She shooed the soldiers out, but Tharin hung back. “Would you like me to stay, Tobin?”
For once, he didn’t. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”
“You should go back to bed,” said Nari. “I’ll fetch you some broth and a warm brick for the foot of your bed.”
“No, please. Just let me sit with him.”
“He can sleep here if he needs to. That chair is good for napping.” With a final wink over his shoulder at Tobin, Tharin gently guided Nari out of the room before she could fuss over Tobin any more.
Tobin curled up in the armchair and watched Ki’s chest rise and fall for a while. Then he stared at his friend’s closed lids, willing them to open. At last he gave that up and picked up the wax Tharin had brought. Breaking off a bit, he rolled it between his palms to soften it. The familiar feel and sweet smell calmed him as it always had and he began shaping a little horse for Ki; those were his favorites. Tobin had given him a little wooden horse charm soon after Ki came to the keep and he still wore it on a cord around his neck. Tobin’s skill had improved since then and he’d offered to make him a better one, but Ki wouldn’t hear of it.
Tobin had just finished marking the mane with his fingernail when he sensed someone in the doorway. Iya smiled at him when he looked up and he guessed she’d been standing there for some time.
“May I join you?”
Tobin shrugged. Taking that as an invitation, Iya drew up a stool and leaned in to see the horse. “You’re very good at that. Is it a votive?”
Tobin nodded; he should make an offering at the house shrine. The horse’s head was too long, though. Pinching off a bit of the nose, he reshaped it, but now it was too small. Giving up, he rolled the whole thing into a ball.
“I just want to stay as I am!” he whispered.
“And so you shall, for a good while longer.”
Tobin touched his face, tracing its familiar contours. The face Lhel had shown him was softer, rounder through the cheeks, as if a sculptor had added a little wax and smoothed it in with his thumbs. But the eyes—those had still been his own. And the crescent-shaped scar on his chin.
“Does it—can you see—her?” He couldn’t bring himself to say “me.” His fingers found the wax again and he pinched at it nervously.
Iya chuckled. “No, you’re quite safe.”
Tobin knew she meant safe from King Erius and his wizards, but they weren’t whom he meant. What would Korin and the other boys say if they found out? No girls were allowed to serve as Companions.
Iya rose to go, then stopped and looked down at the new horse taking shape in his hands. Reaching into a pouch at her belt, she took out a few soft buff-and-brown feathers and gave them to him.
“Owl,” said Tobin, recognizing the pattern. “A saw what.”
“Yes. For Illior. You might consider making offerings to the Lightbearer now and then. Just lay them on the fire.”
Tobin said nothing, but when she’d gone he went down to the hall, filled a small brass offering basin with embers from the main hearth, and set it on the shelf of the house shrine. Whispering a prayer to Sakor to make Ki strong again, he laid the wax horse on the embers and blew on them until the wax melted. Every bit of the little votive was consumed, a sign that the god had been listening. Taking out one of the owl feathers, he twirled it between his fingers, wondering what prayer was proper. He hadn’t thought to ask. Laying it on the coals, he whispered, “Lightbearer, help me! Help Ki, too.”
The feather smoldered for a second, sending up a thread of acrid smoke, then caught fire and disappeared in a flash of green flame. A sudden shiver seized Tobin, leaving his knees a little shaky. This was a more dramatic answer than Sakor had ever sent. More scared than reassured, Tobin dumped the coals back into the hearth and hurried upstairs.
The following day was much the same and passed even more slowly. Ki slept on, and to Tobin’s worried eye, he was looking paler even though Nari said otherwise. Tobin made twenty-three horses, watched from the window as Laris drilled the men in the barracks yard, dozed in the chair. He even played idly with the little boats and wooden people in the toy city, though he was much too old for it now and got up hurriedly whenever he heard anyone coming.
Tharin brought supper on a tray and stayed to eat with him. Tobin still didn’t feel much like talking but was glad for the company. After supper they played bakshi on the floor.
