The Shadowed Throne (6 page)

Arenadd. Her cousin. So handsome. So strong. So far away. Everything she had wanted and always been denied.

He smiled at her, but it was a wolf's smile—a cruel smile.
All you wanted,
the smile said.

Saeddryn realised there were people all around, hundreds of them. They were cheering, shouting, throwing themselves forward in joy.
Cheering for me,
she thought,
for me, for me . . .

Then she realised she couldn't move. She was trapped, frozen in a block of ice, watching as Arenadd walked away into the adoring throng.

The dream twisted, and a rush of confused sensations tangled themselves around her. Cold, so cold.
Moving
cold, cold clutching at her, embracing her, muttering and moaning in her ears, and she was helpless, sick inside with the knowledge.
Isn't this what you wanted?

She woke up retching, confused by the sound of knocking outside.

“My lady!
My lady!
”

Saeddryn sat up, blinking. Her ruined eye ached horrendously, and she put her hand over it. “What? What's that . . . ?”

Light poured into her room, and a shadowy figure came with it. “My lady—! I'm so sorry, but something's . . .”

Saeddryn snatched up her eyepatch from the bedside table and got up, still wearing her woollen night-gown. “What's going on?” she snapped. “This had better be important, or I swear—”

The young woman who'd disturbed her was too distressed to bow. “It's the Temple! Saeddryn, it's burning! The Temple's burning!”

Saeddryn gaped at her. “What? What d'ye mean it's . . . ?”

“It's bad, my lady. Very bad. They're trying to put it out, but I don't know . . .”

Saeddryn felt as if someone had reached into her chest and tried to rip her heart out.
“How?”

“Deliberate, my lady,” the messenger gulped. “They already caught the one who did it.”

“Who was it?
Who did this?
”

“I'm not sure. Garnoc has her down in the cells—they'll be questioning her now.”

Saeddryn was already pulling on a gown. “I'm going to go see this myself.”

“Yes, my lady. Should I go tell the Queen?”

Saeddryn stopped. “She hasn't been told?”

“Not that I know. I came to ye first.”

“Go an' tell her, then,” Saeddryn growled.
But she already knows.

She dressed as quickly as she could and almost ran into Aenae's nest to wake him.

The big griffin rose, huffing irritably. “What is this?”

“It's the Temple,” Saeddryn said. “The half-breed's made her move.”

“What of the Temple?”

Saeddryn closed her eye for a moment. “She's had it set on fire.”

Aenae's wings opened. “
Our
Temple?”

“Yes.” Saeddryn's fists clenched.

Moving quickly and efficiently, Aenae unhooked his harness from the wall and tossed it at her feet. “Put this on me. We must go there at once.”

Saeddryn obeyed, and, within moments, she was on his back, and he was taking off.

The air was freezing outside, the night sky brilliant with stars. But they were all outshone by the terrible glow down in the city. Saeddryn saw the smoke blacken the moonlight, and her heart gave another, brutal wrench.

As Aenae flew down toward her beloved Temple, she began to see the full horror of what it had become. The tower behind the dome had become a pillar of flame, red and orange tongues stretching high into the sky. The dome itself, made from stone, was veiled in a huge bank of smoke, and below it the windows threw ghastly orange light over everything.

It's the wrath of Gryphus,
Saeddryn thought irrationally.
The Night God has abandoned us for accepting a half-breed as our ruler. My Temple . . .

Aenae landed outside the front doors. They were hanging open, and a group of priestesses were clustered outside, watching helplessly.

They ran to meet their leader.

“I'm so sorry, my lady,” one said. “There was nothing I . . . if only . . . oh Night God . . .” She broke down in sobs.

Saeddryn stared stonily at the burning building. Not much was being done to save it—because there was nothing humans could realistically do against a fire of this size. Around it, people were climbing on rooftops, desperately throwing buckets of water over thatch to stop it from going up. At least there didn't seem to be much danger of the fire spreading—there was a decent amount of open space around the Temple that had managed to stop that. A few small patches had spread, though, and people were fighting those instead.

The priestesses, many of them actually trembling with the shock, kept close to Saeddryn—silently asking for her protection and help.

“Who did this?” she asked eventually.

“Blasphemer,” the Bear priestess spat. “One of the Queen's Amorani blackrobes. I caught her while we were escapin'.”

“Did the Queen send her?” Saeddryn asked, very quietly.

“No,” the Crow priestess said at once. “She'd never be stupid enough. The blasphemer was a madwoman. She babbled on about how Gryphus made her do it, said he came down from the sky an' commanded her.”

“What she said doesn't matter,” said Saeddryn. “We need to find out—”

“No-one lies that well,” the Crow priestess muttered. “No-one.”

