“Not much,” Seregil replied. “Phoria has been grooming her for battle. A hard education that will have been, too, with her in charge of it.”
Surrounded by the symbols of the Four and her powerful family, Phoria held up the Sword as she approached the bull to perform this year’s sacrifice.
“Phoria looks just like her mother from here,” Micum noted softly as the priests began the chants and prayers. “I still miss her.”
The words of the ceremony, or at least what Alec could make out at this distance, were similar to the investiture oath the queen gave each year on Mourning Night. She pledged to defend the land and uphold the will of the Four. When she was done, the priests pulled the docile bull’s head back and Phoria made the fatal swing. The animal did not struggle as the bright blood sprayed out across Phoria’s golden armor and the pavement in auspicious patterns.
More prayers followed.
Bored, Alec leaned on the railing, fretting with the gold rings he’d worn for the occasion. He hated jewelry; hated having to the play the role of a noble of no account like this. And as the ceremony dragged on, his mind wandered again to the simple life they’d so briefly shared, exiled up in the northern hills. At moments like this he wondered why he’d been so insistent on coming back.
Distracted, he didn’t see what caused the sudden commotion among the queen’s party. Korathan had an arm around his sister, supporting Phoria as she pressed one hand to her brow.
“What happened?”
“A hawk came out of nowhere and struck her head,” Micum told him, frowning.
“An omen,” Captain Lillia muttered, crossing her fingers against ill luck.
“I’m no bird reader, but it doesn’t seem a good thing,” Kari murmured behind an upraised hand.
Seregil said nothing.
Order was soon restored, but an air of unrest hung over the crowd as Phoria continued the ceremony, exchanging her war helm for the crown.
When the ceremony was finally over, Phoria faced the people and raised the bloody Sword. In a voice trained to carry across battlefields, she declared, “By the Four, by the Flame and by the Light, I will defend Skala!”
The royal party moved on into the Temple of Illior, signaling the distribution of free ale and food to begin. Signs and omens were quickly forgotten as the festivities commenced.
Alec and the others went to Kylith’s for a feast. Micum and his family left early, but Seregil and Alec stayed, singing and drinking, and returned to Wheel Street late and drunk.
It was well past midnight, but they found the steward, Runcer, waiting for them in the salon with a royal herald.
“This man arrived for you at sundown, my lord,” he announced, and withdrew.
Seregil collapsed into an armchair and looked blearily up at the blue-clad messenger. “Well, well. What can she want with me at this hour?”
“I was sent by his Highness, the Vicegerent, with a message for you and Lord Alec of Ivywell,” the man replied. “You are commanded to attend the queen first thing tomorrow morning, in the Chamber of Judgment.”
Drunk as he was, Alec’s gut tightened at those words. “Are we being arrested?”
“If past experience is anything to go by, he wouldn’t send us a warning first.” Seregil chuckled. “Please, good sir herald, give my regards to his Highness, and assure him that we are honored by this invitation, and will do our best to be there.” The herald arched a brow at the flippant reply. “Go on, tell him. He won’t mind.”
“As you wish, my lord. From your lips to the Vicegerent’s ear.”
“You’re drunker than I thought,” Alec muttered, helping Seregil up to their room. “What were you thinking, sending a message like that?”
Seregil let out an inelegant snort and leaned on the wall while Alec fumbled with the bedroom latch. “Kor? He won’t care. And serves ’im right, calling us out at such a wretched hour, after a festival night. Mark my words; it’s her doing.”
He staggered inside and collapsed facedown on the bed. Before Alec could draw him out further on the matter, Seregil was snoring.
“Fine then. Sleep in your clothes,” Alec muttered, letting his own fall where they would as he followed.
If he’d been more sober himself, he’d probably have been more worried.
CHAPTER 4
Those Who Serve at the Queen’s Displeasure
BY THE TIME they rode to the Palace the next morning, Alec was sober enough to be worried and wine sick in equal measure. Even the weak early light made his head throb. Seregil, as usual, was feeling fine and didn’t seem particularly perturbed about the summons. They’d left Micum pacing the courtyard, clearly worried whether or not he would see them again.
“Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil, why did you let me drink so much?” Alec grumbled.
Seregil snickered. “Let you? I seem to recall being told to ‘hand over the bottle or piss off’ at several points during the evening.”
“So you’re as immune to drink as you are to magic?”
“Hardly. I’ve just had better luck with drink. You’ve seen what magic does to me.” He raised a hand unconsciously to the faded scar hidden beneath his fine surcoat. “I’ll take a bad wine head any day.”
Alec’s horse missed a step on the worn cobbles and lurched. Alec’s belly did the same. “Easy for you to say.” He kept his real worries to himself as the dark bulk of the Palace loomed before them.
Built of black and grey stone and buttressed by the western wall that surrounded the city, with square towers overlooking the harbor below, it was as much fortress as castle, and one that had never been successfully taken. Alec had read the histories of how Queen Tamír the Great had built Rhíminee, guided by visions and the best builders in the land, after Plenimar had destroyed the original capital at Ero. The Orëska House had been built at the same time, but where it was airy and open, the Palace had a closed, oppressive feel.
