The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 29

For an hour after Ven’Dar left I sat in my chair and indulged in self-pity, an exercise at which I began to think I could become quite expert. Why had they bothered to bring me out of my living death, if only to witness horror? Why open my ears, if they were only to hear my husband in mad rage and my child in agony, and no explanation for any of it? What had gone wrong at Calle Rein just when I believed Karon had put D’Natheil in his place?

But an hour was enough. Self-pity would change nothing, and I had never been able to abide unanswerable questions. I forced myself to get up and walk about the room, hoping the activity might stimulate some semblance of purposeful thought. Carafes of wine and water stood on a sideboard, alongside one of the marvelous Dar’Nethi ceramic teapots that stayed constantly warm. I poured myself tea and then abandoned the cup on the oaken table when I wandered over to one of the windows draped in gauzy fabric the color of jade.

The window looked out over the grand commard and parkland that fronted the palace. No sign yet of the rising moon, so Ven’Dar’s mystery would have to wait. The evening was quiet in the city, only a few people hurrying past. Where were Bareil and Roxanne? Surely the Dulcé would bring the princess to safety when it became clear I had left the Precept House by another way.

Absentmindedly I moved to the bookshelves and brushed my fingers over one of the leather-bound books, noting to my surprise that its title was in Leiran. The next also, and the next - and all of them familiar. On the shelf was a book of Isker poetry, and beside it a book of Vallorean folktales - very like one I had cherished long ago. I looked about the room again, wondering at it. Everything was just on the edge of familiarity. Nothing mysterious, nothing of magical design save the teapot. A burnished brass lectern stood by the windowed wall, positioned to take advantage of the light. A suspicious guess as to what I might find there was proved right when I found a silver flute lying on a sheet of music that had been transcribed in a fine hand.

“It is a lovely room, is it not?”

A tall young woman in a gown of deep green stood just inside the door, holding a tray of fruit, cheese, and fragrant pastries. “You must pardon my entrance without knocking, my lady, but I must keep my hands where they are. I can be rather clumsy, if I’m not careful.” She set the tray on a low table between two comfortable chairs, and something about the way she slid her hand along the edge of the table as she placed the tray, and the way she turned exactly half a revolution to face me told me she was blind. My guess was confirmed when her blue eyes failed to settle on my own.

“You’re Aimee… ”

“Indeed, my lady.” She extended her hands, palms up, and dipped her knee.

“… Gar’Dena’s daughter, to whom he promised to bring a rinoceroos.”

The girl had a smile that could melt snow. She’d been no more than thirteen when I’d met her at the giant Gem Worker’s house - his beloved youngest daughter, now a graceful young woman with hair like curls of sunlight held off her face by an amber comb. Pleasure and animation brought a flush to her fair cheeks, her brows rising and eyes sparkling.

“He did it, you know. For my fifteenth birthday, just after the Prince’s return from Zhev’Na. Three of the great beasts right in our house. We had to rebuild half the main floor and hire thirty Gardeners and Tree Delvers to replant our gardens. But no girl ever had such a birthday.”

“I’m so sorry about your father, Aimee. He was a wonderful friend and a good man.”

Her smile softened, but did not dim. “ ‘A glorious man of great appetites,’ as he would say. My sisters and I were blessed to have him.” She motioned to the food she’d brought. “It is such a dear pleasure to have you well again, my lady. Come, you must be hungry.”

The border between hunger and nausea can be very fine. I invited Aimee to sit and share the fruit and pastries that looked and smelled so delicious. But one small bite of cheese came near gagging me. “Tell me, Aimee, how did you come to be charged with my care?”

She held a ripe strawberry she had been on the verge of popping into her mouth. “The Prince summoned me to the palace early this morning and said he had a great secret and needed my help. He asked me if I would please to come here and keep you company, assisting you in any way possible. Only a few people know of these rooms: myself and Bareil; Papa did, of course, and… the Preceptor Ven’Dar… ” She frowned as she mentioned Ven’Dar. “My lady, do you know - ” She stopped short and ate her strawberry.

“How is it that you were privy to such a great secret as these rooms?” So many uncertainties. Perhaps she was privy to other secrets.

Her flush deepened as she blotted her lips with a square of linen. “Because I made them.”

Avonar was truly full of wonders.

“Two years ago the Prince asked if I would help him prepare a suite of rooms for you - where you might feel at home were you to come here to live. He knew that Avonar, for all its beauties, would be strange and unfamiliar - the palace, especially.”

“But how did you know all this? The paintings, the flute… ” I was willing to accept that a blind Dar’Nethi sorceress could conjure books and furniture, but everything was so perfectly right.

