The Twelve Kingdoms (15 page)

C
ourt should have already convened, but indications were that Uorsin would not be arriving anytime soon. He hadn't given official word either way, which wasn't entirely out of the range of his normal behavior. In better days, we'd all welcomed the break. In recent months, the reprieve had given me time and opportunity to do what I could to ease the growing troubles outside Ordnung's white walls. Thus, instead of sitting on my throne, I took a seat in the antechamber, which made me available for consultation and able to quickly take my formal chair, should Uorsin suddenly appear.

It did not surprise me that Ambassador Laurenne pounced upon the opportunity first, Stefan, one of the princes of Duranor, with her. Between them, they'd cooked up a plan to take water from the Danu River and divert it to the farmlands bordering the desert that encroached on both their realms. Never mind that the river ran entirely through Avonlidgh in that area. They clearly expected Old Erich's rebellion to soon end in his demise. Stefan, a cruel-faced man who'd made a halfhearted attempt to court me once, seemed to think I wouldn't see that he cared nothing for the starvation in Aerron and took this opportunity as a way to gain a foothold in Avonlidgh, with an eye to ultimately assimilating it. While I suspected Aerron, along with Elcinea and Nemeth, would throw in with Old Erich if they saw things going his way, it had always been clear that Stefan ran on his own agenda.

As Duranor had started the push to create an empire of the Twelve Kingdoms back when Uorsin was but an Elcinean conscript, it wasn't difficult to guess what that agenda might be.

Still, I sympathized with Aerron's plight, and the aqueduct plans looked as likely as I'd ever seen. Keeping them out of Erich's pocket would also be a benefit. Short of magic, Ordnung could do nothing to alter the drought. Some things were not in a ruler's power. I finally agreed to put it to the High King, when I found the right moment.

By the close of the morning, my head pounded from the parade of bad news and my heart ached at the litany of misfortune. People did not hesitate to share with me the disasters that they'd soft-pedaled for the sake of Uorsin's temper.

I did take the opportunity to inquire after Lady Zevondeth's health but received the same answer from everyone I asked—that she'd been scarce at court since midsummer, at very least. Several people seemed surprised that I'd mentioned her, as if they'd forgotten her very existence.

Captain Harlan would be out with his men, planning their journey, and I wanted to speak to him about it. I doubted that he'd leave before morning, but the chance that they'd set out this afternoon remained. I needed to give him advice, whether he asked for it or not. Uorsin didn't believe in the magical barrier, but I knew it to be very real. They'd never get through unless Andi allowed it. Captain Harlan needed information.

And to take at least Jepp with him.

Though a few of the Hawks hung about the practice yard, none of Harlan's men were in evidence, besides the supplementary guard on the walls. With a pang of dread, I thought they might have already departed. Harlan and his men would be sitting ducks for the Tala's tricks. I understood Uorsin's stubborn determination, but he'd faced the Tala. He knew full well their capabilities. Danu take it, he'd been married to Salena and, if stories ran true, had used every bit of her power and influence to win the Great War and unite the Twelve Kingdoms.

Perhaps that explained his fascination with Illyria. With so many troubles plaguing the Twelve—to an extent he had not confided to me—the King might feel a desperation to take extreme measures. People looked on Uorsin and saw the trappings of power but not the relentless responsibility of it. They didn't understand him as I did.

“Looking for me, Your Highness?” Harlan called out, coming from one of the secondary barracks. He looked terribly pleased with himself.

“Not for the reason you think,” I told him in an undertone.

“I thought perhaps our imminent separation had caused you to reconsider your previous decision.”

“No. Nothing ever will.”

“Nothing at all?” Far from seeming daunted, he grinned. “And yet, you sought me out.”

“I need to speak with you before you go on this venture. As you well know.”

“You're speaking to me now.”

Several of his men emerged from the barracks and went over to swap tales with the group of Hawks. More than one glanced over at us with interest, causing me to wonder what Harlan had said about me. He followed my line of sight and—more uncomfortably—the direction of my thoughts.

“They only wonder about what commands you relay. I've said nothing to cause anyone to speculate. What's between you and me stays between us.”

