The Oracle's Queen

  “I’ll remember you said that,” Tamír snapped. “And you remember this. I accept my duty to Skala, the gods, my line, and my people. But right now, I warn you—” A quaver crept into her voice. “Don’t cross me in this. Ki stays with me. Now just—go away!”

  “As you wish, Highness.” The wizard quickly retreated, but not without a sad look in Ki’s direction.

  Ki pretended not to notice. You put her here. You can damn well suffer the consequences along with the rest of us!

  “Prince Tobin?” Baldus stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Tamír’s valet, Molay, had hidden the child in a trunk during the final attack. When Tamír and Ki had found him afterward, he was too exhausted and terrified to notice the change in her. He looked around in confusion. “Where’s the princess you were talking to, Lord Ki?”

  Tamír went to the child and took his hand. “Look at me, Baldus. Look closely.”

  The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Highness, are you bewitched?”

  “I was. Now I’m not.”

  Baldus nodded uncertainly. “An enchanted princess, like in the bard’s tales?”

  Tamír managed a pained smile. “Something like that. We need to get you someplace safe.”

  Chin trembling, the child fell to his knees, clutching her hand and kissing it. “I’ll always serve you, Princess Tobin. Please don’t send me away!”

  “Of course I won’t, if you want to stay.” Tamír pulled him to his feet and hugged him. “I need every loyal man I can find. But you must call me Princess Tamír now.”

  “Yes, Princess Tamír.” The child clung to her. “Where’s Molay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ki doubted they’d see him again on this side of Bilairy’s gate. “Get some sleep, Tamír. I’ll keep watch.” To his surprise, she didn’t argue. Stretching out beside Nikides on the bare mattress, she turned on her side and surrendered at last to exhaustion.

  Ki pulled up a chair and sat with his sword unsheathed across his knees. He was her squire and he would do his duty, but he studied that shadowed face with the heavy heart of a friend.

  Darkness had fallen when Tharin came in with a lamp. Ki blinked in the sudden light. Tamír sat up at once, reaching for her sword.

  “Everything’s ready, Tamír.” Tharin stepped aside to make way for the litter bearers who’d come for Nikides. Lynx followed, carrying Tamír’s discarded armor.

  “I’ve assembled an escort for you in the front court and Manies has gone for your horses,” said Tharin. “You’d best wear your armor. The streets are far from secure.”

  Ki took the Aurënfaie hauberk from the other squire. Lynx understood. This was Ki’s responsibility, and his honor.

  He helped Tamír put on the supple mail hauberk, then buckled on the breastplate for her. These pieces, as well as what Ki, Lynx, and Tharin wore, had all come from the Atyion armory. Wrestling with the unfamiliar buckles, he wondered what had become of the armor they’d left behind in Ero that night. Lost with everything else, Ki thought with regret. His had been a gift from Tobin, one of her own designs.

  Tamír, he thought, catching himself. Damnation! How long before that came naturally?

  The rest of the royal guard was mounted and waiting for them in the courtyard. Beyond the wall, the Palatine was as bright as day from the fires still burning there. The hot breeze was against them, and ash had drifted over everything like a grey killing frost.

  There were at least a hundred riders assembled, many of whom held torches to light the way. Most of the horses had shorn manes, Ki noted. Mourning for the king, perhaps, or lost comrades. The few remaining men from the Alestun guard were at the forefront, still keeping together as a group. Aladar and Kadmen saluted him and he returned it with a heavy heart; too many missing faces there.

  Lady Una was there, too, with Iya, Arkoniel, and the ragtag collection of wizards Iya had gathered. The rest were soldiers still wearing the baldric of Atyion, Captain Grannia and her women foremost among them.

  Lord Jorvai and Lord Kyman, Tamír’s first allies among the nobles, waited with sizable contingents of their own riders.

  Left-handed Manies hoisted Tamír’s tattered banner aloft. It still showed the blended coat of arms of her parents, Ero and Atyion together. A long black ribbon was tied to the top of the staff, out of respect for the dead king.

  “You should ride under the royal banner now,” said Tharin.

