The onlookers drew breath in surprise. Rap said, “No.”
“Afraid, Master Rap?”
Rap looked down at the turf and said, “Yes!”
“Truly, I am chagrined!” Kalkor’s sapphire eyes danced with mockery. He turned and stared thoughtfully at the arena, almost empty of civilians now. The legionaries were forming up, preparing to leave also. Again Inos noted the little prince beside the throne. He was very pale, and shaking as if he had a fever. The mute stare he was directing at his mother seemed to hold some sort of appeal, but she was hunched in her chair, sulking and paying no attention to anyone. Had she no concern for her son’s health? And why would a boy of his age not be more interested in this talk of fighting and sorcery? Was he halfwitted? Had Epoxague been hinting at that this morning?
Kalkor sighed, regarding Rap again with his habitual contempt. “I suppose I shall just have to bear my sorrows and accept the responsibility of kingship so harshly thrust upon my reluctant shoulders. Here, then, my friend—a remembrance! A parting gift.”
With a flick of his hand, he tossed something across the group to Rap, as if playing catch.
Apparently without thinking, Rap reached out and caught it . . . whatever it was . . .
Something red.
Something about the size of a closed fist . . .
Rap yelped and leaped back, dropping the strange object as if it had burned him. He vanished, completely. Courtiers cried out and recoiled in alarm from the empty spot where the faun had stood.
The gift, whatever it was, had vanished also, but the grass there was spotted with blood.
Ythbane leaped to his feet. “What was that?” he barked. ”What’s happening?”
Kalkor moved his rain-streaked shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I really have no idea, your Highness. Apparently Master Rap has been called away by urgent business. A friend unexpectedly taken sick, most like.” He chuckled gutturally.
The regent was clearly at a loss, andthe onlookers flinched as realization came to them also—there had been two evident sorceries. The faun had vanished, but the jotunn had thrown something that he had not been holding only moments before, and he certainly had no pockets in that tatter of fur he wore.
Then Rap was back. The courtiers surged away again, isolating the two antagonists. Rap’s face had turned sallow and his eyes bulged. He stared at the thane and made choking noises.
Kalkor sighed. “Not literally a heart of gold, of course, but I’m sure he had many admirable qualities.”
“Monster!” Rap cried, his voice breaking. “Demon of Evil!”
“Flattery will avail you naught. Spare me your unseemly protestations of gratitude.”
“Heartless monster!”
“Heartless?” Kalkor repeated, looking hurt. “Oh, no! Not me! Him, yes, but what would you expect of a mere sailor? You didn’t try to put it back, did you?”
Rap turned on Inos; and_ she cringed before the unexplained horror she saw in him.
“All right!” he shouted. “I’ll do it! Take his challenge and I’ll kill the swine for you!”
He spun on his heel and ran.
“You!” Ythbane yelled, starting. “Come back here! Guards—catch that man!”
Praetorians jerked into motion. Courtiers scattered. Chasing him would do no good, Inos knew. Not if Rap was now a sorcerer.
“Inos!”
She glanced down at Kade, who was staring at her with obvious joy. “Your cheeks, dear!”
Inos raised fingers to the cosmetic flaking from her face, and there was no soreness there at all.
2
The afternoon seemed to go on forever.
When Ythbane selected his victims, Inos was first on the list. She was shipped off to the palace in a very bouncy coach, accompanied by three steely-eyed legionaries who refused to talk, or explain, or answer questions of any kind.
The Opal Palace was world famous, but she was taken in through a back door and hence saw nothing to impress her. Then she was left in a room of blank walls and hard benches where her jailors were now women, built like basalt basilisks, and no more interested in conversation.
Of course imperors and their replacements were dangerous persons to offend, and Inos knew she was in considerable danger. She discovered that it did not seem to matter very much. If they boiled her toes, they could not spoil this day for her. Rap was alive and well! Nothing else mattered. Let Azak worry about his curse, and Arakkaran, and the stupid war. He could go home alone and chase goats all day for the rest of his life—and breed sons all night, for that matter—and Inos would not care if he didn’t even say good-bye.
