Starcrossed (51 page)

Below the tower wall, Wierolf made a small movement with one arm, invisible to the men on the field below. Reynart stepped forward — with
Meri
, who slipped into place beside the prince and gripped the battlement with her hands.

“Of course,” Llars said, but Werne burst forward.

“
I
will speak for His Majesty!” he cried. “I will hear whatever outrageous claims —”

“Good,” interrupted Wierolf. “The message is this.”

And before I could blink, Reynart had thrown back his hand, and a ball of flame burst into the snow at Werne’s feet. His mule reared up, spilling him to the ground. The soldiers scattered back, and I even saw a few of the Nemair men flinch. I had flinched myself. It happened so fast, so impossibly fast. Wierolf gave another nearly imperceptible nod, and Reynart flung his spread fingers toward the soldiers on the ridge.

A wagon exploded.

Then a tent.

A tree.

Someone screamed. A startled volley of arrows scattered into the air, falling to cinders, one by one. Below us, smoke and flame billowed up from the burning wagon, and another burst of magic blazed through the camp, ripping through tents, incinerating all but two of the remaining wagons. Horses and soldiers screamed, as Werne shrilled out from the ground, “Attack! Attack!” But the Green Army was in disarray, the men scattered and panicked, their supplies destroyed. Nobody was going to attack us anytime soon.

Meri stood, a picture of serenity, but she held fast to the stones and she was breathing hard. Magic streamed up all around her, bathing her in light. That kind of power came from our Meri?

Abruptly Wierolf put up his hand. Ribbons of red filled the sky from the skeleton of the ruined tree. Reynart eased smoothly back, just as the other Sarists stepped forward, forming a sort of guard around the prince. They linked their hands — a gesture that now seemed dangerous.

Llars was still struggling to calm his horse, which danced ner vously around a patch of smoldering black on the white field of Bryn Shaer’s courtyard. Werne had taken refuge below a stone trough, one green-clad arm flung up to protect his head, and a soldier reached down to pull him out.

Wierolf’s face was set, but his voice rang out loudly. “Go back and tell your king that Prince Wierolf of Hanival is coming to Gerse. And I have a new weapon.”

The Green Army limped away from Bryn Shaer that day. Werne sent a messenger to us with one parting blow: a Writ of Expulsion, damning all the denizens of Bryn Shaer for heresy. Lady Lyll looked proud of it.

“What will we do now?” I asked her. She squeezed my arm and gave me a broad grin.

“Now we hold Meri’s
kernja-velde
!”

It was not so simple as that, of course. Meri slept for two full days after her contribution to the battle on the tower, and when she woke, her magic was so weak and faint that even I couldn’t see it. Reynart and Kespa assured us that this was to be expected, and that she would recover fully with rest and good food. But Meri fretted and Lady Lyll fussed, until Antoch brought in Stagne to separate them, and after that Meri’s smile made more frequent appearances, and the sparkle she gave off may not have been magic alone.

As for Wierolf’s brazen debut on the Llyvrin political scene, there was much to discuss, and debate, and dissect about what had just occurred, and what consequences might follow. The Sarists could not go to war immediately, of course; despite Wierolf’s brashness and Lady Lyll’s efforts to prepare for this eventuality, the plain fact was that these new rebels weren’t ready. Even with the men Berdal had collected, the Nemair had nothing like an army, and although they had coaxed support from Corlesanne and Varenzia, those nations were unlikely to commit troops until their Llyvrin allies had some of their own. The prince felt he could count on assistance from a number of other key houses, but these names sometimes drew protest from Sposa or Lady Cardom or even the Nemair — until Wierolf had to give them what I was coming to call the Royal Eye, and declare, in his easy voice, that a particular matter was settled.

There was no question who was the leader here, and it was strange to watch, because it had seemed to me that no one could be more formidable than Lady Lyll. But of course Lyll had not done all this for her own benefit. It was always on behalf of a world with Wierolf on the throne. Some strange alignment of the moons had brought him here at this time, and it would be interesting to see how things shook out in truth. Would Wierolf be the leader these peoples’ dreams had set him up to be? Or would he be his own man? I touched the little wooden sun lion he had given me, and wondered.

Reynart and his band joined these talks as well, to discuss how the prince’s new weapon might best be wielded. Lady Lyll wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her daughter becoming a permanent part of Wierolf’s army of mages, but Meri was adamant.

“They
need
me,” she kept saying. “And I don’t know why we’re having this discussion anyway. If I were a boy, you’d
expect
me to join the army!”

Lyll sat back, her lips pressed closed, and looked hard at Meri, as if she might never see her again — or as if she were really seeing her for the first time. “Yes,” she finally said. “But I wouldn’t
like
it.”

Meri just snuggled up into Lyll’s arms until her mother closed her eyes and rested her chin on Meri’s dark head. Watching them, I felt a strange tightness in my chest, and I pulled away, feeling out of place and uncertain.

Wierolf spotted me hiding behind a column. He strode over, seeming lanky and comfortable in his new role.

“You look like you own the place,” I said. “Maybe you should make Bryn Shaer your seat.”

“After all the work the Nemair have put in? Hardly! No,” he said, his grin vanishing. “I have another palace in mind. Come with us, Digger. You know you’re welcome.”

“And what would I do in an army?”

He burst out laughing. “I don’t know, mount daring missions behind enemy lines, maybe? I think we could find a place for you.” He touched my shoulder. “You have medical experience; you could work in the field hospitals. I can think of worse people to tend the wounded.”