They stood in silence for a long time, too stunned to do much beyond try to comfort each other without words.

Even Aenae looked shaken. He circled, like an anxious dog, keeping close to his human but obviously unsettled by the flames.

Something crashed and broke inside the Temple, and the fire flared up briefly. Saeddryn jerked away in fright, her hand groping for support. Aenae was there at once, and she leant on him, pressing her face into his neck. “I can't take this,” she whispered to him.

Aenae stilled. “I will stop this,” he said. “Go to your friends.”

Saeddryn moved away from him, proudly refusing the help of the other priestesses. Aenae took a few steps toward the fire before hesitating, bathed in its light. He was a handsome griffin, with his father's black and silver mixed with his mother's grey and autumn brown. His eyes, though, were an extraordinary silver-blue, narrowing against the glare from the fire.

He stood very still, apparently thinking, and then prepared himself—subtly altering his stance to make himself firm and steady with his paws well on the ground. His wings lifted slightly and his tail twitched. Then, suddenly, it stopped.

Aenae's whole body became stock still, and a moment later he lifted his head, opened his beak wide, and unleashed his power.

Blue light poured out of him in a torrent, forming a column like a concentrated jet of water. It punched straight through the Temple doors and into the heart of the inferno.

For several long moments nothing changed. Aenae, unmoving, poured his strength into his magic, which continued to rush out of his beak and throat without slowing. The fire raged on.

Then it faltered. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the angry orange of it began to fade. The smoke thinned, and the flames licking around the windows receded. Above, the tower crumbled and came crashing down, but the fire that had consumed it had died down. When Aenae finally closed his beak and slumped onto his belly, the Temple was still burning—but only a little. The worst was over.

Saeddryn finally dared to go to her partner's side. “Aenae, are ye all right?”

He turned a glazed eye toward her. “My own power. Great enough.” The eye closed.

The Wolf priestess put a hand on Saeddryn's shoulder. “He's not . . . ?”

“He's just resting. Leave him be.” Saeddryn looked up at the blackened shell of the Temple. “He's saved it . . . or part of it. An' we'll rebuild it,” she added. She raised her voice. “We'll rebuild it! Our Temple will come back, greater than ever before—I swear it on the Night God's holy name! An' the one who did this will feel her rage—but not before she's felt ours.”

Yes,
she thought privately.
Whoever “she” might be.

T
he council met in the small hours of the morning, as the sky outside began to turn grey. It was a messy and undignified affair—nearly all the councillors were bleary-eyed and had obviously dressed in a hurry. The griffins were irritable and kept shifting in their places, eyeing each other distrustfully.

Only Laela and Oeka looked calm. The Queen wore a beautiful black gown with a gold sash sewn with jewels, and the crown rested neatly on her head. She probably had had even less sleep than everyone else, but she looked possessed by some energy that kept her alert. Beside her, Oeka was as glossy and quietly smug as always.

The mere sight of them made Saeddryn sick with hatred. She had intended to approach the situation as calmly as possible, but when she saw the half-breed standing there, radiating triumph, it was too much.

She ignored all protocol and spoke out before everyone was in place. “My Temple is destroyed. I demand justice.”

From the way the councillors reacted, it was obvious that they all supported her. Saeddryn felt some of her confidence return. “Who did this? Who's the filth that committed this crime?”

“Calm down,” Laela smoothly advised. “The poor lunatic was caught. I've just had a report from Commander Garnoc.”

“I know that!” Saeddryn spat. “I want t'know
who
! Who is she?”

“One of our people brought from Amoran,” said Laela. “Went by the name of Tyria, or so I'm told. Seems she converted to worshippin' Gryphus. Got all sorts of mad ideas. Garnoc's men have been trying to get information out of her, but she ain't sayin' much that makes sense. Looks like the whole thing was just a sorry accident. But don't worry—she'll be dealt with.”

“Enough about that,” Torc interrupted. “Our Temple is in ruins, no matter why it happened. What are we going to do about that?”

“Rebuild it, of course,” said the Master of Building.

“Yes, an' I'll be happy to provide all the fundin' yeh need,” said Laela, while looking straight at Saeddryn.

Saeddryn gritted her teeth. “I'd expect nothing less.”

“Well of course,” Laela smiled sweetly. “Anything to help out my dad's beloved cousin. Now then, I'm sure our friend the Master of Buildin' Stuff here can start organisin' everythin' the moment the sun's up.”

“I certainly can,” the Master of Building said stiffly. “As soon as I've rounded up the manpower.”

“An' I'm sure we can rely on yeh for that,” said Laela. “Fundin's up to me, an' I'll see what I can do. Of course,” she added, “all this means there'll be some trouble with my womanhood ceremony. An' me an' Saeddryn were just plannin' it yesterday an' all.” She shook her head sadly.

