King (23 page)

The leader's voice called up to her. “Prophet! Our king, Bel-Tygeon—Light of the Heavens—commands you to come down!”

White fire flared from the branch, pouring through Ela, giving her courage despite her tears. Her voice echoed through the yard, bold and defiant. “If I am the Infinite's prophet, let His holy fire devour you and those renegades beneath your command!”

White flames descended from the blue sky as a curtain of lightning upon the screaming men, sweeping their bodies from life into death and their souls into eternal torment.

Weapons, buckles, and clasps fell amid a clattering of bones and sifting ashes. A terrible silence replaced the sounds of destruction. Ela gulped, staring at the scattered bones and weapons. Behind her, Caitria cried, “Ela! What's happened?”

“Caitria, stay back, please!” Closing her eyes again, Ela prayed through welling tears. Infinite? Let Your will be fulfilled—may Your enemies bow!

A commander's distant cry summoned other men to replace the vanquished ones—a single word reaching Ela with horrifying clarity. “Forward!”

Now the second commander screamed at her in a fit of killing rage, “Prophet! Come down at once, or we'll set this place afire!”

She heard his thoughts. His resolution to torture the woman who'd destroyed his comrades. In Ela's hands, the branch sent out fierce spirals of light, lending her strength. “If I am the Infinite's prophet, let His holy fire devour you and those renegades with you!”

Again a curtain of fire fell and swept over the men, cutting off their agonized cries in a haze of ashes and a tumble of weapons and bones. Behind Ela, Caitria screamed. When Ela turned, Caitria backed away, then sat as if her legs failed to support her. Eyes huge, she covered her mouth and stared, her tears matching Ela's. Silently begging for mercy. For help. Ela shook her head. “I'm sorry! Pray the survivors heed their Creator.”

As Caitria wept, a renewed clatter drew Ela's attention toward the bone-cluttered gate. Living men replaced the dead. Slowly this time, their heads bowed. And when their leader approached the fortress gate, picking his way through the skeletons and weapons, he knelt and lifted his hands toward Ela in supplication. “Prophet of the Infinite, pity us! We follow the ruling of our king—we are commanded to bring you and your companions to Belaal. Have compassion on me and on my men! Be merciful and let us become servants through your kindness!”

A twist of dread unwound in Ela's soul, allowing her to breathe. “Infinite?”

Her Creator's Spirit murmured,
Go with those men. You will be safe in their care.

Trembling, Ela called out, “The Infinite sees you! He chooses to be merciful toward you and your men—you won't die today.” As the commander's men hurried toward the tower to apprehend them, Ela looked down at Caitria. The queen gasped as if seeing a lethal apparition. She snatched a pair of small sheathed daggers from Akabe's belongings and shoved one inside her right legging, the other within her right boot, then stood and straightened her long tunic.

At least she hadn't tried to use one of the daggers on a certain prophet. Ela shifted the branch and listened to their captors rushing up the stairs, their boots echoing inside the stairwell. “Don't be frightened, Majesty, but we must go with these men. The Infinite commands this, and I cannot prevent it. Now, either we walk down quietly, or they will tie us for fear of their king.”

The men entered the chamber, hands on their swords' hilts, cautious but clearly determined to fulfill their orders. Ela led Caitria past them and marched down the stairs.

Caitria remained silent until they walked out of the tower. Then, eyeing the seared bones and skulls tumbled around the gate, she shook her head at Ela in disbelief. “You killed them. . . .”

Meeting the young queen's horrified gaze, Ela said, “Don't be afraid!”

Caitria's breath wheezed, and her voice squeaked. “You set them ablaze!”

“The Infinite did—to protect us.”

“I cannot believe this!” Shaking her head, Caitria stepped away from Ela. “I've been talking to a-a—living fury! What will you do next?”

What next? Ela shivered at the possibilities. More than anything she wanted to run away. To Kien. Yet she longed to serve her Creator. She must. Oh, Kien, stay away! Survive and protect the king!

Silent, she crossed the yard to her small dun horse. One soldier linked his visibly trembling hands, offering Ela a step up. As Caitria followed her example, Ela rode toward the gate. Toward their enemies in Belaal.

 23 

T
he Infinite exists? He must! Nothing else could explain what had just happened. Biting her lip to stifle another dry sob, Caitria slid a glance toward her so-called companions as they rode through the hills. Thus far, not one of these armed horsemen had threatened her. But really, they'd no need of threats.

The prophet, or whatever Ela was, proved herself more frightful than their captors. Oh, those poor men—obliterated! Caitria choked down fresh tears, remembering the ashes. The screams . . .

