“At first, yes,” Amrothlin said. “But after we left the great hall below, in the time of the banast taig…” His voice trailed away; he looked down and away. “I cannot talk of it now, Nephew, please. Her power diminished, and now she is gone; the elfane taig is gone; I must prepare to lay her body to rest.”
Kieri felt tears rising in his eyes and blinked them back. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why didn’t Orlith? If I had known—”
“You would have tried to interfere,” Amrothlin said, his voice harsh again. “And what could you, a mortal, do? You had no power to lend us. You could but cause the Lady more anguish, to know that you knew her shame.”
“And this is better?” Kieri asked. The familiar irritation with elven arrogance overrode even his fatigue. He waved at the room, at the bodies and the blood and the stench of death. “Her pride cost you dear, Uncle. You were so sure we could not help, you did not even seek understanding, let alone alliance—”
“How could such as you understand?” Amrothlin said. He looked more weary than angry now, his grace diminished. “What we live—what she lived—is beyond your comprehension. It is no use to explain; you do not have the mind for it.”
Kieri’s anger grew, but he knew that for a postbattle reaction as much as a fair response to Amrothlin. He glanced around the room. Everyone but the physicians working on the wounded Squires was looking at him. This was not the time to continue a quarrel with Amrothlin.
“Are any others wounded and in need of care?” No one answered. Arian’s Squire returned her blade, now cleaned, and Arian slid it into the scabbard. Kieri had almost finished with his own.
“We will need to make a bier to move her,” Amrothlin said. “And … and the others.”
“Is there any menace in Sier Tolmaric’s remains?” Kieri asked.
“No,” Amrothlin said. “The evil destroyed him but does not remain. Do what you will with … that.” He gestured toward Tolmaric’s body but averted his gaze. “But beware the iynisin ephemes. Even their blood taints anything alive or that once lived. You must burn such things in a safe place away from here.”
“Sier Tolmaric was a brave man from a family that had suffered much at elven hands,” Kieri said, ignoring the rest for the moment. Amrothlin’s arrogance grated on him. “Had the Lady not pressed her glamour on him, he might have fought at my side.”
“What injury had he from elves?” Amrothlin asked, brows raised.
Kieri regretted mentioning it; this was something else that would be better discussed later. But if he wanted answers to questions, then he must answer those asked of him. “When my mother was killed, and I abducted, Tolmaric’s father and grandfather were taken away by the elves—possibly by you yourself. Were you involved in that?”
Amrothlin scowled. “We thought humans were, of course. How else?”
“Perhaps today you see another possibility,” Kieri said. “Elves took some of his family, and they came back damaged, with no apologies or recompense made. Nor, though I asked the Lady, was any recompense made for his losses from scathefire. Nor was that family the only one injured in your search for my mother’s killers.” He slid his sword home in its scabbard, picked up the dagger, and wiped it down. “But we will talk of this later, when you have taken the Lady away. For now, tell your people what happened—what really happened—and give those who died whatever honor you can. Where will you lay the Lady?”
“In that valley where the elvenhome below was,” Amrothlin said. “She loved that valley. It is not in Lyonya as you know it, but you would be welcome to come there.”
Kieri shook his head as he slid the dagger, now clean and oiled, into its sheath. “With this menace hanging over us, I cannot leave, Uncle. It would be better, indeed, if you found a place for her nearer to Chaya, since you lack the protection of the elvenhome. Why not the King’s Grove, where the symbol of our alliance is? You say, I understand, that your people have no existence beyond death—though truly I do not understand how you can know that—”
“We were told,” Amrothlin said in a low voice.
Kieri wanted to ask, By whom?, but this was not the time. “Linne, please tell the steward or Garris—whomever you find first—to summon the Council to the large dining room. They may already have heard, but I will formally announce Sier Tolmaric’s death there. And we will need a bier for Tolmaric’s body.” He looked at Amrothlin again. “The palace can furnish biers for your dead. I will want two elves at the Council. You, unless your duties to the Lady’s body require you here, and whomever you choose.”