  “I haven’t been crowned yet, have I? Besides, Korin took that with him, too.” She leaned closer, whispering, “So many? It’s less than three miles to Illardi’s house.”

  “As I said, the streets are still dangerous. A lot of Erius’ men have refused to join us. They could still be out there somewhere, planning who knows what.”

  Tamír settled her sword on her hip and went down the steps to the tall black horse a man still wearing Erius’ colors was holding for her.

  “Keep your eyes open and stay close to her,” Tharin muttered as he and Ki followed.

  “I will!” Ki shot back under his breath. What did Tharin think he was going to do, go woolgathering as if they were out for a hunt?

  As Ki swung up onto his borrowed horse, he saw that Tamír had drawn her dagger. Her horse’s mane had not been shorn. She grasped a hank of the coarse black hair and cut it free, then singed it in a nearby torch. It was a symbolic act, but a worthy one. “For my kin,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “And for all who died bravely for Skala.”

  From the corner of his eye, Ki caught Iya smiling and shaking her head.

  Ki and Tamír rode at the center of the column, shielded on all sides by armed riders and wizards. Jorvai took the forward position, and Kyman and his men the rear guard. Tharin rode with Tamír, and the two wizards flanked them. Baldus clung wide-eyed behind Arkoniel, a small bundle clutched in one hand.

  With much of the Palatine still in flames, the usual route to the gate was impassable. Tamír and her column crossed the ruined park to a small secondary gate behind the ravaged drysian grove.

  This way took them past the Royal Tomb. Tamír glanced up at the scorched ruins of the portico. Ranks of priests and soldiers stood guard there, but most of the royal effigies were gone.

  “Did the Plenimarans knock down the statues?”

  Iya chuckled. “No, the defenders on the Palatine dropped them on the enemies’ heads.”

  “I never went back,” Tamír murmured.

  “Highness?”

  Ki understood. The night they’d first come to Ero, Tamír had taken her father’s ashes down into the royal crypt and seen her mother’s preserved corpse. That had been the only time she’d ventured into the catacombs, avoiding them even on Mourning Night and the other holy days. Ki figured that after living with Brother all these years, she’d had her fill of the dead.

  And where’s he now? he wondered. There’d been no sign of the demon since the unbinding ceremony. All the bits of bone from the doll had burned away with the magic. Perhaps Tamír was finally free of him, as Lhel had promised.

  And he’s free, too. Ki still recalled the look of agony on Brother’s face in those final moments. Despite all the fear and pain he’d caused over the years, and the harm he’d tried to do, Ki hoped that the angry spirit had passed the gate at last, for everyone’s sake.

  Chapter 3

  The city outside the Palatine was in chaos, the air filled with angry cries and the sound of weeping. The rain had lessened, but ragged clouds still hung low over the city. Fires still raged in some of the wards, and an endless stream of refugees choked the streets. Soldiers stood guard outside the gates, trying to keep people from returning to salvage or loot.

  Tamír looked around at these people—her people. Most of them had no idea who was passing them tonight. What would they think if they saw her abandoning the capital?

  “By the Flame, I’m tired of sneaking about in the dark,” she muttered, and Ki nodded.

  Smoldering foundations and lurking freebooters weren’t the wo
rst of the dangers in the ruined city. Hundreds of bodies, the victims of battle and plague, lay rotting in the streets, breeding more disease. Most of the Scavengers who tended to such things were dead themselves.

  Tamír’s guard doused their torches once they were free of the city, not wanting to serve as targets for any lurking enemy archers. The north high road was crowded with a dark, seething line of people, horses, and carts of every description stretching away into the night.

  Have I already failed? she wondered again.

  If the Lightbearer wanted a queen so badly, then why had the Immortal chosen such a dark moment to reveal her? She’d put the question to the Afran priest earlier, but Imonus’ maddeningly serene smile had been her only answer. The priests and wizards were delighted with this turn of events, despite all the suffering that came with it.

  And yet the sight of all these homeless people left her feeling very small and tired. How was she to help them all? The burden of this new role, and all the uncertainty that came with it, bore down on her like a great weight.

  “Don’t worry,” Tharin said quietly. “Things will look better in the morning. The clouds are breaking up. I can see the stars already. See that group over there?” He pointed up at a constellation. “The Dragon. I take that as a good omen, don’t you?”

