The Sacred Band (41 page)

The boy looked sheepish. “Do you think they are … good?”

“Good?”

“That they are good things? Before, I knew they were, when they were Elya’s children …” He glanced behind him. He leaned toward his uncle and whispered. “I don’t like them as I did before. Mother made them … dragons. But they weren’t dragons before. They were something else. Something wonderful. I haven’t told Mother, but I don’t like them now. Don’t tell her. Please don’t. She is so proud of them.”

While the boy spoke, Aliver agreed with him completely. He was saying things that Aliver himself had thought but had forgotten. Hearing them brought it all back. Hadn’t he said the same before? Hadn’t he cautioned Corinn about squeezing the gentleness out of them? No, he realized he hadn’t. He would have to take the matter up with Corinn.

These thoughts were clear in his head only for as long as his nephew spoke. After that, they vanished. When Aliver went to respond he said, “Aaden, people will remember this day for ages.” That was true, wasn’t it? They would, and that was wonderful. “For ages, Aaden, and you were here to see it!”

“But—” the boy began.

“Dragons over Acacia!” As he swept his arm through the air, he caught sight of Rhrenna and several of her assistants, who had just mounted the main staircase. She stood looking around for a moment, until she saw him. She gave some direction to her assistants and then, to his delight, left them and started toward him.

She looked luminescent. Her dress was slim-fitting yellow velvet, cuffed high on the arms and cut low in the front. It had very few frills, and yet it managed to look elegantly formal. Her golden hair flowed in wavy locks below her shoulders. He had not seen her wear it down before. He’d had no idea it was so long and thick. Really, he was not sure he had ever truly studied her before.

“Here you are,” she said, grasping him by the arm as if he might dash away. “You’re not to be out of my sight a minute more. The queen’s orders.”

“Rhrenna, you look lovely. Has anyone told you that today?”

Color instantly flushed her cheeks, drawing two curves that traced from her cheeks to her jawline. That was fetching, too. And why had he not noticed how delicately drawn the lines of her lips were? They sparkled with some cosmetic, but, like her dress, this only highlighted what was already there.

“Not yet today,” she answered. “You’re the first. Thank you, Aliver.”

She told Aaden his mother would be arriving in just a moment. She asked him to give Aliver and her a minute alone in the meantime. The boy hardly noticed, transfixed by the sight of the dragons skimming above the masts of the largest ships.

A few steps down the terrace, Rhrenna said, “I have foul tidings, and I would like to say them quickly. It’s word from Calfa Ven, about Wren. She’s taken ill.”

Aliver pulled out of her grasp, but Rhrenna moved with him, as quick as a dance partner. He felt the press of her small breasts against his upper arm. He tried not to be distracted by them. “Is it serious?”

“I’m afraid so. The physician doesn’t know what’s wrong for sure, but it may be the return of a contagion she caught in her youth. Something tropical, you see, from when she was a brigand. That’s not unheard of. I’m afraid it puts the baby in jeopardy as well.”

“Who is caring for her? We should send physicians from here.”

“The queen has seen to it that Wren has the best care possible. Have no fear on that count. And don’t, for yourself, let it spoil this day. That’s why Corinn asked me to tell you quickly and assure you that if she can be saved, she will be. We, however, have to proceed with the day. It’s all tightly scheduled, as you know. Oh, there’s Corinn now.”

His sister strode before a buzzing swarm of attendants, senators, and guests. Surprisingly, Barad the Lesser walked at her elbow, his large head tilted to hear whatever the queen was saying.

Aliver parted his lips as they drew near, intending to ask Corinn about Wren, but she spoke first. “Doesn’t Rhrenna look charming, Aliver?”

Aliver could not help but turn and study the woman again. “Very much so.”

Rhrenna said something about being a stray dog beside a fox in Corinn’s company, but Aliver could see no reason for her modesty and said so. One of the Agnates behind Corinn piped up in agreement. “Just a different sort of canine, if you don’t mind me saying so. An arctic fox! That’s it. Though not so fluffy.”

“No need to compare us,” the queen said. “Rhrenna is a beauty in her own right. Aliver sees it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Aliver said, “I do.”

Corinn beckoned Aaden to her side. She touched Barad on the shoulder, dragging her fingers down his arm languidly, as if stroking a cat. “Barad just gave the most rousing speech in the lower town. Didn’t you?”

