The Charnel Prince (70 page)

Cazio drew his damaged blade and raised it to attention. “I salute you, old man,” he said. “What you did last night was beyond belief. I will never forget it as long as I live.”

“You’re going,” z’Acatto said flatly.

“I am.”

“Then go. No more pretty words.
Go.
Azdei
.
”

“
Azdei
, mestro,” Cazio replied.
He was suddenly terribly afraid that he was going to cry.

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Neil knelt before Anne and tried to hold himself steady on one knee, but his body, racked by pain and exhaustion, betrayed him, and he fell. He caught himself with his hands.

“Ease yourself, Sir Neil,” Princess Anne said. “Sit, please.”

He hesitated, then stood and slumped onto the bench. Bright and dark spots danced before his eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he mumbled. “I’m just out of breath.”

The princess nodded. “You’ve been through much, Sir Neil,” she observed, “and some of it has been because of me. I did not trust you in z’Espino.”

“That is clear to me, Your Highness.”

She tucked her hands behind her back and regarded him with a solid gaze. “I wronged you,” she said. “And you almost died. But I had my reasons. Do you doubt me?”

Neil found that he didn’t.

“No, Your Majesty,” he said. “I understand what your position was. I should have made more of an effort to convince you.”

“I am not queen, Sir Neil,” the princess said softly. “You should not address me as ‘Majesty.’”

“I understand, Your Highness,” Neil replied.

She lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you survived, Sir Neil. I am most glad.”

Neil heard the apology there—an apology without weakness. A very regal sort of apology that sent a little thrill through him.

I serve someone worthy
, he caught himself thinking. He hadn’t known Anne before, not really. But he did know she hadn’t been like this. Something basic in her had changed; she had been a girl. Now she was something much stronger.

“Ah, Cazio,” he heard Anne say. Neil glanced up to see the Vitellian had joined them.

“
Mi Regatura
,” Cazio said, a bit cockily. But then, as if the gesture pained him, he dropped to one knee.

Anne regarded him for a moment, then nodded and said something to Cazio in Vitellian.

“I must see someone else, now,” she told Neil.

Neil made the sign of blessing, and Cazio made a similar sign, then they both rose. As Anne left, the Vitellian looked at Neil.

“I speak not well your tongue,” he managed in an incredibly thick accent. “But I listen, no? You brave man. You brother.” He held out his hand.

Neil clasped it. “It was an honor to fight beside you,” he said.

“She—” the Vitellian pointed after Anne, struggling for words. “Not the same,” he finally managed.

“No,” Neil breathed. “She is a queen now.”

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Anne gazed down at Roderick’s corpse. Vespresern had already washed him and laid him in a winding-sheet. Now she stood weeping as Anne and Austra looked on.

“He died bravely,” Anne ventured.

Vespresern turned hard eyes on her. “He died for you,” she said. “I can’t imagine you’re worth it. He loved you. He was mad with love for you.”

Anne nodded, but she didn’t have anything to say. After a moment, she left, with Austra following her.

The two women went up to the battlements, so Anne could feel the wind. The threat of rain was long gone, and stars blazed in the night sky.

“I thought I loved him,” Anne said, “and then I thought I hated him. Now I don’t feel much of anything but pity.”

“Why?” Austra said. “Anne, his father must have told him to court you. They planned to kill you all along, and Roderick was an instrument of that plan.”

“I know. And if I hadn’t cursed him with love, he would have killed me himself, I’m sure. But I did curse him, and cursed him again. He died for something he didn’t even understand. Like that horse, remember? Duke Orien’s horse? It broke its leg, and we were hiding in the hayloft and saw them kill it? You could see in its eyes, it didn’t understand what was happening to it.”

“I suppose.”

“And if I had never been so foolish as to write him, still none of this would have happened. His love was first counterfeit, then shinecraft. Mine was neither—it was just a foolish girl’s game. So whose shoulders should this all fall on?”

“You can’t take it all on yourself.”

“Oh, but I can,” Anne said. “I must. I went
there
again, Austra. I saw the fourth Faith, and she told me that my mother has been imprisoned and my father’s throne usurped. That’s why we’re leaving here tomorrow.”

“That can’t be true,” Austra said.

“I believe it,” Anne replied. “First they kill half of us and then they take our throne. That seems like a pretty logical course of events. But they missed me, and they’re going to regret that.”

Austra regarded her for a long moment. “I believe they will,” she said. She started to say something else, but seemed to struggle for a moment. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you,” she said finally.

