Tigana (57 page)

Baerd was very still. ‘Long enough,’ he echoed finally, and something in his voice sent a chill into Devin. ‘Eanna
light your path through the Ember Days and beyond.’ He paused, glanced at Erlein. ‘All three of you.’

Alessan’s expression spoke a world of things. ‘And yours, the three of you,’ was all he said though, before he turned his horse and started away to the west.

Following him, Devin glanced back once and saw that Baerd had not moved. He sat astride his horse watching them, and the sunlight fell on his hair and beard burnishing them back towards the golden colour Devin remembered from their first meeting. He was too far away for his expression to be discerned.

Devin raised a hand in farewell, palm spread wide and then, surprised and gladdened, saw Erlein abruptly do the same.

Baerd lifted one arm high in salute to them, then twitched his horse’s reins and turned north to ride away.

Alessan, setting a steady pace into the setting sun, did not look back at all.

P  A  R  T    F  O  U  R
T H E  P R I C E  O F  B L O O D

C H A P T E R   1 3

S
ome time before dawn—she wasn’t sure what hour it was—Dianora rose from bed and walked to the windows overlooking her balcony. In the end, she had not slept all night. Neither, as it happened, had her brother, a very long way to the south, fighting in the Ember war and then sharing the beginning of spring on a hilltop won from the Darkness.

She herself had shared nothing with anyone that night, lying alone in her bed, visited by ghosts and memories. Now she looked out upon a cold darkness that had little in it of springtime or the promise of growth to come. The late stars still shone though the moon had long since set. A wind blew in from off the sea. She could just make out the banners flapping from the masts of the ships in the harbour beyond the Ring Dive pier.

One of those ships was newly in from Ygrath. It had carried Isolla the singer here. It would not carry her back.

‘Khav, my lady?’ Scelto said quietly from behind her.

She nodded without turning. ‘Please. And then come sit with me, we have something to talk about.’ If she moved quickly enough, she thought, if she set it all in motion without giving herself time for hesitation or fear, she might possibly do this thing. Otherwise she was lost.

She could hear Scelto bustling efficiently in the small kitchen that was a part of her suite of rooms. The fire had
been kept going all night. Ygrath might not observe the same spring and autumn rituals as the Palm, but Brandin had seldom interfered with local customs or religion, and Dianora never lit a new flame on any of the Ember Days. Neither did most of the women in the saishan, if it came to that. The eastern wing of the palace would be a dark place after sunset for two more nights.

She thought about stepping out on the balcony, but it looked much too cold. There were no signs of life yet down below. She thought about Camena di Chiara. At sunrise they would probably bring him out, his bones broken, to die on a wheel in the sight of the people. She turned her mind away from that image too.

‘Here is the khav,’ Scelto said. ‘I made it very strong,’ he added awkwardly.

She did turn at that, and her heart ached a little to see the helpless worry in his eyes. She knew how he would have grieved for her last night. The marks of sleeplessness were in his face; she supposed they were in her own as well. She could guess how she must look this morning. She forced a smile and accepted the mug he offered. It was warm to her hand and comforting, even before she drank.

She sat in one of the chairs by the window and motioned him to the other. He hesitated a moment and then sat down. She was silent, weighing her words. She realized, abruptly, that she had no idea how to do this subtly. So much, she thought wryly, for the cynical manipulator of the court.

Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Scelto, I need to be out on the mountain this morning alone. I know all of the difficulties, but I have my reasons and they are important. How can we arrange it?’

His smooth brow furrowed. He said nothing though, and she realized that he was thinking about an answer to her question, not trying to judge or understand it. She had
feared a different sort of reaction, but realized, belatedly, that she should not have. Never with him.

He said, ‘It will depend on whether they do the mountain run today.’

Her heart swelled with love for him. He hadn’t even asked her reasons. ‘Why would they not run it?’ she asked stupidly, and realized the answer even as he replied.

‘Camena,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if the King will allow the spring run on the same day as an execution. If they
are
doing the race then you will be invited to come watch the ending from the King’s pavilion in the meadow as you always are.’

‘I have to be alone,’ she repeated. ‘And up the mountain.’

‘Alone with me,’ he modified. It was almost a plea.

She sipped her khav. This was the difficult part. ‘Some of the way, Scelto,’ she said. ‘There is a thing I must do there by myself. I will have to leave you partway up.’

She watched him wrestle with that. Before he could speak she added, ‘I would not say this if it were not necessary. There is no one I would rather have by my side.’

She did not say what it was necessary
for
and she saw him fighting to hold back the question. He did hold it back though, and she knew what it would have cost him.

He rose. ‘I’ll have to find out what is happening then. I’ll be back soon. If they are running we will at least have an excuse to be outside. If they aren’t, we’ll have to think further on this.’

She nodded gratefully and watched him go, neat and trim, infinitely reassuring in his competence. She finished her khav, looking out the window. It was still dark outside. She walked into the other room to wash and dress herself, doing so with some care, knowing it might matter today. She chose a simple brown woollen robe, and belted it at the waist. This was an Ember Day, not a time for splendour of apparel. There was a hood to hide her hair; that too might matter.

By the time she was done Scelto had returned. He had a queer expression on his face.

‘They are running,’ he said. ‘And Camena is not going to be executed on the wheel.’

‘What happened to him?’ she asked, feeling an instinctive dread.

Scelto hesitated. ‘The word is being put about that he has been granted a merciful death already. Because the actual conspiracy was from Ygrath and Camena was merely a victim, a tool.’

She nodded. ‘And what has really happened?’

Scelto’s face was troubled. ‘This may be a thing you were better not to know, my lady.’

