Читать книгу The Oracle’s Queen - Lynn Flewelling - Страница 7

“It’s one thing to accept one’s destiny.

It’s quite another to live it.”

I am Tamír!”

Ki stood beside her in that ruined throne room, the acrid stink of the burning city thick in the air, and watched as his friend declared herself a woman and rightful heir to the throne. Imonus, high priest of Afra, had brought Ghërilain’s lost gold stele as proof. It was as big as a door and he could see Tamír reflected in it, crowned by the ancient prophecy engraved there:

So long as a daughter of Thelátímos’

líne defends and rules, Skala shall

never be subjugated.

She didn’t look much like a queen yet, just a ragged, tired, too-thin girl in battle-stained men’s clothing. She hadn’t had to strip for the crowd this time, but there was no mistaking the jut of small pointed breasts through the loose linen shirt.

Ki averted his eyes with a vague pang of guilt. The thought of how her body had changed still gave him a sick feeling.

Iya and Arkoniel stood with the priests at the foot of the dais, still in their dirty robes. They’d helped turn the tide of battle, but Ki knew the truth about them now, too. It was their doing, all the lies.

The oath takings and rituals dragged on and on. Ki scanned the crowd, trying to share in the joy he saw around him, but all he could think of at that moment was how young and thin and brave and worn out Tobin—no, Tamír—looked.

He tried the unfamiliar name in his mind again, hoping to make it stick. He’d seen the proof of her sex with his own eyes, but he still could not get his mind around it, or his heart.

I’m just tired.

Had it only been a week since they’d ridden for Atyion at the king’s order? Just a week since he’d first learned the truth about Tobin, his dearest friend, his heart’s brother?

He blinked away the sudden stinging in his eyes. His friend was not Tobin anymore. There she stood, right in front of him, yet he felt as if Tobin had died.

He glanced sidelong at Tharin, hoping the man hadn’t noticed his weakness. Teacher, mentor, second father, he’d slapped Ki when he’d panicked that night on the road to Atyion. Ki had deserved it, and he’d been grateful for the correction. He’d stood fast with Tharin and Lynx a few days later when Tobin had sliced the fragment of Brother’s bone, and the witch’s magic with it, from his own breast on the steps of Atyion castle, calling down the mystical fire that burned away his male body. Horrified, they’d watched as Tobin bled and burned and somehow lived to strip withered flesh away like a snake shedding last year’s outworn skin, leaving in his place this wan, hollow-eyed girl.

The rituals ended at last. Tharin and the newly organized bodyguard closed ranks in front of them. Close by Tamír’s side, Ki saw how she wavered a little as she stepped down from the dais. He slipped a discreet hand under her elbow, steadying her.

Tamír pulled her arm away, but gave him a small, tight smile, letting him know it was only pride.

“May we escort you to your old chamber, Highness?” Tharin asked. “You can rest there until arrangements can be made elsewhere.”

Tamír gave him a grateful look. “Yes, thank you.”

Arkoniel made to follow, but Iya stopped him, and Tamír did not look back or summon them.

The palace corridors were packed with the wounded. The air was rank with the stench of blood. The fish pools set into the floors were stained pink with it. Drysian healers were at work everywhere, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of those in need of their skills. Tamír looked around sadly as they hurried on, and Ki could guess her thoughts. These soldiers had fought under Erius’ banner and fallen for Ero. How many would have fought for her? And how many would serve under her now?

Reaching her old chamber at last, she said, “Keep guard out here, Tharin, please?”

Ki hesitated, thinking she meant to leave him, too, but she dispelled his doubts with a sharp glance and Ki followed her into the ransacked room that had once been their home.

As soon as the door was closed she slumped back against it and let out an unsteady laugh. “Free at last! For now anyway.”

That voice still sent a shiver through him. Tobin wasn’t yet sixteen, and hadn’t lost his high, boyish voice. Still hoarse from battle, Tamír sounded just the same. In the gathering gloom, she even looked like Prince Tobin, with her warrior braids and long black hair falling forward around her face.

“Tob?” The old name still came too easily.

“You can’t call me that anymore.”

Ki heard the echo of his own confusion in her voice and reached for her hand, but she brushed past him and went to the bed.

Nikides lay as they’d left him, still unconscious. His sandy hair was plastered to his cheeks with sweat and blood, and the bandages around his side were crusted with it, but his breathing was even. Tamír’s little page, Baldus, was curled asleep at his feet.

Tamír rested a hand on Nikides’ brow.

“How is he?” asked Ki.

“Feverish, but alive.”

“Well, that’s something.”

Of the nineteen original Companions, five were dead for certain, and the rest missing, except for Nik and two squires. Tanil would be lucky to survive the brutal torture he’d suffered at the hands of the Plenimarans. Lynx still seemed recklessly intent on not surviving his fallen lord, Orneus, yet he’d come through every battle without a scratch.

