The Shadowed Throne (5 page)

Will you stand, Arenadd?

Arenadd curled in on himself, like a dying animal, trying vainly to protect himself from an agony that could not be fended off. His teeth clenched, and he tried not to cry out.

Will you stand?

The pain faded again, and Arenadd slumped.

Speak to me,
the Night God commanded.

Arenadd would not look at her. He stared away, at the darkness, and mumbled a word.

“Laela . . .”

No, Arenadd,
the god's voice said sharply.
She is gone now. Forget her.

Now Arenadd tried to get up. He dragged himself into a kneeling position and clutched at his head with both hands. Even here, the fingers on his left hand were twisted and crippled, and they shook. “No,” he gasped. “No, she's not . . . she's not gone. She's out there. I'm gone. I'm the one who's gone. I'm . . .” He screamed as the pain ripped into him again. “
I'm gone!
Dead! Dead and gone, dead and . . .”

Stop this,
the Night God said sharply.
You cannot escape into madness again. Face reality. Rise, and stand with me, where you should be.

“No,” Arenadd moaned. “I can't. I won't.” He curled up again, on his side with his back to her, and mumbled to himself. “There is no Arren, Arren is dead, there is no Arren . . . there is no Arenadd. No, no, Arenadd's gone, he's dead and gone. Laela watched him die, and cried for him, she did . . . there is no Arenadd . . .” His babbling broke off into another scream, and he started to convulse.

STOP THIS!
The Night God's voice rose higher, and sharper, cutting through the madness in his mind and putting a stop to his crazed wanderings.
Come back to me.

Arenadd jerked again, silent now, and finally went still.

“Let me go,” he whispered. “Please.”

No.

“Then let me be mad,” he said. “Let me go insane. I can't take it any more, I can't . . .”

No,
the Night God said again.
You betrayed me, and you have been punished. Now you will stay with me, and we will watch over our people together.

Arenadd didn't dare move, or even look at her. “For how long? How long . . . master?”

Forever.

Arenadd smiled his old humourless smile, which was now twisted by pain. “The gods . . . the gods are the slave collar that never comes off. The collar that doesn't clamp onto your body, but your soul. I should . . . I should write that down. I always did have a way with words.” He laughed weakly.

Rise,
the Night God insisted.

This time, Arenadd obeyed. He pulled himself to his feet, and walked shakily to stand by his master's side. His mind had already begun to clear, and despite his efforts to hold on to it, the madness drained away, forcing him to face the cold reality around him. He was dead, bodiless, and imprisoned for his treachery. He had turned his back on his master, and now he was paying the price. Laela's life for his own.

He stayed beside his master, grim and silent, and together, they watched the aftermath of the argument in the Temple. Torc and Saeddryn parted ways, both visibly troubled. Torc left the Temple, but Saeddryn stayed to pray. Soon, the words of her prayer reached into the void for both of them to hear.

Arenadd tugged on his pointed chin-beard. “What a joke,” he mumbled. “Praying for guidance. From you. I want to go mad again.”

I told you once that I hear every true prayer,
said the Night God.
Now, you see the truth of it.

“Oh yes. Saeddryn always loved to pray,” said Arenadd. He looked out at the small figure of his cousin, and his scarred face twisted again, this time with a mixture of equal parts malice and suffering. “Fool,” he hissed.

Her faith in me will guide her,
said the Night God, ignoring him.
She will do as I wish her to, even without hearing my voice as you did.

“Laela will stop her,” said Arenadd. He knew he shouldn't speak like this; he was only tempting her to torture him again, but he didn't care any more. Nothing that happened to him mattered now.

The Night God did not look at him.
My will shall be done, and Saeddryn will do it. The half-breed will die, and she will die soon.

Arenadd stared at her, with an expression of hopeless bewilderment. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why are you doing this? Why do any of this? What did Laela ever do to you, or anyone? Why does she have to die? Why did any of them have to die?”

I am the god of the North,
said the Night God.
The god of all Northerners. And I will not allow a half-breed Southerner to rule my people. The North will be ruled by its own people, under my blessing. And once the half-breed is gone, and the rightful ruler is on his throne, the South will fall, and Cymria will belong to my people.

“Power?” said Arenadd. “Is that all you care about?”

It was all that you cared about once,
said the Night God.
And all of Cymria knows it.

