The Seven-Petaled Shield (42 page)

“You may be many things, my brother,” Cinath said, “but I have never known you to be unobservant. I also find it difficult to believe that anyone who did have such sorcery at their command would permit themselves be held captive.”

“Not to mention being forced to wear such hideously unfashionable garments,” Chion giggled.

“Unless their goal was to lull our suspicions, to plant treachery in the very heart of our great city,” Mortan said, but with less vehemence than before.

Cinath scowled, looking impatient. Mortan hesitated, but only for a moment. Tsorreh caught the look that passed between him and the Qr priests.

“Tell us,” Mortan said, shifting topic, “about this new prophet who has arisen in Meklavar.”

“Prophet?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that not exactly what we would expect her to say?” Thessar grumbled.

One of the nobles sitting beside Cinath spoke up. “Meklavar is full of prophets,” he said loudly. “The land there is too poor to grow anything else.”

“Prophets and goats,” Chion quipped from his chair.

The assembly laughed, some of them with nervous
glances at the throne. Even Cinath smiled. Heat rose to Tsorreh’s cheeks.

As the laugher died down, Thessar shifted forward in his seat. “This prophet is no more a threat than any other, full of bluster and portents. Of course, he predicts the end of Gelonian rule. It’s what the people expect of him.”

“Why should we permit even a single word of sedition?” Cinath sat back, resting his elbows on the arm rests and steepling the fingers of his joined hands. He did not look at all pleased with his eldest son.

“Because it is not worth the trouble to suppress it,” Thessar answered, “and because it keeps the people divided and therefore, malleable. Father, there is nothing special about this prophet…what is he called? Iskarnon? A dozen similar blowhards go about the land, saying very much the same thing. The people argue ceaselessly over who is their true savior. They have no focus, no discipline. They squander their energies on useless bickering, struggling for influence among themselves. Disorderly and chaotic, they break upon us like misty waves against a promontory of adamant.”

“By your standard, O Most Sagacious Prince, we should encourage a thousand more such prophets!” one of the courtiers said, and there was more laughter.

“Majesty,” the senior Qr priest took a gliding step, his feet hidden beneath the hem of his robe, “is it wise to discuss policy before such a witness?” He indicated Tsorreh with a dip of his head.

“Come now!” Thessar gave a nervous laugh. “You cannot seriously think we are saying something she does not already know! And even if she did not, what use could she make of the tendency of Meklavar to spawn prophets? Not even the most inspired general could weave them into an effective fighting force, let alone one ignorant, inexperienced woman. Just look at her! She could no more lift a spear against us than could my song-finch!”

Of course, Tsorreh thought, Thessar could not admit she posed a threat. To do so would be to admit his own weakness. He had already been attacked by an enemy he
believed to be conquered. That lapse of judgment had almost cost him his life. For his honor to be restored, Meklavar must be seen to have once been mighty and now utterly powerless.

“Father, I told you this interview was useless,” Thessar said to Cinath. “There is no one left in Meklavar capable of opposing us. They will grumble, yes, and bleat out prophesy on every street corner. If a nest of rebels gets out of line, more than that old governor can handle, a few decently trained soldiers will soon put them down.”

The courtier beside Thessar had been listening to the discussion with a grave expression, occasionally running one hand over his chin and mouth as if to prevent himself from speaking. Tsorreh remembered him from her arrival at Aidon, his features so like Cinath’s. “Your Majesty, if I may speak?”

“Do so, Veramar. I welcome your counsel.”

“Everything that has been said is true. One woman hardly poses a threat in herself. Meklavar has been overcome, her leaders dead or scattered. The governor you have set in place bows to your will. Yet the influence of such an ancient people ought not to be lightly dismissed, nor their subtle power. We know—” and here, the lord’s gaze flickered for just an instant toward the Qr priest.

Tsorreh felt a shiver, a tracery of ice, along the back of her neck. Mortan was a harrier, trained to lead the attack, to poke and prod and intimidate, but this man’s careful approach terrified her far more.

