The Eunuch's Heir (13 page)

“That doesn’t seem much of a life for a princess.”

“They consider her holy, almost a living goddess. That’s why her feet must never touch the ground.”

The little parade approached, and the swaddled figure of Deishima presented itself before Faedre. The priestess folded her arms to bow over them, then continued, Deishima and her attendant shadowing their movements to one side.

“Are you training her for a priestess?” Wolfram asked.

Faedre glanced back, her eyes flared. “She has a very special role, Prince Wolfram. The signs of both heavens and earth have shown us that great events will happen this season. We are hopeful for the rebirth of the Two.”

“Rebirth? How can that be?”

“Your Goddess walks, does she not?”

“Some have said so, and Prince Alyn claims to hear Her voice.”

“Is it then so strange that my people, too, should wish for our gods among us? They might wield the power of life and death, heaven and earth in our behalf. We have been hearing
the tales from your country, tales that say She is with you now, and some here have been concerned over what this may mean.”

“Just stories.” Wolfram shrugged. “Not every story means something.”

“But are not our very legends of the gods, simple stories? And yet their meaning carries a people through ages. Who is to say which story is the fire and which smoke?”

“It’s like these stories the refugees tell us,” Melody observed. “They claim that terrible things are happening, and yet I’ve seen no evidence here.”

“So you see.”

A prickling touched Wolfram’s neck, and he glanced about sharply. On her trail of leaves, Deishima’s veiled face turned toward them, then flicked away again. “Then, if there’s no war, our work here is done, right, Melody?”

“Of course there’s a war,” Melody scoffed. “Just not here and now, and not as atrocious as those people would have us think.”

The little group gathered at the opposite side of the tower. Here, the twining of black letters led the eye to a panel of stone a little smoother than the rest. “Welcome to the place of Her mystery. You cannot come in, of course, but I shall let you see.”

With a careful push of one hand, Faedre released the delicate balance of the stone. It swung down with only a gentle sigh, showing a dark and twisted stair. Deishima’s veil fluttered with her own sigh as Melody gasped, leaning in close.

“Very few men, Prince Wolfram,” Faedre murmured, her eyes on his, “very few have known Her mystery.” Her clove-scented breath caressed his face and that now-familiar shiver reached deep inside him.

He’d always enjoyed a mystery.

APPARENTLY GRATIFIED
by their reactions, Faedre rose. “There are a few things we must do, if you would not mind waiting here. It will not be long.” She smiled graciously. “A servant will bring you drinks to wait with.”

Melody continued staring into the hole a moment longer. “Your goddess is of the earth,” she breathed, “not the stars.”

“Indeed, Melody. Here, the male aspect is of the sky, the female is deeper. Between the tower and the womb a small chamber, round, like one of your temples, joins the two aspects. It is there that Esfandiyar and I meet for our rituals.”

Wolfram eyed the tower, imagining that the priest had already gone in through some way even more secret than this.

“Please.” Faedre gestured away toward the stairs they had taken. At the top, a small group of servants had erected a temporary shade over a carpet with a few chairs. Wolfram offered his arm to Melody, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it, lightly resting her fingers by his elbow with none of her former intimacy. The cold claws prickled the back of Wolfram’s neck as he led her toward the shade and placed her in the central seat. Cool fruit juice had been supplied, and they sipped gratefully.

The servant sprinkling leaves before Deishima led his charge over to them as well, and she stepped delicately upon the carpet. Two others rushed over to drape her seat with a golden cloth, and she perched, taking no refreshment but looking back toward the tower. In the small gap where her
eyes were revealed, Wolfram saw twin vertical lines of consternation. Perhaps she wondered why she had not been invited to this ritual, whatever it might be.

“I hope your room is as comfortable as mine,” Melody said. “It’s right near the garden and the outer wall, so the birds come in. They have the most remarkable flowers.”

“We don’t have flowers,” Wolfram said, “we have monkeys. They’re noisy and messy, and I’m rather glad they’re to be sacrificed.”

“What a frightful thing to say!” She glared at him. “Really, Wolfram, I think you spent far too long with those Woodmen.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not the one doing the sacrificing, your precious Faedre is. She killed one of them this morning.”

The veils over Deishima’s mouth rippled with a sudden breath, but Melody had turned to face Wolfram, her cheeks flushed. “Finding Faedre is halfway to finding my father, it’s like having a second mother, and a kinder one than mine ever was. Maybe you don’t like her, but you haven’t even given her a chance.”

As if it had been waiting for this, the demon sprang to life. Wolfram’s head throbbed with sudden agony as his muscles tightened for the fight, one hand raised to his temple. “Look around you, Melody! Something’s wrong here. Faedre shouldn’t love you, she should hate you because your mother took Orie away. And why did your maid bring us here? Did she know who would meet us at the dock, Melody? You’re so busy with your second mother that you’re not paying attention to what’s going on.”

“Why shouldn’t Faedre love me, for all the reasons she said?” Melody snapped back, slamming down her glass. “Of course something’s wrong, Wolfram, there’s a war on! That’s where all the tension is, and the attention as well.”

