The Seer and the Sword

  Landen’s intensive stare cut into her happy glow, like harsh sunlight wakening a dreamer. ‘He’s not who you think he is.’

  Heat flooded her body. ‘You know his heart better than I?’ she flared.

  ‘I see more than you.’

  ‘This is hardly gallant, sir.’ She took refuge in cold courtesy.

  ‘He cares nothing for you, Princess,’ the relentless voice continued.

  ‘He loves me!’

  ‘He loves the crown you will one day wear.’

  ‘How dare you! Be off!’

  Landen grabbed her bridle. ‘King Kareed will never have a son. Whoever marries you will be the king!’

  ‘I told you – I know Vesputo will be king. I saw it. Now get away from me. I want to meet my love.’

  ‘He has another.’

  ‘Liar! My crystal would have told me.’

  ‘Your crystal might not tell you what you can see with your own eyes if you would open them!’

  Torina felt suddenly weak. How could Landen have guessed that she never saw her own future?

  ‘There’s nothing to see.’ She was desperate for him to be gone.

  ‘It’s Irene.’

  The words thudded into her chest. She clutched the saddlehorn like a novice rider, dizzy with anguish.

  ‘You lie.’ She fumbled for her dagger, brandishing it with shaking hands. Landen dropped her bridle and backed away.

  ‘If I wanted to tell lies, they wouldn’t be the kind to earn your anger, Princess.’

  He wheeled his horse, leaving Torina looking at the dagger trembling in her fist.

  ‘I won’t believe it,’ she whispered to the trees.

  Torina stayed sheltered until the sky was streaked with rose. When she emerged, she took the direct path home, knowing they’d be looking for her; probably searching everywhere but the common trails she never used. By riding openly, she managed to avoid the servants out beating the woods for a glimpse of her.

  She left her horse near the stable and decided to go in one of the back entrances. The one she chose was reached through a long, open walkway of stone, with small intimate benches set in pillared recesses looking out on the formal gardens. When the season cooled, as now, it was rarely used and the rosebushes stood drooping and brown. Ornamental lanterns, kept lit in warmer months, hung empty and dark, the walkway very dim. Torina walked with the rapid, silent step practised since childhood during play with Landen. She went past dusty benches that a few weeks earlier had held laughing couples, remembering the times Vesputo had met her here. The way he looked at her then, the words he spoke, surely they were true? What man could pretend such devotion?

  Soft sighs of lovers nearby caught her ears. She shrank into a recess, not wanting to be discovered here now, with her face tear-streaked.

  ‘I couldn’t wait to see you alone,’ someone whispered.

  ‘But we must be careful, my love.’ A strong, quiet voice, and Torina’s heart thudded like galloping hooves on the plains.

  It was Vesputo.

  She cowered where she was, afraid. She forced herself to breathe shallow and quiet, though her lungs wanted to explode in screams. My love! Who was he calling his love? Hidden huddled against a cold stone pillar, Torina listened to their kisses.

  ‘You’re the queen of my heart,’ she heard.

  ‘What about her?’ A female voice floated down the walkway.

  Sickened, Torina knew it was Irene.

  ‘A spoiled child, who’ll learn what it means to obey her husband.’

  There was a giggle. ‘Vesputo, there’s something about her I know that you don’t.’

  ‘What’s that, darling?’ His voice was detached, cool as frost.

  ‘I heard about it from Eva, who serves the old queen.’

  ‘Queen Ancilla?’

  ‘Yes. Eva was in the next room, and she heard the old queen talking with Torina. Eva says Torina has a magic crystal that tells the future.’

  ‘Indeed?’ There was heat now, in his tones.

  ‘That’s what Eva says.’

  Torina turned silently. She fled into the darkness.

  * * *

  Landen sat his horse at a cliff overlooking the sea, remembering the day a girl-child saved his life. The surf pounded as forcefully as ever, beating tiny grains out of the great rocks. He watched the waves for a long time, sitting still and morose.

  Torina had taken his words very hard. He’d no idea how deeply Vesputo had invaded her passionate heart. He kept seeing her furious, denying eyes.

