“How could anyone spread such a lie as this?” Kate pointed at the picture. “He can’t be alive . . . can he?” She hated the terrible desperation she heard in her voice, childlike and weak.
Signe pulled the paper closer to her, getting a better look at the sketch. Kate didn’t recognize the newspaper. It wasn’t the Royal Gazette as she’d first thought but something called the Rime Review.
“It’s strange,” Signe said after a turn. “This looks exactly like him, and yet . . .”
“He’s so thin,” Kate said, gleaning Signe’s thought and seeing the same when she examined the sketch more closely. “And older.” More than a year it had been since he fell.
Was it possible?
No, she refused to believe it. Not on the basis of some sketch in a newspaper. She needed proof. She couldn’t risk the devastation of learning it wasn’t true. That would be like losing him all over again. Belatedly, Kate realized she was rubbing the top of her shoulder, the flame tattoo hidden beneath the long-sleeved tunic she wore. She forced her hand down to her side.
“Can we go now?” Harue said, weariness weighing down her voice. Although she wasn’t wearing a disguise like Signe and Kate, she might as well have been. Deep, dark bruises rimmed her eyes, her face wan from the strain of working so much magic on the road without rest. She needed food, a good night’s sleep, and several days of not using her powers.
With a deep breath, Kate resumed their trek down the street toward the Marin District, an area just to the east of Mirror Castle that boasted several respectable inns, the kind that drew new folks to the city looking to rent a room until they could secure permanent residences. The plan was for Tira and Signe to watch the comings and goings at the castle in case Dal ever emerged, while Kate searched for him inside the castle itself. To do that, she needed to secure a position as a servant, giving her easy access to Dal—and anyone else she might want to drop in on. In her experience, servants could come and go without notice.
It was a good plan, solid, and yet Kate couldn’t think about any of it as she walked, her thoughts consumed by the Rime Review. She knew that Rimish law prohibited papers from consciously publishing falsehoods with harmful intent, but the punishment for doing so had never been severe. More than a few of the papers were known to take great liberties with the truth, often bending it in order to sell more copies. And speculating that Corwin still lived would sell hundreds, if not thousands. This truth seemed to anchor her, loosing the shock that had made her feel so light-headed.
Their path took them past the main gate to the castle, the portcullis drawn as usual during the day and with no current threat to the city. Guards in the blue and silver of Norgard marched slowly along the ramparts above, keeping watch on the street below. As they passed, Kate fought the urge to dart through the gate and into the castle. With her sway, she could reach Edwin easily. If anyone knew the truth behind the claims about Corwin, surely it would be him. But she couldn’t risk it. Not with all the lives she would put in jeopardy if caught. Caution, not haste, would be her watchword.
They arrived in the Marin District a short while later, and Tira checked them into an inn called the Blue Haven. It was small, as were the two adjacent rooms they’d been given. Wen, Harue, and Harue’s books were sharing one room, while Tira, Signe, and Kate were crammed into another—the distribution about equal.
Sighing as she sat down on one of the narrow beds, Kate said, “It feels like old times, doesn’t it, Sig? Our room at the Crook and Cup was nearly this size.” She smiled, the memory not exactly fond, but not painful at least, not like the others swirling in her head. Norgard had a different feel and energy than any other place in the world. The air was sweeter here, the colors more vibrant and true—all of it reminding her of what used to be, and what might have been.
Signe didn’t reply, and Kate looked behind her to see her friend standing in front of the small window, gaze pointed down at the street below. “Sig?” Kate said. “Did you hear me?”
“What?” Signe turned around, a desperate look in her eyes again. She slowly nodded. “Yes, the Crook and Cup. It was small and smelly. This place is a paradise by comparison.”
