Gaultry thought back to the intricate palace labyrinth in which her awareness of her dream had opened, the engaging pursuit that had driven her deeper into the maze. She remembered her delight, examining the animal-masked portraits, her fascination with the vivid carpet of living flowers. She had felt that hidden secrets were opening to her. She had wanted to see more. Yes, between the pursuit and the beauties, it was possible she might have remained, trapped within that realm. “What about the figure on the grey hill?” she asked. “The words she spoke? And what about the magic that almost killed you when you traced the spell?”
Tamsanne moved uneasily. “I cannot interpret everything. I can only tell you what the sorcerers who created the crown intended. As for the magic that attacked me—it was a simple enough spell. A syphon.”
“A syphon?” Gaultry had never heard of such a thing, related to magic.
“A magical trap. It encouraged the success of my spell. Indeed, it heightened it beyond the limits of reason. My trace-spell was everything that I could have wanted, and more. The syphon drew so much of my strength into the spell that it would have killed me—either at the moment of its completion, or soon after. I learned much of what I wanted, but if you had not been standing by me, had not removed me from my grounding, forced my body to function—if you had not given me the strength of yourself—my life would have been ended.”
Tamsanne frowned. She touched the black cloth of her sleeve, still stitched up in a mourning band, and made the goddess-sign. “One suspects, of course, that this is what must have happened to poor Gabrielle. She created a gift of incredible power for her Prince. When Benet’s heir is born and laid within that cradle, the warding the child receives will be told in legend. But I find it hard to believe that it was Gabrielle’s intention to pay for that casting with the vitality of her own life. I think she would have preferred a smaller spell, and the pleasure of being on hand to provide protection to the child in a more active and ongoing form.”
“Who was it?” Gaultry said. “Who did this thing?”
Tamsanne shot a circumspect look at Tullier. “It is not so clear as I would like.”
“You can talk in front of Tullier,” Gaultry snapped. “If it wasn’t for him, that damn crown might have killed me! He has earned the right at least to know who set it on me.”
Tamsanne shrugged. “If you must have an answer, the base of the crown was certainly prepared by Dervla. The marking on the codes that would have released you was unmistakably hers. As for the sorcerer who wanted you dead—I don’t know. A powerful talent, but secretive. My guess is one of Dervla’s acolytes. Those people—they don’t always share everything they know with their High Priestess. The competition to be the one the gods will choose to be her replacement is simply too intense.”
Gaultry tried to picture the acolytes’ faces. There was Palamar, of course. And Ilary, the acolytes’ nominal head, a man near Dervla’s generation in age. After that, the names and faces were less clear.
“Palamar must have a grudge against Tullier,” Gaultry said dubiously. “And through Tullier, she might hate me. But it’s hard for me to believe that Palamar would work against Dervla, even in secret. She always seems so obedient.” Something else Tamsanne had said filtered through. “When did Dervla intend for me to wake?”
“The first night of the new Moon. After the end of the month, when the stars of the Sun-King’s crown have spun down from their apex.” Tamsanne offered a hand to help her up. Gaultry, rising shakily, noticed that while her grandmother appeared completely recovered from her ordeal, her own body was trembling and weak. “If she wants Vaux-Torres to deliver the boy into Bissanty hands, Dervla must be planning for the Bissanty to ritually slaughter your boy Tullier for her—thus getting around Benet’s pledge of protection. Goddess grant me to know the logic of her thinking! What sort of ruler would Benet make, raised to the red throne of Kingship by a secret, oath-breaking murder? It would be a disaster for all of us.” Tamsanne shook her head. “But at least we know when she will act. For the magic to take effect, the ritual must be aligned to the month’s important astrological events, when the gods most closely watch our doings. Either the Ides, or the month’s end, and the final waxing of the moon.”
“The Ides,” Gaultry guessed, shaken to hear Tamsanne so baldly state what she had feared. “Dervla told Argat that Benet would be back at court before the month’s end. That’s what Elisabeth heard her say. So
Dervla must expect her plot to be completed well before then, if she expects Benet to finish with the Lanai and return here from the border.”