  Faith battling with truth. Whichever wins, I have killed her innocence. And what now? She has seen Vesputo crowned.

  Landen knew enough about her abilities to believe that vision would come to pass – unless she acted to prevent it. Would she stop Vesputo? Remembering her stricken face, Landen doubted. She’d give her beloved a chance to vindicate himself. Vesputo would play the part of doting suitor perfectly.

  If she denounced him, how would she do it? Would she sound like a foolish child? And would Kareed, if asked to choose between the commander he’d prepared for kingship and the wayward daughter he loved, erupt in rage? And then there are those other, dangerous rumours, and no way to fight them.

  He slapped the reins in frustration. The grey horse trotted on. He rode slowly, back towards the castle. Once he was stopped by a patrol that asked if he’d seen the princess. No, he answered.

  Sunset found him in the little glade next to her garden. He dismounted and squatted at the edge of the late, lush flowerbeds. This place bore the stamp of her exuberant spirit: the carefully set rocks and riotous surging colours created an atmosphere of delightful tangles. Like her hair, he thought sadly. She always managed to gather blossoms, long after other gardens went to sleep for the year.

  The sound of running footsteps urged him into the bordering trees. Red colours from the sky ran over the mass of flowers like a trail of blood, as Torina ran into the garden alone. She was crying. At sight of the dagger in her hand, Landen almost came out of the woods. But she didn’t turn the blade against herself. Instead, she began to slash at her precious plants, hacking flowers to pieces and shredding delicate leaves. Landen watched, transfixed, as her wild grief destroyed the garden.

  Finally, surrounded by mangled petals and shoots, she crumpled to the ground, tears streaming. She took out her crystal and stared at it.

  ‘Why?’ Landen heard her sob. ‘Why not tell me?’

  She must know. But how? Surely Vesputo would try everything to soothe her fears? Unless she saw them together. . .

  And how am I brought here to see this? If she knew I watched her, would she hate me? I’m watching a tender young girl die. What strange, wild woman will take her place?

  She was looking hard at the crystal. Her face went still.

  ‘No,’ she spoke. ‘No, no. Not her. Not Gramere. Please, please, please, not Gramere. Not her.’

  She stood. A wind picked up some of the scattered flower petals and whirled them round her as she drew back her arm and threw the crystal. It flew in a shimmering arc. She didn’t stop to see where it fell. She raced for the castle.

  Landen hunted for the crystal in the torn beds. The light was dimming rapidly, as, down on his hands and knees, he searched the ground. The crystal eluded him. No sparkle, no glimmer showed, and the sun didn’t wait for him to find it. Soon dusk fell, and then true night. Still he sifted through bleak, curling petals and cut leaves. He wouldn’t leave her cherished seer’s eye buried in the remains of the garden she’d nurtured for years. He groped on, doggedly, in the dark.

  Torina took a side entrance, the nearest one, into the castle. She tore through hallways at a run, oblivious of servants going to and fro. They would spread the word she was home, and call off the searchers. She wasn’t thinking of that. She could think only of her grandmother.

  Ancilla’s rooms were at the end of the west wing. There, the flurry of activity common in the main part of the castle slowed to nothing. Torina’s footstep
s echoed in deserted halls. She hurried on to Ancilla’s bedroom.

  A single serving-woman attended the old queen, who lay on the great bed of her ancestors, withered hands clasped on her frail chest. The servant looked up from sewing.

  ‘Princess. Is something wrong?’

  ‘I must speak with my grandmother. Alone.’

  The woman gathered up her sewing and left. Torina went to sit on the bed, bending over Ancilla with anguished concern.

  ‘Why isn’t my mother with you? And the king – has he been sent for?’

  A gentle smile flitted over Ancilla’s face. One hand slipped into Torina’s. The hand was so shrunken it seemed nothing but bones and ropy veins, the skin translucent.

  ‘My dear, to the others, today is only one more day.’

  ‘Please.’ Torina put her young cheek next to the parchment of her grandmother’s face, willing her own throbbing life-force into the ancient husk. ‘Not now. I need you.’

