Niryn had spied Nalia peeking down from her balcony the night of the floggings and was pleased with how the spectacle had cowed her. She’d been very quiet since. Even Korin had remarked on it.
She’d still had some spirit when Korin first arrived. Her hatred and anger had been palpable, as well as her despair. Concerned, Niryn had gone so far as to bespell the balcony and windows to prevent her from leaping to her death.
Time and Korin’s attentions had calmed her, and the sight of her husband’s hard justice seemed to have dampened the last of her resistance. She was meek at table and during her evening strolls on the walls. Niryn was careful to make sure she passed the heads of the traitors displayed there. The only one missing was that of whoever had let Caliel and the others escape.
Korin, however, grew increasingly difficult to manage. Drink was taking its toll, and Alben and Urmanis were helpless to stop him. At his worst Korin was by turns restless and morose. The treachery of his Companions had hurt him deeply; Niryn had carefully nurtured that pain to his own ends. Several new gibbets had to be built outside the fortress walls. The bodies bloating there served as a good reminder for the rest.
What Niryn could not control, however, was the demand among Korin’s allies for battle, which only grew stronger when spies brought word that Tobin had sent his army against some of the nobles who refused to recognize his claim, and that his generals were having one success after another.
Korin’s warlords were equally successful once the lead was slipped against a few minor nobles who opposed him. Some fought for the king’s honor, but more were in it for the spoils. There was some grumbling over their shares of the lands and gold captured, but Korin had an army to pay and men to feed. Northern taxes flowed into Cirna, but without a royal treasury to draw from, Korin took the full royal share of all spoils.
Reading through the day’s reports one evening in his chambers, Niryn saw a few familiar names. Lord Jorvai was with Tobin at Atyion, and the forces he’d left behind at his estate were no match for Duke Wethring and his army. The keep and town had been put to the torch and the fields burned.
Nevus currently had a smaller holding under siege. It was a miserable little keep in the hills called Rilmar, but Niryn smiled as he read the name of the old knight who held it: Marshal of the Roads, Sir Larenth.
“Dear me,” he smirked, showing the report to Moriel. “I do believe that’s young Ki’s family, isn’t it?”
Moriel’s gloating smile was poisonous. “Yes, my lord. King Erius granted him those very lands as a favor to Prince Tobin.”
“Well then, it’s only right that the king’s son should take them back.”
Earlier, Korin had given in to a momentary regret over that. “Father sent the Companions there to get us blooded against some bandits. Sir Larenth was a fine old fighter in his day and a good host in his way.”
“He was offered terms, Majesty, and he refused in the most colorful terms,” Master Porion assured him.
“You cannot afford to show them mercy, any more than you could those rebel Companions. False friends make the bitterest enemies,” Niryn reminded him.
All the same, Niryn caught a flicker of guilt in Korin’s eyes and pursued it, winding his way into the young man’s memory. There was shame there, some failure involving Rilmar. Niryn crooked hidden fingers into a spell, fanning the pain of the buried memory.
“You’re right, of course,” Korin whispered, rubbing his eyes. “There can be no mercy for rebels, no matter what.” He summoned a herald. “Go to Lord Nevus. Tell him it is my will that he spare the girls who aren’t trained to arms and the little children. Hang the rest.”
Look there,” Korin said as they strolled the walls later that evening, pointing up at the constellation just above the eastern horizon. “There’s the Hunter. Summer’s nearly gone and still I lurk here, tied down by the tide in a womb! By the Flame, it’s as if I have no use but to get babies on a woman.”
“It’s not for lack of trying, now is it?” Alben chuckled. “You’re up there often enough. I hope for your sake she’s not barren—”
“My lord!” Niryn made a sign against ill fortune. “It’s said the women of her family kindle slowly, but that they bear healthy babes, and they tend to girls.”
Korin sighed. “I must face Tobin on the battlefield before the snow comes and defeat him once and for all!”
A little longer, my king, thought Niryn. According to old Tomara, Nalia was having trouble keeping her breakfast down.