“That might be stretching things,” Kate replied, taking a deep breath to shake off the nostalgia. Then she quickly set about unpacking. Once done, she changed into clean clothes and washed the grime of the road off her face. If she hoped to secure a servant’s position in the castle, she needed to look the part. To that end, the dress she donned was a fine cut and quality, the sort of outfit a servant of some experience would be able to afford. The dress felt strange and unnatural after years of wearing only breeches, especially the way the moonbelt rested beneath it. In breeches, the belt was held down so close she barely noticed she was wearing it. In a skirt, it moved about, reminding her of its presence with every step. She would’ve preferred hiring on as a stable hand instead, but the job would hardly give her access to the parts of the castle she needed.
According to the references Harue had forged for her, Kate had recently been handmaid to Countess Irons of Carden, an elderly woman with a reputation for abusing her servants. Kate had actually met the woman once, back when her father was still alive. Her mother had been courting a friendship with the countess, trying to improve her connections at court. In addition to being difficult to check—it would take weeks to get an audience with the countess, and the palace butler would likely not bother—the reference would hopefully garner sympathy and understanding from the person in charge of hiring at Mirror Castle.
“I’ll be back before nightfall,” Kate said, turning to face Tira.
With a glint of amusement in her eyes, Tira said, “Be careful, and make sure you don’t trip over that hem.”
Kate made a face. “Don’t make fun or we’ll have you wear the skirt next time.”
Tira’s expression turned indignant. “Only way I’ll be wearing a skirt is if I’m a corpse. And even then, I doubt my ghost will stand for it.”
Kate turned to the door. “Oh, and make sure Harue stays out of trouble. Absolutely no explosions of any kind.”
Closing the door behind her, Kate headed down the stairs and outside. Once on the street, she glanced up at their window to see Signe still standing there, her stranger’s face even more unfamiliar from this distance. Kate gave her a small wave, then hurried down the street, checking with one hand that the little slip of paper she’d hidden in her pocket while unpacking remained in there.
She waited until she’d rounded the corner out of view of the Blue Haven before pulling the paper out. It was a torn section of the Rime Review, the top of the paper where their address was printed. Eighteen Norrell Square. Not far from here, and only a little out of the way back to the castle. With her sway at the ready to help her, it shouldn’t take too long to get the information she wanted—the source for the story on Corwin.
A short time later, she rounded the corner from Childress Road onto Norrell. The square was the largest in the city and served as a center of commerce, populated by various industries as well as inns and taverns. The wealth of the area, evident in the precise angles of every rooftop and corner and the unblemished brilliance of fresh paint, told Kate that the Rime Review must be doing quite well for itself. Spreading its lies.
Or not . . .
Swallowing, Kate scanned the building fronts, looking for the newspaper’s sign atop one of the shops. She spotted it across the way but froze as she stepped out onto the street, a commotion in the distance drawing her gaze. A great swell of people filled the cross street to Norrell, the sound of their voices a low rumble. She didn’t sense violence or even trouble brewing, just a frenzied excitement, like a stifled shout waiting to be expelled.
After a moment she spotted the source of the disturbance—High King Edwin himself, riding this way. He sat atop a tall horse of impossible coloring. It was the uror sign—a horse marked by the goddess herself, one half of it inky black and the other white as salt. The sight of it broug
ht an ache to Kate’s throat, and she swallowed it back, Corwin’s face swimming before her mind’s eye. The horse should’ve been his.
The people in the street were pressing in toward the king, running their hands along the horse’s sides or touching the heel of Edwin’s boots, if they dared. For his part, Edwin was smiling down at them, bestowing kind words along the way. He looked notably different from the last time Kate had seen him—older and harder, the soft roundness of boyhood stripped away to reveal the man beneath. More than anything, he resembled the Corwin she’d seen in the newspaper picture, and she guessed the illustrator must’ve used Edwin’s countenance as the inspiration for Corwin as he would look now, if indeed he still lived.
A woman with a golden circlet upon her brow rode beside Edwin, sitting sidesaddle atop a chestnut palfrey, the horse smaller than the uror sign by nearly a hand. Unlike her husband, Queen Sabine of Kilbarrow barely glanced at the people, her expression aloof, like a beautiful statue. Flanking the king and queen were a cadre of armed guards, all afoot and keeping a careful watch on the crowd.
