She nodded. “And where is Papa?”
“On Ocana with half a dozen others, rallying rebel troops.”
She sat quietly. There would be fighting soon. Her father would be in it, Garit, Summer, all of them. The beginning would be like dropping off a cliff with no possible way to turn back.
Garit touched her hand, bringing her back from a thin edge of fear. “This is not why I wanted you to come. There was another reason.”
She waited, watching him, concentrating on how his red beard curled in a shaft of light through the shutters.
“I saw the entourage when you first left the palace this morning, while I was helping the cobbler store arms. I followed you, then raced here through the back streets to have a better look because . . . because I think I know Prince Tebmund. I think that is not his true name.”
“And . . . is he not from Thedria? Oh, Garit, not a servant of the dark.”
“What do you think he is? What do you feel?”
She swallowed. “I don’t know. I hope he is not of the dark. I trust him, Garit, though I have no reason. He makes me feel . . . a sense of goodness. Almost the way I feel in the palace sometimes for no reason.” She shook her head. “There’s no sense to it. I’m afraid to trust what I feel.”
“It is a sad thing about war, Kiri, that you cannot trust your own instincts.”
“But if you know him . . .”
“I may know him. The one I knew was only twelve when I saw him last. One changes a lot from twelve to manhood. He would be sixteen now. If it is he . . .”
“But he saw you, Garit. Have you changed so much? If he knows you, wouldn’t he have given you some sign? Turned . . . ?”
“If he was careful, he would not. Would you, in this time of war, when even the slightest signal might be noticed by Sardira’s soldiers?
“And there might be another reason,” Garit said. “I heard once that my friend had lost all memory, didn’t even know his name. That he was living on an island with a colony of speaking otters, east of Windthorst, the island of Nightpool. I went there searching for him. He had disappeared, and the otters would tell me little. Their leader was away, traveling on some secret errand . . . at least they were closemouthed about it. Secretive—otters can be damnably secretive. They wouldn’t tell me if Tebriel even knew who he was or where he went; they only assured me he wasn’t there anymore.”
“If he is your friend, Garit—and if he remembers— he will come to you.”
“He might be afraid of being followed, of leading Sardira’s men here.” Garit frowned. “You must find out what you can, Kiri. Learn whether he is Tebriel, son of the King of Auric. Find out if he knows who he is.” He paused, watching her. “If he is Tebriel, he is someone urgently important. Someone we need. You are young and pretty. You should have no trouble charming a young man into confiding in you.”
“If I had Accacia’s charms, maybe.”
“Does he seem attracted to Accacia?”
“He was riding with her in that pompous parade. She is very taken with him.”
“Accacia is taken with everything in pants. If he is who I think, I expect he will have better taste.”
“How will I be sure he speaks truly? And how will he know to trust me?”
“If you speak of the tapestries in his palace, that showed the old times and worlds unknown to Tirror. If you speak of his mother wearing a red dress and sitting before the flame tree in her private walled garden. If you speak of his childhood pony, Linnet, who used to want to roll in the river with Teb on his back, and tell him I told you these things, he will know that I trust you, and so can he.”
Mmenimm had awakened and was watching them. Kiri knelt beside the great chocolate-colored cat and hugged his muscled neck. He rubbed his tufted cheek against her hair. Marshy did not wake but grasped Mmenimm’s leg tighter with one small hand. His breathing was quick and shallow, and she watched the little boy with concern. “He’s pale today. He’s sick again.”
“He has not slept well at night,” Mmenimm said. “He sleeps better in the daytime. At night he has strange dreams.” The great cat licked Kiri’s hand. “Dreams that wake him, feverish with excitement.”
Marshy was often white and sick, though at other times wiry and eager. No one could make out what caused the changes. But that he was kin to strange powers, the same as Kiri and Summer, no one doubted.
Marshy woke suddenly, stared up at her, then put his arms up sleepily. She gathered him in. His little body felt cold, except where he had been pressed against Mmenimm.
“I dreamed, Kiri.” He stared up at her, his blue eyes swimmy from sleep. “I dreamed of dragons. In the sky—all in the sky and the wind . . .”
She pressed her face to him and felt the pain he felt, and knew how hopeless such dreams were. “I know, Marshy. I know. I dream of dragons, too.”
He reared back with surprising strength and stared at her. “No, Kiri. This was real—a real dream. They are there. Dragons . . .” He stared at her boldly, crossly. “In the sky, Kiri! They are there in the sky!”
She pressed his face gently against her shoulder, hugging him, and exchanged a look with Mmenimm and with Garit, sat rocking Marshy for a few moments, then laid him back in the shelter of Mmenimm’s warm paws. She felt sick with her own hopeless longing, stirred by Marshy’s innocent dreams. There were no dragons anymore. They had no right to dream of dragons; neither of them had. It only made them miserable.
She left the cottage soon afterward.
A block from her doorway she saw soldiers on the high road coming from the north. Not Sardira’s green-clad troops, but soldiers uniformed in the garish yellow of the dark forces and led by drummers beating a slow dirge that chilled her through. They had come by barge from the north, from the dark huge continent of Aquervell, there could be no doubt. She slipped up between houses and onto a tile roof where she could watch undisturbed.
Forty horsemen, two by two, entered the palace keep that led to the stables. The eight riders at the head of the battalion sat their horses stiffly and did not look to left or right. Their hands on the reins never moved. Their faces above the yellow tunics were cold and sallow. Kiri swallowed back gall and wanted to turn and run from them, as far away as she could.
Instead of running, she went quickly through back ways to the rear of the stable beneath the horsemaster’s apartments. She slipped in between two haystacks directly behind the stalls, where she could listen unseen, stood pressed against the prickly hay trying to hear over the pounding of her own heart.
Chapter 11
Teb burned to get to Garit. The return ride up to the palace seemed to take forever. He thought of pretending Seastrider was lame or sick and falling back, riding back alone. But there were too many eyes to see him. If not the soldiers, then those within the city itself. Seastrider began to sweat lightly. Accacia swatted at flies buzzing in the heat and prattled endlessly. When they reached the stable at last, Accacia insisted on waiting for Teb while he groomed Seastrider, so she could walk with him to the late lunch she had planned. She stood well out of the way as he rubbed the white mare down.
“I should think you would leave such work to the grooms.”
He ignored her, took his time with the grooming ritual, hot towels, rubdown, brushing, all of it, as he tried to invent a way to escape her without causing suspicion, and get down into the city.
You had best wait, Tebriel. She watches you too closely.