“Yes, yes,” Arenadd muttered, turning away. “The Dark Lord Arenadd, all power-hungry and cruel. I'm everybody's favourite bedtime story for scaring the kids. But you're a god. Why do you even care?”

Because my people are all that matter to me,
said the Night God.
They will be free. The half-breed will be destroyed. That is my will.

“Oh yes?” Arenadd spat. “And how will you have it carried out, without me to run around doing it for you?”

She stared at him, her moon-eye blank and bright, and told him.

Arenadd listened, and his own eyes widened. “Oh no. Oh, gods, no. Laela . . .”

The Night God said nothing more after that, but the two of them continued to watch the affairs of the living, and, in time, he saw Laela again. His daughter, alive and ruling after him, just as he had planned. But for how long?

And even though he knew it would make his master angry again, even though he knew it was hopeless, Arenadd kept his eyes fixed on her and whispered the words he wished she could hear.

“Kill her, Laela,” he whispered. “Kill her now, before it's too late.”

H
aving Ravana as a bodyguard made Laela a little uncomfortable at first—something that wasn't helped by the fact that he clearly disliked Oeka and didn't like her getting too close. But before long, she came to appreciate having him around and to feel safer as well. He kept everyone and anyone who came to see her at a safe distance—close enough to talk comfortably but far enough to be out of stabbing distance. He would search every room before she entered it, to make sure it was safe, and had loud arguments with Inva in Amorani over which one of them would taste the Queen's food. In the end, they agreed that they would
both
do it, and Laela privately decided that mealtimes were a lot more entertaining when they began with her two attendants fighting over who would sample each dish first.

Every night, Ravana would stand guard outside Laela's bedroom, apparently disinterested in using the quarters she had provided for him. If he ever slept at all, she never saw him do it—he was with her every waking moment, and she never left her bedroom without finding him by the door. It didn't seem to bother him at all.

The rest of the nobility all seemed to dislike him the moment they laid eyes on him, which gave Laela some childish satisfaction. In the meantime, though, she had more important things to worry about, and with Ravana by her side, she felt confident enough to make a move.

S
aeddryn stayed close to Aenae, as she always did these days, and eyed the Queen cautiously. “What can I do for ye, my lady?”

They were in one of the courtyards between the towers, where a little garden provided herbs for both the kitchens and the infirmary. Laela sat down on a stone bench and gestured at Saeddryn to do the same. “I got somethin' to ask about.”

Saeddryn stayed on her feet. “Ask, my lady.”

“Before the King died, I was bein' instructed about the Night God,” Laela began carefully. “It was always the plan that when the time came, I'd be put through the womanhood ceremony an' made a proper Northerner.”

“Yes?” Saeddryn's tone was neutral.

“My instruction's done,” said Laela. “It's past time that ceremony was carried out, don't yeh think?”

“So it's being said.”

“The full moon's comin' soon,” said Laela. “The Wolf's Moon. That's the time when I oughta be put through the ceremony an' given the tattoos.”

“That's a matter for the Wolf priestess,” said Saeddryn.

“I know. But you're the High Priestess,” said Laela. “The Moon Priestess. Yeh know perfectly well this can't happen unless yer there to oversee things.”

“Perhaps.” A slight smile showed on Saeddryn's face.

Laela's own face hardened. “I need this, an' as Queen I expect to see yeh do yer duty the way my father would've wanted. Go back to the Temple an' organise it. Do it today.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yeah, it's an order.” Laela resisted the urge to slap her. “Listen, Saeddryn—I'm Queen now, understand? An' there's not a damned thing yeh can do about it. I'm prepared to let the past be the past an' just move on. I want to let yeh be, an' I will if yeh don't give me a reason not to.” She softened her voice as much as she could, almost pleading now. “What I want is the same as what you want. Peace for the North—Tara, I mean”— she corrected herself—“an' happiness for its people. There's no reason why we can't work together for that, Saeddryn. We're both Taranisäiis, ain't we? Let's be the way we should be. Tara needs us to be workin' together. Help me do it, Saeddryn.”

Saeddryn listened impassively. “Ye sounded like yer father, Laela. He'd've been proud.”

“Thanks.” Laela couldn't help but feel good about that.

“I . . . too . . . care about Tara,” Saeddryn went on. “I've only ever wanted the best for us. I fought beside yer father in the wars, an' I remember it every time this eye twinges. I gave it up t'help our people, like my mother before me.”

Laela looked steadily at her, waiting to see what she would say next.

