The Bone Doll's Twin

by Lynn Flewelling

  The defensiveness with which he declared this was not lost on Arkoniel. “Of course not,” he agreed. “Does anyone say it is?”

  “Tongues always wag. You get something like a demon haunting the king’s own sister and you can imagine what the gossips do with that. Why else do you think Rhius stuck his poor wife and son out here, so far from proper society? A princess, living here? And a prince? No wonder … Well, that’s enough said about that. There’s enough ignorant gossip in the town. Back in Ero, even.”

  “Perhaps Rhius is right. Tobin might not be happy in the city with all those wagging tongues. He’s old enough to understand now.”

  “Yes. And it would break his father’s heart. Mine too, for that matter. He’s a good boy, our Tobin. One of these days he’ll come into his own.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Leaving Tharin to his preparations, Arkoniel made a circuit of the outer walls.

  Here, too, he saw sad evidence of neglect and decline. There had been gardens here once. A few bush roses ran wild against the remains of crumbling stone enclosures, and he could see the brown dry seed heads of rare peonies here and there, fighting to hold their ground amidst the wild native blooms of willow bay, daisy, milkweed, and broom. Ariani had had banks of peonies in her garden at Ero, he recalled. In the early months of summer, huge vases of them had scented the entire house.

  Only a kitchen garden between a back gate and the river’s edge was still tended here now. Arkoniel plucked a sprig of fennel and chewed it as he let himself in the back gate.

  This let onto a rear court. Entering by an open door, he found himself back in the kitchen. Cook, who seemed to have no other name, was busy preparing the evening meal with the help of Tobin, Nari, and Sefus.

  “I don’t know, pet,” Nari was saying, sounding annoyed. “Why do you ask such things?”

  “Ask what things?” Arkoniel joined them at the table. As he sat down, he saw what Tobin had been doing and grinned. Five white turnip sheep were being stalked by a pair of beet root bears and a carroty something that looked vaguely like the dragon Arkoniel had shown him that morning.

  “Cook used to be an archer and fight the Plenimarans with Father like Tharin does,” Tobin said. “But she says the king doesn’t like women to be in his army anymore. Why is that?”

  “You were a soldier?” asked Arkoniel.

  Cook straightened from stirring a kettle and wiped her hands on her apron front. Arkoniel hadn’t paid much attention to her before, but now he saw a flash of pride as she nodded. “I was. I served the last queen with Duke Rhius’ father, and the king after her for a time. I’d be serving still—my eye and arm are still true—but the king don’t like seeing women in the ranks.” She gave a shrug. “So, here you find me.”

  “But why?” Tobin insisted, starting work on another turnip.

  “Maybe girls can’t fight proper,” Sefus said with a smirk.

  “I was worth three of you, and I wasn’t even the best!” Cook snapped. Snatching up a cleaver, she set to work on a joint of mutton as if it were a Plenimaran foot soldier.

  Arkoniel recognized Sefus’ smug attitude. He’d seen plenty of it in recent years. “Women can be fine warriors, and wizards, too, if they have the heart and the training,” Arkoniel told Tobin. “Heart and training; that’s what it takes to be good at anything. Remember how I told you this morning that I don’t shoot anymore? Well, I wasn’t very good to begin with, or at swordplay, either. I wouldn’t have been much use to anyone as a warrior. Why, if Iya hadn’t made a wizard of me, I’d probably be a scullion instead of a scholar!” He cast a sidelong glance at Sefus. “Not too long ago, I met an old woman who’d been both warrior and wizard in the wars. She fought with Queen Ghërilain, who won the war because she was such a good warrior herself. You do know about the warrior queens of Skala, don’t you?”

  “I have them in a box upstairs,” Tobin replied, still engrossed in his carving. In a singsong voice, he recited: “There’s King Thelátimos, who got told by Oracle to give his crown to his daughter, then Ghërilain the Founder, Tamír the Murder, Agnalain who isn’t my grandmama, Ghërilain the Second, Iaair who fought the dragon, Klia who killed the lion, Klie, Markira, Oslie with six fingers, Marnil who wanted a daughter so much but Oracle gave her a new husband instead, and Agnalain who is my grandmama. And then the king my uncle.”

