The Dragon of Despair (89 page)

“And that,” Derian commented as Elise folded the letter once more, “gets our careful ambassador off the hook if we do anything impulsive. I’d bet Roanne that she kept a copy of this and, if questioned, will assert that she told us to wait on the trial to do anything.”

“So should we wait?” Wendee asked.

Elise didn’t hesitate, though inwardly she longed for someone else to make the decisions.

“No. Acting immediately is our best course. Indignation and concern for Citrine would look rather feigned if we wait until the trial is over.”

Doc shook his head.

“We could wait,” he said, “and still take that course. We would simply say we had been waiting until we knew whether our contact in the Earth Spires had been convicted or not.”

Elise nodded.

“I see your point,” she said, wondering if the vague annoyance she felt would have been the same if Derian or Wendee had made the suggestion.

She’d grown so accustomed to Sir Jared’s support that she hadn’t looked for him to question her decision. Then again, maybe her annoyance was due to someone having given her a way to escape the need to act immediately. No matter how brave a face Elise put on for Wendee’s sake, she wasn’t looking forward to marching up to the Petitioner’s Gate and demanding an interview with a king.

Firekeeper spoke from where she sat on the floor with Blind Seer.

“I think we go now. Citrine is only part of reason. Other is Edlin and Peace. If Healed One really was with Xarxius against Melina, then he may know something.”

Derian nodded.

“I agree. I like Doc’s reasoning and we can use it later if we can’t get past the gates this time, but with Melina feeling pressed—as she must be to accuse Xarxius of treason—then we can’t waste time.”

Wendee bit into her lip, but nodded.

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

Elise swallowed around a lump in her throat, suddenly more nervous than she could ever remember being before—except, maybe, the night she had sneaked into Melina’s tent. Remembering that venture and how it had turned out steadied her.

“We may not be able to get an audience for today,” she said, “but I want to make certain the Healed One himself hears of our request.”

Derian quirked half his mouth in a humorless grin.

“Bribes should do it. Anyone have any idea how much a gatekeeper gets?”

“Shopping has given me a fair idea of the value of New Kelvinese credits,” Wendee offered. “We can work something out.”

“Last question,” Elise said. “Do we all go to schedule this appointment or just a few of us?”

“All,” Firekeeper growled. “Somehow I think if all of us come, they let us in.”

Beside her Blind Seer opened his jaws in a huge, wolfish laugh and Elise was reminded that fear might open gates as easily as money.

“I see your point,” she said, rising and smoothing her skirts. “Everyone get dressed in your finest, but don’t linger. It’s a long walk to Thendulla Lypella and I, for one, don’t want to be on the streets after dark.”

ELISE WAS NEVER CERTAIN
whether it was Blind Seer’s smile or Derian’s tactfully offered bribe that opened the gates for them. Perhaps neither was necessary, for the line they had expected outside the gate was not there.

“Business is suspended,” the inky-robed clerk said in a tone of feigned boredom, “for the hearing. No appointments are being made.”

But he could not completely hide his interest at their foreign attire, or that he probably guessed exactly who they were—a thing that Blind Seer’s presence alone would have given away, even if there had not been increasingly few foreigners of any nationality in Dragon’s Breath since the unrest had mutated into violence.

Elise looked down her nose at him, easy enough to do since as a mark of his indifference the clerk had not bothered to rise.

“I think that the hearing alone would be reason for the Healed One to grant us an audience. Do you want to take the risk that he would wish to see us?”

Apparently, the clerk did not, and the appearance of a flood of people coming from one of the larger towers gave him excuse to comply.

“I see a recess has been called,” the clerk said. “If you will step into my office, I will send a message.”

Soon after the flood of people had drawn back into the large tower, word came that the Healed One would graciously make time to see them. They were escorted to the audience by a tall, lean man wearing very serviceable armor instead of the usual robes—although over this he wore a long, dark green tabard embroidered with a fallen tree, a fresh sapling rising from the ruin. This, Elise knew, was the emblem of the Healed One. The same emblem was tattooed on one side of the man’s face. He wore no other facial adornment.