“I hope Lutha and Barieus are still alive,” Ki murmured, wondering how their friends would fare without them. He sat down on the floor and ran his fingers back through his tangled hair. It had grown long over the winter. The thin brown braids framing his face hung to his chest. “Where do you suppose Korin went?”

Tamír sank down beside him and shook her head. “I still can’t believe he’d abandon the city like that!”

“Everyone says it was Niryn’s doing.”

“I know, but how could Korin let that bastard sway him like that? He never liked him any more than we did.”

Ki said nothing, keeping his bitter thoughts to himself. From the day they’d met, Ki had seen the weakness in the Prince Royal, just as clearly as Tamír had seen the good. It was like a streak of poor alloy in a fine blade, and had already betrayed him twice in battle. Royal or not, Korin was a coward, and that was unforgivable in a warrior—or a king.

Tamír shifted over, leaning against his shoulder. “What do you suppose Korin and the others thought if they’ve heard news of me?”

“Nik or Tanil can tell us that when they wake up, I guess.”

“What would you think, in their place?” she fretted, scratching at a bit of dried blood on the back of one hand. “How do you suppose it will sound to anyone who wasn’t there to see?”

Before he could answer that, Arkoniel slipped in without knocking. Unshaven, one arm in a sling, he looked more beggar than wizard.

Ki could hardly bear to look at him. Arkoniel had been their teacher and their friend, or so they thought. But he’d lied to them all these years. Even knowing the reason, Ki wasn’t yet sure he could forgive him for that.

Arkoniel must have read his thoughts or his face; the sudden sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “Duke Illardi has offered his villa as a headquarters. The grounds have strong walls and there’s been no plague in that ward. It’s a safer place for you than here. The fires are still spreading.”

“Tell him I accept his offer,” Tamír replied without looking up. “I want Nik with me, and Tanil, too. He’s at the camp we overran yesterday.”

“Of course.”

“And we should save what we can of the royal library and archives before the fire spreads.”

“Already seen to,” Arkoniel assured her. “Tharin’s placed a guard on the Royal Tomb, as well, but I’m afraid there was some looting.”

“Seems I’m always saddled with caring for the dead.” Tamír rose and walked out onto the broad balcony that overlooked the palace gardens and the city beyond. Ki and Arkoniel followed.

This part of the Old Palace was hardly touched by the destruction outside. Snowdrops and banks of white narcissus glowed in the failing daylight. Beyond the walls, smoke hung heavy over the city, lit from below by flames.

Tamír gazed up at the red-stained sky. “One of the last things my uncle said to me before we rode for Atyion was that if Ero is lost, Skala is lost. What do you think, Arkoniel? Was he right? Were we too late?”

“No. It’s a terrible blow, certainly, but Ero is only one city among many. Skala is wherever you are. The queen is the land. I know things look grim to you right now, but births are seldom easy and never clean. Rest a bit before we ride. Oh, and Iya’s spoken to some of the women in your guard. Ahra or Una can stay with you tonight.”

“Ki is still my squire.”

The wizard hesitated, then said quietly, “I don’t think that’s advisable, do you?”

Tamír rounded on him, pent-up fury blazing in those dark eyes. Even Ki took a step back in the face of it.

“It is advisable because I say it is! Consider that my first official proclamation as your queen-to-be. Or am I just a wizard’s puppet after all, like my uncle?”

Arkoniel looked stricken as he pressed a hand to his heart and bowed. “No, never that. I swear on my life.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Tamír snapped. “And you remember this. I accept my duty to Skala, the gods, my line, and my people. But right now, I warn you—” A quaver crept into her voice. “Don’t cross me in this. Ki stays with me. Now just—go away!”

“As you wish, Highness.” The wizard quickly retreated, but not without a sad look in Ki’s direction.

Ki pretended not to notice. You put her here. You can damn well suffer the consequences along with the rest of us!

“Prince Tobin?” Baldus stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Tamír’s valet, Molay, had hidden the child in a trunk during the final attack. When Tamír and Ki had found him afterward, he was too exhausted and terrified to notice the change in her. He looked around in confusion. “Where’s the princess you were talking to, Lord Ki?”

Tamír went to the child and took his hand. “Look at me, Baldus. Look closely.”

The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Highness, are you bewitched?”

“I was. Now I’m not.”

Baldus nodded uncertainly. “An enchanted princess, like in the bard’s tales?”

Tamír managed a pained smile. “Something like that. We need to get you someplace safe.”

Chin trembling, the child fell to his knees, clutching her hand and kissing it. “I’ll always serve you, Princess Tobin. Please don’t send me away!”

“Of course I won’t, if you want to stay.” Tamír pulled him to his feet and hugged him. “I need every loyal man I can find. But you must call me Princess Tamír now.”

“Yes, Princess Tamír.” The child clung to her. “Where’s Molay?”

“I don’t know.”

Ki doubted they’d see him again on this side of Bilairy’s gate. “Get some sleep, Tamír. I’ll keep watch.” To his surprise, she didn’t argue. Stretching out beside Nikides on the bare mattress, she turned on her side and surrendered at last to exhaustion.

