Part 55 (1/2)

Alayra made commands, not requests; over the years, Jewel had grown accustomed to this fact. Her body obeyed, where her mind could not; her eyes-no, her lids, seemed to snap up. But she could not, could not, see them, although the voices were clear enough. She saw what she had seen during the day. In the hall. And she understood, then.

She could hear Avandar, cursing. Seizure. Get out of the way! She did not answer; wouldn't have, could she. She felt his fingers, his hands, the roughness of his skin against her cheeks. Then, something rigid pressed between her lips. It's not the seizures, you fool, it's the sight, but her lips took the rod, willing, as if her body was, for the moment, an empty vessel that-barely- managed to hold her. Learn how to control your power, someone had said-but the closer she got to it, the more it controlled her. As it did now.

It was the vision.

The same vision that had given her the impetus to cry out across the Chamber to The Kalakar.

Kiriel was leaping from the heights, and Jewel watched her fall as if she were the edge of a blade. The ground beneath her feet shuddered as if her slight weight would sunder it. Shadow trailed from her eyes, her lips, the wildly dancing tips of her ebony hair. Her hands were gloved in darkness, and her chest; she was armed and armored and weaponed.

And behind her or beside her, armored and armed and shedding blood, not shadow, stood the young princeling: Valedan kai di'Leonne. He cried out; she did not understand the words he spoke.

No-wait- But the words would not escape the rod that Avandar had placed between her lips. She felt her eyes stop their tingling; the shadows left them, returning the normalcy of The Terafin's rooms. Spitting, and glaring at the domicis who served her, she lowered her face into her hands. What was that? she thought. Vision? Sight? Some disjointed memory of the morning?

”Jewel?”

”I... am well.”

The Terafin nodded coolly. ”And your vision?”

”I would have said-would almost have said-that I was seeing this morning's event.”

”Jewel,” The Terafin's domicis said quietly, presuming to enter a conversation into which he had not, theoretically, been invited, ”there is something about this young... woman that speaks to you. To your sense of the future.”

”Yes.”

Avandar was not pleased. She knew it at once because his jaw took on that muscular, clenched look. There was, between these two men, a compet.i.tion that had never died. She had asked them both about it, and neither man chose to elaborate.

”Is she a danger to us?” The Terafin again. ”Yes.”

”Succinctly put,” her own domicis, Avandar, said. ”How?”

But to that, Jewel ATerafin had no answer.

Kiriel approached the throne room for the first time. She looked through the two-story open doors to the heights formed by an arched ceiling that had been built to catch, and hold, the sound of a King's judgment. The wisdom-born King. There were windows here that caught light just as surely as the ceiling caught sound, transforming and coloring it before it descended to ground. There were benches carved out of the stone sill of each window; they were empty now, although she had no doubt that they were often filled. It was a grand hall, and although she had seen grander in her life, the sight of it filled her with the blackness of certain familiarity. Power. ”Kiriel.”

The word, a nudge of sorts from Cook, brought her back to herself. She stood two feet from the frame of the door; there were armed men to either side of the entrance. She waited for them to move, knowing the game. She had seen a foolish man expose his back to her Lord's guards once before. It had only happened once; the lesson-her lesson-had been well-learned.

”Kiriel,” Cook said again, his whisper making of her name a high, quiet shriek. He meant for her to walk past these men. Was it a test? Another lesson?

But she glanced back at Cook, who, of the Ospreys, she understood least, and saw at once the s.h.i.+fting and the s.h.i.+mmering about him that spoke of no such cruelty. Oh, there was a thread of it -a hint of darkness and shadow that lay about him like a fine mesh net-but it did not pull. Not now. He smiled, but the smile was weak; she did not understand it. There was no amus.e.m.e.nt in the gesture; he was not laughing at her discomfiture. No... she thought he smiled because he was nervous. Frustrated, she turned back to the men who barred her way; they were an easier task.

The Lord's-no, the King's, and this she must not forget, lest she give herself away-guards were lightly armored and armed. They met her gaze impa.s.sively, but they met it, taking her measure as she took theirs. These men were dangerous. She could smell it. Her hand fell to her sword's black hilt and rested there, her stance changing subtly as she s.h.i.+fted her weight on her legs.

”Kiriel, please,” Cook said, for the third time. Then he did something remarkably foolish: He grabbed her arm.

Kiriel di'Ashaf announced her presence by throwing him past the two guards who waited in the open doors. They had time to react before her arm had finished its carry through; the tips of two blades were beneath her chin and chest. They were narrow blades, not swords, but they did not shake at all, not even minutely, although human hands often trembled in time of danger.

She knew at once that she had done the wrong thing, at a time when the wrong thing could be fatal. For she knew with certainty that Etridian fled the chamber because he could not survive the combined might of the humans- and the G.o.d-born-who presided within. What was certain to destroy Etridian was almost certain to destroy Kiriel.

She heard Primus Duarte's angry intake of breath; heard Alexis stop breathing, and heard Auralis chuckle grimly.