For a moment, Kate felt the urge to hide. Then she remembered the disguise, and touching a finger to the ring in her ear, she held her ground, eyes fixed on the king and queen.
The crowd was growing bolder, shouting questions at Edwin.
“Is the news true, your majesty?”
“Is Prince Corwin alive?”
“Will you rescue him?”
Waving the questions away, Edwin rode toward the statue occupying the center of the square. It depicted Rowan, the first king of Norgard, sitting astride a warhorse with Summoner, the sword of Rimish legend, held above his head in one hand. Dismounting from the uror horse, Edwin handed the reins to one of the guards, then climbed atop the edge of the statue and raised his hands toward the crowd below, beckoning them to silence.
“Good people of Norgard, and of Rime,” Edwin began in a sonorous voice, the voice of a king. “It was only days ago a rumor reached our shores that our brother is alive, living in Seva, and married to the Godking’s daughter. Like you, this news took us greatly by surprise.” Edwin paused, allowing the crowd a moment to react.
Sensing there was more, and unwilling to wait, Kate reached out to Edwin with her magic. She would never have a better chance to glean his thoughts. Not only could she learn everything he knew about Corwin, but she could find out about Dal as well, determine if he was currently safe, and if the threat against him came at Edwin’s order or not. But the moment she tried, she felt something blocking her way, like an invisible wall. It was a sensation she’d experienced only once before, and instinctively she raised a hand to touch the vial of blood hidden beneath her tunic. When Isla Vikas had worn the necklace, the magic in the blood had blocked Kate’s sway, in much the same way as it was being blocked now.
The realization sent a jolt of fear through her. She couldn’t see such a necklace around Edwin’s neck, but it could be hidden beneath his tunic. Where would he have gotten it? The spell could only be worked using the blood of someone born with sway, a gift so rare even Rendborne had coveted it. Rendborne. Was the Nameless One here, in Norgard? No, she quickly decided. At least not as himself. Edwin and the rest of the high council had known about Rendborne’s treachery and would’ve recognized his face. Unless he had a new one, Kate considered, again remembering the magestone earring she wore. The magic to disguise one’s face was outlawed by the Mage League, but Rendborne wouldn’t care about that any more than Harue did.
With frustration building inside her like steam in a lidded pot, Kate withdrew her magic. There would be no answers found here.
“Since that time,” Edwin continued, “we have been working to uncover the truth. Our sources have confirmed that while there was indeed a Sevan ceremonial wedding for the daughter of the Godking and our brother, the man they claimed to be Corwin is nothing but an imposter. We don’t yet know the reason for the deception, but I can assure you we will uncover it. For now, you must not give these rumors any credence. I, Edwin, am the only living heir of House Tormane and king of Norgard and of Rime, chosen by holy uror to rule.” At this, Edwin raised his right hand, palm out so that his uror mark was visible, even from this distance.
Kate stared into Edwin’s eyes, her heart sinking inside her chest at the truth she sensed in his words. Even without her magic, she felt it. And didn’t this explanation make more sense? That the Godking would fake the alliance? The whole world knew of Rime’s troubles, the war of magist against wilder. By pretending to have found Corwin and spreading word of his union to the Sevan princess, the Godking would create further unrest in a kingdom already in turmoil.
The crowd applauded, solemn but determined, at Edwin’s declaration, and once the noise died down, he said with hands clasped before him, “Now, we will take this truth to the publishers of the Rime Review, so that they will have an opportunity to retract this misinformation. May Noralah bestow her blessing upon you all.”
With that, Edwin stepped off the statue and walked toward the newspaper office’s front entrance. Kate could see figures standing behind the large glass window. Queen Sabine had also dismounted and now joined her husband outside the door, offering her hand for him to hold. He took it with a warm smile that made Kate’s insides burn. There was no justice in the world when a man like Edwin possessed such happiness and prosperity while a man like Corwin had perished.
