by K. C. May
Soon, it’ll be over, she thought. A bit more.
Except it wasn’t just a bit more. It was only beginning. The burning became a searing, like her bones were blackening and growing brittle. She couldn’t even beg him to stop, so intense was the pain. She gripped the leather in her hands and tensed all her muscles as if she could push the pain out.
“Breathe, Cirang,” Hennah said quietly.
She huffed quickly through her gritted teeth. That didn’t help, and she held her breath again.
Just kill me, she wanted to say. Death would be a kindness. If she could have spoken, she’d have begged for it. She willed herself to die, to give up and let it take her. The fire inside consumed her and she no longer fought against it, hoping it would only last another moment. But one moment became another, and the pain began to draw outward again. Perhaps it was her soul being pulled out once more, this time to be released into the afterlife, whatever that might be. This time, she would be free.
Something within her awakened, no longer submitting to death. The searing lessened to burning and then to a dull ache before fading away completely, leaving behind a feeling of profound creativity, the likes of which she had never felt before. Ideas and feelings combined into images in her head. Images of wood blocks morphing into shapes. Images of symbols drawing themselves onto the surfaces of not only rocks but of wood and leather. She needed to release them through her hands.
“Cirang?” King Gavin asked. “You awright?”
She opened her eyes and found herself lying on her side. Hennah helped her sit up, thankfully, since her muscles felt completely drained. Her hand trembled with exhaustion as she reached up to pull a sprig of grass from her hair. She looked around at her companions, unable to hide a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m a bloody carver.”
The three of them cheered and clapped her shoulders and rubbed her hair. For the first time since her days as a Viragon Sister, she felt needed and valued. She felt like she truly belonged.
“Let’s try the rune again,” Daia said.
“I’m betting Cirang needs a rest first,” King Gavin said. “Maybe something to eat.”
Cirang nodded and struggled to get up to start the preparations.
“You rest,” Hennah said, standing. “I’ll take care of it.”
“My thanks,” Cirang said, collapsing back to the ground.
The sun cast an orange glow across the still water of the lake, and a fish broke the surface to grab an insect that had flown too low. The urge to carve it onto the surface of a wood plank made her fingers twitch. Even as Tyr, her talent hadn’t been so crisp or compelling. Yes, she remembered awakening in the night with ideas for sculptures and boxes and scrollwork, but the need hadn’t been this deep. It hadn’t burned within him.
By the time supper was prepared and eaten, night had fallen. She saw patterns in the stars she’d never seen before, stories in the sky that were meant to be retold in wood or stone. Though she was tired, she was too excited to try sleeping. The passion within her needed to be released.
“Eager to get started?” King Gavin asked. The glow of the cookfire between them lit his scarred and scruffy face with an orange glow.
Cirang hadn’t realized she’d unsheathed her dagger and was turning its handle around and around in her palm. She smiled. “Yes, the talent is not only awakened. It’s restless.” A chisel would have been easier to use for this, but she worked with what she had.
He dug into his coin pouch and pulled out a stone, which he tossed to her. She caught it and studied it—the Rune of Summoning—and ran her finger along the grooves. Now she felt the lines of the rune—the true lines, deeper than those on the surface. The ones that were the source of the magic within them.
She looked up at the king, puzzled. Sithral Tyr had found the summoning rune a few years earlier in the cellar that had once belonged to Crigoth Sevae. The talent she had now had been Tyr’s, and yet he hadn’t felt the lines the way she did now. Something more was involved here. Had King Gavin given her something extra? Perhaps left behind a touch of his own magic to enhance the natural talent within Tyr’s soul?
He must have sensed her question, because he winked at her and immediately glanced at Daia as if to say, Don’t tell. She won’t approve.
She struggled to her feet, eager to try the etching but almost too tired to do it. By the light of the king’s magic light ball, she made her way to the stream and let her knees collapse, sitting hard on a rock. He straddled the stream and squatted low enough to scoop water with both hands. The part of her mind that was giddy now imagined him losing his balance and falling arse first into the stream. She giggled.
“You all right?”
“Just happy,” she said.
With the rune stone in her left hand, she began to re-etch and renew the lines with her dagger, pausing now and then to feel them freshen and clear away the signature of the previous summoning. It reminded her of a time, years earlier, when Tyr sat by his dying son’s bed and rubbed the ward lines on the boy’s sleeping face, trying to stir them to action, to stimulate the magic within them, to enable the innocent child to commune with the gods and receive their protection.
Tears fell from her eyes as she carved the rune. The king was watching her, his face curious and concerned, but he said nothing until she stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I remembered something from my old life.” She offered him the stone. “It should be done now, my liege.”
He took it and wiped the water off with the tail of his tunic under his mail shirt.
“You should test it,” Daia said. “Who can you summon other than Ritol or the Baron?”
A line appeared between King Gavin’s dark eyebrows. “The only other one whose name I know is Bahn from the midrealm, but I don’t know what would happen if he’s taken from his own realm without his complement. It might kill him.”
“Even for a second?” Daia asked. “Summon him long enough to see that it’s him, and then send him back.”
