When she came in at last, the look on her face made his heart sink even further. Tamír glanced at Iya, then crossed her arms and fixed a hard look on Arkoniel. “I want you to tell me what really happened to my brother. What made him the way he is?”
And there it was, the question he’d dreaded for so long. Even before he opened his mouth, Arkoniel could feel the fragile new trust between them tearing like worn silk. How could he justify to her what had been done in the Lightbearer’s name, when in his heart he’d never forgiven himself for his part in her misery?
Before he could find the words, a dank chill like marsh fog closed in around them. Brother appeared at Tamír’s side, glaring at Iya. The demon looked very much as he had the few other times Arkoniel had seen him; a thin, evil, wraithlike mockery of Tobin, grown to young manhood. They looked much less alike now, and Arkoniel took strange comfort in that, though the anger in those eyes made them twins again.
“Well?” Tamír demanded. “If I am truly your queen, and not just a puppet you play with, then tell me the truth.”
Iya still said nothing.
Arkoniel felt as if a part of him was dying as he forced the words out. “Your infant brother was sacrificed to protect you.”
“Sacrificed? Murdered, you mean! That’s why he became a demon?”
“Yes,” said Iya. “What has he told you?”
“Nothing, except that you would tell me, Arkoniel. And the Oracle showed me—” She turned slowly back to Iya. “You. ‘Two children, one queen,’ the Oracle said to you, and I saw the dead baby you held. You killed him!”
“I didn’t take his life, but I was most certainly the instrument of his death. What you saw is what I was shown. You and your brother were still safe in your mother’s womb then. But you were already the one ordained to save Skala. You had to be protected, especially from Niryn’s magic. I could think of only one sure way to do that.”
Brother crept toward Iya, and Arkoniel was horrified by the dark joy on that unnatural face.
Tamír stayed the demon with a look. “What did you do, Iya?”
Iya met her gaze levelly. “I found Lhel. I know the kind of magic her kind practices. Only a witch could accomplish what had to be done. So I brought her to Ero and into your mother’s house the night you were born. You were the firstborn, Tamír, and you were beautiful. Perfect. You would have grown into a strong, dark-haired girl with too much of your mother’s looks ever to be hidden away from prying eyes. While you lay in your nurse’s arms, Lhel brought your brother from your mother’s womb. She meant to smother him before he drew breath. That’s the secret, you see, the thing she knew how to do. If that little body had remained empty of breath, there would have been no killing and this abomination you call Brother would never have been. But there was an interruption, and you know the rest.” She shook her head sadly. “So it was necessary.”
Tamír was trembling. “By the Four! That room, at the top of the stairs. He tried to show me—”
Brother pressed close to Tamír and whispered, “Sister, our father stood by and watched.”
She recoiled from him so fast she slammed into the wall behind her. “No! Father would never do that. You’re lying!”
“I wish he were,” said Arkoniel. After all these years of silence, the words finally tumbled out like water from a burst dam. “Your father didn’t want to do such a thing, but he had no choice. It was to be a quick, merciful act. We promised him that, but we failed.”
Tamír covered her face with shaking hands. “What happened?”
“Your uncle arrived with Niryn and a pack of swordsmen just as he was born,” Arkoniel said softly. The memory had been burned into his mind, every detail knife-edge sharp, and with it all the horror of that night. “The noise startled Lhel, distracting her at the critical moment. The child drew breath and his spirit was sealed in flesh.”
The demon’s face twisted in a cold snarl. Arkoniel braced, expecting an attack, but to his amazement, Tamír turned to him and said something in a low voice. The demon remained at her side, his face resolving back into a blank mask, all but the eyes. The eyes still burned with hate and desire.
“Your mother was never meant to know,” Iya told her. “I drugged her, to spare her that, but somehow she knew. It destroyed her.”
Tamír wrapped her arms around her thin chest, looking as if she was in physical pain. “My brother. Mother—The Oracle was right again. I am ‘the seed watered with blood.’ ”
Iya nodded sadly. “Yes, but not for spite or evil. You had to survive, and rule. To do that, you had to live and claim your true form. And so you have.”
