The Sleeping King (25 page)

“No trap, Your Highness. Upon that thee hast my word.”

Clearly, he had a purpose in approaching her. This was no chance meeting in the gardens. “What is your business with me?” she asked.

“The rumors of thy forthright nature are not exaggerated, I see,” he commented. She frowned, not seeing his gambit, as he continued smoothly, “My queen hast asked me to broach a small trade matter with thee rather than bother thy busy husband with it directly.”

“And what would that matter be, good sir?”

“Our two kingdoms are, as thee knowest, the primary sources of ironwood for the Empire.”

Of course. The ironwood dispute.
The rare and nearly indestructible wood was in great demand by the Empire. Regalo wanted to limit harvesting of the trees to ensure the survival and proper reseeding of the ironwood forests. Rumor had it that, because of Regalo's stubbornness on the matter, Queen Lyssandra was under enormous pressure from the Forester's Guild and Imperial weapon makers to increase her harvest to levels that would ultimately destroy the ironwood stands in Quantaine. The short-term profits Quantaine stood to gain would largely make up for last year's poor harvest there, however.

“What would you have me whisper in my husband's ear, sir?”

Talissar seemed taken aback at her blunt question. With a glance at her guard, he walked on with her and did not answer. Instead, he led her all the way through the trees to the edge of the massive rampart marking the edge of the White Crown Plaza. Her guard stayed within the margin of the trees, several dozen yards away, guarding any approach from that direction as she and the kindari moved to the wall to take in the view.

She trailed her fingers across the smooth white granite, amazed anew at how it never aged or weathered. Although, like the Empire it housed, the granite was not truly white. If a person looked closely, specks of silver and black flecked the stone.

The Imperial Seat of Koth, located in the mountain range known as Thoris's Shield, was comprised of eight cantons perched on the leveled tops of eight mountains forming a rough octagon beside the Sea of Light. The various cantons were connected by the Sky Walks, a series of delicately arched white granite bridges said to have been built—grown, actually—by giants. The notion of such big, ungainly creatures creating structures of such lightness and grace, let alone
growing
stones, made her doubt the story, personally.

Running through the center of the mountain cluster was the Crystal River. Spanning it was a cluster of bridges that formed a circular, intricate, rose-like pattern in the very center of the octagonal mountain range. Atop this structure of flying buttresses sat the White Crown Plaza, a massive terrace sprawling over the broad river and well beyond both its banks. Upon the plaza sat the Imperial palace and its grounds.

She knew better than to look directly down over the edge of the wall. The drop to the glittering river below was dizzying to contemplate. She'd always thought that, from a distance, it looked as if the support bridges were the linked fingers of giant hands, offering up the palace and its black flame like a jeweled crown to the heavens themselves.

“Thee and me, we are in an interesting position,” Talissar said thoughtfully.

“How is that?”

“We are close to thrones, trusted by our spouses, yet neither of us holds much sway in our own right. Our influence is indirect. Hidden.”

Where was he going with this? It was as if he circled about some point he wished to make but could not find the courage to address directly.

Talissar planted his elbows upon the wall and stared out to sea. He let out a sigh and lost the rigidity she had not known was in his posture until it melted away. Throwing her a sidelong glance, he murmured, “I find thee a most interesting study.”

“How is that?” This genuinely interested Gabrielle. It was not the sort of thing courtiers often discussed openly.

“Thee hast not entirely forgotten thy knight, even after all this time. The strength of thy mind is impressive.”

“I have no idea what you speak of, sir.” Gabrielle declared.

“I have been observing thee, Your Highness, for a very long time. Thy mental discipline is extraordinary. To have functioned so long at court and barely given away thy doubts about the Empire? Really. It is extraordinary.”

“I beg your p-p-ardon?” she sputtered.

Talissar shrugged. “Is it possible that thy reluctance to bear offspring might stem from thy … distaste … for the current regime?”

