Echoes of Betrayal (49 page)

“Kieri?” The touch of Arian’s hand on his brought him out of that bittersweet reverie.

“I’m fine,” he said. “But trying to remember if it was this day or one very near it last year when Paks arrived in Vérella with the sword.”

“And your life changed,” Arian said. “A very busy year for you, whichever day it was.”

“Indeed. And a change I could not have imagined. Including you. Including our son.” He addressed himself to his food then and finished a serving of roast goose with brambleberry sauce. The feast went on; he had eaten almost all he could before the dessert came in, custard tarts topped with sugared fruits. By then it was dark, and the snow continued pummeling the windows.

“It has to stop sometime,” Sier Halveric said. He had been one of the Council members trapped in the palace by the storm. “Perhaps by morning?”

“Half-Evener storm,” Sier Davonin said. “Remember last year? The king was dead, that paladin had gone off with the sword—been gone a long time, it seemed—and we all sat here wondering if the storm was an ill omen. Blew three days, it did, and then we’d hardly got the snow all cleared away, seemed like, when the air softened, and next we knew here came the king riding in with spring all around him.”

“A big change,” Sier Halveric said. To Kieri he said, “I’m sorry, sir king, you never got to meet him—he was not a bad king, just not strong, and without taig-sense.”

“I’d like to have known them all,” Kieri said. “But now that dinner’s over, I’d like to meet with those of you on the Council—and you, Captain. A turn of the glass, and we’ll use the small dining room.”

He went to the kitchens next to thank the cooks for the feast and then went to his office. Arian was there, waiting for him. “Do you want to come to the meeting, love, or would you rather rest?”

“I was thinking I might go see Orlith’s body,” Arian said. “It bothers me that neither of us felt any disturbance when he was killed. If he had just died peacefully—not that elves do die that way—it would not surprise me. We are not of his family, after all. But for such violence to go on—I should have felt something.”

“And the Lady?”

“Of course. And my father.” She paused, brow furrowed, then went on. “Though … it was close to the scathefire track, was it not? The taig is still wounded there; I can feel that. It’s possible that overwhelmed the other … as one does not notice a scratch when hit by a sword stroke.”

“A good thought,” Kieri said.

“And I think I should come with you to the meeting after I’ve seen Orlith’s body. I should know what you know … and they should know that I know.”

“As long as you’re not too tired.”

Arian laughed. “Not now, Kieri. Later, I’m sure I shall tire more easily, but right now I feel wide awake and fit for anything.”

He had not meant to think of Tammarion again, but that was almost exactly what Tamar had said at the start of her first
pregnancy. “Good,” he said to Arian. “I will expect you then.” As she turned to go, he added, “With this murder … take no chances, Arian. Wear mail always.”

“Indeed I will,” Arian said. “And listen to my Squires. Whatever has sought to harm this realm is still there and still active.”

With that she was gone with a wave; he watched her Squires follow.

The five members of his Council who were in the palace that night reacted to his news about Orlith’s murder with varying degrees of concern. Sier Davonin voiced the most obvious fear: “I hope they won’t find a way to blame us.” Others nodded, but Sier Tolmaric, whose steading had been burned by the Pargunese, glowered. He was still waiting to learn if the elves would grant him land to replace that ruined by scathefire.

“Blame
us
? It’s us should blame them for not being there when the Pargunese came, to help us.”

“They couldn’t,” Kieri said. “They were trapped under stone—an old quarrel with the rockfolk.”

“Elders have no business making quarrels,” Tolmaric said. “They’re supposed to show us better, aren’t they?”

Kieri secretly agreed with him but said, “We’re not the high gods to know what duties they gave the Elders. Ours is clear enough and hard enough for us.”

“You’d excuse them?” Tolmaric said. “Seems I remember you being annoyed with ’em back then—”

“And I was,” Kieri said. “I didn’t understand why they didn’t come, and I’m not sure I understand all of it now. But anyone can make mistakes, and any people can have some who aren’t what they should be. As king, it’s my responsibility to seek understanding before I leap to judgment.”