Barad smiled. “I am most pleased by the reception.”

“You’re an asset to us,” Aliver said, meaning it. Convinced of it. “Nobody understands the people as you do.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Barad closed his stone eyes for a moment.

Those eyes, Aliver thought. Those horrid eyes. He liked the man who saw through them, but he found it hard to meet that stone gaze. Expressionless. That was what they were. Lifeless, though they moved and saw. Aliver shifted his gaze from him as something else occurred to him. “Is Mena still not here?”

“No, it seems she’s been delayed.”

“How so?”

“I wish I knew,” Corinn said, reaching out to touch Aaden on the neck.

Rhrenna answered. “Something must have kept her. She is on the Mein Plateau in midwinter. The weather may be foul. I know it well, arctic fox that I am.”

“It’s sure to be foul,” Corinn said. A wrinkle of frustration creased her brow, but only for a moment. She touched her index finger to Aaden’s nose, then intoned, “The wind over the Mein is always keen. The snow likes to blow, and the frost will toss. If you like to freeze …”

“You’ll be terribly pleased,” Aaden finished, “because the wind over the Mein is always keen.”

Aliver acknowledged the childish verses with a nod. “That’s fine, but perhaps we should—”

“What?” Corinn asked. “Wait? Postpone the coronation? Don’t suggest that. The ceremony is set for today. Everything is arranged. Aliver, do understand that we’ve pushed as much as we can on the coronation date. We may be monarchs, but I still had to court the high priestess of the Vadayan like a silly lover.” She tutted and glanced back at the sycophantic choir gathered behind him. They jumped at the inclusion, affirming how correct she was, laughing as if she had told a joke private to them all. “Mena will come when she comes. I’ve all but given up on expecting her to follow my instructions.”

Aliver frowned. He did not want to let it go, but forming words of protest felt like trying to swim against a strong current. “But … what if something has—”

“Happened to her? This is Mena Akaran we’re talking about! Maeben on earth. Vanquisher of the foulthings. Tamer of dragons.” The choir loved that. “She’s fine. She’ll probably fly in and make a show of herself. She’ll be here in her sweet time.”

“Time,” Rhrenna said, “is not a luxury we have today. The nobles are already gathering in the Carmelia.”

“And so should we.”

For a moment, Aliver burned with annoyance. He could barely finish a thought without—

“Are you ready to become king?” Corinn asked. She stepped closer to him, her tone intimate in a way that made the onlookers dip their eyes.

Aliver’s annoyance fell away, replaced by the pleasant glow Corinn’s question created. Yes, he was ready to become king. Of course he was! It had been so long, so much longer than it should have taken. He should have been king years ago. Now, finally, he was just hours away from it.

“Yes,” he said, “I am ready.”

The journey north from Teh was uneventful, slow for most of that first day, but faster that night, as the salt-heavy breeze picked up in the early morning hours. The second day they rode the current in its swirl toward the west. That evening, the barges rowed out of it near enough to Acacia to see the glow of lights throughout the night.

Around them the sea bobbed with life. Crafts of all sorts hitched to the breeze or scooped the surface with oars or even dipped paddles to propel themselves. People called to one another, unusually festive. Some tossed foodstuffs across the water. Bottles and skins of wine. When they fell into the waves, young men dove for them, coming up dripping wet, their teeth shining white. It seemed that to everyone but Kelis and his party this passage was the beginning of a grand celebration.

If anyone noticed that immobile figures stood in among the close-packed swine, they did not voice it in Kelis’s hearing. The Santoth took up posts throughout the barges. Once positioned, they went as still as standing stones. The other passengers and crew avoided them, but they did so without being sensible of it. A boy, picking his way toward a Santoth on some errand, would choose a route that took him around the sorcerers. Once, two men cast their bedrolls in a clear spot at a Santoth’s feet. Instead of lying down, they stood shuffling, talking, ill at ease. They fell to arguing. Both of them moved away in a huff. One slept awkwardly wedged between two pink-skinned swine. The other sat forlorn near the area used as the latrine, staring into the night. As far as Kelis could tell, the man slept very little.

