Shadows Return (5 page)

Alec rested his elbows on the parapet, taking in the scene. “I wonder what a real triumph would look like?”

“The soldiers deserve a welcome,” Micum told him. “And the rest are just glad to get their people home for the winter.”

Lady Kylith waved to them over the heads of the crowd and made her way through to join them, arm in arm with her current love, Captain Lillia of the Golden Lion Guard. Kylith, as usual, was clad in the height of fashion. Necklines were a bit higher this year, but her blue silk gown still managed to show off a generous expanse of pale bosom below the heavy netting of jewels that adorned her throat. More jewels sparkled brightly in her silver-streaked hair.

“Lady, how lovely you look!” Kari greeted her warmly. She wore jewels, too, but kept to the more modest fashions of the north, even after all her years in Skala. Illia excitedly showed off her new pearls.

“Sakor shows his favor for our queen, wouldn’t you agree, my lords?” Kylith remarked as she kissed Seregil and Alec in greeting.

“Lucky for her, and all of us, in these times of war, my lady.” Alec had always liked Kylith, even given her past with Seregil. Perhaps because it was hard to imagine; she looked old enough to be Seregil’s mother, while Seregil, a full-blood ’faie, probably looked as young as he had when they were lovers years ago. Whatever the case, she’d been among the first in noble society to make Alec feel welcome.

As they waited, he caught snatches of conversation on all sides as the crowd grew restless.

Apparently the war was slowly turning in the Skalans’ favor as the early onset of a northern winter brought down the curtain for another year.

At last priests emerged from the four temples and processed to the center of the square. The Illiorans wore their silver masks and swung huge censers, filing the square with billows of sacred incense. The priests of Astellus carried on their shoulders a miniature ship decked with harvest bounty. Valerius, at the head of the Dalnans, led a black bull decked with wheat and pomegranates, its horns gilded silver and gold.

The priests of Sakor were the last to emerge, bearing the huge golden Aegis of Sakor on a stand. Phoria followed them, resplendent in a long-trained gown of silver and white, and a war helm and breastplate of burnished gold that gave back the sun like a mirror.

Korathan escorted her, carrying the crown of Skala on a velvet cushion. Princess Aralain walked behind him with her eldest daughter, Princess Elani. Aralain should have been the successor, in the event of Phoria’s death, but she was too soft to wield the Sword in battle.

Alec squinted in the slanting afternoon light as he tried to make out Elani’s features. At this distance he had no more than an impression of a solemn young face under a coronet and a long fall of pale hair. Leaning over to Seregil, he asked softly, “What do you know about her?”

“Not much,” Seregil replied. “Phoria has been grooming her for battle. A hard education that will have been, too, with her in charge of it.”

Surrounded by the symbols of the Four and her powerful family, Phoria held up the Sword as she approached the bull to perform this year’s sacrifice.

“Phoria looks just like her mother from here,” Micum noted softly as the priests began the chants and prayers. “I still miss her.”

The words of the ceremony, or at least what Alec could make out at this distance, were similar to the investiture oath the queen gave each year on Mourning Night. She pledged to defend the land and uphold the will of the Four. When she was done, the priests pulled the docile bull’s head back and Phoria made the fatal swing. The animal did not struggle as the bright blood sprayed out across Phoria’s golden armor and the pavement in auspicious patterns.

More prayers followed.

Bored, Alec leaned on the railing, fretting with the gold rings he’d worn for the occasion. He hated jewelry; hated having to the play the role of a noble of no account like this. And as the ceremony dragged on, his mind wandered again to the simple life they’d so briefly shared, exiled up in the northern hills. At moments like this he wondered why he’d been so insistent on coming back.

Distracted, he didn’t see what caused the sudden commotion among the queen’s party.

Korathan had an arm around his sister, supporting Phoria as she pressed one hand to her brow.

“What happened?”

“A hawk came out of nowhere and struck her head,” Micum told him, frowning.

“An omen,” Captain Lillia muttered, crossing her fingers against ill luck.

“I’m no bird reader, but it doesn’t seem a good thing,” Kari murmured behind an upraised hand.

Seregil said nothing.

Order was soon restored, but an air of unrest hung over the crowd as Phoria continued the ceremony, exchanging her war helm for the crown.

When the ceremony was finally over, Phoria faced the people and raised the bloody Sword. In a voice trained to carry across battlefields, she declared, “By the Four, by the Flame and by the Light, I will defend Skala!”

The royal party moved on into the Temple of Illior, signaling the distribution of free ale and food to begin. Signs and omens were quickly forgotten as the festivities commenced.

Alec and the others went to Kylith’s for a feast. Micum and his family left early, but Seregil and Alec stayed, singing and drinking, and returned to Wheel Street late and drunk.

It was well past midnight, but they found the steward, Runcer, waiting for them in the salon with a royal herald.

“This man arrived for you at sundown, my lord,” he announced, and withdrew.

Seregil collapsed into an armchair and looked blearily up at the blue-clad messenger. “Well, well. What can she want with me at this hour?”

“I was sent by his Highness, the Vicegerent, with a message for you and Lord Alec of Ivywell,” the man replied. “You are commanded to attend the queen first thing tomorrow morning, in the Chamber of Judgment.”

Drunk as he was, Alec’s gut tightened at those words. “Are we being arrested?”

“If past experience is anything to go by, he wouldn’t send us a warning first.” Seregil chuckled. “Please, good sir herald, give my regards to his Highness, and assure him that we are honored by this invitation, and will do our best to be there.” The herald arched a brow at the flippant reply. “Go on, tell him. He won’t mind.”

“As you wish, my lord. From your lips to the Vicegerent’s ear.”

“You’re drunker than I thought,” Alec muttered, helping Seregil up to their room. “What were you thinking, sending a message like that?”

