The Singer's Crown (33 page)

“Because I might be the only one in a position to stop him from moving against Lochalyn next.”

“He wouldn't do that,” Lyssa scoffed. “After all we've done to reinstate the True King?”

“Before yesterday, I didn't think he could kill his own brother. I can put nothing past his ambition now.”

“There is something you should know,” said the wizard, finally rising. “Several things. First of all, he is a wizard in his own right now. He has broken the bond with me and worked his first magic without tapping my power in what he did to Wolfram. Has he chosen a name?”

Fionvar nodded. “He called himself ‘The Wizard of the Prince's Blood.'”

She winced. “If you are wise, you will not share his Name-story with anyone, especially another wizard. That he killed the prince may become common knowledge, but do not let out how.”

“I can't. I don't really know how myself.”

“The technique is from the
A-strel Nym,
a book of forbidden magic—” She broke off with a frown. Then she shook off her own worry, and resumed. “Only three wizards that I know of have any part of this knowledge, and I believe I am the only one who knows it completely.”

“That means Orie knows it, too,” Kattanan observed, but she shook her head.

“The only time he had free access to that part of my learning was when I opened myself to heal the Liren-sha. Before that, the blood-bond we shared denied that information as long as I did not use it. This technique needs to work outside of my defenses, though, which is why I asked for your blessing to heal Wolfram at the manor, hoping that would shield me from Orie. He broke the bond too soon, or just in time, depending on your perspective. He does not know everything, and he is apparently not aware of his ignorance.”

“He said that he knew all your secrets,” Fionvar recalled.

“He saw how to use the blood to heal, but he did not see the cost. Part of the spirit goes with the blood; neither the wizard nor the patient is ever the same if they have shared blood. In this case, Wolfram was not otherwise injured. When Orie took hold of him, he took everything. He has brought too much into himself.”

“So Wolfram's spirit is inside Orie,” Lyssa said faintly.

“In a manner of speaking. There is no correlation of thoughts and actions of the person so consumed, but the impression of emotion goes with the blood. Orie will feel as Wolfram might have felt and respond based on that if he cannot make the distinction between those sensations and his own.”

“What does that mean for me?” Fionvar asked.

“Orie and Wolfram were nearly complete opposites; there is no way to reconcile their feelings within one man.” She looked him in the eye and said simply, “Your brother will go mad.”

“Oh, Melisande,” Kattanan breathed. Faces turned toward him. “Her brother is dead, her father is a tyrant, and her husband is destined for madness. How can she survive?” His eyes searched the sky in the direction of Bernholt.

“Orie was right; you do have feelings for her,” Fionvar said softly.

Kattanan nodded. “I think I have loved her from the first moment I sang for her. You should have seen her face.”

“What of Brianna?” he asked. “I would not have her wed where there is no chance of love.” Darkness clouded his features as he looked upon his king.

“How many times must I tell you that I will not marry her?”

“Then you will leave her dishonored and humiliated.”

“No,” said Kattanan. “I will find a way.” The man who had brought Thorgir back in bondage suddenly returned. “If you must leave us, then I will keep her safe for you. When you return, she will still be yours.”

“If I return,” Fionvar said. “If she will have me.” He stooped to pick up his sword, thrusting it through his belt. “I have delayed too long already.”

Rolf grunted his agreement but said nothing when faced with the sadness of his companions.

“I will miss you,” Kattanan said. “And there will always be a place for you.” They gripped hands briefly. “Please look out for Melisande.”

“Whatever is said of me in my absence, Your Majesty, I serve only you, even now.”

Jordan pulled him into another quick embrace. “I'll miss working beside you, listening to your fiddle on those long nights. Take care.” He placed his hands on Fionvar's head. “By the blood of my heart, protect this man from magic,” he said.

The wizard gave a little smile. “When next we meet, I hope you can let go of some of your distrust of me.”

“Wolfram found something in you I had not seen; he did the same for me. We may have more in common than I thought.” At last he turned to his sister. “I'm sorry I was a tyrant to you for so long. I leave the king in your keeping for a while longer, and there are few I would trust with that task more than you.”