Gabrielle stared. People were speculating on her childless state? And her dislike of Maximillian was common knowledge? Horror and cold, hard terror poured through her. She must leave the court. Immediately. Before the Emperor got wind of her treasonous leanings.

“Please, do not panic. I am most circumspect in my observations.”

“How can I not panic?” Gabrielle exclaimed. “If you believe you see these things, anyone can claim to see the same!”

Talissar responded urgently, “I assure thee, I can hold my tongue and would never betray thee. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Gabrielle went still.
The opposite of betrayal? What on Urth does that mean?

“Thine instincts beist exceptional,” Talissar complimented quietly. “Even now thee sensest where I am going, although I have not yet led thee down that path of logic.”

Confusion warred with fear. She dared not say any more until this elf showed the cards in his hand.

The kindari sighed. “Your Highness, I understand that thee darest not risk more until I have revealed myself entirely. Queen Lyssandra has no idea that I approach thee, but it is for her that I put my life in thy hands.”

“Your life? What madness do you speak?” Gabrielle ventured to whisper when he did not continue.

With a glance at her guard, Talissar angled his back more fully to the fellow and spoke in an undertone that would not carry five feet, his lips never moving. “I share thy dislike of the Emperor. I also happen to believe this Empire is not necessarily as eternal as he would have us all think.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. It hissed between her teeth and settled like a viper in her breast. He spoke outright treason. His words were death to think, let alone utter.

As if he read her thoughts, he muttered, “Why dost thee think I stay so far from court? I cannot chance having my mind come under scrutiny.”

“Does your queen know the direction of your thoughts?” Gabrielle demanded.

“Of course not. Maximillian watches his Council of Kings far too closely for that. She takes no part whatsoever in what I speak of. She has no idea who I approach, what actions I take, or what plans we make.”

We?
The word exploded across her brain like one of Maximillian's fireworks displays. It was
conspiracy
he spoke of. Her jaw fell open. The audacity it took to speak such words, on the very grounds of the Emperor's palace no less, astounded her.

“A select few of us, close to the Council of Kings, with indirect access to information and resources, have the capacity to … influence … certain events. Dost thou understand what I am saying?”

She nodded, too dumbfounded to speak. Intrigue was the main dish of daily fare at court. Guilds jockeyed among themselves for control of various natural resources. Kings jostled with one another in search of power, wealth, and expanding their borders. Alliances came and went at court like the ocean's tides.

But Maximillian stood above it all, the spider in the web, plucking and pulling at the strands, building new ones as needed. Cutting out the bad ones entirely, if need be. As long as none of the paeans threatened the stability of the overall web, he allowed them to play their little games among themselves.

But what Talissar hinted at … outright insurrection … was aimed at destroying not only the web, but also the spider.

He continued low, “We move slowly. Carefully. Our actions remain small. Nothing to draw undue attention. Now and again, we affect a minor trade decision. Perhaps assist a like-minded person in earning a position of influence. Divert Imperial attention away from an area or event for a moment.”

She realized she was shaking her head back and forth in denial. It was not possible. No one could topple Maximillian from his throne. If it were possible, surely it would have been accomplished centuries ago.

“Observe the bridges beneath us,” Talissar said. “Individually, they are each far too fragile to hold the massive weight of this palace. But linked together, they form a powerful and solid foundation. What would happen if one of the Flying Bridges should fail?”

He answered his own question with a shrug. “Probably nothing. But what if many of these perfectly polished surfaces hid invisible cracks and flaws? Over time, stresses upon the stones wouldst build. Eventually, one bridge would fail. And another, and another, faster and faster, until the entire network crumbled and fell, bringing down the Seat of Eternity and casting it into the waters below to be swept away.”

She was, in a word, astonished.

“Slowly, slowly, we undermine the foundation of this empire. One bridge at a time. One stone at a time. It may be the work of many lifetimes, but one day…”—his voice was steely with determination—“… one day, the Empire will fall.”

“Why?” she whispered hoarsely. “Why do you speak of this to me?”

