The Oracle's Queen (49 page)

“No,” Arkoniel agreed. “I've felt her presence often at night, but never in daylight.”

“I see Brother all the time, day or night.”

“He's a different sort of spirit.”

Tamír went to the window. Ki followed, unwilling to trust in Arkoniel's appraisal of ghosts. For all he knew, that bloodied nightmare could come rushing out of nowhere at any moment. Ghosts were always unlucky things, or so he'd been taught, and those who haunted Tamír gave truth to the saying.

“What do I do?” Tamír wondered aloud.

“Perhaps nothing,” Arkoniel replied.

“Why did the Oracle send me back, then?”

“Some things can't be mended, Tamír.”

“What about Lhel?” asked Ki. “We haven't even looked for her yet. She could always put Brother in his place. Come on, Tamír, let's ride up the road, like we used to.”

Tamír brightened at once and made for the door. “Of course! I bet she's waiting for us, like always.”

“Wait.” Arkoniel called after them.

Ki turned to find Arkoniel regarding them sorrowfully.

“She's not here anymore.”

“How do you know that?” asked Tamír. “You know how she is. If she doesn't want to be found, then you can't, and if she does, she's right there waiting for you, every time.”

“I thought the same, until—” Arkoniel paused, and Ki read the truth in his face before he even said it. “She's dead, Tamír. The Oracle told me.”

“Dead?” Tamír sank slowly to her knees among scattered bits of yellowed wool. “But how?”

“If I were to guess, I'd say Brother was responsible. I'm sorry. I should have told you, but you already had so much to contend with.”

“Dead.” Tamír shivered and buried her face in her hands. “Another one. More blood!”

Ki knelt and put an arm around her, blinking back tears of his own. “I thought—I thought she'd always be there waiting for us in that hollow tree of hers.”

“So did I,” Arkoniel agreed sadly.

Tamír raised a hand to the hidden scar on her chest. “I want to look for her. I want to bury her. It's only right.”

“Have a bite to eat and change your clothes,” Arkoniel advised.

Tamír nodded and turned to go.

“Hold on,” said Ki. He ran his fingers through her disheveled hair. “That's better, eh?” he said, straightening his own rumpled tunic. “No sense giving them too much to gossip about.”

T
hat was easier said than done. As Tamír went to her chamber to change, she noticed Lynx and Nikides watching her from their open doorway. Tamír didn't think she or Ki gave anything away, but they took one look and turned away with knowing smiles.

“Damn it!” she muttered, mortified.

“I'll talk to them.” Ki gave her a rueful look and went off to deal with their friends.

Tamír shook her head as she closed her own door, wondering what he'd say. She wasn't entirely sure herself what had happened between them, but she somehow felt lighter, and more hopeful, even with her sorrow over Lhel.

Whatever Ki told them, no one asked any questions.

As soon as they could slip away she, Ki, and Arkoniel set off up the old mountain road.

I
t would have been a pleasant ride if not for the sad knowledge they carried. The sun was bright and the forest showed early splashes of yellow and crimson.

Ki spotted the faint hint of a trail half a mile on from the keep. Leaving their horses tethered, they followed it on foot.

“It could just be a game trail,” he noted.

“No, there's her mark,” Arkoniel said, pointing out a faded, rust-colored mark on the white trunk of a birch. Looking closer, Ki saw that it was a handprint, much smaller than his own.

“That's from her hiding spell,” Arkoniel explained, touching it sadly. “The power of it died with her.”

The faded traces of more handprints guided them along a faint path winding through the trees and up a slope to the clearing.

At first glance nothing had changed. The deerskin flap still covered the low doorway at the base of the huge hollow oak. Beyond it, the spring roiled silently in its round pool.

As he approached the tree, however, Ki saw that the ashes in the fire pit were old, and her wooden drying racks were empty and in need of repair. Tamír pushed the deerskin aside and disappeared inside. Ki and Arkoniel followed.

Animals had been in here. Lhel's baskets were scattered and gnawed, the dried fruit and meat long gone. Her few implements still lay on low shelves, and her pallet of furs was undisturbed.

