The Singer's Crown (16 page)

When he came to a moment later, a dark figure leaned over him. “Can you ride?” the man whispered, then, “Forget it, you'll ride with me.” The Liren-sha gathered Kattanan into strong arms and walked swiftly back to his horse.

“A couple of those men escaped me—I'm sorry there's no time to rest,” he muttered.

One of the stranger's arms was across the singer's waist, supporting him as he leaned back. Kattanan's fingers shook, his eyes still felt worthless, and his head ached. His face rubbed against the soft leather his rescuer wore. The slapping of the twin swords hanging against the horse's flanks steadied into a rhythm. Letting out a shaky breath, Kattanan shivered and pressed closer, hearing the beat of a familiar heart. Part of him tried to remember, to link the voice with a face, but in the chaos of his mind, it would not come clear. And part of him did not want to know. The trail sloped up, then evened out around dawn. Kattanan vaguely remembered some great fuss being made over him as he was borne down a long hall, but mostly he recalled, as he was laid in a soft bed, that someone was singing. The song was little more than a murmur, but it was the Morning Prayer, and he fell into a deep and quiet sleep.

“WE'VE GOT
only that painting to go on and the word of a traitorous guard, but I believe he has my daughter's face, her coloring. I have been told he has his father's eyes,” a regal voice was saying when Kattanan stirred toward consciousness again. “I doubt our people will accept a castrated king, but there are ways around that.”

Kattanan lay still, trying to keep his breathing slow as if in slumber.

“Whether he is to be king matters not a whit to me, Duchess,” the Liren-sha's voice replied. “We have been parted several years, but he is still the nearest thing I have to family.”

“I had forgotten. It is difficult for me to imagine that you were ever a monk.”

An instant tension shot through the singer's body as he flashed back to another land, another pain almost forgotten in the press of recent events. A hand rested against his shoulder, and Kattanan rolled sharply away, ignoring the throb of his head.

“Kat, please.” Jordan's voice whispered behind him, touched with a new depth but suddenly bereft of its power of the night before.

“Go away. You left me once, surely you can do it again.”

“Please hear me out.”

“Go away.”

“I thought you said he was your friend,” the duchess observed.

“He was, and I pray he can be again.” Still, he rose from his chair.

“Find something to eat and have something sent up; my grandson may be hungry.”

The door was opened, and shut after a pause, before Kattanan opened his eyes. He turned his head a little to look at the old lady who waited at his bedside. Austere wooden pins caught thick, silvered hair atop her head, accenting sharp eyes the blue of deep water. Her unsmiling face had only the faintest of wrinkles. She wore a grey velvet gown, unadorned except by the badge of a duchy that had long since changed hands.

“You do have his eyes, Rhys.”

“I do not know that name, my lady.”

“You will come to. In the meantime, we will call you ‘Your Majesty,' if you prefer.”

“No,” he protested in a sigh. “I am no king.”

“Oh,” the duchess said, but her expression grew fierce. “The king who sits in your place taxes his people beyond measure, letting his soldiers take what they will of the wares and the women. He grows fat and lazy, dallying with maids and whores. The royal chapel is a place of drunken revelry, and boars are roasted over the funeral pyres of nobility. This is the false king—the man who poisoned your father, hanged and beheaded your brothers, and had my daughter, your mother, buried in a common grave.” Her eyes, at once harsh and dazzling, never left his face.

The singer winced and shut his eyes against the shine of the sun from a fallen crown.

“We have been hiding here, gathering the loyal, finding the truth, and preparing the way for the rise of Lochalyn.” He shook his head, but she went on, “All were told that you were dead, along with your family. Four years ago we heard the rumor that you survived. Our men caught the guard who brought you away from the castle, and he was persuaded to tell all. The monastery had been burned, and all killed, or so we thought for a long time. The Liren-sha brought us the final facts by accident—he was threatening a wizard in our employ at the time.” She gave an eloquent shrug. “But I gather you are not interested in his story.”

“He abandoned me a long time ago, and no, I don't care to hear from or about him.”