Infinite . . . I— Caitria's courage evaporated before she could finish the tremulous thought. What a cowardly queen she'd proven herself to be! And so wrong.

A whimper escaped before she could prevent it. “Akabe!”

One of the soldiers riding alongside her turned, eyebrows raised. “Lady?”

“Nothing.” Caitria swallowed. Yet her heartbeat fluttered wildly like a snared bird's. She must be calm. She must conquer her cowardice, and she must not say Akabe's name. These men mustn't suspect they'd captured Siphra's queen, useless though she was. Oh, Akabe!

Tears rimmed Caitria's eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away. And heard Cyril's cruel voice taunting in her thoughts:
Weakling! No wonder we can't trust you!

Would her brother's scorn hurt forever? Yes. Even now, merely
remembering his voice, she wanted to throw rocks at pretend-Cyril targets. Gritting her teeth, Caitria mentally shoved her brother aside.

She
would
return to Akabe. Even if he ultimately set her aside as queen . . . Caitria's breath snagged. Set aside! Though she'd proposed the idea, it would wound her more deeply than any of Cyril's taunts or Father's cold-eyed silences. She clenched her hands into fists around the reins. Stop. Deal with being set aside as Akabe's wife when it happened. But first, she must escape these men and return to her husband. Then, when Akabe deemed it safe to return to Munra . . . Caitria flexed her aching fingers, resolute. She'd behave as an adult and speak to her lord-father.

Might
Father join some plot to overthrow and kill Akabe as she feared? Please, no! How could she endure such torment? And surely she'd be accused of joining any conspiracy—too many courtiers and members of the royal council mistrusted her.

Yet Akabe held her ultimate loyalty. He must survive. Just knowing her love was safe from his enemies would help her to endure being set aside, or worse.

She would speak to Father. And Cyril.

Now, however, she must face Ela, prophet of Parne, and the Infinite.

Lifting her chin, Caitria looked ahead at Ela, who rode with her head bowed. What
are
you? Why did you kill all those men? Caitria shuddered, remembering their screams and the ash-dusted bones.

To think she'd actually trusted Ela enough this morning to spill out all her thoughts and feelings. Fool! Caitria berated herself until the lead commander lifted one hand, halting them. He glanced from Ela to her, then nodded, somber as a schoolmaster. “Dismount for ten sayings of the Vlesi!”

The what? Caitria turned to her guard. “What is the Vlesi?”

Wary, he offered her a slight bow of his dark-curled head, then nodded toward a gray-bearded comrade, who'd begun to chant singsong, holding a knotted counting cord between his fingers. Caitria's guard explained, “In the language of our priests, the
Vlesi is our prayer for the safety of our king, Bel-Tygeon, prized of the heavens.”

Prized of the heavens? Disgusting! King Bel-Tygeon certainly had a high opinion of himself. Akabe ought to teach this prized king a few lessons. At least her guard seemed humble; too nice of a man to be stealing ladies. And respectful as he helped her to dismount from the horse and guided her to the edge of the road to stand with Ela.

The instant her guard stepped away, Caitria glared at Ela and muttered beneath her breath, “Why didn't you warn us all sooner? And
why
did you have to kill those men?”

Though her eyes were red-rimmed as if she'd been crying, Ela studied Caitria with enviable calm. “I didn't warn you, lady, because I am mortal. I didn't know
this
was the day of my vision until I walked into your chamber this morning. I cannot be shown everything at once—such a vast vision would crush me. Therefore, the Infinite shares only as much as I need to know to fulfill my work as His servant. But even after seeing the most recent visions, I was scarcely prepared for . . .” Her voice caught a little. “For what happened.”

“Even so, those men are dead. Charred skeletons!”

Ela stiffened, though fresh tears glittered in her eyes. “The deaths of those men saved hundreds of lives. Perhaps thousands!” She took a quick breath and whispered fiercely, “Do you really believe we could have escaped? No! I've prayed while we rode this morning. Bel-Tygeon's soldiers were oath-bound to find us! If those men had lived, you would have died by now—after you'd been assaulted. Their souls held no honor. None!”

Souls. Again. And by now . . . she would have died? All the hairs rose on Caitria's arms and scalp, making her shiver. Worse, that staff in Ela's hand took on a metallic gleam too alarming to ignore, its light drawing her gaze and her reluctant thoughts toward the Infinite.