Tamír wiped a stray tear from her cheek and drew herself up. “So it was by your will that my brother died?”
“Yes.”
“Lhel killed Brother and worked the magic, but it was you who made it happen?”
“I alone bear the responsibility. That’s why he has always hated me so bitterly. I see it in him still, the desire for my death. Something holds him back. You, perhaps?” She bowed low, hand on her heart. “My work will be done, Majesty, when the Sword of Ghërilain is in your hand. I ask for no mercy after that.”
“And you, Arkoniel?” Tamír’s eyes were almost pleading now. “You said you were there that night.”
“He was only my pupil then. He had no say—” Iya began.
“I claim no absolution,” said Arkoniel. “I knew the prophecy and I believed in it. I stood by while Lhel worked her magic.”
“Yet Brother doesn’t attack you. He hates you, but no more than most. Not the way he hates Iya.”
“He wept for me,” Brother whispered. “His tears fell on my grave and I tasted them.”
“He cannot love,” Iya said sadly. “He can only not hate. He doesn’t hate you, Tamír, or Arkoniel. He didn’t hate your mother, or Nari.”
“Nari, too?” Tamír whispered as the grief sank deeper.
“Hated Father!” Brother snarled. “Hated Uncle! Mother hated and feared him! I knew her fear in the womb, and the night of my birth. She hates and fears him still. You forgot to hate, Sister, but we don’t. Not ever.”
“You wept over his grave?” Tamír’s eyes were almost imploring now. “He was buried—But his bones were in Mother’s doll.”
“I buried him that night,” Arkoniel replied sadly. “Sometime soon after, Lhel and your mother took him up again and put the bones in that doll. I suppose it was to control the spirit, or to keep him by your mother. She saw him as a living child.”
“Yes. She saw him.” Tamír drew a shaky breath. “Iya, you and Lhel are the ones who spilled my brother’s blood?”
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly, then, with tears spilling slowly down her cheeks, she said, “You are banished.”
“You can’t mean it!” gasped Arkoniel.
“I do.” More tears fell, but her eyes blazed with an anger he’d never seen before. “I have sworn before the people that anyone who spills the blood of my kin is my enemy. You knew that, and yet you said nothing. You, who murdered my brother! Destroyed my mother. My—my life!” She caught a sobbing breath. “My whole life—a lie! A river of blood. All those girls my uncle killed? Their blood is on my hands, too, because he was looking for me. Niryn—he was looking for me!”
“Yes.” Iya still hadn’t moved.
“Get out!” Tamír hissed, sounding like the demon in her anger. “You are banished from Skala forever. I never want to see either of you again!”
But Iya didn’t move. “I will go, Tamír, but you must keep Arkoniel with you.”
“You don’t order me around anymore, wizard!”
Iya still did not move, but the air thickened around her and the room darkened. The hair on Arkoniel’s arms prickled uncomfortably as her power filled the tiny chamber.
“I gave you my life, you foolish, ungrateful child!” Iya snapped. “Have you learned nothing? Seen nothing these past months? Perhaps I do not merit your gratitude, but I will not let you und
o all I have wrought for you just because you don’t like how the world works. Do you imagine I liked what I had to do? Well, I didn’t! I hated it; but we don’t choose our destinies, people like you or me, unless we turn coward and run away. Yes, I am responsible for all that has happened to you, but I have not one kernel of regret!
“Is one life, or a hundred, not worth the sacrifice, to lift the curse from the land? What else do you think you were born for? Go on, then. Stamp your foot and shout at me of murder and justice, but where would Skala be if Erius’ line of monster-spawning sons still ruled? Do you think Korin is up there in Cirna, planning your coronation? Do you think he will welcome you with open arms if you go to him? It’s time for you to stop being a child, Tamír of Ero, and be a queen!
“I will go, as you decree, but I will not allow you to put Arkoniel aside. He is touched by Illior, just as you are. But more than that, he has loved and served you since your birth, and would have stayed Lhel’s hand if he could have. He must remain by your side to do the Lightbearer’s will!”
