Revelation (69 page)

“So all this has fallen out well for you?” I said.

“For the moment. That night of madness, birds flying in and out of my tent and attacking my guards, nightmares, visions, things that were not men looking out of other warriors’ eyes . . . who knows what rumor will be saying? Some men swear they saw a man with wings flying over our camp.” He waggled his eyebrows in question, but I shook my head, and he went on. “I wasn’t sure how it would go when this Blaise came instead of you. I was a bit . . . perturbed . . . as you might expect.” In fact Blaise had told me that Aleksander had come very near removing his heart until Blaise had got out the story of my captivity.

“But your barons were convinced to leave without a fight?”

“I told them that during the night’s disturbances, I had rooted out the Yvor Lukash and defeated him in single combat. The night was so confused, no one could dispute it. And so, I said, the sorcerer himself would kneel before me and yield his sword, swearing fealty to my father with all of them to witness it, and that would have to do. They truly don’t like the thought of an emperor who yields to his barons’ whims. So they complained, but were happy at the same time.” He sighed wearily and tugged absently at his braid. “Of course, they’ll never trust me completely, and I’ll never trust them. I’ll have to take their sons and daughters as hostages, arrange unhappy marriages into loyal hegeds, and the like. They know that, and so the peace won’t last forever. But it is enough for today. As long as this Blaise keeps his word.”

“He didn’t have to come, my lord. He has every right to despise both Derzhi and Ezzarian; we’ve done our best to destroy him and his family. Yet he was willing to die for us, just after reclaiming his own life. He saved both your people and mine.”

Aleksander leaned back on the stone wall, his wry smile bringing light to his eyes. “Ah, no, my guardian. We three know who saved everyone—you, who carry a part of all of us within you: Derzhi and Ezzarian”—his face grew somber—“and now rai-kirah.” He inhaled deeply and shook his head, as he always did when broaching a subject that made him uncomfortable. “I want to hear the whole story from you someday.” His amber gaze touched my face, then bounced away quickly. “The woman has told me what you believe about the Ezzarians and the demons, but I can’t grasp it yet. I can’t believe that the demon who lived in me two years ago was ever a part of something good. I need to know what this change feels like for you, because I can’t bear to think it is as dreadful as—”

“Look at me, my lord.”

“I’ve looked.” He shifted uncomfortably as he avoided doing that very thing.

“Please. I need you to do this. I’ve no one else to ask, because these other two don’t know me as you do.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see.” I was afraid for him to do it, but I didn’t know when I would have another chance. The years ahead, as he found his way to the destiny scribed in his soul with light, were going to be busy and difficult.

Aleksander nodded and raised his eyes, examining me with the hard assessment he used for allies and horses. He possessed nothing of sorcery, only clear seeing and intelligence and the natural wisdom he kept hidden beneath his youthful carelessness and pride. He winced when he studied my eyes, but he did not turn away. Only after a long time did he speak. “You are the man I know.”

I heaved a deep breath. “Thank you.” I didn’t quite believe him, but it gave me heart.

He leaped to his feet and pulled on thin leather gloves. “I would chase these Ezzarians into the wilderness for you, Seyonne. Cut off their hands for touching you ill. You know that.”

“They will reap punishment enough, my lord. Truth is much harder to bear than injury. Leave them be.”

“Be well, my guardian.”

“Go in safety, my Prince.”

 

I saw very little of Blaise. He, too, had responsibilities. As soon as Aleksander’s physician pronounced me unlikely to die, the young outlaw had hurried off to Farrol to command him not to lead any more raids. He returned two days later, just after Aleksander had gone, and stayed only a few hours. “They were a bit surprised to see me fit,” he said, laughing with an extra-reddish cast to his bronze cheeks. “Saetha kept tickling my cheek and saying, ‘not mad, not mad, not mad.’ ”

I now owned Denas’s fragmented memory of the maturing process Blaise and those like him required—and of the unchangeable consequences of its interruption. “We can’t undo what’s already done, even in Kir’Navarrin,” I said. “You probably know that better than I now.”