“The Ides are less than a fortnight away now,” Tamsanne murmured. “That gives the Duchess of Vaux-Torres only a few days to organize Tullier’s abduction. But in that space of days, Elisabeth’s resolve to keep secrets from her mother might waver. That would return Argat the advantage of surprise.”
“I don’t think so. Elisabeth does not want to go against the Prince.”
Tamsanne sighed. “I agree, to do so would not be her first intention. But you yourself have told me that the girl is not a liar, and her mother, as you well know, is a keen observer. Argat could have the information out of her before Elisabeth was aware she had given it.”
“What should I do?” Gaultry said plaintively. “How can I protect Tullier? I’m being attacked even in my sleep. How can I guard against that?”
Tamsanne pressed her hand to her brow, a tired look overtaking her. She had not recovered so quickly as she made it seem. “You must remove the opportunity for Argat to take him. Leave Princeport. Take the boy with you and go. That would serve many purposes—not the least being to treat honorably with what young Elisabeth confided to you. Remove yourself and the boy, and Argat Climens will miss her chance to dishonor herself.”
“The answer can’t be that simple,” Gaultry said. “Argat could follow. Or send men to pursue.”
“Until Benet returns, the Duchess of Vaux-Torres is bound to Princeport on the word of her honor. Dervla can’t ask her to break that, without breaking the very motive that might force Argat to obey her.”
“I’m not supposed to be traveling either,” Gaultry reminded her. “Benet ordered the Brood to Princeport for a reason.”
“That didn’t slow you the last time,” Tamsanne said. “And didn’t the Prince give you his sigil, allowing you to travel, in any case?”
The small leather shield she had received on the night of Julie’s concert was in plain view on Gaultry’s mantel. Tamsanne must have seen it when she’d lit the lamps. “Where would we go?” Gaultry asked. “Home to Arleon Forest? Out of Tielmark? I suppose we could take a ship and follow the Sharif south. I have been thinking of sending Tullier there in any case.”
“Not that I’d agreed to go,” the boy interjected. He had been following their talk with great interest. “But perhaps your grandmother is right.
I have no objection to putting some distance between myself and this
Ein Raku
knife.”
Tamsanne considered the problem. “We do not know for certain that Dervla still holds the
Ein Raku.
She might have already passed it to the Bissanties, and any place that knife might be is not safe for you.” She paused, thinking. “There is only one place you can go. You must bring the boy to Benet. That is the only place he will be truly protected.”
“To Benet? Benet is riding hard for the western front,” Gaultry said, dismayed. “And why would Tullier be safe with him?”
Tamsanne cast Gaultry an amused look. “Do you trust your Prince?”
“What are you suggesting?” Gaultry asked, insulted. “Of course.”
“Then you must believe he would never agree to have this boy ritually slaughtered to advance his own claims to a King’s crown. So on the Ides, or at the final waxing of Andion God-king’s Moon, that is the only safe place for him. With Benet.”
Martin had not wanted her at the western front. Not this year, he had said. The battle-lines are not clear. The chaos is too great. Stay at court, he had begged her, and discover there the Kingship answer that will end the Brood-curse. “What about finding another way to make Benet King?” she said. “One that doesn’t demand a payment in blood? Someone needs to keep that in their mind’s focus.”
“Gaultry,” Tamsanne said. “If I swear to you that I will work with Julie, that I will work with even Dervia—with all who remain of the Brood, will you agree to go?”
“Argat could still send her men after me. Or Dervla and her silent partner.”
“Only if they think you have gone. Just think! Mervion could cover for you. Let everyone at court think you are still here—while you take the boy and go.”
“And put Mervion at risk in my place? Why are you so eager to get rid of us?”
