Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (34 page)

The Marshall spun to Evandor. “Tell me what you know.”

“Please! Please!”

“Speak!”

“He's in the rooms, with the Ring.”

“No? Then show me.”

“I can't. It's not mine.”

“What are you saying?”

Evandor had a dazed look in his eye and spoke no more.

“Speak!”

The Queen answered instead. “Calm yourself, Marshall. The rooms are enchanted. If one bears something there that is not theirs, they cannot bear it out.”

“What?”

“Only someone with a rightful claim can find the person and release him of its bond.”

“Interesting. If only I had similar rooms,” Xanthos stroked his chin.

“I wonder how much of your fortune you would still have,” Evandor said.

The Marshall paid no attention to them. “What now?”

“We have the proof, not of Hermes' scribbles, but of the Ring itself. It will decide who may leave with it.”

“The Ring? Or the rooms?” the Judge asked.

“And if it denies all? What then?” the Marshall said.

“Then Paris will be wrapped in mental torment until the Ring casts him adrift. Whether he dies in there, goes mad, or leaves in his right mind depends on him,” the Queen answered. “But do not worry. I have yet to find the item to resist me.”

“You've done this before?”

“Many times,” Evandor said. “Tormented us to no end. She'd have me or Astra, usually me, slip another student a coin or a brooch and show them in. Then we'd wait and watch until we grew bored and she brought them out. Once, and only once, a boy made it out alone.”

“You really believe this?” Xanthos said. “What if this is a trick? Wool over our eyes?”

“The Queen believes it, at least. She married that boy.”

The others sat back, stunned. Adara laughed. The Queen looked at her then laughed, too. “I'm afraid it's all true. You may ask Master Jason if you like.”

“I concede to your authority, my Queen. How do you wish to proceed?”

“I will give Paris an hour. Then I'll go in and relieve him of his burden. I will leave the Ring and Orion will go inside. If he returns with the Ring he is Astra's son—rightful heir—and not culpable for his mother's vow. If he does not, I will take back the Ring and return him to your guards. Adara stands and falls with her brother. Is this agreed?”

“How do we know it's the rooms?” Xanthos said.

“If anyone else wishes to try, they may. But listen to what Paris has to say: I trust he'll make himself persuasive.”

“What if it's your will that changes this?”

“I am no witch,” the Queen stared down at Xanthos of the Lachesi. “The only magic I possess is in who I am and is for healing. If I bent it another way I would break.” Her voice raked over the man like chain mail on stone. “This enchantment is older than I.”

“Are we satisfied, then, with the Queen's terms?” the Marshall asked. He looked around the room. One by one the men nodded.

“What of Kyriopolis? What of the terms?” Evandor asked.

“If the Ring approves of Orion, then Avallonë approves. Would the Kyrians reject the word of their Spear?” the Queen said.

“I, for one, am at peace with this,” the Marshall said. “If the Ring approves of the boy, there is no need to enforce the breaking of the vow. The oath-breaker died already, and without wound or sore. Let the Unicorn do what he will through his Gifts, as he has done in the past.”

A silence fell like a gray curtain over the company. Gloom rested on the brows of each.

“And if Paris walks out by himself?” the Judge asked.

“Then I'll marry him to my daughter,” the Queen said.

Adara watched the clock tick. The company, after some minutes of silence, broke up, most wandering within the sitting-room. The Marshall and Xanthos stood in a corner speaking to each other with low voices. Evandor perused some of the paper out on the table. There was no sign of Paris or the Ring.

Adara looked at her brother. He was tense. She gathered his arm to herself. “I believe in you, Orion. You are my brother. You are our mother's son and the rightful heir,” she whispered, then lay her head on his shoulder.

She felt him draw a full breath then sigh. He breathed in and out. Despite her words a wisp of fear crept into her. Would the Curse reject him? Reject them?

She threw her arms around Orion and held him tight. “Whatever happens, you are my brother, and I would rather die with you than live without getting to know you.”

A long hour passed.

The Queen rose. “Time to fetch the Kyrian.”

“The Princess still has her pick of suitors, then?” the Marshall said.

The Queen smiled and walked to the rooms. Everyone waited. In five minutes she was back, her face pale. “He's not there. I can't find him.” Her voice shook like an old woman's.

The knot in Orion's chest grew tighter until it threatened to stop his heart.

“Well then,” the Judge said, quietly.

“Orion, your turn,” the Marshall said. Rivers of ice cascaded down Orion's back.

“But no. Something is wrong. If I cannot, how could anyone else?” the Queen said.

“We agreed,” Xanthos said.

“No!” the Queen cried. She rushed to Orion and hugged him. “Astra! Oh Astra! That I should have lost you, and now lose your son!” She kissed him on both cheeks.

Wiping her eyes she composed herself. “If anyone can do it, you can. Do not fear the curse. Astra was not like me. She should have been Queen, Queen of Avallonë, Queen of the Seven Heavens, whichever she chose. I do not know the reason, but I know her, and what she decided must have been right. It must. For so long I hated her for leaving me. Please forgive me. Can you—forgive me?”

Orion leaned in and kissed her. “How can I not, my Queen?” He hugged her and they wept. He felt like he was in his mother's arms once again.

The Marshall coughed into his hand.

The Queen broke the embrace. “Go now, and go with my blessing.” She kissed him again.

Orion kissed Adara and stared into her eyes for a moment. Then he turned away.

Evandor pointed out the door he should take. He walked away from the room, away from his sister, away from the Queen. Would he walk back empty-handed? He felt all their eyes on his back. His heart beat faster and his breath shortened. This was it.

