Authors: Violette Malan
The Mirror Prince (14 page)
“Wine for breakfast?”
“We don’t get drunk,” she said as she poured, her eyes carefully watching the dark red stream as it flowed from jug to goblet, “and as you pointed out, we’re not human.” She set the pitcher down slightly to the left of where it has been, so that it was no longer precisely between them. She leaned back in her chair, focused her attention on a bloodstain near the neck of Max’s T-SHIRT—SHE couldn’t quite make herself look into his eyes—and began.
“The Songs tell us,” she said, “that long ago, closer to what was probably the middle of this Cycle, you were called Dancer at Dawn, or Dawntreader. Your mother was Light at the Summit, and your father was Raven of the Law. The Phoenix guides you. It was said then that you always knew the why of things, understanding their beginnings in a way that others could not. Then the Choosing came, and you became the Prince Guardian, the Talisman Keeper.”
Max cautiously sniffed at the tea in his cup before taking a sip, apparently satisfied. “Wait a minute. What’s the choosing?”
Cassandra found she had to consciously stop from speaking in the rhythms of Song telling, “When a Guardian feels her
dra’aj
Fading, or his, of course, though it’s almost always a woman, she chooses an apprentice to be the next Guardian.”
dra’aj
Fading, or his, of course, though it’s almost always a woman, she chooses an apprentice to be the next Guardian.”
“And what does that mean, to be a guardian?”
Cassandra studied the leaf pattern glazed into her wine goblet as she turned it around in her fingers. “Not
a
guardian,
the
Guardian. The People have four sacred Talismans. There is
Ma’at
, the Stone of Virtue, which cries out when the High Prince steps upon it. There is
Porre’in
, the Spear of War. Whoever holds it leads the People in battle. There is
Sto’in
, the Cauldron of Plenty, font of
dra’aj
, from which comes all life, and all living things in the Lands, and there is the Sword of Justice,
Ti’ana
, which is never defeated. The Guardian keeps these Talismans safe until the High Prince comes.”
a
guardian,
the
Guardian. The People have four sacred Talismans. There is
Ma’at
, the Stone of Virtue, which cries out when the High Prince steps upon it. There is
Porre’in
, the Spear of War. Whoever holds it leads the People in battle. There is
Sto’in
, the Cauldron of Plenty, font of
dra’aj
, from which comes all life, and all living things in the Lands, and there is the Sword of Justice,
Ti’ana
, which is never defeated. The Guardian keeps these Talismans safe until the High Prince comes.”
“So he’s a kind of regent?”
Cassandra risked a glance at his face, but Max was not looking at her. Instead, his eyes were narrowed into a very familiar frown of concentration. His Bard’s look. What he would, no doubt, call his history teacher’s look.
“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “There’s been no High Prince in my time, or the time of my father. It’s possible for Riders to go their whole lives—and we live very long lives, by human terms—without ever knowing a High Prince. The times of these Princes are told of only in the Songs, and the Songs say these Princes come only toward the end of each Cycle, to guide the people into the new time. I doubt there are any now living who have seen the last High Prince.”
There were times, Cassandra thought, when she had sat across a campfire from this man and watched him tune his harp as she told him this story. At this point, he usually asked about the Songs of the People, recognizing that they were histories, as were the epics of the Bards, but not this time. This time he only nodded for her to continue.
“You had not been the Prince Guardian for long when the Lands began to . . . darken. This darkening was more than the Fading our parents had long spoken of, as they told us of the glories of their youth, the glories we young ones had never known, when the
dra’aj
was plentiful and Guidebeasts were still seen. The Hunt appeared and grew stronger, though no one knew who had called it, and with it other monsters and abominations. Heroes did not return from quests. Two of the Nine Portals collapsed and shut, and there was not
dra’aj
enough to restore them. Places, some of them well-known places, changed so that they could not be found by Moving, one had actually to Ride there, only to find them blasted almost beyond recognition.
dra’aj
was plentiful and Guidebeasts were still seen. The Hunt appeared and grew stronger, though no one knew who had called it, and with it other monsters and abominations. Heroes did not return from quests. Two of the Nine Portals collapsed and shut, and there was not
dra’aj
enough to restore them. Places, some of them well-known places, changed so that they could not be found by Moving, one had actually to Ride there, only to find them blasted almost beyond recognition.
“A Rider called Dreamer of Time came to you saying that the Cycle was clearly turning, bringing with it the time for a High Prince. And Dreamer asked you to let the Talismans speak, certain that they would choose him. You refused.”
