Authors: Violette Malan
The Mirror Prince (38 page)
“Fundamentally the same, I swear it.” Cassandra could not look away from the warmth in his green eyes. “I
am
the only person you’ve ever known. I feel the same thing every time I see you. I felt it as Max, and I feel it now. You are the still center. The world comes into focus around you. Be patient, trust me a little longer, you will see.”
am
the only person you’ve ever known. I feel the same thing every time I see you. I felt it as Max, and I feel it now. You are the still center. The world comes into focus around you. Be patient, trust me a little longer, you will see.”
“They say the Prince Guardian has a voice like the Sun. It would make all things turn toward him.”
“Of a certainty this was so. Until the day they all turned away.” His whisper had a wintry chill. “Look in your heart,” he said. “Don’t you know that I speak the truth?”
Cassandra shut her eyes. Wasn’t this how everything started, with Diggory the Troll coming into her office and asking her the same question? She knew the answer now just as well as she’d known it then. She knew the truth of her own heart.
She pulled the dragon torque from her own neck and held it out to him.
Some time later, when they lay together, her head tucked into the curve of his neck, Max could tell that Cassandra was still awake. He shifted, raised himself on one elbow, traced the edges of her lips with his fingers.
“I don’t think I ever heard Lightborn say anything that was not the truth,” she said.
“There is nothing more likely, sword of my heart. Tell me, did he know your lineage, your Guidebeast? No, never mind. Knowing Lightborn, he knew all this and more about every Warden.”
“So? A Rider’s lineage is no secret.”
“All Dragonborn are truth seers, though they may deny what they see. That is why you have the name you bear. Your parents were of the old lineage, even as I am myself, and kept up the old ways, even though no Guidebeast has been seen since my youth. Lightborn knows these things as well or better than I, growing up as he did in his mother’s house. He would know to be careful what he said to you.”
“Do all Guidebeasts have such meanings?”
“More than that, much more.”
She nodded and rolled over, snuggled into him.
“We’ll have to go after them,” she murmured into the dark.
Yet she might be right not to trust him, Max thought, as he felt her breathing slow, her muscles relax into sleep. Like Lightborn, he had spoken only the truth to her. But, like Lightborn, he had left many truths unsaid. He had almost told her, but he could not burden her with the weight of his fears. If the Cycles were ending, this might be the only bit of happiness they could have. The Talismans had not denied him, had not forbidden his joining with her, but no one could be told all the truths about the Talismans. And though it bruised him, heart and soul, he was Guardian of the Talismans first, and the man who loved her second.
Chapter Sixteen
MOON LIFTED THE CLOUD Horse’s saddle from its stand and tossed it over the back of her horse. The animal shied slightly, shifting its delicate hooves. Moon tried stroking its flanks as she had seen the others do, but her trembling hands only seemed to make the animal more skittish. She glanced to where her sister and the Exile stood, Truthsheart checking how he had stowed his weapons. Moon’s jaw clenched. It did not escape her that they were never more than an arm’s length apart. If the Talismans
could
be found without him . . .
could
be found without him . . .
“How is it the Basilisk Prince has not found the Talismans?” Moon asked, pleased with how smooth and easy the words sounded. “The Vale is not so large a place, and he has his artisans working everywhere.”
At least that made the Exile lift his eyes from her sister’s face. Still, he hesitated as if he did not want to answer.
“They are not hidden in the sense you mean,” he said finally in his rough velvet voice.
“In what sense, then?”
“On the morning of the final battle, I took them to
Trere’if
that they might be safe. When I submitted to the Banishment, it was on condition that they remained where I had left them.”
Trere’if
that they might be safe. When I submitted to the Banishment, it was on condition that they remained where I had left them.”
Submitted
. Moon turned her face into her horse’s shoulder so that the Exile would not see the contempt she could not disguise. Submitted. As if he’d had a choice. He would not be so arrogant much longer. She would see to that.
. Moon turned her face into her horse’s shoulder so that the Exile would not see the contempt she could not disguise. Submitted. As if he’d had a choice. He would not be so arrogant much longer. She would see to that.
“Were you so sure that it was the final battle?” Truthsheart left the Exile’s side and came to Moon, patting her on the shoulder and reaching around her to attend to the saddle leathers Moon had left dangling.
“I knew from the beginning that I couldn’t win a war.”
