Inside the hill. Power.
Inside what hill? Then … the arrangement of trees suddenly made sense. The King’s Grove … without the mound. Once there had been a village there? A bone-house?
Yes. Place of power.
It was still a place of power … but he had assumed an elven place of power, the place where human and elven powers were joined. The skull offered no more; Kieri held it a moment longer, stroked the bony arch, and then kissed it and put it back in its niche. A niche, now he came to think of it, that he had never been shown, or noticed, on previous visits.
He was cold, he realized, his bare feet standing not on the stone floor that had warmed him before, but on cold soil. He smelled not the clean dry freshness of the ossuary but the rich, earthy dampness of forest soil. Yet the entire floor of the ossuary was stone-flagged; he had seen it. Stone walls plastered and white, stone floor. He knelt and touched the soil, felt its texture … There was something’s root; some tiny creature scuttled across his fingers. He jerked his hand back, stifling a cry. Ancient fear entered his mind: cold, dark, silent, the weight of the earth pressing down, lost and alone in the grave.
As they were, you will be. Dead. Rotting in the ground. Though your bones be raised, you will remain, neglected and forgotten, as years pass.
Something larger crawled onto his foot; he shook it off. The niche, when he felt for it, had vanished along with the wall he had touched before; under his hands was a surface of crumbling earth; a clod came loose. He was afraid to move, for he had no idea how to return.
Death ends all. Silence ends all. Cold ends all. All is unmade, and all names lost.
Kieri felt deadly cold rising from the soil he stood on; he shuddered violently and stamped his feet. How was he to find his way out, back to the ossuary, back to daylight when it came, back to … back to Arian?
“I am the king,” he said aloud. “And I will die. I will come to a grave, and if my people will, my bones will rise and be painted with my life. If the gods grant it, my children will come where I have come and know what I know, but this is not my time.”
It is always death’s time.
“It is always life’s time, and the death of one year is the birth of the next,” Kieri said. “I choose life and light, for my kingdom and for me.” He turned about and strode into the dark, choosing—whenever he bumped into a stone, an earthen wall, a tangle of roots—the way that felt most like life.
The final barrier was stone. Not the rough native stone he’d fallen over and into several times, but dressed stone, a smooth wall. He laid both hands on it. On the other side, he was sure, was the ossuary. He could feel his sister’s bones there and his father’s. He could feel something else as well, a thread of life, not bones, calling him. He leaned on the stone, pressing his forehead into it.
“Let me in! My place is there, not yet here.”
Something with too many legs fell on his neck and scrabbled its way down his back inside his clothes. He did not move. If it stung, it stung, but he was going to open this rock if there was any way to do it. Whatever the thing was went on down the back of his heart-hand leg and disappeared. Life, he thought with all his strength. Arian.
The Seneschal lit a candle from the King’s Squire’s new-lit torch and carried it down the steps to the outer chamber, fixed it in a holder, and opened the door.
“Sir king! The sun returns, life wakes again, and spring …” His voice faltered. Where he expected to see the king … where in other years the ossuary’s own magical light had risen … nothing. Darkness, emptiness, cold.
“Sir king!”
No answer but the sharpened attention of the bones. A stale smell, unlike any he had smelled before in this place. Not true corruption, but … His throat closed as he considered what might have happened. He entered the ossuary, candle held high, and stopped abruptly. He could not go farther; the bones forbade it.
“He is our king,” the Seneschal said. “Our hope. And his bride awaits. You cannot have him!”
No answer. The soft voices of the bones that he had heard ever since his first visit to the ossuary were silent.
“Alyanya …” the Seneschal said, struggling to get the word out. But this was Midwinter, and no live green remained in this place; he had himself removed the branches, the leaves on eyeholes and earholes. He started to turn, thinking to fetch something—but how, if he came out without the king?—and could not take even a single step. “Alyanya!” This time louder, more desperate. What evil magic had taken the king, and such a king? What could he do? He mumbled every potent name he could think of: Alyanya, Adyan the Namer, all the gods, all the saints, and finally the lineage of the human rulers of Lyonya in case the bones would help.
