The Rose Throne (4 page)

Ailsbet turned to the men on horseback, the ekhono hunters.

One of them, a man with a hulking upper body, strode toward Ailsbet. “You there!” he called out. Clearly, he did not recognize her as Princess Ailsbet, daughter of King Haikor of Rurik, his master. She had dressed hastily this morning and at first glance must seem more servant than lady.

“What is it?” she asked.

“How long have you been here? Have you seen anyone hurrying by? A man and a girl, perhaps?”

“No one,” Ailsbet said.

The man threw back his hood and she saw that his head was shaved and covered with scars. Burns, presumably, from the many fires he had set to burn the ekhono, in accordance with her father’s laws.

“I saw no one,” she repeated.

He came closer to her. “Do not lie to me, girl. Tell me where this man went. He is a sympathizer of the ekhono and will be burned with the girl. If either of them should escape Rurik, the king will be very angry.”

“I think you are trying to make me do your job for you,” Ailsbet said angrily. “I told you I saw no man. If you know where he went, why do you not follow him? Perhaps I should be the one to send a message to the king, telling him that you expect women to hunt for you,” she finished.

With a closer look at her face and gown, the hunter seemed to reappraise his initial assessment of her. He bowed and spoke more gently. “If you please, then, good lady. Have you seen anyone? A man and a girl, perhaps? Who might have looked suspicious?”

Ailsbet glanced over the heads of the hunters and saw a fox scurry by on the road behind. The creature stopped for a moment and glanced at her. It was as if she could hear its thoughts, not in words, but in feelings, fear and anger and hatred toward the hunters. And the lust it felt for life, for the females of its own kind, for the taste of fresh food in its mouth.

The anger Ailsbet had felt toward the ekhono hunters suddenly surged away from her, like an extra limb, growing and extending. She could feel it lurch toward the fox, but she could not stop it. Like a flame drawn by the wind, the heat of her anger encompassed the fox, which gave a cry of pain and fell dead on the ground.

Ailsbet felt a moment of cool relief, her anger
gone. Then her heart sped up in her chest. She felt a rush of sound in her ears, and she nearly fainted.

The lead ekhono hunter turned and saw the dead fox, then gave a whoop of excitement. “She must be nearby!” he shouted to his men. “This is her taweyr, surely. It is newly come to her, and she cannot control it. Spread out and find her!” Ignoring Ailsbet, he leaped onto his horse and led his men away.

Ailsbet was left with the sick realization that she, and not the young girl, had killed the fox. Which meant she was the one who could not control her taweyr.

The anger that she had felt so many times over the last few years, the same hot anger that had led to the fox’s death—it had not been anger at all. It was the taweyr. It had always been the taweyr.

She was not unweyr. She was ekhono.

She had felt the fury of the ocean because it had tried to pull her taweyr from her.

But when had it come to her? Her mother had tried to teach her neweyr when she was twelve, to no avail. But many girls developed their neweyr later than that. Ailsbet had held out hope that she had neweyr until she turned sixteen, when even late-blooming girls would have shown their magic. But it seemed that she had followed the path of men, who
came into their taweyr later than women came into their neweyr.

She felt a rush of sympathy for the ekhono, who were forced to flee Rurik for Weirland when they could no longer hide what they were. In Weirland, the ekhono were accepted, or at least tolerated. And before King Haikor came to power, the ekhono were part of Rurik, as well. They had been seen as different, but as useful, men who could speak to other men about the female magic, and women who could be warriors. There had been no need to burn their bodies to keep their taint from spreading, and no public burnings of those ekhono who were unfortunate enough to be captured alive.

Oh, there had always been stories about the evil that the ekhono could do, stealing weyr from others, tainting it. Ekhono women who killed their husbands on their wedding nights to feast on their magic. Ekhono men who disguised themselves in the clothes of the other sex so they could work in a noble household and take advantage of the women there. Ridiculous stories that Ailsbet had never believed, not even as a child. She thought them as likely as stories about the continentals who could fly through the air while singing and attack her father’s men in the battle with Aristonne.

Even before her father’s laws against them, the ekhono in the far reaches of the kingdom were sometimes killed by angry mobs, blamed for plague or illness, blamed for wives who had been unfaithful, for falling stars, for wishes gone awry, and even for disobedient children. But as far as Ailsbet could tell, throughout the history of Rurik, the ekhono had been law-abiding citizens, contributing to their communities in the same ways that those with the more common weyr did.

Now Ailsbet wished desperately she had learned more stories of the ekhono, true or not. She certainly could not dare to ask for them now, when even the slightest hint of the truth could end her life. As someone who helped the ekhono, Duke Kellin had a deadly secret, and that gave her power over him. But her own secret was far worse. If she were found out, her father would have no mercy. He would gladly stand and watch while she burned.

And after she was dead, he would do worse to her memory. Her name would never be spoken. Her mother and Prince Edik might be implicated in her disgrace. Her servants might be killed for helping her hide the truth, whether or not there was any proof of their guilt. The whole palace would be turned upside down as her father searched for other hidden ekhono.

Ailsbet mounted the horse and rode it back to Baron Bartel’s estate. She returned to her bedroom, where she was lectured by Queen Aske about her responsibilities as a princess, and how she had worried everyone by leaving without a word. On a horse, the queen added, which might have thrown her and left her lying dead in a ditch somewhere in the vast countryside.

Ailsbet listened and said nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. The queen might be stupid not to see the truth, but some part of her must know that there was something truly wrong with Ailsbet, even if she did not name it. For once in her life, Ailsbet was glad that her mother was not given to seeking the truth or to speaking it aloud.

