The Broken Blade (51 page)

Eamon found a servant and left a message for Hughan as to his whereabouts, then left the Ashen. All his senses were heightened, as though he were seeing things for the first time. The tones and colours of the streets and their stones came alive before his eyes. The wind from the sea brought with it the smell of the approaching summer, as light touched each arch and wall along the Coll. The Four Quarters flooded with radiance as Eamon passed. At their centre he stood and turned, looking at the face of each wall in delight. It was with renewed heart that he went seeking Lillabeth.

He arrived at the palace. It was early afternoon when he reached the women's quarters.

“Good afternoon, sir!”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Mendel,” Eamon answered, delighted, as always, to see her. “I need to find Mrs Lillabeth Grahaven.” He was struck by a blow of guilt as he said her name aloud, but he held his nerve. “Do you know where I might find her?”

Ma Mendel smiled kindly at him. “I do,” she said. “Would you like me to take you to her?”

“Yes,” Eamon replied, “thank you.”

Ma Mendel set herself to her new task with inspiring ease and merriness, leading Eamon from the quarters and into the corridors of the East Wing. Her chatter reminded him of that September day when the same lady had led him to the Hidden Hall to meet the King. He saw it in his mind as clearly as he had seen it then, and remembered the way that those around him had stared at him as he passed.

None stared at him now, and Ma Mendel's talk was not about plants or the weather, nor was it of gloves, as it had been when he had walked through the King's camp in February. Instead, the smile on her face grew broader as she spoke of the forthcoming – and eagerly awaited – celebrations.

“The word is that the coronation is set to take place before the end of the month, and that the King means to announce its proper date tomorrow morning,” she beamed, and turned to look at him. “I shouldn't ask, sir, but do you know if it is true? Will he announce the coronation?”

“The King has asked most people not to mention that particular word too lightly,” Eamon answered with a wry smile. “This being the case, I can hardly comment. But I am sure that it will be soon.”

“What a day it will be!” Ma Mendel enthused. She skipped down the corridor as though she were a young girl, but stopped short of clapping her hands for joy. “What a day! This city and this land shall have a King again – and a queen! – for he will take Lady Aeryn's hand that same day. And the long years of waiting, and hoping, will have a glorious end. Is that not marvellous?”

Eamon laughed, for her delight was infectious. “It is.”

They came into some of the palace's broader halls. Ma Mendel led him through one to a corridor and then to a low archway which led into a series of small rooms. Voices inside, mostly of women, spoke quietly, sometimes laughing. Through the curve of the entrance arch, great rolls of thread and reams of cloth in varying colours were laid out. Eamon was surprised to see traces of black among them. It reminded him for an awful moment of Edelred's tailors.

The moment passed. A servant went and took up a great spiral of blue cloth, then carried it to the speaking women.

Ma Mendel paused in the doorway as though remembering something, and looked to him.

“If you will wait here a moment, sir, I'll just see if she's here.”

“Of course,” Eamon answered. Although he had seen women in the palace during the last few days the sight and sound of them still
astonished him; never as a Hand had he heard it. He was content merely to listen to their voices as Ma Mendel disappeared through the arch into the curved room beyond. Eamon stared after her for a moment, and then stepped to one side as a young woman carrying a wide collection of coloured threads passed within. The room felt curiously off-limits to him and he resisted the urge to sneak a quick look past the arch into the strange world beyond.

He was on the verge of yielding to his curiosity when Ma Mendel reappeared. “She's just coming, sir.”

“Thank you,” Eamon answered. Ma Mendel had an even broader smile on her face, and he frowned to see it. “I'm curious, Mrs Mendel,” he began. “What is it that delights you so?”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I can't tell you!”

Eamon laughed. “I shall resign myself to it nobly.”

“I knew that you would, sir.”

Lillabeth came out from the room. An odd wash of emotion ran through Eamon at the sight of her, one made up of grief, joy, hope, and sorrow all intertwined. She seemed somehow greater, in courage and in years, than when he had last seen her, on that night when he had led her from the city to the safety of the King's men. He remembered the tunnel down which they had struggled and the terrible darkness within it, and how she had spoken for him, a Hand, against those same King's men.