  “Ah, I see.” Arkoniel paused, trying to unravel the garbled litany. Clearly, Tobin had little understanding of what he’d just rattled off, beyond a few odd or interesting facts. “Agnalain the First, you mean. And Queen Tamír, who was murdered.”

  Tobin shrugged.

  “Well, you have the names right, but do—”

  Nari cleared her throat loudly and gave Arkoniel a warning look. “Duke Rhius sees to Tobin’s education. He’ll instruct the boy about such things when he thinks fit.”

  He needs a proper tutor, Arkoniel thought, then blinked at the resonance the notion struck in his mind: teacher, friend, companion. Guardian. “When is the duke leaving?” he asked.

  “First light tomorrow,” Sefus told him.

  “Well then, I’d best pay my respects tonight. Will he and the men be dining in the hall?”

  “’Course,” Tobin mumbled. Under his knife, a turnip was changing into another dragon.

  Excusing himself, Arkoniel hurried upstairs to compose his thoughts, hoping that the idea that had come clear so suddenly was indeed an inspiration sent by the Lightbearer.

  He needed very much to believe that, for that’s what he was going to tell Rhius.

  And Iya.

  Chapter 18

  Arkoniel found himself seated on Rhius’ right at the evening meal, and served by Tharin and several of the men. The food, though well seasoned, was shockingly simple and sparse. This only strengthened the wizard’s concerns. In Ero and Atyion, Rhius had hosted lavishly. There were always color and music there; feasts of twenty courses, and a hundred guests all glittering with jewels, silks, and furs. The life Tobin knew here was little different than that of a landless backcountry knight.

  Rhius himself was severely dressed in a short dark robe accented with a bit of fox and gold. His only jewel was a large mourning ring. Tobin could have passed for a serving boy in his plain tunic. Arkoniel doubted the boy owned more than two suits of clothes, and this was probably his best.

  The duke paid Arkoniel little attention during the meal, focusing instead on Tobin, telling him stories of court and the wars. Listening quietly, Arkoniel thought the exchange seemed hollow and forced. Tobin looked miserable. Seated far down the table, Nari caught the wizard’s eye and silently shook her head.

  When the meal was finished Rhius moved to a large chair by the open hearth and sat staring into the small fire laid there. Neither dismissed nor invited, Arkoniel settled uncomfortably on the hearth bench beside him and waited, listening to the crackle of the flames as he searched for words to broach his request.

  “My lord?” Arkoniel ventured at last.

  Rhius didn’t look up. “What is it you want of me now, Wizard?”

  “Nothing but a word in private, if you please.”

  He thought the duke might refuse, but Rhius stood and led Arkoniel outside to a path into the meadow. They followed it down the hillside to the riverbank.

  It was a cool, pleasant evening. The sun’s last rays lit the sky behind the peaks, stretching their shadows over the keep and meadow. Swallows flitted after their supper overhead. Frogs tuned their throats under the riverbank.

  They stood watching the roiling water in silence for a time, and then Rhius turned to Arkoniel. “Well? I’ve given you a child and a wife. What would your mistress have of me now?”

  “Nothing, my lord, except the safety and well-being of your remaining child.”

  Rhius let out a derisive laugh. “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do. If Tobin is to be—what we wish him to be, he must understand the world he will inherit. You did right, protecting him here,
but he’s older now. He needs to learn the ways of dress and manner, and the courtly arts. He must have teachers. He also needs friends of his own age, other children—”

  “No! You’ve seen the demon that haunts him, thanks to the fumbling of your filthy witch that night. Mothers from here to Ero scare their brats with tales of the ‘haunted child at the keep.’ Didn’t you know? Oh, but how could you, since neither you nor your mistress deigned to come back to us until now? Shall I send Tobin and his demon to court, present them to the king? Just how long would it be before one of Erius’ creatures saw through the veil with their sharp eyes and killing spells?”

