Arrows of the Queen (35 page)

Those final images sprang all too readily to mind, invoking the rest of the experience. “The arrows—” she gasped, feeling Ylsa's death-throes in every cell of her own body, ‟—the black-ringed arrows she carried are metal; hollow. What you want is inside them.”

‟‘In the shaft'—of course!” Selenay breathed. “She meant the arrow-shaft!”

Talia closed her hands over her aching temples; she wished passionately that she could somehow hide in the darkness behind her eyes.

“Kyril, are Kris and Dirk in residence?” Selenay demanded.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Then we have a chance to snatch what Ylsa won for us before anyone has an opportunity to find it. Talia, I must ask still more of you. Come with me—Kyril, find Kris and Dirk and bring them with you.”

Selenay half-ran down the hall; Talia was forced to ignore her pounding head and urge her trembling legs into a sprint to keep up with her. They left the Collegium area entirely, and entered the portion of the Palace reserved for the Royal Family—a portion of the area dating right back to Valdemar and the Founding.

The Queen opened the door on a room scarcely larger than a closet; round, and with a round table in the center. It was lit by one lantern, heavily shaded, suspended from the ceiling above the exact center of the table. Beneath it, resting on a padded base, was a sphere of crystal. The table itself was surrounded by padded benches with backs to them. As the door closed behind them, the “dead” feeling to the room showed that it was so well-insulated against outside noise that a small riot could take place outside the door without the occupants of the room being aware of it. It was no longer possible to hear even the grim tolling of the Death Bell.

Talia sank onto one of the benches, holding her furiously aching temples and closing her eyes against the light. Her respite was short-lived. The door opened again; Talia raised aching lids to see that Kyril had brought two more Heralds with him, both dressed in clothing that showed every evidence of being thrown on with extreme haste.

With a pang, Talia recognized Dirk and had no difficulty in identifying the angelically-beautiful Kris. They took the bench to her left, Kris sitting closest to her. Kyril sat to her immediate right, and Selenay next to him.

“Talia,” Kyril said, “I want you to retrace where you sent your mind tonight. I think perhaps there will be enough emotional residue for you to find it again. This is not going to be easy for you; it will require every last bit of your strength, and I think I can predict that what you will find there may be even more distressing than what you already know. I'll try and cushion the effects for you, but since your Gift is tied up with emotions and feelings, it's bound to be painful. Kris will be following you with his sight. Put your hand in his, and don't let go until we tell you to. Dirk will be linked with him, and the Queen will be shielding all four of us from the outside world and the thoughts of others and keeping distractions from us,” As he spoke, Kyril took Talia's unresisting right hand into his own.

She had no energy to spare to reply; she simply leaned back into the padded support of the bench back and put herself back into the interrupted trance. The pain of her head interfered with that. There was a whisper, and a hand rested for a brief moment on the one resting in Kris'—‟Selenay” her mind recognized absently—and the pain receded. She retraced her movements now with a kind of double inner vision, seeing the swirls of emotion she had followed, and Seeing the actual landmarks with Kris' Gift as well. Darkness did not hamper his sight in the least, for everything seemed to be illuminated from within, living things the most.

Time lost meaning. Then as she began to recognize things she had passed, she began to dread what she would find at the end of the journey.

Finding the site of the ambush again was probably the worst experience she had ever had in her life.

Ylsa's body had been searched—with complete and callous thoroughness. She was only grateful that it was not Keren who was linked in with her, to see the bestial things they'd done to her lifemate. She wanted to retch; started to feel her grasp on the place slip, then felt someone else's strength supporting her. She held to her task until she began to lose herself as her strength faded. She couldn't feel her own body anymore, even remotely. A luminous mist began to obscure her inner vision. She knew she should have been frightened, for she had gone beyond the limits of her own abilities and energies and was in grave danger of being lost, but she could not even summon up enough force to be afraid.

Then, for the third time, she felt Rolan with her, adding his energy to her own, and she held on for far longer than she would have thought anyone would have been able to bear. Then she heard Kris' voice say, “Got it,” and felt him loose her hand.

