ZYGRADON (30 page)

Mrillis watched Ceera when she received the news. She said nothing, but her
eyes seemed to be burned into her head for days afterwards, and he saw a few silver
tears trickle down her cheeks long after he thought she had wept herself dry.

Mrillis prayed that Ceera hadn't been pushed so far and bruised so deeply by
grief that she would never recover. She was Queen of Snows. Lygroes and the
Stronghold needed her. The Rey'kil needed her. The World needed her.

He wished he could tell her that he needed her, but it sickened him to
contemplate how selfish that would be. Their feelings for each other would have to wait,
once again, until this crisis passed.

If it ever did.

"Why won't he go away?" Ceera whispered. "Do I have to ward the guarding
magic against him, to get any peace?"

"Who?" Mrillis turned away from the long, narrow window of the guard tower
at the top of the Stronghold.

The tower stood at a strategic spot that looked out over the Northern Sea as
well as down into the long chain of canyons that protected the Lake of Ice and the Mist
Gates. Ceera sat in the wider window looking down on the canyons, wrapped in her
cloak, with a pillow behind her back and a cushion under her. Sometimes Mrillis
suspected she didn't really notice all the tiny comforts he arranged for her. She would
never have eaten if he didn't put a plate before her and a spoon in her hand, or wrap
her fingers around a cup. She would have come up to the tower today with him in just
her indoor dress and never would have felt the chilly fall winds that ripped across the
cliffs.

"Who?" he asked again, and stepped up to the window to look down past
her.

A familiar red-haired figure sat astride one of the creamy golden horses the
Warhawk had given to Mrillis and Endor several seasons ago. Endor had returned to the
Stronghold and waited now at the entrance to the passage leading down to the Lake of
Ice.

"Endor is pestering you?"

"If only he would be nasty. That, I could handle," she said in the same low,
sleepy-mournful tones she had used since they had brought Le'esha's body back to the
Stronghold and consigned her to flames and the Estall's Bliss.

"He's worried about you. Just like I am." He went down on one knee and
braced himself with his arms framing her, on either side of the window opening.

"No, not just like you." Ceera finally turned away from the window. Her silver
eyes were dark with the pain and loss she couldn't shake free of, and the hollows of her
cheeks had grown more pronounced. "I like it when you worry about me. You and I
have always been together, and we will always be together. If you had not been here, I
would have followed our Lady... And I know it's wrong. I promised her I would be
strong and take care of our people just as she did. She chose me because she trusted me.
She thought I was wise and clever and strong and I am so weak!"

"You're not weak." Mrillis wrapped his arms around her and drew her off the
cushioned ledge to perch on his knee. "You're wounded. It takes time to heal. There's no
shame in resting until you've healed."

"I take so much from you. How can you have a chance to grieve when your
whole life is spent strengthening me?"

"I like worrying about you," he said, offering up a smile as he threw her words
back at her. To his delight, Ceera managed a trembling smile. "And if I wasn't here, Endor
would gladly be your adoring slave."

"He adores me." She shuddered, and her throat worked as if she would be sick
again. "He would gladly lie down on the ground and let me walk all over him with
battle boots full of spikes, just to prove his heart. But his kind of love...it devours. It's like
that plant he found so amusing in the coastal forests on Moerta, remember?"

Mrillis nodded, remembering clearly. The plant was a dull, dirty cream color, a
cluster of limp vines with a bulbous growth on the end of each long, thorn-encrusted
whip. Some bulbs were large enough to enclose small dogs. Though the plant looked
half-dead, if an animal sat still within its reach more than ten seconds, the vine curled
around it and pricked it with thorns. The thorns held a poison that made animals drowsy
and numbed their limbs so they couldn't flee. Then, the bulb fell open, like a sliced fruit
falling into sections, and engulfed the unfortunate victim. The dull coloring changed to
the colors of the living thing trapped inside. The bulb then took on the shape of the
creature inside it.

Until the struggles stopped.

Eventually, over several days, the bulb returned to its natural coloring, and its
shape deflated and smoothed out, and the vine returned to its former limp state, waiting
for another victim to engulf and digest.