As always, joy balanced the sorrow in Blaise’s expression. “I know. But I was able to tell Saetha and Gallitar and the others about Kir’Navarrin and the Well, and how this terrible thing that happened to them will never happen to anyone else. I thought they would never stop laughing. And for Farrol and Gorrid and Brynna and all the rest . . . think what it means for them . . .” He smiled. “I’ve sent word to everyone who might be interested.”

“I’ll make sure you know how to open the gateway.” With time and teaching, Blaise would be able to unravel the enchantments of Dasiet Homol. The gateway was a part of his heritage like shape-shifting and walking the ways. He had not yet touched the beginnings of his power.

“I told Farrol he should stay in command, but he seemed anxious to turn things back to me. Winter’s coming on, and we need to see everyone safe. This isn’t easy for them; we have to rethink what we’re about. But I told them how the wonders I had seen demanded that we reconsider our course. Do you know which part of my story they agreed was the most marvelous?” He grinned slyly.

“I can’t imagine.”

“A prince of the Derzhi serving a wounded Ezzarian with his own hands. You may not be the lowest of his subjects, but what I saw in him as he came for you and tended you . . . it is enough to make me listen before I strike again.”

“You won’t regret it.” Well, he probably would a number of times . . . but not in the end. Not if he came to know Aleksander as I did.

“I hope. As for now . . . I can’t stay any longer, although . . . you and I have a great deal to talk about. I need to tell you about Kir’Navarrin. And I have so much to learn.”

“When this determined young woman allows me to get back on my feet, I’ll find you,” I said. “I need . . .” I could not say what it was I needed. With three such friends, I felt guilty at my continued malaise. But I could think of no better place to find a little peace than in Blaise’s shadow.

“I’ll come back for you a week from today,” he said, laying his hand upon my shoulder. “You should be fit to travel by then.” With a smile and a soft brush of joyous enchantment, he transformed, and I watched him flutter through the door of the hut and soar into the morning.

 

Once Blaise and Aleksander were gone, Fiona and I settled into quiet days of sleeping, eating, and sitting outside to soak up the last days of autumn warmth. A little walking, leaning on her sturdy shoulder when my knees agreed to hold me up. Fiona had been extraordinarily quiet since they had brought me from Dasiet Homol, avoiding any mention of her personal predicament. I did not press her, knowing well how much introspection was involved when one took steps that could never be revoked. But as my slow days of healing passed and she stayed so quiet, I feared that her own healing did not progress. I decided the time had come for her to talk. “So what are you going to do?” I said, one evening as she gave me a bowl of soupy porridge that was still the stoutest food my damaged stomach could abide. “I’m sure Blaise would welcome—”

“I’m not brooding, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, poking up the fire against the cooling air. Through the door I could see the last pale glow of day fading in the west, and a soft, fragrant wind had come up, whispering of the changing season. “You needn’t worry about me.”

“It’s no burden to worry about you, Fiona. You saved my life a thousand times over. And so much more than that . . . more than you will ever understand. I truly want to know what you plan to do. I’m trying to figure out the same thing for myself.”

“I thought you were going to Blaise.” She seemed genuinely surprised.

“For a while. I’m hoping he can help me learn how not to loathe myself.” I had not meant to say it so bluntly. I wasn’t sure I’d ever voiced it so clearly in my mind. I was facing the most difficult battle of my life, and I needed something . . . some small hope that the struggle would be worthwhile. “But other than that, I don’t know. The one who lives in me has been silent since I came so close to dying. I’ve no idea what that means. Vyx claimed that once I step into Kir’Navarrin, Denas will be silent forever and we will be indistinguishable. Every part of me desires to go to Kir’Navarrin, but first I must decide if I can live with the consequences, whatever they may be, or if it will be better to stay as I am, whatever that is.”

“And what of your son?”

“I hope to see him. But Blaise is his guardian, and we’ll decide together whether that’s wise. I will not be an instrument of my child’s destruction.”

“Destruction?” She threw her stick in the fire, showering sparks all through the darkening hut. “Gods, is there any man alive so blind as you?”