“I don’t want to take a chance with his life to prove Cirang’s skill is true. We can go to another realm tomorrow, maybe the indigo realm. They’re more zhi than kho there, so it won’t be dangerous.”
“How do you know? Have you been there?” Daia asked.
He grinned and wagged his eyebrows. “Only for a minute, to have a look around.”
“What about the little boy?” Cirang asked. “In the yellow realm. You asked his name. Did he tell you?”
Gavin snapped his fingers. “You’re right. He did. Good thinking, Cirang. You have a good memory.” He shut his eyes for a moment before whispering, “Whemorard.”
Nothing happened.
Cirang’s heart sank. She was sure she’d properly re-etched the rune.
“Shit,” he said. “The boy told me his name, but it was shortened. What was his full name?” He drew his brow in concentration. “Churylshigryf. That’s it.”
“You’re welcome,” Daia said with a grin.
“What would I do without you?” he asked. He shut his eyes once more and whispered that strange word. A spot of night opened in the air, and the boy they’d met on the street in the yellow realm stumbled to the ground at their feet.
“It worked!” King Gavin said. To her surprise, he put his arms around her and spun her around before setting her down again.
The boy said something that sounded like gibberish. The king laughed. “Awright, Churl, you’re released. Go home.” And a few seconds later, the boy was gone.
The mood was light as they readied their horses for their continuing journey. Hennah complimented her and thanked her for helping King Gavin. She felt valued, needed.
“Who would’ve thought you’d end up being useful,” Daia said. She rubbed Cirang’s hair playfully.
For the first time, Cirang dared to hope that the king would spare her life. She dared to hope she might see her son again someday.
A voice in her head told her to
forget it. You don’t deserve it.
Chapter 49
Feanna removed the pendant and tucked it into a pocket sewn into the seam of her dress. “Well played,” she said, quietly enough not to attract the attention of the guard outside the door. “You sold that well. Perhaps you should consider a career in the theater.”
Kaoque scowled at her. “I was not acting. His behavior truly offended me. Is he not an official representative of the crown?”
“He is at present.” She draped a hand across his shoulder and leaned over to smile into his face. “But once my husband finds out he tried to pass off my sister-in-law as me and then accused the emissary of Cyprindia of a crime, he won’t be.” She twirled in a circle, clapping and giggling. If only she could be here to witness Gavin’s wrath, sending his long-time friend packing back to Lalorian. It served the high-brow jackass right.
With his eyes boldly on Feanna, Tokpah said something in their native language. He sounded displeased.
“Tokpah believes I’ve made a mistake in gifting you my misdirection amulet.”
Feanna gripped it more tightly in her fist and held it to her heart. “It’s mine now. You cannot have it back.”
“I’m not asking for it back, Queen, only that you stop hiding from your own people. They are desperate to find you, and we have been cast under suspicion.”
“Well, you are responsible for my disappearance,” she replied with a grin.
“I am responsible for giving you a powerful tool that you treat as a toy.”
She laughed. “I’m only having a bit of amusement at their expense. I’m perfectly safe in my own home. Once my husband arrives, I’ll greet him in full view of everyone and surprise them all. Worry not. Edan is a wicked and deceitful man, as you’ve seen. This is harmless amusement. I beg you to stay at the palace tonight,” she said. “As my guest, not as Lord Dawnpiper’s. I’ll see that a bag of food is packed for your journey in the morning.” She pushed some of her own satisfaction into him with a touch on his forearm.
“Very well, Your Majesty. If you wish it, we will stay the night.”
###
The following morning, Feanna arose early and made the bed so it would appear she hadn’t slept in her room at all. She packed a satchel with two dresses and clean undergarments—small enough to easily carry herself—and stashed it in a closet near the palace’s rear door.
Though she didn’t have to use the servants’ passageway to leave her own room, she had to use it to enter the Cyprindians’, for Ragetha was standing guard at their door. They were finishing their breakfast when she slipped in.
Tokpah shot to his feet and grabbed his weapon as if he were embarrassed to be caught doing something other than guarding.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you slept well?”
“We have, thank you,” Kaoque said, standing. He bowed politely. “If I may beg a favor, Your Majesty?”
“What favor?”
“We wish to depart soon, but Edan Dawnpiper might detain us against our will, on suspicion that we are responsible for your disappearance. If you would, please reveal your presence to your people. It would prevent further complaints against Thendylath by our people.”
Feanna scowled. She understood his concern and, in fact, needed him to leave, but exposing her presence could have the side effects of having her amulet confiscated and being locked away once again. She supposed that if she called to Edan to attract his notice and then ran around a corner out of his sight, that would work. He would know that she hadn’t been abducted, and the Cyprindians would be free to leave—and she with them. “All right, I agree. I’ll let Lord Dawnpiper know I’m still here and safe.”
“Ohkay itso?” Tokpah asked. He was looking with great interest at something behind her.
Kaoque and Feanna turned to see a ghostly image of a man staring back at them. It wasn’t the cat person she’d seen before. This fellow seemed to be sick, with blackened lips. He did something with his tongue, long and black, and three others like it came into view, similar to the first.