I looked at my bandaged hand. What would I be left with when my injuries healed? Didn’t surgeons need ten good fingers? Didn’t thieves? “No,” I said. “I don’t want to always wonder if the next patient I see will be you. Now that I know you, I kind of like you.”

“Well, I’m glad we have that established,” he said. “Don’t worry. I plan to be around to antagonize you for a long while to come.” He lifted me off the ground by the shoulders and kissed the top of my head.

“Gods!” I cried, pulling away. “Lady Lyll has
got
to find you a woman, Your Highness.”

He grinned and darted a jab at me, which I blocked smoothly. And I took his ring again, because I
could
. He could have it back later. Maybe.

Antoch was the only one who seemed to share my sense of being unmoored. I’d find him sitting at the council table long after everyone else had left, staring at the maps but not quite seeing them. One evening I finally gathered up my nerve and went to him.

“I’m sorry,” I said — wanting to elaborate, but not quite sure how to say every thing I was feeling. That I was sorry not only for my role, but for what Daul had done, who he had been . . . things I wasn’t remotely responsible for, but felt bad about anyway.

Antoch gave a sigh and gathered up the maps. “It’s an old sadness,” he said. “You haven’t made it any worse. Daul, the Séthe. Some people let bitterness and envy fester until there’s no curing it.”

But I wondered. Maybe there could have been some reconciliation, or at least understanding between Antoch and Daul. Perhaps Daul hadn’t crossed so far to the edge that he could not have been pulled back. But we’d never find out, because I’d helped shove him over the side.

We held Meri’s
kernja-velde
exactly one week later than scheduled. The tables in the Round Court were pulled back for the whole room to be filled with dancing and merriment. Meri wore a beaded gown, yellow silk woven of threads that appeared soft green when looked at one way, and ever so faintly violet another. I wondered if there was some coded language of fabrics; could she send secret messages by the precise swishing of her skirts? But I kept my mouth clamped tight on that; no need to give Lyll or Lady Cardom any ideas.

Meri floated through the room, her hair loose down her back, her arms laden with trea sures. All the girls and women of Bryn Shaer had a ceremonial role in guiding her along from childhood to adulthood. There weren’t any family members younger than she, so the tiny redheaded Sarist and a girl from the kitchens took their places. Meri moved from the youngest girl to the eldest woman, passing off a doll and an outgrown kirtle to the younger girls, and accepting gifts from those older than she: a volume of poetry from Marlytt, a sewing kit from her mother, a heavy brooch from Lady Cardom. Lady Lyll had assigned me the traditional bottle of wine to give, handing it off to me with a grin.

Lady Lyll read out the benediction as Meri stepped forward. “May all the gods and goddesses smile upon our daughter, Merista, who this day leaves her childhood behind. By Celys and Sar, Tiboran and Mend-kaal, Zet, Marau, and the Nameless One, may she live a rich and blessed life.”

Meri knelt on an embroidered cloth, a lively confection of flowers and animals at the center, blended artfully with celestial symbols radiating toward the edges. For a moment, it looked as though she were the center of the universe. With my hand bandaged, I couldn’t help braid her hair for the ritual, so the job went to Lady Cardom, who glowed with plea sure as she and Marlytt did up the plaits and twists. But I stood by, holding a glass bowl of pearls and gold beads; and if one or two or a dozen vanished from the bowl before reaching Lady Merista’s coiffure, I’m sure I couldn’t explain it.

Once Meri’s hair was in its complicated adult arrangement, Kespa and an older woman from Reynart’s people rolled back Meri’s sleeves and lifted her skirts, and spent the next half hour inking every inch of her exposed skin from feet to face with an elaborate pattern of deep violet stars and scrollwork that transformed her into an eldritch crea ture from some other realm. Even her fingernails were not spared, and though it was simply temporary ink, and not more tattoos, I thought Lady Lyll would have an apoplexy. But she controlled herself with typical steely calm.

Somehow the stately, dignified affair the Nemair had planned was dissolving into a strange ceremony that only Meri really understood, but that everyone else seemed to enjoy all the same. Reynart and his band mingled easily with the nobs, and I learned that some of them had been aristocrats once themselves. Stagne caught me, stroking a swirl of purple vine down the back of my hand with his brush.

“I’m no wizard,” I warned him.

He shrugged and grinned. “If you say so.” But after he floated off again, I found myself turning my hand back and forth in the light, until the inked leaves seemed to move on their own. Maybe Sar’s fearsome gift had a playful side, as well. I had seen magic tear through the army camp, and Werne had every reason to fear it. But the only reason
I
had to be afraid of my magic was Werne.

I looked over the party, with rebel and wizard and prince and thief all consorting together, and wondered if everyone in this room was utterly mad. If only Werne had stayed for this, we’d have every lunacy in Llyvraneth represented here. Could any of this amity survive beyond this strange sheltered place in the mountains? I had my doubts; I had seen too well how the climate outside these walls warped and killed. But this — well, not perhaps this
exactly
, but something very like it — was what they were all fighting for.

Meri danced with her father, then Wierolf, and then Stagne, and as she and Stagne fumbled and laughed their way through a wild reel that grew faster and harder with every round, I realized that Lord Cardom was standing beside me, holding out a cup of sparkling Grisel and smiling faintly at the two of them.

“They look happy,” he said, and he didn’t sound the least bit wistful or disappointed. He was a nice man, and he would have treated Meri well, but Meri had chosen a penniless Sarist boy instead. Then Cardom was holding out his arm to me. We made a ridiculous couple, but I downed the Grisel in one draught and let him pull me into the dance.

“Mother wants to bring you home to Tratua with us,” he said. “I thought I should warn you.”