The Dying Flame

by R L Sanderson

  ‘So, that is decided,’ the toad-man said quickly, then turned away from Roland and back to the table where the Council was seated. ‘Now, what else is on the agenda for this morning?’

  Chapter thirty

  Orla trailed Roland as he strode, much more quickly than his usual pace, back to her room. They were followed by two guards who seemed to be having trouble keeping up.

  ‘This changes nothing,’ Roland said to her under his breath. ‘You understand? This afternoon, when the Ashkar ceremony takes place, we make our move.’

  Orla nodded, numbly. For her, it changed everything. The Council’s decision had taken away the only thing that was giving her joy in life. She was not allowed to see Ged. She swallowed. Not even to say goodbye. She brushed away the tears that welled. Stupid, stupid, she should have known that it could not last. Everyone she loved would be taken from her, one by one. Din. Merryn. Joseph. Her mother. And now Ged. Everyone she loved? Had she loved him? It didn’t even matter now, she told herself. It made no difference.

  She tried to remember what it had been like, the moment he’d taken her hand and the rush of connection that had followed. She’d never felt anything like it before. And probably never would again, she told herself harshly. Get used to it Orla. You are destined to be alone.

  Roland sighed as he finally closed the door to her chamber behind them, leaving the guards posted outside.

  ‘Well it could have been worse,’ he said, and collapsed into a chair, looking so old and worn that she wondered that maybe his speed and strength really had been just a show.

  ‘You’re ready for the afternoon?’ he asked.

  She shrugged and sank down onto her bed. She was exhausted. The whole time she’d been questioned by the Council she had been having flashes of the dream from the night before: Ged’s mother, only a young woman not much older than her, tied to a sacred tree, burning. She wondered if that was what waited for her if she took a wrong step.

  ‘What happened to Ged’s mother?’ she asked, and Roland’s expression darkened. ‘Please, I need to know.’

  ‘Ged hasn’t told you?’ He looked at her sharply.

  She shook her head. ‘I have… seen things. But they’re the memories of a child. It’s not enough.’

  ‘It was before the signing of the Treaty. The Uruhenshi were manoeuvring, gaining strength. More and more Sond were following their ways to the exclusion of our own traditions. Iliana exposed a powerful Councillor as traitor to the King because of his dealings with the Brethren. Things were moving so quickly, you see. From our perspective now, his position is only what is commonly held, but then… And the Members of the Council…’ Roland shook his head. ‘I should have guessed. I should have seen it coming.’

  ‘Did they really believe what the Brethren taught?’ Orla asked.

  Roland sighed. ‘They would say they did. Because the alternative is unthinkable. The alternative is that they gave up their own beliefs, the strength and heart of their people, as part of a bargain that traded us one enemy for another. I don’t know, Orla. You have to understand, the religion of the Uruhenshi connected with something, after so many centuries of suppression, of being looked down upon. People believed the very Gods were against them. Embracing that servitude gave a kind of power, I guess.’

  ‘And that is why they killed Iliana? Because she offended the beliefs of the Uruhenshi Brethren?’

  ‘As the Treaty was being signed the Council decided the King must make an example of her. That if he wished the Seven Isles to follow him wholeheartedly into this alliance with the Uruhenshi, if he wished to have any hope of meeting their terms, he had to give a strong signal. However, he retained the right to call upon a Reader as necessity requires it. Iliana’s death was a symbolic gesture, it did not change the law.’ His voice was harsh.

  ‘Which is why I’m here,’ she said slowly.

  Roland nodded.

  ‘I have one more question.’

  Roland closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. ‘The Gods protect me from one more question.’

  ‘Why did Ged stay? After what happened to his mother I would have thought he would have left. Surely he’d want to be anywhere other than here?’

  Roland snorted. ‘Many wished that he would, I have no doubt. He is a walking reminder of Iliana that boy. I had not realised how alike he is to her until I saw him with you earlier. But of course, his father would not have permitted it.’

  ‘His father?’ Ged had never spoken of his father to her.

  ‘The King,’ Roland said, looking at her, surprised.

  ‘What?’ She flushed. She felt exposed, like she’d been caught half-dressed. ‘No, that can’t be right.’

  He would have said something, surely? She would have sensed something… It could not be a matter of no significance that he was the son of the King.

  ‘Does that mean…?’ Her mind was racing now.

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. He’s not in line for the throne. There are other sons and daughters scattered throughout the Seven Isles, five in total, and all of better breeding and greater ambition. But nonetheless, here he is. Safer for everyone that way I guess. I’m sorry, Orla. I thought you knew.’

  ‘I’m sure Ged would have told me. Eventually.’ She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice.

  Roland leaned towards her, looked her in the eye.

  ‘It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, you know. He couldn’t do what he did with you if he didn’t trust you. It’s just, I believe, that he knew it would have gotten in the way. He wanted you to know him for himself, not for this single fact about his birth which he never asked for and can do nothing to change. You can understand that, surely?’

  She nodded, slowly. She could. Intellectually. On principle. But she’d held nothing back from him. He knew who she was and what she was. He knew of her family, her history. He’d known it before he met her. Everyone did. It didn’t seem fair.