“The Prince would describe to me each piece he wanted. My talent is in Imaging, creating an exact depiction of objects in my thoughts. I would then have the piece made to match the image I had created, using my skill and my hands to judge. When I thought it was ready, the Prince would tell me if I’d got it right or not. It was a great pleasure to him. He took to coming here himself to sit and work almost every day. I think it made him feel close to you.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth and took a moment to shut off the welling tears. No time for them. No use in them. “You did well, Aimee. Very well indeed.”

“Thank you, my lady. Tell me… was there not to be another lady with you this night?”

“Yes, but we became separated on our way. Bareil should be bringing her very soon.”

“Then she’s quite safe, I’m sure. Bareil is very wise.”

“Yes.” I picked at the nut-filled pastry on my plate. “So, Aimee, the Prince knows I’m here?”

“Oh, yes. It’s how I knew when to come just now, for he sent me a message that you had arrived. He says no one else is to have the least inkling that the grievous reports of your death are false.”

“But he said nothing of when he might come here.”

“No, my lady. I’m sorry. Nothing.”

Karon, what are you doing? Why won’t you tell me?

As Aimee and I set the plates and bowls back on her tray, a soft knock on the outer door announced Bareil. “My lady, what a relief to find you here safely. And Mistress Aimee, a pleasure, as always.”

“I’m sorry we were separated,” I said. “I was brought here by the gentleman…” Gods, I hated all these secrets.

“I understand, madam.” He closed the door carefully.

“Bareil, where’s the princess?”

“That’s what I’ve come to tell you, my lady. Unfortunately Ce’Aret’s aide, F’Lyr, saw me in the passage outside the Masters’ Waiting Chamber, the room where I had hidden the young lady, and insisted I speak with the Preceptor Ce’Aret. No insistence that I was on the Prince’s business would satisfy him, so I had to go, lest Ce’Aret herself come up to fetch me and discover the princess. I told the young lady to remain quietly hidden until I could return for her. Though I apologized for abandoning her, she did not seem frightened. She seems… uh… ”

“… a very resilient young lady,” I said.

“Indeed. Before I could return to her, the Prince arrived for the Preceptorate meeting. He asked me only if you were safe, and I said you were, but I didn’t tell him that the princess was not yet here” - he swallowed hard and glanced up - “and I do most sincerely fear his wrath if he discovers it. Even worse, when I slipped up the stairs to fetch her, Radele was entering the Masters’ Waiting Chamber! The girl must have hidden herself or gone elsewhere, for I heard no evidence of discovery. The Prince was waiting for me, so I could not stay long. Now I am commanded to return to him immediately, so I’ve no assurance as to when I’ll be free to retrieve the young lady.”

“I can find the way there and back,” I said, standing up. “I’ll go for her myself.” Roxanne was sensible. She would not let herself get caught. She would remember how to keep herself empty… surely she would remember.

“You must not leave the palace, my lady,” said Aimee, frowning. “The Prince was most emphatic about that. Perhaps I could retrieve the young lady. No one will remark me.”

“But how - ” I almost bit my tongue.

Aimee’s laugh chimed like silver. “If you or the good Dulcé will permit me to know her through your eyes, I’ll be able to recognize her.”

“It would be a great service,” I said, unsure what she meant.

“Of course, I can’t go just now. Everyone is gathering to hear the Prince speak, and so many people abroad will confuse my ability to travel. But the Precept House will be deserted, and that will keep her safe. Later, when the crowds thin out a bit, I should be able to find her quite easily. I’ll go the moment the Prince is finished speaking.”

A relieved Bareil said he would be happy for Aimee to take an image of Roxanne from his thoughts. While they discussed descriptions, images, and the most discreet routes by which to bring Roxanne into the palace, a low hum from outside drew me to back to the window.

This apartment lay on the inner face of the curved north wing of the palace, so the cushioned window seat had an excellent view of the broad front steps and the royal balcony above them, as well as the commard and parkland below and beyond. As the filmy draperies shifted in the breeze, I settled there and watched a crowd grow, pouring from every street, carrying candles and lanterns and magical lights of all kinds, until the city looked like rivers of fireflies replenishing a jeweled sea. Beyond them all, low in the east over the mountains, hung the huge silver crescent of the moon.

The parapet of the wide royal balcony had been carved with the arch and stars and rampant lions of D’Arnath. On tall posts at its corners hung lamps shining with pure white light, their fiery brilliance reflected and multiplied a hundredfold by the tall, many-paned windows behind the balcony.

Three people in the formal robes of the Preceptors filed out and took seats on the balcony. My vantage was close enough that I could recognize them: tall Mem’Tara whose long, bony face and heavy braid I had glimpsed earlier in the Precept House, the fiery little Ce’Aret, and the stoop-shouldered Ustele who crouched low in his chair. Radele, attired in magnificent robes of green, trimmed in gold and gems, followed the Preceptors. The imposing older man that accompanied him could be none but his father Men’Thor, even more resplendent in red. I had met Men’Thor, they had told me, but not in any state where I could remember him.