“And you find them blameless?”

“I find them fallible, as we are,” Kieri said. “Sier Tolmaric, I know your grief for your losses—but I do not think the Pargunese invaded because of the elves’ mistakes. My mistakes, perhaps, but perhaps also because they had been misled by the webspinner into evil.”

“But will you stand up for us humans if they try to lay Orlith’s death on us?” Tolmaric asked.

“We don’t know who killed him,” Kieri said. “I can’t ignore the
possibility that he was killed by humans. Verrakai stragglers from over the border, maybe, or some of our own people who blamed elves for the invasion.”

Tolmaric flushed. “I didn’t—”

“I’m not accusing you or any of your people,” Kieri said. “But someone from Riverwash, say, who had been burned out and whose family died, might in grief and rage slay anyone he blamed. The wounds—more than needed to kill him—suggest a frenzy of some kind.”

“But it could have been another elf,” Tolmaric said.

“It could have been anyone with a bow and a sword,” Kieri said. “Or more than one. We do not know. We do not know why—was someone intent on killing Orlith specifically, or was it more that anyone where he was would have been killed?”

Sier Halveric leaned forward. “You and Orlith had become close—he was the only elf here for the first days of the invasion. Many knew that—so I would not expect even a grief-stricken refugee to kill him.”

“If they recognized him,” Sier Davonin said.

“True, but he was fairly well known,” Halveric said. “But did you not say, then, that he had consented to your trying to contact a Kuakgan?”

“Yes. Very reluctantly, but yes.”

“And we all know how elves feel about Kuakkgani in general. So maybe an elf who knew about that considered him a traitor.”

“But we didn’t call a Kuakgan,” Kieri said.

“But that might not be known. Or, as you say, it could be someone from over the border. We’ve had skulkers in there before, Verrakaien and others.”

“So we don’t know who did it or why … but we have to tell the elves something or they will blame us. Sir king, you have to realize that.”

“Have they blamed humans before when an elf was found dead?” Kieri asked.

Silence; the Council members glanced back and forth.

“It’s rare,” Sier Galvary said. “You know—they keep themselves secure in the Lady’s realm. But your mother—the elves said humans killed her. And you, since we didn’t know you’d been stolen away.
Brigands, they said, or some Sier’s armed men. And it was clear they suspected one of us had given the attackers the information. They questioned all who lived on the borders of the elvenhome—and not gently.”

“I did not know this,” Kieri said.

“No, sir king. How could you? And you so eager to bring understanding between the peoples, which I agree is important … I was not going to tell you.”

“Sier Tolmaric, do you think they blamed you?”

“Me? I was a child then. My grandfather, yes; they blamed him. He and my father were both taken away for a tenday; my mother was terrified. And I swear, they had done nothing. They came back pale and shaking, not the same, ever after.”

“It’s no wonder you have some resentment of elvenkind,” Kieri said. “That, and now the damage to your steading.”

“My father, too,” Sier Belvarin said. “And my uncle. And Sier Galvary’s.” He glanced at Sier Galvary, who nodded.

“It wasn’t fair,” Sier Galvary said. “We were as shocked and horrified by the queen’s death—and yours, as we thought—as elves could be. No one wanted to kill either of you; she was beloved among humans from the moment your father introduced her as his betrothed.”

“Nobody’s equally loved by everybody,” Kieri said. “And someone did kill her.”

“None of us,” Sier Belvarin said. “Nor our families. Brigands—well, they’ll kill anyone and sell any likely child into slavery. But not us.”

“I understand,” Kieri said. His sister’s warnings echoed in his mind. Someone had wanted his mother dead; someone had wanted him gone, ruined; someone had wanted the joint realm to fail. He must find out who, and why, or he and Arian and their child were like to suffer the same fate. And he must reassure his human subjects that he would not let them be punished for someone else’s crimes.

