The Oracle's Queen Page 9

  Tamír was on her feet or in the saddle from dawn until dusk, when she wasn’t holding court. Meals were often a bit of bread and meat passed to her while she worked.

  The conditions had one advantage; so far, no one had tried to make her wear a dress outside of Illardi’s house. Out here she was free to stride around in boots and breeches.

  The first supplies from Atyion arrived at last, in a caravan led by Lady Syra, whom Lytia had appointed as her under-steward.

  Tamír rode out to meet her as the caravan reached the settlement.

  “Highness!” Syra curtsied, then presented her with the manifest. “I’ve brought canvas, blankets, ale, flour, salted mutton, dried fish, cheese, dry beans, firewood, and herbs for healing. More is on the way. Lady Lytia has organized temporary accommodations in the town and castle yards for those you send for shelter there.”

  “Thank you. I knew she’d arrange things properly.” Tamír took a sealed document from the sleeve of her tunic and handed it to her. “I’m deeding the hundred acres of fallow ground between the north wall and the sea for an expansion of the town. People can build and settle there, and pay rent to the castle. See that she gets this.”

  “I will, Highness. But does this mean you’ve decided not to rebuild Ero?”

  “The drysians say the wells and earth are too badly tainted. It will take more than a year to clear. And the priests all claim it’s cursed ground. I’m being advised to bum what’s left, to purify the land. Skala must have a new capital, a stronger one. For now, it will be Atyion.”

  “Now if we could just make you go there,” muttered Ki, and some of the other Companions chuckled.

  A crowd was already gathering as word of supplies spread among the shacks. Tamír saw gratitude in the faces of some, but also greed, anger, impatience, and despair. There were still nearly eight thousand of them on the plain, not counting the soldiers, and there had been too many incidents of violence. Her bailiffs came before her daily to present reports of theft, rapes, and other crimes. The laws were still in force and she’d ordered more hangings than she cared to think about, but it was an impossible situation.

  And this was only a temporary respite, she reminded herself. What winter crops had escaped the blight would soon be rotting in the fields if they weren’t gathered, and most of the spring crops had not been sown. By winter they must all have a harvest and a proper roof over their heads or more would perish.

  Exhausting as this all was, Tamír was glad to be so busy all day long. It gave her an excuse to avoid the wizards and kept her mind off what the nights held.

  Brother left her alone by day, but in the darkness the angry spirit invaded her room or her dreams, demanding justice.

  To make matters worse, after a few awkward nights together with little sleep for either of them, Ki had taken to sleeping in the dressing room of her bedchamber. He’d said nothing, just quietly made the change. Now and then he also asked leave to go riding on his own after the evening meal. He’d never needed to be apart from her before. She wondered if he was looking for a girl—a real girl, she amended bitterly—to tumble.

  Ki went out of his way to treat her as he always had, but something was irrevocably changed between them and there was no use pretending otherwise. When he disappeared into that little side room each night he left the door open between them, but he might as well have been in Atyion.

  Tonight was no different. He’d seemed happy enough as he joined her and the other Companions for a game of bakshi, but when it broke up a few hours later he made some excuse and left. Lynx slipped out after him, as he sometimes did. Tamír longed to ask him where Ki went, but pride kept her silent.

  “It’s not as if I’m his wife,” she growled, striding back to her own room.

  “What was that, Highness?” asked Una, who’d been closer behind her than she’d thought.

  “Nothing,” Tamír snapped, embarrassed.

  Baldus had prepared her room for the night. He looked expectantly behind her as Tamír came in. Looking for Ki, she thought.

  Una helped Tamír off with her circlet and boots, and Baldus hung her sword belt on the rack with her armor.

  “Thank you. I can manage the rest myself.”

  But Una lingered a moment, looking like she had something to say.

  Tamír raised an eyebrow. “Well? What is it?”

  Una hesitated, shooting a glance at the boy. Coming closer, she lowered her voice. “Ki? He’s not off to see a lover, you know.”

  Tamír turned away quickly to hide her flaming cheeks. “How do you know?”

  “I overheard Tharin trying to tease it out of him the other day. Ki was rather angry at Tharin for suggesting it.”