“The Prince comes,” said Aimee from behind me. “His presence fills the city.”

The Preceptors stood and the crowd hushed when Karon stepped onto the balcony from the doorway and walked to the center. The night wind gently shifted his plain silk robe of dark blue, so that the narrow silver trim at its hem and sleeves glinted in the lamplight. In the traditional fashion for a Dar’Nethi Healer, a silver band bound up his left sleeve, exposing the scars on his arm. The open front of the robe revealed the sword and dagger of D’Arnath sheathed at his waist.

“People of Avonar, brave warriors, defenders of the Vales, of the city, of the last hope of the worlds, I have called you here in grief and in hope, to tell you of great changes in the world.”

The hair rose on the back of my neck. Though his speech was not shouted in the usual harshness of public oratory, I could hear him as clearly as if he stood three paces from my seat.

“Four years ago I swore an oath to break the bonds of terror forged by those who rule in Zhev’Na. I promised to serve you in the ways laid down for D’Arnath’s Heirs, to heal the wounds of war, and to nurture my son to follow after me, so that life could thrive in all the worlds that have been given into our care. In all of these things I have failed.”

No breath, no cry, no whisper of sound muted the stark clarity of his judgment.

“Every man and woman within sound of my voice has lost someone to the evil that is Zhev’Na; you have seen your sons and daughters, your parents, brothers, sisters, and cousins enslaved, tortured, driven mad, or slain. You know that my family has suffered alongside yours, and that only by the talent and skill of your Preceptors do I live to walk the beauteous hills of Avonar. Tonight I have come to tell you that with me, the line of D’Arnath will end.”

My body, mind, and spirit turned to stone, while throughout the commard the long-held breath of rumor and speculation was released at last. From here and there a mournful wail arose, only to be quickly hushed when Karon began to speak again.

“My son, who was acknowledged five years ago before the Preceptors of the Dar’Nethi, has been corrupted by the Lords of Zhev’Na. By his own hand was his mother, my beloved wife, struck down, and by his acts were the Preceptors Jayereth and Gar’Dena and the Circle of our most brilliant Talents destroyed. His guilt is clear, his subjugation to the Lords indisputable, and at one hour past dawn tomorrow, he will die for these acts. My own hand must accomplish this terrible deed, for only the Heir of D’Arnath can judge a Dar’Nethi life too evil, too dangerous, too broken to continue. This is a bitter sorrow for Gondai as well as for me, and I will need all of your strength to enable me to encompass such grief.

“But you must not lose heart, for the crooked paths take us to the most unexpected places, places beyond our dreaming, and for those who follow the Way, our sorrows bring us power. In the choosing of my new successor have I been forced to give thought to all our troubles, our life, our history, our strengths, our failures, all that I - and you - have become in this interminable war, and I have come to the conviction that the changes thrust upon us by these dread events will be the key to our future. For too long I have been so absorbed in my own distress, in my anger, and in my determination to right every evil according to my own lights that I lost sight of the Way, lost the clear vision that it offers us. Many of us have lost the Way over the past thousand years. It is the greatest evil the Lords have done to us - to make us destroy our best selves.

“The Preceptor Ce’Aret has taught me how the Heir can name a successor not of his own blood, and at dawn tomorrow so I will do. Avonar is graced by a community of worthy men and women, every one of whom has the welfare of our people at heart, every one of whom is unyielding in vigilance against the depredations of Zhev’Na, every one of whom is undisputed in courage and devotion. But only one man’s vision has allowed him to see the true threat and to hold steadfast through slander and dishonor and false accusations to prove his mettle. He it is whom I have judged most worthy of D’Arnath’s legacy.”

Those seated on the balcony had been nodding solemnly all during Karon’s words, but now several of them began to shift uneasily. Old Ustele leaned toward Men’Thor, poking at his son’s chest while he whispered in his ear. But Men’Thor pushed the old man’s hand away and arranged his robes to his liking once again, looking as if he were already breathing the rarefied air of royalty.

Karon took no note of those behind him. “When my day is over and a new Heir must take my place, his hand will guide you with wisdom and serve you with grace, and he will lead you to the renewal, not only of the Wastes, but of yourselves. Thus from all of us, not from the Heir alone, will come the power to maintain D’Arnath’s Bridge and restore our world. From midnight tonight will my successor stand alone in vigil at the Bridge, and at dawn tomorrow will he be invested with the knowledge of the Heir, to hold in trust until such time as I can no longer serve. On this night, in the presence of the host of Avonar, do I, D’Natheil, the only legitimate Heir of the mighty D’Arnath, name as my successor Ven’Dar yn Cyran. Ce’na davonet, Ven’Dar, teca Giré D’Arnath!”

