The Bone Doll's Twin (58 page)

Trying to gauge as Porion had shown him, Tobin raised the whip and brought it down across Ki’s shoulders. Ki didn’t flinch, but an angry red welt burned where the whip had bitten.

“One,” said Ki, quite clearly.

“No one expects you to count the strokes,” Porion said quietly.

Tobin brought the whip down again, a few inches lower. It was too hard; Ki shuddered this time, and droplets of blood beaded the new welt.

“Two,” Ki announced, just as clearly.

Someone murmured in the crowd. Tobin thought he recognized Orun’s voice and hated the man all the more.

He brought the whip down three more times on that side, ending just above Ki’s waist. They were both sweating, but Ki’s voice stayed steady as he counted off each stroke.

Tobin changed sides and began again at Ki’s shoulders, crosshatching the welts he’d already made.

“Six,” said Ki, but this time it came out a hiss. Tobin had drawn blood again. The whip cut into the swollen flesh where the two stripes met and a trickle of blood inched away toward Ki’s armpit.

You see blood

Tobin’s empty stomach lurched again. He made seven too light, then eight and nine too fast so that Ki had to gasp out the count. By “Ten” his voice was ragged but it was over.

Ki sat back on his heels and reached for Tobin’s hand. “Forgive me, my prince, for disgracing you.”

Before he could kiss it, Tobin pulled him up onto his feet and clasped his hand like a warrior. “I forgive you, Ki.”

Confused by this break with ritual, Ki bent uncertainly to complete the ceremony, pressing his lips to the back of Tobin’s hand as they stood facing each other. Another murmur went through the crowd. Tobin saw Prince Korin and Porion both giving them curious but approving looks.

The priest was less happy about the breach. His voice was harsh as he called out, “Come and be cleansed, Squire Kirothius.”

The Companions parted silently and Ki climbed the remaining stairs with his head held high, the ten uneven welts showing like fire on his bloodied back. Mago followed to begin his punishment vigil, looking a good deal less heroic.

When they’d disappeared inside Tobin looked down at the whip he still held, then over at Alben, who stood with Quirion and Urmanis. Were they smirking at him? At what he’d just done? He tossed the whip down. “I challenge you, Alben. Meet me in the practice ring. Unless you’re afraid of getting your pretty clothes dirty.”

Gathering up Ki’s discarded jerkin and shirt, he turned on his heel and walked away.

A
lben had little choice but to accept Tobin’s challenge, though he didn’t look too happy about it.

The rain had slackened to a sullen drizzle by the time they squared off in the stone circle. A crowd had followed them from the temple to watch what was all too clearly a grudge match.

Tobin had practiced against Alben often since his arrival in Ero and hadn’t often bested the older boy, once Alben had learned to watch for tricks. But today he was driven by pent-up fury, and his years of rough practice with Ki served him well. He battered Alben down into the cold mud again and again. As he swung the wooden sword, it felt almost like the heavy whip in his hand and he wished he could bring it down on Alben’s back just
once. Instead, he broke through the older boy’s guard and hit him across the nasal of his helmet hard enough to bloody his nose. Alben went to his knees and yielded.

Tobin bent to help him up. As he leaned close, he whispered just loud enough for Alben to hear. “I’m a prince, Alben, and I’ll remember you when I’m grown. Teach your squire to keep a civil tongue in his head. And you can tell Lord Orun the same.”

Alben pulled away angrily, then bowed and left the circle.

“You.” Tobin pointed his sword at Quirion. “Will you fight me?”

“I have no quarrel with you. And no desire to catch the plague out here in the rain.” He helped Alben back toward the Palace and their friends drifted off with them.

“I’ll fight you,” said Korin, stepping into the ring.

“Korin, no—” Porion warned, but Korin waved him off.

“It’s all right, Arms Master. Come on, Tobin. Give me your best.”

Tobin hesitated. He wanted to fight someone he was angry with, not his cousin. But Korin was already in the circle and saluting. He faced Korin and raised his blade.

Fighting Korin was like fighting against a wall. Tobin threw himself into it, wanting to give the prince his best, but Korin met every attack with a block like an iron bar. But he didn’t return the attacks, just let Tobin wear himself out until he fell back panting and called a yield.

