“What about her magical abilities?” Mikayla asked.
Fiolon shrugged. “At the moment she doesn’t seem to have any. And nobody knows whether they’ll come back. Uzun, does that mean that Mikayla is the Archimage now?”
“Oh, no!” Mikayla exclaimed. “I’m not nearly ready to be Archimage!”
Uzun considered the question. “Probably not,” he said finally. “If the power had passed to Mikayla, she’d know it. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“What do you mean ‘if the power had passed to Mikayla’?” Fiolon asked. “Would Mikayla automatically become Archimage if Haramis died?”
“Yes,” Uzun replied, “assuming, of course, that Haramis is right in thinking that Mikayla is her proper successor. If she’s wrong, the power would pass to whomever it was supposed to go to.”
“You mean somebody else could wind up as Archimage and we wouldn’t even know it?” Mikayla asked.
“In theory it is possible, but it is highly unlikely,” Uzun said firmly. “I’m pretty sure that you are meant to succeed her, Mikayla.”
“Uzun? What happens to you if Haramis dies?” Mikayla asked. “I mean, if she made you into a harp by a spell and extended your life beyond its normal span by her will and her actions, do you die when she does?” Mikayla, feeling very insecure all of the sudden, crawled over to Uzun and put an arm around his forepillar. “Do you know anything about the spell she used on you?”
“It’s in a book in the library,” Uzun said. “You can look it up tomorrow. Right now, young lady, you can eat something and get a good night’s sleep. You’re no good to yourself or anyone else in the shape you’re in. And as for you, Lord Fiolon,” he added, “have you eaten anything today?”
“Not since breakfast,” Fiolon said. “First I was in too much pain, and then everyone was fussing over the Lady Haramis, and I just wanted to be alone, so I came here—”
“Where is ‘here’?” Uzun broke in.
“Here?” Fiolon echoed him. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t see. I’m sorry. Here is the old guard barracks at the top of the Tower. You and Princess Haramis went through here when you were escaping from the invaders; I’m in the room two floors down from where the lammergeiers carried you away.”
“Yes, I remember the place,” Uzun said. “It’s not used for the guards anymore?”
“No, it’s empty, except for a few old pieces of furniture. Mikayla and I have used it as a playroom for years.”
“I see,” Uzun said. “I’ll bet no one is in any hurry to look for you there when you’re missing.”
“No, since it’s up seventeen flights of stairs, it’s not a popular destination for the servants. And usually no one misses us, as long as we turn up on time for meals.”
“Very well,” Uzun said. “What I want you to do is this. Eat something and sleep; you need your strength as much as Mikayla does. Then, in the morning, go to Haramis and tell her that you dreamed of me, and that in the dream I told you that I knew of Haramis’s illness and that I would care for and teach Mikayla until Haramis returns home.”
“All right,” Fiolon agreed. “That should work out well. She’ll probably assume that it was a sending from you, and if she thinks it was you using your powers, she probably won’t ask if Mikayla and I have reestablished the bond.”
“But if she thinks about it at all,” Mikayla protested, “she’ll realize that we must have. Uzun, you said yourself that she couldn’t break it without our cooperation.”
Uzun sighed, a faint ripple along the strings. “She is quite capable of assuming that you’ll cooperate just because she told you to. And if she’s suffering from a brainstorm, she may not think about it at all. In fact, she may not be thinking of anything at all.”
11
Haramis wakened. Sunlight was streaming into her room and across her, which was odd, because there wasn’t a window there. But now there was. No, that’s right, the sun always came in like that, I remember playing with the dust motes when I was a little girl. Her body felt strange, as if she had slept on it wrong; her left arm and leg were asleep and wouldn’t wake up. In fact, she couldn’t seem to move them. With some difficulty, because a lot of her muscles didn’t seem to want to work, she turned her head away from the sun and saw a boy sitting at the right side of the bed. I should know him, she thought, but at the moment she couldn’t quite place him.
“Where is my mother?” she asked. “Where’s Immu? Where are my sisters?” She barely noticed that her words came out slurred.