  Tamír managed a wan smile; the Dragon was one of Illior’s signs. She’d been a devotee of Sakor all her life; now every sign and omen seemed to come from the Lightbearer. As if in answer to her thoughts, an owl hooted loudly somewhere off to their right.

  Imonus caught her eye. “Another good omen, Highness. When you hear the Lightbearer’s bird, you salute the god.” He showed her how, touching three fingers to his forehead between his brows.

  Tamír copied the gesture. Ki and Tharin followed suit, then other riders around them who’d heard and seen.

  Is it because they’ve accepted Illior’s hand in all this, or because they’ll follow anything I do?

  She’d always been in Korin’s shadow at court and seen how everyone went along with whatever he did. If that was to be the case, she vowed to set a better example than he had.

  Duke Illardi and his mounted escort met them on the road. Tamír and the Companions had guested with him often, during the hot days of summer. He was a pleasant, greying fellow, who’d always reminded her a bit of Tharin.

  “Greetings, Highness,” he said, covering his heart with his fist as he bowed from the saddle. “Delighted as I am to offer you hospitality once again, I regret the circumstances.”

  “So do I, your grace. I’m told you’re willing to swear fealty to me, and support my claim to the throne?”

  “I am, Highness. We’re an Illioran house and always have been. I think you’ll find a good many others around the country who will be glad to see the Lightbearer’s prophecy upheld at last.”

  “And plenty who won’t,” Lord Jorvai put in as they set off again. “The Sakor factions who enjoyed the king’s favor won’t so readily see his son displaced. Some have already left the city on account of him.”

  “Will it be civil war, then?” Illardi asked.

  The question sent a chill through Tamír. Forgetting her resentment for a moment, she turned to Iya. “Will Korin fight me for the crown?”

  “With Niryn still alive and dripping poison in his ear? Yes, I’d say it’s likely.”

  “Skalans fighting Skalans? I can’t believe that’s what the Lightbearer wants of me!”

  They reached Duke Illardi’s estate without challenge. Large beacon fires burned along the tops of the walls, illuminating the archers stationed there.

  Beyond lay a pleasant, rambling stone villa set on a promontory overlooking the sea. The Plenimarans had attacked as they passed; black-fletched arrows still littered the bailey yard and gardens, but the gates had not been breached.

  Tamír and the others dismounted at the main entrance to the house. Two pillars carved with Illior’s Eye flanked the doorway and a crescent moon decorated the lintel. When they’d visited here in Erius’ time, Sakor’s Flame had been painted there. Tamír hoped Illardi didn’t change his loyalties too quickly, or too often.

  He’d always been a kind host to the Companions, however, and he seemed sincere now as he bowed and said, “All that is mine is yours, Highness. I’ve ordered a bath and food prepared. Perhaps you’d prefer to take them in your chambers?”

  “I would, thank you.” Tamír had suffered through enough formalities for one day.

  He led her to a set of rooms on a terrace facing the sea. Baldus clung to her hand, and Ki and Tharin followed. In addition to the main bedchamber there was a sitting room, dressing room, and antechambers for her guard. In the heat of summer these rooms had been pleasantly cool. Now they were dank despite the candles and hearth fires burning there.

  “I’ll leave you to rest and refresh yourself, Highness,” said Illardi. “My servants will bring you anything you require.”

  “I’ll see the men settled in,” said Tharin, discreetly withdrawing to leave her alone with Ki. “Come, Baldus.”

  Baldus looked panicked and Tamír nodded to him. “You’ll attend me.”

  The child gave her a grateful look as he scampered to join them.

  Despite the damp, the hangings were warmly colorful, and the bedsheets were clean and smelled of sunshine and wind.

  Baldus looked around the unfamiliar chamber. “What do I do, my lady? I’ve never attended a girl before.”

  “I have no idea. Help me off with these boots, for starters.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and chuckled as the boy struggled with her boots. “I think we could fit your whole family in this bed, Ki.”

  He dropped into a chair and grinned. “And the dogs, too.”

