ICO: Castle in the Mist (27 page)

What did she hope to gain by telling him? Had she wanted Ozuma to abandon the tournament and flee for his life? Alone? Saving one man and ending the tournament were two different things. Or did she hope he would take her secret and shout it from the parapets, foiling her mother’s scheme?

It occurred to Yorda that the chief handmaiden might make a better source of information about the queen than the Captain of the Guard or the ministers. She would certainly be easier to approach—though there was no guarantee that the handmaiden would be her ally. When she came to help Yorda change for supper that night, Yorda inquired, as casually as possible, on the progress of the tournament. The handmaiden’s hands paused for a moment while tightening Yorda’s sash.

“It’s just that the noise coming from the arenas today was quite boisterous,” she said, feigning distaste in hopes of sidestepping the handmaiden’s suspicions. “I wondered if some strange new type of swordplay had been put on display. Not that it matters how it is done—butchery is still butchery. I know that my mother believes the tournament adds to the glory of the castle, but I do not like it. I wish that it would end.”

“I do not know the details of today’s melees,” the chief handmaiden said while straightening Yorda’s skirts. “But as you will be attending the banquet tonight, perhaps you might ask the Captain of the Guard. I am sure he has great interest in the tournament and would be happy to entertain your questions.”

“Now I want to go to this banquet even less. That Captain of the Guard is the worst kind of garden—give him but the slightest taste of water and his stories will grow into trees tall enough to block out the sun.” Careful not to overdo it, Yorda assumed a look of boredom. “Perhaps I’m just being selfish. I should endeavor to act the part of the princess so as not to disappoint our people.”

Yorda smiled and looked down at the chief handmaiden. The handmaiden did not smile back. Her face was the same as it had been the night of the graveyard. Yorda wondered whether it was a mask she wore, concealing some truth beneath it—or whether fear and caution had frozen her face completely.

She would have to be even more cautious at the banquet. There was a strict order in which those attending the banquet were invited, and it changed each day. Of course, all were administrators or higher, but even the highest-ranking people in the castle such as the Ministers of Coin and Rites were not summoned to each and every banquet. During the tournament, only the Captain of the Guard and his deputy attended each banquet without fail so that they could report the day’s happenings to the queen.

As the Captain of the Guard began his report that night, Yorda pricked up her ears, trying to pluck the valuable information from his outrageously flowery account. He described each round of combat in such minute detail that the telling took almost as long as the tournament itself.

Yorda waited patiently for mention of Ozuma’s name, or anything about a strange knight with horns upon his head. So intent was she on listening that she confused the course with which she was supposed to use her silver fork. At the other end of the long table, the queen noticed the gaffe and lifted an eyebrow at Yorda as she quickly returned the fork to its proper place. The Captain of the Guard stopped his report when he saw the expression on Yorda’s face.

“My apologies,” Yorda said politely, smiling toward the captain. “Please go on.”

“Well,” the Minister of Court said with a laugh and a rub of his sizable belly, “it seems Princess Yorda has not overcome her aversion to our triannual entertainment.”

“I’m afraid the princess is bored,” the queen said, her red lips curling upward into a smile. The deputy captain—newly appointed that spring—peered at the queen, enchanted. “She resembles me at her age,” the queen said. “A knight’s skill at arms is of no consequence to a frail maiden, is it?” As she spoke, her black eyes stared directly into Yorda’s across the table as if to say:
I have told you my secret. If you wish to reveal it here and now, go ahead, my beloved daughter. Ah, but you lack the courage. There is no way forward from here and no way to return. You must bear my secret with me and remain in silence without exit.

Yorda gritted her teeth, enduring her mother’s gaze. The smile on the queen’s face widened.

“True enough, Your Majesty,” the Minister of Court agreed loudly. “Yet I daresay even Princess Yorda would be interested to learn a bit of the customs of foreign lands. The tournament is many things, not least a gathering of the strongest and mightiest from across the entire continent.”

Yorda turned to the minister. “Are there warriors and ladies from faraway lands in attendance?” she asked politely.