“But then why fight it?” Moon let Truthsheart help her into the saddle, finding herself calmed and comforted by the touch of her sister’s hands. Curiosity warred with caution. There were a few of the old Songs that excused the Prince Guardian on the basis of madness. Was it possible that they told true?
“I didn’t think I was fighting a war.” The Exile pulled the last buckle tight on his own saddle, pushing his Cloud Horse’s interested nose out of his face as he did so. “I thought I was safeguarding the Talismans. That’s my task as Guardian.”
“But you could have died at any time. How could you protect the Talismans then?”
The Exile stepped into the stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle. For a moment it seemed that he would not speak, but finally he smiled, though Moon noticed that the smile did not touch his green eyes. “If I die, and the Talismans are safe, then I have succeeded.”
“That’s madness.” This time Moon spoke aloud, unable to contain her thoughts.
“Do
you
think so?” Clearly he now spoke to her sister. Moon held her breath, waiting for Truthsheart’s response.
you
think so?” Clearly he now spoke to her sister. Moon held her breath, waiting for Truthsheart’s response.
“Once I may have done,” Truthsheart said. “But, ‘the way of the warrior is death,’ ” she quoted.
The Exile nodded. “I would—I will—destroy myself and the Talismans also, rather than have their use perverted. And thus, I would succeed.”
“The Talismans are not yours to destroy!” The startled jerk of her hands caused her Cloud Horse to toss its head, whinnying.
“On the contrary,” the Exile said, “they are. People have always believed that I refused Dreamer of Time, the one you now call the Basilisk Prince, because there was bad blood between us—which there was.” This time the Prince’s smile did reach his eyes.
“And that wasn’t it?” Truthsheart leaned from her own seat on her mount’s back and tucked a curl of hair behind Moon’s ear. Again, Moon relaxed under the cool touch of her fingers, as she had done when she had been a child and her sister had soothed her.
She is
mine, Moon thought.
I must save her. If I can.
She is
mine, Moon thought.
I must save her. If I can.
“If all one had to do to become High Prince was offer oneself to the Talismans, there would be lineups around the block—people constantly vying for the privilege,” he added as Moon frowned at him. “But only the Talismans choose the High Prince. I would have turned down anyone who came, because the Talismans had not told me to seek anyone out.”
“The humans say that the best leader is the one who doesn’t want the job,” Truthsheart said.
“Humans are fond of speaking in metaphor, but in this instance they are right.”
“But why was this not explained? Why start the War?” Moon found herself unable to hide her anger. Was he saying that none of this need have happened? That her sister could have been at home all along?
“What makes you think I didn’t explain it?” The Prince looked at her with puzzlement, his brows drawn close together.
Moon shook her head. The Exile could no more answer a question straightly than could the Basilisk. They were two of a kind, partners in a dance that would destroy everything. “But we Move to the Talismans now?”
He gave a heavy sigh. “If they were exactly where I left them . . .” He closed his eyes. No,” he said, after a time. “The Vale has changed too much . . . and they might also have drifted in hiding themselves further.” He shook his head. “We’ll go to the Pass of
Welu’un,
and try entering the Basilisk’s Vale from there.”
Welu’un,
and try entering the Basilisk’s Vale from there.”
The Pass of
Welu’un
was high in the mountains to the windward of the Vale of
Trere’if,
and should have been a bare place of stunted heather and rocky outcrops. Max blinked back sudden tears when he saw the place thick with Trees and understood, from the strength of his relief at finding
Trere’if
alive if not whole and in his place, how much he had been dismayed by the news of the Natural’s destruction. It had been so large a blow, he now realized, that a part of him had simply put it aside, refusing to believe it. Naturals such as
Trere’if
were immeasurably old, living from Cycle to Cycle. The idea that
Trere’if
was gone had been too much for him to contemplate.
Welu’un
was high in the mountains to the windward of the Vale of
Trere’if,
and should have been a bare place of stunted heather and rocky outcrops. Max blinked back sudden tears when he saw the place thick with Trees and understood, from the strength of his relief at finding
Trere’if
alive if not whole and in his place, how much he had been dismayed by the news of the Natural’s destruction. It had been so large a blow, he now realized, that a part of him had simply put it aside, refusing to believe it. Naturals such as
Trere’if
were immeasurably old, living from Cycle to Cycle. The idea that
Trere’if
was gone had been too much for him to contemplate.