“Where’s the bloody war, Melody? I don’t see it.” He spread his arms to take in the countryside. “Where is it?”

“Well, how should I know? I don’t live here; I’m trying to be a civilized guest. I’m sure we’ll understand everything if you just give it time.”

He leapt up to stare at Deishima. “Where’s the bloody war, Princess?”

She jerked back, white showing around her dark eyes. “South,” she murmured, a ruffling of the veil. “Far to the south. Many of our men have gone.”

“See?” crowed Melody.

He continued staring, meeting the faceless eyes, his head pounding. “I’ll believe it when I do,” he said at last, and flopped back into his chair. He grabbed his glass and finished it, shaking it at a servant until it was refilled to be emptied again. For the rest of the time, they sat in silence, Deishima staring at her hands, Melody glancing around as if curious about all she could see, and Wolfram searching the far horizon, wondering how he’d gotten to this place. He examined the rooftops around them, noting the rhythm of courtyards and domes, catching the scent of horses on the slight breeze. Behind and toward the front of the palace he found the small yard with the ragged trees and monkeys, some of which perched upon the roof’s edge: Esfandiyar’s quarters. Off at the far corner of this uneven plain stood a squat, round structure, with stone gates set about and dark slits of windows. Wolfram puzzled over the thing—high enough to be a guard tower, but the windows would hardly allow a good view—then let his gaze move on.

By the time the priestly couple returned, the shadow of the tower had aligned itself with one of the dark lines of tile, then separated from it again and moved on. Wolfram sprang from his chair as they approached, glad of an excuse to rise again. “Esfandiyar, I want to ride out to see your country today, will you arrange it?”

Faedre froze a moment and glanced to her partner. Esfandiyar gave a wavering golden grin, his eyes flicking to her, and back to Wolfram, and back again. His face seemed to have gained a few more lines since he had entered the tower. “I do not know, Highness, if such a thing can be arranged like so?”

“Yes, I believe you do know. Or am I a prisoner, not al
lowed beyond these walls?” The pulse throbbed in his temple, but he forced his hands away and felt them curling into fists.

“Of course we’re not prisoners, but surely you’d like to see the palace first,” Melody said someplace behind him.

“Ah!” Esfandiyar said brightly, the gold gleaming in his mouth. “Indeed, we have arranged a visit to the finest rooms!”

“Is that what I asked for?” Wolfram replied coldly.

The priest wilted under his fierce stare. “Perhaps, something can be done, yes?”

Faedre stepped nearer, her shoulder brushing Esfandiyar out of the way of Wolfram’s fury. “There may be an elephant available for a short trip, Prince Wolfram.” Her voice had lost all its honeyed tones.

“I would prefer a horse.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“I have no doubt that this is true,” she said, smiling now, “but I do not believe—”

“You people do an awful lot of believing.” Wolfram pointed to a courtyard near the outer wall. “That is a stable, is it not? And there appear to be plenty of horses.”

“They are reserved for the guards and messengers,” Esfandiyar piped up, earning a black look from Faedre.

“Well, naturally, we will inquire on your behalf,” she purred, shifting her stance so that her breasts pushed a little forward. “Why not take a tour of the palace, and we will tell you if arrangements can be made?”

“I have a better idea,” Wolfram said, his hands herding them into motion, “let’s go now and ask.” Without a backward glance, he took the steps two at a time and turned into the darkness of the corridor. A quick patter of feet told him they were following.

“I must apologize for my brother’s moods,” Melody said loudly. “I’ve no idea what’s gotten into him.”

“Orie had such tempers at times. It required all of my skill to settle him,” Faedre told her. “I have heard that such things may be passed within a family.”

“Then Wolfram must have gotten a double dose from someplace.”

Wolfram kept an ear out for their dialogue but paid more attention to his route. He had been tracing the rhythm of rooftops and courtyards, and now swept along the passages they had concealed with little pause for consideration. His only fear was to find one of the rooftops had hidden a forbidden temple or women’s area that he could not take into account. For a time, Faedre’s and Melody’s voices were brazen, rife with mocking. No one stepped up to lead him, and all evidently expected him to become lost in the palace maze.

Doggedly, he kept on, until he came to a covered pool, surrounded by vegetation. The far wall had no walkway, so he must choose here which direction they would need on the other side. Wolfram paused, and the little group behind him caught their breath. He could almost hear Faedre smile. His eyes narrowed. Instinct told him he could not be far away now—instinct honed by his months of tracking with the Woodmen. He shut his eyes and willed his heartbeat to silence in his ears. A slight breeze touched his cheek on the left, accompanied by the merest whiff of horses. Wolfram allowed himself a grin. He turned left and, in a few more turns, had brought them to the balcony overlooking a grassy courtyard where the horses pricked their ears at the newcomers.

Wolfram leaned against the rail. “Where do we inquire about borrowing these fine animals?”

“How did you do that?” Melody came up beside him, her irritation swept away. “That was amazing! All those corners; I had no idea where we were going.”