“Your part's over, Talia,” Kyril murmured.

She fled back to herself in a rush, and with a tiny sob of release she buried her head in her arms on the table and let the true tears of mourning flow at last. She wept in silence, only the shaking of her shoulders betraying her. The attention of the others was directed elsewhere now, and she felt free to let her grief loose.

Something clattered down onto the table with a faint metallic clash. The sound was repeated four more times.

Dirk's voice, harsh with fatigue, said, “That's the lot.”

There was a stirring to her right, a sound of metal grating on metal, and the whisper of paper.

There was utter silence; then the Queen sighed. Her bench grated a little on the floor as she stood. “This is the proof I needed,” she said grimly, “I must summon the Council. There will be necks in the noose after this night's work; high-born necks.”

There was a whisper of cooler air from the door, and she was gone.

Talia felt Kyril rise beside her. “My place is at the Council board to represent the Circle,” he said, then hesitated.

“Go, Kyril,” Kris replied in answer to his hesitation. “We'll see to her.”

He sighed with relief, obviously having been torn between his responsibilities to Talia and to the Circle. “Bless you, brothers. Talia—” his hand rested briefly on her head. “You are more than worthy to be Queen's Own. This would not have been remotely possible without your help. Oh, damn, words mean less than nothing now! You'll learn soon enough what this night's agony has won for all of us in the way of long-overdue justice. I think—Ylsa would be proud of you.”

The door sighed; he was gone.

“Talia?” Someone had taken Kyril's place on her right; the voice was Dirk's. She stemmed the flood of tears with an effort, and regained at least a fragile semblance of control over herself. Surreptitiously drying her eyes on her sleeve, she raised her aching head.

The weariness on both their faces matched her own, and there were tears in Kris' eyes and the marks of weeping on Dirk's cheeks as well. Both of them tried to reach out of their own grief to comfort her, but were not really sure what to say.

‟I—think I'd like—to go back to my room,” she said carefully, between surges of pain. Her head throbbed in time with her pulse, and her vision faded every time the pain worsened. She tried to stand, but as she did so, the chamber spun around her like a top, the lamplight dimmed, and there was a roaring in her ears. Kris shoved the table out of the way so that she wouldn't crack her skull open on it while Dirk knocked over the bench in his haste to reach her before she fell; then everything seemed to fade, even her own body, and her thoughts vanished in the wave of anguish that followed.

 

It was Ylsa—and Felara with her. At least, Talia thought it was Felara; the Companion didn't look the same from moment to moment, a fascinating and luminous, eternally shifting form. And
where
they were—it was sort of a ghost of her own room, all gray and shadowy; insubstantial. You could see the Moon and the stars through the walls.

“Ylsa?” she said, doubtfully—for the Herald looked scarcely older than herself.

“Kitten,” Ylsa replied, her tone a benediction. “Oh, kitten! You won't remember this clearly—but you
will
remember it. Tell Keren not to grieve too long; tell her I said so! And if she doesn't behave herself and take what Sherri's offering, I'll come haunt her! The darkness isn't the end to everything, kitten, the Havens are beyond it, and I'm overdue. But before I go—I have a few things to tell you, and to give you—”

 

She woke the next morning with burning eyes and a still-pounding skull, yet with an oddly comforted soul. There had been a dream—or was it a dream? Ylsa, no longer the mutilated, ravaged thing Talia had seen, but miraculously restored and somehow younger-looking, had spoken to her. She'd seemed awfully substantial for a ghost, if indeed that was what she was.

She'd spoken with Talia for a long, long time; some things she'd said were so clear that Talia could almost hear them now—what to tell Keren, for instance, when Keren's grief had ebbed somewhat; to make it clear to Sherri that she was not to consider herself an interloper. Then she'd taken Talia's hand in her own, and done—what?

She couldn't remember exactly, but somehow the anguish of last night had been replaced by a gentle sorrow that was much easier to bear. The memories, too—those that were her own were still crystal clear, but those which had been Ylsa's were blurred, set at one remove, and no longer so agonizingly a part of her. She couldn't remember now what it had felt like to die.