  “Is it so obvious? Are all my Companions talking about me now?” Tamír asked miserably.

  “No. I just thought it might ease your heart a little, to know the truth.”

  Tamír sank down on the bed with a groan and rested her face in her hands. “I’m no good at this, being a girl.”

  “Of course you are. You’re just not used to it yet. Once you marry and start having children—”

  “Children? Bilairy’s balls!” Tamír tried to imagine herself with a big belly and cringed.

  Una laughed. “A queen doesn’t just fight wars and give speeches. You’ll need an heir or two.” She paused. “You do know about how—”

  “Good night, Una!” Tamír said firmly, cheeks aflame again.

  Una laughed softly. “Good night.”

  Tamír would almost have welcomed a visit from Brother just then. Better that than sitting here alone with such thoughts. Sending Baldus to his pallet, she changed into her dressing gown and settled by the fire with a mazer of wine.

  Of course a queen must have children. If she died without issue, the land would be torn by chaos as rival factions strove to establish a new line of succession. All the same, when she tried to imagine coupling with Ki—or anyone for that matter—it made her feel very strange.

  Of course she knew how sex went. And it had been Ki who’d first explained it to her, that day in the meadow with his forked stick people and blunt, country language. She wanted to laugh at the irony now.

  She finished off the wine and felt the warmth of it spread. That, and the sound of the waves below her window lulled her, and she let her mind drift. As she began to doze, something Lhel had once told her came back. She’d spoken of a special power in a woman’s body, in the ebb and flow of blood that followed the moon.

  Tamír had started bleeding again yesterday and spent a good deal of time since cursing the inescapable tyranny of rags and blood and the random pains that cramped her belly. It was one more cruel joke of fate, like having to squat to piss. But Una’s offhand words held truth. There was a purpose behind it all.

  The thought of a great round belly pushing out the front of her tunic was still disturbing, nonetheless.

  Baldus stirred on his bed, whimpering softly in his sleep. She went and drew the blanket up around the boy’s shoulders, then stood gazing down at his sleeping face, so soft and innocent in sleep. What must it be like, she wondered, to look at a child of your own? Would it have her blue eyes?

  Or brown?

  “Damnation!” she muttered, going for more wine.

  Ki’s borrowed horse shied as a gust of damp breeze scooped a cloud of acrid smoke up from a blackened foundation just inside the remains of the north gate. Beside him, Lynx tightened the reins of his own mount, nervously scanning the dark square they were presently patrolling.

  “Easy, there.” Ki rubbed his horse’s neck to calm him, then adjusted the vinegar-soaked cloth tied over his mouth and nose. Everyone who ventured into the ruins had to wear them, to fend off disease. Ki knew he was taking a pointless risk, coming here. He claimed to be helping hunt down looters, and he’d killed a few, but in truth, he was drawn back time and again, looking for familiar places. When he came upon them, though—inns, theaters, and taverns they’d frequented with Korin—it only made the ac
he in his heart worse.

  The smell of vinegar was rank, but better than the reek that still lurked in the streets and alleys. Foul humors and the stench of rotting flesh and burnt buildings mingled with the night mists in a cloying miasma.

  They rode for nearly an hour without meeting another living person. Lynx kept his sword drawn, and above his mask his eyes darted ceaselessly, scanning for danger.

  There were still too many corpses lying about. The few Scavengers left were kept busy day and night, carting away the now-putrid bodies to the burning grounds. They were bloated and black, and many had been cruelly torn up by hungry dogs, pigs, or ravens. Ki’s horse shied again as a huge rat darted across a nearby alley with what looked like a child’s hand in its mouth.

  The fires had burned fiercely, and even after almost two weeks, smoldering pockets of coals remained beneath the ruins, deadly traps for looters or unlucky householders seeking to salvage what they could. Up on the Palatine, broken black stonework loomed against the stars, marking where the great palaces and fine houses had once stood. It was a lonely place, but it suited Ki’s mood these past weeks.

  “We should head back,” Lynx murmured at last, plucking at the rag across his face. “I don’t know why you keep coming here. It’s depressing.”

