Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“No one has a clearer claim than Princess Tamír!” Kyman objected. “She is the daughter of the rightful heir, and of the unbroken line of Ghërilain. I say the sooner we do away with Korin and this upstart girl the better. Get rid of them both before they breed!”

“Would you have me become my uncle so quickly?” Tamír sighed.

Kyman bowed, but he was glowering through his beard. “I meant no disrespect, but you must understand that the existence of such a child would be a threat.”

Iya nodded darkly. “It’s true, Tamír.”

Looking into Iya’s pale, hard eyes, Tamír felt a sudden chill, as if Brother had come up behind her. The demon was nowhere to be seen, but the uneasy sensation lingered. “I am the daughter of Ariani, of Ghërilain’s line, and Illior’s Chosen. I do not fear any distant cousins or their unborn children.”

“You’re all jumping at shadows anyway,” said Ki. “Korin has never planted a child that lived.”

“I pity this Nalia more than I fear her,” Tamír said softly. No one else there, not even Ki, had seen what she had, standing beside Korin in that birthing chamber: Aliya screaming in agony on a blood-soaked bed, dying to birth a dead thing with no arms or face. “If Illior means for me to be queen, then I shall be queen; but I’ve told you already, I won’t rule with a kinswoman’s blood on my hands.”

For once Tamír was glad of her long skirts. They hid the way her knees shook as she stood. “What I declared before the walls of Ero I declare to you all now; anyone who murders kin of mine, any kin, is my enemy!”

Everyone bowed to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Tamír saw Arkoniel and the other wizards doing the same with their hands to their hearts. Iya alone remained unmoved, regarding Tamír with that unblinking gaze that had frightened her as a child. A twinge of that same fear angered her now. It reminded her too much of how she’d felt around Niryn.

Tamír retreated to her chamber after the audience, clearly needing to be alone. Ki and Tharin followed but found the door closed against them.

Tharin drew Ki away from the guards at the door and shook his head. “She’s done well, so far, with that honest kind heart of hers, but I saw doubting faces in the crowd tonight. These men are risking everything to follow her, and now we know that Korin already has more than twice her army at his command. She can’t afford to let kindness turn to weakness in front of them. Can you talk to her?”

“I’ll try. But she’s right to say she won’t act like her uncle.” Ki paused, studying the older man’s face closely. “You think she’s right in that, don’t you?”

Tharin smiled and patted his shoulder. He didn’t have to reach down to do that anymore; Ki was as tall as he was. “Of course. But Mistress Iya is probably right about Niryn being even cleverer than we gave him credit for. He didn’t just pull this girl out of the air.”

“I can’t help that. What do I do for Tamír?” Ki asked, looking unhappily back at the closed door.

Tharin squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve always taken good care of her, as a squire and a friend, and I know you’ll stand by her now. Just see that she doesn’t worry herself sick over this business.”

“Easier said than done,” Ki grumbled. “She’s stubborn.”

“Just like her father.” ’

Ki searched Tharin’s face. “Did Duke Rhius have people killed for this, Tharin? Or her mother?”

“Ariani never hurt a soul in her life, except herself and that child. Rhius did what was called for when he had to, but never for his own ends. He served Skala and did whatever needed to be done. We put down a few rebellious lords in our day, and some were got out of the way quietly. But it was for Skala. Help her accept that, won’t you?”

“I’ll try, but you know I’ll stand with her, whatever she decides.”

“Just as you should, and so will I. Go on now. You’re the only one she wants to see now, I’m sure.”

When Ki slipped in, Tamír was sitting by the fire, chin resting on her hand. It was a familiar pose, as was the look of wistfulness he caught before she looked up. Ki had a sudden urge to stride over and hug her. Before he could decide whether to act on the impulse or not, Tamír turned and gave him a wry look.

“I heard you two whispering out there. What was that about?”

“He said to not let you fret too much.”

“I see. How are you supposed to do that?”

He grinned. “Get you drunk enough to sleep well for a change? I hear you tossing and muttering all night.”

Tamír raised an eyebrow. “That makes two of us, then.”

Ki shrugged. “You talk to Brother in your sleep sometimes. He’s still around, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“But why? What’s keeping him around?”

Tamír just shook her head, but Ki sensed there was much she wasn’t telling him. “He’s not done with me, I guess,” she replied at last. “Don’t worry, I can deal with him.”

Ki knew there was more she wasn’t saying, but he let it go. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that about Korin. It must have hurt.”

She shrugged. “Put yourself in his place. What would you think? If I could only talk to him!”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

Tamír went to bed fretting about Korin, but it was Brother who was waiting in her dreams again, gaunt and covered in blood, his black eyes filled with hatred. He had something in his hands, something terrible he wanted her to see.

“They did this to us, Sister!” he hissed. His hands were bloody, and at first she couldn’t understand why. All he held was one of their mother’s cloth rag dolls—a boy, with no mouth, just like all the others she’d made during Tamír’s childhood. As he thrust it at her, however, she noticed that there was blood on it, too. It was dripping from an open wound in Brother’s chest. It was raw, just as it had been in the vision she’d had of him that day at Lhel’s tree, during their second binding.

A sudden tearing pain in her own chest stole the breath from her lungs.

“They did this!” Brother snarled. “You! You let them live! My blood is on your hands now!”

Looking down, Tamír saw that he was right. Her own hands were sticky with blood and she was holding Lhel’s silver blade in one hand and her sharp silver needle in the other.

She woke panting and covered in cold sweat. The night lamp had gone out. The room was in utter darkness but she heard a noise and threw herself back against the bolsters, reaching wildly for the sword belt on her bedpost. Her hands still felt wet, sticky. Blood?

“Highness!” Somewhere in the darkness, Baldus sounded terrified.

And there was Brother, a glowing, snarling presence at the end of her bed. He wasn’t naked or bloody, but he still held that mouthless doll in one hand, while with the other he pointed at her, silently accusing.

Her fingers brushed the strap of her scabbard, and she cried out again as strong, warm hands closed over hers. “No! Leave me alone!”

“It’s me, Tob!”

She jerked in Ki’s grasp but he held on, and that was somehow comforting, as comforting as hearing him use her old name. She knew without looking that Brother was gone.

The door flew open behind them and a guard was silhouetted in the lamplight from the corridor, sword drawn. Baldus let out a startled yelp as the door struck him.

“Highness, what’s wrong?” Captain Grannia demanded.

Ki dropped Tamír’s hand and stepped back from the bed, dressed in nothing but a long shirt. “Just a nightmare. Her Highness is safe.”

Tamír could only imagine what this must look like. “A nightmare, as he said,” she snapped. “Go back to your post and close the door.”