  ‘When you meet the King, I believe you will begin to understand. On which note, I shall leave you to rest. You look exhausted.’

  For a moment, she felt a rising panic at the idea of Roland leaving. Although she’d been caught up in the events that had followed – the guards and the meeting of the Council – her encounter with the rekheyni had been terrifying. She had thought she was going to die.

  ‘There’s nothing to fear now,’ Roland said gently. He must have seen the look on her face. ‘There are guards on the door. They will do their job.’

  ‘How do I know that they won’t be bribed? That someone won’t pay them to do something to harm me?’

  ‘Because they know that I’ll pay them more,’ he said, and smiled the smile of a younger man. ‘I shall call for you after the midday bell has rung. Be ready.’

  Chapter thirty-one

  Although Orla was exhausted, her mind raced. Ged, son of the King? He’d given her no sign of it. She’d had no idea. She looked back on all their conversations, on all his lessons, on all he had told her about the Palace and himself and she looked for something that might have even given her a hint, but there was nothing. Eventually, head throbbing and eyes feeling gritty and sore, she lay down on the bed intending only to rest but quickly fell asleep. She woke with a start to hear banging on the door. Her heart raced. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready. She sat up and swung her legs off the bed before her mind caught up with them.

  She eased the door open.

  ‘There’s not much time,’ Roland was breathless. ‘The last party just left the Palace. We have a matter of hours, if that. Come quickly, child.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Surely a minute wouldn’t hurt?’ Her heart was racing. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t…

  She left him waiting in the doorway as she splashed her face with cold water, then pulled her hair back and pinned it up the way she’d seen Silma do it. She straightened her dress, took a deep breath, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face had crease marks on it from where she had been
laying on the pillow. Her eyes were dark-ringed and red still from crying. She looked a million miles from poised or elegant or sophisticated.

  ‘Those things do not matter,’ Roland said, as though reading her. ‘Not now. Come.’

  ✤

  The guards sat silent and grim-faced, and did not look at her as she passed. What had Roland done to them, she wondered? A bribe wouldn’t have been enough. It’s hard to spend gold when you’re dead, as she suspected they would be if their complicity was discovered.

  She had little time to think about it, though, as Roland strode ahead of her, leading her into a section of the Palace that she’d never seen before. They climbed a steep, broad staircase, then entered a hall, much smaller than the Great Hall but also more elaborate. Orla had the sense that the room had existed just as it was, with the vivid tapestries hanging on the walls, the intricately woven and dyed carpets, the carvings of wild animals that sat above the mantelpiece, for more years than she’d been alive.

  She did not even notice the door at the far side of the room until it opened; it was cleverly concealed in the ornate panelling of the wall. A dark-haired man emerged, straight-backed, clothed in black robes. He appeared to be unarmed but Orla sensed, though she could not say how, that he posed a greater threat than any of the guards she’d seen. Compared to him they seemed like children playing at dress ups, with their oversized swords and glinting spears and rattling plate-armour.

  ‘You have brought her?’ He spoke directly to Roland and did not even look at Orla. His voice was faintly accented, vaguely familiar, though Orla could not guess where he was from or where she might have heard it before.

  Roland bowed slightly. ‘As you see.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Orla asked Roland. Although the man scared her there was something about his manner, the way he spoke about her rather than to her, that irritated her.

  ‘I am Aderon Truthspeaker li-Vaturi, your lady,’ the man glanced at her now, his eyes the blue of sea-ice. He was slender, his head shaved in the manner of the Uruhenshi though there was nothing Uruhenshi-like in his features. His skin was pale and unscarred, his beard dark. There was something very wintery about him, she thought, something cold and muted. ‘I am King Voralien’s voice,’ he added.

  Orla looked to Roland, confused.

  ‘She does not know?’ Aderon asked Roland.

  ‘She will soon enough.’

  ‘Follow me.’ Aderon indicated for her to step through the doorway. Orla looked back to Roland. She had assumed he would be coming with her. She had imagined that he would introduce her to the King. If he was up to his usual form, she had thought she could count on him to do most of the talking, even make some jokes. She had hoped all she would have to do was stand beside Roland quietly and avoid tripping over on the way out.

  ‘Go,’ Roland said. ‘This is for you alone, Orla. You are Reader to the King. Rightfully chosen.’

  ‘But I–’

  Roland placed a hand on her back. It still unsettled her that she could sense nothing from him; she had no idea how he was feeling, what he was thinking.

  ‘Go,’ he said again.

  Feeling as though she were in a dream, she followed the black-cloaked figure through the entrance, and heard a heavy thud as the door shut behind them.

  ‘It is brave of you to come today, my lady.’ Aderon’s voice had a melody to it that she had not noticed when he first spoke. ‘When Roland suggested it I was not sure. But he convinced me that the time was right, that you would be ready.’

  ‘I don’t feel like I am,’ Orla said, her stomach churning with anxiety.

  ‘You are here. That is readiness enough.’

  They wove down a series of corridors. Orla waited as Aderon unlocked another door.

  ‘This seems more like a prison than a Palace,’ she breathed. She’d seen enough prisons now to know.