“He is invaluable to us, and you will accept that. I will not force you to hear him out, but he is staying.” When Kattanan made no reply, his grandmother went on, “As for my family, we were besieged. We did have a way out, by waiting on the wall, and riding down on the counterweight if the gate could be raised and lowered again, but that required one of us to stay behind. As we got there, a young soldier climbed over the wall. We told him where some of our wealth had been hidden in exchange for his assistance. Soon after, in the guise of an elderly aunt, I attended his investiture as the earl of Gamel's Grove.” She paused. “You look shocked.”

“He is a traitor. He may have hired the wizard who afflicted King Gerrod.”

“Yes, he did.” She did smile at this, a close-lipped expression of satisfaction. “I would have asked for outright death, but the good earl has his own plans.”

Kattanan pushed himself up, staring in horror. “I must get a message to the prince.” And warn Melisande, though he hadn't an idea of how to reach her past the earl's defenses.

“That family is our enemy. Do not concern yourself with them. You have your own family and crown to defend now.” She rose and looked down on him. “I have been told not to tire you. Someone will be up with a meal. Guards are posted outside the doors should you require anything”—she smiled—“Your Majesty.”

Kattanan sank back, clenching a fist. He thought of escape, but realized he had no idea where he was. Shortly after she had gone, the door was opened again. A very tall man entered, clad entirely in red leather even to the red band that held back his dark, wavy hair. A trio of thin scars accentuated his sharp features. He bore a tray of food before him, and it took a moment for Kattanan to recognize his old tutor. “I do not want you here.”

“You need to eat.” Jordan glanced furtively at the singer as he set down the tray beside him. “And I need you to hear me. I overheard part of your conversation, about a message to the prince. The duchess has declared him an enemy of her cause.”

“He has to be warned—and even if they raise me as a king, I will lead no war against him.”

“I think the overthrow of that reign belongs to Earl Orie.”

“That's what she meant,” Kattanan breathed, with a sound like defeat. “An old priestess told me that I would be king, but not Wolfram. There must be a way to stop it from happening.”

“I have learned the danger of defying fate.” Jordan studied the band of scars at his wrist.

“And you, more than anyone, should have learned what it feels like to abandon someone who trusts you,” said Kattanan, pleased at Jordan's flinch. “I must at least try.”

“If I carry your message to the prince, will you hear my tale?”

Kattanan finally met Jordan's eyes. He thought of the prince making the sign of farewell not so long ago, and nodded once. “If that is the price I must pay. He needs to know that Orie is working with the Wizard of Nine Stars and that the lady Faedre is Orie's lover. If you take the trail on the far side of the river, you'll come to a watchtower with a gate. At dawn, it's guarded by a man called Rolf of the Prince's Mercy. Tell him I sent you.”

“Will they believe me?”

Kattanan frowned, then said, “Was my bag brought here?”

Jordan found it on a table and laid it on the bed, watching as the singer fished through it. He came out with a small bone carving. “You can probably convince Rolf to get you an audience with the prince. Show him this.” He dropped the little figure into Jordan's hand.

Before the Liren-sha could speak, the door popped open, and the duchess came in. “We have a guest you must greet as a king.” The duchess crossed to a wardrobe and found a tunic and cape in the royal colors of gold and green. “Wear these.”

Kattanan numbly shook his head. “I can't do this.”

“You will.” She turned to Jordan. “I need you there; this is the wizard we spoke of.”

“The wizard will not appreciate my presence.”

“I would not appreciate my grandson, or any of the rest of us, being overcome by magic. We will wait in the hall.” She breezed out, followed by Jordan, to allow Kattanan to change in peace. When he opened the door, he found them waiting there, along with a group of guards and a few liveried servants. One of these approached and opened the box he held. The duchess removed something and held it up to catch the light. With a soft cry, Kattanan went pale and stumbled, not even shaking off Jordan's supportive hand.

“We had it stolen from the palace several years ago. The crown your uncle wears is a mere imitation.” She made as if to place it on his head, but he retreated toward the room.

“Please don't make me wear that.” He imagined blood seeping around it.

Still, she advanced. “This is the crown of your ancestors, and you will wear it.”

“No!” Kattanan cried as Jordan stepped between him and his grandmother.

“Duchess, now is not the time.” Their eyes locked, and hers narrowed.

“You do not make decisions here.”

“If anyone is to believe that Kat—that Rhys is the rightful king, then neither do you. He has said he will not wear that crown.”