  ‘Dearest child,’ Ancilla spoke faintly. ‘They call me. If I fight them, I’ll die fighting. If I listen, I’ll die at peace.’

  ‘Can you stay just a little longer?’

  ‘Oh, my dear, I’ve lived so long . . . seen so much.’

  Torina raised her head and looked into the faded, kind eyes, full of wise love.

  ‘You’re so gifted, child. I suppose you saw my death in your crystal?’

  The girl nodded, tears flowing again.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Shall I get the others, Gramere?’

  ‘No. No time. Stay with me. I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Is it about Vesputo?’

  ‘No, not him. This gift of yours. My love, whenever something rare is handed out, you must know it’s borrowed from something greater than yourself. While you have it, remember it belongs to more than you. Use it to benefit others . . . always.’

  Torina felt a strong sensation, as if the spirit of her grandmother was concentrating into one last burst of power before it went away. The old eyes poured love, and a hundred wisdoms that could not be said.

  Ancilla sighed, and the light went down in her eyes.

  ‘My life is ended,’ she whispered. ‘My love for you will never end.’

  Torina felt the spirit float up and expand, swirling round her in a bright mist of love. It hovered a few minutes, as if kissing her goodbye. Then it took flight and she was alone with the empty shell of Ancilla’s body.

  She buried her head in the worn-out bosom.

  Oh Gramere. You are the one I could always talk to, the one who understood. You loved me without any thought of a crown. I need you now. I never had a chance to ask you what to do about Vesputo. I never asked you, and you’re the one who would know what to do and how to talk to my father.

  Too exhausted for anything else, she lay beside the body and watched candlelight flicker on the walls. The future, which had been so joyous and whole in the morning, now gaped at her like an ugly wound.

  Dreea arrived.

  ‘Torina,’ she said, arms round her daughter. ‘I know how you must feel this.’

  No. No one knows. None of you knew her like I did.

  ‘Papa?’ she croaked through dry lips.

  ‘Messengers have been sent to tell him of his mother’s death.’

  Death.

  ‘The funeral must be tomorrow, before the festivities,’ Dreea said. ‘There is too much planned to wait. She kept so much to herself these last years – not many will be there.’

  Oh Gramere. No time, even for your burial. These last few years . . . what about all the years before? You lived so long, and now I’m the only one who will miss you.

  What festivities did her mother mean? There was something . . . her mind sought, but couldn’t find what it was. She lay back on the bed, aching all over.

  ‘Don’t let them take her yet,’ she begged. Dreea nodded, drawing a chair close.

  The queen kept vigil all night with her wakeful, grieving daughter sitting silent beside her through the long time till dawn.

  In late afternoon of the following day, Torina sat alone under a gloomy sky beside Ancilla’s grave. Flowers were heaped over the fresh earth near the simple headstone. Simple, as Ancilla had wanted. She had chosen her own epitaph. Life is long, and goes quickly.

  Torina had stayed when the other mourners left. Her perpetual attendants were absent; the entire king’s household seemed caught up in a great bustle of preparation for something, but Torina only vaguely noticed. Lost in a fog of grief, she hadn’t talked with anyone during the short funeral service. Kareed and Dreea had left once the eulogy was spoken.

  Torina sat rocking herself, as a wind tugged at the bouquets left for the dead. Though very tired, sleep didn’t beckon her.

  Maybe I’ll never sleep again.

  Life seemed to stretch far in front of her, into a wasteland of broken hopes.

  I’m fifteen, and what if I live as long as my grandmother did? How will I bear the coming days, weeks, years?

  When she thought of Vesputo, her heart felt like a dry, cold stone. She knew it was bad for her to feel that way. If Gramere were here, she would have found something to say to break up the harsh rock inside.

  I have lived with you and loved you, and now you are gone. Gone where I cannot follow, until I have finished all my days. She looked at the bowl of sky, grey and bleak, spreading up and up, on and on. Where was Ancilla now?

  She closed her eyes and tried to find her grandmother. She caught a glimmer of the love that had touched her at the moment of death. For a moment, she sensed unity with her grandmother. Gramere was there. She would always be there. She had promised that her love would never end.