Oh, they speculated, all right. Or, as in Jepp's case, leapt to assumptions. But that was the way of fighters, so absorbed with the physical. Fighting and fucking, two sides of one coin.

“I need to speak with you privately—and don't smile like that. Only to ensure we won't be overheard. There are things you must know before you leave, and not all for everyone to hear. When do you depart?”

“We leave at daybreak. I'll come to your rooms tonight.”

I was already shaking my head. Daybreak. It should be me going. They'd be slaughtered and I'd have their blood on my hands. “No. Not there.”

He raised his brows. “Weren't you the one to say that's the most private place possible?”

Too damned private, it had turned out. But he had the right of it.

“Don't you trust me to abide by your wishes?” He frowned. “Or is it yourself you don't trust?”

“Believe me, Captain, your offer holds no interest for me.” I held his gaze, letting him see the truth of it. “While I appreciate your healing hands, they do nothing more for me than that.”

He smiled, slow and certain. “Then spar with me.”

I gestured to the dress. “I'm not exactly prepared for that.”

“Go change, then. I'll wait. I'm good at waiting.”

I ignored that intimate reminder. “Why are you so determined to spar with me?”

“Perhaps I seek a way under your guard—one way or another.”

“Be frivolous all you like, Captain. I seek to give you the tools you'll need if you're to succeed and return alive.”

He spread his hands, showing open palms. “Our interests there align, Your Highness. Do you prefer the courtyard? Some other location?”

Unfortunately I could think of nowhere else that I could be certain of not being overheard. I would simply have to ask Dafne to stay. She knew all the secrets already. “Fine. Attend me in my chambers after supper.”

“I look forward to it.” Slowly, with a sparkle in his eyes, he gave me that salute of his, something in it that unsettled me.

Several responses popped to mind, none that promised to daunt the irrepressible merc. So I turned and left him there, ready to put him out of my mind until after I met with Lady Zevondeth.

“Is she unwell?” I demanded of her maid.

The girl blocked the doorway, tacitly refusing me entry. Heat leaked out from behind her, baking like the Aerron desert, and she was flushed with it. “Lady Zevondeth grows frail. She sleeps now, Your Highness. She's really not fit company. Perhaps—”

“I'll see her.”

“Your Highness, I—”

I merely raised one eyebrow, and she wilted, knowing full well I could have her bodily removed if I wished. She stood aside, waving me in. If possible, even more braziers burned than before, heating the rooms like one of the sauna huts the Branlites used to ward off the chill winds of the Northern Wastes.

The bedchamber was stifling, but Lady Zevondeth nevertheless lay under a pile of blankets, a slender skeleton of a woman, deeply asleep. For a terrible moment, I thought she might be dead and this goose of a maid not noticing. But there, her chest rose and fell, her head turning slightly on the pillow.

Then her eyes popped open.

Milky white, they usually seemed sightless. Other times, like now, they fixed on one like the gaze of the keenest predator. She grinned, suddenly and unexpectedly. “Ursula! You've been back days without coming to see me.”

I sat on the side of her bed, taking the hand she wormed out from under the covers. It shook with the palsy that had overtaken her in recent years. “My apologies, Lady Zevondeth. There has been much to do and I've neglected you terribly.”

“What's terrible is that dress. Pink does not suit you, certainly not with your sword disturbing the hip flounce.”

“I know. I shall commission new gowns. Will that please you?”

“No.” She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

“No?”

“You shall not be here long enough for them to be made. You shouldn't be here at all. Death walks the halls of Ordnung.” She opened her eyes again, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “No one can plan for death.”

“Death?” I tried to sound amused and indulgent, but she'd have none of it.

“You know who I mean. Uorsin is a fool to court her. Salena was more than he could control—look where that got him—and now he wades even deeper into the swamp that will drown him. He's not just stupid; he's lost his mind.”

“Don't say that.” Not only were her words treasonous; I hated that she put voice to my own misgivings. “The King has a great deal to handle at this time.”

“Ha!” Zevondeth's hand shook harder in mine. “You, my girl, are no fool. He's barking mad. His obsession has robbed him of the last of his reason. He'll destroy what little he managed to build. Now he seeks to buy what he could not cultivate.”

