There were many other cords around her, as there were around all people. Some were good. Some were harmful. The one between Tamír and the boy in her arms was the strongest, bright as lightning.
Lhel touched it and smiled. This one needed none of Mahti’s spells.
Satisfied with the girl’s heart, he played to draw the pain from her wounds, then turned his attention to the red night flower of her womb. Lhel’s binding magic had not reached so deep there. Despite her narrow hips and small breasts, the womb was well knit, a fertile cradle waiting to be filled. Mahti played his spell instead into the bony yoke of her pelvis, so that it might let the babies out more easily in the years to come.
It was only when he’d finished that he noticed that Lhel was gone.
Tamír was surprised at how comforting Mahti’s strange music was. Instead of the cold, crawling feeling she’d experienced with Niryn, or the dizzying effect of Arkoniel’s sighting spells, she felt nothing but a gentle warmth. When he finished she sighed and opened her eyes, feeling more rested than she had in days.
“That’s all?”
“Yes. Now you only you,” Mahti replied, patting her knee.
“How do you feel?” Ki rasped, squinting up at her as if he expected her to look different somehow.
She was very still for a moment, her gaze turned inward. There was a difference, but one she had no words for yet. “Thank you,” she whispered at last. “I owe you so much.”
“Keep promise and remember Lhel and me.” Giving her a last fond smile, Mahti rose and left the tent.
Alone with Ki again, she brought the fingers of his good hand to her lips and kissed him as fresh tears stung behind her eyelids. “You almost broke your promise to me, you bastard,” she managed at last.
“I did? No!” Ki laughed softly. He was quiet for a few moments, unfocused eyes fixed somewhere in the shadows above. She was afraid he was drifting into sleep but suddenly his hand tightened painfully around hers. “Korin! I couldn’t get to you!”
“You did, Ki, and he nearly killed you.”
“No … I saw …” He closed his eyes and grimaced. “Bilairy’s balls!”
“What?”
“Failed you—when it counted most!”
“No.” She held him closer. “He would have had me if not for you.”
“Couldn’t let him …” Ki shivered against her. “Couldn’t. But what—?” His eyes drifted closed for a moment, then opened very wide. “You killed him?”
“Yes.”
Ki was silent for a moment, and she saw his gaze stray to the open flap of the tent again. “I wanted to spare you that.”
“It’s better this way. I see that now. It was our fight.”
Ki sighed, and the confusion came back.
“Ki? Don’t go to sleep. You have to stay awake.”
His eyes were open, but she could tell his mind was wandering. Fearful of letting him fall asleep, she babbled on for hours about nothing—what they would do when they visited the keep again, horses, anything she could think of to keep his eyes open.
He didn’t respond at all for a while, but presently she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes, and pain as he focused on her again. “I can’t—stop seeing him going for you. Saw you fall. I couldn’t get to you—”
“But you did!” Leaning down carefully, she pressed her lips to his and felt them trembling. “You did, Ki. You almost died for me. He—” She swallowed hard as her voice failed. “You were right about Korin, all along.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You loved him.”
“I love you, Ki! If he’d killed you, I wouldn’t have wanted to live.”
Ki’s fingers tightened on hers again. “Know the feeling.”
She took an unsteady breath and smiled. “You called me ‘Tob’ when you woke up.”
He let out a faint laugh. “Knock on the head. Scrambled my brains.”
She hesitated, then asked softly, “Am I Tamír to you now?”
Ki studied her face in the dim light, then gave her a sleepy smile. “You’ll always be both, deep down. But it’s Tamír I see, and Tamír I kiss.”
A weight lifted from Tamír’s heart, not only from the words, but the warmth in his voice and eyes. “I don’t ever want to be without you!” The words tumbled out in a rush, and she couldn’t hold them back. “I hate having you sleep in other rooms, and feeling bad every time I touch you. I hate not knowing what we are to each other anymore. I—”
Ki squeezed her hand again. “Guess I better marry you and clear things up, eh?”
