The Bone Doll's Twin (34 page)

Iya removed her hands from the plates to accept it and was not ordered to replace them. She turned the ugly brooch over and her heart skipped a beat. A number was engraved below the crown-and-eagle imprint of the Harriers.

222

The number she’d seen in her vision at Afra, in numerals of fire.

“If you wish to have a more attractive piece fashioned, you may,” he went on. “There are a number of jewelers
specializing in such commissions now. But take care that any you have made bear this same number, and that it is sent here to be struck with the king’s mark before it is delivered to you. Is that quite clear?”

Iya nodded as she fastened it to the front of her gown.

“I promise, no harm will come to you because of it,” he told her. “Show it to the gate wardens whenever you leave or enter a city. Do you understand? Any wizard who refuses is subject to further interrogation.”

Iya wondered what “further interrogation” meant to someone like poor Salnar.

It took a moment to realize that she’d been released. She could hardly feel her legs as she stood and walked out into the autumn sunlight. She half expected someone to call out, seize her, drag her back to whatever terrors lay beyond the slamming of a door.

At no time during the interview had anyone openly threatened her, or even been rude. Yet the implications of the encounter left her so shaken that she entered the first tavern she came to and sat for nearly an hour at the table furthest from the door, sipping vile sour wine and fighting back tears. Then, with shaking fingers, she undid the brooch and placed it on the table in front of her, studying it back and front.

Silver was Illior’s metal. Copper and all the other sun-colored metals of weapons and armor belonged to Sakor. These two of the Four had long been the principal patrons of Skala, but since the days of Ghërilain, Illior had been the most highly revered. Now Iya was made to wear the Lightbearer’s symbol like a criminal’s brand, the beautiful silver bow held thrall against the copper disk.

The king dares to number the free wizards
, she thought as fear gave way to anger. As if we are beasts of his flock!

And yet they’d given her the number ordained by Illior.

A shadow fell across her table, and renewed fear scattered her thoughts. She looked up, expecting to find the
Harriers surrounding her with their silver and iron bonds, but it was only the taverner.

He sat down across from her and handed her a small brass cup. Pointing to the brooch, he gave her a wry smile and said, “Drink up, Mistress. I imagine you need fortifying.”

“Thank you.” Iya downed the strong liquor gratefully and wiped her lips with fingers that still trembled. The taverner was a big, comfortable fellow with kind brown eyes. After the icy cordiality of the Harriers, even a stranger’s kindness was welcome. “I suppose you’ve seen a lot like me in here, being so close to—that place?”

“Every day, sometimes. Took you by surprise, did they?”

“Yes. Has this been going on long?”

“Just started last month. I hear it was that Niryn’s idea. I don’t imagine your kind thinks much of him these days.”

Something in the taverner’s manner suddenly rang false. Looking into his eyes again, she saw the same disarming innocence she’d seen in the young Harrier’s.

Taking up her wine cup, she gave him a wide-eyed look over its rim. “He frightens me, but I suppose he is only doing his duty to our king.” She did not dare touch this man’s mind; instead she gently sought out any magic about his person, and found it. Under his tunic he wore a charm that warded against thought reading. He was a spy.

It had taken less than the blink of an eye to learn this, but Iya retracted her seeking quickly lest there was someone else lurking to catch her at it.

The taverner plied her with more brandy and questions about herself and the burnings, perhaps trying to coax her into some admission that could be turned against her. Iya meekly persisted in lukewarm platitudes until he must have decided she was a very minor wizard, and not a very smart one to boot. After extending an offer of future hospitality he bid her farewell. Iya forced herself to
finish the wretched wine, then walked back to her lodgings to see what the grey-backs had left of it.

The frightened look the Mermaid’s host gave her was enough to confirm that they had been here. Iya hurried up the stairs, expecting to find her chamber turned upside down.

