Brown,_Simon_-_[Keys_Of_Power_03]_-_Sovereign

by Simon Brown

  'What…?' The question died on his lips, and he would not meet her gaze.

  Korigan did not know what to say either. Since her father's death had left her queen at age thirteen she had had to make choices to secure her throne and advance her people's interests, and every time she had seen clearly the consequences of her action; but this time she was confronted by a choice that might be the most important in her life and yet she could not see which path would best serve either her throne or her people. All she knew, and this with utter certainty, was what she wanted, and realising that she also realised she had left herself no choice.

  'It is too late for regret,' she said quietly, again more to herself than to Lynan.

  'Korigan?'

  She closed her eyes, leaned forward and kissed him a second time, but without holding him to her. Too quick! she told herself, knowing now he would reject her a second time. But then his lips parted slightly and he kissed her back. His arms moved around her, embracing and capturing her at the same time. For the first time in her life Korigan had no thought for her throne or her people. For the first time in her life she thought about nothing except how she wanted something for herself, and how glorious it felt.

  It was not yet dawn when Jenrosa woke. She left her tent and made for the small creek she had seen the day before. It was no more than two paces wide and a hand's-breadth deep, but it would do. She knelt in front of the creek and scooped a hole out of the dirt nearby, then used her cupped hands to fill the hole with water. She waited for dawn and for the water to settle, then gently broke the surface with the tip of one finger and watched as the ripples spread out, each catching the sun's light and turning into golden rings. She sighed deeply and said: 'The past is the same but the present has no boundary.'

  The moment she uttered the last word the rings of gold turned to rings of blood, and then all the water in the hole turned red as if from some dreadful infection. Jenrosa gasped and quickly stood up. She felt nauseous and bent over to vomit, but could only dry retch. She stood up again and wiped spittle from her mouth, tears flowing from her eyes.

  What is wrong with me? What have I become?

  She could not believe—would not believe—that she was seeing the future. Of course there would be blood, she told herself, they were in the middle of a war. She did not have to be a magiker to predict that.

  Then what was happening? Why was everything she did tainted with blood? She woke up every morning tasting it on the back of her throat. She had dreams of rivers of blood cascading down the streets of Kendra, so much blood it could fill an ocean.

  Deep in her mind she already half knew the answer, but refused to drag it up to full awareness. It had to do with Lynan and Silona, but she did not want to stare the truth in the face. Not yet. Not until she was sure.

  All my fault, she thought. Everything is my fault.

  She started sobbing, at first from self-pity, but then in real sorrow as the memory of Kumul welled up inside her and so overwhelmed her she fell to all fours in the dirt. Her tears flowed now, falling off her cheeks into the hole of bloody water, and as they did the water cleared, becoming like crystal. When Jenrosa saw this she rested back on her heels and forced herself to control her grief. She told herself that Kumul would have been ashamed of her, and that finally brought her up.

  She touched the water again with the tip of her finger. 'The past is the same but the present has no boundary,' she said. And this time the ripples carried neither gold nor blood. She watched intently, trying to gather meaning from the images that flashed in the expanding rings, one after the other, and realised they were telling her the same story. Thousands of Chetts lay dead in a long green valley somewhere in the Oceans of Grass. 'The same story,' she said aloud. 'So this must be the past.' The last image showed a pennant with a flying bird on it. At first she thought it was the kestrel of the Rosethemes, but then realised it was like no bird she had ever seen before.

  We have a new enemy, she told herself. And they are already among us.

  CHAPTER 9

  Powl was late for a meeting with some of the Church's parish priests and took a short cut through the library. His path was intercepted by a novitiate with a vexing theological question that took so long to posit that Powl leaned one hand against a book rest to listen to it. When the novitiate finished, the prelate, who had neither the time nor the inclination to answer, put off the youth with a polite promise to talk to him at some later date. The novitiate bowed and scurried off. Powl sighed in a mixture of frustration at the delay and vague memories of his own time as a novitiate, and lifted his hand from the rest. That's when he saw the book. For a second he did not recognise it, and then he saw the handwriting.

