Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (18 page)

Shuldamar stood and bowed. “Majesty.”

“I understand the council came to no agreement regarding the case of the accused.”

“That is correct, Majesty.”

“So he will be put to the eye of the sword,” said the king.

“A rare occurrence,” said Shuldamar, “but reasonable in this case.”

“So shall it be.” King Kedemeth spoke to his advisor, who then left the room. “Before we invoke the sword,” said the king, “I should like to question the young man.”

Trevin’s heart drummed in his ears. He rubbed his moist palms on his leggings. Lord Shuldamar motioned for him to stand, and he rose, trying to ignore the weakness in his knees.

“Main Trevin of Camrithia,” said Lord Shuldamar.

The king held his head high. “Step forward.”

Trevin walked to the dais as calmly as he could and bowed. “Majesty.”

King Kedemeth stared at his clasped hands, then eyed Trevin. “Why did my son ride alone through the desert to find you?”

Trevin tried to speak, but his mouth felt as dry as dust. He hung his head.

The king’s voice softened. “Look me in the eye, Main Trevin. If you wish to confess, you may do so now and avoid the sword.”

Trevin looked into the king’s eyes and saw only a longing for honesty. He took a deep breath. “Resarian died by my sword, sire, but Prince Varic was the murderer.”

“Outrage!” Main Catellus rose. “Prince Varic is highly respected, but this deceiver—who calls himself a comain—is a smooth-talking rebel, a leader in the coup against King Laetham in Camrithia, where he is wanted for the murder of the king’s personal servant. What’s more, he’s a suspect in the disappearance of the Camrithian comains. He was trying to escape his capture when he struck down the prince. I witnessed the murder myself.”

King Kedemeth, calm as a tower in the wind, said, “I believe the council heard Main Catellus’s testimony, did it not?”

“Aye, Majesty,” said Shuldamar. “We turned the matter inside out.”

The king nodded and studied Trevin. “The sword will show the truth about you. What I want now …” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “What I want now is the truth about my son. Why was he alone in the desert?”

Trevin rubbed his right hand. “The prince said he was looking for adventures of his own. He spoke of his yearning to prove himself a man. And he did. He faced Varic’s threats with courage. Varic wanted
me
on the point of his sword. If only …” Trevin’s voice grew hoarse as he said, “I’m sorry. Resarian died a brave and honorable man, sire.”

A quiet sob came from behind the queen’s veil. The king bowed his head. All was silent except for the drapes flapping on the balcony.

King Kedemeth looked at Trevin and smiled sadly. “Thank you. That is what I wanted to know.”

The king’s advisor returned, carrying a black cloth draped across both
arms. He transferred it to the king, who descended from the dais, the queen following. She folded back the cloth, revealing a sword.

Together they faced the council, and the queen swept her veil back over her crown. Trevin’s heart quickened. She had Prince Resarian’s flaxen hair, his brown eyes, his upturned nose, his thin mouth, but her eyes were red rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“Main Trevin,” said the king, “Queen Ambria will hold the Seer’s Sword before you and place it in the best position to reflect your likeness. The council members will view it. You may look, if you wish. If necessary, the queen will interpret what we see.”

Trevin clasped his hands behind his back and tried to steady his breathing as the council members gathered. Haden nodded at him. Dio stood by his side. Pym’s hand rested on his shoulder.

Queen Ambria took the hilt of the sword with both hands, faced Trevin, and angled the tip toward the floor.

Trevin felt cold and sweaty. Starving boy, cutpurse, thief, the immortal Firstborn’s spy, drak-keeper, betrayer, Angelaeon pledge, comain, killer. Which would it reveal? Worse, it might show nothing but the terrible empty chasm of his soul.

Holding the flat of the blade toward Trevin, the queen stepped slowly forward. She kept her gaze on the sword, as did the king and the entire council. She paused and adjusted the slant of the blade.

Trevin had intended to look, but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes, every heartbeat shaking him from head to toe.

He heard gasps. Then the queen cried out, and the sword clanged to the floor.

revin opened his eyes and looked around the council room. The queen had fainted, and the king pillowed her head on his lap as her handmaid fanned her. Dio stood wordless. Haden scratched his ear. Pym ran his hand through his hair. The other council members mumbled among themselves.

Except for Main Catellus. Guards wrestled him back into the council room. To admit to false charges?

Queen Ambria roused and murmured to the king.

“Are you certain?” King Kedemeth frowned.

Trevin went cold. The sword had shown the truth. Lackey of the Firstborn, traitor to humanity, the prince’s blood on his hands.

The king helped the queen into a chair. She squinted at Trevin. “Come here, young man.”

Heart pounding, Trevin knelt before her.

“Hold out your hands,” she said.

He raised his trembling hands.

The queen took his right hand in hers, drew it to her cheek, and closed her eyes.

Trevin gaped at Pym, who shrugged.

The king motioned to a servant. “We’ll have wine.”

“Bring cheeses and groundnuts as well,” said the queen.

Murmurs rippled around the room as both servants and council members drew closer, craning their necks—to see him, Trevin realized, feeling as bewildered as they looked.

King Kedemeth pointed to Catellus. “Lock him away until I can question him.”

A short scuffle ensued as Catellus protested, but the guards wrestled him out of the room.

Queen Ambria released Trevin’s hand and directed the council members to push the tables together.

Trevin stepped back and drew Pym aside. “What did the sword show?”

Pym stared at him. “You didn’t see it?”