“And what is that?” Tamír asked grudgingly. “I’ve survived. You’ve made me queen. What is there left for him to do?”
Iya folded her hands and the tension in the room lessened just a bit. “You need him, and you need the wizards he and I have gathered for you. That shining palace of wizards we told you of is not some idle pipe dream. It was a true vision, and it is as much a part of Skala’s future strength as you are yourself. Do you imagine the other wizards will stay with you if you do this now? I promise you, most of them will not. It is only because of you that they have banded together, but they are free wizards, beholden to no one, not even you, and they will not serve you if they believe you are your uncle come again. It was Arkoniel and I who convinced them to go against their nature and become the Third Orëska. It is a more fragile confederation than you know, and it is Arkoniel’s fate to nurture it. I saw that for myself the day I was shown your future. The two are intertwined.”
Tamír stared at them for a moment, fists clenched at her sides. At last she nodded. “He stays. And I acknowledge what you have done for this land, Iya, you and all your kind. It is because of that that I spare your life. But I tell you this: If I lay eyes on you again after dawn, I will have you executed. For the good of the land, do not imagine that to be an idle threat.”
“As you wish.” Iya bowed and swept from the room without so much as a parting glance in Arkoniel’s direction.
Stunned, he watched in horror as Brother smiled an evil smile and slowly faded away.
“Tamír, please, call him back. He’ll kill her!”
“I’ve already told him not to, but that’s all I can do. You and Lhel saw to that.” She wiped her face on her sleeve, not looking at him. “Brother spoke for you. Because of that, I will let you remain in my court. But right now I—I—” Her voice broke. “Just get out!”
There was nothing he could do for her now. He made a hasty bow and hurried out. Lynx and Nikides were on guard at the door and had heard enough to eye him suspiciously.
“Where’s Ki?” he asked.
“Outside, I think,” said Lynx. “What the hell happened in there just now?”
Arkoniel didn’t stay to answer. Iya’s chamber was empty, and he found only Wythnir in his own.
“Master?”
“Go to bed, lad,” he said as kindly as he could. “I’ll be back later.”
Hurrying outside, he spotted Ki leaning on the stele. “Tamír needs you.”
To his amazement, Ki just shrugged. “I’m the last person she wants to see right now.”
With a snarl of frustration, Arkoniel seized him by the collar and propelled him in the direction of the guesthouse. “She does. Go!”
Without waiting to see if Ki obeyed, he ran down to the stable.
It can’t end like this! Not after all she’s done!
Iya was there, saddling her horse.
“Wait!” he cried, stumbling through the muck. “It was the shock. She’s upset. She can’t really mean to banish you.”
Iya slapped her horse’s side and tightened the girth strap. “Of course she does, and so she must. Not because she is ungrateful, but because she is the queen, and must stand by her word.”
“But—”
“I’ve always known this day would come, just not when or what form it would take. To be honest, I’m relieved. I had assumed it would mean my death when she learned the truth. Instead, I’m finally free.” She touched a gloved hand to his cheek. “Oh really now, Arkoniel. Tears at your age?”
He hastily wiped his eyes on his sleeve but it was no good. They kept coming. He clung to her hand, unable to believe this was the last they would ever see of each other. “This is wrong, Iya! What will I do without you?”
“You’ve done perfectly well without me these past few years. Besides, it’s the natural way of things. You’re not my apprentice anymore, Arkoniel. You are a strong and powerful wizard, with a mandate from the Lightbearer and more ideas about magic than I’ve ever seen. You are too modest, my dear, to realize what you’ve already accomplished, combining Lhel’s magic with our own. Few would risk such a thing, but you just forged ahead. I’m more proud than I can say.”
She blinked and turned back to adjusting her saddle. “So, between your new Orëska and looking after our little queen, I’m sure you’ll be too busy to miss me very much. Besides, we’re both Guardians and that is not an easy path, either.”