Verrus Korama AKalakar moved in the quiet of the hall at her back-she could hear his distinctive step-and whispered, ”I told you.” The Kalakar said nothing at all.

”I see,” came a voice from within the great room, ”that this is going to be a most... unusual interview.” It was King Cormalyn. ”If the Lord of the Compact will be so good as to order his men to grant free pa.s.sage, we will overlook this unfortunate incident. And,” the King continued, the words quite chilly, ”if it pleases The Kalakar, she will maintain order within the ranks of her House while in our presence.”

”Your Majesty,” The Kalakar said, in as grim a tone of voice as Kiriel had yet heard her use. She stepped past Kiriel without deigning to look at the girl, and walked without incident between the two men who stood guard. Her advisers, Vernon and Korama, followed in perfect step behind her, although it had been a long time since either man had engaged in dress maneuvers. Duarte came to stand beside Kiriel; he was flushed. He lifted a hand, thought better of it, and dropped it again as if it were stone. ”We-are-going-to-talk-about-this-later.”

”Yes, Primus Duarte.”

Meralonne APhaniel looked up as she entered the room. Smoke wreathed his face as the tobacco in his pipe burned to ash beneath his nose, forgotten. He said something and gestured, touching his chest, his forehead, and last, his eyes-an exaggeration of form, but one necessary to make clear to the suspicious eyes of the Astari that the spell cast was entirely personal and within the Crowns' accepted canon.

In that, he showed himself to be, well, himself. Very few were the mages, or the bards, or the G.o.d-born, who dared to practice their gifts in this chamber, before these people.

She knew at once, although this did not surprise him as his vision s.h.i.+fted and strengthened and he saw what she carried within. Darkness, thick, heavy, living. Saw her face, the slight widening- and narrowing-of her eyes. Her eyes. Impossible.

It was not the first time in his life he had faced the impossible, nor the first time that he had been asked to act upon it.

”Your Majesty,” he said, the words clear although the shocked murmurs that rose as the thrown Kalakar House Guard did were not quiet. ”This one must not be allowed to live.”

That, of course, changed everything.

Duarte Samison AKalakar, known to few of the people in this room and liked by less, stepped neatly in front of Kiriel di'Ashaf, although every muscle in his body tensed with the wrongness of exposing his back to her. He knew that, had she not been dumped on his hands and into his unit, he would have been standing, shoulder to shoulder, with Meralonne APhaniel, a man whom he remembered well-if from the distance differing levels of power and experience imposed upon the members of the Order of Knowledge.

But she had been placed there. She was an Osprey, untamed, untrained, quite solitary. And he knew for the first time, in this hall with too many spectators-all of them people that Kalakar emphatically did not wish to offend-that he intended to keep her, to train her, and to send her out after prey, just as he had the rest of the Ospreys, the too-deadly, too-rebellious men and women who had become his.

”I wouldn't,” he said softly, to the mage whose hair now looked like a sheen of ice, ”advise it.”

It was not a good day.

She should have known, when the horse tried to kill the girl, that the girl was not meant to leave Kalakar. But Ellora was stubborn in her own right, and besides, if not for the intervention of Kiriel di'Ashaf, the boy, Ser Valedan, would be dead at the hands of a creature the likeness of whose voice was buried in the heart of the woman that Ellora had been, over sixteen years ago, when the city of Averalaan lay under siege of a darkness and death that her people-to a man- were unable to stop. To even act against.

Memories dimmed with time; you could fool yourself into thinking that they had finally released all hold. But they remained, and they could catch you and tear at you at the most inconvenient of times. Where were you, she thought, as her gaze skirted across the features of each of the men and women who stood, staring at Duarte and Kiriel di'Ashaf in the wake of Meralonne's words. Where were you during that Henden ?

She knew that each and every man and woman in the room could answer. Where they were when they first heard those attenuated screams. And where they had been when the last of the cries, like the flickering flame of a candle, had died into a silence that should have been blessed.

Then, the darkness had reigned.

Almost. Her hand fell to her sword a moment; the gesture was so natural she had to force it down and away.

But King Cormalyn turned a cool glance to Meralonne APhaniel. ”Your advice, Member APhaniel, is noted. It would please us if, in future, you might tender that advice in a less dramatic fas.h.i.+on.” He turned to The Kalakar. ”There will be no incident, Kalakar, but there will be explanation.” Last, he looked upon the man who wore Primus' marks. ”Primus,” he said distantly. ”Because of the respect we bear the Commander, we will not have your marks for the audacity you have shown in this room.”

Duarte looked momentarily nonplussed, and then he had the grace to flush. Very awkwardly, he sheathed his weapons, trying to remember exactly when he'd drawn them. I warned her, he thought. The Ospreys are not dress guards. Of course, he'd thought himself to be above their usual displays of inappropriate temper and awkwardness.

He lowered his hands, and then, under the royal glare, stepped out of the way, falling into the proper posture and exposing Kiriel fully to the golden-eyed regard of King Cormalyn the Wise.