Chapter 30
News of Tamír’s actions against the recalcitrant nobles spread quickly and heralds bearing conciliatory letters soon began to arrive from nobles up and down the coast. The powerful lords of the north and some of the west remained staunch in their support of Korin, however. Jorvai had been one of the few from that region to support her. According to Tamír’s spies and Arkoniel’s wizards, Korin was still stubbornly sitting at Cirna.
Tamír wasn’t certain what to make of that. In his place, with superior forces, she’d have marched long since, yet there was still no sign of movement. Ki was of the opinion that Korin was scared to fight, but Tamír was certain there must be something else.
Whatever the case, they now found themselves in a period of relative peace and Imonus seized the opportunity once again to urge Tamír to go to Afra.
“It’s time, Majesty. If nothing else, you must be seen honoring the Lightbearer as your ancestors always have.”
“He’s right, you know,” said Illardi. “Every new queen has gone there and brought back a prophecy for the people.”
Tamír needed no convincing. She’d had her fill of court life, and if she couldn’t fight a battle, then the prospect of a journey had its appeal.
On Imonus’ advice, Tamír set the date for their departure for the first week of Lenthin. That would bring them to Afra during the moon’s first waxing—a most fortuitous time, according to the priests.
There was no question of taking a large force. The shrine lay high in the mountains west of Ylani, and was reached by a single, switchback road, which, according to Imonus and Iya, was barely wide enough in places for a single rider to pass.
“The place is sacred ground. Not even Niryn would dare defile it by attacking you there,” Imonus assured her. “And no one would follow Korin if he committed such a sacrilege.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Tharin. “All the same, she must take a sufficient guard to protect her on the road.”
“My personal guard should be enough, especially with Iya and Arkoniel with us,” said Tamír. “With any luck, I’ll be back before Korin’s spies can carry the news that I was gone.”
“Saruel has asked to accompany us,” said Iya. “The Aurënfaie hold the Oracle in high regard, and she would like to visit the place.”
“I’m glad to have her,” Tamír replied. “She’s one of your more powerful wizards, isn’t she? I’ll feel that much safer, with her along.”
The night before their departure Tamír was too restless to sleep. She sat up late, gaming with Ki and Una, then sat by the window as they played the final game, watching the last waning half-moon rise and tugging absently at a braid. Una won at last and took her leave, eager to be off tomorrow.
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be anxious to go,” said Ki as he scooped their bakshi stones back into their respective bags and put away the wooden board.
“I am.”
“Well, for someone who’s cool as springwater before a battle, you seem awfully fretful over a little ride. Are you afraid of the Illiorans? I know I am.”
She turned to find him grinning at her. “Stop teasing. You’re not the one god-touched. It was eerie, that vision I had, and that was just a little one! This is the greatest Oracle in the land.”
“And who could be safer there, than you?” Ki countered. “Come on, there’s something else, isn’t there?”
“What if I don’t like what she tells me? What if I’m destined to fail, o
r go mad like the rest of the family or—I don’t know.”
“And?”
“And Brother. He’s still after me about his death. I want to know the truth, but I’m afraid to, too. I can’t explain it, Ki. It’s just a gut feeling.”
“Which are you more afraid of? That he won’t go away once you’ve satisfied him or that he will?”
“I want him gone. I just don’t know if I can give him what he wants to do it.”
They set off early the next day, riding at a trot through the sleeping town. Tamír felt a stir of excitement as the southern high road stretched away before them. It wasn’t just the anticipation of at last meeting with the Oracle who’d defined her life. To ride at full gallop with armed riders at her back was one of the finest feelings she knew.
Lain, youngest of the Afran priests who’d come north with Imonus, rode in the forefront with her as their guide, though Iya and Arkoniel knew the way as well. He was a quiet sort, and Tamír hadn’t paid him much mind, but he was positively glowing today.
“It’s a great honor, Majesty, to conduct a new queen to Afra. I pray you receive a clear answer there, and comfort.”