“Yes,” Amrothlin said. His sword hand moved weakly, as if he could not decide on a gesture. “Yes, to all. Is there—is there any place we could take the bodies to wash them? I do not wish to parade the Lady through the streets to our inn.”
“Of course. We will use the salle for them. Arian?” Kieri turned to her. “What is your desire in this?”
“That it not have happened,” she answered, her voice choked with grief. “But it did. I would stay with my father’s body, if you can spare me.” Her expression was grave and resolute.
Kieri nodded. “Of course I can. You are his kin; it is your right.”
“You said you were hit on the shoulder,” Arian said. “I see the cut in your clothes—”
“And the blade did not touch my skin thanks to the mail. I will have it seen to when I can, but not now.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “I will come, Arian. But first I must speak to the Council, and then I will come to the salle.”
“Then I take my leave,” Arian said. “But you will be seen by physicians, Kieri—I insist on it.” She gave a little bow and turned away, going back to her father’s body. Kieri watched the set of her shoulders. He had lost his parents so long ago … he knew the pain of having none but not the pain of recent loss. And with the loss of their child … she had lost so much in so short a time.
He moved away from the iynisin’s body to Tolmaric’s. He could hardly recognize this ugly twisted relic as human remains. “You were brave,” he said to Tolmaric’s spirit in case it lingered. “You were not afraid to speak out the truth you knew and would have fought if you’d had the chance. I am sorry I could not save you from this fate. I swear to you, I will do my best by your family. Your sons and daughters will have a father in me.” Tolmaric, he knew, had no living brothers.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the door and turned to look. Two servants came in with one of the net-covered frames used to move the injured and lifted Tolmaric’s body onto it. “Don’t move him until I am with the Council,” he said. “They should hear it first, not see it. And the elves will need enough for these—” He pointed to the other bodies. Then he went to the door, where the Kuakgan had been waiting, and stepped into the hall.
“Do you blame us?” the Kuakgan asked, speaking softly. For the moment, Kieri could not think of his name.
“For what?” Kieri asked. He could think of nothing the Kuakkgani had done that day worth blame.
“It was our song to the One Tree, they say, that began the Severance and the evil that followed, when some elves rebelled against the Singer and chose destruction.”
Kieri huffed. “The Severance happened long ago, and your responsibility lies with your own acts. Today you did us more than one good service. I am not angry with you, nor do I blame you. But I would ask what you can add to my knowledge of these iynisin, as the elves call them.”
“The kuaknomi have some powers beyond ours,” the Kuakgan said. “We depend on the bond of kinship with trees and the taig and can do no more than kinship allows. The kuaknomi draw their power from hatred—from Gitres Unmaker.”
Kieri had heard the iynisin called kuaknomi before, in Tsaia. “Did you know what it was without seeing it?”
“Oh, yes. We feel the taig all the time, you see, as elves do, and the trees felt their most dire enemy near.”
“I thought fire was their worst enemy—or the scathefire at least.”
&nb
sp; “Fire is the nature of dragons and their young,” the Kuakgan said. “The young do not burn out of malice, but joy. Kuaknomi, though, hate trees especially and delight in tormenting them.” The Kuakgan paused, looking past Kieri around the room. “Kuaknomi blood is corrosive to living things and to things that were alive. See where the carpet is blackening as with fire? And your wounded—if such blood touches an open wound, that is very bad. Do your physicians know about the dangers—?”
“I doubt it,” Kieri said.
“You and others have much blood on you—some of it kuaknomi by the smell. If you are wounded even slightly, you need treatment now.”
“I’m not,” Kieri said. A bruised shoulder was not a wound. “Can you help my physicians with the wounded?”
“We will try,” the Kuakgan said. “I will call the others. We were going to ask if we could visit the ossuary and the bones of your ancestors, but this is more urgent.”