“Heavens,” Feanna whispered. “They aren’t human, are they?” She took a couple steps towards them, curious. They obviously saw the three of them as well, and the two groups looked curiously at each other.
“Now cheg vay pektok,” Tokpah said, grasping her arm.
“No, it’s all right,” she said. She reached slowly towards the first person to see if her hand would pass through its ghostly form as she thought it would. He seemed to think she was making some sort of friendly gesture and reached towards her as well.
“Your Majesty,” Kaoque said cautiously, “perhaps that is not wise.”
“It’s an illusion. They aren’t truly here. I want to see if—”
Her hand touched something like fast-moving water. Before she jerked it back, she was pulled forward so hard, her head snapped back. She bit her tongue, and her mouth filled with blood. A strange wind rushed through her senses and threw her into a whirlwind. Only the firm grasp of Tokpah’s hand on her arm kept her from screaming. When at last the wind died down, dizziness overwhelmed her. She faltered, flailing to hold onto the table, but it was gone. Tokpah, beside her, stumbled to his knees, as did Kaoque to his right.
She fell onto her left hip. Onto grass. They were still on the island, sunlight warm in the cool autumn air.
The palace was gone.
Chapter 50
Gavin went for a swim in the lake to refresh himself before they mounted up. They rode for a couple hours, stopped for a few hours of sleep, and continued riding through the deepest part of the mirknight with the aid of his light balls. No one complained, not even the horses, though the riders did dismount and walk more often than usual to give them a rest.
Because of his eagerness to get back, the ride seemed to take longer than it should have, but his mood was as bright as his outlook. He kept glancing at Hennah and examining her haze, partly to assure himself that she hadn’t reverted back to a kho-bent state and partly because he was so damned pleased with himself for having discovered the cure. “I’m bloody brilliant, you know.”
“We know,” Daia said, smiling. “It’s wonderful to see you in high spirits again.”
It was mid-morning when they arrived in Tern. Gavin disguised himself and his companions as a family, with himself and Daia as the middle-aged parents of the two others as their daughters. Had he not been in a hurry to get started curing his wife, he’d have done without the disguises and greeted the people of Tern as he rode through town. He hoped to have the real Feanna back before the midday meal. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face while he imagined spending all night and the next day alone together, reconciling their differences. If Cirang and Hennah were any indication, Feanna would be horrified by her behavior and treatment of him and would be especially willing to please him. He wouldn’t mind that. Not at all.
“She’ll be back to her old self by dinner,” Daia said. She looked haggard, her face drawn and her hair dull.
Beneath her smile was something else, something Gavin couldn’t identify. Sometimes he wished for a little of Feanna’s gift for empathy, just enough to more accurately read emotion in the faces of his friends. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Daia raised her eyebrows. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re almost at the end of this mad journey. Perhaps we can finally sit for a bit and rest.”
“You look as tired as I feel.”
“Don’t mistake my reverie for wistfulness. I miss the comfort of my bed in the palace, but if serving you meant I never slept in it again, I wouldn’t complain. I would like to soak in a hot bath until my fingertips wrinkle, though.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Three,” said Cirang.
“Four,” Hennah added. “Especially with bath salts to make the soap bubble.”
“I make my own bubbles,” Gavin said, and then burst out laughing.
Daia rolled her eyes. “It’s official. We have our king back.”
They rode through the city, weaving their way to the palace by way of less crowded streets where possible. The closer they got to their destination, the more anxious Gavin became. How was his son faring? Had Feanna done something to him, as she’d threatened? He would touch his little prince’s haze again, even if he had to bind and gag Feanna to do it. His son would know that his father, at least, loved him.
When they crossed the bridge over the River Athra, the two guards stepped in front of them to block their way. “No visitors today,” one said.
Gavin let their disguises drop. “How now, Latrisha, Ivah.”
Their mouths dropped open in unison. “King Gavin? How did—” Ivah remembered herself and stepped back with a brisk salute. “Welcome home, my liege.” Latrisha stepped back as well and echoed the greeting. Ivah apologized for the lack of a proper fanfare to greet them. “We didn’t know when to expect you, and everyone’s been so frantic.”
Golam had become restless and started towards the stable. “Frantic?” Gavin asked over his shoulder. “Over what?” Her reply was muffled, and he was tempted to turn Golam around to ask again, but one of the stable hands spotted them approaching and rushed over.
“Welcome home, Sire.” He stroked Golam’s big face. “Bet you’d love a good hoof pickin’ and washin’, wouldn’t ya, boy?”
“I would, actually,” Gavin said.
The boy blushed and giggled nervously. “I-I was just talkin’ to Golam, Sire.”
In the courtyard moments later, they were swarmed by a crowd rushing to help them dismount, unstrap their bags, offer them wine and biscuits with cheese, and welcome them home. The guards didn’t quite know what to do with Cirang and Hennah, who rode up, unbound by chains, carrying weapons, and wearing mail. Gavin instructed them to treat the two battlers as they would any other First Royal Guard. Cirang smiled at him with a gracious and hopeful look in her eye. He wanted to tell her that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be executed as planned, but he didn’t have the heart.