He heard voices behind him in the outer chamber, calling him, calling Kieri. He could not turn; he could not answer but went on with his litany, ending with the oldest he knew.
From far in the darkness, from the distant corner of the ossuary, came the grinding of stone moving on stone. His candle flickered wildly. Was it a daskdraudigs? Was that the evil that had taken the king? But the bones, which surely would have reacted in horror to that, gave no warning. Another sound now; his heart leapt. For this was breathing—harsh, uneven, but the sound of someone alive, not dead.
“Sir king!” he called into the darkness.
A hoarse sound answered him, not true speech, and fear filled him again. Had something reft the king’s mind? He had judged the king to be strong in himself, in no danger from a night alone. Whoever it was coughed, deep racking coughs, then the familiar voice came from the darkness, asking the ritual question: “Is the long night over, Seneschal?”
“The sun returns, life wakes again, and spring will surely come, sir king.”
Light bloomed in the ossuary, drowning the light of his candle. Out from between the platforms came Lyonya’s king, his clothes, his hands and face, all stained and streaked with dirt, his bare feet caked with mud. The Seneschal had one horrified thought that the king looked like a corpse raised too soon after burial, but then the king grinned at him. “Lord Seneschal, I need a bath. And breakfast would not come amiss. Am I late?”
The rest of the morning passed in a blur as Kieri hurried to bathe, eat something, and dress in the clothes appropriate for the ceremony scheduled for midday. No time for explanations, no time for a private conversation with Arian. No time even to wonder what his people thought.
The Knight-Commander of Falk and the Captain-General of Falk both came to his chambers as he was dressing.
“I brought your ruby, sir king,” the Knight-Commander said. “Accept it now, and Falk’s blessing with it.”
Kieri paused. “As the king, I cannot be Falk’s alone.”
“We understand,” the Captain-General said. “Yet you are Falk’s, in all honor. Will you accept it now, or shall I make a public presentation?”
“Now,” Kieri said. “My Squires can witness … and Arian, if she has time.”
“For you, always,” Arian said from the doorway. She wore a gown Kieri had not seen before, though he knew it was taken from the former queen’s wardrobe: gold and crimson brocade.
Kieri knelt, and the Knight-Commander repeated the formal words of commissioning a Knight of Falk. “Receive this ruby as a sign of Falk’s Oath. In mind and heart, be as Falk: speak only truth, keep all promises, and shed blood only in the protection of those who cannot protect themselves.” The Captain-General touched his head and throat with the tip of his sword.
At last, clean and fed and dressed in robe and crown, Falk’s ruby on his collar, Kieri came down and stood on the palace steps in the thin winter sun. The green of his robe, the gold and red of Arian’s, blazed in that light, a promise of life and health. He and Arian made their vows in sight of all. Midwinter vows, that could not be unsaid or unmade short of death itself. And death, Kieri thought to himself, had already lost even that power. They were, from this moment, essentially man and wife, the wedding ceremony being only the fina
l stage of the process.
A party of elves attended, including the Lady; they smiled and bowed, and Kieri tried not to think what might lie behind those smiles and bows. He would have to talk to his grandmother about what had happened to him, what he now knew about the King’s Grove, but not today. Aliam and Estil Halveric headed the line of friends, both healthy and clearly joyful. Estil said, “I told you, Kieri, right after the coronation.”
“I didn’t understand,” Kieri said. “My mind was on the horses, not the riders.”
“Clearly,” Estil said, with a grin to take the sting out of it. She took Arian’s hands in hers. “May you have the joy that I have had, both of you.”
