Читать книгу The Bone Doll’s Twin - Lynn Flewelling - Страница 10

A red harvest moon cast the sleeping capital into a towering mosaic of light and shadow that nineteenth night of Erasin. Crooked Ero, the capital was called. Built on a rambling hill overlooking the islands of the Inner Sea, the streets spread like poorly woven lace down from the walls of the Palatine Circle to the quays and shipyards and rambling slums below. Poor and wealthy alike lived cheek-by-jowl, and every house in sight of the harbour had at least one window facing east towards Plenimar like a watchful eye.

The priests claim Death comes in the west door, Arkoniel thought miserably as he rode through the west gate behind Iya and the witch. Tonight would be the culmination of the nightmare that had started nearly five months earlier at Afra.

The two women rode in silence, their faces hidden by their deep hoods. Heartsick at the task that lay before them, Arkoniel willed Iya to speak, change her mind, turn aside, but she said nothing and he could not see her eyes to read them. For over half his life she’d been teacher, mentor, and second mother to him. Since Afra, she’d become a house full of closed doors.

Lhel had gone quiet, too. Her kind had been unwelcome here for generations. She wrinkled her nose now as the stink of the city engulfed them. ‘You great village? Ha! Too many.’

‘Not so loud!’ Arkoniel looked around nervously. Wandering wizards were not as welcome here as they had been, either. It would go hard with them all to be found with a hill witch.

‘Smells like tok,’ Lhel muttered.

Iya pushed back her hood and surprised Arkoniel with a thin smile. ‘She says it smells like shit here, and so it does.’

Lhel’s one to talk, Arkoniel thought. He’d kept upwind of the hill woman since they’d met.

After their strange visit to Afra they’d gone first to Ero and guested with the Duke and his lovely, fragile princess. By day they gamed and rode. Each night Iya spoke in secret with the Duke.

From there, he and Iya spent the rest of that hot, sullen summer searching the remote mountain valleys of the northern province for a witch to aid them, for no Orëska wizard possessed the magic for the task that Illior had set them. By the time they found one, the aspen leaves were already edged with gold.

Driven from the fertile lowlands by the first incursions of Skalan settlers, the small, dark-skinned hill people kept to their high valleys and did not welcome travellers. When Iya and Arkoniel approached a village, they might hear dogs barking the alarm, or mothers calling their children; by the time they reached the edge of a settlement, only a few armed men would be in sight. These men made no threats, but offered no hospitality.

Lhel’s welcome had surprised them when they’d happened across her lonely hut. Not only had she welcomed them properly, setting out water, cider, and cheese, but she claimed to have been expecting them.

Iya spoke the witch’s language, and Lhel had picked up a few words of Skalan somewhere. From what Arkoniel could make out between them, the witch was not surprised by their request. She claimed her moon goddess had shown them to her in a dream.

Arkoniel felt very awkward around the woman. Her magic radiated from her like the musky heat of her body, but it was more than that. Lhel was a woman in her prime. Her black hair hung in a tangled, curling mass to her waist and her loose woollen dress couldn’t mask the curves of hip and breast as she sauntered around her little hut, bringing him food and the makings for a pallet. He didn’t need an interpreter to know that she asked Iya if she might sleep with him that night or that she was both offended and amused when Iya explained the concept of wizards’ celibacy to her. The Orëska wizards reserved all their vitality for their magic.

Arkoniel feared that the witch might change her mind then, but the following morning they woke to find her waiting for them outside the door, a travelling bundle slung ready behind the saddle of her shaggy pony.

The long journey back to Ero had been an awkward time for the young man. Lhel delighted in teasing him, making certain that he saw when she lifted her skirts to wash, and losing no opportunity to bump against him as she moved about their camp each night, plucking the year’s last herbs with her knobby, stained fingers. Vows or not, Arkoniel couldn’t help but notice and something in him stirred uneasily.

When their work in Ero was finished this night, he would never see her again and for that he would be most thankful.

As they rode across an open square, Lhel pointed up at the red full moon and clucked her tongue. ‘Baby caller moon, all fat and bloody. We hurry. No shaimari.’

She brought two fingers towards her nostrils in a graceful flourish, mimicking the intake of breath. Arkoniel shuddered.

