Dark Haven (41 page)

magic pressed into her mind as she saw Arontala and his mages bind the damaged Flow to work their blood spells. Distantly, Carina could hear her own screams echoing from the rock walls as she witnessed the abominations of blood magic that Arontala had worked in the dungeons beneath Shekerishet.

The Flow shifted, and Carina glimpsed new images. A walled keep set on a snow‐covered plain, surrounded by an army. The Flow swirled closer around her, and Carina could smell the stench of decaying flesh and the fetid odor of plague. She fell to her knees, retching. The Flow came no closer to her, but the images it sent burned brightly in her mind. She could feel the tug of light and darkness pulling at the Flow, war magic, powerful and dangerous. For an instant, she glimpsed Tris’s face, and then the image vanished.

The room glowed a deep blood red. Over her head, the Flow lashed back and forth. Carina fell flat against the stone floor, knowing instinctively to stay out of the way of the Flow’s power. A hum like an angry swarm of bees grew louder. The images in her mind were coming in a jumble, too fast to recognize. Fear. Death. Vengeance. Whether the power was sentient or not, Carina had no doubt that it was in great pain, weakened by the taint of blood magic and stretched to the breaking point. It wants to be whole. Goddess help me! I can feel its power. I won’t survive if I touch that. What can I do?

The Flow convulsed, and the cave shuddered. Bits of rock clattered down around her. One final image, a vision of what might be, filled her mind and Carina saw the Flow ripped asunder. She saw raw power burn across the valleys of Dark Haven as the Flow shattered into wild tendrils of magic. The magic leveled everything in its path in a blast brighter than the sun. Caught up in the vision, Carina felt the light as searing pain. She collapsed to the cave floor, too drained to move.

“Help me, Raen.” There was no reply.

Carina’s head throbbed. She felt completely drained, both of her healing magic and the energy 350

to move. The taste in her mouth reminded her that she had been sick. Unbidden, the images she had seen in the Flow returned to her, and she squeezed her eyes shut to make them go away.

“You’re safe. It’s all right.” She opened her eyes slowly. Jonmarc sat beside her, with her hand clasped in his. Lisette and Gabriel came closer to where she lay. She glimpsed Raen standing in the shadows with a frightened look on her face. Gradually, Carina realized she was lying on a couch in Dark Haven’s parlor. Her skin looked as if she had spent the day outdoors in the heat of summer. Breathing almost seemed too much effort.

“Whatever she encountered down there may not have drawn blood, but it definitely drained her.” Gabriel knelt beside her and let his fingertips brush against her temples. “Vayash moru can sense the barest spark of life. Normally, it glows brightly.” He looked up. “It’s as if something fed from her, knowing just when to pull back.”

“What possessed you to go to the East wing?” Jonmarc asked. “You know it’s dangerous. If the ghost hadn’t come for us, we might not have found you.”

“The Flow is coming apart,” Carina murmured. “Raen thought she was helping. She knew the Flow was in pain. It wants a healer.”

“Mages have tried to heal the Flow,” Gabriel said, standing. “None of those who tried survived.”

Carina looked up at Gabriel. “You remember the Mage Wars?”

Gabriel nodded.

“What happened to the Blasted Lands?”

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Gabriel frowned. “The Obsidian King’s allies had a stronghold in the far north, on the rim of the Northern Sea above Eastmark. They were powerful blood mages. During the final battle, as the Sisterhood and Bava K’aa made their last strike against the Obsidian King, we knew that his allies were preparing a counterstrike.” He turned away and began to pace. “I’m not a mage, but I’ve known powerful magic users. They say that power flows like the underground rivers, deep beneath us. All magic draws on that power. Blood magic weakens the energy.

“During the final battle of the Mage War, the river of power that flowed through that place broke loose. I can’t tell you how it happened, only what I saw. There was a bright flare, and a clap louder than thunder. The ground shook like it was going to open up and swallow us. The building collapsed around me and I was buried in the rubble. Some of the mages died instantly.

Others went mad. Only the most powerful were able to keep their wits to finish the battle.

“Later, we went to see what became of the blood mages who were the allies of the Obsidian King. For a league around their stronghold, everything was scorched and flattened. No plants, no trees, only the burned carcasses of animals. There was a crater where the keep had been. Wild magic still fills that place. It dried up the milk, made the crops die, killed the children. People fled. It’s been a wasteland ever since.”