With the king no longer visible for ogling, the crowd began to disperse. Kate knew she should leave as well. She had business at the castle and Dal to worry about. But the uror horse was only a few yards away, standing with its eyes closed and head hung low, one back foot resting. Drawn to it by some invisible force, either magic or memory, Kate touched it with her sway.
Immediately, she sensed the horse’s mind. Only, what she felt there was nothing like what she remembered the last time she had touched the uror horse in this way. Before, she had sensed the creature’s great power and presence, hiding behind an impenetrable veil. Skittish and unknowable, it had seemed to flee from her touch. This time she felt a normal horse, no different from Nightbringer or any other.
What was going on? But even as she asked the question, the answer came to her.
This wasn’t the uror horse at all.
Kate withdrew her magic, the world spinning about her as she puzzled out the implications. The horse wore a bridle bedecked with sapphires on both sides where the brow band met the cheek pieces. Either one of them could be a magestone, one designed to transform an ordinary horse into the uror sign. Even when it wasn’t bridled, a halter could easily hold the same enchantment, hiding the truth from prying eyes.
But why would Edwin want to fake the uror sign? Corwin had once told her that the chosen king and the uror sign shared a special, magical bond. Indeed, Kate remembered the previous uror sign, the wolf called Murr, and how the animal had followed Corwin’s father about like his very shadow. If Edwin were truly king, chosen by the uror, then his relationship with the uror horse would be undeniable, and he’d have no use for such a ruse. That was how it worked—the uror sign remained wild and untamable, until the uror completed and the bond was formed.
There was only one reason she could see why Edwin would ride about Norgard on an imposter like this: because he couldn’t ride the real one.
Which meant Corwin was indeed alive, somewhere, after all.
10
Corwin
IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED the disastrous war council meeting, Corwin’s life fell into an uneventful pattern. He spent most of his days in the royal library, wandering through the stacks of books and scrolls that occupied nearly every empty space of the four-story building, one nearly large enough to be called a castle. Or a fortress, perhaps.
Despite his aversion to all things Sevan, he liked the library, the time he spent there giving him a small measure of freedom. It was the one place where his guards kept their distance. Among the books, they didn’t have to worry about him talking to anyone he shou
ldn’t or trying to fashion a weapon or steal one. In there, the only weapon was knowledge, but it wasn’t one his captors feared much. And why should they? With Gavril’s Tenets planted so firmly in his mind, he wouldn’t be able to wield any weapons against them, words or otherwise.
His nights he spent sleeping on the divan and trying to keep as much distance between himself and Eravis as possible. It proved more difficult than he anticipated, although not because she did anything untoward. After that first night, she never again attempted to disrobe in front of him or even to bathe with the door open. But she was still there, sharing the same space, breathing the same air, and reminding him that the two of them had been forced into this unwanted marriage. Her presence also served to remind him of just how alone he was here. In the mines he’d at least had the other prisoners to talk to, their lots enough like his own to make them kinsmen of a sort. In the Sun Palace, everyone was an enemy. Including Eravis, he constantly reminded himself.
One evening, he entered their quarters to find her sitting at the table in the living area, her chin cupped in her hand and her eyes fixed on the playing cards spread out before her. Curiosity borne of isolation and idleness peaked inside him at the sight of the game, but he held it back, going into the bedchambers instead to bathe and change into his sleeping clothes.
When he returned, she was in much the same pose as before, only this time she glanced up at his entrance, her eyes finding his. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “What are you playing?”
“The Queen’s Tower, and I’ve almost won.” She made it sound as if this were quite the feat and returned her attention to the game, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration.
“Never heard of it.” Corwin stepped nearer to the table, his gaze taking in the cards. They were different from those in Rime. Although there were face cards and numbered cards like he was used to, the suits were comprised of lions, wolves, eagles, and turtles. Still, he recognized a little of the pattern she’d placed them in. “But it looks a bit like a game we have in Rime called Solo.”
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