“I'm sure we can find somewhere else, my lady,” said Iorwerth.

Laela looked thoughtful. “I'm sure there are other sacred places that might be right for it. Lady Saeddryn, what d'you think?”

Saeddryn's eye burned. She opened her mouth to say no—to
shout
no. To curse the half-breed for the traitor and blasphemer she was. But an inner voice stopped her. It was the same voice that spoke up sometimes, when she was in trouble. The voice of reason. It was always the voice of her mother.

Stop. Think.

Saeddryn made herself breathe calmly. She bowed slightly and fixed a respectful look on her face. “My Queen,” she said. “I know a perfect place.”

The others there looked curious.

“Go on,” said Laela, watching her through narrowed eyes.

Blue
eyes. Bile rose in Saeddryn's throat. “Yer own father went through his manhood ceremony under my mother's eye. But not here. His ceremony happened a long way away, high up in the mountains. Once, those mountains were the only place we could live free. There's a place there that's more sacred than our Temple ever was.”

“The Throne!” Torc exclaimed. “Of course!”

“Taranis' Throne!” said the Master of Trade.

“It's said great King Taranis himself was crowned there,” said Saeddryn. “King Arenadd became a man there.” She allowed herself a smile. “I was married there. What better place could there be for a Queen to have her womanhood ceremony?”

“It's perfect!” said Torc.

Saeddryn bowed again, hands clasped over her stomach. “What do ye say, my lady? Come to the Throne with me, an' learn what it is to be a darkwoman. The Night God will embrace ye, an', at last, yer soul will be whole.”

Oeka stirred. “And we shall see our territory while we travel there.”

Everyone looked at Laela.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said eventually.

“It's settled then,” said Saeddryn. “Now if ye don't mind, I should go. I'm an old woman, an' I need my rest.”

“Don't let me keep yeh up,” Laela said graciously.

Saeddryn left, exalting silently. It was all so easy. The mountains were a harsh place, the harshest in Tara. They had claimed many lives in the past. Anyone who went there unprepared, anyone with an inner weakness—anyone not worthy to be in those mountains would be claimed by them.

And Laela would be next. Saeddryn had no doubt about that at all.

As she left, the High Priestess was too frayed to notice the scarred shape that watched her from the shadows.

N
obody saw Ravana, and he liked it that way. At least, people saw him, but they didn't
notice
him. He was used to it. Growing up as a slave from birth, he had always been seen but not noticed. Slaves were supposed to be invisible—noticed only when they failed to do their work the way they should.

Ravana didn't mind. To him, life had always been about pleasing somebody. It didn't matter who gave the commands, or what they were, as long as somebody did. Ravana needed a master. It was what made the world make sense to him. When he had a master, everything came down to two simple rules. He must please his master, and everything he did must be to protect that master.

Being unseen only made following those rules easier. During the meeting that morning, he stayed close to Laela and watched everything that happened around them both. Nobody looked at him or tried to speak to him.

The fact that he could not speak their language made those around him assume that he couldn't understand anything. He was stupid in their eyes, and mute as well. Ravana didn't care. It was just another weapon he could use to defend his master. People were careless around him, they didn't try to hide their feelings. They assumed he would be oblivious.

But Ravana was not stupid, and he did not need language to know what he needed to.

He watched the council talk, and once again his gaze fell on Saeddryn in particular. Since the beginning of his service to the Queen, he had seen the High Priestess many times and had seen how they were to each other. Saeddryn was insolent; she would look the Queen in the face—even shout at her. Ravana knew for a fact that she had threatened her more than once. It was all in how she moved, how she looked at her.

Ravana did not like that. It infuriated him to see such disrepect to a great and powerful ruler like this Queen he served. It confused him, too, that the Queen had not had the old woman's tongue torn out. None of his previous masters would have let her go unpunished.

He thought about it for a long time, day after day, turning the problem over in his mind. Normally it would not be his concern when someone was rude toward his master, but he had become convinced that this Saeddryn was a threat to the Queen, and that was something that could not be tolerated.

In the end, he asked Inva to explain.

“The old woman is the Queen's relative,” she told him. “She plotted to take the throne before our Queen took it from her. The Queen cannot risk killing her, or there would be an uprising.”

Ravana's brows lowered. “So this woman is an enemy to the Queen?”

“She has not tried to attack her, but she is insolent and will not do as she is commanded.”

“Then she's a rebel,” Ravana said.

Inva lowered her voice even though nobody listening could have understood what she was saying. “The Queen is afraid that one day the High Priestess will try to kill or overthrow her. The royal griffin believes the same, and has urged her to strike first.”