  “Go on back. I didn’t ask you to come.” Ki nudged his horse into a walk.

  Lynx followed. “You haven’t slept in days, Ki.”

  “I sleep.”

  He looked around and realized they’d come out in the theater ward. The once-familiar neighborhood looked like the landscape of a bad dream. Ki felt as much a ghost here as Brother himself. But better this than tossing on that lonely cot, he thought bitterly.

  It was easier during the day. Tamír still resisted wearing women’s garb much of the time, and there were moments when Ki could pretend to see Tobin. When he let himself sleep, he dreamed of Tobin’s sad eyes lost in a stranger’s face.

  So instead, he settled for stolen naps and rode down his dreams here at night. Lynx had taken to coming with him uninvited. He didn’t know if Tamír had sent him to keep an eye on him, or if he’d simply taken it upon himself to keep watch over him. Maybe it was habit, from his days as a squire. Whatever the case, Ki hadn’t been able to shake him off these past few nights. Not that Lynx wasn’t a decent companion. He said little and left Ki to the dark thoughts that continued to plague him, no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.

  How could I not have known, all those years? How could Tobin have kept such a secret from me?

  Those two questions still burned at the edges of his soul, though it would have shamed him to voice them. It was Tobin who’d suffered the most. She’d carried the burden of that secret alone, to protect them all. Arkoniel had made that very clear.

  Everyone else, even Tharin, had accepted it readily enough. Only Lynx seemed to understand. Ki saw it there now as he glanced over at his silent friend. In a way, they’d both lost their lords.

  Tamír was still awake when Ki stole in. He thought she was asleep, and she stayed quiet under the quilts, studying his face in the faint light of the night lamp as he crossed to the dressing room. He looked tired, and sad in a way that she never saw during the day. She was tempted to call out to him, invite him into the too-big bed. It wasn’t right that Ki should suffer for his constancy. But before she could gather her courage, or master her discomfort over the wet rag tied between her thighs, he was already gone. She heard the sound of him undressing, and the creak of bed ropes.

  She turned over and watched the way the light of his candle made the shadows in the doorway dance. She wondered if he was lying there, sleepless as she was, watching them, too?

  The next morning she watched Ki yawn over his breakfast, looking uncommonly pale and tired. When the meal was finished she gathered her courage and drew him aside.

  “Would you rather I had Una take your place at night?” she asked.

  Ki looked genuinely surprised. “No, of course not!”

  “But you’re not sleeping! You won’t be much good to me exhausted. What’s wrong?”

  He just shrugged and gave her a smile. “Uneasy dreams. I’ll be happier when you’re settled at Atyion, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She waited, giving him the chance to say more. She wished with all her heart that he would, even if she didn’t want to hear what he might say, but he just smiled and clapped her on the shoulder and they both left their true thoughts unsaid.

  Chapter 10

  Niryn stood on the battlements, enjoying the damp night air. Korin had gone up to Nalia’s tower again. As he watched, the light there was extinguished.

  “Labor well, my king,” Niryn whispered.

  He’d removed the blighting spell from Korin; the boy would father no monsters on Nalia. It was time at last, the time of Niryn’s choosing, for an heir of Skala to be conceived.

  “My lord?” Moriel appeared at his elbow, stealthy as always. “You look pleased about something.”

  “I am, dear boy.” This lad was proving useful, as well. For all his faults, that odious pederast, Orun, had groomed Muriel well, to sneak and spy and sell his loyalty. Niryn could well afford it, and knew better than to trust him too far. No, he had spells around young Moriel for that, and the boy would do well not to cross him.

  “Have you been keeping an eye on that new lord for me? The one who rode in yesterday?”

  “Duke Orman. Yes, my lord. He seems quite taken with the king. But Duke Syrus was complaining again, about how Korin shows no sign of marching on the usurper.”

  Moriel never referred to Tobin by name. There was bad blood there, and Tobin wasn’t the only Companion against whom Moriel harbored a grudge. “How is Lord Lutha faring?”

  “Sullen, and hanging about Lord Caliel, as usual. I caught them whispering together on the battlements again tonight. They don’t much like the way things are right now. They think you’ve led King Korin astray.”

