Champion of the Rose - Kobo Ebook (38 page)

Then the Queen's gaze was on Strake, and Soren could feel
him turn into knots beside her. This
wasn't even close to over.

"
Seldareth
will make
compensation for the act of
Laramae
against your
possession, and this
malison
will be
investigated. Blood price is yours to
name." The Queen was austere, but
Soren imagined she heard the echo of distant thunder, felt that mountain-weight
poised above them. "
Aluster
of Darest, the
Aseratal
would beg mercy for the child," she continued, each word distinct and
exact. The silver bells swung, though
there was no movement to disturb them. "The imperative placed on him is a [weight-aegis-must] we
bear."

Every muscle in Strake's face spoke his reaction, the
painful need for revenge and the affront he felt at her request. She wanted them to let the boy go, to never
hold him personally accountable for
Vahse's
death,
for any of the deaths. On Strake's far
side, Soren saw Aristide look down, pale lashes shading brilliant sapphire
eyes. But that was all he did. This was Strake's moment of vengeance.

"I have a question."

The bells swayed.

Strake's voice was hoarse, as if it was an effort to speak
beneath that gaze, but very much under control. "During your rule, this boy began killing. No explanation was made of the deaths. Then my family began to fail, rapidly. Then Darest followed suit. I understand the
Couerveur
regents requested aid during various incidents, then registered protests, made
accusations. These were denied, or not
answered. I would hear why."

There was a new stillness when Strake stopped speaking. Soren pictured herself at the foot of a
cliff, looking up, heart thumping, because a single pebble had fallen. The Queen of the Fair was not one lightly
held to account.

But she gave them their answer.

It was the Tzel Aviar who spoke, the faint movement of those
silver ropes translating to direct command.

"
Telsandar
, now become
Darest, was one of the oldest parts of the land of the People. A sacred place, which suffered a disaster
which is [taboo-impolite-repugnant] to speak of. Those who dwelled there perished, and the
region was held to be tainted.
Seldareth
and
Calondae's
increasing enmity was considered evidence that the taint endured. But the lands of the west – now Sax and Ceria
– showed no such effect.
Daseretal
of the Fae formed the view that healing would
only come by removing
Telsandar
from our influence,
that only those not of the People could safely dwell there. So it was excised, given as Gift."

"A poisoned chalice," Strake said. His eyes had gone very dark.

"The experiment subsequently appeared only to have
blunted the peril, and Darest declined as you have described. It was felt that if
Telsandar's
taint could adapt, then its current inhabitants would in time grow more and
more susceptible to it. The petitions
were not answered because a decision had been made to allow Darest to
die."

This was beyond candour. The previous Queen had made it against Law to act against the Darien
possession. This one had done precisely
that, purely by doing nothing. Like
standing on a beach, watching a man drown.

Strake's eyes glittered black and dangerous, but still he
maintained control. "Is this...
malison
an expression of the older problem?"

One of the bells sounded, a flat, discordant note which
somehow set a flutter loose in Soren's chest. Wrongness. Then the Queen spoke
again, seven words:

"I do not know,
Aluster
of
Darest."

Their eyes were locked: Strake fulminating,
Desteret
with ultimate calm. In a roundabout Fae way she had admitted
error. The Fair had mistaken the effect
of the
malison
as a symptom of something worse. And instead of warning Darest, attempting to
hold back the threat, or even making a clean blow of it and breaking the
Covenant, they had said nothing and waited. Allowed generations of
Dariens
to struggle and
fail. And now they asked for a favour.

A pulse beat visibly at Strake's temple, and his hands had
again found that stranglehold on the throne. Soren bit her tongue to keep from speaking, to leave him to face this
himself. In truth, she didn't know what
she wanted to say. Her first impulse
toward sympathy had been countered by anger at
Desteret's
unapologetic admission. And, lingering
at the back of her thoughts, the fact that a powerful Fae who was inexorably
driven to kill
Rathens
was not the sort of person
with whom they could afford to be lenient.

"I will accept blood price in his stead." The words were forced out, and Strake sat
back in the throne as if immediately wanting to repudiate the concession. Soren bit her lip, sure she was happier her
Rathen wasn't so expedient as to have the boy killed for the sake of prudence,
certain she would rather not have to face the threat he posed. Telling herself that was so. She felt bruised, crushed between mercy and
fear, and the Queen's response only made her feel angrier.

Desteret
simply inclined her
head. She did not look grateful, say
thank you, or even appear pleased, just turned to the Tzel Aviar, his arms full
of book. Done with them.

"It is laid on you, Damaris of the
Wryve
,
to deliver the Moon-cast child."

Imperturbable as ever, Damaris bowed, and the Court shifted,
as if an end had been signalled. All
without a word of apology or regret.
Laramae
of
Seldareth
had schemed
to kill
Rathens
, and her successor had kept it
secret.
Desteret
had decided Darest was a failure and shut a door in the face of the
Couerveurs
seeking a solution. Her predecessor hadn't even warned
Domina
Rathen about this oh-so-mysterious taint lurking
beneath the surface of her gift.

Strake, glancing up at Aristide, looked more than ready to
be shut of the Fair. He had shown
himself a King capable of placing his land above his feelings, and Soren
thought he had done right, and wished it didn't feel wrong. Then came a final note from
Desteret's
bells.

"Who has knowledge of the forest known as the
Tongue?"

This was patently unexpected, and Soren had a strong
impression that among the groups one stood silently appalled. She searched and found, well before anyone
stepped forward, three men and a woman who had turned to each other in wordless
question. Then, his face setting to
stone, one of the men walked to the centre, stopping just short of the silver
wristlet left by
Seldareth
.