“There now, do you feel any better?”

“Maybe a little.”

Korin leaned on his sword and grinned at him. “You two always have to have things your own way, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the kiss, for one thing. You wouldn’t let Ki kneel.”

Tobin shrugged. He hadn’t planned that. It had just seemed the thing to do at the moment.

“Only equals do that.”

“Ki is my equal.”

“He’s not, you know. You’re a prince.”

“He’s my friend.”

Korin shook his head. “What a funny little fellow you are. I think I’ll have you for my Lord Chancellor when I’m king. Come on. Let’s go eat. Ki and Mago must starve for their sins, but we don’t have to.”

“I’d rather stay out for a while, if you don’t mind, cousin.”

Korin looked to Porion and laughed. “Stubborn as his father! Or mine. Suit yourself, then, coz, but don’t catch your death. I’ll be needing you, as I said before.” Korin and the older Companions strode away, followed by their squires.

Lutha and Nikides hung back. “Would you like company?” Lutha asked.

Tobin shook his head. All he wanted right now was to be left alone to miss Ki. He’d have ridden down to the sea if he could, but it was forbidden for Companions to leave the Palatine alone and he didn’t have the heart to face Tharin yet. Instead he spent the rest of the day walking the citadel in the rain. It was a gloomy pastime and suited his mood.

He avoided the Temple, telling himself he didn’t want to embarrass Ki by intruding on his vigil, but the truth was he wasn’t ready to face his friend, either. The memory of the red welts rising on that smooth brown back was enough to make the bile rise in his throat.

Instead, he circled the banks of Queen Klia’s great pool and watched the silvery fish jump at raindrops, then made the long walk to the grove of Dalna above the northern escarpment. It was only a few acres of trees, but they were as ancient as the city itself, and for a little while he could imagine himself back home again, on his way to Lhel’s oak. He missed the strange little witch terribly. He missed Nari and the servants at the keep. He even missed Arkoniel.

A hearth shrine stood at the center of the grove; Tobin found a wooden carving in his belt pouch and cast it and a few homesick tears into the flames with a prayer to be at his home hearth soon.

L
amps were being lit around the citadel when Tobin happened past the royal tomb. He hadn’t come here since the night of his arrival. Chilled and footsore, he went inside to warm himself at the altar flame.

“Father, I miss you!” he whispered, staring into the flame. Had it really only been a few months since he’d died? It didn’t seem possible. Tobin felt like he’d been here for years already.

He pulled the chain from his neck and held the seal and his mother’s ring in his hand. Tears blurred his eyes as he looked down at the dual profiles on the ring. He missed both of them. Right now he knew he’d even be glad to see his mama in one of her bad spells, if only he could be home again and everything as it had been.

He had no desire to visit the dead below. Instead, he said a long prayer for their spirits. When he was finished he felt a little better.

It was raining harder now. He turned and studied the effigies of the Skalan queens as he waited for it to pass, wondering if he could recognize the ghost that he’d seen in the throne room.

As an artist, he noted with interest the differing styles of the statues. The earliest, Ghërilain the Founder, was a stiff, lifeless figure with a flat face and all her clothes and accounterments molded close to her body, as if the sculptor hadn’t had the skill to quite free her from the stone. All the same, he recognized the Sword of Ghërilain clutched in her gauntleted hands—the same sword that all the other statues held. His uncle carried that sword now.

Was it the same sword, perhaps, that the ghost had held out to him? He turned slowly where he stood, studying the stone faces. Which one had she been? For she had
certainly been a queen. And if it had been
this
sword she’d held, why would she offer it to him?

He checked quickly to make certain that the altar priest was nowhere around, then whispered, “Blood my blood, flesh my flesh, bone my bone.”

Brother appeared, looking transparent in the firelight. How long had it been since he’d last called him, Tobin wondered guiltily. Three days? A week? Perhaps longer. There had been feasts and dances and practices, then all the fuss with Ki. What would Lhel say? He didn’t like to think of that.

“I’m sorry I forgot,” he whispered. “Look, here are the great queens. You remember the ones in the box at home? This is their tomb. I saw one of them—her ghost. Do you know who it was?”

Brother began circling the effigies, looking up at each one in turn. He came to rest at last in front of one and seemed content to remain there.