Iya pressed one hand over her eyes and Arkoniel felt a moment’s hope. Perhaps she would relent after all. But she was merely sending a sighting spell up to the Palatine ahead of them.

After a moment she shook her head. ‘No. We have time.’

A cold salt breeze tugged at their cloaks as they reached the seaward side of the citadel and approached the Palatine gate. Arkoniel inhaled deeply, trying to ease the growing tightness in his chest. A party of revellers passed them, and by the light of the linkboys’ lanterns Arkoniel stole another look at Iya. The wizard’s pale, square face betrayed nothing.

It is the will of Illior, Arkoniel repeated silently. There could be no turning aside.

Since the death of the King’s only female heir, women and girls of close royal blood had died at an alarming rate. Few dared speak of it aloud in the city, but in too many cases it was not plague or hunger that carried them down to Bilairy’s gate.

The King’s cousin took ill after a banquet in town and did not awaken the next morning. Another somehow managed to fall from her tower window. His two pretty young nieces, daughters of his own brother, were drowned sailing on a sunny day. Babies born to more distant relations, all girls, were found dead in their cradles. Their nurses whispered of night spirits. As potential female claimants to the throne dropped away one by one, the people of Ero turned nervous eyes towards the King’s young half sister and the unborn child she carried.

Her husband, Duke Rhius, was fifteen years older than his pretty young wife and owned vast holdings of castles and lands, the greatest of which lay at Atyion, half a day’s ride north of the city. Some said that the marriage had been a love match between the Duke’s lands and the Royal Treasury, but Iya thought otherwise.

The couple lived at the grand castle at Atyion when Rhius was not serving at court. When Ariani became pregnant, however, they had taken up residence at Ero, in her house beside the Old Palace.

Iya guessed that the choice was the King’s rather than hers, and Ariani had confirmed her suspicions during their visit that summer.

‘May Illior and Dalna grant us a son,’ Ariani had whispered as she and Iya sat together in the garden court of her house, hands to her swelling belly.

As a child Ariani had adored her handsome older brother, who’d been more like a father to her. Now she understood all too well that she lived at his whim; in these uncertain times, any girl claiming Ghërilain’s blood posed a threat to the new male succession, should the Illioran faction fight to re-establish the sacred authority of Afra.

With every new bout of plague or famine, the whispers of doubt grew stronger.

In a darkened side street outside the gate Iya cloaked herself and Lhel in invisibility, and Arkoniel approached the guards as if alone.

There were still a great many people abroad at this hour, but the sergeant-at-arms took special note of the silver amulet Arkoniel wore and called him aside.

‘What’s your business here so late, Wizard?’

‘I’m expected. I’ve come to visit my patron, Duke Rhius.’

‘Your name?’

‘Arkoniel of Rhemair.’

A scribe noted this down on a wax tablet and Arkoniel strolled on into the labyrinth of houses and gardens that ringed this side of the Palatine. To the right loomed the great bulk of the New Palace, which Queen Agnalain had begun and her son was finishing. To the left lay the rambling bulk of the Old Palace.

Iya’s magic was so strong even he couldn’t tell if she and the witch were still with him, but he didn’t dare turn or whisper to them.

Ariani’s fine house stood surrounded by its own walls and courtyards; Arkoniel entered by the front gate and barred it behind him as soon as he felt Iya’s touch on his arm. He looked around nervously, half expecting to find the King’s Guard lurking behind the bare trees and statuary in the shadowed garden, or the familiar faces of the Duke’s personal guard. There was no one here, not even a watchman or porter. The garden was silent, the air heavy with the scent of some last hardy bloom of autumn.

Iya and the witch reappeared beside him and together they headed across the courtyard towards the arched entrance. They hadn’t gone three steps when a horned owl swooped down and pounced on a young rat not ten feet from where they stood. Flapping for balance, it dispatched the squeaking rodent, then looked up at them, eyes like gold sester coins. Such birds were not uncommon in the city, but Arkoniel felt a thrill of awe; owls were the messengers of Illior.

‘A favourable omen,’ Iya murmured as it flapped away, leaving the dead rat behind.