"What I can't understand," Ceera said, "is why he's such a good friend all the rest
of the time. How can he be so thoughtful, so funny and clever and loyal? But when it
comes to pretty words and courtship, he turns into someone different. Someone
repulsive and frightening."

"You don't have to be afraid of anyone any longer," Mrillis said. "You're the
Queen of Snows."

"I'm a weakling." Two small spots of color rested in the hollows of her cheeks.
That bit of temper encouraged him.

"You're in mourning. Everyone understands that. If you had taken up your
duties and filled our Lady's chair immediately, people would say you had no heart. Or
that you were all ambition and couldn't wait for her to die."

"Who would say that?" She struggled in his embrace, but he held her
tighter.

"Idiots who don't realize how much you loved her. How much we both loved
her. She was our mother, and she will always be our mother. Understand?" He shook her
gently, like he used to do when she was little and being stubborn about something that
was simple common sense.

To his relief, Ceera nodded and managed a tiny flicker of a smile. Then she
startled him by wrapping her one arm around his neck and snuggling down with her
head on his shoulder.

"What would I ever do without you, my own Mrillis? You can't ever leave me,
you know. Never. My first order, as Queen of Snows. You can't ever leave my side. Your
whole duty is to watch over me and protect me."

"And make sure you eat your vegetables and get enough sleep and put your
shoes-- Ouch!" He laughed, though his ribs stung where she had pinched him through his
shirt and vest. "I do need to return to my duties teaching Athrar."

"Bring him here. I like having him around. He's a good boy."

"He will be flattered. I'm sure the Warhawk and Lyon both will be
delighted."

"The Stronghold will be very important someday, to the Warhawk. Something
very precious, vital to the throne and the safety of our world will be hidden here." Her
voice dropped to a whisper and she sat up straight, so abruptly her head connected with
his chin. Ceera stared into the distance, beyond the stone walls of the watchtower.

"The Maiden Warhawk will come here, when no male is permitted into the
Stronghold. She will take the future from the hands of the Queen of Snows. That which
has been lost will be found. That which was hidden will be seen." A tiny sob escaped her
and she relaxed against his shoulder again. "And the love you thought was lost will be
yours." She shuddered.

"Ceera?"

"I...." She sighed. "I think I had a Seeing. What did I say? No--don't tell me." She
lay her fingertips against his lips, stopping him from answering. Mrillis was hard pressed
to decide whether to kiss or bite them. "Let's go down to our Lady's...no, to my office,
and you will write down what you heard. It's time to begin the first records of my reign
as Queen of Snows. Fitting that my first Seeing deals with the Stronghold."

She slid off Mrillis' knee and took a few tottering steps. By the time she reached
the doorway and the stairs, her step was steady and her shoulders were straight. Mrillis
wished he had listened to his longings and kissed her.

* * * *

Rey'kil came back through the tunnel from Moerta all winter. Word came
slowly to the Stronghold of the slow exit from the western continent, as if the people of
Lygroes were ashamed to admit to the new Queen of Snows that they had abandoned
their pledge to purify the Noveni lands. Mrillis knew Ceera was hurt by the fact that
Athrar brought her a letter from the Warhawk, listing the numbers who had returned,
the names, and the territories they had abandoned. Not so much hurt, he knew, by the
existence of the letter, but by the fact that Breylon had known what was happening and
hadn't told her.

"I am young, yes," she said, when she and Mrillis had gone down the tunnel to
Wynystrys and obtained a private meeting with the High Scholar in his quarters. "I don't
expect you to consult me or even ask my advice, but I didn't think you would leave me
in ignorance."

"My dear...child." Breylon offered an apologetic smile. "Blame my wish to spare
you more grief. When I first heard the news, my initial thought was how distressed
Le'esha would be. I think some of your anger is also because you think of her reaction,
yes?"

Ceera blushed a little, nodded, and finally sank down into the chair Mrillis had
pulled out from the table for her.

"We cannot invoke Le'esha's name to force our people to remain in Moerta,"
the elderly man continued. "It is because of Le'esha that they leave."

"Punishment," Mrillis whispered, sensing the explanation before it was fully clear
in his mind.