  'I pray for guidance,' he read, 'and for the souls of all my people; I pray for peace and a future for all my children; I pray for answers and I pray for more questions. I am one man, alone and yet not lonely. I am one man who knows too many secrets. I pray for salvation.'

  His last words, Powl thought. The reminder of his predecessor made his guilt rise in him like black bile, but he suppressed it with the force of his will. Still, the memory of Primate Northam would not disappear from his mind so easily, and Powl found it possible to remember how much he had loved him once. Northam had been his teacher and father, his example and his spiritual guide. Lastly, Northam had been his betrayer and his victim. It is so strange one of God's creatures can be all of these things.

  He read the passage again and realised he did not entirely understand the prayer. I have no right to understand, he told himself, but a part of him knew he should still be able to understand prayer, the most basic element—the very heart—of all faith. He tried reading the passage again but came no closer to its mystery. He noticed, too, that the rest of the page and its opposite were completely blank.

  This was the Book of Days, he realised with surprise, and the pages were blank after Northam's last entry because it had been his duty as Northam's successor to write new entries. How could he have forgotten? How could he have so grievously neglected his duty? He looked up and saw the shelf that held all the black-bound Books of Days. Without knowing, he had broken the tradition, a tradition maintained since the earliest time of the Church of the Righteous God, and for a fleeting moment he felt despair. How could he have so seriously neglected his responsibility as primate? How could God have let him do this? How could his fellow priests have let him do this?

  'Father?'

  Powl looked around. It was Father Rown, his secretary and successor as Queen Areava's confessor. Rown was regarding him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

  'Yes?'

  'The parish priests are waiting.'

  'Of course.'

  'Father, are you well? Would you like me to handle the meeting?'

  Powl shook his head to clear it. Rown misinterpreted the gesture.

  'Then shall I tell them you are coming?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are you sure you are alright?'

  Powl straightened. He frowned at Rown. 'Thank you, I am fine.' Rown turned to go but Powl called him back. 'After this meeting, I would like to discuss something with you. Something important.'

  Rown nodded. 'Of course, Father. In your office?'

  'No. Here. Right here.' He tapped the Book of Days lying on its rest. 'Right here.'

  Orkid was busy rushing between his office and that of the queen's secretary, Harnan Beresard, organising the first council meeting since the disasters that had visited Grenda Lear. He had been able to put it off for a while, but pressure from Kendra's great families and commercial interests to resume the regular meetings was growing daily: they wanted to know Areava was healthy and still able to rule the Kingdom and they wanted to see her for themselves. It had taken him a full week of cajoling and arguing to bring Areava around, but in the end she had agreed. He now had a workable agenda that Areava had approved and was on his way to instruct Harnan to send out the summonses to the council members. His way was blocked by the imposing figu
re of Dejanus. Orkid glanced up from his notes, nodded curtly, and went to move around him.

  Dejanus held out a hand to block his way.

  Orkid stopped. 'What is the meaning of this, Constable?'

  'I need a word,' Dejanus said. Orkid could smell the wine on his breath. This was a bad sign, and something to worry about.

  'Of course, but can't it wait? I have to see Harnan Beresard about sending out the queen's summonses to a council meeting.'

  'About time,' Dejanus said gruffly. 'In part, that's what I want to talk to you about. The summonses can wait a short while.'

  'You want to talk here? In the hallway?'

  Dejanus looked around him. 'No one roundabout to overhear us. Safer here than in your office or mine, where secretaries and guards can interrupt at any moment.'

  Orkid breathed deeply. 'Very well. What is it about?'

  'Like I said, it's part to do with the next council meeting.'

  'What about it?'

  'We'll be discussing the raising of a new army to send north against Prince Lynan.' It was a statement, not a question.

  'Of course.' Orkid frowned, guessing where Dejanus was heading.

  'I want its command.'