“Fion!” she cried. “That was an apology I never hoped to hear.” She flung her arms around him for a moment.

He started to walk away, then turned back to Kattanan. “See that his funeral is done with the highest honor. I know that was important to him.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “A shame I cannot bring him with me and build the pyre under his father's very nose. It's the least of what that bastard deserves—to see his son held in great esteem.”

“You may not be able to do that,” Kattanan replied, “but I can, and with an army at my back.” His smile was sharp. “Look for us, Fionvar.”

“I will. Goddess keep Your Majesty.”

The king made the sign of the Goddess, kissed his fingers, and shut his eyes as Fionvar vanished into the forest, for whatever lay beyond.

THE KING'S
second procession walked slow and solemn into the lively camp. Soldiers turned, ready to cheer those who had brought back the Usurper, but the cheers died when they saw the expressions of the small company. Kattanan walked at its head, followed by Rolf, who held the prince tightly to him once again. Lyssa and Jordan walked together, and the wizard trailed after, deep in thought. In the field before the royal pavilion, a pillory had been erected to imprison the Usurper, surrounded by jeering men and women of their allies. Thorgir bore the taunting with only an occasional snarl at the crowd. This activity, too, ceased, and the crowds made way. The duchess emerged from the tent with a handful of lords.

“Where is Captain Fionvar? I don't see him among your number.” The duchess could not keep her smile from creeping out.

“He begged leave to undertake a dangerous task, and I have let him.” The two stared at each other, and those who had not seen it before now whispered of the resemblance between them. Kattanan went on, “Prince Wolfram of Bernholt has fallen in my service. He will lie in state in the temple at Lochdale and be brought to the funeral ground at his home with all ceremony due his rank and honor.”

“You can't be serious,” the duchess murmured, moving close to him.

“This nation is not secure as long as Orie rules in Bernholt,” he whispered. “Don't pretend otherwise.” Kattanan turned away from her, addressing the crowd. “When the time comes, I will ask for mounted guard to accompany me, up to one-third part of the army that rode with me. You may wonder why pay this honor to a man who was declared traitor to his father and to our cause. I say to you that he gave me honor unlooked for, kindness without cause, and faith beyond reason. I hope to find myself worthy of his friendship.”

“Have I not earned at least a moment of your consideration?” the duchess asked sharply.

Kattanan turned back to her with a sigh. “Forgive me, Excellency. Perhaps weariness has overcome my manners.”

“I can see we have need to speak in a more private place.” She ducked back into the tent. Kattanan looked back for Rolf, who stood silent, wearing an unfamiliar solemn expression. “By the house of healing, there is a temple arranged, and priestesses who can prepare Wolfram. Will you bring him there and stay by him?”

“As ye wish.”

“If you see my squires, send them here to meet me when I am through.”

The big man nodded, bowed his head a moment, and set out for the house of healing, there to lay down his sad burden.

“Jordan?”

“I am here.”

“Come with me,” Kattanan asked, with a hint of his former insecurity. The pair showed themselves into the tent. Kattanan paused in his to dip fresh mugs of tea for himself and his companion, then they walked up to where his grandmother waited.

“What has come over you?” she demanded before they'd even taken seats.

“Am I to rule here or no?”

“I brought you here! So now you will refuse my counsel and dispute me before an entire army?”

“I know how much you have done.” His features softened, and his voice now held sadness alongside his suspicion. “Is that what gives you the right to treat me as somewhat less than a servant?”

“I have made you a king!”

“You were not alone in that. What I meant was the way you speak to me and deal with me. You expect me simply to obey your commands, and smile while doing it.”

“Because you know nothing of being royal, or even being noble. You are a—you have been a court entertainer, not a courtier, never mind understanding the intricacies of ruling over men.”

“How do you know what I know? You have never asked me. Since I watched my mother die, I have spent little time outside of castles and palaces. I have witnessed weddings and festivals, judgments and executions; I was smuggled away from a revolution by a royal family who then sold me to gain their freedom. Of all the things that Jordan taught me, the most important was a single word: listen. Perhaps I have not ruled over men, but I have heard the voice of kingship from a hundred different mouths. I did not choose that classroom, but I have learned much.”