They were in the middle of a toss when the faint stir of bedclothes caught Tobin’s attention. Jumping to his feet, he bent over Ki and took his hand. “Are you awake, Ki? Can you hear me?”
His heart leaped when Ki’s dark lashes fluttered against his cheek. “Tob?”
“And me,” Tharin said, smoothing Ki’s hair back from his brow. His hand was shaking, but he was smiling.
Ki looked around blearily. “Master Porion … tell him … too tired to run today.”
“You’re at the keep, remember?” Tobin had to stop himself from squeezing Ki’s hand too tightly. “You followed me out here.”
“What? Why would …” He stirred against the pillow, struggling to stay awake. “Oh, yes. The doll.” His eyes widened. “Brother! Tobin, I saw him.”
“I know. I’m sorry he—” Tobin broke off. Tharin was right there, overhearing everything. How was he going to keep Ki from blurting out more?
But Ki was fading again. “What happened? Why—why does my head hurt?”
“You don’t remember?” asked Tharin.
“I the doll … I remember riding …” Ki trailed off again and for a moment Tobin thought he’d gone back to sleep. Then, eyes still closed, he whispered, “Did I find you, Tob? I don’t remember anything after I got to Alestun. Did you get the doll?”
Tharin pressed the back of his hand to Ki’s cheek and frowned. “He’s a bit warm.”
“Hungry,” Ki mumbled peevishly.
“Well, that’s a good sign.” Tharin straightened up. “I’ll fetch you some cider.”
“Meat.”
“We’ll start with cider and see how you do with it.”
“I’m sorry,” Ki rasped as soon as Tharin was gone. “I shouldn’t have said anything about—him.”
“It’s all right. Forget it.” Tobin sat on the edge of the bed and took Ki’s hand again. “Did Brother hurt you?”
Ki’s eyes went vague. “I—I don’t know. I don’t remember …” Then, abruptly, “How come you never told me?”
For one awful moment Tobin thought Ki had seen him with Lhel and Arkoniel, after all, and guessed his secret. He’d have blurted out the truth if Ki hadn’t spoken first.
“I wouldn’t have laughed, you know. I know it was your mother’s. But even if it was just some old doll, I’d never have laughed at you,” Ki whispered, eyes sad and full of questions.
Tobin stared down at their interlaced fingers. “The night Iya first brought you here, Brother showed me a vision. I saw the way people would look at me if they knew I had it.” He gestured helplessly. “I saw you and you—I was afraid you’d think badly of me if you knew.”
Ki let out a weak snort. “Don’t know that I’d believe anything he showed.” He looked around, as if fearing that Brother was listening, then whispered, “He’s a nasty thing, isn’t he? I mean, he’s your twin and all, but there’s something missing in him.” His fingers tightened on Tobin’s. “I didn’t understand why he wanted me to bring it before, but now—He thought it would make trouble between us, Tob. He’s always hated me.”
Tobin couldn’t deny that, especially after what had happened.
“I’d have come after you anyway, though,” Ki said, and a deep hurt crept into his voice. “Why’d you run off without me like that?”
Tobin clasped Ki’s hand with both of his. “It wasn’t like that! I thought I had plague. I was afraid I’d give it to you and Tharin and the others. All the way out here I was so scared it was already too late, that the deathbirds would nail you all up in the palace and—”
Tobin broke o
ff in alarm as a tear trickled down Ki’s cheek.
“If you had been sick … If you’d gone off and died somewhere alone on the road … I couldn’t have stood it!” Ki whispered, voice quavering. “I’d just as soon die as live with the thought of it!” He clutched at Tobin’s hand. “Don’t you ever—Don’t!”
“I’m sorry, Ki. I won’t.”
“Swear it, Tob. Where you go, I go, no matter what. Swear it by the Four.”
Tobin shifted their right hands into the warrior’s clasp. “I swear it by the Four.”
Brother was wrong, he thought angrily. Or he lied to me, just for spite.
“Good. That’s settled.” Ki tried to turn his head and dry his cheek but couldn’t quite manage it. Tobin used the edge of the sheet to finish the job.
“Thanks,” Ki said, embarrassed. “So what did happen?”
