Crown of Three (17 page)

Fessan's eyes were wide. “My lady! What are you doing here?”

“I bring news from Idilliam,” said the stranger. The low morning sun bounced oddly against her angular features, so that her face seemed carved first from marble, then from glass. “I say to you that this man is both right and wrong.”

She pointed a thin finger straight at Stown. The grizzled man flinched, then squared his shoulders, looking uncertain.

“King Brutan is dead,” the woman went on, “just as this man claims. His son Nynus now sits on the throne. Another truth.” She turned a full circle, sweeping the crowd with her gaze. When her eyes reached Elodie, the princess flinched, just like Stown. The woman's eyes moved on.

“Fessan . . . ?” Palenie began, looking quizzically at her leader.

“But here is the mistake,” the woman said. “Nynus did not slay his father. The king was killed by another of his offspring. One of three.”

A tingle ran down Elodie's spine. Her heart leaped into her throat.
One of three!

Others in the crowd had made the connection too. Some of the onlookers began to murmur.

“The triplets live,” the woman continued. “The prophecy will be fulfilled.”

Elodie's heart was racing.
The prophecy is real.
The woman's words seemed to tangle around her, drawing her in.

“I seek Melchior,” the woman said. “Wheels are turning, but if they are not steered straight, many will be crushed beneath them. Without Melchior's guidance, all may yet come to ruin.”

“Why do you ask us, Limmoni?” said Fessan.

“Do you know where he is?” Limmoni replied.

“I am surprised you do not, since you are his apprentice.”

“Apprentice? To a dead wizard?” said Stown.

“Dead?” said Limmoni, tilting her head at an unnatural angle. “Do you say so?”

“Everyone says so!”

Stown nocked an arrow into his bow and aimed it at Limmoni's chest. “Now, why don't you—?”

Before he could finish, Limmoni extended her hand again, not pointing this time but gesturing with her palm held flat. The air around her wrist seemed to
twist
, then a streak of bubbling white light shot from her hand to the point of Stown's bow. In an instant, the curved limb of yew wood flashed to pale powder. Stown snatched back his hand with a yelp, as if he'd been stung. The arrow clattered to the ground.

Elodie clapped her hand to her mouth. She knew about magic from books, but nobody in the kingdom had seen a living wizard for years. Magic was as dead as the swiftdragons of the north—everyone knew that. Yet this woman had wielded it before her eyes!

“Melchior is alive,” said Limmoni, slowly lowering her hand. “He is my master. Do not speak of what you don't know.”

Elodie watched as Stown retreated to the safety of his companions. She clasped her hand around the jewel, trying to still the frantic beating of her heart. She looked at Limmoni, only to find the young woman—
the wizard!
—staring straight back at her, her violet eyes boring into Elodie's own.

She tried to look away, but couldn't.

Open your hand.

Elodie couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. It wasn't in her head, nor was it outside, like the voices she usually heard. It simply . . .
was
.

Show me.

Slowly, as if someone else were commanding them, Elodie's fingers opened. The jewel drew in the sunlight and fired it back out across the clearing in a kaleidoscope of flashing rays. The green light flooded Limmoni's face, which broke into a dazzling smile. Suddenly she was standing directly in front of Elodie, seizing her hands. The princess hadn't even seen her move.

“You!” Limmoni cried. “It's you!” She stroked Elodie's cheek, her hair. “Black eyes, just like your brother. Hair of red and gold. Hair like fire.”

The crowd watched in silence, but their faces were a blur to Elodie. Limmoni's presence filled her attention completely, as if the two of them were the only people in the world.

“My brother?” Elodie said, her voice shaking. “You've seen him? You know him?”

For every question she asked, another tumbled through her head.
Which brother do you mean? Are they already together, waiting only for me?

Limmoni brushed one fingertip over the jewel. It seemed to jump at her touch. “Never let this go, Princess. Like you, it is one of three.”

“They . . . they have one too?” Elodie wanted to shout, to sob. Her whole body was trembling. Limmoni's hands were cool and strong on hers.

Limmoni nodded. “Three jewels for three crowns. One day, they will come together. And so will you.”

What are they like? Are they like me?

“I have met only one of your brothers,” said Limmoni. Had she heard Elodie's questions? Had Elodie even asked them out loud?

“What's his name?”

“Agulphus. But he calls himself Gulph.”

Gulph
. “Where is he?”

“He is safe. His life has been hard so far, but he is brave and true. Unlike you, he has only recently learned that he is a prince. For many years he lived among a band of traveling players. Now all that has changed.” Her hands tightened on Elodie's. “Everything has changed.”

“And the other one?”

Limmoni shook her head. “I do not know. I hope Trident will find him.”

She released Elodie's hands. The world swam back into focus, crystallizing around her. Fessan was standing just behind Limmoni, his scarred face grim. How long had he been there?

“Our scouts continue to search the three kingdoms for him,” said Fessan. “Are you here to join us, Limmoni?”

“As I said, it is Melchior I seek. Without him, all will be lost. That is my task. I can do nothing until he is among us again.”

They bowed their heads in murmured conversation. Elodie stood back as the crowd closed around them. Her head ached, full of confusion.

Gulph. A hard life.

She thought of her childhood at Castle Vicerin. How had he fallen so low, when Elodie had risen so high? And what of their brother? Why was he lost?

Among the whirlwind in her head, one thought was clear.

I must find them. I have to.

It was as if a beacon had been lit inside her. Was that what Limmoni intended—to bind her to the prophecy and her fate? No matter. She needed her brothers and her every instinct told her they needed her.