Midwinter Feast had been laid in the courtyard, table end to table end piled with hot foods and cold, savory and sweet. Kieri and Arian sampled tastes, but outside the palace walls the rest of Chaya waited to see their future queen, and winter days were short. After hearing what others had said about his parents, he’d decided that they should ride matched horses, fire-colored to celebrate the sun’s return. So out they rode, on a pair of red chestnuts with green and gold braided into their manes and tails, and an escort of King’s Squires to clear the way and throw sweetmeats into the crowd for the children.
All along the way, people threw knots of ribbons or yarn, candied fruit, and little spiced cakes and offered blessings. Back at the palace, in the waning light of a winter afternoon, the celebration had moved indoors. Kieri ate more, but he was tired; his eyelids sagged. Arian poked him in the side. “My lord, you need sleep, and these friends will lose no joy by your being in your bed.”
“Especially,” Aliam said, leaning close on the other side, “if you are not alone in your bed.”
“Aliam!” Estil thumped his shoulder. “It is their choice.”
“True, but the wise choice—all right, all right, I will give over.” But Aliam’s smirk said all the rest of it.
Kieri took his leave rather than fall asleep at the table, very glad that he had not indulged in the wines and ale when he found himself a little unsteady with weariness alone. Feasting would continue through this second night, and he hoped a short sleep would let him take part.
“I could wish it was our wedding night but that I’m so tired,” Kieri said when they were upstairs.
“In Lyonyan custom, it could be,” Arian said. “But you need sleep before anything else.” She turned back the great bed and slid the warming pan with its coals under the covers. “Is there reason to expect bad dreams? Would you like a posset?”
“No … no posset, at least. I think I met the source of all bad dreams last night, and yet survived. If more come, I will still survive.” Kieri struggled with the elaborate frogs of his formal dress. “Where’s Fedrin? I’m being clumsy with these, and I don’t want to rip something.”
“I told him I would care for you tonight,” Arian said. “We have had no chance to speak together this day, but for making our vows. If you prefer, I can send for him.”
“No … no. But I can’t get this one undone.” He pointed to the highest, at his neck.
“Let me.” As if her fingers held magic, the fastening opened, and the one below; then she stood behind to help him free of the long tunic and hung it up while he pulled off his shirt. Arian said nothing about his scars, those or the others, and before he had time to worry about that, he was in a warm bed, sinking into the pillows, and asleep in that instant.
When he woke, the fire still burned brightly, and Arian had fallen asleep in a chair beside the bed. He had not seen her asleep before. He wondered what she would do if he woke her with a kiss.
The fire popped loudly, and a shower of sparks shot up the chimney. Arian woke at once and, when she saw him looking, grinned. “So—you are not sleeping the night through?”
“I just woke,” Kieri said.
“Are you hungry? They’re still feasting downstairs.”
“I could eat a whole roast sheep,” Kieri said. He stretched. “Though I confess I’m not eager to get dressed again.”
“No need.” Her grin widened. “I asked for something I could keep warm for you by the fire. Unless you want to go down to the others … there’s enough food for three or four.”
This time, the shared meal had a different flavor; it was as if he and Arian had shared such meals for years.
“I was frightened when I heard the Seneschal calling and you did not answer,” Arian said. “And when I looked past him and saw nothing …”
“I do not know what happened,” Kieri said. “It was not what I expected or what the Seneschal had told me about … I need to talk with him. I would rather not talk about it tonight.”
“Of course,” Arian said. “But my joy, sir—Kieri—when you appeared, that you need to know about.”
“I felt you,” Kieri said. “You are how I found my way back.” In spite of what he’d said, he began the tale in the middle, the moment he realized he was not on the ossuary’s warm stone floor but lost somewhere underground. “I was afraid—I have not been that afraid since I was a slave in Sekkady’s domain—but I was not going to despair, not with my kingdom, not with you, waiting for me. And I felt … I felt a pull, as if someone held the other end of a rope I touched.” He looked up at her. “I felt your presence in it.”
She nodded but said nothing as she spread butter and then jam on a roll and handed it to him. He took a bite, swallowed it, then another. Finally he went on.
