George picked up the pardon, re-reading it. He tapped a large seal in silvery wax. “How in Mithros’s name did you get my Lord Provost to sign?”
“You’d be surprised. He’s an amazing fellow.” Jonathan’s tone was filled with wry respect, making Alanna wonder just what the Provost had done to put that feeling in his voice.
George sighed, rolling the parchment up. “With so many good reasons for me to accept, I’d be touched in my wits to refuse.” With a lopsided grin he told Alanna, “He’s grown up with a vengeance. I wonder if I shall be glad or sorry.”
Alanna rode to the palace that evening as the sun set against the Coastal Hills, paying her daily visit to Thom. When she left him, as always, she was troubled and uneasy. He looked no better than he had when she first returned to Corus. If anything, he looked worse, and she was frightened. She’d also noticed that Faithful stayed away from Thom, and that Thom deliberately avoided the cat. To her there was no better sign of something dangerously wrong; but when she questioned Faithful, he refused to answer.
Instead of riding home or seeking out her friends, she and Faithful wandered idly through the maze of the palace, thinking about the coronation. It was hard to believe only three weeks remained.
Their walk finally brought knight and cat to the Hall of Crowns. This room had one use: Tortallan sovereigns were consecrated to the realm there. At all other times it was closed, its windows covered by heavy velvet curtains.
They entered, smelling beeswax, spices, and incense. The servants had worked hard, cleaning the dust-covered draperies, polishing wood- and metalwork until it shone, scrubbing the many-paned windows. Tiny votive candles winked on the altar, where a Mithran priest and a Daughter of the Goddess would bind Jonathan to the crown and the land.
Her steps echoed to the ceiling as she walked around. Here were the wooden benches where the nobility sat. She climbed the stone risers that would seat the principal merchants, guildmasters, and their families until she reached the top. Here were the City Doors, the height of five men and the breadth of seven. These would be open during the coronation. All who could fit in behind the wealthy and powerful commoners would do so, relaying what happened inside to the less fortunate.
Once crowned, Jonathan would mount Darkness at the City Doors to ride down to his new capital. Alanna would stay a pace behind as he rode through the packed streets.
Thank the Goddess Moonlight isn’t some skittish yearling and hard to control in a crowd, she reflected. Still, I can think of things I’d rather be doing that day.
She sat on a riser, almost on top of Faithful. “Oh, stop it,” she muttered when he yowled. “You aren’t hurt.” Propping elbows on knees, she put her chin on her hands, staring at the distant altar. “I’m getting old,” she whispered. “I should be excited about the coronation. I wish I knew for certain he’d be safe.”
You wanted to be a hero, Faithful said. Heroes have responsibilities.
“I’m not sure I want to be a hero anymore,” Alanna sighed.
Then you are in trouble. That’s the one thing you’ll never be able to change.
“I know. I think about marrying, though, if I could do it and still see the world. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Not if it was someone I liked and loved. Someone I could laugh with.”
You want to be warrior and woman. You want to travel and serve Jonathan. Can’t you make up your mind about what you want? complained the cat.
“Who says I can’t have a little bit of each?” she wanted to know. When she realized what she’d said, she began to grin. “That’s right—why can’t I? And I’ve done pretty well, I think!”
I suppose so, he replied grudgingly. For a person. Mind, be careful in your choices—particularly if you want to marry. You need somebody who isn’t as noble-minded as you are. Otherwise you take yourself much too seriously. I won’t always be around to correct you.
“I am not noble-minded!”
Yes you are. You hide it well, but not everyone knows you like I do. And you think you can solve all the world’s ills. You need someone who will cheer you up when you can’t.
Abruptly Alanna sneezed four times without stopping. She got to her feet, blinking teary eyes. Something took form before the altar, something with substance enough to obscure the votive candles. It was the Goddess, her white skin and emerald eyes gleaming in the dark. Impossibly tall, she smiled at Alanna. Of course she’s here, Alanna thought, awed. It’s Beltane. Every couple tonight will ask her blessing on the summer crops. Then why has she come here? I’m alone, without a lover, and I’m more worried about the coronation than the crops.
The gentle whisper nonetheless drove Alanna to her knees. It took all her willpower to keep her hands from her ears: That voice still embodied huntress and hounds and the storm. In the Hall of Crowns even the Goddess’s whisper rolled like thunder. “We meet again, my daughter. You have traveled a long road since last we spoke. Surely you must be pleased, now. Your labors of all these years, here and in the Roof of the World, bear fruit. Your Jonathan is to be king. He will bear the Dominion Jewel.”
Alanna looked up eagerly. “Then he will be king? Please—can you give me a sign, some hint of what is to come? I sense trouble, but … and my brother. What’s wrong with Thom?”
The Goddess shook her head. “I may not answer these questions. The gods cannot reveal all things; otherwise, where is men’s right to choose their fates? Where is your right to choose?”
“I think I chose well,” Alanna said, getting to her feet. “How can I thank you for your favor?”
“Your life is my thanks. I have guided you as best I can, but the time for guidance is past. You are fully grown into all your powers, Alanna. The days to come are what you make of them. The coronation is a crossroad in Time. Bend it to your will—if you have the courage!”
Alanna’s blood thrilled to the challenge, but her common sense made her beg, “Just a hint?”
The Goddess shook her head, smiling with amusement. The air brightened. Alanna could see other figures before the altar. The shining warrior could only be Mithros, the divine protector. On the Goddess’s other side, hooded and cloaked, waited her brother the Black God. Alanna knew him and bowed her greetings; the great head nodded in reply.
Behind them were ranged others, only some of whom she knew: the Crooked God, his smile as wicked as George’s own; the Smith’s God; the Sea Goddess. The array of immortals stretched on and on, but somehow she saw each face clearly. Awed and frightened, she covered her eyes like a Doi tribesman.
Slowly the glory faded. When she uncovered her eyes, she and Faithful were alone. She stayed where she was for a while, remembering what she had seen. At last she shook her head. “Ask a silly question.”
It always comes to this, Faithful remarked. A god can guide a mortal, nurture, teach. And yet there comes a moment when the god must stand away from the fosterling and let the inevitable happen.
“Why?” she asked, curious.
That’s how the universe is fashioned, Faithful replied. There are moments when only a human can affect the outcome of events.
She picked him up, letting him perch under her left ear. “You mean they don’t know what’s going to happen?”