Tamsanne sat down on the first terrace step, suddenly deflated. “Because I am afraid,” she said. “Because Dervla’s accomplice, whoever that may be, works a magic that is tainted with dark and poisonous emotion, and his or her loyalty to Tielmark is so slender, he or she thinks nothing of murdering the Brood-members who could be Benet’s strongest shield, if only they—we—could stop working at cross purposes. I believe Dervla’s secret sharer murdered Gabrielle of Melaudiere. He or she—I think it was a she—must have feared Gabrielle’s Kingship plans, or that she might
have had the respect and power to unite us. Sadly, that suggests a Bissanty connection.
“Then there is the problem of the Kingmaker blade. I fear that an unwilling sacrifice to the
Ein
Raku
would seal Tielmark to a brutal and ugly destiny. Dervla must think what she is doing is for the good—but she is wrong. A dark power is working by the High Priestess’s side, turning her plans to its own purpose, and Dervla is too blinded by her own ambitions to see it.”
Gaultry turned her grandmother’s plan over in her mind. Somewhere within, she sensed the threat of a terrible, merciless logic. She wasn’t sure what it could be, or who Tamsanne’s plan would endanger. If not Tullier or herself, who?
“Even if I agree to go, I don’t think Mervion will want to cover for me.”
“You would deny her a chance to serve the Prince? Deny her the chance to come to your protection? It is no more than what you would do for her. Denying her is not a kindness, if that is what you think you are offering.”
“You didn’t suffer that fetish crown,” Gaultry said coldly. “This is not about selfishness. I don’t want Mervion at risk for something so serious as that.”
Tamsanne shrugged, a little uneasily. “The Brood-blood runs equally in both of your veins. Mervion is at risk already. It will please her more than you understand, to turn that risk to a clear purpose. And if I am wrong—Mervion deserves at least the right of refusal.”
“All right,” Gaultry said. On that last point, she could not argue. “On condition that Mervion freely agrees, I will take Tullier west.” She turned to Tullier. “We’ll supply ourselves down in Princeport. No need to be obvious, heading into town with traveling packs. Go in and see what you can bundle together, without being too conspicuous.”
He nodded and disappeared inside.
“We’ll only go if Mervion agrees to cover for me,” Gaultry reiterated. “And right now I hardly believe I’ll be able to convince her to do that.”
“We shall see.” Tamsanne stared at her granddaughter as though trying to understand her hesitancy. “She loves you, you know. This new bond she has with Coyal has not ended that—any more than have your own feelings for the Stalkingman.” Gaultry dropped her own gaze—until Tamsanne took a step to follow Tullier inside.
“Wait,” Gaultry said. There was a last question she needed answered.
“Grandmother, young Elisabeth came here for help, but she went away with new questions. You told her you knew the name of her father.”
Tamsanne frowned. “If Elisabeth herself was not ready to know, I’ll not be the one to gossip. But the riddle is not a hard one. Argat Climens is an intelligent woman, but unbridled in vanity and ambition. Her children were born to be ornaments to her glory. It only takes a little thinking to know who she’d choose to father her children.”
Gaultry shook her head. “I’m not asking to know about Elisabeth’s father.”
Tamsanne raised her brows.
“I want to know to about
my own
grandfather.” The blood rushed in her ears at her effrontery. Tamsanne’s air of detachment vanished, replaced for an flashing instant by an expression of naked pain. “I—you may not wish to tell me, but after what happened—Grandmother, I almost lost you this morning. When I was at Jumery Ingoleur’s—something he said made me need to know. I know you destroyed the Ingoleurs’ blood-link at the barrow at his manor. I do not believe that you would have broken his land-tie without good reason—you have taught me such things are infinitely precious, and as the years pass there are fewer such chains back into the past, unbroken. So I think—I think what he said about grandfather must be true.”
A long moment passed between them. Tamsanne turned her back. Gaultry waited, terrified that Tullier would return too soon, interrupting them and giving Tamsanne an excuse not to answer.
“What did he say?” Tamsanne asked wearily. “What ugly thing did he tell you?”
It was Gaultry’s turn to pause.
Your grandfather was a dead man when Tamsanne used him to get with child
. “He said—he said that grandfather was not alive when you—when he—when my mother … .”