“The ossuary? That seems a strange desire for those who live in groves,” Kieri said.
“It may seem strange, but to us…” The Kuakgan paused, frowning. “I am not sure I can explain it. When we find bones in the forest, they … they tell us things. Not only how the animal died but who has passed. I felt an urge to visit your ossuary.”
Kieri thought suddenly of the connection he’d discovered between the ossuary and the King’s Grove mound. His face must have shown something, because the Kuakgan’s gaze sharpened and he said, “What is it, Lyonya’s king?”
“We must talk,” Kieri said. “But first I must speak to my Council. Please help with the wounded, as you can, and I will talk to you later.”
The Kuakgan was silent and motionless a long moment, then he nodded, his eyes bright beneath his hood. “I have called the others; we will do what we can.”
Kieri turned and went down the passage to speak to his Council. The mumble of conversation stopped when he entered the room; the men and women all turned to look at him.
“My lord king! You’re hurt!” That was Sier Halveric, just a beat ahead of the rest.
“No,” Kieri said. “It’s not my blood.” Most looked scared, startled, shocked. Across the room, Aliam Halveric’s brows went up; the glance between them conveyed the years of comradeship and shared experience in war. “Sit down, please,” Kieri said. He felt the postbattle letdown even more now, but they needed his steady confidence, as they had needed it before he rode away to war. He hoped that this time they would respond better. He waited until they were seated and silent. Amrothlin came in just then, his expression strained, followed by another elf. Kieri waved them to their seats as well.
He began with a terse recital of events leading to his confrontation with Sier Tolmaric.
“Then it’s true you know what the poison was?” Sier Davonin, of course. Women losing their children would interest her more than a fight in his office, however bloody.
“Yes,” Kieri said. “And there’s no more danger of contaminated food here. But let me go on—what comes is as important.” He told it in order, ignoring all signs that someone wanted to ask a question. “The queen and I are alive, unharmed,” he said as he finished. “Lord Amrothlin—” He nodded to Amrothlin. “—as you know, is the Lady’s son. He has told me that the elvenhome is no more. He and I will discuss later what this means for Lyonya, for the remaining elves, and for us, who have long been partners here. I counsel you all to be vigilant. If you have doubts of something you see, tell a palace official or a servant. I must go to the salle, where the bodies are laid for the night. Those who wish may pay respects later.” With a short bow, he left them and headed for the salle.
In the passage near the salle, he met Sier Tolmaric’s wife, escorted by one of Arian’s Squires. Lady Tolmaric’s face, normally pale, was blotched with crying, her graying red hair loosening from its braid.
“My lady,” Kieri began, but she burst into more tears before he could offer any comfort. He knew it had been her first visit to Chaya—she had not come for the coronation—and he had seen her wide-eyed joy in the splendor of the court and her shyness around other Siers’ wives. Now she was bereft here in this strange place with strangers all around and no husband to guide her.
She sobbed out her misery, her fears, her certainty that nothing would ever come right. “The children—they’ll starve—who’ll take the land? And the farms—what will I do? Salvon knew it all; he worked so hard for us—”
“My lady, listen to me,” Kieri said when the fit seemed like to go on another turn of the glass. “Your children will not go hungry, nor your house be taken away … I promise you, as I promised him—”
“Do you…” A gulp and cough interrupted that. “Do you really mean … you’ll help?”
“Yes,” Kieri said. “A king keeps his promises, and I have promised. Before a witness here—” He glanced at Arian’s Squire, who spoke up on cue.
“I witness the king’s promise,” she said. “Now, Lady Tolmaric—”
“You should not go in yet,” Kieri said. “It would distress you—and where are the children?” He knew that one son and two daughters had come, as wide-eyed and shy as their mother.
“At—at the house. This—this lady, this Squire said the queen had sent word, so I would not hear it from gossip, but I do not listen to gossip, sir king, truly I don’t. And she said I should wait, but I could not, I must come, he was my husband. Oh—” She broke into sobs again. “Oh, what will I do?”