The boy seemed to have no trouble understanding what she was saying, but he turned pale and gulped. “Do you know where you are, Lady?”
“The proper form of address is ‘Princess,’ not ‘Lady’—do you not know whom you are addressing?”
“Uh …” The boy hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, “Who do you think you are?”
“I know I am Princess Haramis of Ruwenda, Heiress to the Throne,” she snapped. “Who are you, and what are you doing here if you don’t know even that?” She cast her eyes around the room. Why was she alone with this ignorant boy? “Who changed the hangings in my room? And where is everyone? Where’s Uzun?”
“Uzun is at the Tower,” the boy said hastily. “He came to me in a dream last night and told me that he knew of your illness and that I was to tell you that he would care for and teach the Princess Mikayla until you were well enough to do it yourself again.”
“Who is Mikayla, and who are you?”
“Mikayla is—well, Mikayla is a distant kinswoman of yours. You were teaching her magic before you became ill. I am Lord Fiolon of Var.”
“Are you related to my betrothed, then?” Haramis asked. “Did you come here with him?”
“Prince Fiomaki?” The boy still looked uneasy. “He and I are distant kin, but he isn’t here now.”
“When will he arrive? Our betrothal is to be celebrated soon.”
“I don’t know,” Fiolon said. “But I shouldn’t stay here talking and tire you; I was just supposed to deliver the message from Master Uzun. Why don’t you try to rest, Lady—I mean, Princess. I’ll tell the housekeeper you’re awake.”
Haramis made a face, which felt strange. “Immu will probably insist on dosing me with one of her horrible potions. How long have I been ill? And what is wrong with me?”
The boy left without answering; in fact he almost fled from the room.
Haramis sighed. Something very strange was going on. But she was very, very tired—much too tired to worry about it. She went back to sleep, which would have surprised her if she had been capable of being surprised.
Mikayla was dawdling over breakfast, which she was eating in the study so she could keep Uzun company. She still felt rather listless, but she reminded herself that the events of yesterday and last night would have tired anyone. Even though the horrible pain of having her bond with Fiolon severed had gone when the bond came back, her body still remembered it.
She felt the sphere against her chest grow warm at the same time that Uzun said sharply, “What is that noise?”
Mikayla fished the sphere out of the front of her tunic. It shook violently, making as close to a jangling sound as something that small could make. “Fiolon must be trying to reach me,” she explained. “We found these small spheres in some ruins we were exploring in the Blackmire—they’re about the size of my thumbnail,” she added, remembering that Uzun couldn’t see. “Haramis ought to have given you eyes, at the very least,” she complained, angry on Uzun’s behalf. The harp was silent.
Mikayla sighed and continued her description. “The ones Fiolon and I took were a matched pair, and they seem to be some sort of device that the Vanished Ones used to communicate over distances, although I think that Fiolon and I are using them over more distance than they were originally designed for.”
The sphere shook even more, swinging back and forth on its ribbon, even though Mikayla wasn’t moving it. “I’d better see what Fiolon wants; he seems
upset.” She looked into the sphere, and Fiolon’s face looked back at her.
“There you are, Mika,” he said. “It certainly took you long enough to answer!”
“I was eating breakfast,” Mikayla said calmly. “What’s wrong?”
“Is Uzun there with you?”
“I’m right here,” Uzun replied. “Is it Haramis? Is she worse?”
“Well, she doesn’t seem to remember me or Mika, which might be considered an improvement,” Fiolon replied, “but when I told her I was from Var, she asked if I had accompanied her betrothed, and where was he, and where were her mother, and her sisters, and Immu—Immu was the housekeeper when Haramis was a young girl, wasn’t she? The same Immu who went with Princess Anigel on her Quest?”
“Yes,” Uzun said. “Are you saying that Haramis thinks she’s still a young girl?”