She stared up at him a moment longer, then turned smoothly back to the servant. “The king prefers to be bareheaded today, in deference to his injury. Carry this behind him.” The servant bowed and shut the box. Gathering her skirts, the duchess looked back at them. “Four guards will go before, then His Majesty, and his bodyguard. If it please Your Majesty,” she paused and made sure she had his attention, “I will do the talking during this interview.”

“I think that were best,” he said. He did not look at Jordan as the pair fell into the procession. Servants flung open great doors as they advanced, spilling sunlight from the brightly lit room beyond. Smaller than the Bernholt audience hall, the room shimmered with polished stone and golden lanterns. The few people within stood to attention and bowed as Kattanan passed. Pairs of guards parted to allow him to walk to the throne—a replica of the one that stood in Lochalyn. With a nervous glance, Kattanan settled on the edge of the throne. Jordan towered beside him, and the duchess took a smaller seat to the other side.

At her nod, the opposite door opened, and everyone was on their feet again, this time murmuring in confusion. The figure revealed there wavered even as they watched. The vestiges of age and of fine robes faded into the air, leaving a plain woman clad in homespun. Her hair was cut raggedly at her shoulders, but she held herself with remarkable poise, striding into the room trailed by a pair of protesting guards. The woman ignored all of the audience, stepping up before the throne, but to one side. Her eyes gleamed the pale yellow of old parchment; a wide nose dominated her long face, and her hands hung indecisive by her sides, but her whole figure was intent, and she gazed up at the Lirensha. “You are he.”

“You are a wizard.” He matched her even, disdainful tone.

“What is the meaning of this?” the duchess demanded, standing firmly before her chair.

“I felt you some distance off,” the wizard continued, ignoring the duchess. “It is a strange sensation to have one's power slowly eroded. How is it done?”

“First, it strips your casting ability, then degrades your magic senses, then finally removes whatever magic may linger around you, leaving you completely exposed.” He held her gaze.

She nodded. “That is what it felt like.” At last she turned from him to the duchess. “We have met before, under other circumstances.”

“If it was you I met. I saw an old man who wore long, dark robes. You are not he.”

“An illusion. Would you have hired the woman you now see before you? Ugly and ill formed? If anything, what you have seen should make you even more sure of my ability. If not…” The woman shrugged and turned back to the door.

“Even a wizard may not turn her back on the king,” the duchess said.

The woman sketched a curtsy. “If I seem ungraceful, it is because I am more used to bowing, Your Majesty. What service do you require?” Her yellow eyes strayed over his form, then flicked back to the duchess, who had again settled in her chair.

“Have you any skill with illusions of sound, or just with those of sight?”

“I have made all manner of illusions. Sound is, perhaps, less difficult than sight, because few people truly believe their ears. What did you have in mind?”

“The king requires a new voice.”

“Ah. Trivial. What sort of voice?”

“Something deep and dignified, I would think.”

A little smile played about the wizard's lips as she looked back to Kattanan. “He seems a bit young yet for that. I assume you desire a credible tone, Your Majesty?”

“Of course he does.”

“Duchess, I understand it is important to you to conceal certain features of your king, but I cannot work in ignorance. Please let him speak.”

“I have never thought of it,” Kattanan stammered.

“I can see that. I can't work while the Liren-sha is present, and then there is the price.”

“You are in our employ already; is not your retainer enough?”

The woman tilted her head. “I had in mind something less tangible. I would like to be considered a member of the court, with a room here, and all the privileges that implies.”

The duchess frowned at this. “An unexpected request.” She thought a long moment. “I see no reason not to grant it. You understand that the Liren-sha is in attendance here?”

“You do not understand the implications of that. If he enters the king's presence, the king will lose his voice until that man leaves again. At any time when the voice is important, the Lirensha must be at least as far away as the antechamber is from here.”

“I like it not.”

“The choice is not mine to make.”

Kattanan, who had been sitting at the far edge of the throne, suddenly realized his opportunity. “That is acceptable.” Jordan flashed a glance at him, and the duchess glowered, but the singer ignored them both. “If I am to be forced to endure either the presence of this man or the risk of having a spell cast upon me, I choose the spell.”

“The king has spoken,” the wizard said. “I will not pretend to understand why you turn aside his protection unless you are yourself a wizard.”

“No,” Kattanan protested, but saw her little smirk and realized the joke.

“Once the Liren-sha is gone, I can begin.”