The royal group was joined by Magicker Prelate Edaytor Fanhow. He and Northam exchanged a courteous greeting. Orkid had always thought Usharna’s greatest achievement as queen was to ensure the church and the malefici were allies and not rivals. By giving the church her protection and by maintaining her authority over the prelate’s office, she made sure both powerful factions were supporters behind her throne instead of enemies bickering in front of it. A split between them would give the enemies of Rosetheme a dangerous lever, and Orkid would do everything in his power to make sure that would never happen.
The chancellor wandered around the reception, fending off a flock of flatterers and pleaders with well-practiced blandishments, studying the reactions of those near Areava and Sendarus. Hovering over the royal couple was the ever present shadow of Dejanus, his face fixed with his usual quizzical half-smile, his eyes alert for any threat to the queen. For one moment the gaze of Orkid met that of Dejanus, and the chancellor felt the wary coolness there. Well enough, he told himself. We know too much about each other to be enemies, but we will never be friends. It was better that way, Orkid knew; it was so much harder to eliminate a friend.
The thought had come unbidden to his mind and he faltered for a second. His hangers-on stumbled around him. He smiled at them easily, apologized, and pretended to give them half an ear, but his mind was backtracking to find out from where the thought had arisen.
His gaze fell to his hands, the same hands that had held down Berayma’s arms as Dejanus had stabbed the king in the neck. Orkid had been overwhelmed by the amount of blood. The room had filled with a stinking lake of it. And yet he had felt no remorse. He had never liked Berayma, and the greater cause had fortified Orkid for over twenty years, so the act itself—with all its gore—was more like an ablution than a murder. He could as easily have done the same to that whelp Lynan. But what of the other two surviving children of Usharna?
He gaze lifted again to Areava, and for a moment he thought he was seeing the old queen as she had been two decades before. His heart jumped a beat. Yes, he liked Areava a great deal, could even learn to adore her as he had her mother, but there was something more about her that stirred something deep inside of him. With some guilt he realized it was a pang of jealousy, jealousy toward his own nephew. The understanding shocked him, and he turned his thoughts to Olio.
The shy prince had changed over the last few weeks, become stronger and more confident. He was still cursed by his awful stammer, but his manner had more authority in it now. Was it the Key of the Heart that was transforming him, or his sister’s need for support? Orkid liked Olio, always had, but wondered if the time was coming to be afraid of him. Olio had always been a fervent believer in Grenda Lear being more than Kendra and its self-interested Twenty Houses and merchants, and Orkid had long looked on him as an ally, but a more assertive prince working in the same court as Areava and Sendarus could prove harmful to Aman’s long term interests. Yes, Orkid told himself, he would have to keep a careful eye on the young man.
Speaking of which, where was he today? Orkid looked around the hall, finally discovering him by the knot of minor officials clustering around him to get his attention. Not long before, Olio would have been flustered by all the attention, but now handled such situations with calmness and almost infinite patience. Even as Orkid watched, he extricated himself from the group and made his way to his sister. Olio and Areava exchanged a few words, then he bowed and left, taking Edaytor Fanhow with him.
Those two have been spending an unusual amount of time together, Orkid thought. Whatever do they find to talk about?
As soon as Olio was out of hearing of his sister, he asked the magicker what news he had of the hospice.
“It is ready, Your Highness,” Edaytor said, smiling broadly. “Primate Northam has been as good as his word. There are ten beds for the sick, and he has assigned another priest to the chapel to care for them full-time. I have already recruited several magickers to play their parts.”
“Now all we need are the sick themselves.”
“The priests will take care of that for us. They visit the poor regularly, and will bring those most in need to the hospice for treatment. It will not be long before the sick come of their own accord.”
“Will ten b-b-beds be enough?”
“For the worst affected. But the primate is now thinking of building a dispensary that can deal with less serious cases.”
Olio nodded. “This is much better than I expected. At last I can do something for my own people.”
Edaytor put a finger to his lips in thought, but hesitated to speak.
Olio sighed. “Out with it, sir.”
“I am still concerned about how the healing will affect you. You know how tired you were after the first time.”
“Surely, as we gain more experience in this, the healing will become easier.”
Edaytor shrugged. “This is new to me as well, Your Highness. Truly, the more one practices magic the easier it becomes, but the Key is no ordinary talisman. I remember how weak your mother was after she healed the crookback.”
“But she was old and ill herself.”
“Undeniably, but nonetheless neither of us is sure that continued use of the Healing Key will not have some deleterious effect.”
“I will be careful,” Olio assured him.
Edaytor heard the excitement and eagerness in the prince’s voice, and wondered if being careful would be enough. He would have to instruct his magickers to make sure Olio did not overextend himself.
There were plenty of barges heading down river, but it was not until well after dawn that Jenrosa sighted the first sail heading in the opposite direction. She called the others, and as the barge came into view they waved their arms and shouted. The pilot waved back and continued on his way. They were still cursing him when a second barge appeared sailing upriver, and they repeated the demonstration. This time the pilot, a short, thickset woman, steered closer to the bank. She looked warily at the giant Kumul and the crookback Ager.
“What is it you want?”
“Passage!” Kumul cried out. “And some food!”
The pilot surveyed them and their four horses for a moment and replied: “How much do you offer?”
“We have no money, but can give you one of our horses for payment,” Kumul shouted.
The pilot considered for a moment, then brought the barge close enough to drop her anchor and push out two planks to touch the shore. As they started leading their horses aboard, she told Kumul she was going no farther than Daavis.
“That will suit us,” he said grimly. He had no idea how far upriver Prado was intending to take Lynan, but getting to Daavis would at least give them a chance to catch up some of their lost ground.
They tethered the horses to the central mast and then helped bring in the planks and anchor.
“You’re carrying a light load,” Ager observed.
“I make my profits the other way, carrying ore to Sparro. This consignment will cover my costs.” She nodded at the horses. “And on this trip one of those will bring me a profit.”
The pilot seemed disinclined to talk, so the three companions found spaces for themselves among the bales and boxes up forward.
“How will we find Lynan again?” Jenrosa asked.