Ela continued softly. “And I would be near-dead now, spared only to fulfill the king's edict. Because of your death, Siphra
would soon be at war with Belaal, thereby threatening countless lives, including our husbands'! Yet the souls of these men you've wished to save—their love of wickedness—would have never changed, however long they lived.”

Stern now, Ela said, “At times the Infinite allows miracles of destruction for the sake of many—as a surgeon will remove putrid flesh to save a body. This was one of those times. Tell me, lady, whose wisdom do you prefer? Yours or His?”

Caitria shivered. Doubts cut away at her indignation until nothing remained but fear. Trying to conquer her fright, Caitria accepted the hard, flat rim of bread offered by her courteous guard. “What will happen to us?”

Ela stared at her own food as if seeing past it, into the future. Toneless, she whispered, “I must confront the ‘prized of the heavens' Bel-Tygeon. And you—” Ela shot her a warning glance. “As for you, lady, whatever happens, please don't try to escape! If you do, you'll fail, and you'll mourn the consequences.”

“Such as . . . ?”

“I'm unsure. The penalty will be decided by another. I only know that you'll mourn.”

Caitria shuddered, swept by another bout of skin-prickling chills. But she scowled at Ela's warning look and took courage. What was Ela thinking? Escape must be their only goal!

Caitria broke off a chunk of the dry bread and chewed it. If the chance came, she'd take it. Alone. But was she alone?

Cautious, she formed a testing, questing, silent word.

Infinite?

Astride her horse with the branch tucked into its place along the saddle, Ela tried to conceal her fears. Caitria had disappeared within a sheltered grove to tend to her needs—and had been gone for much too long. Was she already attempting an escape? Their gray-bearded timekeeper had long since finished chanting his allotted number of Vlesi and was now pacing, conspicuously
agitated. The guards conferred among each other, arguing in ferocious whispers.

The leader—the commander who'd pleaded for the lives of his men—approached the thicket and called out, “Lady, if you delay us, you ensure our punishment when we arrive in Sulaanc!”

Caitria emerged from a sheltering clump of bushes, her pretty face mutinous. Particularly when the leader approached to personally escort her to the waiting horses. She sniffed. “Did you think I would run away?”

The commander inclined his head, perfectly courteous, but he gripped Caitria's upper arm and led her to her horse. “We are grateful you did not. As would be your husband. Forgive me, lady.” He shifted the edge of Caitria's cloak and unclasped her wedding armband.

As Ela gasped, Caitria clutched at her golden armband in a fury. “No!”

Holding her off neatly, the commander slipped the gold from Caitria's arm. Apologetic, formal, he kept her at arm's length, saying, “Lady, this will be returned to you.”

The commander looked up at Ela now, wary. “Prophet, you know I dare not lie to you and your Infinite. I, Rtial Vioc, give you my word that I am required to identify all prisoners, particularly the highborn.”

Despite the sick gnawing in her stomach, Ela maintained her composure. “I am not your prisoner, sir. The Infinite directed me to accompany you as His servant. You and your men would be unable to restrain me if it were against His will.”

“Nevertheless, Prophet, it is known you married a nobleman who owns destroyers. We are required to identify your rank.” Still courteous, the commander extended one big hand. “Your armband, please. It will be returned to you.”

Kien. His expression on their wedding day—his joy as he'd presented the elegant plume-patterned band . . . his tenderness in fastening it around her arm—made Ela long to argue. Yet the damage was done. Commander Vioc held Caitria's insignia.
Siphra's queen would soon be identified, and Ela could do nothing to help her.

Ela slid her right hand beneath her cloak and unfastened the concealed band. Obviously, the soldier who'd spied on her wedding ceremony had wasted no time in announcing her marriage among the authorities in Belaal. She forced herself to hand the exquisite armband to the commander. Vioc took the gold, inclined his head reverently, then turned, ordering his men, “To your horses. Proceed at double-pace!”

Caitria, trembling visibly, mounted her horse. She sent Ela a pleading look, as if begging her to do something—anything—to retrieve the wedding bands.

Grieving, Ela shut her eyes and prayed. Infinite? What now?

She wove her fingers through her horse's mane, trying to control herself as an earlier vision returned. The detestable soldier who'd spied on her wedding stared at her now, his hatred tangible. The vision lengthened, making Ela's heart thud. Unmet enemies stepped forward in her thoughts, their scarred faces pitiless, their lips uttering curses, wishing Parne's last prophet dead.

Ela opened her eyes against the vision, unable to scream. Yet the vision continued. And the dry bread roiled in her stomach as she witnessed torments she'd wish on no one.