“Of course,” Kieri said. He was in a better mood this bright morning; even the prospect of dealing with elves didn’t daunt him. A good night’s sleep. An early morning session in the salle. Both had left him feeling in tune with spring. “I have matters of importance to discuss with you, as well.”
“Sir king, we wish to leave.”
“Leave?” He certainly had not expected that.
“Yes. As there is no elvenhome for us here, we find only sorrow where once we found joy. The memories of what we have lost gall us every moment and make the days that should be brief long. If you and the queen had less ability with the taig, we would stay out of duty to tend it, but it is our belief you can do what must be done.”
“Is this really all about your sorrow or is it that yesterday you told Arian things you wish you had not?” Kieri asked. She had told him that only direct challenges and questions kept Amrothlin talking. “Perhaps you wish to keep other secrets you know I would ask about.”
A faint flush darkened Amrothlin’s cheeks. “It is true I spoke too freely to the queen. I did admit there were things I could not say. Not yet, anyway.”
Kieri scowled. “Your time is not as our time, Uncle, I know that well. So what seems hasty to you may be a lifetime to us, who must deal with things as they come. I am not a hasty man, save in war and at great need, but even I can see death on the horizon. I am still your king, bound by the oath the Lady and I shared, and you are bound by your oath as well. You owe me the knowledge you have withheld.” He paused; Amrothlin glared. “Was it not through lack of knowledge that my mother died and I was taken? That you could not rescue me from those years of torment?” He pushed away the lingering suspicion that the elves—or some of them—might have left him there on purpose. “Withholding knowledge can cause as much harm as knowledge untimely given.”
“Are you telling us to stay, sir king?” Amrothlin’s expression was challenging, but Kieri felt a subtle lessening of the elf’s resistance.
“Yes,” Kieri said, putting all the warmth he could into his voice. “Exactly that. Your actions have shaped this realm; your experience and wisdom will help me.” He paused. “There is also the matter of the iynisin.”
All the elves looked away. “You cannot pretend they do not exist,” Kieri said. “Do you think you will be safer elsewhere? Do you have entry to another elvenhome?”
“No,” Amrothlin said. “Not yet, at least, though we might hope. But you cannot protect us from iynisin.”
“I might, if you tell me what I ask,” Kieri said. “My magery was growing when Orlith was yet alive; if you help me, perhaps it will become—”
“My lord—” one of the other elves said, looking at Amrothlin.
Amrothlin’s expression silenced them both. Kieri saw surrender in his gaze. “You are the king,” he said, bowing to Kieri. “You are my sister’s son, the Lady’s grandson, all we have left. I will stay and assist you as I assisted the Lady.”
“But we agreed—” one of the others began.
“I cannot command you,” Amrothlin said without turning around. “But he is the king.”
The others nodded slowly, and Kieri relaxed slightly. They needed something to do, he thought, some assignment. He had no idea what they were capable of, what tasks best suited them. But he had one of some urgency in which they could be helpful if they would.
“These patterns,” he said. “I need to know if there are more in the palace, what power they confer, who can use them, and if they exist anywhere else in Chaya. Can they be changed so iynisin cannot use them, or must we rip up the stones?”
This got the elves moving; Amrothlin assigned some to seek out patterns in the palace and others to look at other buildings where—Kieri was sure—the elves already knew such patterns existed. Others were told to paint reversal patterns on heavy cloth to lay on patterns found so anyone attempting to use a destination pattern would be sent back. That left Kieri alone with Amrothlin, who now looked wary.
“So, Uncle,” Kieri said. “Sit down and let us continue.”
Amrothlin at first was as hesitant to answer Kieri’s questions as Arian had reported, but Kieri kept insisting, and finally Amrothlin’s resistance gave way. But it was less helpful than Kieri had hoped.
“I should tell you about the Lady’s first heir … before my sister, your mother.”
“I am listening,” Kieri said.