“She certainly seems to think so,” Fiolon said nervously. “She asked who changed the hangings in her room, so I guess when they put her to bed they put her in the room she had as a girl. I suppose that would contribute to her thinking that. And when I called her ‘Lady’ she told me that she should be addressed as ‘Princess’ and that she was heiress to the throne of Ruwenda.” He sighed. “I gave her your message, Master Uzun, and then I got out of there before I had to explain to her that most of the people she was asking for have been dead for almost two hundreds.”
“Oh, my,” Mikayla said. “How extraordinary. She doesn’t know she’s the Archimage?” She thought for a minute. Maybe this lets me out of here. Maybe I don’t have to—“If she doesn’t remember me, do I still have to study to be Archimage?”
“Yes, you do,” Uzun and Fiolon said together.
“Well, if she’s forgotten about me, maybe she’ll pick someone else,” Mikayla said hopefully.
“Don’t count on it,” Fiolon said. “At the minute she barely knows her own name.”
“And today is the day you were planning to find the spell she used to turn me into a harp,” Uzun reminded her.
“Yes, that’s right,” Mikayla said. Even if Haramis has forgotten about me, I’m not leaving Uzun all alone. He doesn’t deserve that. “I remember now; we talked about that last night.” She teleported the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. “Is there anything you want me to do, Fiolon?”
“While you’re in the library, see if there’s anything on brainstorms and memory loss,” Fiolon said.
“I’ll look,” Mikayla promised, “but medicine doesn’t seem to be one of Haramis’s interests. But as long as she’s going to be gone for a while, I’ll poke around the Tower and see what I can find—I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff here that she never got around to showing me.”
“I’ll check what’s left of the library here,” Fiolon said. “That should keep both of us out of trouble for today at least.”
“Fio,” Mikayla said slowly, “she’s really sick, right?”
“Yes, but don’t worry, Mika; the healers say she’ll recover pretty completely over time.”
“How much time?”
“I think you can count on several months at least,” Fiolon said. “The healers aren’t exactly saying, but that’s the feeling I get.”
“Several months,” Mikayla repeated, being careful to keep her face grave. Inside she felt like singing. Months! Time without Haramis hanging over her, spying on her, glaring at her across the table at meals, wanting her to be something she wasn’t and didn’t wish to be.… “Well, if she reaches a point where she remembers my existence, greet her for me.”
“And give her my love,” Uzun said swiftly.
“I will,” Fiolon promised. “And at least she remembers you, Master Uzun. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” He sighed. “I’m off to stir up the dust in the library. If you hear coughing coming from your sphere, Mika, ignore it.”
Mikayla giggled. “I shall. Good luck with your search. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Do that,” Fiolon replied. “Good luck to you also.” His face shrank away as he moved the sphere away from it, then he put his sphere away and Mikayla’s reflected nothing but her surroundings.
Mikayla stood up. “I’m going to the library, Uzun, but I’ll be back at lunchtime. I’ll have Enya serve all my meals in here as long as it’s just the two of us—unless you would prefer more time alone?”
“Definitely not!” Uzun said emphatically. “I’ve spent more than enough time alone for one lifetime.”
“I’m sure you have,” Mikayla said. I still don’t understand how Haramis could do this to someone she claims to love. Talk about selfish behavior. “I’ll make finding the spell she used on you my first priority.”
It took her several days, but finally she had a book she thought might be it. She brought it to the table with her, but waited until Enya had left the room before she opened it. Lunch was unusually skimpy, just bread and cheese, with sliced ladu fruit for dessert; evidently the household staff was demoralized by the news of Haramis’s illness. Mikayla had let Uzun tell Enya about it, figuring that he could probably make it sound better than she could, but Uzun had an attack of his occasional pessimism.…
If the food doesn’t improve in a few more days, Mikayla thought, I’ll go down to the kitchen and talk to the cook myself. In the meantime a diet of bread and cheese isn’t going to hurt me.
“Uzun,” she said, walking around the harp to examine him closely, “did the bone at the top of the forepillar come from the top of your skull?”
“I think so, Princess,” the harp replied, “but I wasn’t conscious for that part of it.”