Tamír stared at him. “You’re delirious!”
The smile turned to a grin. “Maybe, but I know what I’m saying. Will you have me?”
A heady mix of joy and fear made her feel faint. “But what about—” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “With me?”
“We’ll manage. What do you say? Will the Queen of Skala take a grass knight son of a horse thief for her consort?”
She let out a shaky laugh. “You, and no other. Not ever.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
Tamír shifted her back more comfortably against the pack, with Ki’s head resting on her chest. It felt good, just as it used to, and yet different, too.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s settled.”
Mahti paused near the edge of the forest, looking back at the scattered fires and the distant glow inside the tent. Beyond lay the battlefield, where the spirits of the newly dead writhed and twisted like wisps of fog the rain could not dispel.
“Why, Great Mother, should we help such a people?” he whispered, shaking his head. But there was no answer for him, and no companion, either. Lhel was gone as surely as the demon spirit was gone. He wondered if he would meet her again, in the eyes of a child?
Gaining the cover of the trees a thought struck him and he stopped again and ran his hands carefully over the length of his oo’lu. It was still sound, with no sign of any cracking.
He smiled wryly as he shouldered it and continued toward the mountains. His journeying was not over yet. He didn’t mind, really. It was a good, strong horn. He only wondered who his new guide would be.
Chapter 55
Tamír held Ki all night and kept him awake talking of the battle and her plans for a new city. They both shyly avoided the understanding they’d arrived at. It was too new, too fragile to dwell on with so much still before them. Watching Ki retch into a helmet was not conducive to such thoughts; either. His right cheek and eye were badly bruised, and his eye had swollen shut.
By dawn he was exhausted and uncomfortable but more alert. The rain had let up and they could hear people moving about outside, and the moans of the wounded. The smell of rank smoke came to them on the breeze, carried from the first of the pyres.
Lynx brought them breakfast—bread and a bit of good lamb stew sent up by the captain of one of the Gedre ships. He also had a healing tonic for Ki. He helped him drink it, then grinned. “You look like hell.”
Ki tried to scowl, grimaced in pain instead, and held up the middle finger of his good hand.
Lynx chuckled. “You are feeling better.”
“How are the others?” Tamír asked as she traded spoonfuls of the stew with Ki.
“Well enough. We’ve got pyres ready for Korin and the others. They’re eager to see you both, if you’re up to it.”
The tent wasn’t large enough for everyone, so Tamír stepped outside to make room. Lynx came out, too, and stood quietly by as she stretched the stiffness from her back. Tents had sprung up overnight, and more were being set up. The drysians were at work among the hundreds of wounded still in the open, and in the distance columns of black smoke rose against the morning sky. Several large pyres stood a little way off near the cliff edge. One was decorated with Korin’s banner and shield.
The clouds were shredding away in long tatters that promised better weather, and the dark blue sea was flecked with white.
“Looks like we finally get to dry out,?
?? she murmured.
“A good thing, too. I’ve got moss on my ass.” Lynx gave her a sidelong glance and she caught his slight smile. “Are you two going to make an announcement or wait until we get back to Atyion?”
“You heard?” She could feel her cheeks going warm.
“No, but I’ve got eyes. Nik and I have had bets on it since we left Alestun. So it’s true? Ki finally came around?”
“You could say that.”
“About time, too.”
Her gaze strayed to the shrouded bodies still lying nearby. Tanil and Caliel were still there, keeping watch. “Don’t say anything yet. Korin should have proper mourning. He was a prince, after all.”
“And a friend.” Lynx’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper and he looked away. “If I hadn’t gone with you that night—”
“I am glad you ended up on my side. Are you?”
“I suppose I am.” He sighed and glanced back at Caliel and Tanil. “It’ll be harder for them.”
They burned Korin and the others that afternoon, with all the Companions as honor guard. Ki insisted on being carried out, and kept watch with them from a litter until his strength gave out. Caliel stood dry-eyed; Tanil was calm, but stunned.