“I’ve lived a life of violence, Fiona. Everywhere I’ve walked, I’ve brought death. It’s not a happy consideration.”

“I never told you who it was I killed at the Gasserva Fountain,” she said. She stood up and walked over to the door of the hut, the line of her back saying a great deal more about the intensity of this telling than her calm, even voice.

“You don’t have to—”

But she didn’t pause for me. “I was six when the Derzhi conquered Ezzaria. My story was little different than that of a thousand other children. I saw my father hung up by his feet and his belly slit open while he screamed and gibbered like a mindless animal. And I saw my mother violated by a Derzhi warrior who wore the symbol of a kayeet on his breast. He took her right in front of my father, and when he was done he had his serving man put her in shackles and throw her across a packhorse. ‘Get the witchery out of her,’ he said, ‘and she’ll make a passable whore.’ ”

Fiona turned toward me, far enough away that I could see nothing but the dark wells of her eyes. The dying flame of sunset left a gold corona about her, as if she had taken on her own demon.

“I was hiding in the trees that day—the same tree where they hung my father and cut him open. For two days I stayed there, afraid to climb down because I would have to touch him, and because I thought there were Derzhi still looking for us. But I promised my father’s spirit that I would find my mother and save her—a child knows nothing of corruption. So . . . you know well enough how we lived in those next years. Though our lives were hard, Talar taught me everything of discipline and history and law, and she found that I had talent, so I began to train as an Aife . . .”

“But you also worked as a gleaner, so you could go out into the cities and find your mother. That’s why you went to Zhagad. You traced the kayeet crest—the Fontezhi heged.”

“It took me nine years, but I found her. I told myself that my father’s spirit would cleanse her corruption. A kitchen slave recognized my race and was willing to tell me that the woman named Carryn was still living in the house. I begged the slave to take a message, and she agreed. When she came back, she told me that Carryn would be occupied all evening in the master’s courtyards, but would meet me that midnight at the Gasserva Fountain. I couldn’t wait. I climbed up on the courtyard walls and examined every person who passed through, hoping to see her. The Fontezhi lord was having a feast that night . . . hundreds of guests, hundreds of slaves waiting on them. I couldn’t see my mother. But the lord’s family was there: his first wife—the Derzhi wife, a haughty woman, ignored by everyone—and then his second wife came in, not Derzhi, but dressed in silks and jewels, and she sat down at his side smiling . . . and their children, three of them, clean and well-fed and dressed in fine clothes . . .”

It was simple to fill in the story between her sparse words. “He had married her, and she had borne him children. She seemed happy. You thought you had seen the truest meaning of corruption.”

It was no more possible to interrupt the flow of her words than to turn back the rising tide. “When she came to the Gasserva Fountain that night, I was sitting on one of the stone benches. I had worn a veil to cover my face, but when I saw her step down from her litter, I took off the veil to make sure that she recognized me.”

“And did she?”

“Oh, yes. She stopped ten paces away and fell to her knees, holding her hands to her mouth and weeping and laughing.
‘Tienoch havedd, dallyya,’
she said to me. ‘Greetings of my heart, my precious girl.’ ”

“And you . . .” I didn’t want to hear it—such private pain that I could do nothing to ease.

“I stood up and walked away as if she didn’t exist. I made sure to pass close beside her, so that she knew there was no mistake.”

“Ah, Fiona . . . It is very hard, but it is not murder. Now you’ve experienced it yourself and survived it.”

But Fiona was not finished with her telling. “On the next day I went to spy on her once more, to view the image of corruption so I would never forget. The house was draped in mourning banners. She was dead.”

“You don’t know . . .”

Fiona came to sit beside me and held a cup of water for me to take a sip. “I know very well, Seyonne. I saw her face.”

“No wonder you hated me.”

A girl of fifteen had convinced herself that it was the corruption of slavery that had killed her mother, and not her own cruelty. And then her queen’s husband was welcomed back from half a lifetime of slavery, with people claiming he was the fulfillment of prophecy. She had been forced to hear me teach that slavery could not corrupt, because it was the character of your soul, not the experiences of your life, that made the difference.