For his own part, Kelis did not sleep at all. Swollen sacks drooped from his eyes, and when he blinked, his eyelids hesitated before rising again. He had never been so tired in his life, but sleep was not a comfort he could visit. Since boyhood, when his ability to find visions of the future in his dreams had emerged, sleep had been a troublesome thing for him. Back then, he had dreamed the future. He had walked in other worlds and conversed with animals and commanded tongues that he had never learned during his waking hours. A gift to the boy but not to his father. His father beat sleep out of him. He wanted his son to be a warrior, like him, not a dreamer. A man of spear and sword, a lion and laryx slayer. Not a man of visions and words, no dealer in things he could not see with his own eyes.

His father had succeeded in molding him, but Kelis never forgot the visions he had seen and the way they made him feel. It was not power that he felt, but a sense of rightness. He thought of it sometimes when he watched fish in water. That was where they belonged. They breathed what men could not and thrived. He had once, briefly, been a fish in the ocean of dreams.

For the first time in many years, Kelis wished he could regain the gift he had abandoned as a child. Would that he could sleep now and see what the future held for them. He could not. When he closed his eyes, he just saw more clearly the scene around him. Some gifts, once neglected, can never be reclaimed.

The next morning—that of the actual coronation—found them one of hundreds in a logjam of vessels that surrounded the isle of Acacia. The crafts bumped and jostled one another. Whether a barge or a sloop or a fishing rig or a rowboat, tall or short, long or narrow or wide—none could move any farther. Those that had small enough skiffs inched them through what gaps they could find, but as the numbers of ships joining the raft grew, such pathways were squeezed out.

“Look at this mess.” Benabe stood atop a crate and squinted against the glare of the sun, which had just cut its way through clouds that had left them sodden with rain during the night. “We’ll never get anywhere near the island!”

Kelis climbed up onto the crates. Acacia was there to be seen. He could make out the higher reaches of the palace, the spires adorned with long, silken ribbons that wafted on the breeze. To the south, the promontory of Haven’s Rock was also visible. He knew the contours of the place, but it looked different. Squinting, he realized it was as crowded with tents and people as were the seas below it. Shen must have noticed them, too.

“Will it sink?” Shen asked. “Because of all those people, I mean. I saw a raft sink once when too many climbed on.”

“No.” Benabe mussed her curly hair. “An island can’t sink. Not unless the pillar that holds it in place breaks, and the Giver made those to last forever.”

Shen considered this with one eye narrowed. Instead of responding, she asked, “What are those?”

The adults studied the view again. “What?” Naamen asked.

“I saw something flying. A giant bird.”

“One of the queen’s dragons, no doubt.” Benabe pursed her lips sourly. “Some boys last night were talking of them. They bear riders, they say. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I saw one, just for a moment, and then it dipped out of sight. I want to see it closer.”

“One day,” Benabe said, “if we ever get through this mess.”

Naamen rubbed the elbow of his stunted arm. “They have to clear a way for us. We’re with the pigs. They’ll want pigs. There must be a way through. A lane kept clear for—”

“For pigs?” Benabe huffed. “You’re seeing what I am, yes? Look at that. We’re stuck! And there’s the island right there!”

“But the pigs—”

Benabe cut him off. “People who want pigs will come here, not the other way around! No, we’re stuck.”

She had it right, Kelis knew. He had just come from unsuccessfully trying to speak with the captain. He overheard him making arrangements with an empty whaling ship stuck just as fast nearby. They had ovens on it that could be used to roast pork, a smokehouse to cure bacon, large decks for slaughter, storage in the hull for the offal. The captain had decided he need go no nearer to sell his product. Indeed, he thought he could double his money.

“We could leave the barge,” Naamen proposed, “and move from boat to boat. Others are doing so.”

Kelis had noticed that, too. Men and women and children moved from vessel to vessel, clambering up the sides, sometimes with the help of ropes thrown down to them. Some swam between the ships, flopping wet onto the decks. A few captains balked at strangers climbing across their vessels, but most were oddly cheerful about it. With the shouted greetings and bursts of laughter and occasional impromptu songs, the festive atmosphere grew. Kelis wished he could feel some of that himself, but he had only to catch sight of a Santoth to feel his insides knot with worry. He could not imagine them passing from boat to jovial boat. Nor was that what they intended.