of light behind the lids, but he could not escape the sound of the child’s loud, healthy cry, or the way it suddenly choked off. The silence left in its wake left him dizzy and sick.
What followed seemed to take a very long time, although in truth they had only minutes. Lhel took the living child from Nari and placed her on the bed next to her dead twin. Chanting over them, she drew patterns in the air and the living child went still as death. When Lhel took up her knife and needle, Arkoniel had to turn away again. Behind him, he could hear Rhius weeping softly.
Then Iya was at his side, pushing him out into the cold corridor. ‘Go downstairs and hold off the King. Keep him as long as you can! I’ll send Nari down when it’s safe.’
‘Hold him off? How?’
The door swung shut in his face and he heard the key turn.
‘Very well, then.’ Arkoniel dried his face on his sleeve and ran his hands back through his hair. At the top of the staircase he paused and turned his face up to the unseen moon, sending a silent prayer to Illior. Aid my faltering tongue, Lightbearer, or cloud the King’s eyes. Or both, if it’s not asking too much.
He wished now that Captain Tharin was here. The tall, quiet knight had a manner that put everyone at their ease. With a lifetime of hunting, fighting and court intrigue behind him, he was far better suited than a green young wizard to entertain a man like Erius.
Mynir had lit the bronze lamps that hung between the painted stone pillars in the hall and stoked the fire with cedar logs and sweet resins to make a fragrant blaze. Erius stood beside the hearth, a tall and daunting figure in the firelight and Arkoniel bowed deeply to him. Like Rhius, the King had been shaped by a lifetime of war, but his face was still handsome and filled with a youthful good humour that even a childhood spent in his mother’s court had not extinguished. Only in recent years, as the royal tomb filled with the bodies of his female kin, had some come to regard that kindly visage as a mask for a darker heart, one that perhaps had learned his mother’s lessons after all.
As Arkoniel had suspected, the King had not come alone. His court wizard, Lord Niryn, was there, as close to the King as the man’s own shadow. He was a plain fellow somewhere in his second age, but whatever gifts he possessed had lifted him high and quickly. For years Erius had had no more use for wizards than his mother, but since the death of the King’s wife and children, Niryn’s star had risen steadily at court. Lately he’d taken to wearing his thick red beard forked and had affected costly white robes embroidered with silver.
He acknowledged Arkoniel with a slight nod, and the younger wizard bowed respectfully.
Erius had brought along a priest of Sakor, as well, together with a dozen of his own Guard in their pick spurs and gold badges. Arkoniel’s stomach did an uneasy roll as he caught the glint of mail beneath their red tunics and saw the long knives they carried at their belts. It seemed an odd sort of company to bring into his sister’s house on such an occasion.
He forced a respectful smile, wondering bitterly who had alerted Erius. One of the household women, perhaps? Clearly Erius had been prepared for this visit, despite the hour. The King’s greying beard and curly black hair were neatly combed. His velvet robes looked as fresh as if he’d been on his way to the audience hall. The Sword of Ghërilain, symbol of Skalan rule, hung at his hip.
‘My king,’ Arkoniel bowed again. ‘Your honoured sister is still in the midst of her pains. Duke Rhius sends his respects and asks me to sit with you until he is able to attend you himself.’
Erius raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Arkoniel? What are you doing here? Last I knew, neither you nor that mistress of yours practices midwifery.’
‘No, my king. I was guesting here tonight and have been making myself useful.’ Arkoniel was suddenly aware of the other wizard’s steady gaze. Niryn’s bright brown eyes protruded a bit, giving him a perpetually surprised air that the younger wizard found unsettling. He carefully veiled his mind, praying he was strong enough to keep Niryn from his thoughts without the other man suspecting.
‘Your honoured sister’s labour is a difficult one, I fear, but she will be delivered soon,’ he continued, then wished he hadn’t. The King had attended the births of all his own children. If Erius decided to go upstairs, there was nothing he could do, short of magic, to prevent it. With Niryn here, even that risky avenue was closed to him.
Perhaps Illior had heeded his prayer after all, for Erius shrugged agreeably and sat down at a gaming table by the hearth. ‘How’s your skill with the stones?’ he asked, waving Arkoniel to the other chair. ‘These birthings generally take longer than you’d expect, especially the first. We may as well pass the time pleasantly.’
Hoping his relief was not too obvious, Arkoniel sent Mynir off for wine and sweets, then settled down to losing as best he could.
Niryn sat beside them, pretending to observe the play, but Arkoniel still felt the pressure of his regard. Sweat prickled under his arms and down his back. What did the man want? Did he know something?
He nearly dropped the gaming stones when Niryn suddenly asked, ‘Do you dream, young man?’
‘No, my lord,’ Arkoniel replied. ‘Or if I do, I don’t recall them when I wake up.’
This was true enough; he seldom dreamed in the normal sense, and foreknowing dreams had so far proven to be outside his ken. He waited for Niryn to pursue the question, but he only sat back and stroked the tips of his forked beard, looking bored.
Arkoniel was in the midst of his third game of Geese and Squares when Nari came downstairs.
‘Duke Rhius sends his regards, your majesty,’ she said, curtsying low. ‘He asks if you would like your new nephew brought down to view?’
‘Nonsense!’ Erius exclaimed, setting the stones aside and rising. ‘Tell your master his brother is happy to come to him.’
Again, Arkoniel had an uneasy sense that the King meant more than he said.
That sense grew stronger when Niryn and the priest accompanied them upstairs. Nari caught Arkoniel’s eye as they followed and gave him a quick nod; Iya and Lhel must already be safely away. Entering Ariani’s room, Arkoniel could sense no trace of magic, Orëska or otherwise.
Duke Rhius stood on the far side of the bed, holding his wife’s hand. The Princess was still blessedly asleep, no doubt well drugged. With her black hair combed back smoothly and a hectic spot of colour high on each cheek, she looked like one of her own dolls.
Rhius lifted the swaddled child from the bed and brought it to the King. He’d recovered enough to act his part with dignity.
‘Your nephew, my liege,’ he said, placing the infant in Erius’ arms. ‘With your leave, he shall be named Tobin Erius Akandor, in honour of your father’s line.’
‘A son, Rhius!’ Erius undid the swaddling with a gentle, practiced hand.
Arkoniel held his breath and blanked his mind as Niryn and the priest extended their hands over the sleeping child. Neither appeared to notice anything amiss; Lhel’s magic had covered all trace of the abomination she’d wrought on the little body. And who would think to look for hill witch magic in the chamber of the King’s own sister?
‘A fine boy, Rhius, to bear such a name!’ Erius exclaimed. The birthmark caught his eye. ‘And look at the favour mark he bears. On his left arm, too. Niryn, you know how to read such things. What does this one mean?’
‘Wisdom, your majesty,’ the wizard told him. ‘A most favourable trait in your son’s future companion.’
‘Indeed it is,’ the King said. ‘Yes, you have my leave, Brother, and my blessing. And I’ve brought a priest to make an offering for our little warrior.’
‘You have my thanks, Brother,’ said Rhius.
The priest went to the hearth and began his droning prayers, casting resins and little wax offerings into the flames.
‘By