A movement farther toward the horizon caught her attention. Beyond the walls of the city she could see a bit of Eslen-of-Shadows, the necropolis where her ancestors slept, and beyond that the muddy, shallow southern channel of the Warlock. At first she wondered if a flock of swans had settled on the rinns, but then the perspective of distance worked itself out, and she saw that they were boats: galleys and canal boats, mostly. But she couldn’t see any standards or sign that let her recognize their origin.
When the guard brought her meal, he looked frightened.
“What is it?” she asked him. “What’s happening?”
“It’s nothing, Queen Mother,” he said.
“It’s been quite a while since you called me that,” she observed.
“Auy,” he replied. He started to say something else but shook his head and closed the door.
A brief moment later it opened again. It was the same fellow.
“Don’t eat it,” he said, his voice pitched very low. “His Majesty said if ever… just don’t eat it, please, Your Highness.”
He closed and locked the door again. She set the food aside.
Time passed, and the tumult quieted, then renewed itself farther down, in the outer keep. She had a very thin view of the Honot Yard before the great gate of the outer keep, and she made out sun glinting off armor there, along with dark streams of arrows. Shouts of valor and shrieks of agony filled the air at times, and she prayed to the saints that no one she loved was dying.
It was nearly dark when she heard the ring of steel in the tower itself. She composed herself in her armchair and waited, with no idea what to expect, thinking that at least it was something, something Robert hadn’t planned. Even if that meant they were invaded by slaughtering hordes of Weihands, that was better than whatever her brother-in-law would think of next.
She winced as the fighting came to her door and a piteous howl cut through the heavy beams and stone walls. She heard the familiar scrape of a key in the lock.
The door swung wide, and the bloody body of the guard who’d warned her not to eat the food flopped onto the threshold. He blinked at her and tried to speak, but his mouth was pouring blood.
Just behind him came a man she did not recognize. He had a distinctly southern look to him, enhanced by the weapon he carried, the sort she had known Vitellians to wield. His dark regard picked quickly through the spare chamber and returned to focus on her.
“You are alone?” he asked.
“I am. Who are you?”
Before he could answer, another face appeared behind him.
In the first few heartbeats, all Muriele saw was the regal bearing and stern gaze. Saint Fendve the War Witch incarnate.
It was only as the woman lifted off her helm that Muriele recognized her daughter. Her skin was dark and weather-changed, and her hair fell only as far as her throat. She wore men’s clothes and even a small breastplate, and one cheek bore an angry-looking bruise. She looked wonderful and terrible, and Muriele could only wonder what had eaten her daughter and taken her shape.
“Leave us for a moment, Cazio,” Anne said quietly to the man.
The swordsman nodded and vanished back through the doorway.
When he was gone, Anne’s features softened, and she rushed forward, meeting Muriele halfway as she rose.
“Mother,” she managed to choke out, and then she dissolved into tears as they wrapped their arms around each other. Muriele felt strange, almost too stunned to react.
“I’m sorry,” Anne gasped. “Those things I said to you. I was afraid they would be the last.” She broke into deeper sobs, and months of isolation suddenly distilled in Muriele. Endless days of suppressed hope collapsed.
“Anne.” She sighed. “It’s you. It’s you.”
And then she was crying with her daughter, and there was too much to say, and not enough. But there would be time, wouldn’t there?
Against all odds, they had time.
Leoff wiped tears from his eyes and tried to compose himself; it was nearly noon.
So much depended on such little things. Did Robert’s executioner have any mercy in him at all? Probably not, and in that case, his night’s work was in vain. Even if Ambrias murderer took a small pity on him, so many other things had to go right. He had to slip the wax into Mery’s ears unseen and not have her protest or wonder aloud why he had done it. He had to be allowed to stand near Areana so he could cover her ears at the crucial moment.
Even if he managed all of that, he wasn’t sure it would work. Some sound would enter their heads regardless of how well he prepared. It might be too much.
It suddenly occurred to him that if he could find a needle, he might be able to pierce Areanas eardrums in time.
But it was beyond thinking about now, for he heard boots thumping in the hall.
A moment later his door opened, and even the poor plan he had arranged fell into disarray.
For there stood Robert Dare.
The prince smiled and drifted into the room, glancing around it with a sort of mock interest. For a single, beautiful moment, Leoff thought the usurper had countermanded the executioner, but then Mery and Areana were escorted in by the killer, four guards, and Lord Respell.
“Well,” Robert said, shuffling through the papers on Leoff’s desk, “you do seem to have been busy.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Robert looked surprised. “Oh, it’s Majesty now, is it? What brings that on?” He glanced over at Mery and Areana.
“Oh, right,” he said, tapping his head with his index finger.
“Please, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, please yourself, you simpering dog,” Robert snapped. “I am in no mood to grant clemency. Noose is my man. How would he feel if I gave him authority to make decisions and just snatched it away from him, eh? Well, that’s not how you breed loyalty, is it?”
“Let it be just me instead,” Leoff said.
“No,” Robert said. “You’ve work to do for me, remember? Unless you’ve finished.”
“I have done a great deal, but I am not finished yet,” Leoff said. “And I still need helpers.”
“You will have to make do with half the staff,” Robert said. “But here, before you make your little decision, why not perform some small piece of this for me. I’m told the three of you make very pretty music together. Wouldn’t you like to do that one more time?”
Leoff blinked. “Of course, Sire. And perhaps if it pleases you—”
“If it pleases me, then I shall take no further steps in disciplining you,” Robert snapped.
Leoff nodded, trying to make his face into a mask.
“Very well,” he said. “Mery, Areana, come here, please.”
They came. Mery seemed puzzled but not particularly concerned. Areana was white and trembling.
“Leoff,” she whispered.
Leoff pulled up the piece. “Let me add a few quick notes,” he said. “I think Your Majesty will enjoy this best if you’ll just give me a few seconds to confer—”
“Yes, yes, go ahead.” Robert sighed. He walked over to the window and peered out, his brow furrowed.
“They’ll be here soon,” Lord Respell said uneasily.
“Shut up,” Robert said. “Or I shall have Noose remove your tongue.”
Leoff wondered what the exchange was about, but he couldn’t spend any time on it. Instead his mind was racing furiously through the darkling chords.
“Mery,” he whispered. “You must play this with expression. You won’t like it, but you must. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Leoff,” she replied primly.
“Areana, you’ll sing this top line. Use the words from Sa Luth af Erpoel.” He dropped his voice even lower. “Here—this is very important.”