The Duke’s steward, Mynir, answered her knock. A thin, solemn, stoop-shouldered old fellow, he’d always reminded Arkoniel of a cricket. He was one of the few who would help carry his master’s burden in the years to come.

‘Thank the Maker!’ the old man whispered, grasping Iya’s hand. ‘The Duke is half out of his mind –’ He broke off at the sight of Lhel.

Arkoniel could guess the man’s thoughts: witch, unclean, handler of the dead, a necromancer who called up demons and ghosts.

Iya touched his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Mynir, your master knows. Where is he?’

‘Upstairs, Mistress. I’ll fetch him.’

Iya held him a moment longer. ‘And Captain Tharin?’ Tharin, the knight in charge of the Duke’s personal guard, was seldom far from Rhius’ side. Illior had not spoken for him, but Iya and Rhius had not discussed how he was to be kept away from this night’s business.

‘The Duke sent him and the men to Atyion for the rents.’ Mynir led them into the darkened audience hall. ‘The women have all been sent to sleep at the Palace, so as not to disturb the Princess in her labour. It’s just your Nari and myself tonight, Mistress. I’ll fetch the Duke.’ He hurried up the sweeping staircase.

A fire burned in the great fireplace across the chamber, but no lamps were lit. Arkoniel turned slowly, trying to make out the familiar shapes of furniture and hangings. This house had always been alive with music and gaiety. Tonight it seemed like a tomb.

‘Is that you, Iya?’ a deep voice called. Rhius strode down the stairs to meet them. He was nearly forty now, a handsome, broadly built warrior, with arms and hands knotted from a life spent clutching a sword or the reins. Tonight, however, his skin was sallow beneath his black beard and his short tunic was sweated through as if he’d been running or fighting. Warrior that he was, he stank of fear.

He stared at Lhel, then seemed to sag. ‘You found one.’

Iya handed her cloak to the steward. ‘Of course, my lord.’

A ragged scream rang out overhead. Rhius clutched a fist to his heart. ‘There was no need for the herbs to start the birthing pangs. Her waters broke at mid-morning. She’s been like this since sunset. She keeps begging for her own women –’

Lhel muttered something to Iya, who interpreted the question for the Duke.

‘She asks if your lady has any issue of blood?’

‘No. Your woman keeps claiming all is well, but …’

Upstairs, Ariani screamed again and Arkoniel’s stomach lurched. The poor woman had no idea who was in her house this night. Iya had given the couple her solemn pledge to protect any daughter born to the royal house; she had not revealed to the child’s mother the means the Lightbearer had given her to do so. Only Rhius knew. Ambition had guaranteed his consent.

‘Come, it’s time.’ Iya started for the stairs but Rhius caught her by the arm.

‘Are you certain this is the only way? Couldn’t you just take one of them away?’

Iya regarded him coldly. She stood two steps above him and in this light she looked for an instant like a stone effigy. ‘The Lightbearer wants a queen. You want your child to rule. This is the price. The favour of Illior is with us in this.’

Rhius released her and sighed heavily. ‘Come then, and let’s be done with it.’ Rhius followed the two women up and Arkoniel followed him, close enough to hear the Duke murmur, ‘There will be other babes.’

Princess Ariani’s bedchamber was stifling. The others went to the bed, but Arkoniel halted just inside the doorway, overwhelmed by the heavy odour of the birthing chamber.

He’d never seen this part of the house before. Under different circumstances he’d have thought it a pretty room. The walls and carved bed were covered with bright hangings embroidered with fanciful underwater scenes, and the marble mantle was carved with dolphins. A familiar workbasket lay on a chair by the shuttered window; a cloth head and arm protruded from beneath the half-open lid – one of the Princess’s lady dolls, half finished. Ariani was famous for her clever handiwork and all the great ladies of Ero and some of the lords had one.

Tonight the sight of this one knotted Arkoniel’s guts.

Through the half-open bed hangings he could see the bulging curve of Ariani’s belly and one clenched hand gleaming with costly rings. A plump, sweet-faced serving woman stood over Ariani, murmuring to her as she bathed the labouring woman’s face. This was Nari, a widowed kinswoman of Iya’s, chosen to be the child’s wet nurse. Iya had intended for Nari to bring her own babe to be the companion of Ariani’s, but the gods had other plans. A few weeks earlier Nari’s child had succumbed to pneumonia. Even in her grief, Nari had faithfully squeezed the milk from her breasts to keep it flowing. The front of her loose gown was stained with it.