T
he next morning, the storm still raged. Elves had not come; no one had ventured back out into the city. The palace steward reported that guide ropes had been strung between all the buildings of
the palace complex. Orlith’s body, wrapped in clean cloths, had been moved to the outer chamber of the ossuary.

The day passed without word or sign of any elves, and it was not until the next day, when the storm finally died down, that one of the King’s Squires could look for elves in the city. He came back within a turn of the glass, trailed by four elves. Kieri met them in the forecourt. He did not recognize any of them.

“A courier found one of yours dead in the forest,” he said to them. “Orlith, who was my tutor. He was murdered.”

They looked at him and then at one another. “Where is he now?”

“In the outer chamber of the ossuary,” Kieri said.

The elves exchanged glances again. “The Lady must come,” one said. “She will not be pleased.”

“I have no doubt,” Kieri said. “I am not pleased at any murder. But she has not come, though I tried to call.”

Again those glances back and forth. Kieri felt his patience fraying away.

“She has many concerns,” another of the elves said. “It is not carelessness, sir king.” He bowed. The others bowed then, though less deeply.

Within a glass, the Lady appeared with an escort: the same four elves who had come before. She moved over the drifted snow without leaving footprints.

“Who did this?” the Lady asked when Kieri came out to greet her.

“I don’t know,” Kieri said. “He was found a few days before the half-Evener, and the man who found him brought his body here.”

“It should not have been moved,” the Lady said.

“You would have it lie unprotected, at the mercy of wind and wild animals?” Kieri said.

“I would have had it reported sooner,” she said.

“How? Were you on call so I might let you know? I had seen no elves about for hands of days.”

The Lady moved restlessly, her robes swirling around her. “I was not hiding from you, Grandson,” she said. “We have much to do to repair damage to the taig and to make a better peace with the rockfolk, who are still angry about the elfane under stone.”

“I am glad you were not hiding,” Kieri said. “Will you now look at Orlith’s body?”

She shivered. “When we die, we die. I will take it into the elvenhome, and there it will be laid to rest.”

“You need to see,” Kieri said. “We must know who did this—man or elf or something else—”

“It is done, it is over. Have it brought out here; I cannot go into that place.” She shivered again, looking at the ossuary entrance.

“Lady—Grandmother—”

Her eyes seemed to blaze for a moment. “Sir king, I tell you I
cannot
. And so long after the spirit flies, what can the husk tell?”

“That the wounds were not made by crossbow bolts,” Kieri said. “Not by the arrows our rangers use or the Royal Archers. My people fear that you will blame them, as you blamed them before when my mother was killed. Did you then turn away from her body, as you are refusing to see Orlith’s? She was your daughter; he was your servant and becoming my friend—”

“We do not look at ugliness,” the Lady said. “It weakens … it infects us as disease infects you.”

“No one likes looking at ugliness, but it must be done to find out why and prevent more,” Kieri said.

“Humans can see and live,” she said. She seemed to shrink a little, as she had when she knelt to him on the scathefire track. He distrusted that, as he had distrusted her seeming humility then. She went on. “We have been healing the forest’s wounds, but—but such ugliness is a blow to the heart of Sinyi.”

Was this an excuse or an insight into her nature, the nature of all elves? Were they really so fragile—and how could an immortal be fragile and still immortal? He was still struggling with these thoughts when she waved her escort forward.

“We will convey it,” one of them said. “Have it brought forth, sir king.”

The Lady started to turn away.

“Wait,” Kieri said. “Lady, tell me, do you believe me that this was not of human doing?”

She turned back, and he saw tears like crystal sliding down her perfect face. “Grandson … I grieve. I cannot see, but I grieve. And I offer no blame. Let me go …” And she was gone into a silver mist that faded in an instant.

After that, Kieri could do nothing but have his Squires bring out Orlith’s body on the low bed where it had lain. The elves did not touch it, but from their fingers light wove a net between the body and the bed. Then they lifted the net, and, turning their faces away from the body, they too moved into a mist and vanished.