Tamír and the others cut their horses’ manes and cast the strands on the pyres. Tamír cast in a lock of her own hair for Korin, Porion, and Lorin.
The fires burned all day and through most of the night, and when the ashes had cooled they were gathered in clay vessels to be carried away to the families of the dead. Tamír took Korin’s into her tent.
In answer to the question that had hung unanswered between her and Ki, and perhaps the whole camp by now, she spread her bedroll by his that night, and slept at his side, holding his hand.
Chapter 56
Nalia woke in darkness to shouting and the sounds of horses in the courtyard below. For one startled instant she thought she must be dreaming of the night Korin first arrived.
Trembling, she sent Tomara off for news, then threw on a dressing gown and hurried out to the balcony. There were only a handful of riders there. She could not make out what was being said, but it did not sound like victory. When Tomara still did not return, she dressed quickly and sat down by the fire, toying nervously with the strand of pearls on her breast.
Her fears were confirmed. The door burst open and Lord Alben staggered in, leaning heavily on Tomara. His face and clothes were bloody, and his hair was tangled around his pale face.
“Tomara, fetch Lord Alben water, and wine! My lord, sit, please.”
Alben collapsed into the armchair and for a time they could get no sense out of him. Tomara bathed his face in rosewater to revive him while Nalia hovered anxiously, wringing her hands.
At last Alben recovered enough to speak. “Majesty!” he gasped, and his sudden tears confirmed their worst imaginings. “The king is dead!”
“We’re lost!” Tomara wailed. “Oh, my lady, what will become of you?”
Nalia sank down on a stool beside the distraught man, feeling faint and numb all at once. “When, my lord? How did he die?”
“Two—no, it’s three days now, at the hand of the traitor Tobin. I came away at once to warn you.” He clutched her hand more tightly. “You’re in danger here. You must flee!”
“Dead.” Nalia could scarcely get her breath. I have no husband now, my child no father …
“You must come with me,” Alben insisted. “I will protect you.”
“Would you?” First Niryn, who’d betrayed her, then Korin, who could not love her, and now this man, who’d never had a kind word for her before? Who’d snickered openly about her homely face? He would be her Protector? Tomara was already flying around the room, throwing open the clothes chests and pulling out garments to pack.
“Highness?” Alben was waiting for her answer.
She looked up at him, into those dark eyes full of panic, and something else. Something she recognized all too well. She withdrew her hand from his and stood up. “Thank you for your gracious offer, Lord Alben, but I must decline.”
“Are you mad? Tobin and her army are on my heels!”
“Her? Then it was true, all along?”
“I saw her with my own eyes.”
Another lie, Niryn?
“Lady, listen to him! You must escape, and you cannot take to the roads alone!” Tomara begged.
“No.” Nalia replied firmly. “I thank you for your offer, my lord, but I see no advantage in it. I will remain here and take my chances with this queen, whatever she is. If you would help me, take command of the garrison and see to the defenses. Go and make whatever preparations you think best.”
“It’s the shock, my lord,” said Tomara. “Let her rest and think on it. Come back in the morning.”
“He may do as he likes, but my answer will be the same,” said Nalia.
“As you wish, Highness.” Alben bowed and took his leave.
“Oh, my poor lady! A widow before you’re a mother!” Tomara sobbed, embracing her.
Nalia did weep then, as the reality of her situation sank in. She wept for Korin, but her sorrow was mingled with guilt. Her hope of his love had been short-lived, and she’d dashed it with her own hand when she’d killed Niryn. She wanted to mourn her husband, but instead she could only imagine what a lifetime of his coldness and duty would have been like.
Whatever comes, at least I’m spared that.
Nalia dried her eyes and went back to her bed. She fell asleep searching for the proper sorrow in her heart but could not find it.
When she woke again the sun was high and all was quiet outside. She sent Tomara off for their breakfast. She had no proper widow’s weeds, so instead she put on her finest gown—the one she’d meant to wear for Korin on his return.