What remained of Lhel was there, as if she'd lain down to sleep and never wakened again. Animals and insects had done their work. The shapeless dress with its deer tooth beading was torn and pulled awry, exposing the bare bones beneath. Only her hair remained, a dark tumble of black curls framing the eyeless skull.

Arkoniel sank down with a groan and wept quietly. Tamír remained silent, shedding no tears. The empty look in her eyes as she silently turned and went outside troubled Ki.

He found her standing by the spring.

“She showed me my true face here,” she whispered, staring down at her shifting reflection in the water. Ki was tempted to put an arm around her, but she stepped away, still lost and empty. “The ground is hard and we have nothing to dig with. We should have brought a spade.”

There was nothing among Lhel's meager possessions that would serve, either. Arkoniel found her silver knife and needle and tucked them into his belt. The rest they
left, and piled stones in front of the doorway, making her home her tomb. Arkoniel cast a spell on the stones so that they would not fall away.

Through it all Tamír did not weep. When they were finished with the stones she pressed a hand to the oak's gnarled trunk, as if communing with the spirit of the woman immured inside.

“There's nothing more to be done here,” she said at last. “We'd better get on to Atyion.”

Ki and the wizard exchanged a sad look and followed, letting her alone with her silent grief.

She's seen too much of death already
, Ki thought.
And we still have a war ahead of us
.

T
he pain of Lhel's death, compounded with the knowledge of the role she'd played in Brother's death, was too black and deep to give voice to. Tamír left those feelings behind with the witch's bones, taking away only a numb sense of shock and loss.

There was no reason to stay, and the keep was once again a place with too many bad memories. They left that same day.

Nari and Cook kissed her and Ki both over and over again, then wept in their aprons when they finally departed. As she rode along the river, Tamír turned and looked up at the tower window one last time. The broken shutter on the east window was still hanging by one twisted hinge. She saw no face in the opening, but she swore she felt eyes on her back until they rode into the cover of the trees.

I'm sorry, Mother. Perhaps another time
.

Ki leaned over and touched her arm. “Let it go. You did what you could. Arkoniel's right. Some things can't be mended.”

Perhaps he was right, but she still felt she'd failed.

T
hey rode hard that day and slept wrapped in their cloaks that night. Lying there among the others, Tamír touched the bruise on her chin, letting her thoughts stray back to Ki and the way it had felt to kiss him and fall asleep in his arms.

He lay within arm's reach, but she couldn't touch him.
As she was about to turn over he opened his eyes and smiled.

It was almost as good as a kiss.

She wondered what they'd do when they were in the castle again, under so many watchful eyes.

W
hen they were in half a day's ride of the town, Tamír sent Lynx and Tyrien ahead with news of her safe return. By the time they came in sight of Atyion early that evening, the city was brightly lit with torches and lanterns, and a great crowd had assembled along the main street, eager to hear the Oracle's words to their queen. Illardi met her on horseback at the town gate, dressed in the robe and chain of his office. Kaliya, head priestess of the Illioran temple of Atyion, and Imonus were with him.

“Majesty, did the Oracle speak to you?” Imonus inquired.

“Yes, she did,” she replied, loud enough to be heard by those gathered around the small square there.

“If it please Your Majesty, will you share it with us, in the temple square?” asked Kaliya.

Tamír nodded and led her entourage toward the square of the Four. Illardi leaned closer in the saddle. “I have news for you, Majesty. That young fellow of Arkoniel's—Eyoli—he sent word a few days ago by pigeon from Cirna. Korin is preparing to move against you. It seems he finally got his new wife with child.”

“Is he on the march?” asked Tharin.

“Not by today's report, but from what your wizards were able to show us of the encampments, they are nearly ready.”

“I'll speak with Eyoli as soon as we're finished here,” Arkoniel murmured.

Tamír's heart sank, though she was hardly surprised. “Give him my thanks. And send word to Gedre and Bôkthersa. The emissaries should be home by now, Lord Chancellor, and I'll speak with you and my generals—”

“Tomorrow's soon enough, Majesty. You're weary, I can tell. Rest tonight. I've already begun preparations.”