Ravana said nothing to that, but his suspicions had been cemented, and on the day after the Temple burned, and he saw the pure hatred in Saeddryn's eye and heard the false change in her voice, he made up his mind. This woman was a danger and must be plotting something already. It was madness to leave her alive, and he, Ravana, must fulfil his duty and protect his master by removing this traitor at once.

He did not ask the Queen for permission or wait for her to give him the order. That wasn't necessary. Matters like this were for him to deal with; the Queen was too high and dignified to even speak of those things.

Even so, remembering that this was a land where things were done differently, Ravana took one final precaution. On the evening after the burning of the Temple, he waited until the Queen had finished what she had been doing and motioned Inva over to translate for him.

“Master.” He knelt.

The Queen looked down on him and spoke.

“‘What is it that you want, Ravana?'” Inva translated.

“To ask a question,” said Ravana. “Only one question.”

The Queen replied, and Inva nodded. “You have permission.”

Ravana looked up. “Do you trust me to protect you in all ways, Master?”

The Queen looked a little puzzled, but then she smiled.

“‘Completely,'” Inva said.

“Then do you give me your permission to do all that I must do to protect you, Master?”

Laela nodded sternly.

“She trusts you, Ravana,” Inva said.

There was a gleam in his eyes. “Thank you, Master. I will obey.”

The Queen lost interest after that, apparently thinking there was nothing left to talk about. She was right. Ravana had heard all he needed to hear. He had her permission—no, her
command
—to act.

Most of his plan was already prepared. He knew most of the Eyrie by now, and his memory for directions was excellent. He had used his newfound wealth to pay one or two of his fellow Amorani-speaking servants for their help. They had gathered the information he needed—the whereabouts of the High Priestess' home, and a description of its interior.

Armed with the knowledge, Ravana began to plot. Rigid and silent, he stood outside the Queen's bedchamber that night, and thought. Everything was in place now, and the sooner he acted, the better.

He had persuaded Inva to employ a second bodyguard. The newcomer wasn't as good as Ravana, but he was strong and well trained and would be enough to keep guarding the Queen while Ravana was away.

Ravana felt the hilt of the dagger touching his chest.
Now.

He relaxed out of his guarding stance and nodded to his colleague. “Stay. I check hallway.” He said it in the fractured Northern he had learnt, and the other guard nodded back.

Ravana left his spear leaning against the doorframe and slipped away.

The darkened corridors of the Eyrie were utterly silent at this hour. The lamps had been snuffed, and there were no other guards about. In this foolish country, only the Queen herself had her own guards. Ravana was glad—it would only make his work easier.

He moved quickly, counting the doorways until he reached the one that must belong to the High Priestess. He had passed it many times.

The door was locked, but Ravana had come prepared. A piece of twisted wire opened it in no time.

He pushed the door open only the tiniest amount. His bribes had greased the hinges, and they didn't make a sound. Ravana slid through the impossibly small gap and closed the door behind him.

It was even darker beyond.

Ravana flattened himself against the wall and waited. He let his senses expand, eyes adjusting to the darkness, ears opening to the slightest sound. He could feel the slightest breeze coming in through the griffin nest adjoining the bedroom. Just ahead and left of where he stood, soft breathing told him exactly where the traitor slept.

Still, he waited. His night-vision was excellent, and he knew just what to look for. Long experience made it even easier.

There! He saw the faint glisten of moonlight on hair.

Step by step, he moved closer to the bed, until he was standing over it. His hand went into his tunic and brought out the dagger, and he removed the leather wrapping around the blade with extreme care. The blade had been coated in poison, and the slightest cut could kill him.

The High Priestess stirred and mumbled in her sleep. Ravana tensed. It was now or never. It didn't matter where he struck, so long as the blade penetrated. He aimed for the traitor's upper body, and struck.

The blade hit something soft, twisted sideways and embedded itself in the mattress. Quick as a weasel, Ravana recovered and struck again, but before the dagger could complete its movement a scream broke the night. The High Priestess had rolled away from him, and she was up and stumbling away from the bed. Ravana cursed and vaulted over it.

He was too late.

Something huge reared up, taking shape in the archway that led to the nest. Griffin!

Even then, Ravana did not give in. He ignored this new threat and went after Saeddryn. She was old and slow, and he cornered her and caught her by the hair. His fingers were slick with sweat, but his mind was dominated by only one thought.
Finish it! Finish now!

It was his last thought.

Huge talons hit him, in the midriff. The blow was so powerful that it lifted him up and smashed him into the opposite wall. He never even had time to scream.

In the silence that followed, Saeddryn picked herself up. Her head ached viciously, and her heart was fluttering enough to make her sick. She stumbled over to the lamp and lit it with a cinder from the fire.