The Singer's Crown (26 page)

“Finistrel knows I would like to see my father and sister live long and happy lives, but that seems to be out of my hands, or even yours. What I am trying to do is encourage you to apply some of that skepticism to a man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. If, for any reason, you must leave here, go to Orie and watch him. If he trusts you, you may be the only one in a position to stop him from taking another kingdom.”

Fionvar's dark eyes flashed as he considered the wounded man. “I am not sure what to make of you. Or why I should not recommend that you be treated like the traitor you may be.”

“You should not because I believe in Kattanan as much as you do. I will do everything in my limited power to see that he regains his kingdom. In order to do that, I need as much freedom as you can afford me. I would love to have you trust me, but I will cast doubt on myself if some is cast on Orie as well.”

“Why did you think I would listen to even this much?”

“Because you are a man who is willing to take incredible risks for the sake of what is right.” He met the other man's gaze for a long while before Fionvar rose and left without saying another word.

AFTER THREE
days of the duchess's increased urgency, escape to the North Room was a welcome change, even if it was only to do more reading. Flanked by two guards, Kattanan bent over a volume of legends, rubbing his eyes.

Brianna, watched him with concern. “Perhaps Your Majesty would like to attend temple tonight?”

He looked up, but one of the guards said shortly, “The priestess may attend His Majesty in his room, if he wishes.”

“She thinks it best I worship in solitude,” Kattanan said, “as befits a king.”

“She is taking this a little far, I think.” Brianna put down her needle and stood. “Would His Majesty accompany me in the gardens?”

The guard cleared his throat and stared down at her.

“Forgive me, but I have not had much time with my betrothed lately. Naturally, we would wish you to be with us.”

The guards moved aside uneasily as Kattanan rose. Brianna put out her hand expectantly, and he hesitated, then slipped it over his arm. She nodded, and the pair set out through the tall door. They walked along the grass, turning at the end of a bower of flowering trees. “Run,” Brianna whispered, grasping his hand and gathering her skirts as she sprinted through a gap in the trees. He kept pace with her through a series of turns until she finally dropped his hand to scramble up makeshift steps over a wall. Kattanan followed, crouching beside her in the tumbledown enclosure. She gestured urgently for silence as the guards' shouting receded, then sat back and smiled. “A little place of peace, Majesty.”

He settled back against the stone. “They will find us.”

“Then you'd best enjoy it while you can.” She took his hand more gently this time. “How have you been?”

“I am so tired. I wake and go to lessons, then court, then sword lessons.” He looked down at his hand, rubbing together new calluses. “I have not been to temple since I came here.”

“Well, the priestess is foul-tempered and a poor singer.”

He flinched and slipped his hand away from her.

“There is no reason you cannot still sing,” she said.

“That is over,” he said sharply.

“Forgive me, I thought it might help.”

Kattanan shook his head. “I am to leave that behind me.”

“Our grandmother's words? Surely she can see that you must have something beyond studying.”

“She herself thinks of nothing but this; why should I?”

“She does what she believes to be for the best. Sometimes one of us must point out that there are other ways.”

“Fionvar tried to do that before he rode for Lochdale. I think it's worse now.”

She looked away. “Fionvar has lost her favor. I believe I still have it, and if you think a word from me would help…”

“I—Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and a small bird perched on the wall across from them, cocking its head first one way, then the other. “Am I interrupting, Majesty, my lady?” it inquired, with the wizard's voice.

Brianna frowned a little. “How close are the guards?”

“I sent them in another direction.” The bird fluttered down, shifting into the more familiar form. “I am sorry to intrude, but I have had a strange message.” She plucked a scrap of paper from her pouch and handed it over.

“Greetings, good wizard,” the note began. “When I arrived here, you offered me a game I did not expect. I may be interested in taking up that challenge, if the offer stands. I await your leisure to visit and share the rules with me. Yours, Wolfram.”

Brianna handed it back. “That is certainly strange, what does he mean?”

“It is meant to get past the guards who have orders to read his messages,” the wizard explained. “He regrets that he has not been allowed to write to Your Majesty. I believe he wants me to heal him.”

At this, the young man started. “You can do that?”

“I can, but it is not easy, and I would rather not have this talent widely known.”

“Then why are you telling us?” Brianna asked.

“Because I also need help. I have a way to go to him past the guards, but I will need”—she paused, looking at Kattanan—“I will need your blessing, Majesty.”

“If you can heal him without any other harm to him, please do.”

The wizard went on, “The way of healing is not unlike the way of bonding, as might be done for an apprentice; it requires blood to be effective. But he will be uninjured when I am through. I don't need your permission, Majesty, but your blessing in the original sense.”