Their guide did not balk even at the inclusion of Blind Seer in their party. Indeed, there was a steadiness about him that reminded Elise of Sir Dirkin Eastbranch, King Tedric’s most trusted guard. She took comfort in this until she remembered to what extremes Sir Dirkin would go if he believed his king in danger.

Without any explanation of the wonders and fancies that met them at every turn, their guide led them along curving paths between a maze of buildings until, at last, they stopped before one ornate twisting spire that stood isolated in a private garden.

“The Cloud Touching Spire,” their guide explained. “The Healed One will grant you audience here.”

His tone made quite clear the honor he thought the Healed One was doing them—and that he quite disapproved. Elise wondered what this dour, loyal man thought of the Healed One’s foreign-born wife, and suspected that she knew.

Take rock from the wall and watch it tumble,
she thought with wry amusement.
Obviously the rats are swarming in the grain.

Once they had entered the spire, the guard knocked at a solid door a short way down the corridor. It was opened from within by another guard wearing a similar costume to their guide’s. Guide and guard flanked the door and motioned the five foreigners to pass between them into the room beyond. Then, to Elise’s complete astonishment, they shut the door, leaving themselves on the outside.

For a moment, Elise thought that she and her companions had walked into a trap. Some of this must have shown on her face, for the first words spoken by the man who rose from a high-backed chair of polished wood were:

“Do not be afraid. No harm will come to you by me or those loyal to me. I am Toriovico, the Healed One.”

Elise, remembering her manners, carefully worked her way through the elaborate New Kelvinese greeting that Grateful Peace had taught them all on the unlikely chance that they might meet with their enemy’s new husband. It was very difficult and she was certain that she got parts of it wrong, but when she—and her companions a few gestures behind her—completed the motions the Healed One seemed pleased.

“You have studied,” he said in very stilted Pellish. “I too have, but not so well. Can you speak with me in my language?”

Elise nodded, then remembered that now that the greeting ritual was completed she was permitted to speak.

“Yes,” she said. “Two of us, however”—she gestured at Firekeeper and Sir Jared—“do not speak your graceful language well or understand it perfectly. I beg permission to translate periodically.”

“Certainly,” the Healed One replied. “I will permit this. Please seat yourselves and tell me what brings you before me.”

Repeatedly tutored in the formalities of New Kelvinese society, Elise had not expected such concessions from its ruler. All her mental rehearsals for this meeting had put her at the foot of some great throne, speaking her piece to some elevated figure who glowered down at her through a violently intimidating mask. She took advantage of seating herself to adjust to this new reality.

The Healed One—Toriovico—was younger than Elise had imagined Melina’s husband would be. Elise didn’t think he was more than ten years older than herself. Since she had grown accustomed enough to face paints and dyes that the guards’ minimal ornamentation had been a touch startling, the Healed One’s numerous facial tattoos didn’t distract her from seeing that he had quite a nice face.

What did startle her was that the Healed One’s hair was a vibrant green and that cosmetics around his eyes were clearly meant to enhance the green in his hazel eyes. His robe was rich silk dyed in graduated hues of brown mingled with hints of green. After a moment, Elise realized that the entire effect was meant to evoke a tree in leaf.

She wondered what kind of king dressed as a tree and whether this had something to do with the sprouting sapling in the Healed One’s family arms, but these weren’t the questions she had come to ask and she schooled herself to discipline.

“What has brought us before you,” Elise said, doing her best to echo the pattern of the Healed One’s speech, “is a little girl named Citrine Shield who was given into my care. She was last seen coming into Thendulla Lypella. The Dragon’s Claw, Xarxius, told us that she was here and that you had listened to our request to have her returned and that you acknowledged our right to her.”

To one side Elise heard Wendee translating a quick summary of what had just passed and blessed the day that Saedee Norwood had decided this multi-talented woman would be a fit chaperon for Firekeeper.

The Healed One waited until Wendee had finished, then asked, “Do you know that Xarxius is in disgrace, under arrest for treason?”