“It seemed a very long time—of course, in the dark, it’s hard to tell—”
“Before dawn,” Arian said, “we Squires were together, shoulder to shoulder, and we all shuddered at once. The elves had brought snow-sprites for the first time in years; we had watched them dance, but then they vanished. We went to the salle, but the elf-light did not rise, and then we went to wait outside the ossuary. I wanted to be the first to bring you light.”
“It was life you brought me,” Kieri said. “At the last—” He told of the wall that he was sure had been the outer wall of the ossuary, of how he fell through at last, with a mouthful of soil nearly choking him.
“I wonder where you were,” Arian said. “The dirt on your clothes was real enough.”
“The King’s Grove,” Kieri said. “And the mound. Under it.” Arian stared at him, eyes wide. “Yes, I’m sure,” he went on. “It is something about the secrets elves keep. Under the mound is a sacred place for humans—old humans—and in that place is a skull they missed when they cleared it away.”
Arian frowned. “I thought the elves were here first,” she said. “They granted humans the use-right. Do you suppose they came later, after humans had lived here?”
Kieri tore a leg of the roast chicken. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think they are Elders, created before humans, but they do not live everywhere and perhaps never did. So they might move to a place where humans were—”
“And easily take over,” Arian said. She carved the rest of the chicken and slid several slices onto his plate and some onto her own.
Kieri finished that chicken leg and the rest of the chicken before him before speaking again, then wiped his fingers on a napkin. “We know the Lady has made errors. We know she moved the elfane taig under stone. She could have made errors before that. Or after.” He shook his head. “I do not want to quarrel with elves or start trouble with them. But we must know what really happened, and when, to make the best path forward for this kingdom. For humans, yes, but also for elves. I do not think they prosper as it is.”
“Not with the rockfolk so angry with them,” Arian said. “I always knew—everyone knew—that rockfolk and elvenkind were not close friends, but I thought they had respect for each other as Elders.”
“So did I,” Kieri said. “And I wonder about other elven kingdoms. Are they all connected by custom or by birth? Do they travel back and forth? An elf I met in Fin Panir spoke of an elven kingdom in the mountains of the far west … why so distant?”
“Why none in Aarenis except traveler
s?” Arian asked. “And Tsaia is larger than Lyonya: why no elven homeland there?”
“I am beginning to think I know nothing of the world despite my fifty odd years and my travels,” Kieri said. He grinned at her. “But I do know one thing, Arian: I love you, and I am no longer hungry for food or sleep …”
She grinned back. “Are you not? Are you certain you should not return to bed until daylight comes?”
“Not to sleep,” Kieri said. He held out his hand to her.
“Not to sleep,” Arian agreed, taking his hand.
Kieri woke slowly, at first aware only of unusual lassitude. He had not felt so at ease in a long time; the dim light of predawn outlined the gap in the curtains but showed nothing of the room. He stretched, a bone-cracking stretch … and brushed against something else in the bed. Something warm. Breathing. Memory returned in a rush, just as the something warm became obviously Arian—and he heard her yawn.
Well. All the doubts, all the misery of their separation, all his fear for her when he found the arrows—all that had vanished in the night. More than Midwinter vows now made them one.
“Morning joy,” she said, warm against him, shoulder to hip.
“And to you,” he said. “I suppose we should get up and dressed before the whole company of Squires comes in to witness.” He slid out of the covers. Cold. Still too dark in the room to see her. The temptation to slide back in was strong, but he heard just a little noise in the passage outside: others were up, would soon intrude, and he and Arian would have more nights. He pulled on his robe and went to the hearth.
He stirred the fire, lit the candles, opened the curtains to the soft silvery light of a snow-dawn, the flakes coming down lazily. When he looked back at the bed, Arian had propped herself up on the pillows, watching him. It was all he could do to turn away, open the panel to his closet, and bring her a robe.
Echoes of Betrayal Page 25