“You will listen to me,” Kieri said with more force. Her mouth opened, and she stared but was quiet. “Listen carefully now. A dangerous being killed him, and the killing defaced him. What was done to his body was evil. You should not go in now but wait until those whose business it is have sewn him into a shroud for burial.”
“But I must see his face one more time—must kiss his hands, his feet—”
“No, you must not. Remember his face as it was. Hold that memory and do not degrade it with how he now appears.”
Her eyes were wide, fixed on his. “But … it is what a wife should do … it is what his mother did when his father died. What my mother did…”
“Yes, if his death was natural. This is not. Trust me, your king, to know what is best. You will have enough distress when you see him in the shroud, for the evil that was done distorted what was left. You must not remember him as he is now.”
“Then what—how long—?”
“Your children need you. Do you have servants in the house where you are?”
“N-no. It is not our house; we paid to use one for three hands of days. No need for servants; I can cook as well as any.”
“Yes, but you should not be alone now.” He sent the Squire to arrange an escort and someone to stay with Lady Tolmaric for a day or so. As soon as Lady Tolmaric and the two servants headed back to her rented house, Kieri went on to the salle.
CHAPTER TWO
There he found Arian with her father’s body. Dameroth’s bloody clothes had been removed, his body washed and clothed in white. Arian sat on a low stool, one hand on his forehead. As Kieri walked toward her, she looked up but did not speak. One of his Squires fetched a stool for him, and he sat beside her.
Arian crooned some tune he did not know, but he could feel power being used. She reached her other hand out to him, and he took it. He glanced around. The other dead elf, the one he did not know, had also been dressed in a white robe. Elves were still working over the Lady’s body, wrapping her in silvery lace with fresh flowers woven through it.
Arian’s song stopped. He glanced at her. “I knew him so little,” she said. “When he quit coming … the years passed, and I was busy, and then my mother died. I did not even know all of his name or all of mine. Or why I was not told before. He said he would tell me later.”
“I’m sorry,” Kieri said. He could think of nothing else to say.
“At least I had him when I did. More than you had of your parents.” She drew a deep breath and faced him squarely. “I sent one of my Squire
s to Lady Tolmaric, when I found she was not in the palace.”
“That was well done,” Kieri said. Tolmaric’s contorted form, now sewn into a shroud, lay against one wall of the salle. “She wanted to see him. I convinced her to go back and sent servants with her as well.”
“What will you do for her?”
“Find out if they have a good steward, and if not, find her one. Make sure she has land to plant.”
Arian was looking at her father’s face again. “I cannot believe he is utterly gone, that there is no place for their spirit to dwell. They are so alive when they are alive—”
“We are not like you, lady,” Amrothlin said. Kieri had not heard him come in. Amrothlin looked at Kieri. “It is time to return them.”
“At night? Will you not wait until dawn?”
“No. In our custom, as soon as it may be, it must be. For the sorrow of their violent deaths, we clothe in white, but still it must be swift, the return to the taig. And—lord king—I know I said yes when you suggested they be laid on the mound in the King’s Grove, but—but that is not right.”
Kieri’s memory of Midwinter night came to him again. “You fear what is below,” he said.
“She deserves better,” Amrothlin said, not answering directly. “If not the high mountain she loved, then a glade she loved almost as well. Two days’ journey, carrying her without the aid of the elvenhome, and a day and night of singing, and two days’ return. I swear to you, lord king, I will return here in five days, six at the most, if you permit.”
Kieri nodded. He had many questions for Amrothlin, but this was not the time to press them. “What of the others?” he asked.
“We would take them there as well, but if the queen wishes—if the king wishes—the queen’s father could be laid straight nearer.”
Arian shook her head. “My father died trying to save the Lady’s life; he should lie where she lies.”
Amrothlin bowed deeply. “Arian daughter of Dameroth, you are a daughter of the taig as well. I thank you. Forgive me for my earlier discourtesy.”