Tobin told him what he could, though he had no idea how Ki had found his way to Lhel’s camp, and Ki still didn’t remember.
“Wonder what Old Slack Guts will have to say about all this?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” Ki wasn’t strong enough yet to hear about the letter.
Satisfied for now, Ki closed his eyes. Tobin sat with him until he was certain his friend was asleep. When he tried to let go of his hand, however, Ki’s fingers closed tighter around his.
“I’d never a’made fun, Tob,” he mumbled, more asleep than awake. “Never would.” Another tear seeped out from under his lashes and trickled down toward his ear.
Tobin wiped it away with his finger. “I know.”
“Don’t feel so good. Cold … Climb in, would you?”
Tobin kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers, trying not to jostle him. Ki muttered softly and turned his face Tobin’s way.
Tobin watched him sleep until his own eyes grew heavy. If Tharin did come back with the cider, Tobin didn’t hear him.
Arkoniel and Iya met Tharin in the hall and heard the good news. Arkoniel nearly wept with relief, both that Ki was awake at last and that he recalled nothing that would endanger his life. Whether that was thanks to Brother or Lhel, he didn’t care, so long as Ki was safe.
“I think I’ll sleep in Tobin’s bed tonight,” Tharin said, kneading his lower back ruefully. “I’ve had enough of chairs, and it’s certain Tobin won’t leave Ki.”
“You’ve earned a decent rest,” said Iya. “I believe I’ll do the same. Are you coming up, Arkoniel?”
“I’ll sit up awhile.”
“He’ll be fine,” she told him, giving him a reassuring smile. “Come up soon, won’t you?”
Tharin started after her toward the stairs, then turned to Arkoniel. “Do you know of anyone the boys call ‘Brother’?”
Arkoniel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. “Where did you hear that name?”
“Just something Ki said as he came around. Something about someone’s brother giving him that doll. No?” He yawned mightily and ran his hand over his chin. “Well, he was still pretty groggy. His mind must have been wandering.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Iya said, slipping her arm through his and leading him to the stairs. “Or perhaps you heard wrong? Come along now, before we have to carry you up.”
Arkoniel waited until the household was asleep, then stole in to see the boys. Tobin had crawled into bed with Ki. Even asleep he looked sad and depleted, but Ki was smiling. As Arkoniel watched, Tobin stirred and groped for his friend’s shoulder, as if to assure himself that he was still there.
Arkoniel sank into the chair, not trusting his legs to hold him up. It was always worse at night, the memory of what he had done. And what he’d nearly done.
He’d relived that awful moment in the forest a hundred times over the past few days. Tossing on his bed at night, he saw Ki coming toward them through the trees, breaking into that ready smile of his as he caught sight of Tobin huddled over the spring, revealed in her true form. Ki raised his hand, waving to—who? Had he seen her, recognized her, or had it been Arkoniel he was greeting? Lhel had thrown a fur robe over Tobin, but had she been quick enough?
He’d clung to that crumb of doubt, even as he lifted his hand to keep the vow he’d made to Iya and Rhius the day they’d agreed to let another child come to the keep. He himself had told Iya the new companion should be a child no one would miss.
Yes, he’d meant to keep that vow and kill Ki, but his heart had betrayed him and marred the spell; he’d tried to change it to a blinding at the last moment and instead released an unfocused blast that had knocked Ki through the air as if he weighed no more than a handful of chaff. It would have killed him if Lhel hadn’t been there to coax his heart back to life. She’d claimed to take away whatever memories Ki might have had of seeing Tobin, too, weaving in their place vague memories of illness. If Arkoniel and Iya had only known such a thing were possible …
If only they hadn’t been too arrogant to ask.
Glad as he was that Ki lived, Arkoniel could not escape the truth; he’d failed in his duty by not killing Ki, just as he’d betrayed the boy by trying.
For years he’d told himself he was different than Iya and Lhel. Now it seemed his supposed compassion was instead simply weakness.
Ashamed, he slipped away to his lonely chamber, leaving the two innocents to a peace he might never know again.
