She made a face at him, thinking he had to feel a little better if he was nosing into her affairs. “He isn’t. We were done before I came home. He doesn’t like magic.”
“Silly man. What about Jonathan, then? Everyone knows you two used to be lovers, even if he is a prig about other things. Maybe I should talk to him. Having sullied your reputation, he can’t be allowed to abandon you. You have a good name—”
“I’m not amused, Thom.”
“I think you should take the thief, if you must take someone. If you marry George, I’ll give you my blessing.”
“If I marry anyone, I’ll let you know. Can you change the subject?” She shifted in the big chair, hooking her legs over one arm. “I love you dearly, Thom, but you’re prying, and I don’t appreciate it.”
He grinned. “What sort of twin would I be if I didn’t pry?” That made her smile. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he tugged his beard as he looked her over. “It’s changed you—the Jewel. Time was you’d’ve lost your temper with me for calling him a ‘prig’ or teasing you about the Dragon. You only save your anger now for big things, is that it?”
“Thom, do you mind?” she snapped. “I didn’t come here to be analyzed by my own twin, thank you very much!”
He looked away. “Sorry,” he murmured shyly. “I forgot how much I dislike it. And you have changed. For the better, I think.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, touched by the rare compliment.
There was a rap on the door; it opened to admit Si-cham. “There you are, Lady Alanna. Now we may begin.”
Alanna looked at Thom, feeling the first pricklings of mistrust. “Begin what?” she wanted to know.
“We’ve been going over the books in Jonathan’s sorcery library,” Thom explained. “And we found some possibilities. For now, I want to drain off a little of the power that burdens me. Without it, I can think clearly. Because you’re my twin, you’re the best person to carry it.”
“Wait a minute—” Alanna began, rising out of her chair. “What if it poisons me like you’ve been poisoned? Even a beginning hedgewitch knows you can carry your own Gift and no more!”
“That would be true, if we spoke of weeks or months or years. This transfer is for a week. Our spells will enclose it, keep it from leaking into your Gift,” Si-cham reassured her. “We are sure of it.” He met Alanna’s eyes, smiling.
Alanna stared at the sorcerers for a long moment. “A week?”
“No more,” Thom said. “The most important of the infusions I need takes that long to make.”
Alanna bit her lip. He was so thin! “It’ll help? It won’t interfere with my participation in the coronation?”
“It will help,” Si-cham affirmed. “It will not interfere. You won’t even notice it after the first night, unless you try to use your Gift, of course. I would not advise it.”
She sat down with an exhausted sigh. “What must I do?”
Alanna kept to House Olau for the next few days while her head buzzed and her stomach lurched. Grimly she continued her exercises with Liam in spite of it, fearing to slack off for even a day. At last her body adjusted to the new burden. But she refused to do so tiny a spell as the one for lighting candles, fearful of what might happen. Visiting Thom once more, she was glad she’d given in—he looked better already. Together with Si-cham, he had embarked on the beginnings of an intricate spell. It would be finished several days after the coronation, and—if Thom was lucky—it would purify his magic.
Three days before the coronation, Jonathan summoned Alanna to the palace to discuss how the Jewel would fit into the ceremonies. “It seems like a silly thing to worry about,” he admitted with a smile, “but the Master of Protocol wouldn’t let me alone until I agreed to do it his way. You see, I can’t take it up when I’m crowned, or when I get the scepter and the Great Seal. Those are all Tortallan things, and the Jewel isn’t Tortallan.”
Alanna had to laugh. “Poor Jon! Maybe I should’ve given it to you for your birthday, or something.”
The king-to-be grimaced. “Very funny. Here’s how we will do it. When you come to give me your oath as King’s Champion, say this.”
He gave her a parchment on which her oath was written. It read very like the one she’d taken as a knight. At the end, in scarlet ink, were lines, which she read aloud. “‘Sire, as token of my fealty, I gift you and your heirs with this most awesome artifact—’ Jon, do I really have to say ‘awesome artifact’?” Jonathan nodded, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Wonderful,” Alanna muttered as she read further. “‘For which I have gone in quest to the most distant corner of our world. Through peril I have borne it, for the glory of Tortall, and for the glory of King Jonathan. Accept, I beg, this symbol of my devotion to realm and crown, the Dominion Jewel.’ Jon, this is some kind of a joke!”
Jon shook his head. “Wait till you hear what I have to say in reply. I’d better go—the delegation from Tyra is waiting for me. Don’t forget to memorize your lines!” With an evil grin he left Alanna to scowl at her revised oath.
She shoved it into her pocket. “I guess I’m too old to put a frog in his bed,” she muttered as she headed for the stables. “‘Awesome artifact,’ indeed!”
8
CROSSROAD IN TIME
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE CORONATION, ALANNA stayed with Jonathan as he kept vigil in the Chapel of the Ordeal. While he meditated on the obligations of Kingship, she worried. None of those who’d made his protection their goal were satisfied that the single men pouring into the city in recent weeks had come to enjoy themselves. They’d had no choice—Raoul, Gary, the Lord Provost—but to let the coronation take place, so they had every fighting man in service to the palace on duty and alert. Alanna attended their talks with Jon that afternoon but had nothing to add. The back of her neck prickled constantly, reflecting her uneasiness, but that wasn’t solid evidence of trouble. When she and Jonathan reached the chapel, she was pleased to see Raoul had posted a double guard. The night inched by quietly; the only movement she noticed occurred when she or Jonathan changed position.
The iron door of the Chamber shimmered in the candlelight, a vivid reminder of her Ordeal of Knighthood. Here Jon would undergo the Ordeal of Kings. The only advantage she could see to his entering that room a second time was that the King’s Ordeal was said to be short. For herself, she knew that no inducement could get her to enter that place again.
Suddenly the light shifted. The Dominion Jewel danced in the air in front of her, so real-looking she had to touch the pouch at her waist to make sure the Jewel was in there. She stared, wondering if this was a glimpse of the future, or something of the Jewel’s making. The false Jewel shimmered and grew, coming closer, until it overwhelmed her eyes. Inside it she saw:
In the center of the Chamber of the Ordeal Roger lay on a block of stone. He got up and held out his arms. “Come, loved one,” he whispered.
She had been warned not to speak or scream. Her jaws knotted to keep from yelling her fury. She couldn’t move. Closer he came. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep silent—coppery blood flooded her mouth.
She was in his arms and they danced, his face lit with love and with rage, his sapphire eyes insane. “We’ll dance until the end of everything, my darling, my pet,” he crooned. “Promise me we’ll dance forever.”