“But I'm not holy,” he pointed out.

“It doesn't matter what you are not. You are the last person blessed by the Liren-sha, and your own good wishes may help you share a bit of that blessing with me.”

“If it helps Wolfram, I would do anything.”

The wizard nodded briefly. “Press one finger here.” She indicated the center of her forehead. “Say, ‘Blessed be she who does this work tonight, alone, unbound. Let her be blessed.'” The wizard shut her eyes as he took a deep breath and followed the instructions. A smile crept to her lips, then vanished as he withdrew his hand, glancing toward Brianna. “Thank you, Majesty. The other message was from my apprentice, Orie, who reports that he parted ways with his mistress over two weeks ago and has reason to believe she went to Lochalyn. He claims not to have said too much to her, but it seems to have been enough for her to bargain with your enemies.”

A commotion over the wall made her fall silent, then, with a glance toward the pair, she rose and her form once again shifted. The little bird fluttered away as the first guard's head appeared over the wall.

 

“SIRE,” JORDAN
gasped. He cried out as the lash snapped once more. “I can say nothing.” His head drooped low against his bare chest.

Thorgir glowered down on his prisoner, raising the lash again. “I would have expected the Liren-sha to have a greater tolerance for pain.”

“Few have been near enough to hurt me, Sire.” He raised his gaze to his outstretched right arm, to the scars at his wrist and the new ones in the making.

“What, as poor a swordsman as you are?”

“Even so.” He took as deep a breath as he could. “Perhaps you could just kill me and have done.”

“Why, that would hardly be fitting reward for him who saved my daughter from the sorry state she was in. Am I not a merciful man?”

“If I got the chance to know you—”

“Do they have Rhys?”

“Who?” Jordan asked, with genuine confusion. He tried to focus his eyes on the toe of one of the silent guards, but winced at the effort.

“I should have buried him when I had the chance.”

“But you are a merciful man?”

“Mercy? What I did to him was no mercy!” The lash fell again, but not as sharply, as the king reached a hand to his crown. “It was my last triumph over a doomed woman.”

“Your last,” Jordan echoed.

“I do not understand,” said the king, striking once more, “how you can keep up a conversation while you are being tortured.”

“Sheer bloody-mindedness.” He mustered a crooked smile.

The heavy door swung back, allowing a shaft of light from the hall to merge with that of the flickering torches. “Your Majesty,” a new voice greeted Thorgir, “please forgive my intrusion.” He bowed deeply and grinned.

“What is it?”

“I heard that your guest was being a bit…reticent. I thought I might offer my services to Your Majesty.”

“Please!” He ushered in the newcomer. “Do you require anything special?”

He looked down on the Liren-sha. “A mallet and a stone chisel,” Montgomery directed. “Oh, and a chopping block, if you have one.”

“I need him alive, for the time being.”

“As you wish, Sire. Anything for my king.” Torchlight glinted from his spurs.

 

WOLFRAM LAY
awake in his room, eyes turned toward the door through which he could hear the guards' shifting on their watch and the occasional whisper of their conversation. His shoulder ached insistently, tempting him to a bit of the healer's philter that had been left by his bedside. Instead, he whispered a prayer reserved for dark moments and tried to lie still. A soft rattle and creak from the window made him turn sharply, doing his shoulder no good. A pale wash of moonlight showed the latch turning, slipping free. The window opened wide to admit a slender shadow.

“Greetings,” the prince murmured.

“And to you, Wolfram.” The wizard shut the door behind her and approached him. “The guards will not hear us.”

“That is a relief.”

“You want me to heal you.”

“Yes, I do. I cannot lie abed while so many others march for a noble cause.”

The wizard laughed. “Are you as idealistic as you seem?”

“No,” he replied. “More so.”

“Even if you are well, there is no guarantee they will let you out. Besides, the healing is not a painless thing, Wolfram. Are you sure you want to go through it?”

“I'm sure I have been through worse.” He smiled lightly.

“Indeed.” She knelt at his bedside and stared into his eyes. “You know that I made your father sick, Wolfram. Why do you trust me to heal you?”

“Trust is the most valuable gift any person can give to another, even when he has no other gifts. Finistrel said that our enemies are only friends whom we have not thought to trust.”

The wizard frowned at him. “That makes no sense. Trusting an enemy delivers you into his hands to do with as he will.”

“Do you still have reason to believe that I am your enemy, or that you are mine?”

“To question a wizard is to gamble with your life.”

“This is no gamble, my friend.”