  ‘I think there are many days on which the King would agree with you,’ Aderon said, a half-smile twisting his lips. ‘Few live a life so restricted as a King. And even fewer have any sympathy for his plight.’

  The door jerked open and again Orla followed the grave-faced man through. Aderon locked it behind her, and they continued.

  ‘I have not seen the King at any of the Palace gatherings…’ she began.

  ‘You’re a Reader, my lady. You have not been permitted to attend any of the Palace gatherings.’

  ‘I would know, though…’

  ‘Gederen?’

  She swallowed down her reply. The last thing she wanted was to get Ged into trouble.

  ‘I’m glad he found you,’ Aderon said. ‘You are too alone, my lady. It should not be so.’

  ‘Do you have to call me that?’ she asked.

  ‘Call you what, my lady?’

  ‘That. My lady. I feel like I’m being mocked.’

  Aderon stopped. ‘I am sorry you feel that way.’

  ‘It’s just… nobody’s ever spoken to me like that before.’

  ‘You will get used to it in time,’ he said. ‘If you live long enough, you may even come to expect it.’

  If you live long enough. Orla shivered. She wondered if there were bets going on the likely timing of her demise. She wondered what her odds were for making it through the week.

  ‘We are almost there, my lady.’

  She drew herself up taller, fighting the deep panic that was growing within her.

  ‘Is there anything you can tell me? Anything that will help?’

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ he said.

  Easier said than done, Orla thought.

  They reached a doorway. Aderon knocked, a quiet and distinctive pattern of taps. The door creaked open.

  ‘After you, my lady.’

  She stepped through.

  Chapter thirty-two

  Surely there had been a mistake.

  The room was sparsely furnished, lit only by the fall of sunlight through a single window which looked out onto a private courtyard.

  Beside the window, in a faded green chair, was a man. He was held in place by a series of straps, which looped around his body. His head was leaning slightly to one side, like a plant in need of water. His face–

  Orla looked away.

  ‘My Lord, I have brought the girl, Orla Ekenshi-li, whom the Council have appointed as Reader.’

  Aderon looked at her quickly, and Orla suddenly recalled herself.

  If she believed what Aderon said, rather than what she saw, she was before the King of the Seven Isles. She dropped to one knee and bowed her head, happy to do it if only to avoid, for a little longer, having to meet those eyes.

  His face seemed melted, like a candle burnt too long. Not that the skin itself was damaged, but the structures that held its shape had given way, so that his cheeks were sunken and lopsided, his mouth a drooping curve, a line of drool leaking from one corner. And his eyes–

  She took a deep breath. She had heard that he had not been well, everyone had. And there were rumours, of course, of the nature and severity of his illness. But she had never imagined…

  She stopped herself. It didn’t matter how he looked. He was her King. She was his Reader. She had a task, if he chose for her to take it up. She felt Adoren’s hand lightly on her shoulder.

  She raised her head.

  ‘I’m sorry it has taken so long for me to come and see you, my Lord.’ She was surprised at how clear and unwavering her voice sounded.

  The King moved, a sudden jerk of his head from one side to another, and made a noise, something deep in his throat, inarticulate and strained. Adoren knelt beside him and leaned in close. Orla watched, fascinated and horrified. Her mind was racing.

  The King could not speak. If anything, he could communicate assent or otherwise, but probably little more than that. She looked at his hands. They were clenched, claw-like, unable to move. He could not write either. That meant the Council must be effectively reigning in his stead. Her heart raced faster. No wonder they were split at her appointment. No wonde
r she had not yet been able to meet with the King. For her to do her duty as Reader would be for them to lose the power they had gained. Still, Kynan had managed to muster enough support that she was here, now, alive and in the King’s presence.

  No wonder Genevieve hated her.

  ‘Do you wish it, my Lord?’ Aderon spoke softly, gently. ‘I do not seek to force this upon you. It is your choice.’

  There was a louder noise, a guttural grunting.

  Aderon turned to Orla.

  ‘Approach please, my Lady. The King is ready.’

  ‘Do I… Does he…’

  ‘You are Reader. You may see what is in his mind. That is how you serve.’ His voice was quiet and sad.

  ‘If you’re sure that’s what he wants?’

  ‘He has agreed,’ Aderon said.

  Orla stood and approached. She had imagined, so many times, meeting the King, but never had she thought it would be like this. She felt shaky and weak, her mouth was dry.

  ‘Please, sit,’ Aderon indicated a small stool that sat beside the King’s chair.

  Orla sat and straightened her skirt around her legs. She felt that she should say something, but all the words that came to mind seemed meaningless platitudes.

  ‘You may begin,’ Aderon said.

  She closed her eyes and reached out to touch his mind.

  The shock of it was like being dropped from a high cliff into freezing cold water. Darkness, so much darkness, and anger and fear and shame. So it has come to this, I am failed so completely that I must sit like a dumb animal and be Read by a child.

  Orla withdrew. She opened her eyes. She was shaking. Already the dull ache that accompanied the act of reading was beginning to grow.

  ‘Tell me,’ Aderon said.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure that he wants this. I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said again, his voice both gentle and commanding.

  ‘He believes he has failed in every way.’