Seregil let out an inelegant snort and leaned on the wall while Alec fumbled with the bedroom latch. “Kor? He won’t care. And serves ’im right, calling us out at such a wretched hour, after a festival night. Mark my words; it’s her doing.”

He staggered inside and collapsed facedown on the bed. Before Alec could draw him out further on the matter, Seregil was snoring.

“Fine then. Sleep in your clothes,” Alec muttered, letting his own fall where they would as he followed.

If he’d been more sober himself, he’d probably have been more worried.

Those Who Serve at the Queen’s Displeasure  

B
Y THE TIME they rode to the Palace the next morning, Alec was sober enough to be worried and wine sick in equal measure. Even the weak early light made his head throb. Seregil, as usual, was feeling fine and didn’t seem particularly perturbed about the summons. They’d left Micum pacing the courtyard, clearly worried whether or not he would see them again.

“Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil, why did you let me drink so much?” Alec grumbled.

Seregil snickered. “ Let you? I seem to recall being told to ‘hand over the bottle or piss off’ at several points during the evening.”

“So you’re as immune to drink as you are to magic?”

“Hardly. I’ve just had better luck with drink. You’ve seen what magic does to me.” He raised a hand unconsciously to the faded scar hidden beneath his fine surcoat. “I’ll take a bad wine head any day.”

Alec’s horse missed a step on the worn cobbles and lurched. Alec’s belly did the same. “Easy for you to say.” He kept his real worries to himself as the dark bulk of the Palace loomed before them.

Built of black and grey stone and buttressed by the western wall that surrounded the city, with square towers overlooking the harbor below, it was as much fortress as castle, and one that had never been successfully taken. Alec had read the histories of how Queen Tamír the Great had built Rhíminee, guided by visions and the best builders in the land, after Plenimar had destroyed the original capital at Ero. The Orлska House had been built at the same time, but where it was airy and open, the Palace had a closed, oppressive feel.

At least we came in through the front door this time, thought Alec as a liveried servant led them through the large receiving hall and down a twisting series of corridors to a smaller, but no less imposing chamber.

This one was long and rather narrow, with a row of stained-glass slit windows set high up under the vaulted ceiling. These left the room in semidarkness at this hour, and it was cold. At the far end, several rows of long oak benches faced a large throne on a raised dais. The queen’s banner hung behind it, glimmering in the lamplight.

“Please have a seat, my lords,” the servant said, directing them to the front bench. “Her Majesty left orders for you to attend her here.”

Seregil sat down on one of the front benches and stretched his legs out, still looking more bored than worried. Alec tried to do the same but was soon up and pacing the polished stone floor. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the cavernous room, drawing attention to the fact that they were the only people here.

“There are better ways to pass the time, you know.” Seregil took a bag of gaming stones from his purse, and a lump of chalk.

Alec caught his arm as he bent to mark a bakshi board on the floor. “Stop that! How is that going to look, when she comes in?”

Seregil rolled his eyes, but sat back and put the chalk away. “How will it look, with you wearing a trench in the floor?”

The sun clocked nearly an hour down the wall before the great doors at the far end of the room opened and Phoria swept in with Prince Korathan and Thero.

Alec elbowed Seregil, then tried to catch the young wizard’s eye, but Thero gave him only a slight nod as he came to stand with them. This didn’t seem a sign of good things to come.

He looked well, otherwise. He’d put on a formal robe for the occasion, and his belt and purse were finely worked with Aurлnfaie patterns. He was clean-shaven these days, and a smooth dark blue gem set in silver dangled, ’faie style, from his left ear. His black curly hair was much longer, and tied back with a black ribbon.

Phoria took the throne and waited as Seregil and Alec came forward and bowed.

“Welcome home, Majesty,” Seregil said, suddenly very formal and respectful.

Phoria acknowledged the greeting but did not smile. Alec stole a glance at her brother; how could womb mates be of such different dispositions?

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here?” the queen asked.

Seregil made her another small bow. “We are at your service, Majesty.”

“You three are Watchers, are you not?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Thero answered for them all. “Under the guidance of my master, and Lord Arkoniel before him, the Watchers have served the Crown since the city was founded.”

“So you say. Yet I believe you Watchers have also served your own interests, under this guise of self-appointed protectors. And always in secret.”

Thero looked genuinely taken aback. “The interests of the Watchers have always been Skala’s, Majesty.”

Phoria turned to Seregil. “And are your interests those of Skala, Lord Seregil?”

Seregil drew himself up a little taller; Alec sensed his friend’s sudden flash of anger and prayed Phoria wouldn’t notice. “Yes, Majesty.”

Phoria waited for him to elaborate but he let his answer hang in the air between them.

“But you are not Skalan, and neither is your companion.” Phoria spared Alec a glance. “Your loyalty to Nysander is not in question, only your loyalty to me. You served him, not my mother.”

“Through him we served her, and Skala,” Seregil replied evenly. “I was accused of treason once, and my name was cleared. Your mother didn’t doubt me.”

“Careful,” Korathan murmured.

“And you, Lord Alec,” Phoria turned the full force of that pale-eyed gaze on him. “Whom do you serve?”

“I would never betray Skala, your Majesty!”

The queen looked less than impressed by his answer, but Alec thought he caught the hint of an encouraging smile from Korathan.

“My brother the prince tells me that you have lost your name in your own land, Seregil,”

Phoria continued. “That instead of exile, you have been completely cut off from your own people.”

“That’s correct-and I trust he explained that it was because Alec and I chose Skala and the kinship I have with your family over our duty to Aurлnfaie law.”

A moment of ominous silence followed, as Seregil and Phoria stared each other down. Alec held his breath, certain now of a quick journey to a Red Tower cell.