All this he thought as he bowed low to Mathaiah's wife. “Mrs Grahaven,” he said.

Lillabeth smiled at him. “First Knight,” she said. The title came joyously from her lips and she laughed as she stepped forward and embraced him briefly. It astounded him, and he gazed at her in amazement as she stepped back again. “You'll forgive me if I do not curtsey,” she added, setting one hand apologetically over her swollen belly.

“I would not ask you to,” Eamon answered. He realized that though he had learned much about death and destruction in Dunthruik he understood little about life and restoration. Somehow
the sight of Lillabeth – and the knowledge that she bore a child that he might one day live to see grow into a man – filled him with awe.

“I am sorry that I have not come before,” he began. “I have wanted to speak with you. Would you mind walking with me for a short while?”

“Or perhaps sitting?” Lillabeth asked. Eamon blushed, and was about to apologize to the smiling lady when Ma Mendel stepped forward.

“There're some benches in the garden just here,” she said, gesturing to an arched doorway which led from the passage where they stood out into the bright afternoon light.

“Then, Mrs Grahaven, would you sit with me for a few minutes there?” Eamon asked.

“Of course,” Lillabeth answered.

Eamon looked to Ma Mendel. “Thank you, Mrs Mendel.”

“Sir.” Curtseying low and smiling at Lillabeth, she turned and returned to the palace corridors.

Eamon and Lillabeth went together into the shady courtyard across the hall. As they left the cool stone walls the heat beat down on them. Eamon was glad to see that the stone benches were shaded.

It was to one of these that he led Lillabeth, lending her his arm despite her quiet protests, so that she would not slip and fall on any of the stones. When they reached the bench he helped her sit, and then stood, watching, for a moment. As she expectantly met his gaze he suddenly felt awkward.

Lillabeth touched his hand, calling his mind back from where it wandered. “It's good to see you, Eamon,” she said, smiling at him, “and it is better still to see you safe.”

“Thank you,” Eamon answered. “Were you doing something important?”

“A little sewing,” Lillabeth answered, and suddenly the smile on her face was brilliant. “I am afraid that I can't tell you anything else,” she added with an enigmatic curve of her mouth.

“But I'll know it when I see it?” Eamon guessed. He imagined
that the sewing involved a wedding dress for Aeryn, though that did not explain the black he had seen among the cloth and thread.

“You will,” Lillabeth encouraged him. Her hand was still on his, and as she smiled at him he drew a deep breath.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

At last Eamon sat down beside her. “I received something this morning,” he said. “I knew it at once…”

He trailed off but knew that he could delay no longer. Lillabeth watched him curiously as he drew out the ring. For a long moment he held it, hidden, in the palm of his hand, but then at last he matched her gaze again. “I knew it,” he whispered, “and I knew also that it had to go to you.”

Silently he opened his hand before her. Her eyes fell to what he held, then astonishment and sorrow crossed her face. Reaching out, Lillabeth laid one finger to the band, tracing it in disbelief, then looked at him.

“How did you find this?” she whispered.

“It has passed my hand several times,” Eamon answered. “Even so, I can only tell you a little of its story.” He met her gaze, assessing her face and grief, and knew then that he had to tell her as much as he knew.

“I know that it was taken from your husband when he was imprisoned. I then took it from his keepers, and when I went into the Pit I returned it to him.” He paused, remembering how he had embraced Mathaiah and the song that had shaken down the walls of the Pit. “I can only think,” he whispered, “that he somehow knew which ascent from the Pit would be his last and that, to defend us both, he gave this ring into the hands of one whom he trusted.

“Where it was then held and hidden, I do not know. This morning I received it with a letter from Lord Febian, who surrendered in the Pit on the day this city was taken. Febian's letter told me that it came from the hand of a prisoner, with instruction that it should be given to me.” He swallowed, feeling a horrid grief in his throat. “That instruction must have come from your
husband, and I am sure that he meant for me to bring it to you.” He paused, trying to hold her gaze steadily, but his strength failed him and he looked away.

