Roderica suffered through lunch in silence, hating foxes, hating that fox who so charmed the queen and who had caused her scolding. When the tedious meal was finished, she watched Accacia lead Prince Tebmund off on a tour of the palace—whether to keep him out of the way of the visiting army, or because Accacia was still intent on romance, Roderica didn’t know or care.
“We will go up to the high wall first,” Accacia said softly. Her satin dress caught the light of the banked candles as they left the small dining chamber. “It’s cool there with the sea wind, for it’s nearly on top of the palace.” She ushered him into a dark passage. He followed her swinging light uneasily, wishing he had found a satisfactory way of evading her after lunch. But Seastrider was right; it was best to wait until nighttime to go to Garit. Accacia prattled on, thrusting her lamp into open galleries to pick out black spaces and towering furniture, telling him which were meeting rooms, which the chambers of the palace guards and retinue, all seemingly open for inspection. She made wry comments about the palace residents, and glided so close to him that he felt quite warm and uncomfortable. Her voice was too insinuating and personal. Her relationship with Prince Abisha puzzled him. They were to be wed, but she flirted with everyone. Maybe Abisha didn’t have the courage to alter her ways.
The looks between Accacia and the king left more questions unanswered.
The black passages opened occasionally in a tall, narrow window shockingly bright with sun. Each one showed them to be higher up the mountain into which the palace was carved. Suddenly at a turn in the passage Teb felt a sharp sense of evil. It lingered for some time, perhaps an aura of evil from the dark leaders dining in the hall below. Then, as they approached an ironclad door, a feeling so powerful struck him that he stopped, staring at the crossed iron strips that bound the oak, his hands trembling. A feeling of powerful magic, of brightness, of infinite goodness.
He felt his pulse pounding; he wanted to see inside. He must find the source of this power.
“The king’s treasure rooms,” Accacia said casually, though she was looking at him with curiosity. “I do not have a key, Prince Tebmund. Are you so interested in Sardira’s treasure as to stand staring, your face gone white?”
“It . . . is the door,” he lied. “The pattern of crossed strapping on the door reminded me of something, another door. It stirred unhappy memories, of someone who died,” he said, pleased with his inventiveness. He took her hand. “Come, let’s find the top of this grand maze, so we can have a real view of the city.”
The sense of goodness followed him strongly as they moved up the black stone passages to a flight of narrow steps. At the top of these, they faced a tall arch filled with sky. Beyond was an open walkway, where they stood looking down upon the city, the wind tugging at them.
She moved close to him. “The view pleases you, Prince Tebmund?”
“It is magnificent.” But his mind was on the treasure room.
She touched his cheek. He ignored her, studying the city laid out below, seeing it clearly now in daylight where, from the sky, it had been too dark. He could see the route they had taken that morning. He tried to see the ruined tower near Garit’s cottage. Accacia pressed her shoulder against him, clasping her arms around herself in the chill wind.
“How long have you lived in the palace?” he asked absently, wishing she would keep her distance.
“Always. Didn’t I tell you that? My father was a captain to the king. He died in battle, but my uncle was horsemaster, so, of course, I stayed. Then—” She brushed a fleck of dust from his sleeve and looked up at him openly.
“I was Sardira’s mistress, before his dying wife made such a fuss. I’ve never understood that. The king moved me to the west tower and promised me to Abisha. He promised her he would not take another queen, though she is bedridden and useless.” Accacia sighed. “What power she has over him, to make him adhere to such a promise, I cannot really say. Why should she be so selfish? She has lived past her time. She talks of dying but she does not intend to do it.”
Teb turned away, shocked and angry at her rudeness. Maybe she had had more wine at the noon meal than he noticed. A flock of small brown birds came tumbling in the wind, nearly into their faces. Teb swallowed his anger and smiled down at her. If she was feeling her wine, he would not waste a good opportunity. Already her guide to the location of various guards’ quarters had been worthwhile and could prove useful. Information about the queen might be very useful indeed.
“The old queen must be a tyrant,” he said lightly.
“She’s a bitter old woman who weaves her days around palace gossip, and is a burden to the king.”
“And is the crippling she suffers a painful one?”
“Oh, yes,” Accacia said casually. “She should have been dead long ago.”
“She makes life difficult for you?”
“Not particularly. I make my own life.” She gave him a slow, warming look and drew her hand softly down his cheek.
He took her wrists gently and held them. “I would not distress Prince Abisha by making light with his betrothed,” he said coolly.
“It would be difficult to distress Abisha. He cares nothing for me.” At his surprised look, she smiled. “Most royal marriages are made for convenience, Prince Tebmund. Is it not so in your country?”
“My parents married for love. Perhaps I am old-fashioned in thinking that even a royal marriage should be so.”
“Unrealistic would describe your view more exactly.” She turned away and started along the narrow stone balcony that wrapped itself around the juttings of the mountain, lost to view ahead of them. They walked slowly, the lamp’s flame faded to a transparent ghost in the sunlight. Teb felt Accacia’s stubborn desire for him as strong as the eastern wind that pushed up from the sea. Deliberately he turned his mind from her. They did not speak again until they began to descend, when she took his hand.
“The leaders from Aquervell will be at the supper table tonight, Prince Tebmund.”
“Supper should be an elegant affair.” He assumed all the private discussion would have been finished by suppertime. He would give a lot to hear those conversations. “Are the Aquervell captains frequent visitors to Dacia?”
“They come fairly often. They enjoy the . . . pleasures of the city.”
Pleasures, he thought with disgust. He was sure the un-men enjoyed them. Their presence here would make things difficult. He hoped he and the dragons had enough power to shield themselves from discovery. The dark would come down with everything it had if it discovered the truth.
Maybe he should send the dragons away at once, go by himself into the city to Garit, disguise himself and work with the resistance from there.
Yet if the unliving did sense him and follow him, he would lead them straight to Garit. He had better face the dark leaders head-on. Do it boldly, and at once.
What he meant to do was bold, and dangerous. The dark would be closer to the dragons than it had ever been.
He knew from Seastrider how strong the shape-shifting power had grown. The dragons had reluctantly agreed to suffer the indignity of being touched and ridden by the unliving, if they must. He knew also that with increased shape-shifting power, danger increased: The shape-shifter might not be able to return to his true form. The very magic that held the shape steady even in the face of dark forces could well freeze the dragons into their alien shapes permanently.
Yet if he did not offer the use of the horses to the dark leaders, they would demand it. It was better to offer and keep the upper hand. This experience would not come easily for the dragons, would be painful and unnerving for them.
“How long will the leaders from the north be staying?” he asked, watching her. “Perhaps they would like to try my horses . . . learn their special fighting skills.”