Tomara came back empty-handed and frantic. “They’re gone!”
“Who?”
“All of them!” the woman wailed. “Lord Alben, the soldiers, everyone, except for a few servants. What are we to do?”
Nalia went to the tower door. For the first time, there was no one there to stop her from leaving. A feeling of dreamlike unreality came over her as she descended the stairs with only Tomara to attend her. Together they passed through the deserted corridors to the great hall.
There was no one in sight but Korin’s abandoned hounds. They trotted up to her, whining and wagging their tails. Nalia went out into the courtyard and found the northern gate ajar. For the first time since the nightmare of her captivity began, she passed through and walked down the road a little way, marveling at her own freedom.
“We must run away,” Tomara urged. “Come down to the village with me. I have people there. They’ll hide you, get you away in a fishing boat—”
“And go where?” Nalia wondered, gazing up at the sky. It looked as empty as she felt. “I have no one in the world now. Do what you like, but I’ll stay.”
Nalia retreated to her tower. No longer her prison, it was the only place in this great fortress that she had ever called her own.
Early that evening a shout came from the lookout on the south wall. Through the gathering dusk Nalia could make out a dark mass of riders on the road, coming on at a gallop. She could not guess their number for the great cloud of dust that hung over them, but she could see the dull glint of helms and spearpoints.
Fear gripped her then, as the reality of her own helpless state sank in.
There’s no help for it now, she told herself. She smoothed her hair and gown and descended to the great hall to meet her fate.
Tomara clung close beside her as she ascended the dais and for the first time, sat in the chair that had been Korin’s. Presently a stableboy came running in. “It’s a herald, my lady, and Lord Lutha! Shall I let them in?”
“Lord Lutha?” What could this mean? “Yes, bring them to me.”
Lutha and Nyanis had been prepared for resistance, not to find the fortress abandoned and the gate open to them. Arkoniel was equally suspicious, but there’d been n
o sign of ambush. The soldiers and the wizards were simply gone.
A frightened boy greeted them from the walls and returned with word that Lady Nalia welcomed them.
Lutha left Nyanis and the Aurënfaie, taking only Arkoniel and the herald with him into the echoing courtyard. There too, it was eerily deserted.
Nalia was waiting for them in the great hall, seated on the dais in Korin’s place. Tomara was her only attendant.
Nalia gave him an uncertain smile. “I am glad to see you alive, my lord, but it appears you have changed your allegiance. Word of the king’s death has already reached us here. Lord Alben brought word, before he fled.”
“Korin died bravely,” Lutha told her. Tamír had told him no more than that before he left. “Queen Tamír sent me to you at once, to ensure your safety, and to tell you that you have nothing to fear from her if you do not stand against her claim.”
“I see.” She glanced at Arkoniel. “And who are you?”
“Master Arkoniel, wizard and friend of Queen Tamír.” Seeing her eyes widen at that, he added quickly, “Highness, I have come only to protect you.”
Lutha wished there was something more he could say or do to reassure her, but knew she had good cause to be wary.
Nonetheless, she maintained her dignity and turned to the herald. “What is your message?”
“Queen Tamír of Skala sends her respects to her kinswoman, Princess Nalia, widow of Prince Korin. It is with great sorrow that she sends word of Prince Korin’s death. She offers you and your unborn child her royal protection.”
“Yet she sends an army with the message.” Nalia sat very straight, gripping the arms of her chair.
“Queen Tamír assumed Korin had left you better protected. She did not expect you to be deserted,” Lutha replied, trying not to let his anger show.
She waved a hand around. “As you can see, my court has diminished considerably.”
“We were told that Lord Niryn died,” said Arkoniel.
Nalia lifted her chin a little. “Yes. Lord Lutha, at whose hand did my husband die?”
“He and Queen Tamír met in single combat. She offered parley, but he would not have it. They fought, and he fell.”