Except for the missing glyph she’d left on the door latch, however, nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Her pack lay as she had left it on the bed. Whoever had searched this room had not used their hands to do so. Iya closed the door and fixed the latch, then sprinkled a sand circle on the floor and set about inscribing the necessary chart of wards inside it to create a safe casting space. Once this was done, she sat down inside and cautiously opened her mind, seeking some echo of the searchers and their methods. Gradually a murky scene took shape behind her closed eyelids: a woman and a man, with Harrier guards. The woman was robed in white and had carried a short wand of polished red obsidian. Sitting on Iya’s narrow bed, she had held its ends between her palms and cast a spell of—

Iya concentrated on the vision, trying to see the patterns of light and color in the space between the woman’s hands. As the glimpses became clearer Iya’s breath caught in her throat. It was a powerful seeking for signs of something … someone …

Iya concentrated harder, trying to see the woman’s lips as they formed words around the spell.

When the answer came Iya had to choke down a cry of alarm.

The woman was seeking a girl child.

She was seeking Tobin.

The vision collapsed and Iya slumped forward, resting her face in her hands.

“Be calm,” she whispered to herself, but fragments of the vision she’d had at Afra danced in the vault of her
memory: a queen old, young, ragged, crowned, dead with a halter around her neck, garlanded and victorious. So many of the other wizards she’d talked to over the years had said the same. The myriad strands of fate were still unspliced, despite the guidance of Illior. The king’s creatures had some inkling of the threat to his throne and even now they were seeking her out.

Then again, she told herself, if they were searching and questioning every wandering wizard who passed through, then they had no idea of the truth. Lhel’s strange magic still shielded Tobin.

Iya weighed the hated broach in her palm, thinking how the recording wizard had simply reached into a basket and pulled this out at random.

222

Two—the number of twins, of duality—repeated thrice like a summoning spell. Two parents. Two children.

Two wizards—herself and Arkoniel—with different visions of how to protect this child.

A knowing smile curved her lips. Two wizards—herself and Niryn—with different visions of how to unite the wizards of Skala and serve the throne.

The Harriers might intend their numbers as instruments of control or shame, but for Iya they were a call to arms.

T
he castle town of Atyion dominated the fertile plain north of Ero. The castle itself had been built in the embrace of an oxbow in the meandering Heron River, in sight of the Inner Sea. The castle’s two huge round towers were visible for miles around and could easily shelter a thousand men or more in time of siege.

Duke Rhius’ family had earned their place by war and honor, but their great wealth flowed out of the acres of vineyards, groves, and lush, well-watered pastures full of horses that covered the plain. What had once been a village nestled in the castle’s protective shadow had grown into a prosperous market town. The few plague markers found here were weathered white; Atyion had not been touched by disease for a decade.

Not since Tobin’s birth.

Iya rode through the muddy streets and across the lowered drawbridge that spanned the castle moat. Inside the curtain walls lay more land, enough to pasture sizeable herds, and ranks of barracks and stables for the duke’s armies. Many of these were deserted today; the duke’s ally lords and vassals had gone home to tend their own lands.

The soldiers who remained moved at their leisure, practicing at arms or lounging around the corrals. Armorers and farriers were noisily at work over their smoky forges along the inner wall. A few saddlers sat beneath an awning, cutting leather and mending harnesses. Out of deference for the king, Rhius had no women soldiers
among the ranks of his guard, but there were a number of them among the castle household who had once served his father with sword and bow. Cook, back at the keep, was such a one, too. They all still knew how to fight, and would gladly do so if given the order.

Iya left her horse with a stable hand and hurried up the broad stair to the arched portal that let into the main hall. The doorway was flanked by rows of columns supporting a pointed arch. A painted relief of the Cloud Eye of Illior had decorated the peak of this arch since Atyion was built, but today Iya saw that a carved oak panel had been fitted over it. This bore one of the more martial symbols of Sakor: a gloved hand holding up a flaming sword garlanded with laurel and rue. It had been fitted by a master craftsman; anyone unfamiliar with the house would never guess that another image lay hidden below.

It’s like the brooch
, she thought, saddened and angered. How has it come to this, that we have set the very gods against one another?

An ancient fellow with a paunch beneath his blue livery greeted her in the hall.

