“They know me around here, Prince. They know I carry nothing on my person worth stealing except my cloak, and no one would buy that from a thief, for it is generally believed to protected by magic.”
“And how comes it that the m-m—magicker p-p-prelate is so well known in this desperate slum?”
Edaytor’s expression became guarded. “My duties carry me to every part of the city, your Highness.”
“There is no theurgia hall here.”
Edaytor said nothing, but tried to guide Olio out of the alley. The prince pretended to go along, but stopped suddenly when they came to the house Edaytor had appeared from.
“Definitely no theurgia hall.”
Even as he spoke, the door to the house opened and an old woman came out carrying an empty basket. She saw the prelate, came over quickly and kissed his hand, then scurried off in the opposite direction.
“Who was that?” Olio asked mildly.
“I… I don’t know her name,” Edaytor admitted.
“She certainly seemed to know you.”
“Only in the last hour. Her son was a student magicker in the Theurgia of Fire. He died last week in an accident at the armory foundry. She had no money coming in at all, so I gave her some coins.”
Olio absorbed this information, but said nothing. Edaytor misinterpreted the silence, and blurted, “But I used my own money, your Highness, no theurgia funds.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that.” Olio patted Edaytor’s hand still resting protectively on his arm. “One day, P-P-Prelate, I think you and I should sit down and have a long talk.”
“About what?”
“Why, sir, about the kingdom.”
Left alone in her bedroom, her ladies-in-waiting gone at last, Areava slumped in a chair. She was exhausted and wide awake all at the same time. The sheer emotional and physical load of the last few days pressed down on her like a heavy weight, but a thousand thoughts were racing through her brain, all competing for her attention. Details about the Twenty Houses and their allies, Orkid’s list of possible traitors, the missing corpses of her youngest brother and his co-conspirators, the hiring and billeting of mercenaries, the impatient demands of the trade guilds for their protective tariffs to be kept in place, the impatient demands of merchants for the tariffs to be lifted, the invitation list for the coronation… The urgent, the sublime, the foolish, and the unnecessary all combined, and it was all new to her.
She had no way of knowing how to cope with the sudden flood of details and facts overwhelming her, and which was added to every morning by Orkid with his heavy solemnity and bearded, brooding face. Olio and Harnan helped where they could, but Olio was as new to administration as she was and Harnan had his duties as private secretary to keep him busy without having to answer all her foolish questions. She found herself constantly being given information she did not want to know about, applications she did not want to read, appeals she did not want to judge, and blandishments she did not want to hear.
She stood up angrily. The night was still warm—the last hurrah of summer before autumn’s cold sou’westerlies began and brought with them the icy winds up from the lands of snow far south of Theare—but she still felt the need to stoke up the fire; anything to help fill up the vacant space in her room. And the vacant spaces in her life left by the deaths of her mother and brother.
She lay on her bed and closed her eyes in an attempt to find sleep, but it was futile. Restless, she left her room, startling the two guards on post at her door. Ignoring their concerned expressions as they trailed behind her, she soon reached the south gallery. She headed over to the balcony and stopped short. There was a figure on the balcony, looking out over the city and the waters beyond. For a terrible moment she thought it was the ghost of Lynan come back to haunt her at the very place they had last spoken. The figure turned, and Areava recognized the tall and slender profile of Prince Sendarus. Her breath gushed out in relief.
“Your Majesty!” Sendarus exclaimed, and bowed deeply. “I did not know you were there!”
“I have just arrived. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I came to get away from my rooms.”
“I understand. You wish to be alone. I will leave now.”
“What were you looking for?” she asked.
“Your Majesty?”
“Can you see Aman from there? Are you homesick?”
Sendarus laughed lightly. “No, it is too dark for that, and I am not homesick.”
“I thought you might miss your father.”
“I did at first. But I have found my attention quite diverted.”
“The city has that effect on people seeing it for the first time.”
“That is not what I meant,” he said seriously.
Areava joined him at the balcony and felt a breeze on her face. She closed her eyes and pretended she was not queen and that her mother still reigned, and that all was right with the world.
Sendarus watched her carefully, watched her hair blown by the breeze, watched a small pulse in the curve of her throat, but said nothing.
Chapter 16
It took Lynan and his companions six days to reach the outskirts of the Forest of Silona. The encounter with the mercenaries had made them all jumpy, and they could ill afford further trouble now that Kumul was temporarily incapable of wielding a sword; though much better, Jenrosa still lacked stamina. Besides, the open farm land they were passing through encouraged caution.
They walked from dusk to dawn, keeping to side trails where possible, and rested during the day, taking turns to keep watch. They ate whatever food they could scrounge on their journey—berries, nuts, once a runaway chicken—and used ground leaves from whip trees and sword bushes to harden the skin on their heels and toes and reduce the risk of infection from the blisters that blossomed on their feet.
They had one more close encounter with mercenaries before reaching the forest, another troop of cavalry, but they had heard the horses from a distance and were able to hide in time.
The Forest of Silona was made up of towering wideoaks, summer trees, and headseeds, packed more closely together than any such trees had any right to be. Their branches blocked most of the sunlight from reaching the forest floor, and a sad wind passed between them, making a sound like wooden pipes playing a dirge. The air smelled rich and loamy and left a musty taste on the back of their tongues. There was something forbidding about the place, about the wood green darkness, which made all four travelers hesitate before entering its cover.
“It’ll be safer for us in the forest than out here in the open,” Ager said reassuringly, his voice hiding a quaver. He grunted, squared his shoulders as best he could, and strode, lopsided, in among the trees.
“There. It’s done, and I haven’t dropped dead. Come on, the sun’s already up. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be out the other side.”
“Is nowhere safe anymore?” Lynan asked forlornly, of no one in particular. He followed Ager. Once under the heavy shade of the trees his feeling of dread eased somewhat. It was like jumping into a cold river—after a few seconds it did not seem nearly so cold.
“It’s all right,” he said encouragingly to Jenrosa and Kumul. “It’s… safe.”
Jenrosa stood with her fists on her hips for a moment as if she was about to dispute the fact with Lynan, then sighed and crossed the boundary into the forest.
Kumul still hesitated. “I cannot forget the stories I have heard about this place.”
“We’ve all heard stories,” Ager muttered. “Soldiers make them up about every forest or river or city. You haven’t paid them any heed before.”
“I haven’t been here before,” Kumul countered.
The muscles in Lynan’s back started to tighten. Kumul’s words were frightening him. Instinctively, he drew closer to the other two, fighting the urge to leave the forest and let pure sunlight bathe his skin again.