“Do you mind if I tip you toward me a bit so I can take a better look?” Mikayla asked. “You’re about the same height I am, so I can’t see it without tilting you or standing on a chair and leaning over you—and the chairs here aren’t good to stand on; they’re too soft.”
“You can tilt me,” Uzun said, “but do it carefully. Don’t drop me!”
“I’ll be careful,” Mikayla promised. She grasped the harp firmly with one hand on the forepillar and one on the back of the frame and braced the top of the frame against her chest. At least this way if he falls, he’ll land on me. She studied the fragment of bone carefully, twisting her head to compare it with the drawing in the book on the table next to her. Then she cautiously pushed Uzun back to his normal upright position and held him there until she was sure he was stable. “It looks like the top of a skull, all right; the lines on the bone match the lines in the drawing in the book. And according to this, it also needed somebody’s blood—probably Haramis’s—to fill a thin channel in the center of the forepillar.”
“That sounds right,” Uzun said. “I remember that part. I was dying, and Haramis was standing over the craftsman who was building the harp, telling him to hurry. And when he was done, it still had a hole in the top of the forepillar. I remember watching Haramis cut her arm and hold it so that her blood ran into the hole … in fact, that’s the last thing I remember. The harp didn’t even have strings then.”
“She probably strung it while she was waiting for the bugs to eat the flesh off of your bones,” Mikayla said, munching on a slice of ladu fruit.
“Bugs?” Uzun sounded scandalized.
“Yes, apparently they do a much faster and neater job than having a human or Oddling try to remove the flesh without damaging the bone. You just bury the body in a tub of soil with the right mix of bugs, and in a few days, you have a nice clean skeleton.”
“Haramis always was efficient,” Uzun said faintly. “And if you’re still eating lunch as you discuss this, I suppose you share her lack of squeamishness about such matters.”
“Well, it’s not as if you were conscious at the time,” Mikayla pointed out. “Or even alive.”
“Thank the Lords of the Air!” Uzun said fervently.
Mikayla frowned down at the book. “All right, now I know how she turned you into a harp. By the way, how long ago was this? As I recall, she said it was her first act of great magic.”
Uzun thought about it for several minutes. “She had been Archimage for about two decades then, so I wouldn’t say it was her first great spell. But I believe that it was the first time she used her power for personal gain,” he said slowly. “Princess, if you can’t make me a new body, can you set me free from this one when Haramis dies?”
“Easily,” Mikayla said. “To free you to move on to the next phase of existence, whatever it may be, all I have to do is take the bone fragment from the harp, grind it to powder, and cast it to the winds. And,” she added fiercely, “I’m not Haramis. I’ll release you anytime you ask me to, no matter how much I’ll miss your company!”
To her surprise, she burst into tears then, and she couldn’t stop crying. “I’m sorry, Uzun,” she sobbed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I suspect you’re more worried about the Lady Haramis than you are admitting to yourself,” Uzun said gently.
“But I don’t even like her,” Mikayla sobbed, “and she hates me! She’s always criticizing me. Nothing I ever do is good enough—and when I do something better than she expected me to she’s furious. She took me from my home and family, she’s kept me here for over two years now—I can’t even go outside because I don’t have any clothing but lightweight indoor tunics and a couple of night robes! She sent away my best friend; she tried to break the bond between us, and she hurt us both—and do you know what the worst of it is? She expects me to be grateful to her! I can’t understand that at all! Why would anyone be grateful for what she’s done to me?”
Uzun sighed. “She’s giving you what she thinks she would have wanted at your age; that’s why she expects you to be grateful.”
Mikayla sat in silence for a time, thinking that over. “You know, Uzun, you are exactly right. She’s even said so, now that I think of it: things like how she would have killed for the opportunities she’s giving me—and she probably would have, too. She must be the most cold-blooded person I’ve ever met.” She took the last slice of ladu fruit and stuffed it into her mouth. “Does she think that you should be grateful that she turned you into a harp, too?”
Lady of the Trillium Page 11