“We know,” Veramar continued, “that there are other forces at work in the world beyond the movement of armies, whether they are great or small or merely ragtag bands. Before we dismiss this woman, we must be very sure that she is not a nexus point for our enemies.”

“You mean, her people might rally around her?” Mortan asked. “I concede your point, Lord Veramar. Even if she herself does not lead them, she is still the only surviving member of their royal house. Her very presence here might inspire them.”

The discussion wound on, with various courtiers advancing their opinions. Cinath listened, his eyes narrowing from time to time. Otherwise, he gave no sign of his thoughts. One of the Qr priests glided to his side and whispered to him. Cinath listened for a moment, then shook his head and waved the man away.

“Should we not simply eliminate that threat?” one of the other courtiers asked.

“What, and make her into a martyr?” Thessar snapped. “That’s just the thing that
would
unite these people!”

“Cinath,” Jaxar cut in, with far more assertiveness than before, “this haggling is beneath us. Petty cruelty, such as taunting a helpless prisoner with possible execution, only diminishes our moral authority. We have agreed that Lady Tsorreh represents no threat to Gelon. She is neither a military leader nor a political one, but a quiet scholar who has rarely had contact with anyone beyond my household. Or have we drunk so deeply of the well of unreason that you think she could subvert even
me
? Do I look like a dangerous insurrectionist? Have I ever acted or spoken against your sovereignty?”

“I have no doubts of your loyalty, my brother, and I trust your judgment better than that of some,” Cinath replied. “I see no point in continuing these proceedings. This woman has made her submission, she clearly knows nothing, and we have more important matters to attend to. I’m glad she is of use to you, brother, for she’s of no value to me.”

When Jaxar drew in his breath to protest, Cinath laughed. “Don’t be afraid, Jaxar. I’m not proposing to execute her. It’s not worth the risk of martyrdom. No, she’s safe with you for the moment, provided you prevent her from becoming a focus for conspiracy in the future.”

“That I will gladly undertake to do,” Jaxar replied with obvious sincerity. He inclined his head. “Once more, your wisdom and right judgment have prevailed.”

“Hmmm.” Cinath frowned slightly. He looked about the room, sighing, and paused at Lord Veramar. “All right, you clearly have something more to say. What is it?”

“Your Glorious Majesty, we’ve already established that not all power is military. There is political influence as well as those strange talents we do not yet understand.”

“You mean this business of Meklavaran sorcery, I suppose.” From his tone, Cinath meant the comment disparagingly, but something in his eyes, a fleeting shadow, told Tsorreh that suspicion had once more crept into his mind.

Veramar’s momentary pause imbued the moment with heightened expectancy. “As always, Your Majesty is correct.”

The tallest of the Qr priests, the one whose hood hid his face, glided forward. Tsorreh had the impression he did not walk as other men did, swaying from one foot to the next, but in a nonhuman fashion. A snake’s writhing coils came to mind, or the articulated movement of an insect.

“Most Sagacious and Radiant Monarch.” The priest’s voice issued from within his hood with an odd echo. “If we are to arm ourselves against infernal enemies, or even prove their existence, we must understand their nature. Not even the most learned of your scholars would deny this, for why else would they seek out texts in ancient languages, if not to glean the knowledge of things the world has forgotten?”

With these words, the shadowed head swung toward Jaxar, who gave no visible reaction. What could Jaxar say? It was impossible for him to argue that research and scholarship were without value.

“This woman may have no sorcerous talent herself,” the priest went on, “or it may lie dormant, beneath the level of her own awareness, hidden from even the most strenuous interrogation. Surely, if there is even a remote chance that it exists, we dare not allow its presence so close to the throne.” Again, the cowled head swiveled in Jaxar’s direction.

“So it has been argued,” Cinath said. “Yet, short of doing away with her completely, I do not see how such a hypothetical threat can be dealt with.”

“We—my brother priests and I—under the guidance of
Qr the Inexorable, have achieved some small skill in such matters,” the priest said. “If it pleases the Glory of the Golden Land, may-his-wisdom-never-fail, to entrust us with this investigation, we propose to study this woman, using our own methods. Perhaps she is truly as innocent as she claims,” he said, his tone clearly indicating he believed otherwise. “Or she may unconsciously harbor a threat, hidden as deep as the marrow of her bones. Whatever it is, we will ferret it out. We will do this for the protection of Gelon and the glorification of your reign, may-it-endure-to-the-end-of-time.”