  Baldus gave the boot a final yank and tumbled back, his already dirty tunic covered in mud.

  Tamír regarded her filthy sock and the rest of her stained clothing with a wry smile. “I don’t look much like a lady, do I?”

  “I don’t imagine Queen Ghërilain looked much different, after her great battles,” said Ki, as Baldus wrestled off her other boot.

  “I stink, too.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  Ki’s hair hung in dirty tangles around his haggard, unshaven face, and the tunic over his hauberk was filthy. They both reeked of blood and battle.

  Baldus hurried over to the washstand and poured water into the basin. Tamír washed her face and hands. The water was cool and scented with rose petals, but by the time she was done it was stained the color of rust. Baldus emptied the basin out the window and poured fresh for Ki.

  “Maybe he shouldn’t do that,” Ki warned. “It might not look right to people, him waiting on your squire, too.”

  “People can go hang,” Tamír snorted. “Wash your damn hands.”

  Trestle tables were brought to the terrace. Tamír and her people ate with the duke and his two young sons, Lorin and Etrin. Ki had played with them on their previous visits and found them to be good, solid sorts, and smart.

  Lorin was a tall, quiet boy a few years younger than Tamír. His brother, who was of an age with Baldus, stared at her wide-eyed throughout the meal, as if expecting her to change form again before his eyes.

  Baldus staunchly carried out his duties here, too, until Tamír coaxed him into sharing her bench, and made him eat a few morsels from her portion.

  As soon as the meal was done servants cleared away the dishes and Illardi spread out charts of the harbor to assess the damage.

  “The Plenimarans knew their job. While the land forces attacked the shoreline, their sailors cast burning pitch on every vessel they could reach and cut the mooring lines. I’m afraid all your warships are at the bottom of the harbor now, or burning on the far reach. Only a few small carracks escaped. Twenty-seven enemy vessels were captured.”

  “Any word of how many ships escaped?” Tamír asked.

  “The lookouts at Great Head claim no more than ten.”

&n
bsp; “Enough to carry home word of their defeat,” Jorvai noted.

  “Enough to carry word of Ero’s weakness, too,” Iya warned. “We cannot afford to be taken by surprise again. I have several of my wizards watching the sea, but without knowing where to look, they may not find them. Tell the lookouts to be vigilant, especially in foul weather.”

  Illardi and the others left at last. A large bathing tub had been carried in and filled as they dined and Ki eyed it enviously. They’d lived in the saddle for days.

  “Baldus, go into the corridor and keep watch with the guards for a while,” said Tamír. She flopped down on the bed and nodded toward the tub. “You want first go?”

  “No, you go on—That is—” A week ago Ki wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Now he could feel his face going warm. “I should step out—shouldn’t I?”

  It seemed a logical enough conclusion, but Tamír suddenly looked close to tears. “Do I disgust you that much?”

  “What? No!” he exclaimed, astonished both by the sudden change of mood and that she’d jump to such a harsh conclusion. “How can you think that?”

  She slumped forward with her face in her hands. “Because that’s how I feel. Ever since Atyion, I’ve felt like I’m trapped in a bad dream and can’t wake up. Nothing feels right! I have this empty feeling in my trousers—” Ki saw color rise in her cheeks, too. “And these?” She glared down at the hard little points under the dirty linen of her shirt. “They ache like fire!”

  Ki found himself looking anywhere but at her. “My sisters said the same when they ripened. It passes as they grow.”

  “Grow?” She looked horrified at the prospect. “But you want to know the worst of it?”

  She pulled the shirt off over her head, leaving herself naked from the waist up except for her parents’ rings on a chain around her neck. Ki hastily averted his eyes again.

  “That. You can’t even look at me can you? Every day since Atyion I’ve seen you flinch and turn away.”

  “It’s not like that.” Ki faced her squarely. He’d seen naked women enough growing up. She didn’t look any different than one of his sisters, apart from the mottled bruise on her shoulder where she’d been struck during the first attack on the city. It had faded to a green-and-yellow blotch, stippled at the center with the purpled imprint of the chain mail that had stopped the arrow. “It’s—Damn it, I can’t explain it. Fact is, you don’t look all that different than you did before.”