He traced the last word with a finger. Salvation for whom? he wondered.
“It was his last entry,” said a voice behind him. He turned and saw Edaytor Fanhow. The prelate’s plain face looked as downcast as Olio felt.
“Whose last words?” he asked, and realized the answer even as he asked the question. “Northam’s?”
Edaytor nodded. “The book will stay open until Father Powl is invested as the new primate, and then he will continue it. Each day the primate writes a passage or a prayer, or maybe nothing more than an observation. It is called the Book of Days.” He pointed to a shelf near the desk. Every volume on it was black-bound, without any title or description. “They go back to the first primate. Anyone can read them. They are to provide guidance, solace, wisdom.”
“These are sad words,” Olio said, pointing to the script.
“I think he was a sad man,” Edaytor said. “I think he never knew how much he was loved and respected.”
“ ‘Alone but not lonely.’ I think he knew.”
Edaytor studied the prince. Olio steadily returned the gaze.
“I think you are ready,” Edaytor said eventually.
“I think I am, too. My nightmares are less frequent. I have ...” Olio could not find the words to describe how he knew he was ready to resume using the Healing Key.
“You have grown up,” Edaytor said. “A priest from the hospice tells me they have a sick girl. They do not know what afflicts her, but she is dying.”
“Tell me, my friend, would you have told me this if Primate Northam was still alive?”
“He would not have stopped us, I think. Not now.”
“Will you tell Father Powl about our arrangement with the hospice?”
“He will have to know when he is primate.”
“We will go to him together, then.”
“Yes.”
“A sick girl, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I will go the hospice immediately.”
“You are a good man, Prince Olio Rosetheme.”
“And I am neither alone nor lonely,” he said, smiling at the round prelate, the sudden truth of it giving him more joy than he expected to feel that day.
* * *
Orkid found Areava alone in the throne room. She was wandering among the columns that separated the red-carpeted nave from the aisles. At that moment she seemed to him like a little girl who was lost in a forest. Her face was downcast, her cheeks wet with tears. Her guards stood at attention at the entrance and the rear exit to her private chambers, then-eyes straight ahead, ignoring her pain because there was nothing they could do to alleviate it.
Her tears are for Sendarus. I wish they were for me.
“Your Majesty?”
Areava looked up, but her eyes were unfocused. “Why did Berayma have to die?”
Orkid’s heart skipped a beat. He knew she believed Lynan had committed the murder, but for a moment it seemed to him she was seeing deep into his own heart.
“No reason that we may ever understand,” he said slowly.
“If he had still been king, I would be leading our army north. My mother gave me the Key of the Sword. That is where I should be now, with my regiments, not here in this empty palace.”
“The palace is never empty while its queen is in it.”
She stared at him, not understanding. “Maybe I am not queen. Maybe this is all a nightmare.”
“Sendarus will return soon, your Majesty. The nightmare will not last forever.”
“I want to believe that. But you know that some nightmares never end, don’t you, Orkid? Some nightmares last a lifetime.”
He went to her and took her hand. “Not this nightmare. I promise you.”
She sighed deeply and with her other hand held up the Key of the Scepter so that a ray of sunshine coming through one of the high windows fell upon it. “See how it shines? It is the only bright thing in Kendra today, and yet it is this Key that weighs me down.”
Orkid glanced at the Key, then quickly looked away. All he could see on it was Berayma’s blood. Why had she not cleaned it yet? Could she not see it as well?
“It is the symbol of the kingdom, Areava. You are the kingdom.”
“But today I would rather be its lowliest subject.” They heard one of the guards come to attention; Harnan Beresard appeared at the rear exit, his small writing table under one arm.
“You are being called to your duties,” Orkid said with some relief.
“And I am keeping you from yours. We will talk later.”
“I am always at your service, your Majesty.” She nodded and patted his hand. “And for that I will always be grateful, my friend.”
Dejanus had watched the knights leave from the main palace gate. He could not help the sneer on his face as Sendarus rode past, and did not care if anyone saw it. He was angry that he had been passed over for the command of the army a second time. He could understand that the queen and her council would make Olio a general—he was, after all, a Rosetheme—but not this upstart from Aman. Queen’s plaything, pretty boy, and now general. Dejanus almost shouted in rage when he saw that Sendarus also wore the Key of the Sword.
After the regiments had passed, he stomped into town in a red rage, looking for something or someone to take it out on. He passed the Lost Sailor Tavern, stopped, and went back. Business was slow, most citizens on the streets heading to the north gate so they could watch the army leave for the war. But, he noticed with satisfaction, his pretty informant was on duty. What was her name again? That’s right, Dcanus. He found a corner table and signaled to her. She came over, nervous and diffident.
“My lord?”
“What news?” he snarled.
“Nothing much—”
“What news!” he repeated, and slapped the table. Ikanus jumped. The few customers in the inn looked across warily and, on seeing Dejanus, quickly looked away again.
“Y-you know of the hospice?” Dejanus shook his head. “There is a hospice in this quarter run by the church.”
“And why should that interest me?”
“I have heard that it is visited frequently by the magicker prelate and one other.”
“The prelate? Edaytor Fanhow?” Ikanus nodded. “And which other?”
“N-no one knows, my lord. He wears a cape and hood, but is always in the company of the prelate. They stay for a while and then leave together. People say the prelate’s companion is a great magicker, for many who go there are dying, and the next day return home completely healed.”
“How many?” Dejanus asked, curious despite himself. He had been looking for an excuse to beat Ikanus.
“I d-do not know. They are mostly children.”
Dejanus sat back, deep in thought. This was news indeed. A magicker who cured the dying? He had never heard of any so powerful. And why was the prelate trying to keep it so secret?
Unless...
No, it was too incredible. He scratched his beard. Or maybe not. It would go a long way to explaining the recent unusual behavior of a certain member of the court. He had heard only rumors, but now they were starting to make sense.
“Is there anything else, my lord?” Ikanus asked.
Dejanus shook his head, and she turned to leave. “Wait!” he ordered, and gave her a silver coin. “A flagon of Storian red.”
“I cannot change this ...”
“Keep the change. You have done well.”
She did a sort of curtsy and hurried off. Dejanus watched her go, admiring the way her backside moved. Maybe he would linger a while, at least until she was off duty. She might even earn another silver coin before the night was out.
Chapter 21
The four riders stopped on the windward side of the hill and for a moment enjoyed the soft westerly breeze that cooled their sweat.