Even from the one large rock he had used as his guide in Moving, Max could feel the
dra’aj
of the Wood, cool, thick, vibrant, and yet a mere shadow of what they would be able to feel once they Rode their Cloud Horses under the Trees.
dra’aj
of the Wood, cool, thick, vibrant, and yet a mere shadow of what they would be able to feel once they Rode their Cloud Horses under the Trees.
“Is this the Great Wood?” Moon seemed to be especially nervous this morning; even her hair refused to lay flat where she had combed it.
“This is
Trere’if,
” he said. Something drew his eye upward and he saw, far overhead, an oddly familiar ribbon of motion as a flock of geese trailed across the sky, shifting leaders in midflight. The season was turning. More evidence, if he needed it, that the Cycle was reaching its cold end.
Let this be the Winter that comes before Spring,
he prayed, though he wasn’t sure to whom,
and not the Winter of all things
.
Trere’if,
” he said. Something drew his eye upward and he saw, far overhead, an oddly familiar ribbon of motion as a flock of geese trailed across the sky, shifting leaders in midflight. The season was turning. More evidence, if he needed it, that the Cycle was reaching its cold end.
Let this be the Winter that comes before Spring,
he prayed, though he wasn’t sure to whom,
and not the Winter of all things
.
A murmur of voices drew his attention back to Cassandra and her sister. The two sisters had been acting a little differently toward one another since they had shared their quick breakfasts that morning. Cassandra seemed more relaxed, smiling more easily, and touching her sister more than she had before, he thought, but Moon’s nervousness had increased, and her dislike of
him
seemed, if anything, worse. Contrary to what the Songs might tell about the effect of his voice, Max was used to finding that people disliked and distrusted him. His father had wanted him to know and understand his mother’s people, but often, as a young Rider, he’d thought that life would have been simpler if he had stayed with his father’s people, the Wild Riders, and kept to their ancient ways. At least, he thought with some amusement, they had a better understanding of what Solitaries really were, and he would not have been constantly explaining things.
him
seemed, if anything, worse. Contrary to what the Songs might tell about the effect of his voice, Max was used to finding that people disliked and distrusted him. His father had wanted him to know and understand his mother’s people, but often, as a young Rider, he’d thought that life would have been simpler if he had stayed with his father’s people, the Wild Riders, and kept to their ancient ways. At least, he thought with some amusement, they had a better understanding of what Solitaries really were, and he would not have been constantly explaining things.
Though, of course, none of that had mattered after the old Guardian came.
Max had thought that the Choosing would change everything for him. Before that, he hadn’t known what his place among his own people might be. His upbringing by Solitaries was too strange for most Riders to understand. His mother’s kin did not find it easy to accept him; no one doubted that he
was
his mother’s child—his
dra’aj
was proof of that—but his life was too sharp a reminder of her death. Even though most Riders did not actively distrust him, only a few, like Lightborn and the Basilisk himself before the Choosing, had been his friends, the beginnings of a
fara’ip
.
was
his mother’s child—his
dra’aj
was proof of that—but his life was too sharp a reminder of her death. Even though most Riders did not actively distrust him, only a few, like Lightborn and the Basilisk himself before the Choosing, had been his friends, the beginnings of a
fara’ip
.
At first, after years of living as the Solitaries do, it had been fun to have companions of his own age, of his own species, and he’d delighted in the similarities between himself and his friends, attitudes and abilities he had never found in the Solitary who had raised him, or the others he had met over the years of his early life. He remembered the special feeling of contentment that came from being within the group, a member of a troop. But it had taken him a while to realize that by such simple things as seeking solitude for his meditations, as he had been taught by his foster father, the Troll, he was regarded by his own people as eccentric at best, and deranged at worst. As time passed, these differences became more important to the other Riders, and Max found himself increasingly alone.
He’d thought that being chosen as the Guardian would change all that, would give him a real place in the Rider world, allowing people to accept him, giving him position and responsibility, a voice in affairs. He’d found, on the contrary, that the Guardian was the one Rider who was
truly
set apart, the one Rider who could not share his soul with any other, because he shared it with the Talismans themselves, becoming one with them. For the Prince Guardian, his
fara’ip was
the Talismans.
truly
set apart, the one Rider who could not share his soul with any other, because he shared it with the Talismans themselves, becoming one with them. For the Prince Guardian, his
fara’ip was
the Talismans.
Except he’d changed that now, he thought, touching the dragon torque around his neck, and catching Cassandra’s eye as she turned to him and smiled. Hadn’t he?
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