“How long has Sakor guarded the entrance, Hakone?” she asked, giving him her cloak.

“Nearly nine years, my lady,” the porter told her. “It was a gift from the king.”

“I see. Is the duke at home today?”

“He is, Mistress. He’s in the open gallery. I’ll bring you to him.”

Iya looked around as they passed through the great vaulted hall and on through a series of rooms and inner galleries. Atyion was still magnificent, but the glory of the house seemed tarnished, as if the structure itself lay under the same pall as its master. A few servants were at work, polishing and scrubbing, but the furnishings and hangings, even the brightly painted walls, were more faded than she recalled.

There used to be music and laughter here
, she thought.
And children running thorough the hall.
Tobin had never seen this house.

“Is Lord Rhius well?”

“He grieves, Mistress.”

They found Rhius walking in a pillared gallery overlooking the castle gardens. Judging by the dusty leather boots and jerkin he wore, he’d spent the day in the saddle and only recently returned. A young page trailed after him, ignored.

As a boy Rhius had always run to meet Iya. Now he dismissed the servants and stood regarding her in bleak silence.

Iya bowed and looked out over the deserted gardens. “Your aunts and uncles used to play blind beggars with me in that stand of walnut trees.”

“They’re dead now, too,” Rhius told her. “All but Uncle Tynir. He lost his wife in the plague and his daughter to the king. He’s carved a new estate for himself in the northern territories.”

A pair of gardeners came into view below them, pulling a cartload of rotted manure. A tall, bald man in a jeweled robe wandered out from a rose maze to watch them at their work.

Rhius’ mouth tightened with distaste at the sight of him. “Come, let’s speak inside.”

Iya glanced back at the stranger, trying to make out who it was. “You have a guest?”

“Several.”

Rhius led the way to an inner room lit by several lamps. He shut the door and Iya cast a seal to keep out prying eyes and ears.

“That man in the garden is Lord Orun, Chancellor of the Treasury. Surely you remember him?” Rhius asked, circling a round table that stood at the center of the room.

Iya remained near the door, watching him pace like a cornered wolf. “Ah yes, he often guested here in your father’s day. I remember Tharin always detested him.”

“Yes, that’s him. He’s risen high and serves the king closely now as the royal ear. Not a man to cross. Thank Illior, Erius has kept Hylus on as Lord Chancellor. He’s able to keep most of the nobles from eating one another alive.”

“But why is Orun here?

“He knew my father, and now he makes it his business to know me. This time he’s brought me some young cousin of his and asks me to take him on as an equerry.”

“Spreading his spies around, is he?”

“I’m surrounded by them. He’s gifted me with several pages and a very pretty court minstrel whom I think he intends for my bed. She’s away for the day, or I’d introduce you and do away with the mystery.”

He sat down and turned a weary eye on her. “So, you’ve come back, as well? You took your time.”

Iya let that go for the moment. “I’ve just come from visiting your child, my lord. Prince Tobin sends you his regards and a message. He misses you.”

“By the Four, if you knew how much I miss him!”

“Tharin gave me to believe otherwise.”

An angry flush rose in the duke’s cheeks. “Lies breed like maggots on a dead horse, as they say. All these years I’ve kept my secret from Tharin. Now that lie has festered between us and driven him away.”

“How so?”

Rhius waved a hand around at the room, the house, perhaps the entire estate. “King Erius prefers to keep me close by him, now that his sister’s life no longer binds me. This is as far from Ero as I’m allowed to venture. Should I bring Tobin here now, where Erius and his wizards come to guest whenever the whim takes them? No, instead I drive away a man who loves me better than any brother, send him back to be the father to Tobin that I can’t be.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Another sacrifice.”

Iya went to him and clasped his hand. “You know Tharin better than that. He loves you still and keeps you
close in your child’s heart. Surely the king would not begrudge you the occasional visit?”

“Perhaps not, but I’m so—fearful.” The word seemed to choke him. “We both know what Tobin is, and is to be, but she’s also my beloved child and all I have left of Ariani. No sacrifice is too great to keep her safe!”