“Understand,” Saeddryn went on, “all I've ever done was for Tara. All my life, that's how it's been. I serve the Night God now, an' she an' me are the same that way. We're both one-eyed, an' we both love Tara before life itself.”

A memory rose up in Laela's mind, of a cold, ice-white face with a blank hole where an eye should be.
Kill her, Arenadd. Kill her now.

She shivered, and hatred made her throat tighten.

“I fought in Tara's name,” said Saeddryn. “I fought for the Night God, as I still do. An' for that reason, I will not let the ceremony happen.”

Laela fought to keep calm. She picked a sprig of griffintail from the garden bed behind her and shredded it slowly while she spoke. “I'm Queen of Tara. Queen of all darkmen. I can't rule unless I'm really one of them.”

“Perhaps, but I will never let ye become a woman in my Temple. The Night God does not want ye, Laela.”

Kill her, Arenadd.
“Don't make me do this, Saeddryn. I swear, don't make me do it.”

“A half-breed can never be in the Night God's heart,” Saeddryn said flatly.

Oeka rose, tail lashing. “Do not insult my human, traitor.”

Aenae hissed at her, but the dark brown griffin didn't back away, and he didn't risk making any other move.

“It's not my decision to make,” said Saeddryn. “A half-breed belongs to no god. If this ceremony went ahead, the Night God would be angry. Terrible things would happen.”

“Terrible things'll happen if it doesn't,” said Laela. “An' trust me, they'll be happening to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

Laela stood up and looked her in the eye. “Yeah. It's a threat. Good job on spottin' that one, eyepatch. Yeh might think yeh know about the stars an' the phases of the moon an' what tattoo goes where, but I got the real power here, an' trust me—push me too far, an' the Night God ain't gonna save yer sorry hide.”

Saeddryn bared her teeth. “How
dare
—?”

“Oh, I dare all right.” Laela flung the shreds of herb aside. “I dare. Girl I might be, an' half-breed I might be as well, but I'm still King Arenadd's daughter, an' if yeh give me one good reason, I'll deal with yeh the way he should have. An' trust me . . . that wouldn't be pretty. But I'm sure yeh coulda guessed that part.”

Saeddryn bowed stiffly. “My lady.”

Aenae stayed behind as his human walked off. He took a threatening step toward Laela and Oeka. “Be warned,” he snarled. “Touch my human, and you shall die.”

Oeka spread her wings, hissing. “You and your human shall do as you are commanded. It is not you who rules this Eyrie, Aenae.”

He raised his own wings, feathers fluffed out until he appeared to double in size. “You do not frighten me, hatchling. I could kill you with a single talon.”

Oeka lowered her head and closed her eyes. An instant later, Aenae flinched and backed away, shaking his head dazedly.

If griffins could smirk, Oeka would have done it now. “You have felt my power before, Oh Mighty Carved-From-Tree-Stumps. What you felt then was the slightest touch, and my magic increases by the day. Challenge me again, and you shall feel your own mind burn away from your skull.”

Aenae had had enough. Defeated but still bristling with rage, he turned and loped after his human.

Laela couldn't find the enthusiasm to snigger at the big griffin's humiliation. She slumped back onto the bench and rubbed her forehead. “Gods damn it. I knew she was gonna say no.”

Oeka, still full of bravado, tore a deep hole in the ground with her talons. “They must be killed,” she said. “Both of them. And soon.”

“No.”

“The longer they live, the more trouble they will bring you, Laela. Kill them now, before it is too late.”

“It's too risky. If she dies, everyone'll know it was me. There'd be riots. An' she's got her son an' daughter all ready an' waitin' to take revenge—she made sure I knew it, too.”

“If you do not kill her, she will kill you,” said Oeka.

“If I ain't careful enough, maybe,” said Laela. “I need her around for now.”

“You do not,” said Oeka. “For now, she is a nuisance and a danger, and she is already beginning to stand in your way.”

“Don't worry about that, Oeka. I got a plan.” She turned to walk back into the Council Tower. “C'mon. I'm gonna go have a word with Inva.”

T
hat night, after dinner, Oeka and Laela retired to their quarters. Rather than go to bed, Laela followed her partner into the adjoining room that housed her nest and walked out onto the balcony. It had no railings and was meant as a platform for Oeka to take off from.

Oeka accompanied her human into the open air. “Is something wrong?”

Laela was looking out over the city. “Just came out here to see the view.”