From the crowd swelled murmurs of wonder, of disbelief, of confusion and dismay that the Prince had gone mad to name one that two days of rumors had claimed dead or disgraced. But when Ven’Dar stepped through the door at the back of the balcony, opened his palms, and knelt to Karon, the murmurs erupted into cries of joy and approval, of hope long held close and faith renewed, until the sound rolled through the city like a hurricane. Discontent rumbled beneath the wind, not a few jeers and shouts of anger invoking the name of Men’Thor. But when Karon raised up Ven’Dar and embraced him, the roar from the people came almost as one, “Ce’na davonet, Ven’Dar, teca Giré D’Arnath!” All honor to you, Ven’Dar, next Heir of D’Arnath. “Ven’Dar! Ven’Dar!”

Mem’Tara rose immediately and bent her knee to Ven’Dar, and Ce’Aret, after a stunned moment, embraced the Word Winder as if he were one of her long-lost sons. But Ustele folded his arms and maintained his seat, while Men’Thor and Radele and two or three others abruptly disappeared from the balcony through the doors at the back.

“He’s killed him,” I said to no one and everyone.

“Did he not say tomorrow?” said Bareil, softly, from behind me.

“No, not Gerick - not yet - but Ven’Dar. He has purposely humiliated Men’Thor before the host of Avonar. He cannot believe Men’Thor will accept it. Ven’Dar’s life is at terrible risk.”

“Surely then, the Prince will watch.”

Surely… Of course. Enrage Men’Thor so he’ll make a mistake. Remove his threat by catching him in undeniable treachery. And name Ven’Dar as the successor, so that when Gerick is dead…

As thunder follows the lightning flash, I saw the truth at last. I did not know Karon’s plan, but I knew what was to be its result. He was going to die, too - and not just the part of him that was my husband. At some time in the past hours, he had decided he was not going to leave D’Natheil behind to destroy Avonar.

“My lady, I must… are you all right? You look unwell.”

Wordless, I waved off Bareil’s hand. I was very much not all right.

“I must go to the Prince, my lady, as I was commanded. Is there a message I could carry for you?”

There was far too much, even for a Dulcé, who could bear the knowledge of a hundred libraries at once. What could be said?

“Just tell him… I understand the implications of his choice.”

And at last I also understood why it was so important that I remain hidden. I was evidence against Men’Thor. If Men’Thor detected Karon’s trap or decided to bide his time, Karon needed evidence to indict him anyway. He would want to leave Ven’Dar free to teach and to guide the people of Avonar without the threat of Men’Thor’s meddling. And I had left Roxanne in the Precept House, carrying the knowledge of my existence and my whereabouts. Fool of a woman, why didn’t you think?

And in all my newfound understanding, I found no hope for Gerick. In his attempt at Calle Rein, Karon had discovered something that precipitated this convoluted strategy, and I could unravel no twisting of plot and no cleverness of words that was going to keep Gerick alive. Vaguely I considered making my way down to his prison again, but his cell had no visible lock, and I had no shred of power. I had come to the limits of my abilities and understanding.

So I did nothing. As the excited crowds wandered back to public salons or their homes, I sat in the window seat, still envisioning Karon on the deserted balcony, the wind caressing his long hair like a lover’s hand. Gentle Aimee brought me a shawl and a cup of tea, thinking to quiet my shivering, but though the nights of the waning summer were indeed growing cool, a blanket of goose down would not have warmed me. So the girl led me to the candlelit bedchamber and took off my shoes and covered me with the soft blankets she had chosen just for me. “Try to sleep, my lady, while I fetch the princess. I’ll wake you before dawn.”

Curled up in the dark nest of the great bed, I had no choice but to let go of everything. I couldn’t think any more, for there was nothing I could bear to think on.

Sometime deep in the night, long after the vigil candle had burned itself out, I was roused from my exhausted half-sleep. A wide hand lay on my cheek, gently brushing away my dreamer’s tears. “Do not weep, beloved,” came a voice in the dark. “All that can be done, I will do. Listen carefully to me. You must not give up, even in the depths of sorrow. I need you to play the part that only you have ever been able to play. Follow the Way, my love, and know that you will be with me forever.”

Before I could shake off the heaviness of sleep or open my eyes to see his face, he kissed my eyelids softly, and I sank into a peaceful, embracing slumber. When Aimee shook me awake in the dark hour before dawn to report Roxanne still missing, I might have thought it was all a dream, save for the rose of blazing scarlet that bloomed at my bedside.