The Bone Doll's Twin (7 page)

Nari looked away so as not to embarrass the duke by seeing his tears. It was the first time since the birth that Ariani had spoken to him.

This seemed to encourage the duke. He sent for Captain Tharin that very night and began to talk of the child’s presentation feast.

A
riani told no one of the dreams that plagued her. Who could she tell? Her own trusted nurse, Lachi, had been sent away weeks ago, replaced by this stranger who would not leave her side. Nari was some relation of Iya’s, Rhius had told her, and that only made Ariani hate her all the more. Her husband, her brother, the wizards, this woman-they’d all betrayed her. When she thought of that terrible night, all she remembered was a circle of faces looking down on her without pity. She despised them.

Exhaustion and grief had weighed down on her like a stack of wool quilts at first, and her mind had drifted in a grey fog. Daylight and darkness seemed to play sport with her; she never knew what to expect when she opened her eyes, or whether she dreamed or woke.

At first she thought that the horrid midwife Iya had brought had returned. But soon she realized it must be a dream or waking vision that brought the dark little woman to her bedside each night. She always appeared surrounded by a circle of shifting light, mouthing silent words at Ariani and gesturing with stained fingers for her to eat and drink. It went on for days, this silent pantomime, until Ariani grew used to her. At last she began to make out something of what the woman whispered and the words pulled fire and ice through her veins.

It was then that Ariani began to sew again, and forced herself to eat the bread and thin soups Nari brought. The task the witch had set for her would take strength.

T
he child’s presentation took place a fortnight after the birth. Ariani refused to come downstairs and Nari thought this just as well. The princess’ strength was returning, but she was still too strange for company. She would not dress and seldom spoke. Her shining black hair was dull and tangled for want of care and her blue eyes stared strangely, as if she was seeing something the rest could not. She slept, she ate, and she sewed doll after mouthless doll. Duke Rhius saw to it that word of a difficult lying-in was spread around the Palatine, as well as rumors of his wife’s deep and continuing grief over the loss of the dead girl child.

Her absence did not mar the celebration too badly. All the principal nobles of Ero crowded into the great hall that night until the whole room seemed to shimmer with jewels and silks under the flickering lamps. Standing with the servants by the wine table, Nari saw some whispering behind
their hands and overheard a few speaking of Agnalain’s madness, wondering how the daughter could have gone the way of the mother so quickly and with no warning at all.

It was unseasonably warm that night, and the soft patter of autumn rain swept in through the open windows. The men of the duke’s personal guard stood at attention flanking the stairs, resplendent in new green and blue. Sir Tharin stood to the left of the stairs in his fine tunic and jewels, looking as pleased as if the child were his own. Nari had taken to the lanky, fair-haired man the day she met him, and liked him all the better for the way his face lit up the first time he saw Tobin in his father’s arms.

The king stood in the place of honor at the right of the staircase, holding his own son on one broad shoulder. Prince Korin was a bright, plump child of three, with his father’s dark curls and bright brown eyes. He bounced excitedly, craning his neck for a look at his new cousin as Rhius appeared at the top of the stairs. The duke was resplendent in his embroidered robe and circlet. Tobin’s dark head was just visible above the edge of his silken wrappings.

“Greetings and welcome, my king and my friends!” Duke Rhius called out. Descending to where the king stood, he went down on one knee and held the child up. “My king, I present to you my son and heir, Prince Tobin Erius Akandor.”

Setting Korin down beside him, Erius took Tobin in his arms and showed him to the priests and assembled nobles. “Your son and heir is acknowledged before Ero, my brother. May his name be spoken with honor among the Royal Kin of Skala.”

And that was that, though the speechifying and drinking of toasts would go on half the night. Nari shifted restlessly. It was past time to feed the child and her breasts ached. She smiled as she heard a familiar hiccuping
whimper. Once Tobin started squalling for his supper they’d soon let him go, and she could retreat to her quiet chamber at the top of the house.

Just then one of the serving maids let out a startled squeak and pointed to the wine table. “By the Four, it just toppled over!”