  Torina opened her eyes and started at the sight of Mirandae staring down at her. The lovely feeling fled. She shut her eyes again, trying to call it back.

  Mirandae stooped and put an arm round her. ‘Come, Princess. Rest yourself.’

  Straining to regain her grandmother, Torina shook her head.

  ‘It’s best, dear. You must prepare yourself for the feasting now. The king and Vesputo will be toasting your coming marriage.’

  Her coming marriage! Surely they did not expect . . . but she had told no one. Through all the weary night hours she’d never spoken to her mother, had not felt as if she could talk at all.

  She pulled away from the encircling arm. ‘I won’t be there,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘You must be there,’ Mirandae insisted. ‘Everyone expects you.’

  ‘I want to be here,’ Torina answered, each word an effort. ‘I want to be with Gramere.’

  ‘Now isn’t the time to spend with the dead. You’re about to be married.’

  ‘There can be no marriage now, Mirandae.’

  ‘No marriage! What are you talking of? What am I to do with you?’

  Torina’s eyes, puffed with crying, narrowed to slits. ‘Leave me,’ she said, using her royal voice.

  Mirandae turned on her heel. Torina stared after her, rage blasting her mind. Not the time! Her grandmother had loved her patiently, wisely, and always. Did they all expect her to be forgotten in one day?

  She gazed at the gravestone. Life is long, and goes quickly.

  Another figure was coming into view. Torina recognized Landen, dressed in a heavy cape and wearing weapons. He approached and sat beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know how you loved her.’

  Somehow, his quiet sincerity released her tears again.

  ‘You look very unwell, Princess. Shall I take you in?’

  She shook her head, feeling unable to talk. He stayed beside her, saying nothing. She felt a kerchief prodded into her hand. Gratefully, she mopped her face.

  ‘Princess, about yesterday. I – it wasn’t—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I know how bad the grief is. I’m sorry to come to you now. But I wanted to say goodbye, and now is all the time I have.’

  ‘Goodbye?’ She looked up, puzzled.

  ‘
Will you be glad to hear I’m leaving your kingdom?’

  ‘Leaving Archeld? Why?’

  He took her hand, rubbing the fingers. His eyes looked like a body of water lit by underground fire.

  ‘Because there are rumours that say I’ll kill the king.’

  Shock cleared her head. ‘Kill my father? Why?’

  Landen’s chest heaved. ‘To avenge Bellandra.’

  ‘But Landen,’ she said. ‘That was so long ago.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

  He spoke calmly, but the heat in his eyes frightened her. She jumped to her feet, backing away.

  ‘You mean to kill him?’

  He rose, closing the distance between them in two steps.

  ‘No, Princess. It won’t be me. Vesputo wants him dead.’

  Landen’s hand kept her from slumping to the ground. She held on to him, as if he were the only land in a wild sea. The years of separation between them seemed to vanish, and he was her trusted comrade again.

  ‘You think him a murderer?’

  He shrugged. ‘He’s used to killing. His heart is loyal only to himself.’

  A chill filled Torina from inside. Landen’s arm went round her.

  ‘Let me take you in.’

  He began to walk her through the cemetery. The wind rose, sweeping petals from the grave across their path.

  ‘You’re stronger than Vesputo, surely?’ she asked.

  ‘Not stronger than an army of men ready to avenge the murder of their king.’

  ‘My father! I must go to him!’

  She hurried forward, too tired to run, too agitated even to know which direction would be fastest. Landen steered her.

  ‘You don’t have to leave, Landen. I’ll tell them the truth.’

  ‘Please do. But I won’t gamble my life on the truth. It didn’t save my father.’

  She had nothing to say, only quickened her step. He matched her, pointing to the walls of the castle, now in sight as they crested a small hill beyond the cemetery.

  ‘If Vesputo strikes you’ll be at his mercy.’ His face was full of concern.

  ‘If you believe this, why have you left him free to harm the king?’

  ‘King Kareed isn’t my father,’ he answered evenly. ‘And he’s blind to Vesputo, just as you were. Should I do Kareed’s killing for him?’