At last, the queen left and Ailsbet turned to her flute for solace. But even music did not soothe her now. It could not change the truth of what she was, and the danger that would lurk at every turn, as long as she lived.

P
RINCESS
M
ARLISSA OF
W
EIRLAND
stood on the ramparts above the castle at noon, looking out on the craggy hills that surrounded her in all directions. Summer was waning, and soon Issa would use her part of the neweyr to bank the growth and fertility of the season, so that next year would be even more abundant than this one. But now, the neweyr of summer and life was at its height, and there was nothing in Issa’s mind as beautiful as the land. She could feel the harvest plants growing fat and heavy, the warmth of the air settling deep into the black soil. It was as delicious to her as
any taste on her tongue, as sweet as any imagined kiss.

“Issa, there is an emissary come from Rurik, waiting to speak to you in the Throne Room,” said her father, King Jaap, coming up behind her.

“I am sure he would rather speak to you than me, Father,” said Issa. Since her mother’s death, she had taken the queen’s place in guarding the neweyr. But she had not yet decided if she would encourage the distant cousin who was her father’s heir to propose marriage to her. She had once considered marrying Lord Umber, whose lands were near the land bridge, but he had disappeared only a few weeks ago and was suspected of going to Rurik to give information to King Haikor. Whether he expected coins or new lands or a title for this betrayal, no one knew.

“His name is Duke Kellin of Falcorn. He is one of King Haikor’s court favorites. He has come to offer a betrothal.”

“A betrothal?” said Issa. Well, this would be interesting, at least. A duke of Rurik had never been to the kingdom before. In fact, Issa could not remember any official emissary ever coming from Rurik, only spies. She might have fun with this.

Issa climbed down and made her way to the Throne Room in the other wing of the castle. Before
she entered, her father touched her arm and she turned back to him.

“I have sheltered you,” the king said. “Kept you from your responsibilities as princess.”

“I have been guiding the neweyr in my mother’s place since I was eleven years old,” Issa protested. “How is that sheltering me from my responsibilities?”

“Not the responsibilities of the neweyr, but the responsibilities of the throne. You are a princess, Issa, and it is time that you were used as one.”

Issa still did not understand what her father meant, but she puzzled over it as he led her into the Throne Room. A man stood when they entered. He was tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. He was dressed in a long, thick, wool cloak that was adorned with pearls along the edge, and he seemed utterly untouched by the wear of the weeks of travel he would have endured on the journey here. It made Issa more conscious of her own worn tweed gown, the edges of her sleeves dirty from her work in the garden early that morning, the skirt with a tear to one side.

Issa glanced back up and saw Duke Kellin observing her every movement. There was a kind of arrogance in the set of his mouth and in the point
of his chin. He seemed to Issa everything that she would have expected from a nobleman of King Haikor’s court. He was younger than she had expected, but perhaps King Haikor had run out of older, more experienced men. It was said that his favorites died with a frightening regularity.

“King Jaap,” said Kellin with a formal bow. Then he turned to her. “Princess Marlissa.” He bowed again, and held out his hand.

Issa gave him her own hand. When he kissed it, the sensation was strangely cold. Did he think she would marry him because he was handsome and powerful in King Haikor’s court?

“I come to you with gifts from King Haikor.” The duke offered Issa a small velvet bag. “To match the shine of your eyes,” he added.

Inside the bag was an emerald the size of a hummingbird’s egg. Issa had never seen anything so valuable. Despite herself, she was impressed with the gift. King Haikor must truly value Duke Kellin, if he was willing to send such a gift to the woman Kellin hoped to marry.

Issa could have used her neweyr to reach inside the faint veins of life inside of the emerald and expand the flaws that lay deep within. It would crumble to dust in her hands if she wished it. But she resisted the
impulse and instead glanced at her father to see if she should accept it.

King Jaap nodded, so Issa held the emerald in the palm of her hand, moving it this way and that to see the facets shimmer. It was beautiful indeed, and it was worth half the castle, she had no doubt. Kellin was handsome, to be sure, but she did not know if she liked the brooding look of his.

“And this,” Kellin said, “to bring you the sweetest smell of summer even in the dark of winter.” He handed her a tiny box, which, when opened, let out a strong scent of lavender. It was not soap, but a candle.

A gift from a man who knew nothing of the neweyr, she thought. If she wished to have the scent of any summer flower in winter, she could bring it up from the banked neweyr in the earth herself. She set the candle gently on the table.

“Finally, a gift from Prince Edik himself,” said Duke Kellin, holding out a tiny metal figure.

From Prince Edik? Issa took the gift at her father’s nod and held it up to the light. It was a female figure, dressed in a simple shift, holding a peace lantern. The details were exquisite.

“I thank you,” said Issa politely. “I shall keep these gifts close to my heart.” Though she did not
understand why Duke Kellin had brought a gift from the king, as well as the young prince. Why would Kellin not bring something from his own estate, if he wished to offer her a personal touch?

“Perhaps you should begin at the beginning, Duke Kellin,” King Jaap suggested. He took this all more seriously than Issa did, it seemed. “The princess would like to tend to all of the details of the betrothal.”

Duke Kellin glanced at Issa. “Of course,” he said. “I have come to offer a betrothal between you and young Prince Edik of Rurik, Your Highness.”

And suddenly, Issa was no longer amused or puzzled. A betrothal with Prince Edik of Rurik? Her father might have warned her. She glanced at him and saw a hint of apology in his eyes. But it was her fault, for not thinking more carefully. Her father had been all seriousness. This was not a betrothal she could simply refuse out of hand. She dared not insult King Haikor, who had threatened before this to come across the land bridge and, with his superior army and taweyr, take Weirland for himself.