Lhel set to work, issuing quiet orders while she laid out the things she needed at the end of the bed: bunches of herbs, a thin silver knife, needles of bone, a skein of silk thread, impossibly fine.

Ariani lurched up with another wail and Arkoniel caught a glimpse of her face, glassy-eyed and drugged now, behind a tangle of lustrous black hair.

The Princess was not much older than he was, and though he seldom allowed himself to think on it, he had harboured a secret admiration for her ever since her marriage to Rhius had brought Arkoniel into her sphere. Ariani was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and she’d always treated him graciously. Hot shame washed over him; this was how her kindness was repaid.

Too soon Iya turned and motioned for him to join her by the bed. ‘Come, Arkoniel, we need you now.’

He and Nari held Ariani’s feet as the witch felt between her thighs. Ariani moaned and tried weakly to pull away. Blushing furiously, Arkoniel kept his face turned away until Lhel had finished her examination, then hastily retreated.

Lhel washed her hands in a basin, then bent to pat Ariani’s cheek. ‘Is good, keesa.’

‘There are – there are two, aren’t there, Midwife?’ Ariani gasped faintly.

Arkoniel shot Iya a concerned look, but she only shrugged. ‘A woman needs no midwife to tell her how many babes she has in her belly.’

Nari brewed a dish of tea from some of the witch’s herbs and helped Ariani to sip it. After a few moments, the woman’s breathing slowed and she grew quiet. Climbing onto the bed, Lhel massaged Ariani’s belly, all the while murmuring to her in a soothing, singsong voice.

‘The first child must be turned into position to enter the world so that the other may follow,’ Iya translated for Rhius, who stood now in agonized silence by the head of the bed.

Lhel moved so that she was kneeling between Ariani’s knees, still rubbing her belly. After a few moments the witch let out a soft cry of triumph. Watching from the corner of his eye, Arkoniel saw her lift a wet little head into view with one hand. With the other, she held the child’s nostrils and mouth shut until the rest of it was birthed.

‘A girl keesa!’ she announced, taking her hand from the child’s face.

Arkoniel let out a gasp of relief as the girl child sucked in her first lungful of air. This was the shaimari, the ‘soul’s breath’ that the witch was so concerned with.

Lhel cut the birth cord with her silver knife and held the child up for all to see. The baby was well formed under the birth muck, and had a thick head of wet black hair.

‘Thank the Lightbringer!’ Rhius exclaimed, leaning down to kiss his sleeping wife’s brow. ‘A first born girl, just as the Oracle promised!’

‘And look,’ said Nari, leaning forward to touch a tiny wine-coloured birthmark on the child’s left forearm. ‘She has a favour mark, too, just like a rosebud.’

Iya gave Arkoniel a tight, triumphant smile. ‘Here’s our future queen, my boy.’

Tears of joy blurred Arkoniel’s vision and tightened his throat, but the moment was tainted by the knowledge that their work was not yet finished.

While Nari bathed the girl child, Lhel began coaxing forth the twin. Ariani’s head lolled limp against the pillow. Rhius retreated to the fireplace, mouth set in a grim line.

Tears of a different sort stung Arkoniel’s eyes. Forgive us, my sweet lady, he prayed, unable to look away.

Despite Lhel’s efforts, the second child came wrong way around, a footling breach. Muttering steadily in her own tongue, Lhel worked the other leg free and the little body slid out.

‘Boy keesa,’ Lhel said softly, hand poised to cover the child’s face as it emerged, to prevent that all-important first breath so that the soul might not be fixed in the flesh.

Suddenly, however, there was a loud clatter of horsemen in the street outside, and a shout of, ‘Open in the name of the King!’

Lhel was as startled as the rest of them. In that instant of distraction the child’s head slipped free of his mother’s body and he sucked a breath, strong and clear.

‘By the Light!’ Iya hissed, whirling on the witch. Lhel shook her head and bent over the squirming babe. Arkoniel backed quickly away, unable to watch what must follow. He shut his eyes so tightly he saw flashes of light behind the lids, but he could not escape the sound of the child’s loud, healthy cry, or the way it suddenly choked off. The silence left in its wake left him dizzy and sick.