Orion opened the door and walked in. It was a small sitting room, cozily set up, with a painting on the far wall. It was the unicorn again. He saw the next door directly in front of him but walked to the painting instead.

“Are you my enemy, or my friend?” he asked. “Have you taken my mother?”

The unicorn in the painting did not answer. It kept on looking past him where it had always looked. But Orion noticed a tear sliding down his face. He looked closer. A tear in the act of sliding down, but not moving. The single drop of liquid, once seen, transformed the whole painting. It was not unbending pride that came through in the pose, the look, but sorrow and pity.

“You have known sorrow, too,” Orion said. The thought surprised him. How could one without equal, transcending adversaries, power over all, experience sorrow? He didn't know but he trusted the tear.

He wanted to stay looking at the painting but he felt as if he had received all he would there. Any further delay would be fear. He turned and grimly left it behind.

He walked through the next room and the next. Nothing had in it furniture large enough to hide a man. He began to grow worried. He had feared meeting something strange and horrible in hear, of the Ring trapping him along with Paris. The real dread was that he would simply pass through, unable to see.

In the next room he feverishly looked behind everything. No longer did he look for a man but a Ring. It could be hidden anywhere, though. He turned the room upside down, searching some places thrice over, but to no avail.

He stood up and surveyed the room. The far door called to him as the last place to look. It also mocked him. What if he had already missed it?

With slow footfalls he came to the door and, hardly daring to breathe, opened it. His eyes were drawn to the floor which glittered like a dragon's hoard. Brooches, bracelets, necklaces, chains, and rings, hundreds of them, lay scattered about.

“So they tricked you in here, too? Go figure. Get too close to raw power and you make everybody nervous.” Paris stood hunched over, half fallen against the wall. “It's quite clever,” he breathed hard between each phrase, “an enchanted torture chamber that casts your memories in twisted light before you. Enjoy.” He coughed and spit blood.

“I was not tricked here. And you may leave when you will. Give me the Ring.”

“What? You think that? You are even more duped than I. But while we are here, I hold the Ring. It is mine! Take your pick of the others. The sum of them is not worth the tenth part of my Treasure.”

Orion looked over the floor. Lots of beautiful objects covered it, jewelry more valuable than any seen in Darach. They seemed to him like so many pieces of painted gravel. He looked back at Paris, saw one hand in his pocket, wrist throbbing red, the other bracing himself against his knee.

“Give me the Ring.”

“No.”

“If it is yours, then there is no enchantment. If you give it to me, I will take on the enchantment and you will be free.”

A wild light entered his eyes. “Really?”

“I swear to you, that it is only the Ring you bear that traps you here. Leave behind what is not yours and you may leave this place.”

“You lie.”

“You think me smart enough?”

Paris stood up with an effort and looked at him. “No, fool. And don't you think I know anything about enchantments? Of course they wanted me here, to lose the Ring to this place, that they might blame me and pervert the course of justice. I tried—” he stopped, looking at Orion with a question in his eyes.

Orion saw the man he had hated with all his being, the man who had ruined his family. But when he saw him now, no command left, not even able to release the Ring, hunched over, breathing hard, like a day laborer too old for his work, his hate slowly drained. How could one hate such a despicable creature?

“You tried and you failed. That is what most torments you. But the Ring may wish to torment me. What evil can you have done that my mother did not? She was a lady of Avallonë, granddaughter of a former Queen, and, having cast off the Prince of Kyriopolis, nay, of the Seven Heavens, she swore an oath to never marry another. You know all this, for that is why you sought us. I do not know what you sought the Ring for—if wealth, or some other power unknown to me was your goal, or if you only seek vengeance.

“If you seek vengeance, or your own life, give me the Ring. I am the product of a broken vow sworn upon the Unicorn himself! What vengeance would be unsatisfied with placing the Ring's curses upon me?”

“You have learned much, boy.”

“Give me the Ring.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“You were going to give the Ring away, anyways. Why else did you let me find it?” Orion started as he realized the webs Paris had woven. “You knew it would be too dangerous to hold yourself, especially with me alive.”

“Bah!” Paris said.

“You will not be persuaded?”

“Never!”

Orion wondered what to do. He'd never fought a man before, and Paris seemed like one who would have. His heart started racing. He looked around for a weapon. Why couldn't there have been a jeweled knife here, like the one the senior guards wore?

He walked over to the chest and looked in. Most of its contents were on the floor, drawers scattered upside down, but one remained untouched in the bottom. Orion sucked in his breath. It had nine rings. They seemed to make their own light in the darkness.

Orion heard something. He glanced up and saw Paris creeping towards him. Orion grabbed at something and burned his hands. “Oww!” he screamed.

Paris rested against the wall and laughed a rusty laugh at him.

He looked at what he had grabbed and dropped. It was the drawer. Was this what Paris felt with the Ring of Artemis? Perhaps these rings, too, in this place, would entrap the wearer.

They were not his and he dare not touch them. His peripheral vision saw something move and he shoved the drawer at it, tripping over the chest. Paris fell back, screaming in agony.

Orion got up and grabbed the drawer. He held it in front of him and walked towards Paris. “Give me the Ring!” He shook the drawer at him. Thankfully none of the rings fell out.

Paris growled. He pulled his hand out. “Two may fight at this game.” His finger bore the Ring of Artemis. Its silver luster was in flame and the gem shone. Paris circled around Orion.

Quick as a flash he struck with his right, knocking the drawer down. His left followed and grabbed Orion's throat.