  Orkid shrugged. 'Such decisions, naturally, are the queen's prerogative—'

  'It's only that I should have had command of the last one instead of that miserable Amanite husband of the queen's.'

  'Careful what you say about Sendarus, you oaf. He was my nephew as well as Areava's beloved—'

  'Don't tell me what I can and cannot say!' Dejanus shouted.

  'For God's sake!' Orkid hissed. 'Keep your voice down!'

  Dejanus looked as if he was going to shout again, but common sense seemed to calm him. 'We have a pact, you and I, Orkid Gravespear, a pact sealed in King Berayma's own blood. You held the king's hands when I drove my blade through his neck. I can say what I bloody well like about Sendarus, or the queen for that matter.' He jabbed Orkid on the chest with one huge, blunt finger. 'I want command of the next army. It's owed me.'

  Orkid did not answer, but his mind was racing. Dejanus was getting out of control. For the first time in a long time, Orkid was afraid for his own personal safety.

  'When it comes up in council, I want your support.' Orkid nodded. 'I will see what I can do for you.' Dejanus grunted. 'You'll do it, Chancellor. You've more at stake here than I have. If Areava learned what we did to her brother, we'd both lose our lives, but Aman would lose everything.'

  Again, Orkid said nothing, but Dejanus could see the colour drain from the chancellor's face. He smiled grimly. 'Nice to have that little chat,' he said, patting Orkid on the shoulder. He walked away, leaving Orkid as still as a rock.

  As had become the norm, Edaytor Fanhow visited Prince Olio on the south gallery with its magnificent views of Kendra and its harbour. Often they would just stand side by side, silent, aware of each other's company but not enforcing it. When they did talk it could be about anything, but eventually Edaytor would bring the conversation around to the Key of the Heart. Olio sometimes got angry at this, but usually it seemed as if he was aware there was something important—something very important—about the subject, and he would try and answer any question Edaytor put to him, and try and think of some questions in return.

  On this occasion Edaytor started the discussion by raising the matter of his mother, another of his favourite subjects.

  'Have you seen her?'

  Olio sighed. 'Oh, no. She is far too busy. Grenda Lear is a very big Kingdom, and she is in charge of everything.' He looked at Edaytor sideways. 'Did you know Mother has a navy?'

  Edaytor feigned surprise. 'With ships?'

  'Of course with ships. That's what a navy is. Warships. Lots of them. You can see some of them from up here.' He pointed down to the military quays in the harbour. 'Well, when they're in dock you can see them,' he added a little flatly.

  'I have not seen your mother for a long time, either. A year or more.'

  'Well, why would she want to see you?'

  'Because I am Prelate of the Theurgia.'

  'Ah, yes. I remember. You are an important official.'

  'Yes, I like to think so.'

  'Not as important as a prince, though.'

  'Oh, no. Only a queen is more important than a prince.'

  Olio nodded. 'I'm going to ask Mother to make me admiral of the navy.'

  'Admiral?'

  'Yes, then she will give me the Key of the Sword.'

  'Is that your favourite Key?'

  Olio frowned in thought. 'I think so.' He rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. 'Sometimes…' His voice trailed off.

  'Sometimes?'

  'Sometimes I think it isn't my favourite. Sometimes I think…' Again, his voice faded.

  'The Key of the Heart.'

  Olio looked up in surprise. 'Yes. How did you know?'

  'We have talked about it before.'

  Suddenly Olio looked very wise. 'And we are going to talk about it again, aren't we?'

  'Only if you want to,' Edaytor said gently.

  'You like to talk about it.'

  'Yes.'

  'Do you talk to others about it?'

  Edaytor almost said 'constantly', but how would he explain to Olio that he had the finest minds in the theurgia trying to discover how the Key of the Heart had sent Olio back to his childhood, had apparently wiped clean the man Olio had once been? 'Yes, now and then.'

  Instead of wise, Olio now looked shrewd. 'Why are you so interested in the Key?'

  Edaytor thought about how to answer, and eventually said, 'For your sake.'