At least we came in through the front door this time, thought Alec as a liveried servant led them through the large receiving hall and down a twisting series of corridors to a smaller, but no less imposing chamber.
This one was long and rather narrow, with a row of stained-glass slit windows set high up under the vaulted ceiling. These left the room in semidarkness at this hour, and it was cold. At the far end, several rows of long oak benches faced a large throne on a raised dais. The queen’s banner hung behind it, glimmering in the lamplight.
“Please have a seat, my lords,” the servant said, directing them to the front bench. “Her Majesty left orders for you to attend her here.”
Seregil sat down on one of the front benches and stretched his legs out, still looking more bored than worried. Alec tried to do the same but was soon up and pacing the polished stone floor. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the cavernous room, drawing attention to the fact that they were the only people here.
“There are better ways to pass the time, you know.” Seregil took a bag of gaming stones from his purse, and a lump of chalk.
Alec caught his arm as he bent to mark a bakshi board on the floor. “Stop that! How is that going to look, when she comes in?”
Seregil rolled his eyes, but sat back and put the chalk away. “How will it look, with you wearing a trench in the floor?”
The sun clocked nearly an hour down the wall before the great doors at the far end of the room opened and Phoria swept in with Prince Korathan and Thero.
Alec elbowed Seregil, then tried to catch the young wizard’s eye, but Thero gave him only a slight nod as he came to stand with them. This didn’t seem a sign of good things to come.
He looked well, otherwise. He’d put on a formal robe for the occasion, and his belt and purse were finely worked with Aurënfaie patterns. He was clean-shaven these days, and a smooth dark blue gem set in silver dangled, ’faie style, from his left ear. His black curly hair was much longer, and tied back with a black ribbon.
Phoria took the throne and waited as Seregil and Alec came forward
and bowed.
“Welcome home, Majesty,” Seregil said, suddenly very formal and respectful.
Phoria acknowledged the greeting but did not smile. Alec stole a glance at her brother; how could womb mates be of such different dispositions?
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here?” the queen asked.
Seregil made her another small bow. “We are at your service, Majesty.”
“You three are Watchers, are you not?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Thero answered for them all. “Under the guidance of my master, and Lord Arkoniel before him, the Watchers have served the Crown since the city was founded.”
“So you say. Yet I believe you Watchers have also served your own interests, under this guise of self-appointed protectors. And always in secret.”
Thero looked genuinely taken aback. “The interests of the Watchers have always been Skala’s, Majesty.”
Phoria turned to Seregil. “And are your interests those of Skala, Lord Seregil?”
Seregil drew himself up a little taller; Alec sensed his friend’s sudden flash of anger and prayed Phoria wouldn’t notice. “Yes, Majesty.”
Phoria waited for him to elaborate but he let his answer hang in the air between them.
“But you are not Skalan, and neither is your companion.” Phoria spared Alec a glance. “Your loyalty to Nysander is not in question, only your loyalty to me. You served him, not my mother.”
“Through him we served her, and Skala,” Seregil replied evenly. “I was accused of treason once, and my name was cleared. Your mother didn’t doubt me.”
“Careful,” Korathan murmured.
“And you, Lord Alec,” Phoria turned the full force of that pale-eyed gaze on him. “Whom do you serve?”
“I would never betray Skala, your Majesty!”
The queen looked less than impressed by his answer, but Alec thought he caught the hint of an encouraging smile from Korathan.
“My brother the prince tells me that you have lost your name in your own land, Seregil,” Phoria continued. “That instead of exile, you have been completely cut off from your own people.”
“That’s correct—and I trust he explained that it was because Alec and I chose Skala and the kinship I have with your family over our duty to Aurënfaie law.”
A moment of ominous silence followed, as Seregil and Phoria stared each other down. Alec held his breath, certain now of a quick journey to a Red Tower cell.
“Is it Skala you are loyal to, Seregil, or my sister?” Phoria asked at last.
“Majesty, if you please, I’ve known Seregil most of my life,” Thero interjected quickly. “I vouch for his loyalty with my own oath. He’s risked his life for Skala’s sake more times than you can imagine, and Alec with him. You have nothing to fear from them, or me. We all serve at your pleasure.”
Phoria chuckled darkly. “Be assured I fear none of you. Does he speak for you, Lord Seregil?”
“He does.”
“And you, Lord Alec?”
“Yes, Majesty!”
“Then let us leave it at that for the moment. Thero, you have taken your master’s place as the head of the Watchers?”
“Yes, Majesty. But while in Aurënen these past months there’s been little I could do on your behalf, other than help oversee the trade agreements at the behest of the princess. I hope I have served you well in that capacity.”
“Your efforts are noted. However, it is my command that you disband the Watchers. No more secrets. If I require your aid in any fashion, I will order it, and you will answer to no one except me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, but—”
“I have spoken!”
Thero pressed a hand to his heart and bowed deeply. “You have my oath, by my hands, heart, eyes, and voice.”
“Good.” Phoria sat back, regarding Alec and Seregil again. “As for you two, I am satisfied for now. In fact, I have a task for you—one you’re well suited to.”