"
Calondae
would speak,"
he said, any sign of reluctance wiped from his voice. This, then, was East. He was a blond man, golden and beautiful in
tunic, hose and cloak shading through azure to aquamarine. A simple circlet of silver rested on his
head.

"
Calondae
not infrequently
uses the
loram
trees as conductors when encouraging
the growth of our orchards," the man said, voice and stance suggesting
perfect ease. "
Calondae
has not been unaware that the effect might carry over the border into lost
Telsandar
."

Breath hissed through Soren's teeth, and she clenched her
fists, finding in this sudden turn a hoped-for villain. 'Not unaware' indeed! When she thought of all the damage the Tongue
had done–! And his tone! This man deserved the title 'The
Indifference' far more than the Tzel Aviar.

The Queen's response was not even sufficient to set the
ropes of bells swaying. The tiniest
alteration in the contour of her lips, a fractional drop of smoky lashes. Nothing more, while
Calondae
remained standing with fitting formality before her. But with every moment a ponderous balance
seemed to tilt, a looming potentiality which crushed upon the proud blond
head. Soren could see the effort it took
him to hold his position, and wondered if the only thing preventing him from
dropping his gaze was the presence of that silver wristlet at his feet. Then:

"
Calondae
acknowledges
calculated malice." His tone was
exactly the same, the admission emerging as forthright statement. "Recompense is offered."

Desteret's
relentless gaze shifted
to the throne opposite. To Soren's
shock, Strake simply nodded, his mouth twisted with sour disgust.

"Go then,
Calondae
," the
Queen said. "Know that your voice
has diminished in this Council."

Calondae
bowed, and returned to
his small group, which then left the pavilion into a grove of Autumn
trees. He never once so much as glanced
at Strake.

Soren found herself aching to throw things, to jump up and
down and shriek and completely shatter this measured progression of question
and decision. Why was this man, who had
been far more actively working against Darest, let off so lightly?
Asterall
of
Seldareth's
crime had been one of silence, while
Calondae
had been deliberately destroying the lives of
Dariens
, had broken their spirits and driven them from
their homes. Calculated malice. How could payment and some slight loss of
status possibly balance that? She wanted
at the very least to see him crawl.

It was all too inadequate, revelation becoming an
anti-climax where the Fair dictated the terms and retribution was lost in a
morass of formality. But her Rathen
showed no sign of firing up at the vagaries of Fae justice, and the cool voice
of reason was already throwing water on Soren's temper. They had what they had wanted – admissions
and solutions, two centuries of failure explained. The compensation would surely be of
immeasurable value to Darest, and there was no point going to war over a
lingering sense of injury, even if it were possible to win. Shouting about the perceived shortcomings of
the Fae Council would achieve nothing at all.

This, Soren reflected, must be something like how Aristide
had felt, when he had given Strake his oath.

The Queen was studying each of their faces in turn, and
Soren found her knees suddenly inadequate, her breath short, and was greatly
relieved when the
Fae's
gaze moved on. Strake was pale, but Aristide looked as if he
had just recalled some particularly fine joke, and he did not quaver.

Desteret
lifted one hand. "This Council has ended."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Wind punched over them with force enough to make the
lorams
roar, sending golden leaves tumbling toward the
ocean. The shielding blue light had gone
and taken the Fair with it, leaving a day grown grey with the threat of rain.

Soren turned sharply about, the Rose bringing her the breath
of too many observers at once, but no-one was close. A clot of several dozen at the foot of the
hill and throngs at every balcony and window of the palace. More lined the foreshore across the mouth of
the river, but they were apparently too far to be detected by the
enchantment. All of them staring up at
the pavilion of trees, its two thrones, and the five who remained within.

The Tzel Aviar moved first, walking forward to collect the
wristlet
Seldareth
had set on the grass, which had
failed to vanish. He stowed it in an
inner pocket before turning his composed gaze on Strake.

"With your permission, Majesty, I will study
Laramae's
notes and report my findings to you."

Strake's response, a nod as minimal as the Queen's, made
clear how out of charity he remained with any Fae. Tzel Damaris simply inclined his head in
return, then bowed more formally and walked away, heading unhurriedly toward
the palace.

"Issue an order that if anyone stumbles across the boy,
they should keep their distance," Strake said to Captain
Vereck
, his curt tone not inviting argument. "We'll leave it to the Fair to 'deliver'
their own."

Reluctantly accepting the clear invitation to make herself
scarce,
Vereck
also bowed and followed the Tzel Aviar
down the hill.

"How did the enchantment on the Tongue work?" Soren
asked, as they watched
Vereck
go. "Why wasn't it detectable?"

"Transmission," Strake replied. "He couldn't have meant anything
else."

They both looked to Aristide for confirmation, and he nodded
agreement. "Only a formidable
casting could have produced something as extensive the Tongue," he
said. "A blanket enchantment –
something periodically sweeping the entire area or even permanently established
– would have been blazingly apparent to anyone in the region. Most investigation focused on discovering the
kind of things which radiate power in a defined area – rune stones and so
forth. Anything present in the forest
which could be proven to be emitting an encouragement to growth. Even squads of Fae mages. But nothing was ever turned up, so less obvious
solutions were tested. Transmission was
one of them – that is, using something which is not enchanted in itself but is
capable of channelling magic, much like pipes direct water. The flow can be sent great distances without
overmuch effort, and is a mouse to the blanket enchantment's bull. The casting could be periodic, and thus
unlikely to be detected unless a suitably sensitive mage was on site at the
right moment. But there are few
substances capable of acting as transmitters. Rare crystal, the bone of a certain creature – scarce enough that it did
not seem a likely solution, especially when none could be found in the
area. If the
loram
can be used for such a purpose, it is a secret the Fair have kept well."