He answered simply. Lightly. “Because I have convinced the others at long last that thee canst be trusted. And we desire thee to join us, of course.”

*   *   *

Raina closed her eyes and focused on erh talisman. Summoned all the magic she had within her. Reached out with her mind, seeking other spirits nearby. She reached out farther across the width and breadth of the land to all the people living here. When she'd successfully touched a great river of life energy, then she reached out delicately for Mag's spirit. It should hover near the woman's body for several minutes before it dissipated. If Raina could just find it before that happened …

There.
A gentle prickling across her skin, as if an invisible ghost occupied the space nearby. It wasn't exactly a feeling of being watched. It was more like being breathed upon. Unmistakably a spirit fully separated from its body hovered close.

To focus her mind, Raina spoke the Life incant aloud, using the exercise to gather the magical energy infusing everyone around her. It had weight in her hands, slight, but tangible nonetheless. As she did not have to project the magic very far from herself, she could afford to gather a lot of it to her. Shaping it into strength, vitality, hope, and maybe just a touch of her own stubborn will, she laid her hands on Mag's still chest and blasted every bit of it into the dead woman.

The explosion slammed Raina backward against the wall of the hut. Clods of dirt showered down upon her, slipping down her shirt and landing in her hair as a great wave of the life energy she had shaped rushed outward, through the walls of the hut, over the hill, and beyond. She spit grit out of her mouth as she lurched forward and dropped to her knees beside Mag.

The woman was deathly pale and still. But then her chest rose fractionally. Breath rattled in her throat. Her chest fell and rose again.

Exultation roared through Raina. She'd done it. She'd restored Mag's spirit to her body. Raina sat back on her heels, profoundly relieved. The scrolls she'd read said life spells would cure mortal injuries enough to ensure the patient did not die from them again as part of the body's rejoining with its spirit, although the subject would be left very weak for days or weeks if not given additional healing. But the woman was alive. Alive!

Mag's eyelids fluttered. Opened. She looked up at Raina vaguely. “The babe…,” she mumbled.

“A healthy, strapping boy. And you're going to be fine, too.”

Surprise registered in Mag's eyes. “How—”

Raina cut her off gently. “Rest now. You're on the mend. Everything's going to be all right.”

But Mag was having none of that. She held out her arms expectantly, and Raina filled them with the woman's newborn son. Raina could almost see their spirits touch, recognize each other, and bind tightly one to the other. Mag hummed a quiet lullaby, its melody sweet and unbearably sad. And then she did the oddest thing. She began to cry. Raina lurched forward in alarm as tears rolled down the woman's cheeks and dripped off her chin and onto the babe's head.

“What is amiss, Mag? Do you have pain? Dizziness? Faintness?”

“Wha'? Gor' no, girl. I be fine.”

“Then why do you cry? What's that song you're humming?”

“It is the Lament. Every mother sings it to 'er babe. Leastwise, common folk do.”

“Does it have words?”

“If so, they's been lost to this land.” Mag picked up the haunting tune again.

As she listened idly to the lullaby, exhaustion washed over Raina. Probably the aftereffect of the effort of collecting so much magic and then draining herself of it like that. She hated to think how illegal casting that life spell had been. If the Heart ever found out what she'd just done, she would be in serious trouble. Tampering with life and death was exclusively the province of the Imperial healer's guild. Like all guilds, the Heart took grave offense at any intrusion upon its purview.

As a general sense of defeat and hopelessness came over her, something within Raina rebelled.
No!
She would not give in to it! She reached for that spark of vitality and energy that had been present before and drew it to herself. Magnified it. Sent it back out from whence it came.

Mag's voice trailed off. Then, with renewed vigor, she announced, “Gor, enough of tha', now. Whot say we fetch the wee bairn's siblings to meet 'im?”

Raina brought the children home and prepared a batch of healing broth to help Mag regain her strength and ward off infection. It was evening before Arv emerged from the barn, shovel in hand, bleary-eyed, and obviously sporting a splitting head.