“So if the Flow comes apart, we don’t have a chance,” Jonmarc finished.

“Raen’s right. The Flow’s very badly damaged,” Carina said. “I don’t know how to fix it, but if we don’t come up with something, soon, it’s not going to matter. Dark Haven won’t be here—and neither will we.”

CHAPTER TWENTY‐THREE

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“You’re looking out of that window as if you’re expecting to see something,” Cerise said gently.

“I keep thinking that if I look southward, I’ll be able to see Tris and his troops. The month Tris and I were together was so beautiful, but now he’s gone and I’m homesick, Cerise.” Kiara’s hand fell to her belly. “And I’m tired of throwing up.”

“Some things work the same for queens and commoners alike, my dear. Babies are one of them.

Wars are another. The powders I gave you didn’t help your stomach?”

“Not really. At least I won’t be tempted by all the foods at Winterstide. Nothing sounds good at the moment.”

“If it’s any consolation, your mother was worse. She was sick for such a long time, we feared she might starve. But it passed.”

“She nearly died when I was born. I hope I have an easier time.”

“The women on your father’s side are heartier in that respect. You’ll be fine.” Cerise took Kiara’s hand and led her to a seat by the fire.

“Winterstide begins tonight,” Kiara said, swirling a bit of sugar into her tea. “I miss father terribly. It’s going to be so strange, celebrating without him.”

“You were in Principality for Winterstide last year. Things have improved a bit since then, haven’t they?”

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“You mean that we’re not in exile, being hunted by assassins? Yes to the first part, but after what happened to Malae, I’m not sure about the second.” She shook her head and watched the flames dance in the fireplace. “I’ve been schooled all my life to become Mar‐golan’s queen, Cerise. I know how Winterstide’s celebrated here. It’s not carrying out the rituals or navigating the court that scares me. It’s just that I had hoped, up until Tris left with the army, that there might have been a way to avoid the war.”

“You’re not alone here, Kiara, although we’re far from Isencroft. Remember that. You’ve got Crevan and Mikhail to handle the castle. Harrtuck’s sworn to keep you safe. Alle and Lady Eadoin are powerful friends. And the minstrels are your eyes and ears in the court.” Tris’s brown wolfhound roused from its spot by the fire and came to nuzzle Cerise’s hand.

The mastiff and the gray wolfhound looked up from where they were dozing near Jae on the warm hearth. “Oh, how could I forget? You’ve also got Jae and the dogs!”

Kiara chuckled. “You’re not about to let me feel sorry for myself, are you?”

Cerise hugged her. “There’s nothing wrong with missing Isencroft. It’s to be expected. But I’ve always heard that the Margolan court kept the Winterstide feast in fine form, and I’m looking forward to a front row seat!” She stood. “Speaking of which… Alle went to get the seamstress to fit your dress for tonight, and Macaria should be here any minute with your breakfast. There’s a lot to do before the festival gets underway.”

By noon, the courtyard of Shekerishet had been transformed. Strips of brightly colored cloth fluttered on the wind, tied securely in the bare branches of the trees. More strips adorned the tails of kites that flew high against the gray sky. The bits of colored cloth, each a prayer to the Lady or a request for favor, were considered to be heard when they were lifted by the wind.

“Very auspicious, Your Majesty, this wind today,” Crevan said. He stood behind Kiara’s chair on the balcony overlooking the early festivities in the courtyard below. Just then, a cloud of white doves fluttered skyward, released from their cotes by servants below.

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“Please tell me that you’ve locked the falcons up in the mews,” Kiara said, watching the doves rise. On her lap, Jae stirred with a look of hungry interest. Kiara gently tapped the gyregon on his back and he settled into her skirt, accepting a small treat from a bag near her chair.

Crevan smiled. “Of course, Your Majesty. It wouldn’t do for the Childe’s doves to become dinner.” Crevan looked harried, Kiara thought. It was the first major holiday Crevan had handled without Zachar’s help. The abrupt transition had .gone hard on the nervous little man.

The sound of bells mixed with laughter as a crowd of children ran across the courtyard, some with kites and others with bright streamers that waved as they danced. Belled anklets and wristlets filled the cold air with music. The bells, sacred to the Childe, echoed in the songs of the minstrels who played near a large bonfire in the center of the courtyard. Chimes and bells of all sizes blended with the sound of flutes and the lilt of a piper, instruments favored by the Mother aspect.