The King might be on edge, but he was hardly mad. Instead I feared that fate had fallen to Lady Zevondeth. “The mercenaries are a temporary solution. Soon gone, you'll see,” I soothed her. “Amelia had her baby. A fine boy, as you predicted—Astar.”

She smiled, managing to look cagey, even with the few teeth she still possessed. “And the girl?”

“You knew? You never said.”

“Eh, I don't tell all I know. Little Ami needed to untie that knot herself. I promised not to interfere.”

“Who did you promise?”

Zevondeth sobered, gripping my hand tighter. “Salena. She saw, you know, some of what you girls would face. But not all. She was sorry for what he did to you. I am, too.”

Nausea curled in my gut, icy shards of shame. I tried to pull my hand away, but she hung on with surprising ferocity. “It couldn't be stopped, do you understand? When she saw things, it was because they were inevitable.”

“I don't think I believe that.”

“What you believe is irrelevant. She saw something else, disguised in the shadows of death. So she gave you the Star of Annfwn. To keep it safe, to guide you through. Do you have it still?” She dug in her nails, a frantic light in her eye. “Promise me it's safe!”

I tapped the topaz. “Right where you had it set for me. Why did Salena give it to me—do you know?” I wouldn't tell her Illyria somehow knew about it and sought it.

“You'll know when the time comes.”

“The time for what?”

“To kill the King.”

T
he ice penetrated out, freezing my joints in place. “What?” “You should have killed him then. But you were so young. You're not too young anymore. It's your destiny, Ursula. He knows it. He seeks the soldiers you cannot kill, to save himself from your avenging sword. But he won't escape it. It's his destiny and yours.”

I dropped her hand and stood. “You're talking nonsense. Hallucinating. I won't stand by and listen to this.”

Her gaze glittered, as bright as a bird's. Not entirely sane. “You worship him so. Even when he's tried to crush you under his heel, you crawl back to lick your own blood from his boot.”

“The High Throne, the peace of the Twelve—those things are more important than my bruised feelings.”

“But the Twelve are dying. What will you do about it? It falls to you, Ursula.”

“Della!” I called the maidservant. She cringed her way into the room and curtsied and stayed down, biting her lip. “How long has Lady Zevondeth been out of her mind like this?”

“Your Highness.” Her voice trembled. “I did try to send you away.”

“I know you did. I'm not angry at you.” I took my hand off my sword hilt and, for lack of anything else to do with my hands, adjusted the flame under the teapot at Zevondeth's bedside. “When did she start talking crazy?”

“I'm not crazy, girl!” Zevondeth muttered.

Taking Della by the arm, I led her out of the room and shut the door. “Talk.”

“After the Dasnarians arrived.”

“Did something in particular occur?” Zevondeth had some powers of foresight and possibly other tricks she cleverly kept out of sight. Had she run afoul of Illyria? She'd been here first, from what Captain Harlan had said.

“No, Your Highness.” Della wrung her hands, wide eyes shimmering with tears. “Not that I witnessed or that she mentioned. She declined bit by bit, not wanting to go to court and sleeping more.” She glanced at the closed door. “Saying crazy things.”

“Has anyone else heard these remarks?”

A few tears escaped her lids, trickling down her cheeks. “Your Highness, I've kept everyone away but you. Please don't execute her. She's just a frail old lady. My gran went this way. Thought everyone was a shape-shifted Tala demon wanting to drink her blood. You can't take what she says seriously.”

“Oh, for Danu's sake—I'm not an executioner and I'm hardly going to drag her before the High King for judgment. Have the healers been to see her?”

“I didn't dare, Your Highness. With her treasonous talk and all, I—”

I held up a hand to stop her. “I understand. And I'll take care of this, okay? You did the right thing, but we need to help her.”

Della burst fully into tears and dropped to her knees, gathering the hem of my gown in her hands and kissing it. “Thank you, Your Highness. I didn't know
what
to do.”

“There, Della.” I patted her curls, feeling awkward. No one tries to kiss the hems of pants.

With a few more reassurances, I extracted myself, the much cooler summer warmth of the corridor nearly a shock. Surely it couldn't be good for Zevondeth to overheat so. Or perhaps she'd do better in a warmer climate. If we could get her well enough to travel, I could send her with Ambassador Laurenne's retinue. With Erich pulled back into Windroven, it might be safe enough.