“We are yours to command, Majesty,” replied Seregil.
“You most certainly are. You’re going to Aurënen as my emissaries to Princess Klia. My half sister is to return at once and resume her duties as my field commander. Her swift obedience is imperative, as proof of her love. You are to return with her as quickly as possible. Is that clear?”
“As spring water, Majesty. But crossing the Osiat this time of year—it’s already late enough that there could be problems.”
“I’ll give you a decent ship.”
“Am I to go with them, Majesty?” asked Thero.
“What use would you be? There’s work enough for you here. You’re dismissed.”
Thero bowed and made a hasty retreat. He didn’t look at the others, but Alec saw the angry flush suffusing his thin cheeks.
“I’m sending an escort for you under the command of Lord Traneus. And I’ve had these prepared.” She gestured to Korathan, who stepped down and handed Seregil three small, painted sticks.
Alec recognized them; they were message wands. These talismans were infused with a simple magic, usually a message of some sort, which would be released when the wand was broken in two. Such devices required no magic from the user; even Seregil could make them work.
“Use the red one when you arrive at Gedre, to signal that you arrived safely,” the prince explained. “The blue is for Bôkthersa. The last is for Klia. She’s to break it on the morning she sets out to return. The messages will come to me directly.”
“I trust your sister will have no objection to the princess cutting short her visit there?” asked Phoria.
Seregil’s expression betrayed nothing but mild surprise. “I’m certain she won’t, Majesty. She understands the gravity of the situation.”
Phoria rose. “I’m sure I don’t need to stress the importance of your task. Korathan, I’ll leave the rest to you. Farewell, my lords, and may your voyage be a swift one.”
Alec stood at stiff attention as she took her leave, then let out a shaky breath.
Korathan grinned at him. “You look like you’ve just escaped the block, Lord Alec.”
“I think maybe we just did.” Seregil strolled over and hitched himself up on the edge of the dais. “So, how long did it take you to talk her out of having us executed?”
“Oh, not quite so bad as all that. There was talk of exiling you, though.”
This was too much for Alec. “For what? What did we ever do to her?”
“She knows of your role exposing her indiscretion in the Leran affair and the ‘misplaced’ gold shipment she and Vicegerent Barieus were embroiled in.”
“Completely by accident!” Seregil reminded him. “We didn’t know anything about it when we started, and we’ve never said anything about it since.”
“True, but you know how she is. She was embarrassed, politically and personally, and not likely to forgive you for that. But that’s not all. There’s also your close friendship with Klia. And now Klia is fast friends with your sister, the khirnari of a powerful clan.”
“Ah, so that’s why she was even colder to me than usual,” Seregil said with a wry smirk. “Now my whole clan is conspiring against her, too? This little jaunt is really a loyalty test all around.”
“But Klia has served Phoria well in Aurënen,” Alec pointed out. “The agreements she got securing stores and trade, and wizards to fight for her—surely that’s been to Skala’s benefit?”
“Of course it has, but Phoria would bite off her own tongue rather than admit it.”
“Why?”
“Because the plan was our mother’s, not hers, and Klia was the one to support it.”
“So Phoria’s still putting her trust in swords over magic,” added Seregil.
“Always, and Skalan swords in particular.”
“And Phoria can’t see past her own jealousy,” Alec muttered.
Korathan gave him a warning look. “Remember where you are and whom you’re speaking of! She’s the queen, and my sister.”
&
nbsp; Alec made him a hasty bow. “I beg your pardon, Highness.”
“So, what’s the plan?” asked Seregil, shooting Alec a warning look of his own.
“Your ship, the Lark, is berthed at the Lantern Street quay. You sail with the tide at first light.”
“The queen seems in a hurry to get us out of town.”
“More anxious to settle the matter, I think.” Korathan took a thick packet sealed with the Royal Signet from his coat and gave it to Seregil. “Here are letters of passage to the khirnaris of Gedre and Bôkthersa, and Phoria’s orders to Klia. Come back swiftly, and you may just buy yourself some favor.”
Seregil hopped down and made Korathan an exaggerated bow. “Your royal errand boys hear and obey, Highness.”
“Seregil—”
“Don’t worry, I understand how important this is. There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you before we go. As a friend?”
Korathan softened noticeably at that. “Go on.”
“Will you give me your word that Phoria means no harm to her sister?”
Korathan thought a moment, then put his hand to his heart. “I give you my word that I believe her when she says so.”
“Hmm. Very well. I’ll bring Klia home safely, and trust you to keep her that way once she’s here.”
“One of these days, that mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble.”
“Has before. Will again, I expect. Take care, Highness. I’m glad it’s you standing beside the throne.”
They took their leave, but it wasn’t until they were free of the Palace that Alec could finally breathe freely. “Phoria must have been satisfied with our answers, or she wouldn’t have given us a commission, right?”
Seregil shrugged, looking more upset now than he had when Phoria was insulting them. “It could have been worse. At least we have something worthwhile to do.”
Alec waited for him to say more, but Seregil was uncharacteristically quiet as they rode to the Orëska to catch up with Thero.