Tsorreh listened to the priest’s words in growing panic. No, not panic, outright terror. Her brief contact with the Qr priest in Gatacinne still horrified her. She wanted to scream that it was they, not she, who possessed unnatural powers.

All too well, she remembered the interrogation at Gatacinne, the insidious pressure from the Qr priest’s mind tightening around her own, sharp and insistent.

“You will tell us,
” he had hissed,
“yes, you will
…
”

In supplication, Tsorreh brought her hands in front of her chest, palms pressed tightly together. She reached within herself, to the place where the petal gem rested.

O Most Holy, be with me now! Strengthen me, throw your protection over me, that this evil might pass!

No pulse of light, of power or clarity, answered her. The stone had gone inert, quenched. It could not shield her without revealing itself. She was alone in the grip of her enemies.

The moment moved on. Cinath was speaking again. Tsorreh was so overcome with fear, she could not understand his words. She forced herself to concentrate. She had been speaking Gelone almost exclusively for over a year, even dreaming in it. Now the intensity of the moment left her so dazed, so numb that she could not understand even a few simple phrases.

With an effort, Tsorreh understood Cinath to say that he
would consider the priest’s petition. Through her suddenly blurred vision, she sought Jaxar. He had leaned over to speak to Cinath in such a way that they could not be easily overheard. For the moment, she had a tiny reprieve. She forced herself to breathe as Cinath’s gaze went unfocused, his attention on his brother’s words. He nodded, then stood with a brisk, powerful motion. “Out, all of you. Take the prisoner—the witness—back to the detention room. I will decide what to do with her later.”

The nobles scrambled to their feet when the Ar-King rose. With only a few murmurs, more of surprise than of dissent, they hurried to disperse. Only Jaxar kept his seat. He gestured for Danar to leave with the others.

The Elite Guards closed in around Tsorreh. The senior officer motioned for her to follow him, but with a shade more courtesy than he had shown her before. In the detention room, she found herself alone except for the guard stationed inside the door. What he expected her to do, she had no idea. She couldn’t read anything in his expression beyond a tinge of bored superiority. Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

As her heartbeat calmed, it came to her that this respite was a gift. It would be easy to work herself into a frenzy of worry, of feeling defenseless and trapped, convincing herself there was nothing she could do, no avenue of escape. For the moment, she was safe, she was whole, and she was mistress of her wits.

She realized, as the moments ticked by, that woven through the feelings of helplessness, of grief and despair, she felt angry. It seemed that all her life had been leading up to this moment, all the years of being told what to do, what to be. A dutiful daughter, a subordinate second wife, a mother whose only thought must be of her son, a captive, a helper, and now an accused prisoner.

Prisoner, yes! That was it. Always serving someone or something greater than herself! She had not been entrusted with the most precious responsibility of her people, she had
become
enslaved
to it. No one had asked her if she wanted to carry the
te-alvar
, any more than she’d had a say in when or whom to marry, when and whether to bear a son, or in the fate of her city. On the fateful day she had stepped into the Treasury and taken the
te-Ketav
into her hands, she had also started down a path quite different from the one planned for her. And it had brought her here.

To what purpose?
she stormed inwardly. To wait while men who cared nothing about her decided her fate? To find herself trapped between one doom and another? To discover that just at the moment when she most needed the magical gem to protect her against the insidious priests of Qr, it had deserted her?

Or had it?

The thought took her aback. She had assumed that the worst possible thing had already happened: the heart of the Shield taken out of Meklavar, the Shield itself scattered as in her vision on Victory Hill, herself as its guardian encircled by enemies that grew ever more strong, more resourceful.

But what if that were not, indeed, the worst fate?

Maybe she was
meant
to be here in the stronghold of her enemies, in Aidon, in Cinath’s Palace, in the very center of Gelonian power. Could it be possible that the
te-alvar
had not abandoned her but had
guided
her here?