The silver mazer for Rhius’ toast lay on its side, its contents splashed across the dark polished wood beside the honey cake.

“I was looking right at it,” the maid went on, voice beginning to rise dangerously. “Not a soul was near it!”

“I can see that!” Nari whispered, silencing her with a pinch and a glare. Whisking off her apron, she blotted up the spilled wine. It stained the linen red as blood.

Mynir snatched the cloth away and balled it tightly under his arm, hiding the stain. “By the Light, don’t let any of the others see!” he whispered. “That was a white wine!”

Looking down at her hands, Nari saw that they were stained red, too, where the wine had wet them, though the droplets still clinging inside the rim of the cup were a pale golden color.

There was just time to send the trembling girl away to fetch a fresh mazer before the nobles came to make their toasts. Tobin was growing fussy. Nari held him while the duke raised the cup and sprinkled a few drops of wine over the child, then a few more over the honey cake in the traditional offering to the Four. “To Sakor, to make my child a great and just warrior with fire in his heart. To Illior, for wisdom and true dreaming. To Dalna, for many children and long life. To Astellus, for safe journeys and a swift death.”

Nari exchanged a quick look of relief with the steward as the droplets sank away, leaving the cake’s sticky surface unstained.

As soon as the brief ceremony was finished Nari carried Tobin upstairs. The babe squirmed and grunted, nuzzling at her bodice.

“You’re a pet, you are,” Nari murmured absently, still shaken by what she’d witnessed. She thought of the spell sticks Iya had left with her, wondering if she should use one to summon the wizard back. But Iya had been very clear; she was only to use those in the direst circumstances. Nari sighed and hugged Tobin closer, wondering where such portents would lead.

Passing Ariani’s door in the upper corridor, Nari caught sight of a small patch of red on the wall, just above the rushes that covered the floor. She bent for a closer look, then pressed a hand over her mouth.

It was the bloody print of an infant’s hand, splayed like a starfish. The blood was still bright and wet.

“Maker keep us, it’s in the house!”

Cheers and applause burst out below. She could hear the king proclaiming a blessing for Tobin’s health. With trembling fingers, Nari wiped at the mark with the edge of her skirt until the handprint smeared to a pinkish smudge. She pushed the rushes up to cover it, then slipped into Ariani’s chamber, fearful of what she might find.

The princess sat by the fire, sewing away as madly as ever. For the first time since the birth, she had changed her nightdress for a loose gown and put on her rings again. The hem was wet and streaked with mud. Ariani’s hair hung in damp strands around her face. The window was shut tight as always, but Nari could smell the night air on her, and the hint of something else besides. Nari wrinkled her nose, trying to place the raw, unpleasant odor.

“You’ve been outside, Your Highness?”

Ariani smiled down at her needlework. “Just for a bit, Nurse. Aren’t you pleased?”

“Yes, my lady, but you should have waited and I’d have gone with you. You’re not strong enough to be out on your own. What would the duke say?”

Ariani sewed on, still smiling over her work.

“Did you see anything … unusual out there, Your Highness?” Nari hazarded at last.

Ariani pulled a tuft of wool from a bag beside her and tucked it into the muslin arm she’d sewn. “Nothing at all. Off with you now, and fetch me something to eat. I’m famished!”

Nari mistrusted this sudden brightness. As she left, she could hear Ariani humming softly to herself, and recognized the tune as a lullaby.

She was halfway to the kitchens when she placed the smell at last and let out a snort of relief. Tomorrow she must tell the servants to bring in one of the hounds to root out the dead mouse spoiling somewhere along the upper corridor.

A
rkoniel left Ero not knowing when he would see Ariani or her child again. He met up with Iya at an inn in Sylara and together they set off to begin the next long stage of their mission.

Despite Arkoniel’s strong misgivings, Iya decided that it would be safest for everyone if they kept their distance from the child. When Arkoniel told her of his strange conversation with Niryn, it only strengthened her resolve. Nari and the duke could get word to them by sending messages to several inns that Iya frequented in her travels. For emergencies, she’d left Nari with a few small tokens; painted rods that released a simple seeking spell when broken. No matter how far away Iya might be, she would feel the magic and return as quickly as she could.