Anne looked frankly at her. “Austra, you are truly the only person I can claim to love. I know that now. I can’t even say that about my mother or Charles, not honestly. You are the only one I love.”

“I love you, too,” Austra said.

“But you can’t disobey me again,” Anne said, taking her hand. “Ever. I might be right, and I might be wrong, and you may try to convince me when you think I’m wrong, but once my word is spoken, it is
your
word, too.”

“Because you’re the princess and I’m a servant?” Austra murmured.

“Yes,” Anne replied.

They set out the next morning—Anne, Austra, Winna, Aspar, Neil, Cazio, and twenty horsemen from Dunmrogh. The clouds were back, and a midday snow began to fall, the first snow of winter. It was Yule; from now on, the days would only get longer.

LEOFF GLANCED UP AS the praifec entered the little room that had been his home for the past two days. There wasn’t much to it, the room—a table, a few candles, and no window at all. Of course, there wouldn’t be, this deep underground.

“You’re a very clever man,” the praifec said after a moment. “And far more political than I would have imagined.”

“I told you it would be magnificent,” Leoff said, trying to sound brave.

“Oh, yes, and so it was,” Hespero agreed. “Even I was moved by it—moved as if by shinecraft, in fact.”

“It was music, not shinecraft,” Leoff insisted. “All music is magical. You can’t artificially separate—”

“Oh, I most certainly can,” the praifec replied. “And I’m afraid the council of praifecs agrees with me. Leovigild Ackenzal, you are here convicted of shinecraft and high treason.”

He stepped closer and rested a hand on Leoff’s shoulder. The touch made the composer’s skin crawl.

“No, my friend,” the praifec said in his most avuncular tones, “enjoy your small triumph. It will have to last you the rest of your life.”

Leoff held his chin high. “I’m not afraid to die,” he said.

The praifec shrugged. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “But in a moment, I will leave this room, and so will you, and you will be taken to a
place
.” He put his hands behind his back. “Fralet Ackenzal, do you know the meaning of
Resacaratum
?
”

“It means a reconsecration—to make holy again.”

“Indeed. The world has become an unholy place, Fralet Ackenzal, I think you will agree. War threatens everywhere; terrible monsters wander about—why you’ve met one yourself, yes?”

“Yes,” Leoff said.

“Yes. The world is in need of purification, and when that need arises, the Church is at hand. It’s beginning now, in every country, every village, every house. The
Resacaratum
has begun. And you have the honor of being one of its first—examples.”

“What do you mean?” Leoff asked, the hair on the back of his neck pricking up.

“You will be lustrated, Fralet—made pure. I fear the process may be painful, but redemption rarely comes without cost.”

He gave Leoff’s shoulder a friendly squeeze and left. And as he promised, someone came and took Leoff to a place.

He tried to be brave, but Leoff was not made for pain, and after a time he screamed, and cried, and begged for an end to it.

But it did not end.

A special thanks to Terry Brooks for his support and encouragement. Thanks also to Elizabeth Haydon, Melanie Rawn, Katherine Kurtz, Robin Hobb, John Maddox Roberts, and Charles de Lint for their kind words about
The Briar King
.

Thanks to my readers: T. Karen Anderson, Nancy Baker, Kris Boldis, Marshal Hibnes, Chris Hodgkins, Lanelle Keyes, Eugenia Mansfield, Charlie Sheffer, and Nancy Vega.

Thanks to Jack Simmons, Ph.D., for his help with matters nautical. Any mistakes in such matters don’t originate with him.

As always, thanks to my editor, Steve Saffel; editor in chief, Betsy Mitchell; and managing editor, Nancy Delia. Thanks to Eliani Torres for wading through my misspellings and other mistakes. Thanks also to editorial assistant Keith Clayton for tons of hard work.

Thanks to Kirk Caldwell for more beautiful maps, Stephen Youll for the cover art, and Dave Stevenson for putting it all together.

Thanks to Colleen Lindsay and Christine Cabello for putting me out there, in three dimensions and in cyberspace. Sorry I ruined a perfectly good assistant, Colleen, even if only for a day or two. Thanks to Mark Maguire for managing production. Across the pond, many thanks to Stefanie Bierworth and Peter Lavery, not only for publishing this book in Britain, but for their hospitality—especially Peter, who put up with me as a houseguest.

Thanks to Dave Gross for his perpetual support and for being best man at my most recent wedding.

Belated thanks to Jacques Chambon, who edited my first books published in French. The world is a lesser place without you, Jacques.