“How can you be truly a king? You are not even a man, or had you forgotten?” Her tone was acid.

He allowed himself a little smile. “Neither are you.”

“That is not the point!”

“Then what is?” he snapped back at her, springing to his feet. “That I cannot be king because I cannot have children? I would not be the first to die without issue. Oh, but you have already solved that problem by forcing me together with Brianna, who is conveniently already with child! It seems as if you are planning for my death.”

“I am a cautious woman.”

“Yes, you planned for everything—except that I might have my own mind and spirit, and that I am tired of being used and discarded for other people's pleasure!”'

“So now that you have some power of your own, you plan to abuse it yourself rather than allow someone else to do it.”

“No. I plan to treat people fairly, to listen to them, and to help them when I can. I plan to live by the Lady's way, with mercy and justice.”

“More pretty words. If you plan to listen, then listen to me. What you have done is madness! You intend to turn around and leave your place to escort a dead traitor; absurd! And you have let go a man who will betray you at his earliest convenience.”

“Fionvar duNormand swore an oath with me and he will not break it. As for the escort for Prince Wolfram, it is not merely an honor guard. Orie knows better than anyone our strength, and my status here. Will his ambition be satisfied with a single throne when another might be within his grasp?”

She sat back, and when she spoke, the fury had abated. “Orie has been my ally for many years.”

“While allying himself with Bernholt at the same time.”

“We fostered each other's insurrections.” She smiled faintly. “Though his will be less bloody.”

“Only if he stops where he is. If I ride with a third of the army as escort, he will not think us an easy target. He will also believe that you trust me to lead the men and that I trust you to hold the city in my absence. If he is truly an ally as you say, he will assume this is something I insisted on to honor my friend. If not—we will be prepared.”

The duchess studied him carefully. “I may have underestimated you, Rhys.”

Kattanan likewise settled back in his place and took another swallow. Jordan stood proudly at his side.

“This is not all we must speak of,” she said, going on as if there had been no tension between them. “You brought back the Usurper. We expect emissaries at any time to offer the enemy's surrender. Before they come, Thorgir's fate must be discussed.”

“I had not thought of that.” He sipped slowly. “I assume that you have.”

“If only there were a way to dishonor him as he has dishonored us. Perhaps we might use his family—”

“Absolutely not.” He stared at her wide-eyed. “Have you come all this way for revenge alone?”

“Not alone, but in part, yes,” she said harshly. “Do you mean to tell me that was not in your mind also?”

“It was,” he admitted, “until I fought Thorgir last night.”

“How did you come to win?”

“I was full of hatred for him, wishing I had the skill to kill him, but I did not. Then I listened to him. There was something in his voice…” He trailed off, remembering. “I could hear a lie in him, below all of the others. What I heard in his voice was an echo of the time before his betrayal, when I knew that he loved me. It was then I knew that he still did somewhere, that he did not want to kill me.”

“He had you castrated, was that not bad enough, or even worse?”

“I used to think so.”

“Used to?” she echoed, incredulous.

“For a long while, I was embittered by that wound, even as Thorgir was embittered by jealousy. I was told that I was less than a man, less than human, and I believed. I no longer choose to believe that.”

“So you would not have him punished?” Condescension rang in her voice.

“He has committed greater crimes than that, by far. I would have him stand trial for the murders of my family and for the sacrilege of burning the monastery at Strel Arwyn's, any part of which will cause him to be put to death.”

“That is more reasonable.”

“But if he pleads guilty to these charges, then I would have his death be swift and his funeral be proper.”

“Oh, Great Goddess!” She sprang to her feet. “How can I stomach this after what he did to my kingdom, to my daughter, and to me?”

“Thorgir is an abominable human being,” Kattanan said quietly. “But I said that I would rule by justice and by mercy. After all that you have railed against his cruelty, how can you ask me to be the same way?”

Her breathing was angry, her eyes were hot, but she had no retort to this.

A shout from the door flap broke their silence, and Jordan went to investigate. He returned quickly to tell them, “The emissaries have arrived from Lochdale. They await you outside.”

“Grandmother?”

