Barad crooked one eyebrow, another gesture made like a sighted man. "I heard something about that," he said. "I am sorry. Innocents should not be victims of our wicked dance."
"Traitors tried to kill him, Barad. Traitors who would kill you as well and enslave or butcher all the people you so love. Those traitors showed themselves by trying to kill my son and me. You see? This is something you haven't acknowledged. The Akarans represent the people you love to the world. When first an enemy aims to harm them, they aim at an Akaran heart. Think of my father."
The prisoner considered her words for a respectful length of time, and then said, "That's not quite how I see it."
"Yes," Corinn snapped, "but you don't see it any other way either. You don't see! You never did."
"And you've made sure I never will again." He said this sadly, inhaling as he did so. "I did like looking upon the world. I truly did. You don't know how it is not to see but to move your eyes and hear stone grinding inside your head."
"Before Aliver's war against Hanish, you claimed to have dreamed he would return. Back when nobody knew if he even lived, you boasted that he spoke to you in your dreams. Is that true, or was it a self-serving lie?"
"I was not boasting," Barad said, "and it was the truth as I understood it."
"How do you explain it, then?"
"I don't."
"Do you hear his voice now?"
Under a ridged, skeptical forehead, he said, "Aliver is dead, Your Majesty. I've never spoken with the dead."
No, but perhaps you will, she thought. Perhaps very soon. "Tell me, was my brother wise?"
"He was."
"And were you committed to him completely?"
"Of course. We all were. In the brief span that was Aliver's war, nobody-not one single person-betrayed him."
The thought of that almost took Corinn's words away. She wanted to spit that it could not be true. Somebody, somewhere said ill of him. Some soldier deserted camp at night. Some officer coveted his status. Somebody…
"Your Majesty, I think I understand you better now. What's wrong with you is that you feel you are alone. Isn't that it? You are alone, and it frightens you. But you don't have to-"
"I am not alone! Millions-millions-" She said the number, but was not sure how to complete the thought she began it with. Nor did it matter. A blind fool! "You will use all your gifts of oratory in my service."
"No," Barad said. "I will not."
"You will. You will bring to the people word that in my presence and through long conversation with me you have learned that you were wrong. You maligned me mistakenly. The truth-"
"Is not yours to create."
"-is that I am the last and only hope for the Known World."
"No."
"You know nothing! I have looked across the world and seen the coming enemy in my own mind. In my head!" She gestured savagely at her temple, as if she would jab her finger through it. "I've seen them, and they bring beasts and hunger and vengeance-"
"They will pay you back for the Akaran sins."
Corinn could not help but use her body to express herself. "No, that's where you're wrong. The Auldek will kill us all. They want to make our lands theirs. And-and the quota children returning with them hate all of us. Not just me. You, too. Will you explain to them that you are not the villain who sent them away? Do you really think they'll stop long enough to hear you? The difference between us is nothing-nothing!-if we're both dead. We will be, unless all the Known World unites behind me as fully as they did behind my brother."
"That cannot-"
Corinn held up a finger as he began to interrupt. Oddly, something stopped him. He himself did not seem to know what, and his stone eyes did not move at all. But he paused, and she continued. "You will tell everybody, and have them speak, so that my words are spoken by a million tongues. I don't trust many people. I have no allies who would not abandon me. The few who would be true to me-Mena, Dariel-doubt me. It pains me that this is true, but it is. I love them, though. They don't know it, but I even need them. I need them to be the people they are."
She had not thought to say that earlier, but now that she did, she knew it was true. It really was true. For a moment, the emotion of it choked her. And then she wanted to say more.
"Mena, the goddess of rage who is also so kind, with her sword and wings… how can I not love her and want her free to be who she is? And Dariel. I don't know what's become of him, but I love him, and I wouldn't want him to be anything other than what he is either. Even Aliver, if he were still among us, I'd welcome with all his ideals and plans. I might have to fight with him, but they are my family. My blood."
She thought of Hanish for a moment, but not in the way she wanted to. She pushed it back and calmed her voice and said, "You're not my blood. So I don't care what is in your heart. I care what comes out of your mouth, and I think only of how it will help me protect the Known World. You, Barad, are going to be one of my staunchest allies."
"Never."
Corinn launched herself at him. Big, gangly as he was, she smashed into him, grasping his head in her arms. "Your mind is mine!" The man fought against her for a moment. He drew back a mallet of a fist, cocked, and began to bring it forward, until she slipped her thumbs around and pressed them against his stone eyes. The fist froze. His body went limp, as if she held the center of him and he could do nothing.
"Your mind is mine," Corinn repeated. "Listen, and don't deny it."
Early that evening Corinn went to the gardens of Mena's region of the palace. Though she felt the fatigue of the song she had sung for Barad, Corinn knew there was more left in her. And there were two more things she had to do before she rested. Tonight was the night for it. She felt full of resolve, powered by a measure of certainty, and she planned to see it through.
She walked cautiously, her eyes often flicking up to the bluing sky. Elya was far away, flying behind Mena, and though she had many guards looking up at the sky to spot the creature's returning and pipe a warning, Corinn still moved fast. She wove her way through the tables and benches and chairs that seemed to absurdly crowd Mena's balcony.
Delivegu had given her no specific information on where the eggs might be. In the gardens, yes, but it was no small space. It could take hours to find them; and this assumed they were real, which was not something she could be sure of. The night was crisp, the moon lighting the stones and plants and furniture well enough. She had dismissed Mena's staff, but still, still she felt a tingling urgency to-
And there they were. Corinn realized she had expected something grander than what she found, but that suddenly seemed silly. This was no foul nest like Mena's stories of Maeben. It was not elaborate. It did not smell of death, nor was it gilded. Four eggs nestled in a curl of fabric. They were strangely shaped, oblong and flatish, with swirls of color set into a creamy base. Warm to the touch, they gave her a certain joy. It came right through her fingertips, a welcome.
Corinn looked around. She held still for a long moment, sure that she would hear and feel if anybody was observing her. Nobody was. She slipped her hands down into the basin, grasped the cloth in her hands; and pulled the entirety of it out, the eggs snug inside. She sat down on a stone bench a little distance away, cradling the bundle to her chest. She could feel the life pulsing within them. Wonderful, powerful, fierce: that's what they would be.
She whispered the notes of the song that had been building in her head. She would sing to these children. Sing to them in the Giver's tongue, so that when they emerged into the world they would do so in a form shaped to her needs. She could not have Elya, but she would have her children. Yes, they were lovely already. Full of goodness, but it was not goodness that she would need in future days. Before then, she would need weapons like none the Known World had ever seen. These babies would not be feathered, timorous protectors. They would be her warriors. She sang all this into them, and she knew they heard and liked what she was telling them. They shifted inside their eggs, shouldering and stretching the shells, already eager to hatch.