Max frowned in concentration, putting down his cup and leaning forward on his elbows. “Why?”
“So far as the Songs tell, you shared your reasons with no one. Many supported you, saying that the Guardian alone could offer the Talismans. And many supported Dreamer, saying that the times were turning dark, and that a High Prince was needed to save the Lands.”
“So came the war.”
Max sat back abruptly. “Typical. Country’s in trouble and the best thing these two idiots can think to do is have a war.”
Cassandra smiled. “You were one of those idiots, my Prince.”
“That’s what
you
say.” Max shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me. I lost, right?”
you
say.” Max shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me. I lost, right?”
“You lost.” Cassandra couldn’t keep a small smile from escaping her control. Max had just spoken of himself as the Prince. It didn’t surprise her. He
was
the Prince, however much he denied it.
was
the Prince, however much he denied it.
“Speaking hypothetically,” he added.
She nodded, his tone wiping the smile from her lips. Prince or not, Max Ravenhill was still a historian, trained to think objectively.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Some called for your death, calling you a traitor to the People, the cause of war since you refused Dreamer the Talismans. But the majority of Riders were against that. It was one thing to disagree with your decisions, they thought, quite another to kill you. After all, who could know what might come of it, if the Guardian was killed? Then Dreamer himself, now called the Basilisk Prince after his Guidebeast, spoke for your Banishment, and prevailed. And here was this other world, the Shadowlands, to which you could be sent.”
Max nodded, considering. “Okay, banishment. Good thinking. But it doesn’t explain why I don’t remember any of this.”
“How could they Banish one of the Traveling Folk? A Rider who can Move where he wills?” Cassandra shrugged. “The Basilisk Prince knew of a Chant that would remove your
dra’aj
. We Wardens were sent, under Oaths, to protect you, lest, in your changed state, you be killed by humans. As I’ve said, we found that your memory had gone with your
dra’aj,
and though it was unexpected, it made a horrid kind of sense. Without
dra’aj
you couldn’t return, without memory you couldn’t rally your followers or be used as a tool by them,” she pointed out sourly.
dra’aj
. We Wardens were sent, under Oaths, to protect you, lest, in your changed state, you be killed by humans. As I’ve said, we found that your memory had gone with your
dra’aj,
and though it was unexpected, it made a horrid kind of sense. Without
dra’aj
you couldn’t return, without memory you couldn’t rally your followers or be used as a tool by them,” she pointed out sourly.
“But we’ve had very little to do over the years. You have some very powerful luck working for you. Hearth of the Wind, the Solitary who called himself Diggory, said that it was your
dra’aj
, awake inside you even though you did not feel it.”
dra’aj
, awake inside you even though you did not feel it.”
“Today hasn’t felt very lucky, somehow.”
She smiled and shrugged. “We still live.”
Max waited, watching the warm firelight play across Cassandra’s ivory skin, until it became apparent that she had finished speaking. He shifted a little under her steady gaze. Though she’d avoided meeting his eye, all along she’d been looking at him with a teacher’s special patience, or as if she was taking him through his lines in a play she knew too well.
“So what’s changed now?” he said. “Why come after the Guardian now?”
She spread her hands. “Diggory said it was because of something that only you know. That can only be the location of the Talismans. And that makes no sense.” She frowned in concentration until Max coughed softly. “Your followers agreed not to oppose the Banishment so long as the Talismans remained safe, which is to say in hiding, until it was over. Only you know where they are.”
Max shook his head slowly, barely able to stop himself from laughing out loud. Only the look on Cassandra’s face stopped him. “But
I
don’t know where they are.”
I
don’t know where they are.”
For a moment Cassandra merely looked at him. “Then, regardless of what you believe, you’d better do your best to help me convince them you are the Prince Guardian. Otherwise, they may kill us out of hand as being of no use to them.”
Max rolled his eyes upward. “Great,” he said. “My life just might depend on my actually being someone else. So to save my life, I have to give up my life. You people are just charming,
so
glad I ran into you. Death by Hound is looking better and better.” He pushed aside his mug of tea, cold now, and sat forward, leaning his right forearm on the edge of the table. In this light Cassandra’s hair looked like old gold, and her eyes were dark as agates. Only her skin remained the palest of ivories. He could see where a fold of cloth had creased her cheek while she slept.
so
glad I ran into you. Death by Hound is looking better and better.” He pushed aside his mug of tea, cold now, and sat forward, leaning his right forearm on the edge of the table. In this light Cassandra’s hair looked like old gold, and her eyes were dark as agates. Only her skin remained the palest of ivories. He could see where a fold of cloth had creased her cheek while she slept.