“Like a coward, I closed my eyes.”

“It showed you as a broad-shouldered man, clean shaven, hair gathered back at your neck. Your eyes burned with resolve, and your right hand was raised in the sign of the Tree.” He held up three fingers. “And your hands! They glowed like molten metal, they did.”

“That’s not me,” said Trevin.

“Why not?”

“I’m bearded. And I had my hands behind my back.”

“Flustrations! The king didn’t say it would show your
image
. He said it would show your character. If you want proof, the man’s small finger was missing.”

Trevin stared at his hands. Was that why the queen had asked to see his hands? To confirm that the reflection in the sword was his?

“Come!” Queen Ambria motioned for everyone to sit as she and the king took seats along one side of the lower table. The sword lay before the queen. Servants poured wine and offered cheeses and groundnuts.

When everyone had settled into drinking and eating, the king spoke. “Queen Ambria and I continue to mourn. However, we understand that the sword’s revelation is good news. Feel free to enjoy it. Main Trevin is innocent, and his story of Resarian’s death is true.” He turned to the queen. “You know how to say this better than I, my dear.”

Queen Ambria scanned the faces of her guests. “Most of you know of Arelin, a dear family friend who died in the Dregmoors, where twenty-five years ago he took on the task of rescuing captured Windwings. We received occasional messages from him, his last arriving over twenty years past with troubling news.

“Arelin’s life was in grave danger, as was the life of his one-year-old son, whom he was sending to me. He asked me to care for the child until his return. Unfortunately, the child never arrived, and we never heard from Arelin again. We assumed both had been murdered.”

Queen Ambria stood, uncovered the sword, and offered it to Trevin. “By the grace of heaven, Arelin’s sword can now be presented to his son.”

Trevin blinked at the queen.

“Come, son of Arelin,” she said. “Receive the Seer’s Sword.”

Trevin slowly rose. “How do you know I’m the one?”

“Dear me, didn’t I say? In the first place, your reflection in the sword looked exactly like Arelin. Second, his message said I would recognize the little one by his right hand, missing the small finger.”

Trevin stared at his right hand. His body went cold, and his eyesight dimmed. He tried to keep from slipping into his terror-dream, but he could not overpower it. The cloaked, hooded figure loomed full in his mind, along with the stench of landgash. His hand was spread out on a ball. A hard ball. Smooth. Shiny. Green. A dagger swept toward him. He saw the spray of blood, felt searing pain, heard screams.

As his mind drifted in and out of the dream mist, Trevin felt the queen take his right hand and place it on the hilt of the sword. He breathed easier. The images faded. The coldness subsided. Like a lifeline, the queen’s touch tugged him back to the present.

“Raise the sword, Trevin,” she said. “Look into it.”

With both hands he lifted the sword and stared at the reflection. Broad shoulders. Long hair gathered at the neck. His hands glowed like coals, the right one raised in the sign of the Tree. The face was his but more confident. Older. Wiser.

He was certain the image did not show who he was now, but he could not deny that it showed the man he wanted to be.

Trevin and Pym stayed as guests in the palace that night. The queen herself ushered them to their beds, which were soft and fragrant. Pym began snoring as soon as he lay down.

Trevin sat at the window of the tower room, gripping the harp pendant Pym had returned to him and gazing into the star-filled sky, trying to piece together his life. Had Lord Rejius, the Firstborn, known his spy was Arelin’s son? Had Lord Rejius had anything to do with Arelin’s death?

And what about Dwin? Trevin remembered being four years old, almost five, when his brother was born. Until then he had been the only child of Caedo the stonecutter and his wife, Besalai. Dwin had quickly become their father’s favorite. Now Trevin knew why.

Strange. The man who had held him and taught him to chip stone and climb rock was not related to him. They had sweated together and washed up together, and Trevin had grieved Caedo’s death as keenly as if the man had been his true father.

Then shortly after their father—Dwin’s father—had died of an illness, Trevin and Dwin had found themselves grieving over their mother, who died in childbirth along with the baby, leaving her young sons on their own.

But was Besalai his mother? Had Arelin sent her with their son out of the Dregmoors? If so, why hadn’t she gone to Flauren?

“You still awake?” Pym rose on one elbow and blinked heavily at Trevin. “You’re missing precious time. We’re unlikely to find accommodations this soft for the rest of our journey.”

“My real father was an angel.” Trevin moved to his bed and sank into the thick mat. “That changes things.”

Pym ran a hand through his hair. “It explains a lot, like seeing invisible cliff ladders, but it doesn’t change much. You’re still a comain. You still have your duties. You’ve not forsaken them, have you? Did you find the Oracle? Ask for advice?”

“I asked.” Trevin yawned. “But the Oracle told me only what I already know.”

“That’s a disappointment, it is.” Pym eased himself back under his covers.

Trevin closed his eyes and saw Windweaver untangling threads of air.
You think I’ve given you no answers, but it’s you who have not answered me, Seeker
. Had Windweaver answered? Maybe his answers were like air currents, real but unseen.

Drapes flapped in the breeze outside on the balcony. Trevin thought of another palace, another tower. Redcliff. He and Windweaver had been discussing
Melaia, and there she was. Second stop, Ledge Rock. They spoke of the harps, and Windweaver quoted part of the riddle,
one touches skies
, as the hum of the invisible veil floated on a strand of breeze.

Trevin sat up with a jolt. “I’ve been senseless!” he whispered.