In the Hand of the Goddess (21 page)

“Do I hear splashing?” she asked Faithful softly. She looked around carefully, at last spotting a fountain at the back of the room. Water poured from a spout in the wall, dancing over rocks covered with flowering moss before falling into a deep basin. Curious at the fountain's existence, Alanna went to look at it more closely.

Two things caught her interest: a silvery-white veil that seemed to hold several objects, and a doll, immersed in the fountain's basin directly under the waterspout. For a moment Alanna wanted to touch neither bundle nor doll, but her newfound resolution forced her to pick up both. She carried them over to one of the counters, drawing a lamp close to examine her finds.

The doll was a water-worn wax image of the queen, perfect from the real black hairs on its head to the duplicate of the queen's favorite gown. The doll had obviously been in the water for a long time: The features of its face were barely recognizable, and the color had washed from its dress. Alanna knew this spell: The sorcerer made an image of his victim and placed it in running water. Depending on the sorcerer's materials and power, and the strength of the water, the one represented by the doll wasted away quickly or slowly, fading into death. Duke Roger had used the finest wax money could buy, and Alanna suspected he had taken the doll out of the fountain from time to time, to make the queen's illness and eventual death seem more natural.

Her hands trembling, Alanna put the doll aside and looked at the bundle she had also found. Lifting
it less carefully this time, she saw the tear in the side too late. Another tiny doll fell out of the bundle, striking the table. Alanna yelled, her side suddenly one massive hurt. Biting her fist to keep from making any more noise, she picked the image up. It was one of her, of course. She examined the bundle closely. The tear was long and thin, nearly invisible against the fine-woven silk. Her hands throbbed, and she remembered how they had felt the morning of her Ordeal, as if she was trying to tear a hole in tightly woven cloth. Drawing her dagger, she cut the string that held the bundle closed and carefully opened it up on the table's surface. Figures that bore eerie resemblances to the king, Duke Gareth, Myles, the Lord Provost, and even Jonathan lay revealed before her eyes.

“Of course,” she told Faithful softly. “Now I understand. He wanted none of us to see what he was up to, so he put our images inside this veil. We couldn't see; and as long as men like Duke Gareth or Myles or the Provost didn't see anything wrong, no one else felt they could say anything.”

What are you going to do now?
Faithful inquired, twitching his tail.
You've broken all those silly rules of Chivalry to get yourself this far. What next?

Alanna smiled grimly at the images, carefully piling them on top of the veil. “Roger can't be allowed to go on this way,” she replied. “When he comes back tonight, he'll know the images are gone; he may even know I took them. So, if my friends and I are to survive his finding out, I'd better do something about Duke Roger of Conté right now.”

She returned to the banquet hall, the veil and its contents in her hands. Stopping for a moment to talk to Myles and Jonathan, she asked them to join her before the king's table. Thom was exchanging stories with Raoul and Gary, but when he caught his sister's eye, he excused himself and came to stand next to her. Steeling herself, Alanna walked up to the long table in front of the two thrones, bowing low to the king and queen. Only when she felt Myles, Thom, and Jonathan at her back did she begin to speak.

Great Mother, help me with this
, she pleaded silently when Roald acknowledged her.
I don't know if this is how you wanted me to do this, but it's the only way I know.

“Majesty,” she said clearly, making sure everyone could hear her voice, “I have done a dishonorable thing.” The great hall was suddenly quiet. Alanna
drew a deep breath and went on. “I broke into a man's chambers tonight. I knew this was dishonorable, and I did it anyway. What
I
did was wrong. What I thought to find—what I
did
find—was far worse.”

She placed the veil and the images inside it on the table before the king. Lianne cried out in horror, shrinking away from the little dolls made to represent her, her husband, her son, and her brother. The king and Duke Gareth were pale; the Provost, peering around his neighbor's shoulder, turned red with fury. Thom reached out curiously for a moment before remembering it would not be a good idea to handle these images. There was no reading the emotions either Jonathan or Myles was feeling—perhaps it was just as well.

Alanna looked at Duke Roger. The sorcerer could see what she had put before his uncle; he was gripping the arms of his chair with white-knuckled hands.

“Shall I tell them where I found these, Your Grace?” Alanna challenged loudly, looking the Duke of Conté in the eyes. “Shall I tell them about the little fountain in your private workroom where the queen's image lay under running water, wasting away little by little? Shall I—”

“Liar!” Roger snarled. “Majesty,
Sir
Alan has long been jealous of my influence with you and my cousin Jonathan. He now seeks to dishonor me in your eyes by showing you these dolls he created and accusing me of casting such spells!”

“For what reason?” Alanna asked King Roald. “Why would I wish the queen harm? She is the mother of my prince and my friend. She has been kind to me. I do not gain by harming her, just as I do not gain from veiling the sight of those who could stop me from stealing a throne that isn't mine!”

“Liar!” Roger cried, standing to point an accusing finger at her. “Do you deny that you have the skill to place such a spell? Do you deny you have the knowledge, when I taught image-magic to you myself? You planned to kill Their Majesties, so that when Jonathan became king,
you
would be the most powerful knight in the realm.”