That was not, however, where Amrothlin’s story began, for he started long before. The tale chilled Kieri’s blood; it made sense at last of Paksenarrion’s story about the underground stronghold where she had nearly died. Vanryn ago—the vanryn of the elves, ten thousand winters to humans—the elves had lived in the far south that humans called Old Aare, and fewer vanryn ago they had moved north, finally over the mountains. And there the Lady’s first heir had chosen the Severance over his mother’s obedience to the Singer, turning inexorably into the vicious being imprisoned in the banast taig.
Amrothlin went on—and on—with the tale, telling it as elves did, in great detail, connecting every action to its cause and its consequence. Hours passed, the sun’s light shifting from window to window, but Kieri was afraid to break into that torrent of speech now revealing so much he had wondered about. It was nearly dark, and Amrothlin finally had come to Kieri’s mother, when Kieri held up his hand at last, and Amrothlin paused.
“Another day, Amrothlin. You and I both need food and rest, and I have other duties, as you know. Come, if you will, the day after next.”
Amrothlin stood and bowed. “I will come,” he said. “The Singer’s blessing on you.”
“Take care, Uncle,” Kieri said, standing as well. He felt stiff as a log and stuffed with knowledge he needed time to understand. “We know we have enemies still.”
That night Arian said, “Did he tell you anything useful or more roundabout tales?”
“I learned that his brother—my eldest uncle—was a traitor and turned iynisin,” Kieri said.
“It took him all day to tell you that?”
“That and everything leading up to it, connected with it, and … It’s no wonder they won’t answer simple questions, Arian. They don’t think anything is simple.” He shook his head. “I suppose it’s not, if you’re looking at ten or twenty thousand winters as a short time; they can see the beginnings and endings, the connections.” He laughed, mocking himself. “So much for elves being peaceful lovers of harmony and song. I heard about quarrels that lasted thousands of years, and grudges held from before the Dwarfmounts were lifted up and set in place. I will never remember it all.”
“I suppose you could tell it to a scribe—”
“And get half of it wrong? No. No, I’ll deal with the days as they come, use what I can remember. Oh—I didn’t ask the steward—did the other elves keep on with the jobs Amrothlin gave them?”
“Yes,” Arian said. “They said all the patterns in the palace are on the lowest floor, and there’s one in the courtyard, lightly incised into the stone. None in the cellars or pantries, none in the salle or in the entrance to the treasury and ossuary. They said they will have the reversal patterns painted in a few days.”
“Amrothlin’s coming back in two days,” Kieri said. “I hope I don’t have to listen to a single elf about anything tomorrow.”
Arian laughed. “Let us talk of other things, then.”
“Or not talk…” Kieri stroked her hair. “We have a child to invite, do we not?”
“We do.”
CHAPTER TEN
Arian woke one morning some ten days after Dorrin had left, aware of the taig’s intense regard. She felt perfectly healthy, in no need of the taig’s care, and wondered why she was feeling its interest so strongly. Then she realized the taig’s attention was not concern but a richly braided song of joy from tree and flower and every form of life outside the palace windows. Kieri still slept, but she could not sink back into sleep. Instead she rose and was half dressed when the sense of joy lifted in a dizzying
cloud around her.
Delicately, she touched herself with taig sense and found two trembling sparks within. Healthy, yes—no shadow of the earlier poison. As she came into Kieri’s bedroom, he woke.
“You had a reason for rousing so early?” he said mildly enough.
“I did,” Arian said. “More than one, in fact. Two in particular, but also—”
“Two … in particular?” She had his attention, no doubt about it.
“Two.”
“Do you know yet what—”
“One of each.”
“You’re sure … of course you are. Let me—”
She came closer; he put his hand on her belly. She felt his attention, his hopes and fears, and then the joy as he knew for himself.
“Thank Falk and the High Lord and the Lady of Flowers,” Kieri said. He held her close. Arian nodded against his chest. “And you, my brave queen, so ready to risk again … we must be vigilant. We must not fail these children. Are you sure you wish to travel?”