“You do not know me, Highness. I am worthy of no man's trust.”

“Then you do not know yourself, my lady. Why are you here?”

“To heal you.”

“Why? Am I of any use to you? Have I done you any service? No.”

“Because you did not deserve this, and I am partly to blame for it.”

“Justice, then, and kindness, a sense of responsibility, perhaps of using your talents to help one in need. I wish more people were as ‘unworthy' as you are.”

They were silent for a long time, then the wizard said, “I will need to lay hands upon the wound.”

“So be it.”

She slipped a slender knife from her sleeve and carefully cut away the bandages.

As she did so, Wolfram inquired, “Can you tell me how the healing works?”

“There is not much to tell, short of teaching you how to do it. I will guide your blood to bring together the muscles and skin. If there were bones damaged, I could do nothing for you.”

“Then I am indeed fortunate.”

“The act itself is very painful, and there is no way I can lessen that, but the pain will recede once I lift my hand, though you will still be weak.” She sat on the edge of the bed and rolled back her sleeves. “Are you ready?”

“I am. Goddess be with us.”

“Indeed.” She pressed her hand over the wound and made no sound. Wolfram shut his eyes tightly and wept to keep from screaming.

THE NEXT
morning it was Fionvar and a dozen armed guards who roused Kattanan from his borrowed room. The captain shared nothing, but the intensity of his silence convinced Kattanan that the time had come. He chose his finest garb and, with a wince toward the crown bearer, was escorted to court without breakfast.

“Greetings, Grandson,” the duchess said, rising with a curtsy and a broad smile.

Brianna did likewise. She now had a seat beside his throne, which she perched upon uneasily. Kattanan took his place, frowning a little when Fionvar moved to stand behind the throne. “Please, take your comfort,” he said, gesturing for the assembled people to seat themselves. After two weeks, the words felt almost natural.

“Your Majesty,” the duchess began, again with a curtsy, “I am pleased to inform you that our time of waiting is done.” A cheer rose from the court, bringing another smile to her lips. “Our armies are preparing to join us to at last serve the Lady's Justice and cast down the Usurper!” Another cheer. “If Your Majesty has no objection, we ride tomorrow.” The smile stayed, but her gaze was heavy upon him.

“I can find no reason to delay,” he said hesitantly, “nor would I wish to. Fourteen years is a long time to spend away from home.”

The duchess beamed as the assembly shouted once more. The courtiers, expatriate lords and ladies of the former reign, embraced one another and called out blessings to their young king. When the commotion had died down, the duchess announced, “Those among you who have not yet done so are invited to pledge fealty to King Rhys. As to the rest, make ready to ride home!” She raised her fist high.

Some of the crowd filed out the doors as others formed a line to be received by the king. Kattanan leaned over to Brianna. “Is there someone who can bring me a meal?”

“You've not eaten?”

“I slept late today. She was drilling this moment with me halfway to dawn.”

She smiled ruefully. “I'll find someone, or fetch it myself.” Brianna slipped out of her chair, almost colliding with Fionvar. The color left her cheeks, and she looked away quickly. “Sorry,” she murmured, then ducked her head and hurried off.

Kattanan turned his attention to the growing line. At its head stood two men he did not recognize, both grinning as if they shared a joke. The herald summoned them forward, and both knelt before the king. When they raised their heads, the disguises slipped away, eliciting a gasp.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty, for this deception,” Wolfram said.

“Yes, certainly!” A smile broke across Kattanan's face as he looked from wizard to prince and back.

The wizard wore the clothing of a common foot soldier, her hair bound back out of her face. She did not smile, but watched him warily, letting her glance flicker toward the guards who had sprung forward at the surprise. Wolfram's tunic was torn, blood-spattered, but the flesh beneath was traced with only the faintest of scars. His eyes betrayed exhaustion, but the prince held himself like royalty.

“We did not know you were well enough,” the duchess sputtered, eyes narrowed. “This cannot be allowed, Majesty, surely you see—”

“I have come to swear fealty,” Wolfram said. He drew from his belt an arrow, its feathers battered and shaft stained. “In lieu of a sword, I beg leave to swear upon this. When I stood falsely accused, I was struck by two arrows. This one must stand in for that which flew closer to my heart.” He looked up into Kattanan's face. “If you are in need, Your Majesty, let my hand serve you. If you are besieged, let my sword defend you. If you are lost, let my steps guide you. If you are silenced, let my voice pray for you. If you are wounded, let my heart bleed for you. Your mercy delivered me; let me stand by you for the chance to repay my deliverance.” He held the arrow out. The duchess started forward, but Kattanan place his hands over Wolfram's.

