Greg Keyes - The Born Queen

She reached out, felt the life beating in Austra, knew the familiar smell of her, that little lock of hair that was always out of place, always had been since they were little girls. The Briar King reached for her, and Anne, hot tears in her eyes, started to squeeze Austra’s heart.

Austra stumbled to her knees. She looked toward Anne, her eyes mortal now, wide as saucers, just another Mannish beast that didn’t understand why it had to die.

Yes, the Kept sighed. Finally.

Somehow Austra stood back up, even as the strength drained out of her, as Anne took her in. The sky dimmed as she diminished and then went away.

“Our secret place,” she heard Austra whisper in the darkness.

But it wasn’t complete darkness, and Anne saw they were again in the chamber beneath the horz. But now the sarcophagus was open, and in it Austra sat, back propped against one stone wall. She looked as she had when she was nine, a pale waif.

“I knew better,” the little girl said. “I knew better than to hope for anything for myself.”

“Stop whining,” Anne said. “You had a better life than you could have ever hoped for, born as you were.”

“You’re right,” Austra said. “And I wouldn’t trade it. You were always going to be the end of me, Anne. I knew that. You’ll bury me here, and the circle goes on.”

“You didn’t know,” Anne accused.

“Of course I did. I didn’t know how it would happen. It nearly happened a dozen times when we were little.”

“That’s nonsense. I loved you.”

“It’s how you love,” she replied. “It’s how you love, Anne.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You probably don’t,” Austra replied, closing her eyes. “I love you anyway.”

“He’ll kill us both, Austra, if he gets you.”

She nodded tiredly. “I know you won’t, but please let Cazio go. Can you do that for me?”

Anne started to agree, but why should she? She didn’t have to do anything Austra said or for that matter listen to anything she said. She was the only one who could make her feel like this, feel like… Feel like what? she suddenly wondered.

But she knew that, too. When her mother—or Fastia, or anyone—disapproved of something she did, she knew she might be in trouble, but deep down she never actually felt bad.

When Austra disapproved of her, she knew in her heart she was wrong.

She didn’t need that, did she?

She felt the Briar King, his power swelling, reaching for what remained of Austra, tearing through the illusory tomb.

Time was up. She had a heartbeat left to act, but it was all she needed.

No.

With a soft, chagrined laugh, Anne released her hold. The Briar King took Austra and loomed up to the sky. The Kept screamed once as he was ripped from her and hurled into the oblivion he craved, and then she felt as if all her veins had been opened, and the scent of black roses filled her lungs until there was nothing else.

THE DAY the last Skasloi stronghold fell began the age known as Eberon Vhasris Slanon in the language of the elder Cavarum. When the language itself was forgotten by all but a few cloistered scholars in the Church, the name for the age persisted in the tongues of men as Everon, just as Slanon remained attached to the place of victory in the Lierish form Eslen.

Everon was an age of human beings in all their glories and failings. The children of the Rebellion multiplied and covered the land with their kingdoms.

In the year 2223 E, the age of Everon came to an abrupt and terrible end.

It may be that I am the last to remember it.

I was dying when the Briar King came. When the battle was done, he lifted me in his hand of living vines and opened those eyes of his upon me.

I knew my friend, and he knew me, and I wept at what he had given up, but more at what he had gained. He took me away, and in his long, slow way he mended me. He meant well.

Of all that died and lived that night, only I was left with the sight, and it was a faint reflection of what I once had. Like Aspar’s Grim, my one eye can look beyond the horizons of days and leagues—but never again at my command.

The hour of treasured shadows had just struck in Vitellio, and in the little town of Avella, that meant everyone from the carpenter to a shopkeeper—or anyone who had sense—had found shade and a light snack. This was true even now, when the days were shorter and the shadows longer. Fewer duels were fought over the prime spots, and thus it was that this deep in the month Utavamenza, Alo was able to rest in the shade of the fountain of the Lady Fiussa without much fear of molestation, even given the current climate in town and the well-known fact that his skills with the sword were far from perfect.

He enjoyed the wine as best he could, knowing it would be his last for a while. He could wish for some bread to go with it, but he might as well ask Fiussa to weep sapphires.

He dozed on and off in the weakening autumn sun. A horse clopped across the stones of the piato; a girl sang from her window. He dreamed of better days.

He opened his eyes and found Lady Fiussa gazing down at him. She was young, fair, very pretty. Only the lady ought to be naked, and this woman was dressed, oddly enough, as a man, in breeches and doublet, complete with riding hat.

“Lady,” he said, scrambling to his feet.

“Hush,” the girl said. “Are you the one they call Alo?”

“I am,” he said. “I am very much he.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I have something for you from an old friend.”

She had a charming accent, Alo noticed.

“What is it?”

She held something out for him. It was a key.

“Zmierda,” he swore. “That’s Cazio’s key. The key to his triva. Where did you get that?”

“It’s a long story,” she said. “He wanted you to have it.”

“Is he well?”

She looked away, and Alo felt his heart sink.

“It was kind of him,” Alo said, “but it won’t do me any good. Some of Chiuno’s thugs are using it. They broke in a while back.”

“Chiuno?”

“The new lord of Avella,” he said. He lowered his voice. “A bandit, really. But with the Church in civil war and the Medicii all hurrying to take sides, little towns like ours get forgotten. I’m leaving myself this afternoon.”

“I see,” she said.

“Lady, who are you?”

“My name is Austra,” she replied.

“Can’t you tell me anything else about my friend?” he asked.

But she smiled a faint, enigmatic smile and walked away, mounted a scruffy-looking horse, and rode out of town on the Vio aza Vero.

Alo watched her go, then finished his wine and lay back, turning the key in his fingers.

He woke again, this time to a boot digging into his ribs. He opened his eyes carefully and found a rough-looking bearded man standing over him dressed much as the woman had been except that he had a rapier slung by his side. The woman, he saw, stood a few paces away.

“This is my spot, friend,” the fellow said.

And then, behind the beard, Alo recognized him.

“Cazio!”

“Hush,” his old friend said. “Let’s go for a walk in the country, and you can tell me a bit more about this Chiuno fellow. He sounds unpleasant.”

He offered his hand, and Alo took it, smiling.

I saw the Sefry flee for the deep and hidden places in the world. Most had not been involved with Fend, the Aitivar, Mother Uun, and her kin. Most never hoped that Qexqaneh would bring back

their days of glory. But once their secret was out, the lands of men were no longer for them, and they knew it.