“We still don’t know who sent the poison, how the iynisin knew about the pattern here,” Arian said. “So my going to Tsaia should be safer than staying.”
“I suppose.” Kieri had been increasingly reluctant to send her.
“I know I will want to be two places at once.” She twined her fingers in his beard and changed the subject. “I wonder how many of the supposedly powerless magelords still have their talent.”
“It would be best not to find any more in the royal family,” Kieri said, shaking his head. “I’m serious about that: we need stability on our western border, and if the government falls apart…”
“I won’t mention it if I do sense something,” Arian said. “Not to them, at least. Now: do we tell anyone about our good news or wait?”
Kieri thought about it a long moment. “We must think of your safety and theirs,” he said. “It might be safer to wait—though the way you’re grinning—”
“And you!”
“Both of us, then—we can’t hide that we’re happy, and someone is sure to guess and say something even if we denied it. So I suppose we must tell them. But not everything. Twins! That can be a surprise for later.”
“We must go to the ossuary,” Arian said. “If your sister has more warnings for us, we must hear them.”
“Indeed,” Kieri said.
But the bones had no message other than a vague sense of satisfaction, which Arian took as good news. “So: I will leave as soon as Duke Mahieran is ready, and return as quickly as courtesy allows.” She pulled on her boots, glancing at Kieri.
“And you will be careful,” Kieri said again as he stood and offered her a hand.
“As careful as courtesy allows,” Arian said, laughing.
He held her hand. “As careful as our offspring require,” he said, not smiling.
“Yes,” Arian said, nodding. “That careful.”
By the end of breakfast, news had spread through the palace, and Arian was certain that already someone had slipped out the gate to the city. How long would it be before an elf arrived? And would it be Amrothlin?
The first elf, as it happened, was not Amrothlin but a woman who arrived shortly after breakfast, when they had gone upstairs to change. A Squire brought word that the elf had asked an audience with Arian alone, but Kieri shook his head. “On this day of joy, I cannot be parted from my wife,” he said. “Tell her that, and we will receive her in my office.” When the servant had left, he turned to Arian. “I do not want you meeting any elves without protection, including the women.”
“But Amrothlin—”
“Amrothlin may be true as gold, but he does not control them all. I still think it possible—no, likely—that one of them killed Orlith and may have invited in the iynisin who killed the Lady.”
Arian and Kieri came into his office to find the elf standing quietly, a Squire nearby. The elf made a courtesy as graceful as a leaf in the wind. “My lord king,” she said. “My lady queen. All the taig sings of your joy, and I bring a gift—” She held out a crystal bottle stoppered with a pale green stone. “This potion combines rare and precious herbs; its action is to cleanse and cool the blood. Should the queen take a fever, a few drops in a cup of wine will ease it and save harm to the babes within.” She smiled at them. “I would rejoice to see the grandchildren of my friend,” she said.
“So … you are not one of those who wish to leave?” Kieri asked.
“Oh, no,” the elf said. “I will not leave this land, though others may.” She handed the bottle to the Squire, bowed, and withdrew.
“You are not drinking that,” Kieri said.
“No,” Arian said. “But we may as well see if it smells of the poison we know.”
The liquid had only a sharp herbal smell. “It may be harmless,” Kieri said, sniffing again.
“But I take no chances,” Arian said. “We will pour it out.” She frowned. “I have no reason,” she said, “and perhaps it is only a form of jealousy for her beauty, but I have no warm feelings for her.”
Kieri chuckled. “Perhaps you are remembering my feelings when she suggested we might marry. Yes—this was the same one. A friend of my mother’s, she said, and my mother was no elf-child when I was born.”
Amrothlin was surprised to hear of the elf woman’s visit when he arrived. “But then,” he said, “she was your mother’s friend, and she would want to congratulate you.”
“I have another task for you,” Kieri said. “Orlith’s murder—his wounds were not made by crossbow bolts or longbow arrows. It is possible he was killed by another elf, and if so—we may yet have enemies among the elves in Lyonya.”