It probably was, she thought. But she had come too far in the night, and had too far yet to go. This was no morning for sheltering, or trying to seek shelter. ‘Perhaps,’ was all she said. ‘But I would prefer you to tell me, Scelto.’

He said, after a moment: ‘I have been told that he is going to be … altered. Rhun is growing old and the King must have a Fool. It is necessary to have one in readiness, and it can take a long time, depending on the circumstances.’

The circumstances,
Dianora thought, sickened. Such as whether the Fool-in-waiting had been a healthy, gifted, normal young man with a love of his home.

Even understanding what the Fools of Ygrath were to their Kings, even grasping that Camena had forfeited his life by what he had done yesterday, she still could not stop her stomach from turning at the implications of Scelto’s words. She remembered Rhun hacking at Isolla’s body yesterday. She remembered Brandin’s face. She forced her mind away from that. She couldn’t afford to think about Brandin this morning. In fact, she was better off not thinking about anything at all.

‘Have I been summoned yet?’ she asked tersely.

‘Not yet. You will be.’ She could hear tension in his voice; the news about Camena had evidently disturbed him as well.

‘I know I will,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we can wait though. If I go out with the others it will be impossible to slip away. What do you think would happen if we two tried to walk down together now?’

Her tone was steady and calm; Scelto’s face grew thoughtful. ‘We can try,’ he said after a moment.

‘Then come.’

Her fear was very simple: if she waited too long, or considered this too much she would be paralysed by doubt. The thing was to move, and to keep on moving, until she reached a certain place.

What would happen then, if anything, she would leave to the Triad’s grace.

Her heart beating rapidly, she followed Scelto out of her rooms and into the main saishan corridor. The first thin streaks of light were showing now through the windows at the eastern end. The two of them went the other way, passing two young castrates who were moving towards Vencel’s rooms. Dianora looked straight at them. She was pleased—for the first time—to see fear spark in the eyes of both of the boys. Today fear was a weapon, a tool, and she would need all the tools she could find.

Scelto led her, not hurrying, down the wide stairway towards the double doors that led to the outside world. She caught up to him just as he rapped. When the guard outside opened she stepped through without waiting for his challenge or Scelto’s announcement. She fixed him with a cool glance as she went by, and saw his eyes widen as he recognized her. She began walking down the long hallway. As she went past the other guard she saw that he was the young one she’d smiled at yesterday. Today she did not smile.

Behind her she heard Scelto speak one quick, cryptic sentence, and then another in answer to a question. Then she heard his footsteps coming down the corridor. A moment later the door swung shut behind them. Scelto caught up to her.

‘I think it will take a brave man to stop you today,’ he said quietly. ‘They all know what happened yesterday. It is a good morning to be trying this.’

It was the
only
morning she would ever be trying this, Dianora thought.

‘What did you tell them?’ she asked, continuing to walk.

‘The only thing I could think of. You are going to a meeting with d’Eymon about what happened yesterday.’

She slowed a little, considering that, and as she did, the glimmerings of a proper plan came to her, like the first faint illumination of the sun rising in the east above the mountains.

‘Good,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘Very good, Scelto. That is exactly what I’m doing.’ Two other guards walked past them, taking no notice at all. ‘Scelto,’ she said, when they were alone again, ‘I need you to find d’Eymon. Say I want to speak with him alone before we all go out this afternoon for the end of the race. Tell him I’ll be waiting in the King’s Garden two hours from now.’

Two hours might or might not be enough; she didn’t know. But somewhere in the vast expanse of the King’s Garden on the north side of the palace she knew there was a gate that led out to the meadows, and then the slopes of Sangarios beyond.

Scelto stopped, forcing her to do the same.

‘You are going to go without me, aren’t you?’ he said.

She would not lie to him. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘I expect to be back in time for that meeting. After you give him the message go back to the saishan. He doesn’t know we’re out already, so he’ll have to send for me. Make sure the message goes directly to you, I don’t care how.’

‘They usually do,’ he said quietly, clearly unhappy.

‘I know that. When he does send we’ll have our excuse for being out. Two hours from now come back down yourself. I should be in the garden with him. Look for us there.’

‘And if you aren’t?’

She shrugged. ‘Stall. Hope. I
have
to do this, Scelto, I told you.’

He looked at her a moment longer, and then nodded his head once. They went on. Just before reaching the sweep of the Grand Staircase on their left Scelto turned right and they went down a smaller stairwell to the ground level. It brought them out into another east–west corridor. There was no one there. The palace was only just beginning to stir.

She looked over at Scelto. Their eyes met. For a fleeting moment she was sorely tempted to confide in him, to make an ally of a friend. What could she say, though? How explain in the middle of a dawn corridor the dark night and the train of years that had led her here?

She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘Go now,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right.’

Without looking back she walked alone a little way down the hallway, pushed open the two glass doors leading to the labyrinth of the King’s Garden, and went out into the grey, cold beginning of dawn.

It hadn’t always been known as the King’s Garden, nor had it always been as wild as it was now. The Grand Dukes of Chiara had shaped this pleasure ground for themselves over successive generations, and it had changed over the years as tastes and styles in the Island court had changed.

When Brandin of Ygrath had first arrived it had been a glittering exercise in topiary: hedges artfully trimmed in the shapes of birds and animals, trees precisely spaced and arranged throughout the enormous walled expanse of the garden, wide walks with sculpted benches at easy intervals, each one under a sejoia planted for fragrance and shade.
There had been one tidy box-hedged maze with a lovers’ seat at the centre, and rows and rows of flowers carefully arrayed in complementary colours.