“I promised you once that I would return him to you,” he whispered. “It was a foolish promise to make, and it grieves me to have broken it. Your husband was dear to me, and I would have given my life to save him. Yet he is gone, and this,” he said, looking at the ring on his palm, “is all of him that I can bring.”

Lillabeth's eyes misted with tears as they followed his own to the ring. Gently she then took it from his hand and weighed it in hers. She wore her wedding ring openly now. The two silver bands glinted together in the light.

Lillabeth suddenly looked up at him. “What happened to him, Eamon?”

Eamon paled.

“I don't think I…” He faltered and met her gaze. She was the one with the most right to know what had befallen Mathaiah, but as he looked at her he feared for her, and for the child that she carried. If he had scarcely been able to bear the news, how could she?

“Lillabeth,” he said gently, “you deserve to know, and know in full, yet I am afraid of what might happen to you should I tell it.”

Lillabeth looked down at the ring in her hand for a long moment, then back at Eamon. “The King's grace was with him to the very end,” she said. “It will also be with me as I listen.”

Eamon measured her gaze. It was stalwart, though afraid.

“You know of the Nightholt?” he asked at last. Lillabeth nodded. Eamon belatedly realized that she would have seen it on the day that it was destroyed.

“When Mathaiah and I first came to Dunthruik we were sent to find it,” he said. “We had no idea what it was. I knew that it was evil – I could hardly hold it. But Mathaiah could read it.”

Lillabeth nodded again. “He spoke of it,” she said.

The news did not surprise Eamon.

“They took him because he could read it.”

“Why should they have needed him to read it?” Lillabeth asked. “Surely Edelred could read it himself?”

“It was not Edelred who took him,” Eamon answered. “It was Arlaith.”

Lillabeth's eyes widened in surprise.

“One of the Right Hand's chief responsibilities was to find the Nightholt. At Arlaith's command, it had been found.” Eamon's heart grew heavy as he saw another facet of how deeply Ladomer had used him. “But Arlaith did not give it to Edelred; he kept it for himself. He conspired to overthrow Edelred, and the only way he could do so was by tampering with the Nightholt. But Arlaith could not read it. Neither could the other Hands, and when he learned that Mathaiah could, Arlaith took him and tried to force him to do it.”

Lillabeth's face grew pale and Eamon trembled. Suddenly it was all so clear to him: Cathair, and maybe even Ashway, had thought all along that Arlaith's commands about Mathaiah and the Nightholt had come from the throned, but they had not. Arlaith had put all the blame of his backfired scheme onto Cathair, the only one left who could have gainsaid him. It was why the Left Hand had been so keen to see Eamon return in victory from the Raven's nest.

How could he not have understood it sooner?

“Did they torture him?” Lillabeth asked.

“He was held in the Pit, which was torture enough for most men. While they hoped that he might be made to read, the worst they did was beat him and lie to him that they held you and tortured you, Lillabeth. You must know that he did not fear the former and never believed the latter. They tried to breach him but they could not, and when they could not breach him they tried all that they could to break him.” He fell quiet. “I do not know whether they then killed him because he would not surrender to them what they wanted, or whether Arlaith feared that he would be discovered, or whether Cathair killed him to strike at me and unwittingly worked against Arlaith. Your husband was blinded.” Suddenly he was in the
Four Quarters as the cart moved past him in the chill night. “He was blinded and they took his hands. But they never took his hope.”

“You saw him,” Lillabeth breathed. Perhaps she saw in his face a ghost of what he had seen.

“I saw his body,” Eamon answered. “And I am glad, Lillabeth, I cannot tell you how glad, that you did not. As for him…”

It was then that his heart was filled with singing, and he remembered – with clarity that his mind could scarcely contain – the river and the city where he had tarried, and the one who had met him there.

He looked back to Lillabeth and a smile filled his face. “I saw him again.”

Lillabeth looked at him in amazement. “What do you mean?”