“Iynisin use the same bows and arrows as elves,” Amrothlin said. “That is more likely than that anyone I know would kill someone so respected—”
“I hope that will prove true,” Kieri said. “But I would know for certain. Consider the possibility, at least. If you hear anything, tell me.”
Amrothlin nodded. He left after a few minutes, and the rest of the day was a constant stream of visitors come to congratulate the king and queen. Arian was glad she had already readied her clothes and equipment for the trip, because she had no chance to supervise the last-minute packing. She made sure, however, to see the bottle the elf had brought emptied out down one of the kitchen sinks.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vérella
Sleeping later in the morning helped Camwyn stay awake during his lessons, and extra exercise seemed to keep his hand from lighting up every night. One mug of sib at midday kept him alert through his lessons and supper with Mikeli when that was required. His brother treated him more as an ally, less as a child, as if discussing a maturing body and marriage made him older. Mikeli even brought up the problem of the old regalia and his own difficult dreams. “It’s talking to me every night now. Telling me to let it go. I tell you, Camwyn, I do not know what to do or whom to ask for advice. It wants to be with Duke Verrakai, and it wants her to put it on. Should I release her from her oath? Even command her to take it? But then who would take over in her place? Beclan is too young and not yet in control of his magery, according to her letters.”
At that last, Camwyn twitched. Mikeli glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “Can he learn that, do you think?” Camwyn asked, doing his best to feign only mild interest.
“He had better,” Mikeli said, in what Camwyn thought of as his king voice. “We cannot have a magelord in Tsaia who is not both master of his magery and committed to the Crown and to Gird’s law.” His voice softened once more from king to brother. “Duke Verrakai thinks he can, and she learned to, so I suppose it can be done.”
Camwyn wondered if he could learn to control his own magery before anyone found out about it. If only there were someone he could ask … but Duke Verrakai was an inconvenient distance away.
“Do you think it’s … sort of … leaking magery?” he asked instead.
“Leaking? What do you mean?”
“Well…” Inspiration str
uck. “Beclan had been where it was, in Verrakai House, when he showed magery. And it’s talking to you, you say. What if, because it’s old and was a magelord thing, it’s so full of magery that it leaks out? And it can seep into people, making them mages when they weren’t.”
Mikeli looked thoughtful for a few moments, then shook his head. “I don’t think that’s how magery works, Cam. Not the magery in people. I think that’s different from the magic in magical items like a sword.”
“Are you sure? How would you know?”
Mikeli shook his head again. “I don’t know for certain. How could I? But it just seems like they ought to be different. Do magical items have a will?”
“Magic swords can light up when they are near something dangerous. Didn’t Duke Verrakai’s magic sword make a light—?”
“She was holding it, and she’s a mage,” Mikeli said.
“But it was magic before she owned it. Gwenno Marrakai wrote Aris that Duke Verrakai said she saw it light up when another soldier had it.”
“I suppose,” Mikeli said. “But it still needed a person to wield it. Making a light isn’t the same as making magic … I don’t think. Though magelords can make light. I saw Duke Verrakai…”
Camwyn did not want to pursue that thought. “Do magelords make magic things like swords, or can other people?” he asked. “Can wizards make a sword or a dagger magic?”
“Not that I know of,” Mikeli said. “The only magic swords I’ve heard about were dwarf-wrought or elf-wrought.”
“So that crown must’ve been made by a dwarf or an elf, whatever they say,” Camwyn said.
“Nooo … I don’t think they’re lying,” Mikeli said. “Which means that magelords might have such magicks. Some of them. Maybe no one now alive.” He looked hard at Camwyn. “You’re asking a lot of questions about magery, Cam. I hope you’re not wishing you were like Beclan.”
“I’m not!” That much was true. He had no wish at all to be like Beclan. He sent another silent passionate prayer to Gird to keep his hand from betraying him. “I wouldn’t want that. I just—I just can’t help being curious. It’s like the dragon that came. I want to know things—about dragons, about magic, about … about everything.”