“I accept your sword and service, and thank the Goddess for them. In return, I grant you free passage in my kingdom, and all such aid and honor as befits the honor you do me.” The rote words came suddenly to life.

“Blessed be.”

“I already am,” Kattanan whispered.

The grip held a moment longer, then Wolfram rose, bowed again, and took a seat in the circle. The guards watched him closely; with no order given, they did not move.

Duchess Elyn, too, was watching, but stepped back to her chair and met Wolfram's eyes. He bowed from the waist and tucked the arrow through his belt.

“I have never sworn fealty to any man. I do not intend to do so now,” the wizard announced. “However, until the wrongs done you are made right, I will serve you.”

Kattanan looked at her for a long time, and when he answered, his voice said all that his words could not. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Majesty.” She rose and left the room.

In the wake of the first, the other oaths seemed dry and meaningless, especially as the morning wore on. Kattanan bore it well, with frequent glances toward Wolfram, who smiled gently and did not leave. The minutes passed slowly, until only the guards and a handful of courtiers remained. The herald stepped out to close court, but was forestalled by a look from the captain. Fionvar extricated himself from his post and came to kneel before the throne.

He slid his sword from its sheath and rested both hands upon it. “Your Majesty, I have not yet made my oath, though I trust you know my fealty.”

“Yes, Captain,” Kattanan replied. He tentatively set his hands upon the other's, watching him with worried eyes.

“I would ride with you to meet your enemies. I would stay with you to drink your health. I would hold only Finistrel above you, and, if I should go to greet the stars, I would do so in your service.”

A commotion at the front of the chamber made both men turn to look. Helmet in hand, Lyssa burst into the room, shaking off a concerned chamberlain. “Forgive my lateness. I was only now informed that Your Majesty sat for oaths.” She glared at her brother. Red hair flowed over her armor-clad shoulders, and her eyes flashed. She marched up and dropped to one knee.

Kattanan began to protest, but Fionvar said, “I have finished, Majesty.”

“Then I accept your sword and service. Goddess walk with you.”

“And with you, Majesty.” Fionvar got out of the way.

“I come before you as a Sister of the Sword”—she drew a long blade and clasped it before her—“to pledge my soul, mind and body to whatever service Your Majesty requires of me.” She smiled a dazzling smile, which grew a little when he covered her hands with his.

“I accept your sword and service. Goddess walk with you.”

“And with you, Your Majesty.” Catching sight of Wolfram, Lyssa quickly changed course to sit by him.

The herald looked around carefully before announcing, “The oath-making is done.” He rapped his staff against the floor, bowed sharply, and left.

Kattanan sank back into his throne with a sigh.

“Well done, Majesty,” the duchess said. “Was that part about going home your own invention?” He nodded weakly. “Well done indeed.” She let out a chuckle. “Then it is finally begun.” Lyssa's laughter caught her attention, and she frowned. “You should not have accepted his service. He was a traitor to his last king, his own father. Why expect better from him?”

“His oath was freely given, Excellency, and I do not believe he is a traitor to anyone.” Kattanan's voice was soft, and he did not look at her.

Wolfram bowed to both of them. “Good day, Excellency. Did I hear my name?”

“You are healed. How?” the duchess demanded.

“A gift from the Goddess so that I can better serve my king.” He smiled. “She cares for those who serve her wholeheartedly.”

“What is there between you and the wizard?”

“Friendship, Excellency. And I needed her aid to come here today. Your guards are polite, but firm about their orders.”

“As well they should be.” She glowered at him, then at Fionvar. “From now on, you do not leave his side. Prove to me that you are worthy of my trust. Much as I hate to admit it, you are both important here. Come, Brianna, there are still preparations to be made.”

The lady rose and curtsied to Kattanan, sharing his worried look. “I am coming, Grandmother.” The two exited by the far door.

“Is there something else I am supposed to do?” Kattanan looked to Fionvar.

“There are servants to see to your things, Majesty. And to the cleanup here. We must assume that our enemies are even now finding out about this place.”

“Jordan would never reveal us,” Lyssa protested.

“Not willingly.” The siblings locked eyes for a moment.

“Then this is the last time we will be in this place?” Kattanan asked. Fionvar nodded. “Can we walk the grounds before we go?”

“I don't see why not. We can even leave the entourage behind, if Your Majesty prefers.”

“He does.” The young man stood, leaving his cup behind.

As Fionvar lead the foursome toward the door, Lyssa glanced at Kattanan. “That voice, that's what Jordan sounded like when he was younger, isn't it?”

