But she smiled and nodded and waved at them, and Finn walked stiffly, bowing here and there at faces he recognized, and she knew Jared was reassuringly behind her, his Sapient coat swirling the dust on the floor. They were escorted through the myriad apartments of the Silver Wing, and the Gold Rooms, and the Turquoise Ballroom, massed with staring crowds, and the Mirrored Salon where the walls of looking-glass made the gathering seem overwhelmingly huge. Under glittering chandeliers they walked, through air that was hot and cloying with perfume and sweat and pomander oils, through whispers and polite cheers and curious scrutiny. Music tinkled from viols and cellos on a high balcony; rose petals were tossed in showers from the ladies-in-waiting. Finn looked up and managed a smile; the pretty women tittered and hid their faces behind fans.
His arm was hot and tense in Claudia’s; she squeezed his wrist in reassurance. And as she did so she realized how little she really knew of him, of the agony of his memory loss, of the life he had lived.
As they came to the entrance of the Crystal Court two livened footmen bowed and flung the doors back.
The vast room shimmered. Hundreds of people turned their heads.
Claudia loosened her arm, and stepped back beside Jared.
She saw how Finn gave her one glance; then he drew himself up and marched on, one hand on his sword. She followed, wondering what terrors of the Prison had taught him such cold bravado.
Because the room was full of danger.
As the crowd fell back she walked between their sweeping bows and elegant curtsies and wondered how many secret weapons were concealed here, how many assassins lurked, how many spies pushed close. A silken flock of smiling women, Ambassadors in full regalia, Countesses and Dukes and all the ermine robes of the Privy Council opened to show the scarlet carpet that led the length of the room, and the tiny birds in bright cages that sang and fluttered in the high arches of the roof. And everywhere, like a bewildering maze, the thousand crystal pillars that gave the room its name reflected and twisted and entwined from the vaulted ceiling.
On each side of the dais ranks of Sapienti stood, their iridescent robes catching the light. Jared joined them, quietly moving to the end of the line.
The dais itself was raised on five wide marble steps, and on the top of it were two thrones. Queen Sia rose from one.
She wore a hugely looped gown of white satin, a cloak trimmed with ermine, and the crown. It was oddly small on her elaborate hair, Claudia thought, stopping at the front row of courtiers next to Caspar. He glanced at her, and grinned, and the hulking bodyguard called Fax stood close behind him. Claudia turned away, frowning.
She watched Finn.
He climbed the steps swiftly, his head slightly bowed. At the top he turned to face the crowd and she saw his chin go up, the steady defiant stare he sent out at them all. But for the first time she thought, If he tried he could look like a prince.
The Queen held up her hand. The murmuring crowd fell silent; only the hundreds of finches cheeped and warbled high above.
‘Friends. This is a historic day. Giles, who was once lost from us, has returned to take up his inheritance. The Havaarna Dynasty welcomes its Heir. The Realm welcomes its King.’ It was a pretty speech. Everyone applauded it. Claudia caught Jared’s eye and he blinked slowly. She tried not to smile.
‘And now we will hear the Proclamation.’ As Finn stood rigidly beside Sia the First Lord Sapient, a thin austere man, stood and handed his silver wand tipped with its crescent moon to a footman. From another he took a parchment scroll, unrolled it and began to read from it in a firm, sonorous voice. It was long and tedious, full of clauses and titles and legalese, but Claudia realized it was essentially an announcement of Finn’s intention to be crowned, and the assertion of his rights and fitness. When the phrase, ‘sane in mind and whole in body and in spirit’ rolled out she stiffened, sensing rather than seeing Finn’s tension. Beside her, Caspar made a small tutting noise.
She glanced at him. He still wore the stupid smirk.
Suddenly a cold fear sprang up in her. Something was wrong. They had something planned. She moved, agitated; Caspar’s hand caught hers.
‘I hope you’re not going to interrupt,’ he breathed in her ear, ‘and ruin Finn’s lovely day.’ She stared at him.
The Sapient ended, rolling the scroll. ‘. . . Thus it is Proclaimed. And unless there be any who cry out against it, I affirm and announce here and before these witnesses, before the Court and the Realm, that the Prince Giles Alexander Ferdinand of the Havaarna, Lord of the Southern Isles, Count of—’
‘I object.’ The Sapient faltered, fell silent. The crowd turned, astonished.
Claudia whipped her head round.
The voice had been quiet but firm, and it came from a boy.
He pushed his way through and past her, and she saw he was tall and had brown hair and there was a clear, purposeful look in his eyes. He wore a coat of fine golden satin. And his resemblance to Finn was astonishing.
‘I object.’ He looked up at the Queen and Finn and they stared back, and the First Sapient made a sharp gesture, and the soldiers lifted their weapons quickly.
‘And who are you, sir, that you think you may object?’ the Queen said in amazement.
The boy smiled, and held out his hands in a curiously regal gesture. He stood on the step and bowed low.
‘Madam Stepmother,’ he said, ‘don’t you know me? I am the real Giles.’
9
So he rose up and sought the hardest way, the road that leads inward. And all the time he wore the Glove he did not eat or sleep and Incarceron knew all his desires.
The horse was tireless, its metal legs deep in snow. Attia held tight to Keiro, because the cold made her stiff and her hands numb, and several times she almost, felt she would fall.
‘We have to get far enough away,’ Keiro said over his shoulder.
‘Yes. I know.’ He laughed. ‘You’re not a bad little operator. Finn would be proud.’ She didn’t answer. The plan of how they should steal the Glove had been hers and she had known she could do it, but she felt a curious shame at betraying Rix. He was crazy, but she’d liked him and his ramshackle troupe. As they rode she wondered what he would be doing now, what story he would be spinning them. But he’d never used the real Glove in the act, so they should be able to carry on. And she shouldn’t feel sorry for him. There was no place for pity in Incarceron. But as she thought that she thought of Finn, who had pitied her, once, and rescued her. She frowned.
The Ice Wing glittered in the darkness. It was as if the artificial light of the Prison had been stored deep in its frozen strata, so that even now, in darkness, the vast tundra was pale and phosphorescent, its pitted surface swept by cold winds. Shimmers of aurora rippled in the sky, as if Incarceron amused itself with strange effects in the long hours of the arctic night.
They rode for over an hour, the land becoming more and more contorted, the air colder. Attia grew tired; her legs aching, her back an agony.
Finally, Keiro slowed the beast. His back was damp with sweat. He said, ‘This will have to do?
It was a great overhang of ice, sheened with a frozen waterfall.
‘Great,’ she muttered.
Slowly, the horse picked its way in, among boulders furred with frost. Attia swung both feet over and slid gratefully down. Her legs almost gave way; she grabbed one of the rocks, then stretched, groaning.
Keiro jumped down. If he was stiff he was far too proud to show it. He took off the hat and mask and she saw his face.
‘Fire,’ he muttered.
There was nothing to burn. Finally he found an ancient tree-stump; there was still some bark that could be snapped off, and with some kindling from the pack and a great deal of impatient swearing he managed to get it alight. The heat was paltry, but Attia was glad to stretch out her hands and shiver over it.