People thronged the steps of the four temples, and more stood on the roofs, eager to hear the first official prophecy of her reign.

Still in the saddle, she took out the scroll Ralinus had given her. “These are the words of Illior, given to me by the Oracle of Afra.”

She'd been amazed when she'd read it in Afra. She hadn't told Ralinus what the Oracle had actually said, word for word. Yet what he'd written was nearly the same.

“Hear the words of the Oracle, people of Skala.” Her voice sounded thin and high in the open air, and it was a strain to speak so loudly but she pressed on. “ ‘Hail, Queen Tamír, daughter of Ariani, daughter of Agnalain, trueborn scion of Skala's royal line. By blood you were protected and by blood will you rule. You are a seed, watered with blood, Tamír of Skala. By blood and trial, you will hold your throne. From the Usurper's hand you will wrest the Sword. Before you and behind you lies a river of blood, bearing Skala to the west. There will you build a new city, to my honor.' ”

A stunned silence greeted her words.

“Prince Korin calls himself king in Cirna and is massing an army against me,” she went on. “I've sent him messages, asking him to give up his claim and be honored as my kinsman. His only answer has been silence. Now I'm told that he means to march on Atyion with an army at his back. As much as it grieves me, I will heed the words of the Oracle, and the visions given to me. I am your queen, and I will put down this rebellion against the throne. Will you follow me?”

The people cheered and waved swords and colored banners in the air. The acclaim warmed her, lifting some of the darkness from her heart. Korin had made his decision.
Now she must act on hers, no matter how painful the outcome.

Her duty done, Tamír gave the scroll to Kaliya to be displayed in the temple and copied and read out across the land by heralds.

“That went well,” Ki noted as they rode on for the castle.

“The people love you, and they'll fight to keep you,” said Tharin.

Tamír said nothing, thinking of all the blood the Oracle had shown her. She could already feel it staining her hands.

They made their way through the barbican and found Lytia and most of the castle household waiting for her in the castle yard. “Welcome back, Majesty,” Lytia greeted her as Tamír dismounted and stretched her stiffened legs.

“Thank you. I hope you didn't go to the trouble of a feast. I just want a bath and my bed.”

Some of the other wizards and children were there, as well.

“Where is Mistress Iya?” asked Rala.

Tamír heard, and wondered what Arkoniel would tell them, and if they'd stay. For now, though, he evaded the questions as he drew them away, already asking for reports on Korin.

Tamír left him to it and strode up the steps, anxious to relax in private before the court duties descended on her. She hadn't missed those at all.

Lytia accompanied her and the Companions upstairs. As Tamír reached her chamber door, Lytia touched her sleeve and murmured, “A word in private, Majesty? It's rather important.”

Tamír nodded for her to follow, leaving the others outside.

Baldus was curled up in a chair with Ringtail on his lap. He pushed the cat off and jumped up to bow.
“Welcome back, Queen Tamír! Shall I light the fire for you?”

“No, go tell the bath servants I want a tub. And make it a hot one!”

Baldus dashed out, happy to have his mistress back. Tamír wondered fleetingly what he did when she wasn't around to wait on. She unbuckled her sword and tossed it on the abandoned chair, then began struggling with the buckles on her breastplate. The cat wound around her ankles, purring roughly and nearly tripping her.

Lytia shooed him away and took over the task. Tamír pulled off her hauberk and draped it on its rack, then flopped back on the bed, unmindful of her dirty boots. Ringtail leaped onto the bed and curled up on her chest. “Bilairy's balls, that's better!” She ruffled his thick fur. “Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Majesty, some of the other Companions arrived in your absence. They've had a hard journey—”

“Una? Is she hurt?” Tamír sat up in alarm. Ringtail hissed and darted away.

“No Majesty. It's Lord Caliel, Lord Lutha, and his squire. I've settled them in one of the guesting chambers in this tower.”

Tamír jumped to her feet again, happy beyond words at the news. “Thank the Four! Why weren't they down to greet me? The others will be thrilled to see them.”