Kattanan nodded. “His voice has deepened since last we met.”

Lyssa's armor gleamed from the polish she had put to it. Sunlight picked out runes etched around her gorget and down the breastplate—words from the Book of the Goddess. Beside her, Wolfram knelt to touch the earth and took a deep breath. To their curious expressions, he said, “You have no idea how good it feels to be outside again.”

“Yes,” Kattanan replied, “I do.”

“You'll both have had enough of it by the time we reach Lochdale. Much as I want this battle met, I do not look forward to the tents and the long days.” Fionvar sighed. “Which way do we go, Majesty?”

“This way, toward the temple.”

Fionvar narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I will be fine,” he replied, without conviction.

“The Temple of the Sisterhood, you mean? Did Brianna take you?” Lyssa asked. “She thought of becoming one of us, you know, before she decided her path led a different way.” She looked at her brother, then the king, with questioning eyebrows.

“She seems well pleased with the path she has chosen,” Fionvar said, “as would any lady set to marry a king.”

“No doubt she shall grow to love him as she does you,” Wolfram said, matching Fionvar's disinterested tone.

The other turned to him sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

“You and your sister are speaking as if to conceal something all of us here already know. Unless someone here begins to speak openly, we shall all die of secrets.”

“There you are wrong. Every secret you learn brings you one step closer to death. You and I are already on borrowed time, and it will be due with interest. The most I can hope for is that I am allowed my freedom until the battles are over.”

“Who would raise a hand against you, Fion? The soldiers here worship you, and the duchess thinks—” Lyssa objected.

“The duchess thinks I am dangerous.” Fionvar started walking again.

Lyssa grunted, then eyed Wolfram. “You'll need a sword, at least, if you're to ride with us.”

“That may be too much to ask,” Fionvar said.

Glancing back at them, Kattanan asked, “He is sworn to my service, is he not? I would not have him march into battle unarmed.”

Fionvar sighed. “I will arrange something, but the duchess will not approve.”

“I know,” Kattanan said softly. “No man in my service will come to harm without just cause.”

“I am not sure you have the power to guarantee that.” Fionvar's face was hard, closed. “There is more than one reason she would like to be rid of me.”

“If you fear for your life, why did you come back? Great Goddess, everyone who has anything to do with me is brought disaster in return. Look at you.” Kattanan gestured to Wolfram as the prince rubbed his newly mended shoulder.

“My disaster is my own, Kattanan,” said Wolfram. “If you had never come to Bernholt, I would not have escaped that place alive.”

“It was Rolf who saved you.”

“He would not have been there if not for you. I would have stood alone, and I would be dead. The Lady has brought us together for a reason, and we will not be parted until it is done. You say you bring us disaster; I say you bring us hope. We have all prayed for peace, for justice, for a way out of our own prisons. In you, we see those things closer than they have ever been. Like it or not, you have been touched by the Lady's hand, Kattanan. Trust me, if you cannot trust yourself. And trust Her.”

Lyssa's eyes shone as she listened to him, but Fionvar looked darker than ever. Kattanan stared at his friends.

Wolfram smiled. “Take one step to the Goddess, and She will take a dozen steps to meet you.” He rested a hand on the young man's shoulder. “Shall we walk?”

Kattanan nodded. The little group went on, silent, until they reached the disused temple. One by one, they ducked through the opening. Kattanan crossed to the place where he had fainted on his last visit, running his hands over the carved characters.

“This island served as a retreat for the Sisters,” Lyssa said. “I found it with Orie a long time ago. I think the privacy was what inspired him to bring the duchess here. After the war, I'd like to come back and tend the temple. Rather than seek the Lady's favor through marriage and motherhood, we dedicate ourselves to fighting and to other arts of strength. We are supposed to keep ourselves apart from men.” She noticed Wolfram's attention and hurried to add, “Of course, it's not forbidden to us, but we would have to leave the Order, laying aside our arms.” She gestured to the niches around the wall. From between the stones, the hilts of swords and hafts of axes stuck out, dark with age.

“The last of the Sisters,” Lyssa continued, “stayed to tend the fires here, carving prophecies the Goddess had given her. Here”—she crossed to the wall not far from Kattanan and pointed to a group of words carved somewhat deeper than the others—“this is her last writing. She has burned all her hair in the fire, and seen the face of the future, she says. She blesses those who come after her, and leaves to seek the face.” She rested a reverent hand on a stone set into the floor. “She placed her sword here, for whoever might come in need of one.” At this, Lyssa looked to Wolfram. “You are in need, are you not?”