With a start, Elodie realized something else. Samial was waiting for her in the Weeping Woods. She had come back to camp to say good-bye. But how could she leave Trident now?

P
ut your hands in the fire,” said the king.

The two boys clung to each other, clearly terrified. They looked much younger than Gulph, though the bounty hunters who brought them claimed they were both thirteen, the same age as him. Their faces were drawn into identical masks of fear, and Gulph had no doubt they were twins.

Or, as Nynus believed, triplets.

“Seize their hands!” shouted Nynus.

The two legionnaires holding the boys looked with concern at Captain Ossilius, who was standing near the door of the throne room. The room was long and narrow, almost a corridor, with the Great Throne of Toronia dominating one end. Tall shutters hid the windows, blocking out the sun; the only light in this gloomy chamber came from the brazier that stood near the Great Throne.

The Great Throne was very different from the sculpted gold chair that resided in the banqueting hall. It was black and gnarled, a tangle of knotted wood and twisted boughs, like the roots of some ancient tree. The age-polished wood spiraled high into the air before curling over to form a spiky canopy.

Gulph didn't think he'd seen anything more soaked in antiquity than the Great Throne. Nor had he seen anything more unsettling than the snarling face of the boy who now sat on it. Standing here beside the throne, dressed in his fine courtier's clothes, Gulph could hardly believe this was the same meek boy he'd discovered in the Vault of Heaven.

Was Nynus truly his half brother? It didn't seem possible.

Gulph looked at the twin boys cowering before the throne, their scared faces lit by flames from the brazier. They were brothers too. Yet he could see that they loved each other. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be?

He transferred his gaze to Nynus, and felt nothing but horror.

The twins were the latest in a long line of unfortunate children brought here from across the kingdom. For days on end, child after child had been marched up the narrow throne room. By the time they reached Nynus's feet, most were crying. That was the purpose of the long walk: to remind the king's subjects of their place.

Nynus's strategy was simple: to root out every child who might be one of the surviving triplets. Given the size of the kingdom, Gulph thought it unlikely to succeed—thought it was madness, actually. Yet dread grew in the pit of his stomach that, sooner or later, a child would be brought to the throne with black eyes and red-gold hair.

A child who looked like him.

Nynus would look from the child to Gulph. His eyes would grow wide. He would make the connection.

And it would be Gulph's turn to put his hands into the flames.

So far, the children brought before the king had been quickly dismissed. Either they were too young or too old, or looked nothing like each other. But these boys were different.

“You are Idilliam born?” Nynus had asked when they'd first knelt before him.

The boys had nodded.

“Born on the night the three stars appeared?”

After exchanging a glance, the boys had nodded again. Nynus had leaned forward. The throne's canopy hung over him like the claws of some monstrous beast. On his head was the crown of Toronia: a polished gold ring etched with intricate runes.

The crown that, until a few days before, had been worn by Brutan. Their father.

“And you have a sister?” Nynus said.

Without consultation, both boys vigorously shook their heads.

Nynus sprang from the throne and started pacing, pale hands clasped behind his flowing robes. He walked only a short distance before turning and marching in the opposite direction, his feet marking out the dimensions of a room he'd only recently left behind.

The Black Cell.

“You lie,” Nynus said. “You were born into the prophecy. Your sister is hidden, for fear of giving you away. But we will find her, have no fear of that. As for your mother, she was a witch. It follows that you both have the power of magic. This you will demonstrate for me now.”

Gulph watched helplessly as the soldiers held the boys' hands toward the brazier.

“It is a simple test,” said Nynus, his voice quavering on the edge of reason. “If you are the chosen ones, your powers will deflect the flames.”

Gulph wanted to cry out, to tell Nynus that these were not the boys he was looking for. That he, Gulph, was the one. Yet he held back. Nynus had threatened children with this test many times already, but never actually gone through with it.

“Do it!” Nynus snarled.

There was a madness in his eyes that Gulph hadn't seen before: an empty light, like that of a dying star. Was this Brutan's legacy? The old king must have been insane to lock up his six-year-old son in the Vault of Heaven. Was Nynus crazy too?

Am I?

The thought horrified Gulph. He too was the son of Brutan. The blood that flowed in Nynus's veins was inside him, too.

If I were king, is this what I would become?

His hand stole to the place at his throat where the green jewel hung, safely hidden behind his velvet collar. Its cool, hard presence reminded him that he wasn't alone with his secret. Limmoni knew his real identity, and was working even now to help him. But it was days since she'd left in search of Melchior, and still he'd heard nothing.

Despite Nynus's direct order, the legionnaires still held back. The young king stalked up to them, his eyes blazing.

“Do as I command,” he growled, “or I will have you flogged!”

Their faces set like stone, the two men thrust the hands of the twins into the fire. Gulph cried out, but the screams of the boys drowned out every other sound in the throne room.

Captain Ossilius began to run toward the throne.

Nynus watched impassively as the flames licked around the twins' clutching fingers. Still screaming, the boys tried to pull away, but the soldiers held them fast. Gulph thought one of the boys was crying. Slowly, horribly, the smell of burned flesh began to fill the room.

“Enough!” Captain Ossilius, reaching the brazier, pulled the boys away from the fire. They fell to their knees, sobbing and pawing the air with their poor burned hands.

“What do you mean by this, Captain?” said Nynus with icy calm.

“The test was over,” Ossilius replied. “If they had magic they would have used it immediately. There was no need for them to suffer further.”