What followed seemed to take a very long time, although in truth they had only minutes. Lhel took the living child from Nari and placed her on the bed next to her dead twin. Chanting over them, she drew patterns in the air and the living child went still as death. When Lhel took up her knife and needle, Arkoniel had to turn away again. Behind him, he could hear Rhius weeping softly.

Then Iya was at his side, pushing him out into the cold corridor. ‘Go downstairs and hold off the King. Keep him as long as you can! I’ll send Nari down when it’s safe.’

‘Hold him off? How?’

The door swung shut in his face and he heard the key turn.

‘Very well, then.’ Arkoniel dried his face on his sleeve and ran his hands back through his hair. At the top of the staircase he paused and turned his face up to the unseen moon, sending a silent prayer to Illior. Aid my faltering tongue, Lightbearer, or cloud the King’s eyes. Or both, if it’s not asking too much.

He wished now that Captain Tharin was here. The tall, quiet knight had a manner that put everyone at their ease. With a lifetime of hunting, fighting and court intrigue behind him, he was far better suited than a green young wizard to entertain a man like Erius.

Mynir had lit the bronze lamps that hung between the painted stone pillars in the hall and stoked the fire with cedar logs and sweet resins to make a fragrant blaze. Erius stood beside the hearth, a tall and daunting figure in the firelight and Arkoniel bowed deeply to him. Like Rhius, the King had been shaped by a lifetime of war, but his face was still handsome and filled with a youthful good humour that even a childhood spent in his mother’s court had not extinguished. Only in recent years, as the royal tomb filled with the bodies of his female kin, had some come to regard that kindly visage as a mask for a darker heart, one that perhaps had learned his mother’s lessons after all.

As Arkoniel had suspected, the King had not come alone. His court wizard, Lord Niryn, was there, as close to the King as the man’s own shadow. He was a plain fellow somewhere in his second age, but whatever gifts he possessed had lifted him high and quickly. For years Erius had had no more use for wizards than his mother, but since the death of the King’s wife and children, Niryn’s star had risen steadily at court. Lately he’d taken to wearing his thick red beard forked and had affected costly white robes embroidered with silver.

He acknowledged Arkoniel with a slight nod, and the younger wizard bowed respectfully.

Erius had brought along a priest of Sakor, as well, together with a dozen of his own Guard in their pick spurs and gold badges. Arkoniel’s stomach did an uneasy roll as he caught the glint of mail beneath their red tunics and saw the long knives they carried at their belts. It seemed an odd sort of company to bring into his sister’s house on such an occasion.

He forced a respectful smile, wondering bitterly who had alerted Erius. One of the household women, perhaps? Clearly Erius had been prepared for this visit, despite the hour. The King’s greying beard and curly black hair were neatly combed. His velvet robes looked as fresh as if he’d been on his way to the audience hall. The Sword of Ghërilain, symbol of Skalan rule, hung at his hip.

‘My king,’ Arkoniel bowed again. ‘Your honoured sister is still in the midst of her pains. Duke Rhius sends his respects and asks me to sit with you until he is able to attend you himself.’

Erius raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Arkoniel? What are you doing here? Last I knew, neither you nor that mistress of yours practices midwifery.’

‘No, my king. I was guesting here tonight and have been making myself useful.’ Arkoniel was suddenly aware of the other wizard’s steady gaze. Niryn’s bright brown eyes protruded a bit, giving him a perpetually surprised air that the younger wizard found unsettling. He carefully veiled his mind, praying he was strong enough to keep Niryn from his thoughts without the other man suspecting.

‘Your honoured sister’s labour is a difficult one, I fear, but she will be delivered soon,’ he continued, then wished he hadn’t. The King had attended the births of all his own children. If Erius decided to go upstairs, there was nothing he could do, short of magic, to prevent it. With Niryn here, even that risky avenue was closed to him.

Perhaps Illior had heeded his prayer after all, for Erius shrugged agreeably and sat down at a gaming table by the hearth. ‘How’s your skill with the stones?’ he asked, waving Arkoniel to the other chair. ‘These birthings generally take longer than you’d expect, especially the first. We may as well pass the time pleasantly.’