Kade had escaped, too, and that was wonderful, but the big thing was that Rap lived, and he loved her. He had cured her burns. He would be her champion at the Reckoning. Rap was a sorcerer! Indeed Rap seemed to be able to work miracles, and she would never doubt him again, nor doubt the power of love.
She had likely been sequestered to give her time to worry herself into a panic. In fact, she had indulged in an hour or so of dreamy contemplation when she was taken off to be questioned by the regent himself. He was obviously in a foul temper. With half a dozen secretaries taking notes, she talked and talked and talked. She had no secrets to conceal, nothing to keep back. Ythbane himself paced the floor like a caged animal, and did not suggest that she might wish to sit. He was a shrewd interrogator; he had a very powerful personality. She did not think she could have held back anything had she wanted to.
But she had nothing to hide. Did she love this Rap boy? Yes. Had it been he who healed her scars? Who else? Did she want to go back to Arakkaran? Never. Did she want, hope, expect to become Queen of Krasnegar? If it would benefit the people, yes; otherwise no. Where was Rap now? She had no idea. Would he turn up to fight Kalkor at noon the next day? Certainly! He had said he would, and he had always been reliable.
At last Ythbane sent her away, demanding that Kade be brought in next. Inos was returned to her cell, but three of the men she had thought to be secretaries came with her, and they began the questioning all over again. Hunting for inconsistencies, they took her through her story three times more—twice forward and once back—until her head ached and she could barely croak.
The early dark of winter had already fallen when she was rescued by a messenger from the regent. At last she was allowed to wash her face and freshen up. She thought she might have won a battle, somehow, or that Ythbane had lost one.
She was escorted to a delightful pink-and-gold drawing room, where Kade and Eigaze sat by a cheerfully crackling fire, cheerfully sipping scalding green tea from exquisite porcelain cups and nibbling tiny sandwiches. Inos collapsed into a very soft chair and stared at them in disbelief.
“A slice of lemon, dear?” said Kade. “Do have something to eat. Try the cucumber ones. Do you suppose the cucumber is occult at this time of year?”
“Imported from Pithmot, I expect,” Eigaze said,
“but I still think the fresh, local ones have more flavor. “
Rap! Come and rescue me from these maniacs! “No cucumber for me,” Inos said. “It makes my nose shiny.”
Eigaze switched targets in midreach and went for the watercress instead.
“Well, do eat something, dear,” Kade said. “We may have a long night ahead of us.”
Inos gulped the hot tea gratefully. “Tell me!” Kade beamed. ”The wardens! His Highness has decided to invoke the Four, and we are to visit Emine’s Rotunda and attend! Isn’t it exciting?”
“And so rare!” Eigaze exclaimed. “Outsiders are very rarely admitted when the Four are called. You are greatly honored.”
“We are to be fitted for our gowns very shortly!” Honored? Exciting? Inos drained her cup. Rap! Quickly!
3
Kade was squeezing Inos’s hand very tightly. But then Inos was squeezing her, also, as they walked together through the gloom.
Emine’s Rotunda might not be as large overall as the Great Hall in Arakkaran, but it was certainly large enough to humble anyone, and no internal pillars marred its wide expanse. Whether the fabled Emine had ever set eyes on it was unknown—it was old beyond record. Tradition said that sorcery had built it; only sorcery could have preserved it since the shadowy dawn times of the Impire. It smelled old. It was filled with curious little echoes and dark whisperings. Somewhere overhead was the famous dome, with its soaring stone ribs and crystal windows, but on a rainy night like this there was nothing to be seen up there but impenetrable blackness.
In the center stood a forest of giant candelabra, each one twice the height of a man, branched like a golden tree with blossoms of fire and fruits of crystal. Inos wondered how many servants had taken how long to light so many hundred candles. Yet each gold tree stood on its own plot of brightness, with shadow seeping in between them—the Rotunda was just too big to illuminate properly. Beyond the enchanted glade the darkness lurked unharmed. The banked seating around the walls was barely visible, still and empty, and the roof remained a mystery. Whatever drama was to be played, this was quite the creepiest setting Inos had ever seen; Rasha’s dome in Arakkaran had been a country kitchen by comparison.