  “But that isn’t possible. That’s why we brought the witch—”

  “I won’t take that risk! Erius may still wear a mourning ring for his sister, but how sentimental will he be if he learns that her surviving child is—” He caught himself and lowered his voice to a scathing hiss. “A true heir? If you imagine that any of us whom he saw there that night in the birthing chamber would be spared, then you are a fool. As much as I might welcome death, think of the child. Have we come this far to throw it away on the whim of …” He paused, waving a hand at Arkoniel. “Of a half-trained apprentice wizard?”

  Arkoniel ignored the insult. “Then let me bring children here, my lord. Children from another province who haven’t heard the tales. Tobin is a prince; by right he should join the Prince Royal’s Companions soon, or have a company of Companions of his own. What will the nobles at Ero say about the king’s own nephew, the child of a princess and a high lord, growing up like a peasant? Tobin must be prepared.”

  Rhius gazed out at the river, saying nothing, but Arkoniel sensed he’d struck his mark.

  “Tobin is still young, but soon his absence at court will be noted—perhaps even by the king’s wizards. And then they’ll come here looking for him. No matter what we do, you’ll have to present him at court sooner or later. The less odd he seems—”

  “One, then. One child here, as a companion. But only if you agree to my terms.” He turned bleak eyes on Arkoniel. “First: should this other child discover our secret, you will kill him yourself.”

  “My lord—”

  Rhius leaned closer, speaking very low. “My own child had to die. Why should a stranger’s child live to jeopardize our plans?”

  Arkoniel nodded, knowing that Iya would exact the same promise. “And your second requirement?”

  When Rhius spoke again, the anger was gone. In the gathering gloom, he looked stooped and old—a sad, hollow effigy of the man he’d once been. “That you will remain here and be Tobin’s tutor. You’re of noble birth and know something of the court. I won’t chance bringing another stranger into my house. Stay and guard my child until the world is set right.”

  Arkoniel felt dizzy with relief. “I will, my lord. By my hands and heart and eyes, I will.” This was the fulfillment of the vision he’d been given at Afra, and Rhius himself had proposed it.

  “But if you will permit me, my lord,” he said, proceeding gingerly with his own elaborations. “You’re a very wealthy man, yet your child is being raised in a tomb. Couldn’t you make this place a proper home for him? I’ll need chambers of my own, too, for sleeping and study. The rooms on the third floor could be repaired. And we’ll need a room for Tobin’s lessons—”

  “Yes, very well!” Rhius snapped, throwing up his hands. “Do what you will. Hire workmen. Fix the roof. Have gold chamber pots cast if you like, so long as you protect my child.” He stared at the keep for a moment.

  The barracks windows glowed warmly and they could hear men singing around the watch fire. Beyond it, the keep looked abandoned except for a thin sliver of light showing at a second-level window.

  Rhius let out a long sigh. “By the Four, it has become a tomb, hasn’t it? This was a handsome house once, with gardens and fine stables. My ancestors hosted hunts and feasts here in the autumn and queens guested. I—I always hoped that Ariani would be well again and help me make it fine again.”

  “A future queen calls this home. Make it beautiful for her. After all, Tobin is an artist and for such people the eye feeds the soul.”

  Rhius nodded. “Do what you will, Arkoniel. But leave the tower as it is. No one is to go there. The shutters are nailed down and the doors have no keys.”

  “As you will, my lord.”

  The swallows had gone to roost and little brown bats had come out to hunt moths. Fireflies flashed in the long grass, turning the darkened meadow into a mirror of the starry sky above.

  “There’ll be a real war again soon, I think,” Rhius said. “It’s been skirmishes and sword rattling for years now, but Plenimar is chafing harder against her borders every year.”

  “War?” Arkoniel asked, surprised by this abrupt change of subject. “Then you don’t think Plenimar will uphold the Treaty of Kouros?”

  “I stood beside the king when Overlord Cyranius put his seal to it. I watched his face. No, I don’t think he will keep the treaty. He wants the Three Lands as an empire again, as they were under the hierophants. But this time he’ll sit on the throne, not a priest king. He wants the lands of Mycena, and he wants the wizards of Skala.”

  “I suppose so.” Aurënen had long ago cut off trade with Plenimar; there were no longer the necessary intermarriages to maintain the wizard bloodlines in Plenimar. In his travels he’d heard rumors of Plenimaran pirates attacking Aurënfaie ships and carrying off prisoners for forced breeding, like animals.

