“None that has half the chance of succeeding, slim though this chance might be. The Lady Iridal speaks truly, sire. We have nothing to lose and much to gain. If she is willing to take the risk?…”
“I am, Your Majesty,” said Iridal.
“Then I say, yes, sire,” said Trian.
“My queen?” Stephen looked to his wife. “What do you say?”
“We have no choice,” said Anne, her head bowed. “We have no choice. And after what we did…” She covered her eyes with her hand.
“If you refer to hiring an assassin to kill the boy, we did that because we had no choice,” said Stephen, grim and stern. “Very well, Lady Iridal. I grant you a fortnight. At the end of that time, we meet with Prince Rees’ahn at Seven Fields, there to make final plans for the alliance of our three armies and the eventual overthrow of the Tribus empire. If Bane is still in elven hands by that time…”
He sighed, shook his head.
“Do not worry, Your Majesty!” said Iridal. “I will not fail you. This time, I will not fail my son.” She made a low reverence, to both king and queen.
“I will escort you out, my lady,” offered Trian. “It would be best if you left the way you entered. The fewer who know you were here, the better. If Your Majesties—”
“Yes, yes. Dismissed.” Stephen waved his hand abruptly.
He cast a meaningful glance at the magus as Trian left. Trian lowered his eyes, indicating he understood.
Magus and mysteriarch left the room. Stephen sat down to await his wizard’s return.
The Lords of Night spread their cloaks over the sky. The glitter of the Firmament faded. The room in which king and queen waited together, silent and unmoving, grew dark. Neither moved to strike a light. Their dark thoughts were suited to night’s shadows.
A door opened softly—not the door by which the magus and Lady Iridal had left but another door, a secret door, located in the back of the study and concealed by a wall painting. Trian emerged, carrying an iron glowlamp to light his way.
Stephen blinked in the light, lifted his hand to shield his eyes. “Douse that thing,” he ordered.
Trian did as he was told.
“She told us herself Hugh the Hand was dead. She described his death to us.”
“Obviously, she lied, sire. Either that, or she is insane. And I do not believe she is insane. I think rather she foresaw the day when this knowledge would be of use to her.”
Stephen grunted, was silent again. Then he said, slowly, heavily, “You know what must be done. I presume that was why you brought her here.”
“Yes, sire. Although I must confess I had not dreamed she would offer to go fetch the child herself. I had hoped only that she might establish contact with him. This makes matters much simpler, of course.”
Queen Anne rose to her feet. “Is that necessary, Stephen? Couldn’t we let her try?…**
“So long as that boy lives—whether in High Realm, Low Realm, this realm, any realm—he is a danger to us… and to our daughter.”
Anne lowered her head, said nothing more. Stephen looked at Trian, nodded. The magus bowed, glided out of the room, leaving by the secret door.
King and queen watted a moment longer in the darkness to compose themselves, to put on the false smiles, to summon carefree laughter, to play at plotting and at intrigue, while, beneath the supper table, where no one could see, their cold hands would join, clasp together tightly.
CHAPTER 22
KIR MONASTERY
VOLKARAN ISLES
MID REALM
THE SHARP LINES OF GRANITE WALLS THAT FORMED THE KIR MONASTERY stood out, stark and black, against the shimmering, lambent light given off by the coralite of the hills surrounding it. The monastery itself was dark and silent; no light shone within, no sound came from within. A single, solitary glow-lamp burning feebly over the entrance—a signal to those in need—was the only evidence that anyone lived here.
Iridal dismounted from her dragon, stroked its neck, spent a few moments calming it. The creature was nervous, restive, and would not respond immediately to the sleep spell she tried to cast upon it. Riders always caused their dragons to sleep after flight. Not only did the spell provide the dragon needed rest, but also the enforced slumber rendered the creature harmless, so that it would not take it into its head to raid the countryside during the mysteriarch’s absence.