Chapter 3
Ki was still too weak and dizzy to get up the next day, so Cook served Tobin’s belated name day cakes to them in the sickroom. Everyone crowded in and ate their portion standing. Nari presented Tobin with a new sweater and stockings she’d knitted, and Koni, their fletcher, gave him six fine new arrows. Laris had carved bone hunting whistles for him and Ki and Arkoniel shyly offered him a special pouch for carrying firechips.
“I’m afraid my gift for you is still in Ero,” Tharin told him.
“And mine,” said Ki around a mouthful of cake. His head was still mending but his appetite had recovered.
For the first time in a long time things began to feel safe and normal again. Tobin’s heart swelled as he looked around at the others laughing and talking. Except for Iya’s presence, it could have been any name day party he’d ever had.
By the next day Ki was well enough to be restless, but Nari wouldn’t hear of letting him out of the sickroom. He sulked and complained so much that she took his clothes away with her, just in case.
As soon as she was gone Ki climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in a blanket.
“There, at least I’m up,” he muttered. After a moment he began to feel sick again, but wouldn’t admit that Nari had been right. Fighting down nausea, he insisted on playing bakshi. After a few tosses, however, he began to see two of everything and let Tobin help him back into bed.
“Don’t tell her, will you?” he pleaded, closing his eyes. Trying to make the two Tobins frowning down at him join back into one made his head hurt.
“I won’t, but maybe you should listen to her.” Ki heard him settle in the chair by the bed. “You’re still looking peaked.”
“I’ll be all right tomorrow,” Ki said, willing it to be true.
The weather grew colder. Small sharp flakes drifted down from a hazy sky and the dead grass in the meadow sparkled with thick frost each morning.
Ki wolfed down all the broth and custard and baked apples Cook sent up, and was soon demanding meat. He continued to grumble at being shut in and made light of his condition, but Tobin knew he was far from his old self yet. He got tired suddenly, and his eyes still bothered him sometimes.
They grew bored with games long before Ki was strong enough to play at swords or go downstairs. Anxious to keep him quiet, Tobin arranged a nest of bolsters and blankets from him beside the toy city and they made a new game of tracing familiar routes through the city streets and trying to guess what the other Companions might be up to there.
Ki lifted off the roof of the box that served as the Old Palace and took the little golden tablet from i
ts frame by the wood block throne. Tilting it to catch the light, he squinted at the tiny inscription there. “My eyes must be getting better. I can read this. ‘So long as a daughter of Thelátimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.’ You know, that’s the first time I’ve really looked at this since Arkoniel taught us to read.” His dark brows drew together as he frowned. “Did you ever think maybe it wouldn’t do you any good if your uncle knew about this? The one in the real throne room is gone, remember? My father claimed Erius melted it down when he destroyed all the stone copies that used to stand at crossroads.”
“You’re right.” In fact, Tobin had never considered the risk before; now the idea took on a more dire cast than it would have a month earlier. He looked around, wondering where he should put it for safekeeping. Dangerous it might be, but it was still a gift from his father.
And not just a gift, but a message. For the first time it occurred to him that the toy city had not been simply a child’s diversion; his father had been teaching him, readying him for the day—
“Tob, you all right?”
Tobin closed his hand around the tablet and stood up. “Yes, I was just thinking of my father.” He looked around again, then inspiration struck. “I know just the place.”
Ki followed him as he hurried back to his own room and threw open the clothes chest. He hadn’t touched the doll since he’d hidden it here, but fetched it out now and found a seam in its side with stitches long enough to slide the tiny tablet through. He pushed it in deep, then shook it to make certain it slipped down inside. When he’d finished he buried it again and grinned at Ki. “There. I’m used to hiding this already.”
The sound of hooves on the frozen Alestun road broke the winter quiet the following afternoon. Ki left off his bakshi toss and the boys hurried to the window.
“Another messenger from Lord Orun,” Tobin said, frowning at the yellow-liveried rider approaching the bridge. Sefus and Kadmen met him at the outer gate.