“Indeed, there are!” the minister said, leaning forward, his belly pushing the silver plate before him farther onto the table. “In fact, we welcome a most unusual knight to this particular tourney. I’ve never seen a man of his like. And his skill is remarkable!”

[7]

BY THE TIME
Yorda reached the beginning of the stone bridge, Ozuma was already at the base of the Tower of Winds. He stood gazing up at the tower, his back to the bridge.

She quickened her pace, pleased that he had kept his promise. She was past the midway point of the bridge, the sea wind blowing against her cheek and lifting her hair as she ran, when Ozuma turned and saw her. He was dressed the same as he had been the day before. His black cloak billowed in the wind as he began to walk toward her.

When Yorda ran up to him breathlessly, Ozuma once again fell to one knee and bowed. Yorda curtsied in return, but when she spoke, she sounded less like a princess and more like a girl from town.

“I heard you were victorious in the third bout,” she said, hand to her breast. “The ministers were enthralled by your skill with the sword. The Minister of Court said your victory was a sure thing, and the Captain of the Guard’s eyes gleamed like a little boy, so happy he was at the thought of sparring with you.”

Ozuma bowed again. “I am honored I was able to prevail yesterday, and even more so that I meet you here again, Princess,” he said in his gentle, resonant voice. “I fear I speak above my station, however…”

Yorda stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let us not rest on formalities. I have little time.”

Ozuma looked up and met Yorda’s gaze, a question on his lips. Today, he was carrying his helmet beneath one arm. His uncovered horns were striking from this close.

“You must not win the tournament,” Yorda said in a single breath. She shook her head. “You must not win your next bout. You will lose, and leave. You must escape.”

Ozuma was speechless.

“I would not say such an important thing in haste or jest,” Yorda continued. “I have good reason, though it is not something I am at liberty to share. Trust me when I say you cannot stay here at the castle. You should never even have participated in the tournament!”

“Yet,” Ozuma replied slowly, “even should I leave, the tournament
will
have a champion. I do not see the princess’s fears being put to rest by my departure.”

Yorda’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean?” She stepped closer, grabbing his arm in both hands. “Do you know something? Did you know when you chose to participate in the tournament?”

The wind blowing up from the sea whistled around them. Yorda felt the chill in the air, and she looked up at the Tower of Winds to see, in every empty window, dark shapes staring down at them. In her surprise, she took a step back and would have stumbled had Ozuma not reached out to catch her. He lifted her to her feet and looked around at the tower.

“I believe they can see your heart, Princess. Your presence near the tower agitates them.”

Yorda looked up at Ozuma’s tanned face, confusion and questions filling her eyes. “Who are they?”

“Those who have been trapped in the tower. See their shapes? They have the form of humans, but they are empty shades, formed of dark mist. Think of them as shadows who have stepped away from their bodies.”

Yorda looked again at the windows. They might have been shadows, but they had eyes, glowing with a dull light. She saw several looking down at the bridge—shadows that walk alone.

“I…I had no idea such things were here. Often I have walked this place alone and never seen them before.”

“They are sad, cursed things.” Ozuma looked at Yorda’s face, then put his hand gently on her back as if to push her away from the tower. “When you knew nothing of what happens here in the castle, they had no means by which to notice you. But now that you have knowledge, you know fear because you know the truth. That is why you can see them. And that is why they are drawn to the salvation your heart promises them.”

It would be wise, Ozuma warned her, to avoid the tower unaccompanied in the future. “It will only trouble your heart needlessly,” he said. “Once they have been turned to shades, there is nothing anyone can do to save them. They are forever imprisoned in the Tower of Winds.”

“But…what are they?”

“I must apologize, Princess, for my purpose in meeting you here again today was none other than to test you.”

“Test me? How?”

“I wanted to ascertain whether the lady Yorda herself would be able to see those shades in the tower. You can; that means your true eye has opened. Which in turn means that you know the truth, and you have touched the source of fear.”

“You mean the truth about my mother.”