“So do I,” she replied.
Arkoniel had brought Wythnir with him this time, and the boy rode proudly on a pony of his own, dressed in a fine new tunic and boots. It made him look older. The wizards spent much time riding together and though the boy said little, as always, Tamír could see that he was taking in every word his master said. He bore the long hours of riding without complaint, apparently content to be near Arkoniel rather than left behind again.
They slept at Ero on the second night, and the following day Illardi’s steward proudly showed her the new town springing up along the northern edge of the harbor. Many people were still in tents and makeshift shelters, but men were at work everywhere, hauling stone and hammering away at new house frames, and the air was sweet with the scents of lime and raw lumber. She paused frequently to watch the craftsmen.
Arkoniel smiled as she lingered to watch a woodcarver at work on a fancy lintel. “Do you ever wish you’d been born into a craftsman’s family instead?”
“Sometimes. I lost all my carving tools and haven’t had time to find any new ones.”
Arkoniel reached into his purse and handed her a small lump of fresh beeswax. “Will this do, for now? You never used to be without it.”
Tamír grinned; Arkoniel had been among the first to recognize and support her gift.
But not the first.
The sweet aroma brought back a few precious moments of peace with her mother—a rare smile as her mother had warmed a bit of wax between her hands. It smells of flowers and sunshine, doesn’t it? The bees store up all of summer for us in their waxen houses.
The sting of tears behind her eyelids surprised her. Tamír had so few good memories of her. She looked down at the serene carved countenance on her ring, wondering what Ariani would think, to see her in her true form? Would she love her at last, as much as she’d loved Brother? Would she have loved them both and not gone mad if Brother had lived?
Tamír shook off the bittersweet thought and strode on, hoping Arkoniel and the others hadn’t noticed her weakness.
* * *
They soon left the sea road behind, striking south and west toward the mountains for the next few days. This was the same road she’d taken the first time she’d come to Ero. She and Ki shared a silent look of longing as they passed the crossroads that would have taken them to the Alestun keep. Who knew when they would have the time to go there again? Her old nurse, Nari, wrote often, and Tamír always answered, but she couldn’t promise a visit.
Beyond the Alestun road, Lain led them along back roads that avoided the larger towns, moving ever inland. The first few nights they slept in small roadside inns, where people greeted her with respect and wide-eyed amazement, especially when their new queen was content to dine with them in the common room. She and the Companions joined in songs around the hearth at night, and Iya and Arkoniel entertained with simple, colorful spells and cast mendings for those who dared ask.
In return, the villagers spoke to Tamír of crops and bandits. Rogues of all sorts had grown bolder since Ero fell. Tamír sent a rider back with word for Illardi to have some of their idle warriors sent out to deal with brigands.
The great range that formed the spine of the Skalan peninsula loomed closer each day, the jagged peaks still snow-capped.
On the afternoon of the seventh day Lain guided them onto a well-traveled road that led into the mountains. Evergreen forest gradually gave way to thinner groves of quakeleaf and oak.
The way grew steep and began to twist, forcing them to rein their horses back to a walk. The air grew steadily cooler around them and carried the scents of plants Tamír did not recognize. Stunted, wind-twisted trees clung to the rocky slopes, and hardy mosses and small plants lined the road. It was still summer in Atyion but the air here already carried the first hint of autumn, and the quakeleafs were showing golden edges to their round leaves. Far above them the snow-capped peaks shone so brightly against the clear blue sky it hurt to look at them for long.
“It reminds me of my home. Many of these plants are the same,” Saruel remarked, riding beside Tamír.
“You’re from the mountains?”
“Yes. As a child I saw level ground only when we traveled to Sarikali for the clan gatherings.” She inhaled deeply, and the black tracery around her eyes pulled and bunched as she smiled. “I’ve missed these smells, and the coolness. I enjoyed my time in your capital, but it was very different than what I’m used to.”
Tharin chuckled. “Stinking Ero. It came by the name honestly, for certain.”
“I understand. I grew up in the mountains, too,” Tamír said.