Oeka followed her gaze. “My vision is weak at night.”

“Beautiful, though, ain't it?” said Laela. She twined her fingers in her hair, looking almost dreamy. “My city. Look at them stars.”

Oeka did. They didn't look any different than usual. Bored, she sat on her haunches and began grooming her wings.

“Just think,” said Laela. “Them stars are shinin' on places I never been. Places that belong to me. My lands, from here all the way to the mountains.”

Silence.

“I never would've thought this could happen,” said Laela. “Me, a Queen. I was born a half-breed peasant who couldn't read, an' now look at me.” She chuckled. “Funny ole thing life, ain't it?”

“I would not have thought that I would have a human who was a Queen,” Oeka said eventually. “Though I knew I was destined for greatness. My powers would bring me nothing less.” She cocked her head toward Laela. “I feel them grow. Every day, I sense more and more. I scent thoughts, emotions, intentions. I learn to interpret those scents, and they tell me many things. Soon, I shall scent more than even that.”

“Wish I could do that,” said Laela.

“You do not need to,” said Oeka. “I shall tell you what I know.” She leant toward her human, air whistling through her nostrils. “I smell . . . uncertainty. But I smell another . . . something strong . . . you are pleased.” She stiffened. “Triumph. I smell it. It is growing stronger.”

A slow grin had spread over Laela's face, and she put a hand on her partner's feathered shoulder. “Yeah. But yeh don't need powers to guess that. Look.”

Oeka turned her head, looking over the city again. Icy wind blew in her face, entering her nostrils. “I smell smoke. I see . . .”

“Yeah. See it?”

A dull red glow had appeared down among the lights of the city. It pulsated slightly, like a heart, and above it a column of smoke darkened the moon.

“Fire!” Oeka exclaimed.

“Yeah.” Laela rubbed the griffin's head with her knuckles. “Pretty, ain't it?”

“The city is in danger. You should do something.”

“Don't need to. Saeddryn says the Night God don't want me around—why should I care that her precious Temple's burnin'?”

“The Temple . . .”

“It's made of stone,” Laela said carelessly. “It'll be saved. Can't say it won't be damaged, though. What a shame.”

“You did this,” said Oeka. “You had the Temple burned.”

“Now why would I go an' do somethin' like that?” Laela tucked her hair back. “Seems there's a woman we brought back from Amoran what doesn't like the Night God much. Got it into her head that Gryphus is the real god. An' we all know Gryphus burns what makes him angry. If only the maniac hadn't got her hands on a barrel of lamp oil an' the key to the back door. Oh well, too bad.”

Oeka's tail twitched. “I see.”

“They'll catch her soon enough,” said Laela. “But she won't stay in prison long enough to talk. I'll have her executed straight off. Terrible crime, blasphemy. Meantime, if Saeddryn wants my money to fix the Temple, she'd better start singin' the song I want to hear.”

Oeka looked down on the red glow. “Truly, you are your father's chick.”

“I'm gonna be as dangerous to my enemies as he was,” said Laela. “But unlike him, I ain't lettin'
her
win. He left that to me.”

S
aeddryn had gone to bed early that night, wanting to be well rested by moonrise, when she would have to conduct the nightly ceremonies. Normally, the High Priestess would live in or close to the Temple itself, but she was a griffiner and owned some of the finest living quarters in the Eyrie. Her husband had shared them with her once, but that had been a long time ago. Now he had his own rooms, closer to where he worked. Saeddryn couldn't sleep at all any more, unless it was alone.

She curled up under her furs, frowning slightly as she drifted off. On her bedside table, a sprig of drying pine spiced the air. Lately she'd been having more trouble sleeping than usual, and the smell helped to soothe her. It took her mind back to an older time, when she would leave her home in the village and slip away into the mountains to be with her mother.

Old Arddryn had always greeted her daughter formally—Saeddryn didn't remember a time when she had smiled to see her. It was the ice, she used to think. All that ice and stone in the mountains. They got into a person's soul.

Saeddryn never blamed her mother for that inner hardness, never resented it. War took something away from a person, and years of despair took even more.

I've become her,
she thought sadly in the darkness.
Old, one-eyed an' bitter in the soul.

And maybe, like her mother, she would be killed by Arenadd's betrayal. His weakness.

Saeddryn fell asleep with that thought, and it seeped into her dreams—tainting them with old fears, old resentments.