  “I’m quite aware of that. What I need from you is proof of treason. Solid proof. Korin will not act on anything less.”

  The boy looked crestfallen. “Everyone has retired. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”

  “No, you may go to bed. Oh, and Moriel?”

  The boy paused, his pale, harelike face uncertain.

  “You are proving most valuable. I depend on you, you know.”

  Moriel brightened noticeably. “Thank you. Good night, my lord.”

  Well, well, Niryn thought, watching him go. It seems you do have a heart to win. I thought Orun crushed that out of you long ago. How very useful.

  Niryn returned to his enjoyment of the night. The sky was clear, and the stars were so bright they turned the dark sky a deep indigo.

  The men he passed on guard greeted him respectfully. Many of them were his own Guard, and those who weren’t had the good sense to show him proper courtesy. Niryn had touched the minds of the various captains, and found most of them fertile ground, well sown with doubts and fears for him to manipulate. Even Master Porion’s had been surprisingly easy to slip into; his own stolid sense of duty to Korin did Niryn’s work for him. There was no need to meddle there.

  Niryn’s own master, Kandin, had taught him that the greatest talent of wizards of Niryn’s sort lay in their ability to see into lesser men’s hearts and prey on the weaknesses there. Korin’s flaws had been an open door to him, despite his burning dislike for the wizard. Niryn had simply bided his time, waiting for the seasons to turn. He took his first careful steps in the last year of the old king’s life, when Korin had already led himself astray with doubt, drink, and drabs.

  In the days after the old king’s death, when the prince was lost and foundering, Niryn seized the advantage and wormed his way just as securely into the heart of the boy as he had his father.

  Erius had not been so easy. The king had been an honorable man, and a strong one. Only when the madness began to eat away at his mind did Niryn find a foot
hold there.

  Korin, on the other hand, had always been weak and full of fears. Niryn used magic on the boy, but lately a few carefully chosen words and skillful flattery worked just as well. His beloved cousin’s betrayal could not have been better timed.

  Looking around the dark fortress, Niryn savored a swell of pride. This was his doing, just as the burning of the Illiorans and the banishing of countless headstrong nobles had been his work. He especially enjoyed bringing highborn lords and ladies down into the dust. He enjoyed being feared and cared not one whit how many hated him. Their hatred was the hallmark of his success.

  Niryn had not been born a nobleman. He was the only child of two palace servants. During his early days at court, certain people who’d considered themselves his betters had been anxious not to let him forget that, but once he’d caught favor with the king they’d soon learned not to cross the soft-spoken wizard. He took no direct action against them, of course, but Erius had been quick to show his displeasure. Some of Niryn’s early detractors now found themselves without title or lands—many of the latter having been since given to Niryn himself.

  Niryn did not regret his lowly birth; quite the opposite, in fact. Those early years had left an indelible mark on him and taught him some valuable lessons about how the world worked.

  His father had been a simple, taciturn man who’d married above himself. Born to a family of tanners, his marriage had allowed him to leave behind that malodorous trade and become one of Queen Agnalain’s gardeners. His mother had been a chambermaid in the Old Palace, often working in the rooms of the queen before Agnalain went mad.

  His parents lived in a tiny thatch-roofed cottage by the north gate. Each day his mother woke him while the stars were still out and they set off with his father up the long, steep road to the Palatine. They left their own humble quarter in darkness, and he could see the sky brightening as they ascended the steep streets. The houses grew larger and grander, the higher you went, and once inside the Palatine itself, it was like a great, magical garden. Elegant villas clustered around the walls and ringed the dark bulk of the Old Palace. There had been only one, back then, and it had been a lively place, filled with color and courtiers and good smells; it didn’t fall into disrepair until Erius had left it behind, after his mother’s death. The young prince could not abide the place after that, fearing his mother’s mad, vengeful ghost would come after him in the night. Years later, when Niryn had gained the young king’s trust and access to his inner thoughts, he learned why. Erius had killed his mother, smothering the mad old woman with a cushion after he learned that she’d signed an order for his own execution and that of her infant daughter, having decided they were both conspiring against her.