As they got higher, their rests became more frequent, and at times it seemed their ordeal would never end. Then, perhaps thirty paces from the summit, the wind hit them, a whistling, keening gale that whipped across the face of the cliff trying to hurl them back into the sea. Lynan knew he could go no farther. His mind started to wander and his senses were telling him that he was on level ground and that he could lie down now, that all he need do was release his grip and everything would be fine—he would wake in his bed in the palace in Kendra and the last two days would be revealed as nothing more than a nightmare.
Someone was talking to him. He tried to ignore the voice because it was spoiling the nice warm feeling that was creeping over him, but the voice would not go away and in the end he had to listen. Lynan, it was saying, climb. One more step. Move up one more step. So he moved one more step, and the pain was so bad it was like someone driving a nail into his knee. One more step, the voice repeated, and he recognized it as Jenrosa’s. Move, Lynan, you’re so close to finishing. One more step, and then another, and another…
And at last there came a time when he reached overhead with a hand and the slope was gone and there was soft vegetation underneath his fingers. For a moment his mind cleared enough for him to pull himself up the final two paces to the very top of the cliff. He collapsed into a bed of long, sweet-smelling grass, and darkness came and took him.
Speaking with Primate Northam had calmed Areava and helped focus her mind, which until then had been filled with a multitude of confusing facts and fears. The horror of her brother’s murder, and the realization that Lynan must have been behind the crime, had almost overwhelmed her reason. The discussion with the priest had also made her realize that her first duty was to ensure a peaceful transition in rule from Berayma to herself. The kingdom must be her priority, not the pursuit of her brother’s killers; Orkid and Dejanus between them were more than capable of hunting down Lynan and his coconspirators.
However, when Dejanus intercepted Areava and Olio on the way back from the west wing to tell them that Lynan had been sighted boarding a merchant ship, her fury at her half-brother came on again like an irresistible tide and she had to struggle against it.
“Then see he is captured.”
“I have already alerted the navy,” Dejanus confirmed. “They will send out ships to intercept the merchant and bring your brother back for justice.”
“And see to it he is b-b-brought b-b-back alive,” Olio said firmly. “His dead b-b-body will leave too m-m-many questions unanswered.”
Dejanus looked at Olio with an expression the prince couldn’t read. “But if they offer resistance—”
“Alive, Dejanus,” Areava insisted. “How else will we discover the extent of the conspiracy behind our brother’s death?”
Dejanus nodded curtly. “I will see to it the ship captains understand your order.” He left without further word.
For a moment Areava simply stood there, fighting the urge to close her eyes. “I am exhausted,” she said weakly.
Olio put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you w-w-wish to see Trion? I can send for him and he will give you a draft to help you sleep.”
Areava shook her head. “Not yet. Find Orkid for me and bring him to my study. We must form this council as soon as possible and plan the… the coronation. The administration of Kendra must continue uninterrupted.”
Olio nodded and left her.
A moment later Areava looked around her. Except for a guard at either end there was no one else in the palace corridor, and there were no sounds other than the echo of Olio’s receding footsteps. The palace’s gray stone seemed to surround and cage her.
I am queen, she thought. I am alone.
When she entered her study, someone was waiting for her, a man in a long green cloak. His back was to her, and he seemed to be staring at the monarch’s desk.
“Who—?” she began, and stopped when the man turned around. “Oh, Harnan!”
The private secretary bowed to her. He held his hands out, shaking.
“Your Highness. I came late this morning as your brother… the king… instructed me. I did not know… nobody told me…” His voice failed him, and tears welled in his gray, rheumy eyes and rolled down his old and whiskered cheeks. “I am sorry…” His voice faltered.
Areava came forward, overwhelmed with pity for her mother’s oldest and dearest servant. She held his hands in hers. “Harnan, it is I who should apologize. I did not think. So much has happened. I should have thought to send someone to tell you.”
“Oh, milady, no, do not blame yourself in your grief. But I am… confused. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.” His lifted his chin and tried to stifle his tears. “Forgive me… but first your mother… now this!”
Without thinking, Areava used one hand to dab away the tears on his cheeks. “There is nothing to forgive, faithful Harnan.” She stood back, looking him up and down. “As always, ready to do service. Berayma would be proud of you.”
Harnan opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come.
Areava sniffed back her own tears, knowing that if she started crying now she would not be able to stop. She said in as businesslike a tone as she could muster: “I see you have your tablet and pens.” She nodded to the wide purse hanging from Harnan’s belt.
“Yes, your High… your Majesty. I was to write letters for your brother this morning.”
“Well, since you are here, I need your assistance if you feel up to it. I need urgent messages to go out by courier to the provinces. As well, I’m reconvening my mother’s executive council and I want it to meet before noon.”
“Of course, your Majesty. It would be a relief to work.”
Areava smiled then, suddenly proud of the old man. “Then, together, you and I will administer this kingdom with such energy that it will do full justice to the memories of Usharna and Berayma.”
The pain in Harnan’s face visibly eased. He sighed deeply and drew out the writing tablet and his favorite pen from the purse.
“At your service, Queen Areava, always,” he said, his voice full of emotion.
She patted him on the shoulder and told him to take a seat. She went behind her desk and stopped suddenly. On the desk, on a square of white silk, lay the Key of the Scepter, its luster diminished by the blood of her brother. She touched it hesitantly. A spark jumped between the amulet and her finger. She drew back with a hiss.
“Your Majesty, are you all right?” Harnan asked, concerned.
Areava glanced up and nodded quickly. She cautiously touched the Key again. Nothing happened. She picked it up by its chain and put it over her head. Her dead brother’s Key clinked against her own, the Key of the Sword. She stared at it for a long moment, lost in her own thoughts.
Magicker Prelate Edaytor Fanhow had changed into more sedate clothing. Gone was the heavy velvet robe with the gold twine, the baggy trousers and the broad silver belt he had worn in his first meeting with the new queen. In their place he wore a more practical set of linen pants and shirt with the magicker’s traditional stiff collar, and his cap of office, a wide beret with the prelate’s badge pinned to its front.
He returned to the palace just before noon, hurrying to meet Areava’s deadline for new intelligence about Prince Lynan from the theurgia. When he arrived at the queen’s offices, out of breath and sweating, the guards let him through automatically.
He entered, opened his mouth to formally greet Areava, and came to a stop, his mouth closing shut with an audible snap. The main room was filled with the best from Kendra society, the very cream of the most elite professions and trades, all dressed in their very finest clothing and ceremonial garb. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and their expressions made him feel like a latrine washer who had accidentally barged in on a wedding ceremony.