Certainly safer than leaving her here, where Uorsin would inevitably get wind of her traitorous bent.

Casting an eye at the afternoon sun, I calculated that I'd have time before supper to catch up on the reading Dafne had marked for me. She'd awakened and sat at my desk, looking through one of the histories and making notes. Glancing up, she either frowned at my dress or retained an uncomfortable thought from what she'd been reading. Remembering herself, she jumped up from the desk.

“I visited Zevondeth,” I told her, forestalling any tiresome apologies or conversation about presentation.

“Truly?” She raised neat eyebrows in surprise. “I asked around a bit and heard that she hasn't been taking company. That maidservant of hers is as loyal as a dragon.”

“Rank has its privileges.” I smiled thinly. “Though it turns out to have been a smart move on her part. Zevondeth is bad off. Who do we have for healers for the elderly who can keep his or her mouth shut?”

“Most healers are discreet,” Dafne pointed out. “Part of their vows.”

“I need someone who won't be tempted to curry favor with Uorsin.”

“Oh?” She kept the question carefully neutral and brought me a pot of tea.

I frowned at the text she'd been reading, not seeing the elaborately scripted words, Zevondeth's crazed screed rolling through my mind. “She actually talked about me killing the King.” I would have laughed if the thought weren't so very wrong, so deeply horrifying to me. “Can you imagine me doing such a thing?”

Dafne didn't reply and I looked up to find her frozen in place, a truly stricken look in her eyes.

“Don't fret, Lady Mailloux. Nobody but Della and I heard her say it—and now you. None of us will point a finger at her for her demented talk, but you can see my point that the healer must have discretion. Maybe someone from outside Ordnung? Or Mohraya entirely? A priestess of Moranu, maybe. I understand one tended Andi and kept
her
secrets well enough. Though someone from outside would find themselves trapped here and they might not appreciate that kind of summons.”

“Ursula.” Dafne gathered herself and sat in the chair across from me. She started to reach across the desk, as if to take my hands, but several books were in the way.

I raised an eyebrow at her somber expression. “Dafne,” I said, in the same tone of voice.

“What if—” She broke off. Then folded her hands in her lap. “What if she's not crazy or demented?”

Now I did laugh, rolling my head on my tightening neck. Thought about having some wine. Too early to start. “Don't say things to me I'd be honor bound to act on.
You
I could never pass off as out of your mind.”

“Tell me this, Ursula, as a citizen of the Twelve—is Uorsin a good king?”

Out of habit, I glanced to be sure the door remained closed, some young and fragile part of me certain that he'd come crashing through at any moment. “That doesn't matter.”

She gaped at me. “How can that not matter?”

“Because, Dafne, he
is
the King.” I held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “No, there's nothing to argue past that. If nothing else, I'm a warrior and that demands adherence to discipline, to order. Uorsin is the High King. More than a man, he embodies the power of the High Throne. Without that, we have chaos. He's not subject to our analyses of good and bad any more than the goddesses are. I cannot pass judgment on him any more than I can on the drought that eats away at our most fertile farmlands—it simply is, and all we can do is work around that reality.

“You said some things are beyond the law of man, and I happen to agree. The King is a law unto himself, one that we abide by. Now, will you look into it for me—finding Lady Zevondeth a healer?”

“Yes. Yes, I will.” She stood and turned to go. Then glanced back at me.

I caught the movement and looked up from the text. This was the bit about the Orsk dynasty all right. “Something else? This is interesting. Thank you for digging it out.”

“You're welcome.” She seemed to be searching for something else, and I waited, semipatiently, for her to get it out. Finally she shook her head slightly. “I'll get right on that.”

I went down to supper late, I'd gotten so absorbed in the Dasnarian texts. Captain Harlan had relayed the information with impressive accuracy. The Orsk dynasty—which inaugurated the history of Dasnaria, it seemed—came into power with the overt and possibly covert assistance of the Temple of Deyrr. The writer employed a clever style, implying much, definitively stating very little.

However, the tales of those battles contained many references to an army that fed itself, that could not be stopped or killed. King Orsk participated in some sort of temple ritual—that much was clear. Opposing forces fell before his irresistible soldiers and then—if the text could be believed—were recruited and made to fight against their former brethren.