“But what if we’re too far away to reach them in time?” Arkoniel fretted, unhappy with the situation. “And how can we leave them like that? It all went wrong in the end, Iya. You didn’t see the demon in the dead child’s eyes. What if the tree can’t hold it down?”

But she remained adamant. “They are safest with us away.”

A
nd so they began their long wandering quest, seeking out anyone who had a spark of magic in them, sounding out loyalties, listening to fears, and—with a select few—cautiously sharing a glimpse of Iya’s vision: a new confederation of Orëska wizards. She was patient, and careful in her choices, winnowing out the mad and the greedy and those too loyal to the king. Even with those she deemed
trustworthy she did not reveal her true purpose, but left them a small token—a pebble picked up on the road—and the promise that she would call on them again.

Over the next few years Niryn’s words would come back to haunt them, for it seemed that they were not the only ones spreading the idea of unity. They learned from others they met on the road that the king’s wizard was gathering a following of his own at court. Arkoniel often wondered what answer these wizards had given to Niryn’s oblique question, and what their dreams had been.

T
he drought that had heralded Tobin’s birth broke, only to be followed by another the following summer. The further south they went, the more often they saw empty granaries and sickly livestock. Disease walked the land in hunger’s wake, striking down the weak like a wolf culling a flock. The worst was a fever brought in by traders. The first sign was bloody sweat, often followed by black swellings in the armpits and groin. Few who showed both symptoms survived. The Red and Black Death, as it came to be called, struck whole villages overnight, leaving too few living to burn the dead.

A plague of a different sort struck the eastern coast: Plenimaran raiders. Towns were looted and burned, the old women killed, the younger ones and the children carried off as slaves in the raiders’ black ships. The men who survived the battle often met a crueler fate.

Iya and Arkoniel entered one such village just after an attack and found half a dozen young men nailed by the hands to the side of a byre; all had been disemboweled. One boy was still alive, begging for water with one breath and death with the next. Iya gently gave him both.

I
ya continued Arkoniel’s education as they traveled, and was pleased to see how his powers continued to flourish. He was the finest student she’d ever had, and the most curious; for Arkoniel there were always new vistas ahead, new
spells to master. Iya practiced what she jokingly referred to as “portable magics,” those spells which relied more on wand and word than weighty components and instruments. Arkoniel had a natural talent for these, and was already beginning to create spells of his own, an unusual accomplishment for so one so young. Driven by his concern for Rhius and Ariani, he experimented endlessly with seeking spells, trying to expand their limited powers, but with no success.

Iya explained repeatedly that even Orëska magic had its limits, but he would not be put off.

In the houses of the richer, more sedentary wizards, particularly those with noble patrons, she saw him linger longingly in well-equipped workrooms, examining the strange instruments and alchemists’ vessels he found there. Sometimes they guested long enough for him to learn something from these wizards, and Iya was delighted to see him so willingly adding to what she could teach him.

Content as always to wander, Iya could almost at times forget the responsibility that hung over them.

Almost.

L
iving on the road, they heard a great deal of news but were little touched by most of it. When the first rumors of the King’s Harriers reached them, Iya dismissed them as wild tales. This became harder to do, however, when they met with a priest of Illior who claimed to have seen them with his own eyes.

“The king has sanctioned them,” he told Iya, nervously fingering the amulet on his breast, so similar to the ones they wore. “The Harriers are a special guard, soldiers and wizards both, charged with hunting down traitors to the throne. They’ve burned a wizard at Ero, and there are Illioran priests in the prison.”

“Wizards and priests?” Arkoniel scoffed. “No Skalan wizard has ever been executed, not since the necromantic purges of the Great War! And wizards hunting down their own kind?”

But Iya was shaken. “Remember who we are dealing with,” she warned when they were safely alone in their rented chamber. “Mad Agnalain’s son has already killed his own kin to preserve his line. Perhaps there’s more of his mother in him than we feared.”