"Exactly."

"I don't understand." Ceera turned and frowned up at him. He leaned against
her chair with his arm resting along the high, flat top.

"They're abandoning their work on Moerta to punish the Noveni for our Lady's
death." Mrillis watched Breylon as he spoke. The High Scholar nodded and closed his
eyes, wincing in renewed grief.

"The general feeling throughout Lygroes, and especially among the Rey'kil who
worked on Moerta, is that it was the Noveni demand that we remove all star-metal
which made us vulnerable, brought on the Encindi attack and led to Le'esha's
death."

"I blame them, too," she admitted in a small voice.

"I am ashamed to admit, I felt some satisfaction, myself," Breylon said. He
finally opened his eyes again. "If she were here, she would be furious with me."

"If she were here," Mrillis couldn't resist saying, "we wouldn't be facing this
problem." He could barely keep the snarl from his voice as he spilled some of the
festering anger that he had swallowed for weeks. "I do blame them. Fiora was right.
Most Noveni, especially their nobles, think the Rey'kil were put here by the Estall to
serve them. No matter what comforts and luxuries we offer them, they want more. It
wasn't enough that we gave them back leagues of their land every year--they wanted the
star-metal completely gone. We never would have opened the tunnel--we never would
have risked Ceera's life or yours or our Lady's or anyone else's, if not for Noveni
arrogance."

"Noveni fear." Breylon's quiet voice sent echoes through Mrillis and made him
feel like a nasty child who had been caught playing nasty tricks. "They fear
star-metal."

"They are wise to fear it," Ceera said. "I propose we do what they want. We
will take all the star-metal from Moerta, if it takes us years. We will form it into jewelry
and weapons for Rey'kil use, so we no longer have need of Noveni help in the battle
against the Encindi. Rey'kil will stay on Lygroes and Noveni on Moerta. When we have
all the star-metal cleared from Moerta, no more will fall on Noveni land, because we
star-metal attracts more star-metal, and because we will find a way to change the sky
web so all star-metal is drawn to us. We will even find a way to take it from the bottom
of the ocean, so the Noveni will never have a chance to gather it up and use it."

"This division between our two people would not have pleased Le'esha,"
Breylon said.

"Her death does not please me!" She shuddered and bowed her head, hiding
her face in her hands. Mrillis went down on one knee next to her chair and wrapped his
arm around her.

"Master..." Mrillis wasn't sure what to say. He had grown up believing Le'esha
and Breylon had the answer to everything. He still held that belief, even knowing it
false.

"Let us wait until spring, yes?" the High Scholar said. "Time to let the Noveni
realize their errors and time to let the heat of our anger and grief cool a little. Who
knows? The Noveni might be frightened enough by the sudden exit of Rey'kil from
Moerta to teach them some manners and common sense."

"They might apologize?" He snorted, bitterly amused at the idea of even one
arrogant Noveni noble going down on his knees and acknowledging the harm their
demands had done.

"Perhaps," their teacher said. Breylon sounded more tired than ever. "Anything
is possible, when the shock is painful enough. When we leave justice in the Estall's
hands."

"Justice," Ceera whispered through her hands. Her voice cracked. "Justice would
demand we push all the Noveni through the tunnel to Moerta and sink every boat that
approaches our shores, and let them suffer in the cesspit of their own making."

"Perhaps," Breylon repeated. "Le'esha always believed in mercy, rather than
justice. She was respected among the Noveni, and even loved by many of them. Her
death is still echoing through their nobility. It is possible they might listen when Afron
rebukes them for the harm they have caused. They might
ask
for our help from
now on, instead of making demands. They might finally see our help as a gift, rather
than service due them. Let the winter bring rest to us all. The world will look sweeter
and kinder in the spring, for all sides involved."

* * * *

A delegation came from Moerta with the first ship of spring, but they went to
the Warhawk for help, not to Wynystrys or the Stronghold. Athrar acted again as the
bridge Mrillis had predicted he would be. The boy went home for the spring equinox
festivities and returned to the Stronghold with a long letter from his uncle and a copy of
the report from the Moerta delegation.