Still smiling, he turned to look at her. “A little too long with those Woodmen, I suppose. The skill is useful, though.”

Expecting to hear a sting in his words, she slowly returned his smile. Behind them, Faedre spoke a few words to Esfandiyar, who went pattering off and emerged onto the green below, where he entered into a conversation with a nodding groom.

With a rustle of silks, Faedre, too, came to lean on Wolfram’s other side. “Indeed, a most informative display. I shall
be sure not to hide things from you, Prince Wolfram; you seem able to track your prey even in the darkness of ignorance.” Her eyes slid to caress his face, then slid away, her profile serene.

“I try never to let ignorance stand in my way.”

Down on the green, Esfandiyar was waving his arms to them, and Wolfram straightened, pleased to see the groom leading a few horses. “Coming, Melody?”

Hesitating, she looked to Faedre. “I think I would prefer to stay here. There is much to be learned.”

“Indeed, Melody, I shall be happy to continue our conversations.” Faedre took her arm. “We shall allow the men to take this adventure.”

Wolfram paused, considering the pair of them. “Then I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, brother.” Both bowed their heads to him, and they turned to go together, even the sway in their strides seeming to grow more alike.

Watching them go, Wolfram felt a twinge of doubt, but he shook it off. Melody would take care of herself, and Faedre was very affectionate toward her. She’d be sharing stories of her father, no doubt—and wasn’t that what she really wanted? He spun on his heel and found the stairs going down.

The Hemijrani horses were small and light-boned, tossing their delicate necks. They looked ready to run, taking the tightest of curves with no loss of speed. Wolfram had not ridden for over six months, but his head stopped throbbing at the sight of the horses; here was a chance for speed, for a small measure of freedom. He’d soon find out if Esfandiyar and his guards could keep up.

Once in the saddle, they were led to a large, arched gate that gave way onto a road following the wall of the palace. “What is it you would wish to see?” Esfandiyar asked, his voice resigned, his round face showing his distaste for this mode of transport.

“One of your villages.” Then he thought of something else. “And that river where we stopped yesterday—I slept through it, and I understand it was quite lovely.”

“This way, then.” Esfandiyar relayed his instructions to the two men with them, one of whom trotted up to take the lead.

“Down the main road, eh?”

“No, no over here—” He drew breath for more, but Wolfram turned his horse’s head for the main road and leaned down over its blood-bay neck. He tested his boots in the strangely shaped stirrups. Esfandiyar seemed to sense what he was about and cried out a warning, but Wolfram set his heels to the horse’s flanks and called wordless encouragement to its pricked ears. It did not need to be asked twice. With a few strides, they’d overtaken the leader, and flew along in the shadow of the wall, the dark mane flicking his face, wind rushing over his body. Wolfram whooped with laughter.

One of the guards came up alongside, riding hard, his face intent on Wolfram’s. With a nod, Wolfram grinned, and nudged his horse a little harder. He saw the answering grin for the briefest moment as his mount sprang away.

Reveling in the bunch and stretch of the animal beneath him, Wolfram led the way. Occasionally the young guard took the lead, but the blood-bay horse wouldn’t let him have it long. The horse’s mane lashed tears from Wolfram’s eyes, so that he finally pulled up as they plunged down the slope at the front of the palace. They’d burst into a stream of wagons headed up from the fields, startling the stolid oxen and eliciting shouts from the nearly naked peasants who led them. Wolfram and his companion trotted a while to settle the horses and drew up in the shade of a tall clump of spiky trees to wait for the distant figure of Esfandiyar, bouncing awkwardly on his mount.

The guard, only a few years older than Wolfram, grinned again, panting with the joy of the race. He gestured at Wolfram and spoke a few words. Wolfram shrugged his incomprehension, and the other man nodded amiably. From one of the brass knobs that decorated his saddle, the guard pulled up a leather bottle on a thong. He popped the cork and offered it to Wolfram, first taking a tiny sip himself and smiling.

Wolfram accepted the flask and took a swallow of something sweet and strongly alcoholic. He shook his head as the stuff hit him, then returned the smile, and took another swig. From the guard’s excited chatter, Wolfram gathered that he had trained the horses they rode and was proud of their performance.

When at last Esfandiyar joined them, Wolfram had learned the guard’s name—Dawsiir—and half the vocabulary he’d require to get a job at the stables. The priest’s face bent into a frown, and he started in on a lecture to Dawsiir, who immediately dropped his face and gaze from Wolfram, losing all trace of his excitement.

“It’s not his fault, you know, I started it. He was just trying to keep up with me.”

“No, Highness Wolfram, among our duties is to keep you safe, and this race might have broken your neck.” Esfandiyar glowered at him. “That would be to place me in a most uncomfortable position.”

“Forgive me, Esfandiyar, I had not considered your position,” Wolfram replied with all the grace he could muster—a good deal, from the changing expression on the priest’s puzzled face. “Perhaps you and your man should set the pace.” He offered them the lead, and Esfandiyar accepted, turning their horses out onto the road.