None of it, however, spelled out the absurd idea that these armies were formed of the resurrected dead. No doubt a profound sort of superstition came into play. Some sort of mystical brainwashing, perhaps. Or possibly wizardry akin to shape-shifting. It bore contemplation.

And Illyria bore watching.

I hadn't ruled out the possibility that the Dasnarian witch had somehow poisoned Lady Zevondeth. I needed to find a way to show Uorsin some of this information. Whether that would penetrate whatever hold she had on him would have to be seen. The texts didn't spell out what had happened to King Orsk. Certainly his dynasty continued for some time, but the man himself seemed not to have survived much past the establishment of his throne.

My mind full of the implications, I hurried down to the banquet hall, the final summons ringing through the empty halls. Good thing I'd resisted the urge to change out of the flouncy dress—it would serve well enough for supper, and finding a new gown would have made me unforgivably late. How Amelia could bear all the primping I'd never understand. I just thanked Danu no one expected it of me.

Most everyone had already seated themselves, with a few courtiers milling about still, having muted conversations. I nodded at the long table where my Hawks sat, and Marskal gave me a sober look, along with the hand signal for being on the lookout for unexpected danger.

Strange.

Scanning the hall, I saw nothing amiss, until my gaze fell on the head table. Uorsin, already seated, naturally, was deep in conversation with a woman next to him. Sitting in my mother's chair.

Illyria.

My heart grabbed, sending a burst of blood to my brain, the edges of my vision going red. Grief, rage, shock. Greasy cold filled my veins, allowing me to continue to walk. Pretending nothing had happened.

The courtiers I passed glanced surreptitiously at me, assessing how I'd parry this fresh attack. Ambassador Laurenne caught my eye, a look of grave sympathy on her parchment face that only stung the heart wound. I looked through them all.

Being brave in the face of disaster often meant locking out the softer emotions.

Captain Harlan stood as I approached the table, and for once I felt grateful for his archaic courtesy, holding my chair and offering a steady hand as I lowered myself into it. I hated that my legs felt weak enough that I might have faltered without the support. I could only hope he hadn't noticed the lack of steadiness in me.

I eyed the wine jug, desperately wanting to pour myself a goblet or twenty, but not if my hand would shake. The courtiers gazed with avid interest, their own troubles forgotten temporarily in the drama playing out. Uorsin, shoulder to me, had yet to acknowledge my arrival, speaking in deep tones with Illyria, resplendent in emerald satin.

“Your Highness.” Harlan had filled my goblet for me, briefly touching my hand to get my attention. It made me jump, like a skittish deer hearing the crack of the hunter's footstep, and my gaze swung to him. Surely such a small thing wouldn't break me, after all I'd been through. Just a bit of first blood, a ringing blow that slipped through my guard. I needed only gain some room to move, retreat long enough to clear my head and regroup.

Sometimes, however, the press of the battle prevents retreat.

“Daughter.” Uorsin turned to me, sliding his chair back somewhat, eyes glittering with that unholy light he gets when he's winning. He held Illyria's hand in both of his. “Have you been properly introduced to Illyria? Illyria, my eldest daughter, Ursula.”

No honorific for me. She smiled, full of confident triumph, white skin smooth, glossy hair tumbling, and those dead eyes burning deep in her skull. Did Uorsin not see? Did he choose not to or had he been blinded? Regardless, it would take careful maneuvering to open his eyes.

“I know much of your exploits, Ursula.” She smiled coyly, a rasp under her sweet tone, like the echo of hissing snakes. “I hope we shall be fast friends.”

“You shall be much more.” Uorsin spoke in answer to her, but smiled at me, making it clear he delivered a command. I knew him well. Could anticipate the flat of the blade coming to knock me down.

Defend, parry, attack, retreat, regroup.

“I have an announcement!” Uorsin stood, drawing Illyria along with him. My eyes snagged on Derodotur, looking miserable, as if he might be ill at any moment. The courtiers held their collective breath. Everyone knew what was coming. As absurd, impossible, unthinkable, as it might be. “I am making Illyria my wife and Queen. All hail your new Queen.”