Hoping his relief was not too obvious, Arkoniel sent Mynir off for wine and sweets, then settled down to losing as best he could.

Niryn sat beside them, pretending to observe the play, but Arkoniel still felt the pressure of his regard. Sweat prickled under his arms and down his back. What did the man want? Did he know something?

He nearly dropped the gaming stones when Niryn suddenly asked, ‘Do you dream, young man?’

‘No, my lord,’ Arkoniel replied. ‘Or if I do, I don’t recall them when I wake up.’

This was true enough; he seldom dreamed in the normal sense, and foreknowing dreams had so far proven to be outside his ken. He waited for Niryn to pursue the question, but he only sat back and stroked the tips of his forked beard, looking bored.

Arkoniel was in the midst of his third game of Geese and Squares when Nari came downstairs.

‘Duke Rhius sends his regards, your majesty,’ she said, curtsying low. ‘He asks if you would like your new nephew brought down to view?’

‘Nonsense!’ Erius exclaimed, setting the stones aside and rising. ‘Tell your master his brother is happy to come to him.’

Again, Arkoniel had an uneasy sense that the King meant more than he said.

That sense grew stronger when Niryn and the priest accompanied them upstairs. Nari caught Arkoniel’s eye as they followed and gave him a quick nod; Iya and Lhel must already be safely away. Entering Ariani’s room, Arkoniel could sense no trace of magic, Orëska or otherwise.

Duke Rhius stood on the far side of the bed, holding his wife’s hand. The Princess was still blessedly asleep, no doubt well drugged. With her black hair combed back smoothly and a hectic spot of colour high on each cheek, she looked like one of her own dolls.

Rhius lifted the swaddled child from the bed and brought it to the King. He’d recovered enough to act his part with dignity.

‘Your nephew, my liege,’ he said, placing the infant in Erius’ arms. ‘With your leave, he shall be named Tobin Erius Akandor, in honour of your father’s line.’

‘A son, Rhius!’ Erius undid the swaddling with a gentle, practiced hand.

Arkoniel held his breath and blanked his mind as Niryn and the priest extended their hands over the sleeping child. Neither appeared to notice anything amiss; Lhel’s magic had covered all trace of the abomination she’d wrought on the little body. And who would think to look for hill witch magic in the chamber of the King’s own sister?

‘A fine boy, Rhius, to bear such a name!’ Erius exclaimed. The birthmark caught his eye. ‘And look at the favour mark he bears. On his left arm, too. Niryn, you know how to read such things. What does this one mean?’

‘Wisdom, your majesty,’ the wizard told him. ‘A most favourable trait in your son’s future companion.’

‘Indeed it is,’ the King said. ‘Yes, you have my leave, Brother, and my blessing. And I’ve brought a priest to make an offering for our little warrior.’

‘You have my thanks, Brother,’ said Rhius.

The priest went to the hearth and began his droning prayers, casting resins and little wax offerings into the flames.

‘By the Flame, he’ll make a great playfellow for my Korin in a few years’ time,’ the King went on. ‘Just think of the two of them, hunting and learning the sword together when your Tobin comes to join the Companions. Just like you and I were, eh? But there was a twin, too, I believe?’

Yes, thought Arkoniel, the King’s spies had been thorough, after all.

Nari bent down and lifted another tiny bundle from behind the bed. Keeping her back to the Princess, she brought it around to the King. ‘A poor little girl child, my king. Never drew breath.’

Erius and the others examined the dead child just as closely, moving its flaccid limbs about, verifying the gender and feeling its chest and neck for signs of life. Watching from the corner of his eye, Arkoniel saw the King cast quick, questioning look at his wizard.

‘They know something. They’re seeking something,’ Arkoniel thought dizzily. Niryn’s question about dreams suddenly took on a dire resonance. Had the man had a vision of his own, a vision of this child? If so, then Lhel’s magic did its work again, for the older wizard replied with a quick shake of his head. Whatever they were looking for, they hadn’t found it here. Arkoniel glanced away before any expression of relief could betray him.

The King handed the body back to Nari and clasped Rhius by the shoulders. ‘It’s a hard thing, losing a child. Sakor knows I still grieve for my lost ones and their dear mother. It’s cold comfort for you, I know, but it’s best this way, before you’d both become attached.’