Ki pulled up a chair and sat with his sword unsheathed across his knees. He was her squire and he would do his duty, but he studied that shadowed face with the heavy heart of a friend.

Darkness had fallen when Tharin came in with a lamp. Ki blinked in the sudden light. Tamír sat up at once, reaching for her sword.

“Everything’s ready, Tamír.” Tharin stepped aside to make way for the litter bearers who’d come for Nikides. Lynx followed, carrying Tamír’s discarded armor.

“I’ve assembled an escort for you in the front court and Manies has gone for your horses,” said Tharin. “You’d best wear your armor. The streets are far from secure.”

Ki took the Aurënfaie hauberk from the other squire. Lynx understood. This was Ki’s responsibility, and his honor.

He helped Tamír put on the supple mail hauberk, then buckled on the breastplate for her. These pieces, as well as what Ki, Lynx, and Tharin wore, had all come from the Atyion armory. Wrestling with the unfamiliar buckles, he wondered what had become of the armor they’d left behind in Ero that night. Lost with everything else, Ki thought with regret. His had been a gift from Tobin, one of her own designs.

Tamír, he thought, catching himself. Damnation! How long before that came naturally?

The rest of the royal guard was mounted and waiting for them in the courtyard. Beyond the wall, the Palatine was as bright as day from the fires still burning there. The hot breeze was against them, and ash had drifted over everything like a grey killing frost.

There were at least a hundred riders assembled, many of whom held torches to light the way. Most of the horses had shorn manes, Ki noted. Mourning for the king, perhaps, or lost comrades. The few remaining men from the Alestun guard were at the forefront, still keeping together as a group. Aladar and Kadmen saluted him and he returned it with a heavy heart; too many missing faces there.

Lady Una was there, too, with Iya, Arkoniel, and the ragtag collection of wizards Iya had gathered. The rest were soldiers still wearing the baldric of Atyion, Captain Grannia and her women foremost among them.

Lord Jorvai and Lord Kyman, Tamír’s first allies among the nobles, waited with sizable contingents of their own riders.

Left-handed Manies hoisted Tamír’s tattered banner aloft. It still showed the blended coat of arms of her parents, Ero and Atyion together. A long black ribbon was tied to the top of the staff, out of respect for the dead king.

“You should ride under the royal banner now,” said Tharin.

“I haven’t been crowned yet, have I? Besides, Korin took that with him, too.” She leaned closer, whispering, “So many? It’s less than three miles to Illardi’s house.”

“As I said, the streets are still dangerous. A lot of Erius’ men have refused to join us. They could still be out there somewhere, planning who knows what.”

Tamír settled her sword on her hip and went down the steps to the tall black horse a man still wearing Erius’ colors was holding for her.

“Keep your eyes open and stay close to her,” Tharin muttered as he and Ki followed.

“I will!” Ki shot back under his breath. What did Tharin think he was going to do, go woolgathering as if they were out for a hunt?

As Ki swung up onto his borrowed horse, he saw that Tamír had drawn her dagger. Her horse’s mane had not been shorn. She grasped a hank of the coarse black hair and cut it free, then singed it in a nearby torch. It was a symbolic act, but a worthy one. “For my kin,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “And for all who died bravely for Skala.”

From the corner of his eye, Ki caught Iya smiling and shaking her head.

Ki and Tamír rode at the center of the column, shielded on all sides by armed riders and wizards. Jorvai took the forward position, and Kyman and his men the rear guard. Tharin rode with Tamír, and the two wizards flanked them. Baldus clung wide-eyed behind Arkoniel, a small bundle clutched in one hand.

With much of the Palatine still in flames, the usual route to the gate was impassable. Tamír and her column crossed the ruined park to a small secondary gate behind the ravaged drysian grove.

This way took them past the Royal Tomb. Tamír glanced up at the scorched ruins of the portico. Ranks of priests and soldiers stood guard there, but most of the royal effigies were gone.

“Did the Plenimarans knock down the statues?”

Iya chuckled. “No, the defenders on the Palatine dropped them on the enemies’ heads.”

“I never went back,” Tamír murmured.

“Highness?”

Ki understood. The night they’d first come to Ero, Tamír had taken her father’s ashes down into the royal crypt and seen her mother’s preserved corpse. That had been the only time she’d ventured into the catacombs, avoiding them even on Mourning Night and the other holy days. Ki figured that after living with Brother all these years, she’d had her fill of the dead.

And where’s he now? he wondered. There’d been no sign of the demon since the unbinding ceremony. All the bits of bone from the doll had burned away with the magic. Perhaps Tamír was finally free of him, as Lhel had promised.

And he’s free, too. Ki still recalled the look of agony on Brother’s face in those final moments. Despite all the fear and pain he’d caused over the years, and the harm he’d tried to do, Ki hoped that the angry spirit had passed the gate at last, for everyone’s sake.