“We do. That is why we came to you, Honored One, because we long to have Citrine back again and did not know if Xarxius could help us.”

“Xarxius,” the Healed One said with what Elise was certain was a trace of sorrow, “cannot even help himself any longer. Why did you come to me and not Citrine’s mother, my wife?”

Elise’s heart was pounding so hard she was certain the vibrations must be visible through the front of her dress, but she kept her voice steady as she replied.

“By our laws, Melina is no longer Citrine’s mother, though her body bore her. Citrine’s guardian is her older brother, Jet Shield. Therefore, I did not go to Melina because by our custom she has no greater claim over Citrine than would a stranger.”

“Citrine,” the Healed One said, “may feel differently.”

“I know,” Elise said. “That’s true. Even so, this is a time when the wisdom of adults must rule over the emotions of children.”

Elise thought she sounded dreadfully stiff and pompous, hoped she didn’t see a twinkle in the Healed One’s eye when she referred to herself as an adult—after all, her majority was comparatively newly achieved.

Toriovico’s reply, however, held no trace of mockery.

“It is true what Xarxius told you, that I agreed to have Citrine returned to you.”

“If,”
Elise thought frantically.
He’s going to remind us of that “if.”

“I would do so,” the Healed One continued, “if I could do so without considerable danger to myself. The difficulty is that my wife would oppose the returning of Citrine, and I dare not oppose her, even at this time—or, perhaps I should say, especially at this time.”

Derian said with a simplicity that Elise could not have managed, “Honored One, I don’t understand.”

“No more you should,” the Healed One replied, and this time Elise was certain of the bitterness in his voice. “After all, I am the king.”

He used the Pellish word, clearly meaning it to mean “ruler” or “absolute authority.” He paused to let Wendee’s translation catch up, then continued.

“Lady Archer, Melina said she had known you from your infancy, that you were at one time engaged to be married to her son, Jet. Is this so?”

“Yes, Honored One.”

“Tell me with the same directness what they say of Melina in Hawk Haven—not about her character, but about her talents.”

“She is said to be a sorceress, to have control over the minds of others.”

“What would you say,” the Healed One leaned slightly forward in his high-backed chair, “if I told you this was true, really true, not the fancy of a ‘magic-crazed’ people?”

Elise drew in a deep breath.

“I would say that I know, that I have not only seen evidence of her powers but have been a victim of them myself.”

The Healed One flung himself back in his chair, the motion so eloquent of relief that Elise realized for the first time how hard asking such a question of members of the magic-phobic peoples of Hawk Haven must have been.

Derian added, “I’ve seen the evidence, too, Honored One. So has Firekeeper—that is, Lady Blysse. Sir Jared, too.”

The Healed One held his hands palm up, level with his chin, and exclaimed, “First Healed One be thanked! I had hoped this would be your answer—though I am sorry that you, Lady Archer, have suffered under her domination. What dance freed you from Melina’s spell?”

Elise was a bit puzzled by his phrasing but replied, “She bound me through an ornament. I put off the ornament and with it her power.”

Derian grumbled, “It wasn’t quite that easy.”

The Healed One nodded. “So I believe. I have seen evidence of how Melina uses artifacts to make her hold stronger.”

Firekeeper spoke as soon as Wendee finished translating.

“Citrine.”

“Yes,” the Healed One replied.

He spared a glance for the wolf-woman who—despite her gown—sat on the floor next to the great grey wolf. Then he went on.

“Did you know Melina can work this control without an artifact?”

Elise nodded.

“We have seen this, though her hold does not seem to be as strong.”

The Healed One shook his head.

“Oh, it is very strong, especially if she is able to reinforce her control daily—as she could with me.”

“But not anymore,” Elise said confidently. “You would not be able to talk to us like this if you were still bound.”

“No, I could not,” the Healed One agreed, adding rather mysteriously, “It was my dancing that freed me. However, I have led Melina to believe I am still hers to command. I fear that she holds rulership over enough key members of my government that I could become as Xarxius—not tried for treason, for I cannot betray myself, but facing accusations that would make me ineffective. Ineffective, that is, until she had command over me again.”