“This feels like one of our hunting trips, doesn’t it, Tharin?” Just then something caught Ki’s eye and he leaned far over in the saddle to pluck a blossom from a clump of bell-shaped pink flowers growing from the cliff face. He kept a precarious grip on his horse’s sides with his knees, and came back up with a grin to present the flower to Tamír. “Look. Heart’s Ease, for better memories.”
Tamír sniffed at it, savoring the familiar heady scent, and tucked it behind her ear. Ki had never done such a thing before. The thought sent a giddy flutter through her chest and she nudged her horse into a trot so the others wouldn’t catch her blushing.
They camped beside a stream in a high, windswept valley that night. The stars showed large in the velvet sky, just as they had at Alestun, so bright they turned the snow on the peaks to silver.
Saruel and Lain gathered handfuls of small blue berries and brewed a sweet, resinous tea from them.
“Most of you haven’t traveled such high passes. The air grows thinner as we climb,” the priest explained. “Some feel ill with it, but this tea will help.”
Tamír had felt no ill effects so far, but Nikides, Una, and the new squires admitted to feeling a little dizzy toward the end of the day.
The owls here were numerous and larger than the ones in the lowlands, with tufts like a cat’s ears on their round heads and bands of brilliant white on the ends of their tail feathers. Ki found a few fallen feathers in the gorse by their campsite, and gave them to Tamír. She cast a few into the campfire with a murmured prayer for luck.
They slept on the ground, wrapped in their cloaks and blankets, and woke to find the valley in a thick, chilly mist that coated their hair and their horses’ coats with jeweled droplets. Sounds carried oddly. Tamír could hardly hear the conversation of those standing across the campsite, but the knocking of a woodpecker sounded as close as over her shoulder.
After a cold breakfast and more of Saruel’s tea, they continued on, walking their mounts until the mist cleared.
The peaks closed in around them and the way narrowed. To their right sheer rock face bore down on them, even overhanging the narrow trail in places so they often had to duck and lean precariously as they rode in single file behind t
he wizards and priest. On their left a sheer precipice fell away into the lingering mist below. Tamír cast a stone over the edge, but never heard it strike.
The afternoon was waning when Tamír noticed the first crescent shapes and bits of writing scratched into the bare rock face, left by other wayfarers and pilgrims.
“We’re getting close,” Iya told her as they rested their horses and let them graze on the sparse grass that lined the trail. “A few more hours will bring us to the painted gate you saw in your vision. Afra lies just beyond.”
Arkoniel scrutinized the inscriptions as they rode on. Presently he reined and pointed to one in particular. “Look, Iya, here’s the prayer I left the first time you brought me up here.”
“I remember,” Iya said with a smile. “I must have a few marks around here somewhere, too.”
“Why do you do this?” asked Saruel.
“Custom, I suppose. For luck, too,” Iya replied.
“Isn’t that what people always say about such things?” said Lynx, still a staunch Sakoran despite all he’d seen.
“You’d do well not to mock the devotions of the Illior, young lord,” Lain said, overhearing. “These prayers last far longer than any charm burned up in a fire. They shouldn’t be taken lightly, or made thoughtlessly.” He turned in the saddle. “You should write something, Queen Tamír. All your forebears have done so, somewhere along this route.”
The thought was a comforting one, and gave her a sense, once again, of being connected to the line of women who’d come before her.
Everyone dismounted and hunted for sharp stones to scratch their names and messages.
Saruel joined them, but instead passed her hand across the stone. A small silver crescent and words in fine script appeared. “It’s a good thing, to honor the Lightbearer on the way to his sacred place,” she murmured, watching approvingly as Lynx’s young squire made his mark.
“You’ve ’faie blood in you, Tyrien í Rothus,” Saruel said. “I see it in the color of your eyes.”
“So my grandmother told me, but it’s a long way back, so I can’t have much,” the boy replied, those grey eyes alight with pleasure that she’d noticed. “I’m no wizard, anyway.”