The room was small and intimate. Upholstered sofas faced each other across a wide stone hearth where an enormous bowl of roses stood, flanked by sconces in the shape of eagles. Sunlight poured through the high windows.
Jared wandered to one of them.
Wide lawns lay beyond. Bees buzzed in archways of honeysuckle. The voices of croquet players laughed from the nearby gardens. He wondered if the game was quite in Era.
The Queen tended to pick and choose what pleased her.
Threading his hands together nervously, he turned away and walked to the fireplace.
The room was warm and faintly stuffy, as if rarely used.
The furniture smelt musty.
Wishing he could loosen his collar, he made himself sit down.
At once, as if she had been waiting for just that, the door opened and the Queen glided in. Jared jumped up.
‘Master Jared. Thank you so much for coming.'
‘My pleasure, Madam.’ He bowed, and she made a graceful curtsy. She still wore the shepherdess costume; he noticed a wilting bunch of violets tucked in her belt.
Sia missed nothing, including his glance. She gave her silvery laugh and dropped the flowers on to the table. ‘Dear Caspar. Always so thoughtful to his mama.’ She lounged on one sofa and pointed to the other. ‘Please sit, Master. Let’s not be too formal He sat, his back upright.
‘A drink?’
‘No. Thank you.’
‘You look a little too pale, Jared. Are you getting enough fresh air?’
‘I’m quite well, thank you, Your Majesty.’ He kept his voice steady. She was playing with him. He thought of her as a cat, a mischevious white cat toying with the mouse it will eventually kill with one clawed blow. She smiled. Her curiously light eyes gazed at him.
‘I’m afraid that isn’t quite true, is it? But let’s talk about your search. What progress have you made?’ He shook his head. ‘Very little. The Portal is badly damaged. I fear it may be beyond repair.’ He did not say anything about the Warden’s study at home, nor did she ask.
Only he and Claudia knew that the Portal was identical in both places. He had ridden there weeks ago to check it. It was exactly the same as here. ‘However, something happened today that I did not expect.’
‘Oh?’ He told her about the feather. ‘The replication was extraordinary. But I have no way of knowing whether anything happened in the Prison. Since the Warden took both Keys with him we have no communication with the Inmates.’
‘I see. And have you come any closer to finding Incarceron’s actual location?’ He moved slightly, feeling the watch’s heavy tick against his chest. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Such a pity! We know so little.’ What would she do if she knew he carried it in his pocket?
Stamp on it with her white-heeled shoes?
‘Lady Claudia and I have decided we must visit the Academy.’ He surprised himself by his assured tone. ‘The records of the making of the Prison may be there among the Esoterica. Perhaps there will be diagrams, equations.’ He paused, aware that he was perilously close to infringing Protocol. But Sia’s gaze was on her neat fingernails.
‘You will go,’ she said. ‘But not Claudia.’ Jared frowned. ‘But ...'.
She lifted her eyes and smiled at him sweetly, full in his face. ‘Master, how many more years does your physician think you will live?’ He breathed in sharply. He felt as if she had stabbed him, a bitter resentment that she could ask him, a cold dread of answering. His hands shook.
Glancing down, he tried to speak steadily, but his voice sounded strange to himself.
‘Two years. At most.’
‘I am so very sorry.’ She did not take her eyes off him. ‘And you agree with him?’ He shrugged, hating her pity. ‘I think he is a little optimistic.’ She made a small pout with her red lips. Then she said, ‘Of course, we are all the victims of fate and destiny. For example, if there had never been the Years of Rage, the great war, the Protocol, a cure for even your rare condition would certainly have been available years ago. Research then was extensive. Or so I gather.’ He stared at her, his skin prickling, sensing danger.
The Queen sighed. She poured out wine into a crystal cup and settled back with it, curling her legs under her up on to the sofa. ‘And you are so young, Master Jared. Barely thirty I understand?’ He managed to nod.
‘And a brilliant scholar. Such a loss to the Realm. And dear Claudia! How will she bear it?’ Her cruelty astounded him. Her voice was silken and sad; she ran one long finger thoughtfully round the rim of the cup. ‘And the pain you will have to bear,’ she said softly.
‘Knowing that soon no medicine will help, that you will lie helpless and ill, day after long day sinking further from what you were, until not even Claudia will be able to bring herself to see you. Until death will be welcome.’ He stood, abruptly. ‘Madam, I don’t know what—‘
‘You do know. Sit down, Jared.’ He wanted to walk to the door, open it, storm out, away from the horror she faced him with. Instead, he sat. His forehead was damp with sweat. He felt defeated.
She eyed him calmly. Then she said, ‘You will go and examine the Esoterica. The collection is vast, the remnants of a world’s wisdom. I’m sure you will find some medical research that can help you. The rest will be up to you.
You will need to experiment, to test, to do whatever it is you Sapienti do. I suggest you remain at the Academy; the medical facilities there are the best we have. A blind eye will be turned to any infringements of Protocol; you can do as you wish. You can spend your remaining time as it should be spent, in the research that will cure you.' She leant forward, her skirts rustling.
‘I offer it to you, Jared. The forbidden knowledge.
The chance of life.’ He swallowed.
In the stuffy room every sound seemed magnified, the voices outside worlds away.
‘What do you want in return?’ he said, hoarse.
She leant back, smiling. As if she had won. ‘I want nothing. Literally, nothing. The Portal must never open again. The gates of Incerceron, wherever that place is, must be found to be impassable. All attempts must fail.’ Over the top of the crystal glass, her eyes met his.
‘And Claudia need never know.’
7
Sapphique leapt up, overjoyed. ‘If you cannot answer, then I’ve won. Show me a way Out.’ Incarceron laughed in its million halls. It raised a claw and the skin of the claw split and the dragonskin Glove curled off and lay on the ground. Sapphique was alone. He picked the shining thing up and cursed the Prison. But when he put his hand into Incarceron’s he knew its plans. He dreamed its dreams.
That evening’s show was packed.
The troupe had erected their creaking wooden stage in the central space of one of the snow-domes, a smoky hollow of hewn iceblocks, melted and refrozen over so many years that the roof was twisted and seamed, gnarled with gloops and pinnacles of ice, black with soot.
Watching Rix stand before the two chosen volunteers next to her Attia tried to keep her face rapt and wondering, but she knew he was very tense. The crowd here had been quiet all evening. Too quiet. Nothing seemed to impress them.
And things hadn’t gone well. Perhaps it was the bitter cold, but the bear had refused to dance, crouching mournfully on the stage, despite all prodding. The jugglers had dropped their plates twice, and even Gigantia had only managed to draw a few spatters of applause by lifting a man on a chair with one of her huge hands.
But when the Dark Enchanter had appeared, the silence had grown deeper, more intense. The people stood in attentive rows, their eyes fixed in fascination on Rix as he faced them, young and dark, the black glove on his right hand, its forefinger pinned back to show the maiming.