“That is very interesting.” Myles looked at Roger, his gentle eyes hard. “Carry that thinking a step further and suppose the death of Prince Jonathan. Who would gain? I submit, Roger, that
you
would gain as the next King of Tortall.”

“It's a plot against me! “Roger cried, looking around him. “Myles tries to turn you all against
me while this young man gives false evidence!” He stopped, waiting for the king to say something. The only sound in the banquet hall was the queen weeping softly into Duke Gareth's shoulder. Roger looked for a friendly face and found none. His mouth tightened. “I demand my rights. I demand trial by combat, myself against my accuser.” He pointed to Alanna. “If I lie, Sir Alan will win by the will of the gods. But I say
I
will win, because I am innocent!”

The silence grew as everyone waited for King Roald's decision. The king picked up the image of himself, turning it over in his fingers. “You may have the combat,” he said.

“As the accused, I may choose the time,” Roger said quickly. “Let it be now, before Sir Alan's lies spread and poison people's minds against me.”

Alanna felt chilly and very old. She should have known that Roger would want to fight now, while she was still weary and sore from the Ordeal. She looked at her bandaged hands.

“This time or any other is of no matter to me,” she said, her voice bored. “I believe Duke Roger to be plotting against the lives of my prince and my friends. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner they will be safe.”

“In one hour,” ruled the king. “We meet in the Great Throne Room.”

Alanna slipped away and went to her room to change while Faithful watched. Since the rules of trial by combat forbade the wearing of armor, she changed into a soft shirt, breeches, and stockings; she wanted as much freedom of movement as possible. Removing the bandages, she carefully rubbed balm into her sore hands, thinking,
Lucky they aren't stiff.
After lightly rebandaging her hands, she tied back her hair.

Sitting down to clean Lightning, she told Faithful, “I guess I don't feel so bad about not having spotted what he was up to. But why tonight? That hole in the veil didn't just
happen
to be there. Come in!” she called in answer to the knock on her door.

Jonathan, Myles, Coram, and Thom entered the room. Myles looked at her wearily. “I suppose you had your reasons for acting as you did. I'd like to know what they were.”

Alanna shook her head. “It's as if I just broke free of the spell he had us all under. A lot of things just began to add up: why the fog came up that night I was taken
after
he visited me, why the big Tusaine attack was chiefly aimed at Jonathan's forces, why the queen
never got better. Thom, you must've thought I was crazy, never following up on the warnings you and George gave me.”

Thom shrugged. “I always figured you had your reasons.” Jonathan, Myles, and Coram looked at him, and the young Master added, “I've been watched by Duke Roger's men for several years, ever since you, Highness, and Alan took the Black City. And George has waylaid Roger's men following Alan any number of times.”

Coram took over the cleaning of Lightning while Alanna began to stretch. Her body was stiff from the Ordeal, and she had seen Roger enough in the fencing courts to know he would not be easy to beat even if she were feeling her best. That he was a sorcerer and not a trained knight was balanced by the fact that, for all she knew, he was sticking pins into a new image of her at that very moment.

Jonathan looked down at Alanna, who was touching her toes. “But you had suspicions,” he pointed out. “Even if they were vague ones, why didn't you talk to me?”

“I
did
say something, at the Black City,” she told him frankly. “You said it was nonsense. So I wanted to have real proof before I mentioned it again. And
every time I made up my mind to
do
something about it, I—I lost interest. I know why now—because he had me in the wraps with you and Myles and the others—but I still feel ashamed that it happened. Don't you?”

Before Jonathan could say that he did understand, someone else knocked on Alanna's door. Coram opened it and admitted a heavily cloaked George.

Jonathan and Myles were clearly astonished by the tall Rogue's presence. “Stefan has messenger-birds,” Alanna told them. She gave the thief a tiny smile before beginning to stretch again. “I'm glad you came.”

George reached down to ruffle her hair with a gentle hand. “Do nothing foolish,” he warned her.

“I think Alan's used up his foolishness for the day,” Thom said acidly.

Alanna looked up, impatient. “The masquerade is over. Myles, all these men know, you should, too. I'm a girl.”

“But I
do
know,” Myles said quietly. “Thank you for telling me at last, but I have known for years.”

Timon rapped on the door and opened it. “I've been sent to bring you to the Great Throne Room,” he said unhappily. “Squire—Sir Alan, is it true? About His Grace?”

Alanna tugged on her boots. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “Yes. It's true.”

“Alan and I will be with you in a moment,” Jonathan told the others. They took the hint and followed Timon out into the hall, closing the door behind them. Alanna looked at Jonathan and went into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “I know you love him; but I couldn't let it go on. He was killing your mother.”

Jonathan held her close. “I love you more.” His voice was breaking. “Don't let him kill you.”

Alanna shook her head. “I don't plan to. Believe me, I don't.”

They joined the other men in the hall. No one spoke as they headed for the Great Throne Room. Their only comments were in the tight holds Jonathan and George took on each of her shoulders, and the worried looks Coram, Myles, and Thom wore. Matters now were beyond words.

Alanna herself could think only that finally it had come to a head, this weird contest of wills between her and the Duke of Conté. The issue would be decided once and for all. She couldn't be unhappy about that.
It'll be over and settled
,
she thought as they strode into the Great Throne Room.