Alle leaned over beside Kiara. She was nestled in a heavy fur cloak that nearly hid her long blonde hair. “I saw what the bakers and the candy cook have done for the festival. Mounds of sweets shaped like rose petals, and baskets of cookies in the shape of doves. If the children eat half of what’s been baked, they won’t eat any of tonight’s supper!”

“That would be a pity,” Macaria said. “While you were watching the baker, I saw what’s being readied for dinner. Roasted venison and a full boar, with leeks and onions aplenty. And I’ll warrant there’ll be bread pudding with currants and sweet cream with dates before it’s all done.”

Kiara smiled. “Keep it up and you may even make me hungry. Carroway let it slip that there are some special entertainers tonight. What do you know about that?”

Macaria grinned. “Me? Not a thing. Unless, of course, the queen were to command me to tell…”

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“Consider yourself commanded.”

“Carroway brought dancers from Isencroft before the snows fell. With the army gone, there’s no jousting this year, but he’s got falconers to give an exhibition in Kait’s honor. And of course, after supper everyone exchanges presents.”

“I watched Crevan and the servants carrying in presents for you,” Alle added. “There’s quite a stack.”

“After what happened at the wedding—do you think it’s wise to open all those presents in public?”

Alle smiled. “Han‐tuck assigned guards to unwrap and open all of the presents. He even managed to get one of the Sisters to be on hand, to make sure there was nothing magical. If there are any traps, they’ll spring them. Once you’ve seen the gifts, we’ll put them out for everyone else to look at. It’s expected.”

“I’m not used to quite such a display—we did that a little more privately in Isencroft.”

Macaria gave an unladylike snort. “Are you joking? That’s part of the holiday sport. Everyone wants to see what everyone else gave the king and queen. Since you’re with child, and it’s the festival of the Mother and Childe here in Margolan, you’re sure to receive all kinds of things for the baby—it’s the heir, after all. Gift‐giving is a kind of competition for the nobility. And since the favored gifts for Winterstide are amulets and talismans, the jewelers and silversmiths can be assured that their shops will be busy when everyone crowds in asking for ‘what the queen got from Lord So‐and‐So.’”

“Carroway may have something to say about it if we don’t go inside soon,” Macaria said with a glance toward the courtyard. “Looks as if the minstrels have moved indoors. Which means I’m probably due to perform. I’ll see you at supper.”

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By evening, the ballroom at Shekerishet glittered. Prismed candleholders sent rays of colored light across the dance floor. Banks of candles filled the air with the scent of the gardens that were sacred to the Childe. Dancers clad in brilliant silk costumes waved streamers high into the air, their belled wrists and ankles adding to the music. Out in the courtyard, candles in ornately decorated pierced‐tin lanterns traced out complicated glyphs and sigils in the snow, magical markings that shifted and glowed. Prisms and chimes hung from every tree and doorway, and bonfires lit up the night. Those who were not a part of the night’s high feast could eat their fill from the vendors in the courtyard who sold bread, sausages, candied fruit and ale.

“Skrivven for your thoughts,” Alle said, leaning toward Kiara.

Inside the castle’s ballroom, musicians kept the partygoers cheering with lively tunes. Macaria was playing, and Kiara knew that the sudden chill in the air was not due to the cold outside. As Macaria played her lute, the ghosts of Shekerishet drew closer, listening as the girl’s magic soothed them, swaying their mood and the emotions of the partygoers. Across the room, Kiara could see Carroway watching Macaria with unabashed admiration.

“He’s completely smitten with her—and she never seems to notice.”

Alle chuckled. “She notices. And she’d probably never let it show, since you’re the queen and she knows how close you are to Carroway. She’s convinced herself she doesn’t stand a chance with him.”

“But he’s in love with her.”

“Macaria isn’t from a titled family. She’s earned her court position on the magic of her music.

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Carroway found her playing in taverns

for her living and brought her to the palace. So even though he’s just a year or so older, he was her patron. Carroway’s the king’s best friend, Margolan’s master bard, and a hero of the rev-olution.”

“On the road last year, Carroway must have written a dozen songs for her when we were at Westmarch.”