkoniel knows more about him than he lets on?”