The duchess ran a swift hand across her brow and nodded once. “Show them in.”

She sat back in her chair, and Kattanan moved to the throne beside her.

The cloth was held aside, and a small but well-arrayed party was admitted. Each first had to tear his eyes from the spectacle of Thorgir pilloried and taunted. Lyssa and some of the courtiers came in after, quietly settling on the benches. One of the messengers bowed low, and began. “I bear greetings both sad and joyful from Evaine duThorgir, regent of the city of Lochalyn in the stead of the True King, unto that king. She bids me say that her prayers this morning were for your mercy toward her people, even toward those who stood by the Usurper and those of his blood who have not shown Your Majesty due honor and courtesy. Her sorrow is in seeing the wrongs done you and your family these years past and ongoing, and knowing that she and hers have had the largest part in them. Her joy is in seeing that the True King is a man of valor and wisdom beyond his years, who has at last come into his own. The city will lay down its arms before you, and the archers have quit the walls in anticipation of your return. Neither man nor woman will stand against you and your captains. Further, she begs a boon of you.”

Here he paused, looking to Kattanan, who replied, “Thus far she has spoken well. What is her boon?”

“She wishes to greet you in humility before the gate, and to wash away your righteous wrath with tears of penitence. If you will it, she would walk before you to proclaim you to your people and beseech them to humble aspect and to reverence.”

“Tell my aunt that I would have her greet me and go with me, but tell her further that my wrath is spent with her gracious words, and I would not have her weep for my sake.”

Several of the courtiers nodded their satisfaction and smiled on their king.

“She has one thing more to ask.” At Kattanan's gesture, he continued, “She asks if her husband is well, and if judgment has yet been passed upon him.”

Glancing at Kattanan, the duchess answered, “You may say that he is confined as befits his crimes, and that an assembly of lords will judge him on several charges. If he pleads guilty to the charges, his punishment will be swift, in accordance with the king's justice, and his funeral will be proper, in accordance with the king's mercy.”

The man bowed to them both. “Your Majesty, Your Excellency, you have been most generous. When may we throw wide the gates and welcome you home?”

“We shall come before the gates in three hours' time,” Kattanan replied.

The man and his two companions bowed low and were dismissed. Duchess Elyn leaned over as they left, and whispered, “Why so long? We can be ready within one.”

“I am famished, and there are a few tasks to be taken care of before I can ride into that city.”

“As you wish, Majesty.” Both rose, and she smiled to the audience. “My lords and ladies, Lochalyn is once again brought to its true heir.” A cheer rose, and she saw, with no little trepidation, that their eyes were on her grandson and the cheer was for him, not simply for the crown.

He did not smile, but his face was bright, his eyes moist, for he heard a sound not far from love in those joined voices.

After many greetings and congratulations, Kattanan was finally allowed to slip out and away from the crowd. His squires awaited him there and fell in with him, while Jordan went in search of fresh clothing with a promise to attend him before long. “I need a band of mourning,” the king told his men, “marked for royalty, if possible.”

One of the pair bowed curtly and set out at a trot.

Kattanan turned to the second, asking, “How fares the Lady Brianna?”

He hesitated, then responded, “She is less than well, Your Majesty. She is taking her rest but fitfully, and was anxious for tidings.”

Kattanan frowned as they arrived at his pavilion, standing by a trio of birches, separated from the surrounding tents. Two guards on duty there snapped to attention. He leaned a little closer to the squire. “I would rather not see her for a little while.” Their eyes met, and the man looked concerned, but nodded. “She should rest if she can; and I would like to do likewise, if I am given peace.” This got an understanding smile. “When the Liren-sha comes, admit him, but no other.” Glancing to the other two men, he ducked into the tent.

Fruit and bread had been set out for him, but Kattanan could not bring himself to eat. Once inside, his knees grew weak and he sank to the floor, hands trembling. He hugged them to himself, eyes lighting upon the crown placed at his bedside. He looked about again and pushed aside a tapestry to reveal a narrow mirror. The glass showed him a young man, face flushed, eyes dark-circled beneath boyish curls; the gaze was anything but childish. “King Rhys,” he whispered.