“Is that her? Is she the one I saw at the Old Palace?”

“I beg your pardon, Prince Tobin?”

Tobin turned to find the king’s wizard standing beside the altar. “Lord Niryn! You startled me.”

Niryn bowed. “I might say the same, my prince. I heard you speak, yet I see no one here to listen.”

“I—I thought I saw a ghost in the Old Palace once, and I was wondering if it could have been one of the queens.”

“But you spoke aloud.”

If Niryn could see Brother, he gave no sign. Tobin was careful not to look at the ghost as he answered. “Don’t you ever talk to yourself, my lord?”

Niryn stepped closer. “Perhaps. So, do you recognize your ghost here?”

“I’m not sure. They aren’t very good for faces, are they? Perhaps that one.” He pointed to the one where Brother stood. “Do you know who she is?”

“Queen Tamír, daughter of Queen Ghërilain the First, I believe.”

“Then I guess she’d have reason to haunt,” Tobin said, trying to make light of it all. “She was murdered by her brother,” he went on, nervously rattling off the lesson out of habit. “Pelis contested the Oracle and seized the throne, but Illior Lightbearer punished the land and killed him.”

“Hush, child!” Niryn exclaimed, making some sign on the air. “King Pelis did not murder his sister. She died and he was the only heir. No queen has ever been murdered in Skala, my prince. It’s most unlucky to even suggest such a thing. And assassins killed him, not the gods. Your teachers were most misinformed. Perhaps a new tutor is in order.”

“My apologies, Wizard,” Tobin said quickly, taken aback by this unexpected outburst. “I meant no offense in this holy place.”

The wizard’s stern expression softened. “I’m certain the shades of your ancestors would make allowances for their youngest descendent. You are, after all, the next in line for their throne after Prince Korin.”

“Me?” This was even more surprising.

“But of course. The king’s brothers and sisters are dead, and their issue with them. There is no one else of such close blood tie.”

“But Korin will have heirs of his own.” Tobin had never once imagined sitting on the throne of Skala, only that he would serve it.

“No doubt. But he is a young spark yet, and none of his paramours have kindled. Until then, you are next in the line of succession. Your parents never spoke to you of such things?”

Niryn smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes, and Tobin felt a strange, crawling feeling deep inside, like someone was stirring around in his guts with a bony finger.

“No, my lord. Father only said that I would be a great warrior and serve my cousin as he served the king.”

“An admirable aspiration. You should always beware of anyone who tries to draw you from the path ordained for you by Sakor.”

“My lord?”

“We live in uncertain times, my dear prince. There are forces at work disloyal to the royal house, factions who would have someone other than Agnalain’s son rule. If anyone of that ilk should approach you, I hope you will do your duty and speak to me at once. Such disloyalty cannot be tolerated.”

“Is that what you and the Harriers do, my lord?” Tobin asked. “Hunt down traitors?”

“Yes, Prince Tobin.” The wizard’s voice seemed to take on a darker timbre and fill the open space of the tomb. “As a servant of the Lightbearer, I have sworn to see the children of Thelátimos safe on the throne of Skala. Every true Skalan must serve. All falsehood must be purged with the Flame of Sakor.”

Niryn reached into the altar fire and drew out a handful of flame. It rested in his palm like water.

Tobin fell back a step, disliking the reflection of this unnatural fire in the man’s jasper-colored eyes.

Niryn let the flame run away to nothingness through his fingers. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I had forgotten that you do not enjoy displays of magic. But I hope that you will remember my words. As I said, we live in uncertain times and too often foul appears fair. It is difficult for one so young as you to discern the difference. I pray that the mark you bear on your arm proves a true sign, and that you will always count me among your good councilors. Good night to you, my prince.”

The crawling, stirring feeling rippled through Tobin again, less strong this time, then disappeared as Niryn left the tomb.

Tobin waited until the man was out of sight, then sat down at the foot of the altar and wrapped his arms around his knees to fight the fresh chill that had overtaken him.

The wizard’s veiled allusions to traitors frightened him. It was as if he was being accused of doing something, yet
he knew that he’d done nothing that the wizard could disapprove of. He was loyal to Korin and the king with all his heart.