  'Oh,' Olio said, accepting the answer. He was a prince, after all, and a lot of people did a lot of things for his sake. Except his mother. He wished she could do more for his sake. He had not seen her for so long he sometimes cried when he thought about it, but only when he was alone. He did not want anyone to know that he cried. Princes should not cry. Especially princes who wanted to be admiral of the navy. And then a question came to him, one that surprised him because he was not sure he understood its implications. 'Why for my sake?' he said quickly before he forgot it.

  'Because I care for you.'

  Olio waved his hands impatiently. 'No, no, that is not what I mean.' He put his hands over his temples again. Why was thinking so hard sometimes? 'I meant… I meant…' The question was still there, but it was so hard to force it out. Slowly, emphasising each word, he said: 'Why—is—it—for—my—sake?'

  Edaytor was taken unawares. In some ways it was the question he had been waiting for, the question that showed some glimmer of the old Olio. He licked his lips and said slowly: 'Because the Key hurt you once.'

  Olio blinked in surprise and stepped back from the prelate. 'Hurt me? One of the Keys? My mother used it to hurt me?' His voice started rising in panic.

  'No!' Edaytor said quickly. 'No! Your mother would never, never hurt you. You used it!'

  Olio froze. 'I used it?'

  Edaytor could only nod. He felt—he knew—he was close to something important, close to reestablishing a connection with the old Olio, but at the same time knew he had lost control of the discussion and did not know what to say next.

  'I used it,' Olio said, and although he was still looking at Edaytor he was seeing something else entirely. 'I used it,' he repeated. He bowed his head as if overcome by exhaustion.

  Edaytor rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Your Highness?'

  Olio shook his head. 'How could I have used one of the Keys? I am not a magiker.' He looked sharply up at Edaytor and grabbed his hand. 'But I remember. I remember having it.'

  At that moment the old Olio was back. Edaytor could see it in the prince's expression, in the sudden strength in his voice. But just as quickly it was gone again, and it was a lost, confused boy holding his hand.

  Olio blinked, stood straighten He pointed out to the harbour. 'See? There is a warship returning to harbour. Isn't she fine?'

  Edaytor did not know whether to
laugh or cry. Olio had come so close to throwing off his sickness, but in the end simply had not had the strength needed. And as time went on he was increasingly convinced that there was nothing he nor anyone else could do to help Olio find that strength.

  And then it was his turn to blink and stand straighter. No human has the strength Olio needs, he told himself. Which means…

  'Oh, God. Of course,' he said aloud.

  'Of course what?' Olio asked.

  Edaytor shook his head. 'Nothing, your Highness. I have to go now.'

  'Really? Now?'

  Edaytor patted the prince on the arm. 'But I will be back. Soon. I promise.'

  Olio shrugged. 'Where are you going?'

  'To see the queen,' Edaytor said absently. He was already thinking of how to propose to Areava what he was sure she would be reluctant to do.

  'The queen? She will see you? I think she should see me before she sees you.'

  Edaytor realised what he had said so casually and saw the hurt again in Olio's face. 'Oh no. I'm not important enough to ever see the queen. I meant I will speak to one of her officials.'

  'Ah,' Olio said, mollified, and turned back to view the harbour.

  Edaytor bowed and left the south gallery. He stopped for a moment to orient himself, then hurried towards Areava's chambers. When he got there he was stopped by two guards. He demanded to see the queen and one of the guards left to pass on the message. When he returned it was in the company of Harnan Beresard.

  'Prelate Fanhow? How can I help?'

  'You can't, Harnan. I need to see the queen urgently.'

  'Her Majesty is very busy with important matters—'

  '—of state,' Edaytor finished for the secretary. 'Yes, I'm sure. But I need to see her about Olio.' He shook his head. 'Umm, Prince Olio.'

  Harnan looked at him dubiously. 'I see. Relating to what, specifically?'

  'I think that should be between me and the queen.'

  Harnan noticeably stiffened. 'I see,' he said through a straight mouth. 'I will pass on your message.'