He knew nothing about her, Max realized, beyond that she had saved his life several times in the last day. No, not his life, he amended, the life of this Prince she claimed he was. This Prince she’d known for hundreds of years. The story she’d been telling explained what had brought him—if he was this Prince—to this room. She hadn’t really explained what had brought her to this place.
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
She looked up, startled into finally meeting his eyes. “My Rider name is Sword of Truth, or Truthsheart. But Cassandra will do, if you don’t find it too ironic.”
Max frowned, but only for a second. Of course she would name herself after the Trojan princess who tricked Apollo, who then cursed her, saying she would always speak the truth, but never be believed. Of course she would find it ironic.
“Did you know him? Is that why you’re so sure about all this? Were you . . . friends?” Looking back, something in the way her voice changed at parts of the story told him this might be true. Even now, her face showed a subtle sadness as if it cost her some effort to answer him.
“I did not know the Prince Guardian,” she said, her eyes fixed on a pastry her fingers were pulling into crumbs. “We Wardens weren’t chosen from among those who knew you, my lord. We were from neutral families, small families, old, but with little
dra’aj
. My father withdrew from the conflict when my mother died. That was as much darkness as he was able to deal with. I don’t think he actually remembered that there was a war, unless he was reminded. The world and its concerns had stopped for him.”
dra’aj
. My father withdrew from the conflict when my mother died. That was as much darkness as he was able to deal with. I don’t think he actually remembered that there was a war, unless he was reminded. The world and its concerns had stopped for him.”
Max’s next question went unasked.
A soft bell, like the note of a bird, heralded a change in the movement of the air around them. The smell of applewood faded as fresh air spun through the room. Cassandra rose to her feet and drew Max to the side of the table, so that they stood with the fireplace to their backs. She tried to edge herself in front of him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“I would rather stand beside you, if I might.”
She gave him a careful stare, and nodded.
The tapestries on the far side of the room shifted, billowing out slightly to allow the passage of a young Rider dressed in green. Cassandra saw that he was a Starward Rider like herself, pale, blue-eyed, with hair so fair it was almost white.
Chapter Five
WHEN HE HEARD THE SOUND of axes, Windwatcher bit back on the curse that rose to his lips, and tried to ignore the chill spot just below his heart. The sudden tightening of his muscles made him jerk back on the reins, and his Cloud Horse swung her head in protest. But that was safe enough, he could always claim to have been startled by the noise.
“Coming here is not the cleverest thing we could have done, my lord,” Horse of Winter said quietly, shifting as if uncomfortable in his borrowed colors. “We should have Moved directly to Griffinhome.”
“So I believe you told me, Horse of Winter.”
Would that I had listened,
Windwatcher thought as he saluted with a casual wave of the hand the Sunward Captain of the Guard overseeing the men who wielded the darkmetal axes as they rode by. “You were right, this is a mistake, but I would have felt a coward if mere rumors had kept us away.” Curiosity could kill even so old a cat as himself, he acknowledged, worrying at the inside of his lip with his teeth, but when Horse of Winter had come to Windfast with his urgent summons to Griffinhome, Windwatcher had been on horseback already, going to see with his own eyes what rumor had whispered to him. And it was true. The hollow cold spread until Windwatcher had to look down to make sure his hands still held his reins. The Stories told that Naturals lived through many Cycles, perhaps even through all of them, from the beginning of the world. This would be the last Cycle for the Natural of
Ne’agal
Wood.
Would that I had listened,
Windwatcher thought as he saluted with a casual wave of the hand the Sunward Captain of the Guard overseeing the men who wielded the darkmetal axes as they rode by. “You were right, this is a mistake, but I would have felt a coward if mere rumors had kept us away.” Curiosity could kill even so old a cat as himself, he acknowledged, worrying at the inside of his lip with his teeth, but when Horse of Winter had come to Windfast with his urgent summons to Griffinhome, Windwatcher had been on horseback already, going to see with his own eyes what rumor had whispered to him. And it was true. The hollow cold spread until Windwatcher had to look down to make sure his hands still held his reins. The Stories told that Naturals lived through many Cycles, perhaps even through all of them, from the beginning of the world. This would be the last Cycle for the Natural of
Ne’agal
Wood.
Windwatcher forced his shoulders down and laid his left hand loosely on his leather-covered leg, not far from his sword hilt. The picture of idle curiosity—he hoped.
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