“Guardians?” He scarcely thought of the bowl as more than a piece of his usual baggage. Iya’s use of the formal title sent an unpleasant chill through him, as he recalled the prophecy old Ranai had passed on to him before she died, the dream of the Guardian Hyradin: And at last shall be again the Guardian, whose portion is bitter, bitter as gall. He shivered again, feeling those words fulfilled for Iya. “What does that have to do with any of this?”
“Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. It’s Illior’s will that you have the burden of both the bowl and the queen. You are up to the task, you know. I never would have given either of them into your keeping if I didn’t believe that.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
She patted his arm. “I’m only banished, my dear, not dead. I’ll send word.”
“Brother will come after you. I think he followed you.” Arkoniel searched the shadows nervously.
“I can handle him. I always have.”
He watched forlornly as she led her horse out to the mounting block and climbed slowly into the saddle. “Your pack! Wait and I’ll go fetch it. Tamír said you have until dawn.”
“No need, Arkoniel. I didn’t bring anything important.” She reached for his hand again. “Promise me you’ll stay. It was time she knew the truth, but now she must accept it and get on with things. Help her do that, Arkoniel. You may not believe it tonight, and perhaps she wouldn’t either, but she does trust you. You, Tharin, and Ki are all she has left of anything like family. Love her as you always have and don’t hold this against her.”
He clung to her hand a moment longer, feeling a bit like Wythnir. “At least let me fetch you a cloak. It’s cold.”
“All right then, but hurry!”
Arkoniel ran back to the guesthouse and grabbed Iya’s old traveling cloak from a peg by her door. He was gone no more than a few moments, but when he came back the square was empty. There was no sign of her, not even the sound of her horse’s hooves. He ran down the track that led to the Keyhole, hoping to catch her. The whole valley was bright with starlight, but the road was empty in both directions.
He had no doubt she was there somewhere, but she’d always been adept at not being seen. She’d used the same magic the night they’d brought Lhel to the keep, but she’d never before used it to hide from him.
“Good luck!” he shouted at the empty road, standing there with her cloak knotted in his hands. His voice echoed hollowly across the pass. “I’ll do all you said. I will! And—and thank you!” His voice failed him as fresh tears
made the stars dance overhead. “I won’t forget you,” he whispered.
His only answer was the distant hunting cry of an owl.
Not caring what sentries there might be watching, he pressed his face into his beloved teacher’s abandoned cloak and wept.
Chapter 34
Spurred by the fear and anger in Arkoniel’s voice, Ki forgot his own trepidation and hurried to Tamír’s chamber. Lynx and Nikides stood listening at the door with obvious concern.
“Now what’s happened?” he whispered.
“She banished Mistress Iya, I think, and maybe Arkoniel,” Lynx told him. “There was a lot of shouting and I swear the floor shook. Then we heard her yelling at them to get out—”
“Yes, I saw him just now. Arkoniel sent me.”
“She doesn’t want to see anyone. She gave orders,” Nikides told him apologetically.
“She’ll see me.”
Lynx stepped back, motioning for Nikides to do the same. Ki nodded his thanks and lifted the latch.
Tamír sat on a low stool in front of the fire, arms locked tightly around her knees. Brother was crouched beside her, his face a mask of fury, and he was hissing angrily at her, too low for Ki to hear. The air was thick with menace. As he watched, Brother slowly reached out to her. Ki drew his blade and rushed the demon. “Don’t touch her!”
Brother whirled and flew at him.
“No!” Tamír shouted.
Brother leered as he continued his rush, and Ki felt a deadly chill surround him. The demon disappeared. Ki’s sword fell from numbed fingers and he fought to stay on his feet as a wave of weakness passed over him.
Tamír sprang to his side, gripping his arm to steady him. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, just gave me a scare.”
“Good.” She released him and sat down again, turning her face away. “Go away, Ki. I don’t want to see anyone now.”
Ki pulled another stool close to hers and sat down. “That’s too bad, because I’m staying.”
“Get out. That’s an order.”
Ki stubbornly folded his arms.