  “These past few years they’ve been testing us, feinting in and out of the islands and raiding our shores,” Rhius went on. “I only hope Tobin is old enough when the time comes.”

  “We must make him ready in every way we can.”

  “Indeed. Good night, Arkoniel.” Rhius bowed and started back up the path, still looking bowed and old.

  The wizard remained by the river, listening to the quiet sounds that filled the warm summer night and wondering what a battle sounded like. He’d left his father’s house before he could carry a sword. He smiled, recalling Tobin’s disdainful reaction to his choice of vocation.

  As he started up the hill the tower caught his eye again, and he thought he saw one of the shutters move. He thought again of casting, but Rhius’ order stopped him. It had probably only been a bat.

  Tobin had watched the two men in the meadow from his window. He knew who they were; Brother had told him.

  The wizard will stay, Brother whispered in the shadows behind him.

  “Why?” Tobin demanded. He didn’t want Arkoniel to stay. He didn’t like him at all. There was something wrong behind his smile, and he was too tall and too loud and had a long face like a horse. Worst of all, though, he’d surprised Tobin with his magic and expected him to like it.

  Tobin hated surprises. They always ended badly.

  “Why is he staying?” he asked again, then turned to see if Brother had heard him.

  The flame of the little night lamp by his bed was hardly more than a fuzzy patch of light now. This was Brother’s doing. Since Lhel had bound them together with the doll, Tobin could see the darkness Brother sometimes made, especially at night. Some nights Tobin could hardly see at all.

  There you are, he thought, catching sight of a slither of shadow along the far wall. “What are they saying down there?”

  Brother slipped away, saying nothing.

  Tobin often wished he hadn’t kept the ugly doll, that it had fallen out the window with his mama. He’d even slipped away from the house again a few weeks ago, hoping to find Lhel and make her take her magic back, but he didn’t dare leave the riverbank this time and she didn’t hear him calling.

  So he’d gone on obeying her instructions, summoning Brother every day and letting the spirit follow him around. He couldn’t tell if Brother enjoyed this or not; he still leered at Tobin sometimes and twitched his fingers, as if he wanted to pinch him or pull his hair the way he used to. But Brother didn’t hurt him anymore, not since Lhel had put his blood and hair on t
he doll.

  Almost without realizing it, Tobin had begun to call for Brother more often lately, even inviting him to play with the city. Brother just watched while Tobin moved his wooden people about the streets and sailed the little ships, but it was better than being alone.

  Tobin searched the dark corners of the room for movement. Even when he sent Brother away, he didn’t go very far. The servants still complained of his antics. The only person he’d seriously hurt, however, was Arkoniel.

  As much as Tobin disliked the wizard, he was angry with Brother for that. He’d had to do the calling spell right in front of the man and Arkoniel had seen something, perhaps even heard the words. If he told Tobin’s father, then sooner or later they’d find out about the doll, and then his father would be ashamed and the men would laugh like the people in the town and he would never be a warrior.

  Tobin’s belly cramped painfully as he turned back to the window; perhaps that’s what his father and the wizard were talking about out there. Arkoniel had promised not to tell but Tobin didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust anyone anymore, really, except maybe Tharin.

  When it got too dark to see his father in the meadow, Tobin crawled into bed and lay rigid between the sweaty sheets, waiting for angry voices.

  Instead, Nari came to bed presently looking very pleased.

  “You’ll never guess what’s happened!” she exclaimed as she began unlacing the sleeves of her gown. “That young wizard is to stay on and be your tutor. Not only that, but you’re to have a companion! Arkoniel is going to write to his teacher, asking her to find a suitable boy. You’ll have a proper playfellow at last, pet, just as a young prince should! What do you think of that?”

  “What if he doesn’t like me?” Tobin mumbled, thinking again of the way the townspeople looked at him and gossiped behind their hands.

  Nari clucked her tongue and climbed in beside him. “Who wouldn’t like you, pet? And to be companion to a prince, the king’s only nephew? Any boy would be thrilled with such an honor!”