When she saw Ozuma nod, Yorda’s heart split in two—half filled with relief, half with sorrow and shame.

“How much do you know?” she asked. “Why have you come to this castle?”

Leaving the Tower of Winds, Yorda brought Ozuma to the old trolley on the side of the castle. “When I was young,” she explained to him, “they used this trolley to bring supplies for expanding the eastern wing of the castle.”

The old rails stretched in a long line from the eastern wing up to the northern side, running perfectly straight save for a single curve midway. A thin layer of dust coated the rails, and the trolley, made of sturdy boards fastened together, was chipped and worn at the edges.

“When the construction was finished, they were supposed to destroy the trolley and remove the rails, but my father ordered them to leave everything as it was.”

He knew how Yorda loved the view from the rails.

“I was something of a tomboy and always pleaded with him to let me ride the trolley while they were working. My father let me. I knew nothing of the world beyond the castle, nor did I have any friends my own age. I was very lonely as a child. I believe my father took pity on me. He asked my mother to leave the trolley there until I grew older and tired of it.”

With Yorda already confined to the castle, the queen had no grounds on which to refuse him.

“My father’s duties often took him away from the castle. Whenever he would return, he would take me for rides.”

“Then it is a place of good memories,” Ozuma said. He smiled at the girl.

“Yes,” Yorda replied, running her hand along the trolley’s handrail. “Many memories.” Whenever she came here, the sound of her father’s voice and the warmth of his hand rose fresh in her mind.

The trolley had been unused for some time, so neither the queen nor the royal guard ventured here much. It was even possible they had forgotten it existed.

The doors to the trolley platforms had been locked, but Yorda kept a secret key. It was the one place she could come when she needed to be alone. However, as the rails ran along the outer wall, and there were no handrails save on the trolley itself, it was not particularly safe. It was even dangerous to step out on the ledge by the rails on days when the wind from the sea was particularly strong. For these reasons, she had not visited the trolley for some time. That, and sometimes she did not want to remember her father so clearly. It was too painful.

“Here there is no one to watch over us. We can talk in peace.”

Yorda had stepped down from the ledge onto the rails where she could take shelter from the wind. Ozuma walked around the platform, looking with amazement at the many interwoven towers of the castle, the strips of sea visible between them, and the blue sky stretching overhead.

“The view from here is incredible.”

“Yes, but be careful. The drop at the edge of the platform and the rails is quite steep—like a sheer cliff. One misstep and you could well lose your life.”

It was necessary to walk through the castle proper to come here, so though this was a safe place to talk, getting here unnoticed would be next to impossible. Ozuma had said that she need only instruct him which way to go and he would take care of the rest.

She had agreed, and he had taken her under his cloak. Yorda was not quite small enough to fit entirely beneath it, and she thought they would be discovered for sure, but Ozuma assured her it would not be a problem, and curiously enough, they were able to walk directly through the castle without being noticed—even when they passed by others close in the hall.

Perhaps in his training Ozuma had learned how to hide himself in plain sight. That would explain how he was able to make his way past the royal guards and castle patrol to the Tower of Winds, and how he had disappeared so suddenly when they parted the day before.

Or maybe,
Yorda thought,
it is a kind of magic. If he truly is the descendant of one blessed by Sol Raveh, he might very well have power befitting a deity. Maybe even power enough to resist a child of the Dark God, the queen herself.

Hope stirred in Yorda’s breast. Yet at the same time, she felt a deep guilt. The queen was her mother. She was not sure that even the Creator, the Sun God who was father to all upon the earth, had forgiveness for children who betrayed their parents.

Ozuma approached and knelt before Yorda, who was sitting on the edge of the trolley.

“I know the secret of the tournament troubles you, Princess, yet you should know that in the outside world, there are already those who know the truth.”

Yorda gripped the edge of the trolley tightly. “On this continent? In other lands?”

“Indeed,” the knight replied. “Though it may be hard for you to believe, beyond this realm there are many who fear this castle and the power of the queen. In past battles, they have seen her terrifying strength.