‘As you say,’ Rhius replied softly.

Giving Rhius a last brotherly thump on the shoulder, Erius went to the bed and kissed his sister gently on the forehead.

The sight made the blood pound in Arkoniel’s head as he thought of the swordsmen in the hall below. This usurper, this killer of girls and women, might love his little sister enough to spare her life, but as the Lightbearer had shown, that forbearance did not extend to her children. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor as the King and his councillors swept out, imagining how differently this little drama would have played out if Erius had found a living girl child here.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Arkoniel’s knees turned to water and he sank into a chair.

But the ordeal was not yet over. Ariani opened her eyes and saw the dead child Nari held. Pulling herself up against the bolsters, she held out her arms for it. ‘Thank the Light! I knew I heard a second cry, but I had the most awful dream …’

The nurse exchanged a look with Rhius and Ariani’s smile faltered. ‘What is it? Give me my child.’

‘It was stillborn, my love,’ Rhius said. ‘Let it be. Look, here’s our fine son.’

‘No, I heard it cry!’ Ariani insisted.

Rhius brought little Tobin to her, but she ignored him, staring instead at the child the nurse held. ‘Give him to me, woman! I command it!’

There was no dissuading her. Ignoring the soft cry of the living child, she took the dead one in her arms and her face went whiter still.

Arkoniel knew in that instant that Lhel’s magic could not deceive the child’s mother the way that it had the others. Twisting his mind to sight through her eyes, he caught a glimpse of the strips of skin Lhel had cut from each child’s breast and sewn with spider-fine stitches into the wound left on its twin, just over the heart. With this exchange of flesh, the transformation had been sealed. The girl child would retain the semblance of male form for as long as Iya deemed necessary, just as her dead brother had taken her form to deceive the King.

‘What have you done?’ Ariani gasped, staring up at Rhius.

‘Later, my love, when you’re rested. Give that one back to Nari and take your son. See how strong he is? And he has your blue eyes …’

‘Son? That is no son!’ Ariani cut him off with a venomous glare. No amount of reasoning prevailed. When Rhius tried to take the dead child from her, she lurched from the bed and fled to the far corner of the room, clutching the tiny corpse against her stained nightdress.

‘This is too much!’ Arkoniel whispered. Going to the frantic woman, he knelt before her.

She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Arkoniel? Look, I have a son. Isn’t he pretty?’

Arkoniel tried to smile. ‘Yes, your highness, he’s – he’s perfect.’ He touched her brow gently, clouding her mind and sending her once more into a deep sleep. ‘Forgive me.’

He reached for the little body, then froze in fear.

The dead child’s eyes were open. Blue as a kitten’s one moment, the irises went black as Arkoniel watched and fixed accusingly on him. An unnatural chill radiated from the little body, slowly spreading to envelop the wizard.

This was the cost of that first breath. The spirit of the murdered child had been drawn into its body just long enough to take hold and become a ghost, or worse.

‘By the Four, what’s happening?’ Rhius rasped, leaning over him.

‘There’s nothing to fear,’ Arkoniel said quickly, though in truth this tiny unnatural creature struck fear to the core of his heart.

Nari knelt beside him and whispered, ‘The witch said to take it away quickly. She said you must put it in the ground under a large tree. There’s great chestnut in the rear courtyard by the summer kitchen. The roots will hold the demon down. Hurry! The longer it stays here, the stronger it will grow!’

It took every bit of courage Arkoniel possessed to touch the dead child. Taking it from Ariani’s arms, he covered its face with a corner of the wrappings and hurried out. Nari was right; the waves of icy coldness pouring from the lifeless body grew stronger by the moment. It made his joints ache as he bore it downstairs and out through the back passage of the house.

The moon watched like an accusing eye as Arkoniel placed his cursed burden at the foot of the chestnut tree and mouthed, forgive me once more. But he expected no forgiveness for this night’s work and wept as he wove his spell. His tears fell on the little bundle as he bent to watch it sink down into the earth’s cold embrace between the gnarled roots.

The faint wail of an infant came to him on the cold night air and he shuddered, not knowing if it came from the living child or the dead one.