Someone had removed her outer tunic, tucking her into bed wearing her loose shirt and breeches. As she sat up, nausea joined the ache in her skull and her temples throbbed. The symptoms were very easy to recognize; after all, she'd badly overtaxed herself. Now she was paying the price. Ylsa had said something about that, too, in the dream—

She dragged herself out of bed and went to the desk, only to discover that someone had anticipated her need, readying a mug of Ylsa's herbal remedy and putting a kettle of water over the tiny fire on her pocket-sized hearth. She needed only to pour the hot water over the crushed botanicals and wait for them to steep. She counted to one hundred, slowly, then drank the brew off without bothering to sweeten or strain it.

When the pounding in her head had subsided a bit, and her stomach had settled, she sought the bathing room. A long, hot bath was also part of the prescription, and she soaked for at least an hour. By then, her headache had receded to manageable proportions, and she dressed in clean clothing and descended to the kitchen.

Mero was working like a fiend possessed; his round face displaying a grief as deep as any Herald's. He greeted her appearance with an exclamation of surprise; she soon found herself tucked into a corner of the kitchen with another mug of the herb tea in one hand and a slice of honeycake to kill the taste in another.

“Has anything happened since last night?” she asked, knowing that Mero heard everything as soon as it transpired.

‟Not a great deal,” he replied. ‟But—they brought her home in the dawn—”

His face crumpled for a moment, and Talia remembered belatedly that Mero and Ylsa had been longtime friends, that he had “adopted” her much as he had taken Elspeth as a special pet, in Ylsa's long-ago student days.

“And Keren?” she asked, hesitating to intrude on his grief.

‟She—is coping. Is better than I would have expected. That was a wise thing—a kind thing, that you did; to bring to her side one who could most truly feel and share in her loss and sorrow,” he replied, giving her a look of sad approval. “The Book of One says ‘That love is most true that thinks first of the pain of others before its own.' She—the lady—she must be proud of you, I think—” he stumbled to a halt, not knowing what else to say.

“I hope she is, Mero,” Talia replied with sincerity. “What of the Queen and the Council—and Teren?”

“Teren helps Sherrill to tend his sister; he seems well enough. I think it is enough for him to know that she is safe again. Oh, and Sherrill has been ordered to bide at the Collegium until this newly-woken Gift of hers be properly trained. Kyril himself is to tend to that. As for the rest—the Council are still closeted together. There was some coming and going of the palace Guard in the hour before dawn, however. Rumor says that there are some highborn ones missing from their beds. But—you do not eat—” he frowned at her, and she hastily began to nibble at the cake. “
She
told me, long ago, that those who spend much of themselves in magic must soon replace what they spent or suffer as a consequence.” He stood over her until she'd finished, then pressed another slice into her hand.

“It's so quiet,” she said, suddenly missing the sound of feet and voices that usually filled the Collegium. ‟Where is everybody?”

“In the Great Hall, waiting on the word from the Council. Perhaps you should be there as well.”

‟No—I don't think I need to be,” she replied, closing weary eyes. “Now that my head is working again, I know what the decisions will be.”

Whether she'd sorted out the confused memories alone, or with the aid of someone—or something—else, she knew now what it was that Ylsa had died to obtain. It was nothing less than the proofs, written in their own hands, of treason against Selenay and murder of many of the Heralds by five of the Court's highly placed nobles. These were the incontrovertible proofs that the Queen had long desired to obtain—and two of the nobles named in those letters were previously unsuspected, and both were Council members. There would be no denying their own letters; before nightfall the heart and soul of the conspiracy begun by the Queen's husband would be destroyed, root and branch. These documents, hidden in the hollow arrows and transported to the dim chamber of the Palace by Dirk and Kris, would be the instruments of vengeance for Ylsa herself, and Talamir, and many another Herald whose names Talia didn't even know. How Ylsa had obtained these things, Talia had no idea—nor, with the effect of the drug she'd been drinking finally taking hold, did she much care.